Seventeen

𝖎𝖛. and kiss until morning

When Hermione was younger, she had been awfully fearful of a Willow Tree that was rooted by her house. A liminal space between her picket-fenced home and the weeping tree, she'd always avoid it on her walks. She had imagined that something as sorrowful and big had to be haunted. There was no blooming there. No shrunken pink flowers kissing at the branches, no pale camellia's licking at the leaves; just big, alone, rooted by her tiny home.

        Solaris had never really been afraid of everything. Although, life feared her more than death did. Scars would graze at the skin on her wrists, and everyday, they'd slowly get into a deeper scarlet. Her gasps had syllables in between them, but the blood loss would cloud her mind until she would stop thinking, and she liked that. She liked that for once, she didn't hear the voices anymore, she didn't have to think her thoughts and she didn't have to be her. Her mind had been swathed in silk every time she made herself bleed, so she kept doing it until there was no more left to cut, but she did it. Again, and again, and again, and again.

        There was a healer who once told her mother about how Solaris' disorder would just wax, but not wane, which made the both of them feel lighter because it sounded a lot let calloused than what she had carved out on her mind; but there would be no good times in between, really. The one thing Solaris had been scared of, was getting better because feeling this way, was all she had ever known. There was either everything or nothing. No in betweens.

        Hermione strayed far from the door, the same way she did with the Willow Tree, and Solaris had only been scared of this one thing. Please, let me in! No, Hermione refused to. Solaris slid her back against the door, pleading and pleading and crying, wanting to get in, wanting to know why Hermione was so afraid of her— why everyone was afraid of her. But she had said nothing, much like everyone else hadn't said anything. She cried and shook and begged.  But Hermione kept silent.

         She hadn't done anything, really. But during Hermione's classes, she had gone to the bathroom to speak to Moaning Myrtle, to see someone nearly as different as her, and Solaris wouldn't consider what happened to her the same way as dying, but it was worse than her demise, she thought. Demise wouldn't have kept you that quiet. Demise would have let you go, but being trapped never did.

"Let me in," She pleaded. "Please."

Hermione kept quiet. Her silence was almost as terrifying as the willow tree, Solaris' mother's voice crawling on her skin like maggots she couldn't shake off, the fear of commitment, taking one look into the mirror of them, saying 'I love you', then turning away. Unrequited love, biting the hand that feeds, sour breaths, bigger trees, losing someone then losing oneself, loving, liking, then forgetting. Her silence was fearful to Solaris, the same way she was fearful of Solaris.

Her sighs were heavy, much like they always were: she listened to Solaris beg and beg, listened to Ginny coming to her comfort and knocking on her door, but she came to no avail. Her scared sighs were crystallizing in her throat like sugar, but it tasted more like acid.

"I won't hurt you."

"Mione, are you alright?" Ginny asked.

"M'fine, Ginny. Please rest."

"Let her in."

"No."

"Did she hurt you?"

"No," Hermione said. "But she will."

"I won't."

"She won't!"

"We don't know that."

"We won't know unless you let her in, Hermione," Ginny sighed. "She's helpless, people are starting to come out of their dormitories, Hermione."

Three counts and the door opened, a blanket of silence had crawled on the three of them and as Solaris went in, Ginny had taken Hermione's hand and pulled her to the side.

"What's happening to you?"

"I'm scared of her, Gin," Hermione sighed. "We don't know what she's capable of."

"Has she done anything to make you this fearful of her?"

"No," Hermione said. "But she might."

''Might?' Hermione, don't get me wrong, but you seem to be going mad. You're never this unrealistic, why are you so afraid of her?"

"She was in the painting, her father trapped her in. She's oddly secretive about why she was trapped in the first place— isn't that worth being suspicious about?"

"I suppose, but she's a Blanche— a slytherin, sure— but what could she have done? Isabella is a nice girl, I doubt her sister would be any different."

"Calculating the possibilities? It's endless."

"Do you really think she'd do anything to harm you? Shall I stay with you?"

"I know you think I'm overreacting, but it's for good reason."

"I just don't understand," Ginny rubbed a palm over her face. "Why would you let her out of the painting if you were sure she'd be harmful?"

"I don't know."

"That's a first."

"Isn't it?"

"It is," Ginny sighed. "Are you going to be alright, then?"

"Yes," Hermione said, unassuringly. "I'll try to speak to Dumbledore about her."

"Alright. Goodnight, Mione. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Gin."

As Ginny pulled away, Hermione felt her stomach churn with uncertainty, but nevertheless, she came back into her dormitory, Solaris sitting on the floor, the sane way she had found her.

"Why are you afraid of me?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"If I wanted to put you in harm's way, I'd have done it by now." Hermione sighed, she was right— but still, she couldn't help but feel afraid of Solaris. Solaris never blinked, parts of her skin still looked like a part of the canvas she was trapped in. She'd sleep, wake, walk, and in between those moments, she'd smell the paint and she felt trapped again.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Solaris smiled. "I'm not surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a clever girl, Hermione. You'll figure this all out."

"Would you help me?"

"I'm positive you can do it on your own."

         "Why alone? I wanna know now."

         "Then figure it out. Now."