A war is never safe, but some dangers are greater than others. What Blaise had done “ and continued to do “ certainly put him in great danger. During the following days Hermione spent most of her time wondering why he hadn’t taken her up on her offer. She knew he wanted to keep her safe “ yet it fitted badly with his wish to keep himself safe.
Nevertheless the questions in her mind were nothing compared to the worry she felt. Knowing the danger made her confinement seem even worse than it had before, and a part of her couldn’t help but to wonder if Blaise had been right not to tell her everything that was going on. Not that she would ever admit having any such thoughts to him.
As the days passed, Hermione tried to stay busy “ reading or writing. Yet somehow she didn’t seem to have the concentration for prolonged reading and the writing started to feel pointless, not to mention dangerous. Sometimes she was even scared of her books, wondering what harm they might cause. After all, the very fact that they could help Blaise avoid Azkaban or death if the resistance won the war, also meant that they could “ would “ cause his death if they ever reached Voldemort. Then again, if Voldemort found the books, he would have already found her, and if he’d found her, Blaise would already be dead or captured.
She shuddered. Funny, really, how the thought of Blaise killed or hurt could make her shudder like that.
Keeping his promise, Blaise came down again only a few days after he had sent her the Quibbler. Hermione still thought he looked tenser than he had a few months ago, but giving the circumstances he really looked far more at ease than could be expected. Still Hermione couldn’t help but to wonder just how much the stress was affecting him.
Trying to fight the urge to ask him how he was, Hermione looked out the window that had appeared a few moments ago. Two magpies had taken to nesting in one of the trees, and she could see them flying into it in intervals trying to feed their hungry nestlings. Behind her, Hermione could hear Blaise close the door behind him and come to sit down in his chair.
“Why didn’t you take me up on my offer the other day?" Hermione asked, even before he’d had time to sit down properly. He didn’t answer immediately, but took his time getting comfortable. For a moment Hermione wondered if he wasn’t actually surprised that she’d asked.
“I told you why,” he finally answered. There was a hint of suspicion in his voice, and when she turned her head to look at him she could see that his eyes were just a tad narrower than usual.
“I know what you told me,” Hermione said. “But judging from what is going“”
“I told you in my note not to speak of what you read!” Blaise interrupted her. “Or was I in any way unclear on that point?” he asked, clearly annoyed.
“No, no you weren’t, but“” Hermione tried again. She knew she was pushing her luck, but she wanted to find out if she had been right.
“No buts. There is a reason why I don’t want to know, Hermione. I wouldn’t have given you that instruction otherwise,” Blaise said, an urgent tone to his voice that Hermione hadn’t heard before.
“Why? Why don’t you want to know?” Hermione asked softly, too curious to refrain from asking.
“Because I might be tempted to reveal information you give me!” Blaise said tersely. “For my own gain or for our safety “ pick the option that appeals most to you,” he added, shifting his gaze from her to the park outside, as if he didn’t want to look at her when admitting that.
There was something else. Something in his voice that made Hermione sure that he cared more than he was willing to let on. She remembered their first real meeting. He had been cold, distant and logical “ knowing far more than he should. He had made knowing a lifestyle: knowing about Voldemort, about the resistance, about the other Death Eaters. He spied on his allies, on his enemies, making sure to know everything he could, gaining as much knowledge as possible. Yet now he suddenly didn’t want to know, because he didn’t want to tell. Smiling softly, Hermione followed his gaze outside the confinement of the small room.
“I don’t think you would tell,” she said softly. She could feel his gaze when he turned his head to look at her, but she didn’t move.
“I’m Slytherin, Hermione. Don’t tempt me,” he said calmly, waiting for her to turn to meet his eyes.
“A Slytherin would have taken me up on my offer,” Hermione said, equally calm.
“Not necessarily. Not when he thinks it’s the best thing for his own safety,” Blaise answered, his voice confident. He looked at her for a while before continuing. “Don’t make me out to be some Gryffindor-hero. I’m not one, nor would I see it as a compliment,” he added.
Hermione smiled, the image of Blaise as a hero a rather amusing one. “How about a Slytherin-hero then?” she asked, still amused.
With a quirk of his eyebrow, Blaise watched her for a moment. Then he laughed. It wasn’t a long laugh, or a laugh like the ones that used to be heard in the Burrow, it wasn’t a soft warm giggling laugh like Ginny’s, or a barking laugh like Ron had, when he clutched his sides and couldn’t breathe. But it was a laugh, nonetheless. A nice one, Hermione decided “ deep and warm, like his voice. Nothing like the cynical snorts she’d heard from him in the past. It seemed a pity that she hadn’t heard it before.
“I have to say that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone use those two words in the same sentence,” Blaise said. “I didn’t know you to be a joker,” he added with a smirk.
“Who said I was joking,” Hermione replied, an amused tone to her voice that she was unable to mask.
Still Blaise didn’t laugh this time. Instead he frowned a bit. “Hermione, I’m just doing what I think is safest for us both,” he said calmly. “Moving you now would pose a risk. One I’m not willing to take. At least not at the moment,” he added.
“And is letting me have a window by using traceable magic doing what you think is safest, too?” Hermione replied tossing a glance at the world outside. The magpies seemed to have calmed down for the moment, probably awaiting the night as the sun slowly began turning orange. For once Blaise didn’t reply.
“You were going to bring it up, weren’t you?” Hermione asked. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” she added, not turning her head to look at him.
“I’ve thought about it,” Blaise admitted quietly. “I had no plans… I hadn’t decided to take it up with you just yet,” he finished.
Hermione nodded, glancing down on her hands. “Why not?” she asked, fighting the lump in her throat and the screaming voice in her head that told her to be quiet. “It poses a risk, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Blaise acknowledged.
Hermione waited for him to go on. He didn’t and so she looked up and saw him staring through the window. The voice inside her head was growing louder, fighting what she knew she had to do, fighting the reasonable with want and need. Closing her eyes Hermione pushed it away.
“I lived without the window for over a year. I can do it again,” she said, ignoring the stabbing pain in her gut. “Our safety should come first, it’s only logical,” she continued, opening her eyes again.
In the corner of her eye she could see Blaise nod. “It is,” he confirmed simply.
She waited for him to go on, to say something, but he didn’t. Instead he sat quietly next to her watching as the sun began to set. Then he rose.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy…” he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to; they both knew how it ended. She heard him move behind her, heard the door open and shut. She imagined that she’d seen a hint of gratitude on his face before, but she wasn’t sure. Pushing the thought of Blaise out of her mind, Hermione watched as the world outside bathed in the red light of the sunset. She wondered how long it would be before she would see a sunset again. Would it be months? Years? Would she ever see the sunset again, or would the barren stone walls of the room be the last thing she laid her eyes on?
Closing her eyes as the window faded and disappeared Hermione pushed those thoughts too, to the back of her mind. It wouldn’t do to dwell on the things that she couldn’t control. At least it was safer this way.
Time seemed to slow down after the window was gone. It didn’t help that Blaise’s visits became more and more scarce or that her worry only seemed to multiply now when she didn’t have her window to distract her. She’d known she’d miss it, yet she hadn’t anticipated missing it as much as she did.
She tried to will herself to read or write, and most of the times it worked. But then there were the times when she found herself staring at the wall, wishing it would Transfigure. Sometimes she’d look where the window had been, sometimes on the part of the wall where the door still appeared from time to time “ if less frequent than it had “ and sometimes she didn’t know where to look. Those were the times when she fell into her old habit of counting the stones in the wall.
Still, the books did bring her comfort. Not in the way they had before “ although escaping to a world far away in time and space still offered its very own form of relief “ but in a new way, a logical way. The logical conclusion that told her that as long as the books kept arriving every three days, Blaise had to be fine. Besides, she reasoned, if Blaise had been captured, then surely she would have been too. As long as she was alright, Blaise had to be as well.
Routine was another comfort, she noticed. Almost every day was the same, making it easier to keep track when the window no longer told her about the passing of time. She would rise, bathe, eat and read. At the end of the day she’d mark another passed day in her book, making sure she’d not lose track of time once more. Every three days there was a new book. Every now and then her routine would be broken by Blaise’s visits, the interruptions welcome breaks in the monotony. If her marks were correct then autumn would be upon them in less than a month. It filled her with melancholy that once more she would miss her favourite season. Once more would she miss the leaves turning red, the birds’ cries as they flew south, the squirrels’ frantic search for food to sustain them through winter. It bothered her far less that she’d missed summer, although she couldn’t help but wonder how the garden outside her window looked in full bloom. She guessed it was beautiful this time of year.
But it didn’t help her to linger to what she couldn’t have. So Hermione tried to linger on the things that she might have “ if things only went the way they were supposed to. Then there would be plenty of summers and autumns to see. Better ones than this. Summers and autumns where you didn’t need to worry about war and death, but where your greatest worries would be not getting burnt by the sun or having the time to rake the leaves off the lawn in time for winter.
Hope “ lodged in a dream of a future. And it was when she had finally found it, when she had found her peace that what she feared most happened. Three days after the last book, a fortnight after Blaise’s last visit, she woke up to realise that the table, where a new book was supposed to await her, was empty.
Attempting desperately to fight the fear inside her, Hermione tried to reason with herself. She had woken up too early and Minny had not been down yet. Minny was probably just running late. Blaise had kept the book himself to bring to her later. But her logic was flawed and no matter how much she tried to fight that knowledge it was still there. She never woke up early unless she had her period “ and this was not that time of the month. Minny was too loyal to ever allow herself to be late. Blaise hadn’t brought her a book himself for months, he wouldn’t now either.
Taking deep breaths and biting her lip, Hermione tried to calm down. She did what she always did “ tried to find the comfort her routine would bring her. Still by midday she was frantic. Pacing back and forth in the room she tried to think, to come up with a solution. And yet it wasn’t until her stomach rumbled that another fact dawned on her. Not only had the book not been on the table as it was supposed to be, but there hadn’t been any breakfast either. As her stomach rumbled again, Hermione felt herself lose control over her fear. Pure white panic began to spread as she sank to the floor of the room, her back against the side of the bed.
The lack of food could only mean one thing. There could only be one explanation “ house elves didn’t fail to do their duties. Minny had not been allowed to come down to her today. If Minny had been stopped from coming down, then surely Blaise had been found out. With him found out, it was only a matter of time before they found her. If they even looked. It would be so easy for them just to leave her here to die “ to starve. Without her wand she didn’t have a chance to get out. Without her wand she didn’t have a chance to defend herself. All she could do now was sit and wait “ for them or starvation “ whichever came first.
Hermione wasn’t sure how long she sat there. Judging from the growling in her stomach, it ought to be close to dinner time. But then again, she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t just the fear that made her stomach churn. Her head jerked up when she in the corner of her eye saw the door materialise in the wall. Swallowing hard and ignoring the way her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, Hermione stood up “ determined to face who ever was on the other side with her head held high. She might not be able to defend herself, but she wouldn’t let them see her weak.
Her knees almost buckled beneath her when she saw Blaise’s familiar frame come through the door. Fighting the tears and the confusion that threatened to overwhelm her, Hermione wondered what type of cruel joke this was. Couldn’t they settle for killing her? Did they have to give her a glimmer of hope first?
“Hermione!” he said sharply, as if repeating himself. “Hermione, are you alright?” he asked, somewhat softer when she looked at him.
“I…” Hermione started, her voice failing her when she realised that her fears had been in vain “ too many thoughts and feelings fighting within her at once for her to concentrate. “What the hell is going on!” she then snapped, regaining her voice as anger took over. Anger at herself for drawing the wrong conclusions and worrying too much. Anger at him for letting her worry. Anger at Voldemort for bringing a war upon them. “I haven’t received any food all day and there wasn’t a book like there was supposed to be at my table this morning! Is this your way of keeping me on my toes? You know for something like that to work, I would actually need my wand back. I’m a sitting duck in here if something happens, I“”
“Hermione, calm down!” Blaise interrupted. “No need to shout. Of course I didn’t plan things this way, or want them this way. Why do you think I’m down here? I came to explain,” he said sharply.
Hermione stared at him, then she turned her back,pretending to fiddle with her chair before she sat down. She hated the way her face had turned pink. It wasn’t as if her conclusions had been unreasonable after all “ so why should she feel embarrassed about them being wrong? Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to shrug the feeling and looked up to face him again.
“I’m sorry if my reaction seemed a bit rash,” she started calmly, wishing he didn’t look so ruddy amused when he looked at her face. It only made her flush more. “I thought…” She interrupted herself. Not knowing really what to say. I thought you were dead and that I would die too seemed so childish and immature.
“I’m listening,” Blaise said with a smirk. “What did you think?”
“Well, what do you think I thought?” Hermione snapped again, too annoyed at his supercilious smirk to stop herself. “With no food and without seeing Minny all day? I thought you’d been found out, of course. That you were captured or dead.” She stopped herself from going on, refusing to share the horrible thoughts that had been running through her mind during the past few hours with him.
“Careful, Hermione, someone hearing you say that might just think you care,” Blaise said jokingly as he casually sat down in the chair. His face was calm and his lips curved in a way that only enhanced his high cheekbones and strong features. Hermione had never been so angry with him as she was now.
“Of course I care!” she retorted. “My life, my survival, is completely and utterly dependent on you. If you die “ I die! And that is not even mentioning that you are the only person I know I can trust!”
“You trust me?” Blaise asked surprised. “I thought you said you didn’t trust anyone,” he added, the smirk wiped completely off his face.
“I didn’t, then,” Hermione admitted quietly, unable to stay angry when Blaise wasn’t smirking anymore. “I have come to trust you, over time,” she continued. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t?” she added.
Blaise didn’t answer at once, but seemed to ponder her question before he shook his head. “You can trust me,” he said, the words odd and foreign coming out of his mouth.
“So what was going on today?” Hermoine asked calmly after they’d sat quietly for a while.
“Guests. The wrong kind of guests,” Blaise answered. “Among others, Draco was here, with his house-elf. I couldn’t risk sending down Minny, not when she could have been detected,” he finished.
“I see. I guess I shouldn’t have come to such hasty conclusions,” Hermione said simply. “But I did mean what I said about my wand, Blaise. I mean surely you can trust me with it by now. I need a way to get out of here, if something were to happen to you,” she continued with emphasis.
“Do you seriously think that I haven’t thought of that?” Blaise asked. “I’ve made arrangements. If something happens to me, you’ll know, you’ll have a proper chance of escape. I’ve made sure of it,” he finished.
Hermione looked at him, surprised at his confession. She knew that, logically, the risks Blaise took to keep her safe demanded more than simple wish of self preservation. Yet not once had Hermione thought that his concern for the outcome of the war ran so deep.
She smiled. “Careful, someone might think you care,” she said softly.
Blaise snorted in response. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, almost making Hermione laugh.
“I wasn’t talking about me, silly,” she giggled. She stopped when Blaise caught her eye. Something about the intense way he looked at her made her swallow hard and avert her eyes. A blush crept up her cheeks as an uncomfortable silence spread between them “ the tension as tangible as any object ever could be.
Blaise seemed to be as relieved as she was when Minny interrupted them by finally bringing her food, apologising over and over again about not being able to bring the meal sooner. In the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Blaise slip out the door while she was assuring the house-elf that she wasn’t in any way upset with her for following necessary orders.
That night Hermione’s dreams were filled with images of death and war. She saw Ron lying lifeless on the ground, but when she called his name and kneeled at his side he turned into Blaise, just as lifeless and his body covered with blood. When she woke she was panting, her body drenched in sweat. She was fairly sure it was the middle of the night, though of course there was no certain way of knowing, just a feeling in her gut. Stumbling in the dark, she made her way out into the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water to cool down “ trying to forget her dream, trying to restore her calm. Not until she realised her loss of serenity had nothing to do with her dream, did she give up her attempts and stumble back to bed again.
The nightmare didn’t return again, but neither did the relative sense of calm and peace that she had felt before. Blaise seemed to make an effort to come down to see her more often now than before “ for practical reasons, he said “ yet she wondered if his reasons were what he said they were. He seemed different somehow, more tense. Not the same tense as before “ although the traces of the pressure he must be feeling were still there “ but a new type of tense, as if he was fighting something within himself. Hermione wanted to ask, but for some reason she couldn’t understand, she hesitated. Maybe it was because it was unlikely that he would tell her even if she did. Or maybe it was because she needed to understand what it was that was nagging within herself before she could begin to worry about Blaise.
Submerging herself in the books they discussed, Hermione tried to fight the feeling in her gut. The feeling that told her that the answer to what was nagging her laid in what was bothering Blaise. It made no logical sense. How could it? And yet the feeling wouldn’t go away, it wouldn’t be pushed to the side forever. She knew she’d ask “ eventually, when her inquisitive nature couldn’t resist anymore, or when the feeling in her gut got the better of her brain.
Blaise had been in her room longer than usual the night Hermione finally let her instincts win. They had talked for hours, not only about the book they had read, but about the war, about how surprise ‘visits’ were now an everyday affair. How Draco had taken it upon himself to pay those visits to various ‘friends’ and allies “ no doubt in an attempt of gaining Voldemort’s trust after his father’s failure and death. Blaise had had the doubtful pleasure of his visits twice by now, and he wasn’t at all pleased. It was when they were finally finished and Blaise started to rise that Hermione found herself reaching out to touch his arm, her fingers gently grazing the light blue fabric of his robes, stopping him from leaving.
All she wanted to do was ask him a question. Ask him what else was bothering him. What it was that made him tense and distant even in the most heated debate, but somehow the words got stuck in her throat when she saw the almost painfully intense fire in his eyes as he turned his head to look at her “ binding her with his gaze. Making her feel as if he was looking straight into her soul, as if he could read her mind and know her feelings. For a moment she wondered if he wasn’t using Legilimancy, but Harry had told her what that felt like, and this wasn’t it. There were no images of past memories forced to the surface, no invasion “ only the inability to move, to think, to act.
Something stirred inside her, a memory of something distant, of something long forgotten. She knew this feeling. She’d felt it before, in another time, in another life “ when there was still light in the world. Before the war had clouded everything in darkness and despair. The flutter in her stomach, the furious beating of her heart, the heat spreading to the depth of her being.
And then Blaise moved and the connection was gone. He jerked back as if her touch burnt him, and strangely enough she could feel the heat in her fingers “ as if they still rested on his arm. Rising and turning away, Blaise rushed out of the room, the door vanishing behind him, leaving her with the confusion and recollection of something she’d felt before but couldn’t quite put her finger on. Because this was different. This was new. And yet it wasn’t new, or different, it was the same. But the same as what?
She shuddered when realisation hit. No, that wasn’t right! This wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be, shouldn’t be “ it wasn’t allowed to be! She loved Ron, only Ron. She couldn’t love Blaise. It wasn’t who she was. She was Hermoine Granger “ in love with Ron Weasley. That was who she was. Just as he had been Ron Weasley “ in love with Hermione Granger. It didn’t matter that he was dead. That was who she had been since she was a teenager, and she didn’t know how to be something else, how to be someone else. And yet she already was. Because life had moved on even when she fought it.
Hermione found it hard to live with the realisation of her feelings. She couldn’t deny them, even if that was exactly what she tried to do. Blaise’s apparent decision to stay absent helped her dojust that. For every day he didn’t show up, Hermione pushed her feelings a little bit further to the back of her mind, until she could finally convince herself that it had just been her imagination, that what she had felt had nothing to do with Blaise. That it was just a general longing to be touched, to be loved again.
The thought was comforting, and alluring, and it worked. It restored her calm and balance almost to what it had been before. So hard did Hermione believe this to be true that she would have happily have sworn to it under the influence of Veritaserum. That was until Blaise stepped back into the room and her presence, making her heart leap and her breath hitch in her throat.
Thankfully, Blaise seemed as uncomfortable as she felt, and Hermione got the distinct feeling that he was purposely avoiding meeting her gaze. He seemed hurried, and didn’t bother to sit down as usual. Not that Hermione minded that. The faster Blaise left, the faster she could go back to convincing herself that what she was feeling had nothing to do with him.
“How are things going?” Hermione asked, curious to know what he wanted, but also wanting to get to the essence of his visit. Something told her this visit had nothing to do with books.
“I’ve started making arrangements for you to be moved,” Blaise said, not answering her question. Hermione stared at him, not fully comprehending what he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked, even if her mind told her that it was fairly obvious what he meant. The only problem was that she didn’t want to be moved, she wanted to stay “ and suddenly she couldn’t pretend anymore. “You said I was safe here,” she added, wincing at how that made her sound.
“You’re not safe here anymore,” Blaise said swiftly. No doubt annoyed with her, Hermione thought as she turned towards the table, busying her hands with the pages of the book that was lying open there. “I just received information that Draco will be coming to ‘visit’ “ again. That makes three times in as many months “ he must suspect something.”
“But you’ve dealt with Draco’s suspicion before,” Hermione protested.
“This is different,” Blaise said sharply. “He won’t be alone this time. He’ll have Pansy with him to make it seem more like a social visit. Pansy is harder to fool than Draco,” he added.
“But surely you can charm her?” Hermione insisted, firmly pushing the feeling of panic that threatened to creep up on her away.
“Even if I could “ they’re bringing their house-elf with them. That means Minny will be under supervision as well“”
“Is that the only thing that bothers you?” Hermione said as light-hearted and casual as she could master. “I can go without food for a day. I’ve done it before,” she added.
“They’re not staying for a day. They’re staying for an extended weekend. You can’t go without food for four days, Hermione,” Blaise said. “Besides, I thought you wanted to leave this place?” he added.
“I do,” Hermione assured him. “I just… Well you said it wouldn’t be safe to leave. You said that going somewhere else would be more dangerous than staying here,” she tried. “It’s seems illogical to take the risk, that’s all,” Hermione concluded, hoping it didn’t sound as big of a lie as she thought it did.
“Obviously, I don’t think staying here is the safe option anymore,” Blaise answered her quietly.
There was something in his voice that made her turn around to face him, to look at him. The moment she had, she knew why she had avoided doing it in the first place. How could he suck her in so easily? How could a simple look be that powerful?
She knew he felt it too “ the heat that gathered in the pit of the stomach, the tingles that ran along the spine. It wasn’t fair, or right “ but that didn’t make it less real.
“I’ll come back when I know more,” Blaise blurted, before he turned on his heal and stalked out of the room.
During the following days Hermione went from despair to relief and back to despair. While looking forward to seeing something other than grey walls lit only by candles, she dreaded going back to a life on the run. She hated not knowing what was coming, not being able to plan for herself. But she didn’t have any choice. She was forced to trust that Blaise would do what was best for her.
She’d already packed and organised her things “ the ones she thought she’d be able to take in one pile, the rest in another. She’d prioritised her book, a toothbrush and some changes in clothing, placing almost everything else in the optional pile. She’d lived with little before, she could do it again. All she could do now was wait. And so she waited. Eating and sleeping and reading, she waited. Tonight, she’d waited for three whole days since she finished packing. She hated waiting almost as much as she hated not knowing. Getting ready for bed, she looked over her packing one more time as she folded the robes she’d worn and put them into the redundancy pile.
Hermione spun around when she heard the door appear and open behind her. She hadn’t expected Blaise to come down here tonight “ especially not since it was rather late and she was already dressed in her nightgown. Raising her arms to cover what now felt like a ridiculously thin piece of fabric, Hermione felt the, all too familiar, butterflies in her stomach.
“Bad time?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he glanced at her, a gleam in his eye that she’d seen too many time in Ron.
“I…I wasn’t expecting you,” Hermione stuttered, shifting on her feet as she shuddered from something completely different than cold.
“Apparently not,” he answered, stepping inside. He opened his mouth, as to say something more, but the words never left his mouth and for a second, Hermione thought he would turn on the spot and leave.
“You have news? Hermoine asked, desperate to break the silence between them.
Blaise nodded. “The arrangements are done,” he said hoarsely. “You’ll leave…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, something dark clouding his eyes when he said the words. She understood and nodded, and she tried to smile, but failed. And instead she let her hands fall to her sides as she hesitantly took a step forward towards him. She gasped when she felt his arms sneak around her and his lips claiming hers. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her so tight it almost hurt. Feeling her heart race, Hermione responded to the kiss, moving her arms around him, holding on to him as desperately as he was holding on to her.
She felt the familiar tingling in her stomach as he pushed her back and down on the small bed, the world reduced to touches and caresses that were frantic and desperate instead of soft and gentle. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t what Hermione had dreamed of. And yet it was everything she’d dreamed of. It was perfection and imperfection at the same time “ so right and yet so unfair “ because this wasn’t real. This would never stay real. This never could.
And so she refused to close her eyes, refused to let him out of her sight. She wanted to see, to hear, to feel. Because she knew that Blaise would never say the words her heart most desired to hear “ not because they weren’t true but because he never could. And she knew that she never would say the words her heart most needed her to say “ not because she didn’t want to, but because he wouldn’t be able to hear them. So instead she showed him what she couldn’t tell him, with every movement, with every touch, so that they wouldn’t forget. So that he wouldn’t forget. Because the world wasn’t theirs, only tonight was. And so it was all about making the most of it. About taking what would never be given.
As Hermione felt Blaise lay close beside her, his dark chest moving envenly with his every breath as he drifted off to sleep, she didn’t need him to say the words anymore - just as she didn’t need to say them anymore. She knew that love wasn’t dead. It was there, and it was real, and right now was all that mattered.