DRAGON'S HEARTSTRINGS || dramione | harry potter

Chapter Six

Hermione spent the next few days in the lab, coming back up to her bedroom only to sleep. Upon request, Mipsy brought all her meals down there, which Hermione would swallow up without moving away from whatever potion she was making. She reveled in the quality of the lab, enjoying how spacious and up to date it was. She loved that she finally got the chance to try out the potions she's been trying to make but never had the resources for them back at Hogwarts. The fact that there was no one – specifically Snape – looming over her shoulders, criticizing most of what she tried to do or trying to push her away and do it themselves. She had the whole place to herself, and that was the best part. Of course, the was always a chance the High Reeve might come down here whenever he wished – this was his home after all – but so far, he hadn't.

Hermione brought her favorite books from her bedroom to the lab so that she wouldn't have to go back if she wanted to read something or research an idea whenever one would come to her. Mostly, she loved this hideaway because she didn't have to meet the High Reeve all that often. She didn't know if he was even home most of the time – very likely he wasn't even there – but still, she felt safer down there, knowing that she can avoid that cruel non-expression he always gave her and, more importantly, those awkward dinners they would be forced to have otherwise.

She realized she liked not seeing him. She didn't feel even the slightest wish to ask him what she should be doing, and he didn't ask her to do anything – maybe he was still furious by that ridiculous list she wrote him and that he burned, or perhaps she knew he would diss anything he asked of her to do, whatever it would be. Hermione was starting to feel a bit useless in the grand scheme of things concerning the state of the world right now, but whenever those negative thoughts threatened to absorb her, she reminded herself that she was practicing potion-making here to be a better Healer and save more members of the Order in case they got attacked – after all, practice makes perfect, and what better way to learn new something than practicing. If she was going to be only the High Reeve's leverage for the duration of this war and nothing more, then she will at least enjoy herself and use her time in this fancy potion lab wisely.

She still didn't sleep very well – she was tormented by insomnia, and then nightmares when she did fall asleep. And even when her nights were sleepless, the ring that the High Reeve gave her on their "wedding day" tended to start squeezing her finger tightly, sometimes feeling as hot as melted iron, sometimes as cold as stone. Hermione had an uncanny feeling the ring was alive. She tried taking it off when it got so tight it started to make her finger blue, but to no avail – it simply wouldn't come off no matter how hard she tried or what spells she used. Hermione had an idea it was the High Reeve's way of torturing her albeit in a small way – truth be told, the ring irritated her more than did actual harm, but she hated it anyways.

It was one of the nights when her sleep was pure and peaceful.

Hermione was dreaming.

She was dreaming of the High Reeve entering her bedroom in the middle of the night, feeling his hands ghost over her. She opened her eyes – it was too dark to see, but she knew he was there, his pure white hair shining against the black of the night.

"Hey..." she spoke up, her voice heavy with sleep. "What are you... what are you doing here?"

"Get up," he said, sounding angry and irritated.

Hermione frowned. "Has something happened?" she asked. She squinted, trying to see his face better, and she noticed he was frowning, his jaw tense.

"Don't make me tell you twice. Get up," he hissed, and Hermione gasped when he grabbed her forearm roughly with his leather-gloved hand, forcing her out of bed.

Hermione stumbled over something in the dark, trying to understand what was going on and also trying to find her footing while the High Reeve grasped her arm to the point of pain. He started dragging her out the door, but she yelled, "Wait, at least let me put on some clothes!" while searching for the light switch with her free hand. She found it, and when the light went on, she saw the High Reeve's face turned to her. If she thought he was angry, she was wrong. He was furious, brutally mad, and for a moment Hermione got scared he might kill her.