Bloodlust

Chapter XXXII

The space next to her that morning clouded her, like a storm trapped inside her chest that she could barely breathe. She hauled herself up and scanned the room for him before she could tear up. He wasn't there, and it did not take too long before the heaviness transitioned into something more defined emotion, anger. However, she couldn't bring herself to project it towards someone else but herself. It was her fault – Hermione thought. She continued to remind herself; that she gave in to him; she allowed him, and now she lost track of her feelings.

The sound of her fork and knife against the plate was sharp, though she loved the way it seemed to distract her mind from the vivid memories of how they shared her bed last night.

"Glancing at the door for more than ten times a minute isn't what someone who claimed to be unbothered is supposed to do, Hermione," she mumbled annoyingly to herself stabbing a tomato with her fork.

Every touch was vivid. The memory felt so alive under her skin. She could still recall the sound and the pacing of his breathing and how he stole hers. It seemed like at that moment she lived inside a book, where everything can be conquered by love – where everything can be forgiven by love – if only everything can be shouldered by love.

Her eyes stung from the threat of her tears when her mind overpowered the delusions of her heart – does she even have the right to see it that way? Does she even have the right to remember it as a good?

"What even are we?" She mumbled into her palm, burying her face in frustration. "No. There is no we. What is wrong with me?"

The old garden appeared to be the best place to go to be away from him for a while and breathe in some fresh air.

It was not supposed to be him – it was supposed to be someone she loved and loved her, and not her enemy. She snatched a handful of overgrown grass, lashing out her frustration at it upon being reminded that she didn't have to see him as an enemy now – now that after all this time, he was the help.

Seeing his familiar figure nearby wasn't even surprising anymore as half of her hopes already expected to see him there.

She wondered if it was the view that adapted him beautifully or if was it him who added grace to the view when all he was doing was standing next to an Abraxan horse while it was feasting on the dewy pasture. He seemed to glow differently with the morning sunlight, and his hair danced flowingly along the cold breeze.

She embraced herself, wrapping her cardigan tighter against her body as the wind caressed her skin. She cleared her throat upon closing the gap between them.

"Morning," he greeted and continued to caress the horse's mane.

"Never thought I'd find you here," Hermione replied, stepping closer to the horse.

"How's your sleep?" He asked.

"Slept like a baby," she shortly replied, glancing over the horse to see him.

"You? Where did you – where did you sleep last night?" She asked, now studying his face.

"Does it matter?" He replied.

She cleared her throat once more as his tone seemed to finally choke the air out of her. How dare he act so casual after last night?

Of course, it matters! She thought to herself.

"There are some parts I couldn't recall from last night. That's why I'm asking," she reasoned, in an attempt to save an ounce of her pride.

"You want the details?" He asked while fixing the saddle, and then decided to look at her, with eyebrows creased and eyes digging, inspecting and curious.