Dementor's Kiss

Chapter Twelve - This Is It

The planning phase was much longer than it had been the last time but this time they put more effort into it. The days blended together. The hours seemed to drag on forever. The seconds never seemed to pass. The notes were extensive; they didn't want to make a mistake this time around, they couldn't afford to make a mistake this time around.

Hermione spent hours bent over a table with her fingers cupping that pen in their tightened limbs while her black scrawl scribbled across the white pages. The others could only watch on as she wasted herself away cooped up on that kitchen table, only leaving to get more coffee to keep herself awake and more paper when her massive pile died out.

Ginny was the opposite of Hermione; while Hermione sat still for hours on end with her fingers working crazily dragging the ideas from her mind and putting them on paper, Ginny was the one who actually physically worked on their solution. Hermione was more logical, pouring over books and working her mind, but Ginny was the one who tested all of her theories out. She tried out spells and curses that Hermione had found within the leather-bound books that she had read and when none of those worked as expected she tried her own spells that she had come across, she tried her own theories. She blasted tables and chairs, she tore down strips of wallpaper and she seemed unable to do anything right except create a mess from her anger.

The others were just as frustrated by the lack of progress in their planning as Hermione and Ginny were. George barely ever left the four walls of his bedroom; he was too overwhelmed by their failing plans to even sit down at a meal without causing an argument amongst the others. Neville and Luna were the only level-headed people in the place; they were constantly looking out for the others in the house, always making them eat and drink and sleep, if they could persuade them to that is, with Neville and Luna the plan wasn't as important as staying alive to carry it out.

Draco was just another broken piece in the falling apart house; he slips into the room, carrying an edition of the Daily Profit in his arms as he collapses onto an empty seat on the table. Hermione didn't even halt in her repetitive scribbling as he sat down beside her, her hands still gliding across the page in a way that blesses it with her intelligent thoughts. He drops the newspaper onto the table, discarding it and the vile stories that are printed within it before he leans back and just watches Hermione while she works. Although he would never admit it to her, he is worried about her spending all these hours sitting here writing. Ever since their quick trip to Hogwarts and the battle that nearly took place, he's been worried about the brunette in a way that  he never has before; he can't help but want to sit over her and watch her until she starts to act more normal again.

There was just silence around them.

Silence and tension, awkward tension.

Hermione didn't lift her eyes from the page, her hand never stopping its familiar path across the page, backwards and forwards without fail or hesitation.

Draco watched as she scrawled out a sentence in her neat print before she shook her head and blotted it out as quickly as it had been written. One small line which was quickly joined by several others to create a black mass on her otherwise clear page.

This was like a routine that she was repeating every other line; the working parts of her plan being carried down every few lines like one would do if trying to solve an equation. The other parts were left blacked out a few lines behind.

Draco couldn't understand Hermione's way of planning, to him it was a case of sitting and thinking and trying to figure it out in his head.

If it wasn't logical then it wasn't possible.

Hermione let out a sigh, her head dropping slightly and Draco found his attention immediately peaking at the movement.

"I think you should take a break Hermione." Draco suggested skilfully, leaning forwards as he said it so that he was meeting her black lines eyes. The lack of sleep was evident just by looking at her face, her eyes were rimmed with all the evidence that he could need. Her face was becoming sunken and empty from her lack of food and the only movement she was doing was when writing or reading the Daily Prophet.