#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
The Saturday before the beginning of the N.E.W.T. week has the masses cramming the library and little-shut-eye clinging to the dark circles of the student populace. It is a frenzy of stress, caffeine, and griping, none of which Hermione and Tom want to be a part of, so they remove themselves from the library for another place of refuge. It's not like either of them need to study, or so Tom pointed out, and so he eases his way into convincing Hermione not to rush off on another studying session, but to walk with him around the Castle. And though she wishes to resent him for it, Hermione finds herself accepting the task and understanding she is truly prepared for these exams.
"I was thinking," the Dark Lord begins, his words rarely boding well when he begins his propositions with these words. "What's better than learning through experience?"
Hermione looks over at him as they stroll along, no longer relaxed in her acceptance of preparedness but baffled by his implications. Having been friends with Harry and Ron, nonetheless the Weasleys, Hermione's mind has been tainted to some extent in the realm of sexual innuendo. Part of her thinks that Tom did this purposefully, but from the look on his face, she truly doubts it.
And thus, all she can answer with is her own question: "What are you proposing?"
"Clarence was telling me the other day that there are Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest. I would like to see them," Tom says, that boyish curiosity being his only redeeming grace when it comes to the seeking of knowledge. And it's as Hermione supposed, Tom not meaning anything sexual by his words, though she criticizes herself for thinking such nonsense.
Hermione knows she does not have a choice in the matter Tom's addressing, given that she is nearly required to be at his side and he wants to visit the creatures. She must follow him, and thus, she answers with "That's all you needed to say."
His mischievous grin paints his face, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the corridors of the Castle. It is a trek Hermione is very used to from visiting Hagrid, down from the school and into the forest. Around them, fog clings to their very skin, unfitting of spring yet typical of Scotland. Between the wet grasses brushing her ankles to the humidity in the air, between the warm hand in her own and to the prospect of something familiar, Hermione cannot help laughing in sure joy as they enter the treeline, Tom not paying her a glance in fear of its repercussions.
It is less rainy and foggy in the trees, not that it aleves the frizz in Hermione's hair in the slightest bit. Rather, her hair grows bushy, a true sight to behold in Tom's mind as he smirks largely and she scowls towards a tree, as if flora is the true cause of her problems. But that anger wastes away as Tom leads her deeper into the forest, light still riding on the waves of fog and brushes of wind, and towards the visible group of Thestrals.
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There are six of them--a half dozen. All very similar in features with milky-grey eyes, skeletal frames, thin wings, and pointed beaks, it serves to bring warmness into the heart of Hermione Granger. The creatures turn at the crack of her foot on a twig, the sound ringing in the ears of all six and redirecting focus from the hunt to the humans. They do not look very intelligent with the milky eyes and slow movements, but Hermione knows they are, having read of them and experienced them herself. They seem tuned to her specifically, as if knowing her importance, calling quietly before focusing darkly on Tom. It's as if they are glaring at the boy, sensing the darkness of his soul that should taint theirs but surely cannot.
