Not Yet (A Hermione Granger fanfic)

Chapter 13

In the pale light of the next morning, Hermione feels awkward as she leaves her tent. She let her weariness get the better of her last night. And now she's hoping Orev doesn't read anything into it. He's nice enough. But like he said again last night, she doesn't know him. And they need to maintain a professional relationship.

She wonders at her instant friendship with Orev. It's not the first time she's had one, of course. Some people are just meant to be close, as if their spirits are tied together by an unseen rope, a rope that is only thickens and strengthens as time goes on. Hermione felt that way about Harry and Ron when they were all kids, even if they didn't see it at first.

And when the rope is severed? What then? What do you do with the end that is still attached to your spirit?

She sighs.

Orev affords her only a tiny glance. He's carefully measuring out a dosage of the potion in to a vial.

"Don't be nervous," she says because she's nervous. This could go wrong in so many ways.

Orev scoffs. "I'm not nervous."

He lifts the vial to his nose and sniffs. "Well, here goes." Then he pauses to look at Hermione. "Better stand back."

Hermione backs up, then gets out her wand for good measure, ready to do some quick spellwork if he's injured. "Do you have a bezoar close by?"

Orev pulls one out of his pocket and holds it out for Hermione. She goes to get it, then retreats back to her position several feet away, holding her breath.

If this works, he may decide to leave.

I don't care.

Then, without ceremony, Orev dumps the concoction into his mouth and swallows. It must taste nasty, because he grimaces.

Nothing happens.

At least he's not breaking out into boils or writhing on the ground in agony. That's something, anyway.

"How long will it take to work?" she asks.

"It should already be working."

"Do you feel . . . different?"

"No." He holds his hands in front of his face, looking at them. "Well, maybe a tingling."

Hermione takes a step for him, ready to intervene.

"No! Stay back," he says sharply. He grimaces again, like the potion's sticking to the roof of his mouth. He bends over, gasping.

"Orev!"

He holds up a hand. "I'm alright." But he doesn't straighten. Instead he grabs the hood of his cloak and pulls it over his head, turns on his heel, and leaves the camp.

Confused, Hermione begins to follow after him.

He must have heard her. "Don't follow me," he says. "I'll be back."

But Orev's sudden departure is so strange and sudden, Hermione can't help but worry he's become ill. She dithers on the spot for a few minutes, watching him walk through the trees, his hood still pulled down over his face.

Did the potion transfigure him in some way? If it did, she can't think why he wouldn't want her to see. Was he that prideful?

Pride or not, Orev couldn't be left alone. What if the potion's side effects only worsened with time? Making up her mind, Hermione casts a Silencing Charm on her feet, a Disillusionment Charm on her body, and follows after Orev. She can still see him striding through the trees.