Nightmares and Nocturnes

The Curse of Fortune

Chapter 7: The Curse of Fortune

For one who was born in and made from the dark, the night girl's will was as resolute as her eyes were bright; but despite her narrow escape, despite the mettle in her bones, she could only carry the day boy so much. It seemed, for a time, that they stood in the midst of an unknown land, neither of them able to move a step; each supported only by the weakness of the other; each ready to fall if the other were to collapse, or be subjected to fear. But where weakness was balanced, so, too, was strength, and after a time, the day boy was revived; in the promise of the night girl's tenacity, he grew brighter in his lightness.

In the same instance, the night girl grew frightened of the sting, of the suffering, as the depths of the dark seemed too poisonous to bear upon return; though she had tended to the day boy, and guided him, and propped him up with the unyielding stiffness of her nerve, she found herself a child in his arms, her head lying on his shoulder.

But for all that her strength was sapped, she rose; indeed, she triumphed, and between her and the boy, she was the greater. For she had suffered more; and for her suffering, she feared nothing.

. . . . . . . .

"So," Harry broached carefully, sidling next to Hermione as she eyed their camp, shielding her face from the sun with the flat of her hand. "He came home late last night."

"Hm?" she asked indistinctly, not taking her eyes off where Ron and Bill were plotting, heads together. "I hadn't noticed."

"Lies," Harry determined, smirking. "He normally stays with you longer."

"Is this some kind of intimation, Harry?" she asked, pursing her lips. "You know I prefer you not to be so coy."

"Ah, you take the fun out of everything," he sighed. "And yes, I'm 'intimating' that perhaps your hold over him is not as firm as you might have thought."

She looked away, casting her eyes to the ground, blinking away the image of Draco's face.

"He is . . . one of them," she reminded him, trying not to squirm at the jolting implication; the swarms of masked faces. "He may have tasks I don't know about."

"Perhaps you should ask," Harry suggested.

She grimaced.

"I seem to have constructed you badly this time," she murmured, lifting her chin to look him in the eye. "You sound too much like me."

"Well, memories fade," he commented reassuringly, undeterred. "Can't blame yourself."

"I most certainly can blame myself," Hermione retorted, a little disgruntled by the suggestion. "I can, and I will. And I do," she added, punctuating the point by turning back to where Bill and Ron sat deep in conversation.

Harry sighed. "You've been fixating," he pointed out after a moment, gesturing with his chin to them. "Why?"

"You know why," she reminded him.

He channeled his skepticism into a half-hearted shrug. "You blame him still," Harry postulated. "For what happened?"

"Haven't you been listening?" Hermione snapped. "I blame myself. For this," she added, swallowing as she watched Bill lean conspiratorially towards his younger brother, "and for not interfering sooner."

"You would have been met with quite a bit of resistance," Harry reminded her firmly. "Everyone was caught up in it. In the idea of exposing the Death Eaters, and showing everyone what we were capable of."

Hermione made a face. Showing everyone what we were capable of. "Those are Bill's words," she recognized, flinching. "Everyone was parroting them," she added scornfully, "like he was suddenly - "