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Chapter 8: My Hermione?
I stared up at the ceiling, all the events of last night running rapidly through my head.
Edmund hated me. Plain and simple.
I sighed and turned to face the window. I pulled myself out of my bed and walked over to the large glass windows.
What was I going to do?
I was stuck at a crossing; one way was trying to get home and another was trying to save the two queens. At one place, Luna and Harry stood there waiting for me with loving gazes and at another a king-boy who didn’t give a damn what happened to me stood.
I sighed and rested my head on the windowsill, ‘I hate this, I really hate this.’
I looked back up as a breeze picked up outside, sweeping into the window and gently blowing my hair. Unlike at Hogwarts, the air here was nice and inviting, not cold and harsh like the night air at school. I rested my head on my arms once more and looked out across the garden, the cherry blossoms where in full bloom, so were Queen Anne’s lace and the forget-me-nots and bluebells. I could see everything in the full-moons light, even the sapphire-stars in the inky sky gave off their light to let me see the beauty before me.
I smiled; nature always had a calming effect. As the breeze picked up again I headed back to my bed, more relaxed then before.
And just as sleep started to take over me the knowledge of what I had to do filled my thoughts, but instead of waking me up instantly it let me continue to sleep in peace.
Because the thought of it settled my confused heart.
Over a few bedrooms Edmund lay awake as well. He would turn on his side, grow restless, then move to his other side, and finally ending up on his back before starting the pattern again a few minutes later.
He shouldn’t feel guilty; he had every right to hate the witch. She was witch, that definitely gave him every right to hate here,
Well, if that was the case – why couldn’t he get those damn beautiful brown eyes out of his thoughts?
Edmund sighed and pulled the covers off. After lying in his bed for a while he stood and walked over to the window, crossing his arms on the windowsill as he did so.
The night wind was strong, making the flowers in the grove dance around. The moon was bright and the stars shone down casting a light blue tint on the scenery.
Edmund sighed once more, and leaned down to rest his head on his hands. He had been the one to make everything awkward between Hermione and him, just after everything had started to go…well not perfect, but it was tolerable and even pleasant on some occasions.
Peter had told him that Hermione would be a great asset to their army, what better then to have a witch on your side when you were going up against one as well?
‘Well, Peter should just piss off. He probably doesn’t even know what he is talking about.’ Edmund said, slamming his hand down on the sill, ‘What does he know of anything.’
And with that, he walked back over to his bed and continued on in a restless sleep, filled with thoughts of a certain curly haired girl and the White Witch facing off. And for some reason, he was standing next to the girl, sword drawn – ready to protect her at any cost.
And when he awoke the next morning, his heart had come to a conclusion over his dream’s meaning.
The grove was beautiful at night, but in the sunshine of the new morning it was simply breathtaking.
The flowers all came out to take in the sun and even some of the flower nymphs came out to enjoy the beauty of the day.
I sat on a small patch of grass in the shade of a large willow tree, twirling a small forget-me-not around my fingers.
I was lost in my own thoughts when a soft thud came from my side. I turned around and grabbed my wand, not knowing what to expect.
‘Do you always reach for that thing when you hear something? Or is it just habit?’ Peter said, his hands up in a mock surrender.
I blushed and turned away, shielding my wand, ‘Sorry…back, back were I come from there is a war brewing. You can never be to careful, and you always have to have your guard up.’
‘I see…’ Peter grew quiet for a while, and I turned back to the view while he thought of what to say next.
‘You know we need you, right?’
I stayed quiet, and mad my eyes focus on the flowers in front of me.
‘Ignore Edmund, he’s just wary of magic. Our sisters lives our in stake and he—he’s frightened.’
I nodded finally and turned to look at him, ‘You know, I’m called the brightest witch back home? Yes, a witch.’
I could see the look in Peter’s eyes, he didn’t know where I was going with this but he was willing to listen.
‘I don’t know if its true.’ I said, looking down to the small flower in my hand, ‘But I have never once been embarrassed about my magic nor my heritage. I’m Muggleborn. And yet that has never stopped me, no matter how many times the word Mudblood is used against me. Oh, I forgot, you don’t know what that is—’
‘You come from a non-magical family, while other wizards and witches have either a long history of magic or one magical parent. Edmund told me.’ Peter said, keeping his eyes on mine, ‘You know, he’s not bad. He just has a bad way of venting his emotions is all.’
‘Most boys do.’ I said, pulling my legs up to rest my head on.
‘What does that mean?’ Peter asked, leaning back on his propped up arms.
I shook my head, ‘Nothing, its…its nothing…’ I hadn’t thought of Ron since I got here really. I was too busy having my own adventure to think about the mess left at home.
I sighed and hid my head in my arms, what was I going to do? Both places I wasn’t wanted. Were was I to go from there?
‘Edmund wants you here Hermione,’ I looked up to Peter but his eyes weren’t on me, they were drifting around the grove, ‘he just doesn’t know it yet.’
I felt the tears begin to prick my eyes – how could he know that? How could he possibly know anything about me?
‘Just, don’t push him to far away, ok?’ Finally Peter brought his bright eyes up to meet me and smiled. Without me responding, he stood and started on the path back to the castle, having decided that I had enough to think about for now.
I huffed and fell backwards into grass. The action made me feel like a little innocent girl again, not knowing the hurt and pain of the world. Not knowing rejection.
I closed my eyes and let the spring breeze pick up around me, whistling softly as they danced by.
‘Hermione…’ I wrinkled my nose a bit. I thought Peter had headed back to the castle.
‘Peter I thought you had—’ As I sat up I saw that my original presumption was wrong.
Edmund stood awkwardly at the end of the path. He looked as if he was considering running for it, before he cleared his throat and looked up to meet my eyes – his one moment of vulnerability gone, now replaced with the air of a knight and king.
‘Why was Peter here?’ Edmund’s eyes grew cautious and a shade darker. He didn’t trust me.
I stood and brushed my dress off as I explained, ‘He just came to talk to me a bit is all.’
‘Is that all?’ Edmund asked, his arms stiff by his side.
‘Is all.’ I said, laughing at my poor grammar. Nature always made me calm and at peace, something Edmund couldn’t even ruin.
‘Was it about the battle and me and all?’ Edmund asked again. His persistence was really starting to get on my nerve.
I cocked my head, trying to think of what he was trying to get out of me, ‘Some of it, some wasn’t.’ Ok, all of it had been about Edmund, but you know I didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction.
‘Ok.’ Edmund knew I wasn’t going to give in, and, sighing, he turned sharp on his heel and started back down the path.
I huffed in annoyance and dropped onto the ground once more.
‘I like her, even though she is a witch. She’s a good witch, like Glenda or whatever that was in the Wizard of Oz.’ Edmund mumbled to himself as he stalked towards the castle, disappointment making up his entire emotion impression.
Edmund stopped and looked up to the tree canopy above, ‘Oh, what am I thinking? I more then just like her. Even if she is a bloody witch.’
He sighed, kicked a pebble by his foot, and continued on his way.
The young king’s anger started to boil a bit as thoughts of Peter, his older brother, in the meadow alone with his Hermione came to the front of his mind.
That made the young boy stop dead in his tracks, ‘My Hermione? What the bloody hell!’