Black is the night when she was awoken by a howl
Black is the night when she was awoken by a howl. She had her suspicions, and she knew it was stupid to look on the other side even when facts are incessantly all over her face, pouring shame into her denial. As to what made her in denial of such truth… well, as mentioned, she is good with denial. A talent of hers if one must call it.
She, an order of merlin first class, the brightest witch of her age, and luminary of her era, decidedly went back to closing her eyes and caved into her heavy blankets. No matter how sleep remained elusive, she did not peek, her curiosity held in check by quiet discipline for she knew that this mystery was better left unsolved. Afterall, discipline is an art she mastered much more than denial. Little did she know that this would come biting her back.
Night bled into days that seemed colder each day. The element of time has been lost on her. She went into her work, clock in and clock out. On Thursdays, she and Malfoy would eat on a restaurant of her choosing. Sometimes she makes him decide. But ultimately, he leaves the decision making to her. They talk about the stars, creatures in the forbidden forest, runes, the wildlings in the manor she has yet to see. They talked about everything and nothing at the same time. They spend time together, but walls seem to evolve from one plain side into an unending maze. What was once a pleasant dinner affair for them both to breath and bond now diminished into another game of chess, instead of her becoming king, she chooses to be the queen. A game she hated playing yet one she refused to back down.
From afar, the king may stand in full strength but of deceit he is a master for on a closer inspection frays of fragility come forth, refusing the aid of pawns surrounding him. The king stands bereft, surrounded by pawns, each move a careful step, while the queen, with her vast reach, manipulates the board with strategic deception. Knights all ready to leap through the shadows, clothed with their grey morality, cloaking their true intentions, while bishops hide behind the veil of righteousness, ready to strike. The rooks, while sometimes disregarded, are powerful and unwavering. They are the pillars of control, holding the fortress intact. In this battle, it's a game of power—where every move is well thought off, accounted for, as it is a gamble, and losing a piece can mean the fall of an empire. The only question that remains… in this board, just who is who. Is the king a brown curly witch in a simple strap dress, a man whose fashion is nothing without her signet ring, either… or neither? Regardless, this game will be played for the foreseeable future. Who wins… Well, that remains to be answered.
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Their meals never began this way. It used to be lighthearted, filled with playful chatter. Or at least, it was for her.
What I don't understand is why the Chudley Cannons chose to recruit Luca. And please, don’t tell me he volunteered out of love, as the Prophet hinted.
“Why ever not?” Drace raised an eyebrow, clearly both annoyed by her opinion and amused that she even had one, especially on Quidditch.
“Well, the Cannons have a solid defense. They don’t need Luca. What I also don’t get is why they'd put Ginny as a Bludger when it’s so clear they’ve been grooming her to be the Seeker.Gods, she is their seeker.”
"True," Draco agreed, his tone lightening. "Ginny's probably planning to retire soon. Maybe she wants a family."
"Possible," Hermione mused. "Knowing Ginny, she’s impulsive, but she's always certain of her choices."
“So, who’s the next Bludger, then?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide with curiosity, the kind that threw Draco off balance. It unsettled him to have someone trust him with such sincerity, to make him feel like his opinion mattered.
Hermione, unaware of his discomfort, continued blasting him with her opinion, “It could be Goyle. He’s strong, tactical, more offense-oriented, but…”
“He betrayed me in 5th grade.” He sullied grumpily.
“You were kids!”
“So were you,” he shot back, the implication clear: you were a kid, but you didn’t betray me. But Hermione was too busy making her point to analyze what he just said.
“Yes, but in his defense, he tri-”
“You’re too trusting,” Draco interrupted in a low, serious tone, his eyes dropping to the boneless fish he’d ordered. “Trusting people will be your death.”
“Oh please!” she rolled her eyes playfully, then added, “You hold grudges too much. Give Goyle some grace.”
“Really?”
“Really, really. If it were you, I’d have given you the benefit of the doubt. In fact, I did, remember?”
“Right.” Draco sighed dramatically, the words almost forced, but the light-heartedness that followed was there. “Alright, holy of all holy, saints of all saints, I, for your sake, will give him GRACE.”
Her laughter filled the air, soft and sweet, and Draco couldn’t help but find it more than cute—she was adorable. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, sobering him, sombering him.
“I wonder what I’d have to do to get that grace from Your Majesty?” he teased, but a trace of bitterness seeped in, despite his attempt to mask it.
Hermione, slightly tipsy from her drink, giggled again.
“Well, for that, I hereby grant you some grace, should you need it. With all the power vested in me by your family’s vault and by law, I shall yield and try to give you what you find difficult to give…”
“You’ll give me the benefit of the doubt? Oh, why not, my beloved grace?” he quipped, humor returning to his voice.
Another giggle followed, and then a hiccup.
“I’ll give you more than that,” she said, swaying slightly. “I shall give you not only grace, but my presence.”
“But such presence would be the height of my honor, Your Majesty,” he replied, his tone joking but laced with something deeper.
“Your Majesty? I thought I was your grace?”
“Well, you are THE queen, so I tweaked the term a little, to suit your fashion.”
“I will collect, and best you remember.”
“Well, it’s a good thing grace and patience are my finest traits,” he said, giving her a smile.
They continued chatting and it was lovely. The first of the many.