i started to fall, and the silence deafened

[cleverness]

Glass shattered in every which way as Hermione felt her legs give out from under her, knees colliding unpleasantly with the ground while she managed to instinctively cover the back of her neck. Even as the pain shot through her body, some remaining with a dull ache that dug too deep in her bones, her immediate thought was that she was free to breathe at last, gasping for air even as the tepid air stung against the slight slit across her neck. Perhaps it was a cursed blade. In the end, that wasn't what really mattered; even with her bones feeling very much like jelly and heavy wrought iron weighing her down, Hermione pushed her palms against the floor, willing herself to look up and watch. To see if her friends were safe.

All of them had known what they were signing up for, putting their own lives on the line in the hopes of securing a better future for generations to come, but a lofty goal could never outweigh looming threats and blades held so close to one's throat. Far more terrifying to Hermione than finding herself at odds had always been the thought of either of her best friends getting hurt. Sometimes, at the worst of moments much like that evening at Malfoy Manor, it was hard to suppress the feeling that maybe they shouldn't have been so ambitious after all, that they should have spent more time preparing themselves or potentially even enjoying what little peace they had, more than many others in the war while tucked away in the shadows of unknown forests. Hermione caught a glimpse of red hair and heard Harry shouting incantations, noticed the whiz of Stunning Spells passing by as her hand groped over the floor, despite knowing she'd find no wand there. Her hair fell in front of her eyes to obscure her view, but it didn't stop the scattered shards of glass from glittering like green and red stars spread across the dark marble floor.

Hermione froze when a pair of hands reached out to grasp her, rather than pushing them away, heart racing until it thudded against her ears. Hearing Ron's terse, quiet voice helped stifle the whimper of pain as she nodded. Just nodded, even as she found it difficult to process what he was saying at all. She heard the rending of metal scraping against stone and the light clatter of Gryffindor's sword before a wand was tossed through the relative darkness. With Ron's hand tightly wrapped around her shoulder, Hermione did nothing more than grasp onto his jumper, watching with wide and apprehensive eyes as Harry slung Griphook over a shoulder and grabbed for Dobby's spindly little hand. She tried to reach into her coat, making sure that everything was there— the beaded purse, but still no wand.

And then she hit damp earth with a slap of her cheek against sand, salty air playing with her nose and foam washing by her lips; she coughed in an effort to rid herself of the taste, wincing as the ocean washed over the scrawl of 'Mudblood' over her arm and the minute cuts from the fallen chandelier.

"Ron?" she called out, voice hoarse. "Harry?"

Pushing her palms against the sand and pulling herself up to her knees, Hermione frowned as she looked out over crashing waves and felt the sun beating down on her from above. In spite of how idyllic the scene was, Hermione's fingers only dug deeper into the grains, finding the beaded bag in her immediate line of sight. Gritting her teeth, Hermione got to her feet and wrapped both arms tightly around her waist. As she stood, it soon became clear that all of the items that had been in the bag— clothes, quills, books— were scattered over the sand. Had her charm worn off?

"Oh my God," she murmured to herself, covering her mouth with a hand. The three of them were meant to anticipate everything, to be ready for any eventuality, but she wasn't sure anything could have prepared her for this.

Comments

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

Ron... Harry?

There was no mistaking it. It was no coincidence. It wasn't a nightmare, though Lord knew he'd had ones similar. With a sigh, Draco Malfoy pushed to his feet, dusting sand off of his hideous khaki cargo shorts -- all Muggle clothes, all the time for him now -- and stalked closer.

His hands itched for a wand, but it had been three years since he'd been able to use one reliably, a collection of them hidden uselessly in a box under his bed.

Standing over her, tall and with his silver hair hanging loosely across his forehead, he arched one pale brow and drawled, "Granger," his eyes straying immediately to the word scrawled across her arm. Oh, of course.

[cleverness]

Hermione had been focusing so intently on the mess in front of her, nearly dropping to her knees to examine it all (if it weren't for the fact, of course, that her legs felt very much like they'd just been the recipients of a Jelly-Legs Jinx) and try and determine the reason for the failed charm. The natural assumption was that she was in some place where magic was being suppressed, thorough enough that it even bothered to throw off an extension charm; the pounding in her ears, however, made it very hard indeed to concentrate on the idea.

Enough that by the time she noticed Draco Malfoy standing in front of her, he was a mere arm's length away, startling her as she took a staggered step back, eyes wide and brows tightly knit. There was too much levity in his voice, she immediately thought, for him to have just come from Malfoy Manor. His clothes weren't right. How long had she been unconscious? It had felt like an instant, but most things did anymore, life passing in flashes too quick for much to sear into one's memory at all.

"Malfoy," she replied with hardly a quaver in her voice, keeping her knees bent enough in case she needed to make a break for it, hands held tentatively in front of her, feeling naked without her wand. "Did you bring me here?"

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"Right. It was my dream to find myself trapped on a beach with you, with no magic," Draco said, laughter swelling up behind the words, an almost hysterical edge to it. Where there was Granger, Weasley wasn't far behind, and that would inevitably bring Potter.

The fact that he couldn't decipher his feelings on the issue was a bit of a problem.

"Whatever brought you here, did the same to me." Crouching, he plucked a crumpled brassiere up from the sand, letting it dangle from the end of his pinkie with that same blank, but oddly amused expression. "You certainly didn't pack light, I see."

[cleverness]

The laugh was somehow chilling, in spite of the fact that Hermione couldn't detect very much malice behind it, if there was indeed any at all. Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise, that some of them would remain only as shells of their former selves once the war fell into the background (which it seemed to be right then, even if Hermione still couldn't determine why or how). The only relief came in that small detail Draco gave her— apparently, magic had been suppressed in this place after all. She bit down the temptation to tell him that it couldn't be that there was no magic— how could, after all, magic as a whole disappear, the idea itself was preposterous— and simply that something was weighing down on their abilities, and fixated instead on the fact that he was picking up an article of her clothing that she frankly didn't want him within ten meters of.

"Give that back," she demanded, half-tempted to sock him in the jaw as she closed the distance between the two of them and reached to try and swipe the brassiere away. "'Whatever' brought me here? Are you honestly telling me that you have no idea what or who it was that pulled us to this place? Perhaps it was a Portkey, or— there's a war going on, Malfoy, why are you standing about in Muggle clothes like you've gone into hiding?"

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

Seeing the moment flair behind her eyes when she was moments away from popping him in the nose, Draco let her snatch the garment from his hand and held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back, calm in the face of her growing temper.

"The war is over, Granger. You won. The Dark Lord was defeated and everyone lived happily ever after. Luna's here, if you'd rather hear it from her, but apart from her usual flair, her story won't be that different from mine," he said with only a hint of frustration. He realized, belatedly, that he never would've called her anything but Lovegood before, but her first name slipped out easily now, with more familiarity than he'd intended.

"I've been stuck here for three bloody years, and I've got not more clue as to why than I did the day I turned up on this miserable rock."

[cleverness]

It didn't matter whether or not Draco's words sounded nice in theory; there was absolutely nothing as far as she could see that substantiated his claims. A quiet location could be a sign of peace, but could just as readily be the site of an ambush. Hermione's eyes darted about worriedly, even knowing that there was so little that she could do without her wand, and feeling more than a bit ridiculous with a wet, sandy bra clutched tightly in her hand. Hurriedly, she stuffed it into a pocket of her winter coat. In spite of the fact that the weather was warmer, more humid than England could have been in that time of year, she was glad for the layers, which made her feel somehow protected, and that certainly helped to quell the shiver that still threatened to shake her like a brittle leaf.

"The war can't be over," Hermione blurted out, expression more bewildered than it was scared, the witch more concerned with the logic of it all than the fact that she was still alone on the beach with Draco Malfoy. "I don't know what kind of... joke or ploy this is, but— and when have you ever been so familiar with Luna?"

She threaded her hands into her hair, worrying it subconsciously, before heaving a slow, deep exhale and raising a hand to press at her lips in thought. "Three years. I don't understand how that's possible," she muttered under her breath, still casting Draco a wary look.

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"You of all people should be aware of the concept of time rifts," he said, knowing what an insufferable know-it-all brainiac she was, "Somewhere, the war is over, you're all bloody heroes, and regardless of whether or not you were just with me at the Manor, which I'm assuming you were, I was pulled out of that room three years ago, and dumped here. Believe me or don't believe me. I honestly couldn't give a toss," he said, throwing his hands up dismissively and stalking away to gather up his towel and book from the nearby sand.

"Lovegood's been here over a year. The eldest Weasley's been here longer than all of us, and Lupin and Black are here, too, but they're no more than a handful of years older than you and I are now. I hate to threaten your delicate sensibilities, Granger, but there is no making sense of this. I've got a box of wands I'll bloody hand over to you. They mean absolutely nothing."

[cleverness]

"Yes, of course I'm aware of the concept of time rifts," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes a bit at how ridiculous the statement was, how little it should have mattered in the wake of everything else. But it was true. And if Hermione was honest to herself, there were probably a whole lot more students than simply Harry and Ron who noticed the strange way Hermione seemed capable of being in so many places at once in their third year. A bit impatiently, Hermione exhaled. "But the odds that a rift should lead into a place where magic is suppressed and, of all the people in the world, pick out so many of us who are familiar with one another, are so minute as to be statistically zero. Which means that someone likely has a hold on the rifts, and should that be the case..."

She blinked up toward the sky at the thought. If someone knew how to deposit people at will in a place such as this one, then they were in deep trouble. Such a power, if abused, Hermione could imagine leading to any number of things, her heart beating in her ears again as she turned her attention back to Draco, trying to catch every last word. Quickly, as his back was turned, she tried to gather some of her belongings, only to find that her strength was sapped. Fear usually brought adrenaline about more quickly than anything else, but what Hermione felt right then was the creeping sense of futility.

"Wait," she called out, her knees damp from where they rested in the sand. "Ron and— and Harry, they aren't here? Voldemort... isn't here?"

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"Voldemort was, years ago, but he was as powerless as the rest of us. He spent the better part of his time here locked in a cage, and when he did escape, apparently he was bested by a little girl. As for your friends... they're not, but where one of you is, the others don't seem to be far behind. I half expect one of them to drop out of the sky at any moment," he muttered, waving a flippant hand toward the clouds and throwing his towel over his shoulder.

Turning to face her and pushing a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic display of frustration, he said, "I know the odds. There's magic here, but it's not the kind that any of us seem to be able to control, and whatever sneaky bastard is controlling it, must be a world-class coward, because they've yet to show their face."

[cleverness]

She couldn't have explained how it was so easy to speak to Draco simply once more, in spite of just having come from his manor, facing some of the cruelest of his relatives. But it was. Even as she knelt in the sand, halfheartedly gathering her belongings (and grabbing the books first, lest the pages be ruined by seawater), she couldn't hate him in the way she knew Harry and Ron had at times. Hermione didn't have much respect for the young Malfoy, but he'd never been the real problem at hand. He was just a coward, and in the end, he was the type on which Voldemort fed.

"Bested by a little girl," Hermione repeated in bewilderment with a wrinkled nose, still shivering at the thought of Voldemort, at Nagini slithering from the body of Bathilda Bagshot. She sniffed lightly, her nose running after the chill of the dark halls, her lap already heavily laden with her texts as she reached out for a Nosebleed Nougat, wiping the sand off with her thumb before taking an experimental nibble. Nothing. Staring down at the colorful wrapper, she listened to Draco's remark. "Yes, well, controlling bastards do tend to be cowards at the heart of it, don't they?"

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"Hm," he answered noncommittally, because whether it was a subtle dig at himself or at Voldemort alone, he didn't rightly care.

"You're not going to be able to carry all that on your own," he pointed out, and though it wasn't an offer to help, the thought had crossed his mind. Which, in itself, horrified him. He could remember being eleven years old, sitting in class and glaring at her bushy head, hating her for what she was and the fact that she still managed top marks in absolutely everything. He remembered growing to hate her more and more, hating her for her loyalty to Potter, for her friendship with Weasley, for the fact that through it all, she'd always been able to see right through him.

Now, it all seemed rather pointless.

[cleverness]

With a brief glance down at the pile of books in her arms, Hermione glanced about for the two rucksacks that she'd brought along with everything else. The bags that had seemed so unnecessary back when she'd packed them, stuffed in the beaded bag only because it wasn't exactly any extra weight on her hands anyway. Now, they were the only hope she had of trying to bring everything along as she hurriedly stuffed books and clothes in either, leaving behind heavier objects like the cauldrons and Phineas Black's portrait, strangely still even as seawater washed over the paint.

As her head dipped under the guise of concentration, Hermione breathed to stave off the emotions which washed over her, as she still felt quite lost, and rather alone. She'd have to find Remus and Sirius soon, she told herself, even if they were young. And thank Merlin, she added, that Luna and Bill were present to offer familiar and friendly faces. Blinking rapidly, she bit her lower lip and quickly brushed at the corner of an eye with the back of a hand, pulling herself to her feet through sheer willpower. Whatever couldn't fit in the rucksacks went into the cauldrons, with the brief hope that anyone who saw them wouldn't go taking the belongings for themselves.

Although she'd half expected Draco to run off while she was so occupied, Hermione looked up at last once done, having hastened enough that all of the packing took all of five minutes, messy though the outcome was. Slinging the heavier rucksack over her shoulder, she walked over, keeping her footing as sure as she could manage. Wordlessly, with an inquisitive tilt of her head and questioning raise of her brow, she held the other sack out. She didn't want to beg. Somehow, Hermione wondered if voicing it would have been worse, making whatever kind of truce that stood between them obvious to the point where it would crumble. But she also didn't want to let him walk away without a word, without paying back for all of the trouble somehow.

"No, I'm not," she replied quietly, making it obvious that she wasn't forcing him into anything. Not sure she'd ever had that power.

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

Heaving out a sigh and allowing himself a dramatic roll of his steel gray eyes, Draco curled long fingers around the strap of the rucksack and flung it over his shoulder, shifting the weight with only a faint grunt of displeasure.

"I can take you to Luna, but I haven't got a bloody clue where the rest of them are. Otherwise, I suppose the dormitories are a good place to start." All of this come out heavy with exasperation, but compared to how he'd held himself at Hogwarts, he was being downright amiable.

[cleverness]

There was an overwhelming sense of curiosity which surged in Hermione as soon as Draco took the rucksack. Was he feeling guilt? Was this some halfhearted attempt at making up for all that he had done back in their school years, or was it more trying to forge some kind of bridge when all that had kept their generation torn apart— circumstance, station— no longer applied, if this place was truly as Draco had described? Hermione blinked in surprise before she followed along, tugging at part of her sleeve to try and brush away the sand from her injured arm.

"I'd like to see Luna, and the rest of them," she admitted with a hesitant nod, wondering how she was supposed to feel at this turn of luck, stomach making a few somersaults at the thought of seeing Sirius, wishing Harry was there with her. "But you've been here for three years, Malfoy. Supposedly. Surely there's more you can tell me than where the dormitories are?"

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"While I am apparently your pack-mule, Granger, I am not a tour guide," he answered flatly, cutting her a look through narrowed eyes.

Stepping into a battered pair of green flip flops and pointing her in the direction of the path, he said, "I could spout off a list of uninteresting facts about this retched place, but I'm growing bored already, just thinking about it."

[cleverness]

She didn't trust him. Trust would have entailed some amount of faith in Draco, a belief that he would weather through when the going got rough, and Hermione had not seen enough yet to merit that type of sentiment. It didn't appear as though he was lying, and the line of his shoulders, less tense than she remembered as of late, was suggestive enough of the fact that he believed this place to be relatively safe (inasmuch as safety was only ever relative, never complete). But anyone could be an ally in times of peace. Were any threat to arrive, or even Harry were to step foot on the island and serve as a reminder to Draco of how they had all stood on opposite sides for so long, it stood a chance of changing things, Hermione reminded herself.

And at the bottom of it, all logic aside, Hermione could not bring herself to trust just anyone right then, still doing her best to hide the fact that she wanted nothing more than a quiet space under the sun to curl up. To be invisible. What use was there in being extraordinary, a small voice in the back of her head asked, what use was there in being strong, in Harry and Ron being the bravest souls she'd ever met? It only brought them trouble.

She didn't trust Draco, but there was a part of her that dearly wanted to, although she let the sentiment go unspoken, fairly certain that the last thing Draco wanted was what could be construed as some form of pity. (Which it wasn't, but certain lines were thin.)

"A pack mule doesn't choose to accept its burdens," Hermione pointed out with the barest trace of a smile passing over her expression, one that melted away quickly enough. "If this place bores you so, you could always tell me how you know the outcome of the war. What... happens. That isn't about to bore either of us, is it?"

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"Longbottom was here. He came from months after you... escaped from the Manor. From the last battle, at Hogwarts, from what I understand. I know bits and pieces. Some of it I got from him, some of it from others, but I know that Potter killed Him, in the end. I know that the three of you came out in one piece, the way you somehow always manage to do, against all rhyme or reason. And I'm sure those of us left, who weren't thrown immediately into Azkaban, slithered off in disgrace," Draco said, rolling his eyes and feeling something tighten behind his breastbone that he had no desire to identify.

"You're still there, now. Doing whatever it is you do keep Potter and Weasley in line. The island... whoever or whatever controls it, seems to be able to pop us in and out without any time seeming to have passed at all." He thought, suddenly, of returning to the manor. Of breaking Luna out of the basement and helping Potter and his friends escape. When he'd returned to the island, hours of time back in Wiltshire seemed to have passed within the blink of an eye.

[cleverness]

It very nearly unnerved Hermione, how quickly Draco was offering up answers and explanations alike, one of her hands growing pale as she gripped the strap of her bag tightly. Her heart lurched at the thought of Neville, just for a moment before she felt herself swell with an unbridled pride. Of course he'd be at the final battle, of course any battle at Hogwarts wouldn't run in Voldemort's favor without a true fight. But those knots in her stomach remained where they were, because regardless of what everyone else had experienced, until Hermione saw it all with her own two eyes, it was only ever a story. Clearly, time was no longer a barrier. That which had occurred in the past could be written and rewritten, if they were all pulled to this place from different dates and places.

She lowered her gaze, fingers pressing thoughtfully against her lips. This was all familiar. People caught in a state of uncertainty, being forced to reexamine their lives, burdened, and apparently appearing or disappearing at intervals? It sounded like Purgatory.

"Time can't... stop," Hermione murmured. "We can move around from place to place in history, but time itself can't stop or pause. So the question remains, are we being moved around with our memories modified as necessary, or are we..." She paused, shaking her head and pinching her nose.

"Do you know where on the map we are now? Perhaps there's some history to this region, I can search through my books to see if there's some possible explanation specific to the area that I've overlooked."

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

Her constant stream of questions, her curiosity and need to puzzle out every single uncertainty, was almost comforting. A part of his childhood he hadn't missed, but that he'd never quite forgotten.

"Somewhere in the Pacific, is the most specific answer anyone seems able to give," he said, shifting the weight of the rucksack and leading her down the main stretch of boardwalk.

"Some of the others claim they're not from Earth. Personally, it's rather difficult not to assume this place is Hell. Or something like it. Of course, some people seem perfectly happy here, though they're clearly out of their minds."

[cleverness]

The Pacific Ocean. Hermione's brow raised with incredulity at the information; the tropics were a pretty large region, even if she was limited to the span of the Pacific Ocean. And the knowledge that she had moved so far, not only in time, but physically as well, was more overwhelming than Hermione had expected for it to be. Not to mention that no matter how helpful Draco was being, the very thought of him being helpful at all made Hermione's mind swim. She stared over her shoulder one last time, as though still expecting one of the boys to fall from the sky in the way that Draco had alluded to, or at the very least to find anything that might lead her back. Nothing.

"I hope they're not making that assumption based on climate and indigenous species alone," Hermione said quietly, thinking to herself that someone capable of pulling people deliberately into such a space could very well be just as capable of manipulating the area to their heart's content. Staring at the boardwalk for a length, Hermione then looked over at Draco, taking in his outfit once more, the slight color that was now in his skin. If there was more to know about this place, or more that Draco wanted her to know, Hermione surmised that he would have said so already. "Three years in Hell don't seem to have treated you too poorly, Malfoy. Beach slippers, Muggle clothing... or is that still your definition of torture?"

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"It's the stars, or something," he shrugged dismissively, because to be honest, he couldn't give a fuck where they were or weren't. It wouldn't change the fact that they were stuck, and apparently wouldn't be leaving until the island was through with them.

"I suppose those are only minor annoyances," he admitted with a reluctant sigh, "Being unable to produce even the simplest of charms? That is torture."

[cleverness]

Immediately looking up to the sky, Hermione sighed as she realized that it would be impossible to try and make out much of anything in the sky at that time of day. Fortunately, she thought to herself, she'd paid close attention during Astrology and would probably be able to determine where they were, draw up some type of star chart. The thought also came to her that surely, there must have been a way to sail out if this was just some island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But if there was one thing Hermione could have said for Draco over the years, it was that the young man was far from stupid; in fact, he was one of the top in their year, and was probably a better consult for such ideas than either Harry or Ron.

"Just think of it," Hermione suggested with a wry smile, "like being underage once more, no longer allowed to cast any spells outside of school grounds. Or as a learning experience, if you will. Knowing how to perform certain tasks without the aid of magic can come in handy." Her feet continued stepping regularly down the path, a hand moving to the back of her neck and rubbing uncomfortably there. She'd never spoken with Draco like this, before.

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"The Manor ran on a series of charms and spells and a large staff of House Elves. This is nothing like being underage," he reminded her, and while he would always compare his home to those of Muggle-borns with a hint of haughty disdain, it had dulled significantly. It had become difficult for him to feel any sort of pride in his family.

"It shifted from learning experience to way of life long ago, Granger. I cook, I clean, I do it all without the aid of magic. I'm sure you would consider that a great accomplishment."

[cleverness]

Hermione's jaw clenched at the mention of House Elves, particularly about those who had lived and served at the Manor. Dobby had been example enough, showing that Draco's family had never treated them humanely, truly thought of them as lower than themselves. But as much as she was tempted to bite at Draco on the matter, she stopped, because he didn't seem much like himself to begin with. Maybe she'd just talk it out with Bill later, once she knew where Bill was at all. Surely, there was a place on the island where everyone could commune for meals.

"It's an accomplishment," Hermione managed, keeping her voice as light as possible. "Although it doesn't seem like the biggest chance. Don't tell me that three years' absence made your heart grow fonder."

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"I still feel as though there's a piece of me missing. I doubt that will ever fade. You might have grown up among Muggles, but magic has been a part of me since I was born," he reminded her a bit stiffly, and even with the distance and time, and living as a Muggle himself, there were prejudices that he would carry with him forever.

No matter what happened to him, no matter what changed, being without magic would always seem to be the inferior way of life.

[cleverness]

"But all of us have pieces of ourselves that are missing, don't we?" Hermione asked then, raising her brow, before looking away within a few seconds, refusing, refusing to delve too deeply into the matter with Draco Malfoy. As much as she was trying to believe that he'd changed, and as much as he truly seemed to be somehow different, it was asking too much to speak to him precisely like a peer. In some way, he was an indelible mark in her world, one she had no desire to ignore had ever been there, but that was a far cry from friend, and even further from family.

Which was the loss she felt most deeply then.

"That said, I hope this place leaves me with some means of conducting research. Of course, observing the peculiarities of this island shouldn't require the use of magic, but I've, I mean we've all grown to depend on it." Her lips pressed firmly together. "Do you still want to go back?"