The prickle of Dorian's strength is nothing short of beautiful. Hermione had always loved the Patronus, loved it as much as it frustrated her, the power and complexity of it, and she can't deny that she's desperately impressed by how quickly he and Gilgamesh had done this together. It's impossible not to turn her head a little when she hears her name, the prickle of raw energy enough to make her want to succumb to the urge to move back to his side. For all that she is disinterested and hurt because of Gilgamesh she is inspired and awed by Dorian, one of the truest friends she's known in some time.
It only hurts more when Gilgamesh stands in front of her, impossible to ignore.
Once, she would have trusted him without hesitation. She'd have taken his hands in her own and stood, raised back, and nodded her head, trusted in his words, actions and tutoring. Now she knows better, her lips turned down into a just-there frown, her eyes lifted in an almost glare as he speaks his pretty words. She knows that he is honest, at least in this, more than he might have been a few months before, but there is an ache inside of her that she doesn't dare consider. Looking at him hurts her, wounds her, and it's the steady pulse of betrayal.
"It's not just about power. If it was I'd be fine."
Her voice is quiet, a soft whisper compared to his easy speech. It's hard for her to focus, to look over at Dorian, so desperately overwhelmed by whatever Gilgamesh gave him, the raw power and strength, and she swallows her own frustration and her own envy, her own mixed feelings, before she draws her wand again. The weight is familiar in her hand and she tilts her head, twisting a little as she steps away from Gilgamesh; if there is one thing she can say about his company it is that it makes her want to do everything in her power to prove herself, to show that she is more than just a Marchioness. She is Hermione Granger; she is a Protectress, a Sorceress, she is a fighter and a survivor and she has faced far worse than an arrogant, deceptive toad of a man.
Her eyes close and she stops thinking about him. Instead, she focuses on the little things. Dancing with Lancelot. Tea and toast with Dorian. Laughing with Harry-the-Hound at Christmas, seeing Remus alive, watching Padfoot step out her fireplace, Rizhao's laughter and Bridei's excitement when she holds him, folding herself in her surrogate father's arms and knowing she is safe, wrapping herself in all the happy memories and forcing the awful ones away, tucking them in the back of her mind and twisting them, shifting and letting something else warm her. Her shard is a soft glow in her chest, the focus not on that power but inspired by her thoughts, and she waves her wand as she casts.
"Expecto Patronum."
She twists her wand in the circles she needs, imbues it with her power, and instead of a barely there white fog it becomes something real. It's still different, though, not what she was expecting; where once there would have been an otter, small and happy to dance around her body, a happy, small creature, there is instead a ferocious lioness, the silent roar of it almost tangible as it leaps from her wand and begins to dance around the three of them, corporeal, and something catches in her throat. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she turns her head away, frustrated, hurt by the form her protector has taken.
"I - there." Are you happy now? Does he believe in her now? Her magic, her power, the things he wanted from her, the things she would never have known without Dorian's aid?
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It only hurts more when Gilgamesh stands in front of her, impossible to ignore.
Once, she would have trusted him without hesitation. She'd have taken his hands in her own and stood, raised back, and nodded her head, trusted in his words, actions and tutoring. Now she knows better, her lips turned down into a just-there frown, her eyes lifted in an almost glare as he speaks his pretty words. She knows that he is honest, at least in this, more than he might have been a few months before, but there is an ache inside of her that she doesn't dare consider. Looking at him hurts her, wounds her, and it's the steady pulse of betrayal.
"It's not just about power. If it was I'd be fine."
Her voice is quiet, a soft whisper compared to his easy speech. It's hard for her to focus, to look over at Dorian, so desperately overwhelmed by whatever Gilgamesh gave him, the raw power and strength, and she swallows her own frustration and her own envy, her own mixed feelings, before she draws her wand again. The weight is familiar in her hand and she tilts her head, twisting a little as she steps away from Gilgamesh; if there is one thing she can say about his company it is that it makes her want to do everything in her power to prove herself, to show that she is more than just a Marchioness. She is Hermione Granger; she is a Protectress, a Sorceress, she is a fighter and a survivor and she has faced far worse than an arrogant, deceptive toad of a man.
Her eyes close and she stops thinking about him. Instead, she focuses on the little things. Dancing with Lancelot. Tea and toast with Dorian. Laughing with Harry-the-Hound at Christmas, seeing Remus alive, watching Padfoot step out her fireplace, Rizhao's laughter and Bridei's excitement when she holds him, folding herself in her surrogate father's arms and knowing she is safe, wrapping herself in all the happy memories and forcing the awful ones away, tucking them in the back of her mind and twisting them, shifting and letting something else warm her. Her shard is a soft glow in her chest, the focus not on that power but inspired by her thoughts, and she waves her wand as she casts.
"Expecto Patronum."
She twists her wand in the circles she needs, imbues it with her power, and instead of a barely there white fog it becomes something real. It's still different, though, not what she was expecting; where once there would have been an otter, small and happy to dance around her body, a happy, small creature, there is instead a ferocious lioness, the silent roar of it almost tangible as it leaps from her wand and begins to dance around the three of them, corporeal, and something catches in her throat. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she turns her head away, frustrated, hurt by the form her protector has taken.
"I - there." Are you happy now? Does he believe in her now? Her magic, her power, the things he wanted from her, the things she would never have known without Dorian's aid?