"I was planning on it." Pulling her close, setting his hand in her hair. Stroking the way he sometimes he remembered his mother was doing, when he had a nightmare.
"I wish I had a piano here. My mother used to play me to sleep, when I felt awful."
"I taught a friend to play piano once," Hermione says in reply, breathing out. "We were on the run and hiding in an old friend's house and he just kept hitting the keys too hard. No gentleness, that prat, honestly, but he started to pick it up eventually. It was nice to have something to take our mind off the war and all the trouble we were getting ourselves into, even for a little while." She strokes her hand over his back absently. "Maybe I could find us one and we could play together."
"There's one in the music room." And softer, as he feels his stomach fall out. "Kelsi found it, months ago." Dorian hides his face in Hermione's hair, and she doesn't know how grateful he is, how glad. How happy he was to see a mutilated corpse of some stranger, and not to find another dead friend. "I'd love to play with you."
Her breathing hitches a little and she nods her head, eyes closed as she presses closer. They're both suffering, she knows that, and it's not fair of her to draw comfort from him when he might need it just as much. Her arms are tight around him, now, tighter, her head tucked under him even as she squeezes her eyes shut. Images flicker and they open again, wary and unfocussed. "Then we'll go one weekend. We can have tea together and then play something, a bit of a change from all the hard work."
"Yes." He kisses the top of her head, and then he says it. He says that terrible thing. "I'm glad. If I had to lose you, too . . . I'm only sorry that you had to suffer it. I wish I could have killed her in your stead."
Something catches in her breathing, a soft, sad noise dropping from her lips and she shakes her head, leaning back to draw him close, their foreheads touching. Her eyes are still damp, her hands a little shaken as she touches his shoulder, drawing soft brushes of her thumb over him. "I'd do it again. For - for you, for my friends, I... I'd do it again. I won't let anyone hurt you if I can help it. I don't care." She does care, of course she does, no matter what she says otherwise, but she wants to pretend that she is cold enough to not feel the agony of it.
Slowly, slowly, Hermione leans close and kisses his cheek, tugging him against her and letting a hand move up and sink into his hair, just holding him gently. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you."
"I swear. I promise." She holds him tighter, just for a moment, before she leans back. "Will you hold me? Just for tonight, I... I need to know you're here."
"I'll stay." And then, softly, murmured so softly into her hair. "Just please don't let my arm become that awful tingling sensation from having you on it."
Perhaps they do not sleep well, but they do sleep. And it is a good rest for Dorian: one of those evenings when you forget, when you wake with not even the memory of the emotion that haunted you. When you are at peace. His face turned to the light of the window, he smiles at the sun.
Then he remembers.
Dorian sees to it that they have breakfast ready for when they are properly put together: food, tea, everything. He waits until Hermione has eaten a little, wanting to see that she is at least a little looked after, before he starts.
"Hermione? There's something else we need to talk about. It's about Gilgamesh."
Hermione doesn't sleep well. She doesn't wake up, comforted by the bracket of Dorian's body, but it feels like she barely slept at all, a few stolen hours even as the morning light draws her out of a doze. When she blinks the sleep from her eyes it's to panic - at least until she reaches out and remembers he's there, that he hasn't left, that nothing has happened to him and that Dorian is safe.
She eats breakfast like she's picking at it, cross-legged on one of the armchairs she had brought in from her tent, tearing off little pieces of toast before she looks over at him. Slowly, something seems to dawn on her and she swallows, putting her food down and pushing her tea to one side before she breathes out.
Dorian has a magical contract with Gilgamesh - he had been there, had been concerned for her... Did he know?
"I didn't say yes!" She says, quickly, before her cheeks go pink. "If - if that's what this is about. I didn't say yes at all."
She stares, her face paling a little before she swallows, scooting back on her chair.
"... This isn't about the proposal, is it?"
She grabs at her tea quickly, leaning over and taking a long drink, as if to distract herself. If she wasn't in trouble before then she is, most certainly, in trouble now.
"I - yes?" Hermione watches, warily, before she stands up and grabs her wand from the table. A quick Accio ring and the box is flying into her hand, her fingers brushing over it gently. "At Christmas. I - I said no, of course, I don't love him in the least, but he said I could keep the ring. I was going to tell you! I just never had the right time and we were having fun yesterday until..."
He stares at the ring, horrified. "Do you know what he is? Do you know what he has done? If he wants to wed you, it is for power! I don't believe he has known love since prior to 2000 before Christ!"
"I'm not an idiot, Dorian!" Hermione stares at him, eyes wide. "Do you think I'd be silly enough to think that he - that anyone - could love me after only a few months? I might be distracted now and then, I might be better at books, but I know better than to think that he really wants me because of myself. I know he cherishes my magic, he cherishes my - my power, whatever it means to him, and I know he doesn't love me." She drops back to her chair, ring in her hand, the nausea in her stomach rising again. "I didn't say yes."
"Dorian!" Hermione stands, walking around and grabbing his hand, reaching up to rest her own on his shoulders. "Nothing has happened. He hasn't done anything to me, so just - please, relax and tell me what's going on."
He steps back, but only so that he can be sure Hermione is looking at him, so she can see how serious he is.
"Hermione, he has caused a great deal of pain. In his life before, he was a tyrant king who would break his own soldiers in fighting with them for amusement and . . ." Ever the Victorian, he flushes. "And who insisted on the right of kings to a bride's first night. Regardless of desires.
"And since—I don't know the details, but Lord El-Melloi told me that in the war he was resurrected to fight, he betrayed someone and caused a murder. Conspired for it, all for his own ends. He is not evil, but he is not good, either—or rather, he is both, capable of the greatest kindness and the worst cruelties. He can't be ruled or tamed or controlled.
"If he gave you a ring, he wants you. And I'm very scared for what he'll do to you once he gets what he wants."
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"I wish I had a piano here. My mother used to play me to sleep, when I felt awful."
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Perhaps they do not sleep well, but they do sleep. And it is a good rest for Dorian: one of those evenings when you forget, when you wake with not even the memory of the emotion that haunted you. When you are at peace. His face turned to the light of the window, he smiles at the sun.
Then he remembers.
Dorian sees to it that they have breakfast ready for when they are properly put together: food, tea, everything. He waits until Hermione has eaten a little, wanting to see that she is at least a little looked after, before he starts.
"Hermione? There's something else we need to talk about. It's about Gilgamesh."
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She eats breakfast like she's picking at it, cross-legged on one of the armchairs she had brought in from her tent, tearing off little pieces of toast before she looks over at him. Slowly, something seems to dawn on her and she swallows, putting her food down and pushing her tea to one side before she breathes out.
Dorian has a magical contract with Gilgamesh - he had been there, had been concerned for her... Did he know?
"I didn't say yes!" She says, quickly, before her cheeks go pink. "If - if that's what this is about. I didn't say yes at all."
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He asks, "You did not say 'yes' to what?"
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"... This isn't about the proposal, is it?"
She grabs at her tea quickly, leaning over and taking a long drink, as if to distract herself. If she wasn't in trouble before then she is, most certainly, in trouble now.
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"You don't—you don't know him as I do, Hermione. You must be careful with him. That he has taken an interest in you is dangerous enough."
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She steps closer, thumbs stroking over his collarbones.
"I don't understand. He was always... Nice."
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He steps back, but only so that he can be sure Hermione is looking at him, so she can see how serious he is.
"Hermione, he has caused a great deal of pain. In his life before, he was a tyrant king who would break his own soldiers in fighting with them for amusement and . . ." Ever the Victorian, he flushes. "And who insisted on the right of kings to a bride's first night. Regardless of desires.
"And since—I don't know the details, but Lord El-Melloi told me that in the war he was resurrected to fight, he betrayed someone and caused a murder. Conspired for it, all for his own ends. He is not evil, but he is not good, either—or rather, he is both, capable of the greatest kindness and the worst cruelties. He can't be ruled or tamed or controlled.
"If he gave you a ring, he wants you. And I'm very scared for what he'll do to you once he gets what he wants."
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