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[--he laughs, a short bark that's mostly without humour.]

What about being on a spaceship prison is healthy, Hermione? [Which isn't at all the point, he knows.]

The part where some people can see their friends again. Or the part where people can have a job, and a life, where they didn't before. It might be a prison, but if you spend your entire life thinking of it as just a prison then you're definitely going to struggle.

[ She frowns, staring down at her tea. ]

Being in worlds like this - it's not good. I know that, I've experienced it myself, and not just here. But if all we do is look for reasons to be miserable then we're damning ourselves, and what's the point in that?

[He can feel it, those 'reasons for being miserable' bottling up behind his throat and choking him. She doesn't know, any of it. Erik's fingers tighten around the cup and he stares hard at the table.]

It doesn't matter to me, being here. [Not so much as it used to. Everything he has is here.] I'm not missed back home. But it is what it is. I won't look away from that.

It matters to me.

[ Hermione bows her head, and she purses her lips. ]

You being here, I mean. It matters to me. I'm glad I got to meet you, Erik, not just because I knew you as someone important to Charles, but because of you. You're my friend, and that matters. I'd miss you.

[He finds himself at a loss, the sudden admission taking him by surprise. It always does. He can write out his litany of crimes in his mind all he wants, but he forgets that not everyone knows about them... and not everyone holds them against him. So the silence stretches onwards, Erik clearly not sure how to respond.]

[ The thing is... Hermione doesn't need to know. She already knows herself, the people she's loved and forgiven, the things she's seen - the things she's done... And so she offers her trust without hesitation. If she can be forgiven, if people can trust her, if they can see good in her then she can do the same. It's what inspires her now, even as she breathes out, cheeks a little red as she takes a long drink of her tea.

... Either she's made him feel better or she's ruined things forever. Either way, she'll need her tea. ]

...it doesn't matter how much time I take. I don't think it will get any better.

You don't know that for sure, though.

[ She leans back, pressing her fingers into the scarring on her arm, before she closes her eyes and bows her head. ]

I'm sorry. I shouldn't really be lecturing you - I'm sure you have your reasons. I just want you to be happy.

[He shakes his head, expression crumpling a bit before he regains control of himself. Happiness isn't something he can seek. He had let it slip through his fingers, or it had been ripped away from him. Some solace can be found in his remaining family, his friends. That's all.]

You're allowed to have your opinions.

[ Reaching out, eyes glued to Erik's face, Hermione shakes her head, fingers resting over his as she squeezes gently. ]

Maybe, but you're also allowed to tell me to shut up. I know I can be quite intolerable sometimes.

No more than I am.

I find you quite tolerable, actually, Mr. Lehnsherr.

You've caught me at the end of my worst.

[He falls silent for a moment, looking at Hermione's fingers curled on top of his. As always, he feels the rings there. Silver on his pointer. Gold on his ring. "I'm sure you have your reasons."

Yes. He does. And they're not ones he should drop on her, not when all he'd come over for is to give her a belated birthday present. But it feels like navigating a maze, answering her questions without really saying anything. Erik doesn't lift his gaze, and when he talks again it's quiet.]

My family died.

At least it's the end and not the beginning.

[ She doesn't think there's much she'd be able to do to help, if it was right at the beginning. She's never been as good at comfort as she'd like - Lavender Brown could argue that point - but she tries. She does her best, and when Erik's words sink around her... She breathes out a soft noise, turning her head back to him.

Careful, her hand squeezes his, but for a moment she stays silent. Sorries and apologies aren't enough - and she knows that. When John died, when Aslan died, when Gilgamesh died - when Harry died, or she'd thought he had... Nothing was enough to fix her heart. She knows how it feels to lose family, but she's not sure she can express that without sounding like an idiot.

Instead, she looks back at Erik, solemn and quiet. ]

I can see how that can be the worst. For you.

[She has the right of it. It's the pain of having finally let himself heal, have some hope again... only to have it shattered and crushed into dust. Everything's in ruins. And everyone expects him to just... fix himself. Become okay again. As though the broken pieces of his heart can possibly fit back together, when two of those pieces are gone forever.

He doesn't meet Hermione's eyes.]

No. This isn't as bad as it was... when it happened. [If she had been there at that time, she would only have found a monster, howling for death. Caught in the clutches of a real monster, puppeting him around.] It's only changed shape.

[ Hermione doesn't want to say she understands; she doesn't want Erik to think that her empathy comes from a place of falsehood, but she doesn't know if offering her own experiences would do anything to ease the pain in his heart. She's lost so much, too - family, friends, herself, all of it a tangled mess inside of her, but... She doesn't think that would help him.

Instead, she squeezes his hand, holding onto him gently.

It's the best she can do. ]

It changes, but it doesn't go away. That sort of pain isn't a scar, or something you can just.. Cover up. It's more like a scab, really. It heals, and you know it's there, but you can pretend it doesn't hurt as long as you don't touch it. Sometimes something else rips it open, though... And there's no hiding from it anymore.

[He finally looks up, unguarded. Because it's true, but it's not far enough. His wound hasn't scabbed over. It's still flayed open; it doesn't need to be touched to still lance him with pain. He can occupy himself for a time, yet he knows it's still there. He's always been masterful at pushing through pain... this time, though, it's much harder.]

It's... disfiguring.

[ Hermione looks at Erik, and she nods her head. There's no point in trying to hide the fact that she's as raw and hurt as he is - it doesn't matter how much time passes, the death of the people you love is impossible to ignore. The first time Dorian had died for her (and the fact that she has to say 'first time' speaks for itself) she had been so broken and lost she had ripped a woman's spine out.

There's no coming back from that kind of pain. ]

It's not going to go away... But that's alright. If we accept it and force ourselves to pretend then we're not being ourselves, and no one wants that.

[He's silent for a moment. She understands it. That wound, unhealing, always bleeding.]

Who I am is broken. If I act that way, the way it really is... there's little reason for anyone to speak to me.

[The faultlines will become clearer, the longer people look. All those little words of encouragement, the belief that he'll fix himself and get better... that will dry up, eventually. They'll see that he was never all right to begin with. Because if he hasn't managed to be okay in over fifty years, what hope does he have of being so now?]

I'm still speaking with you.

[ Hermione tilts her head up, smile softening, just a little. ]

I think maybe... You underestimate yourself. Or maybe people are underestimating you, or something like that. You don't have to be okay right now, straight away. If you need more time - years, even - to be okay? Then that's fine. What you suffered is something that no one should have to go through, and no one else can dictate the length of time it takes for you to feel different.

[Years. He lets out a shaky breath, because he knows that truth deep in his bones. It took him over thirty years to come to terms with his parents' deaths, find some peace. Will it be the same, with Magda and Nina? ...will he die himself before he can heal?]

I don't know that it's possible for me.

Anything is possible.

[ Hermione moves, bring her chair closer to Erik, and she tilts her head up to look at him. ]

It's been years for me, and... I'm not okay. I might be good at pretending sometimes, but I'm not. I believe in you, Erik, and... I believe that you can take all the time you need, that - that you don't have to live up to anything or anyone but yourself.

[This was an appalling way to tell someone happy birthday, he thinks. By dumping his problems on them. At least he'd given her something she truly did like first.

He has to look away after a moment, though he nods. The idea of being like this for years on end is almost suffocating. It's why he hasn't tried to look to the future - he doesn't know what can lie there except this great emptiness that's been punched through his soul. Digging a nail into the counter, he speaks again, words a little rocky.]

It's been three months, since my wife and daughter were killed. I don't know that I can live up to what I was with them.

That's because you can't.

[ There's no point in being anything else but blunt and honest with him, really, and she doesn't mean to be cruel - but she can't help herself. Tilting her head up, she breathes out. ]

If you're comparing yourself to a person you were with them then... You're never going to be able to move forward, Erik. You'll be stuck, because... They're not here.

[ Hermione doesn't hesitate to reach out, to take his hand into her, to hold onto it gently. ]

You can't constantly compare yourself to who you were with them, because you'll never be able to move forward. You'll never be happy again.

[He lowers his head, feeling the weight of those words. He knows, of course, that he'll never be like that again. In a way, the person he had been died that day with his family. 'Henryk Gurzsky' perished months ago. But moving forward? He's tried, so many times. It doesn't seem to work. And he doesn't know that he wants to move forward from them.

Even though time will do that inexorably, no matter how he fights it.

His hand is rough, skin coarsened from years of hard labour. After a moment, he lets out a breath and curls his fingers around Hermione's.]

This isn't what I had in mind when I came over.

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