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[ Her hand, moving from his cheek to his neck, curls around him, thumb stroking against his jaw before she breathes out. Her other hand shifts, reaching up to touch his chest, over where his heart is. ]

I'm glad to hear that. I know you come back, but doesn't it hurt?

[Still and quiet, his voice stops in his throat. Ah, why is that? It isn't worth lingering over.

And yet he smiles, and speaks quietly. A bow barely brushed against its violin's strings.]

Yes.

Dorian...

[ Her hand grips at his shirt, holding on to him. Hermione understands the Drabwurld now, she understands the pain, the danger, the pressure, all of it. She understands death better than she ever had, understands intimacy, loss.

It doesn't make it easier. ]

I could say a thousand things right now but I'm afraid I might just give you a lecture.

[She grips him, and a chill runs through him. Dorian turns aside and draws backs, so all she sees is a profile, eyes hidden in boyish curls and mouth open in an expression that refuses to be despair. Quickly, he shakes his head.]

It's not—I. [Ah, but he can't lie, can he?]

I'm used to it.

[ She has no idea what he has suffered, no more than what he's told her. She doesn't understand what is running through him, the things that weigh on his mind. But the fact remains that Hermione wants to take care of him, to smother him in all the love and care inside of her. The things they had seen together, the things they had felt, the tenderness exchanged and given... She wants to indulge in that, to see him turn away from the darkness and to see him smile.

Her own memories of the Citadel coil over her and she feels her own guilt settling around her. She had fought, she had hurt, she was sure that a few people had died because of her - not just because of her indirect magic but because of her magic itself, slamming them into the ground, hurting and bleeding from what she had done, and she breathes out as she grips at him all the more. ]

That doesn't make it better. I got used to people bullying me, calling me mudblood, but that didn't make it right, did it?

[ Death upon death upon death; the suffering must be burning inside of him. Surely. ]

Edited 2015-05-29 21:36 (UTC)

[His eyes flicker up, and he latches onto it: something outside of him, something other than himself. Something he can raise the conversation to lightheartedness with.]

I'm surprised that you didn't get used to just tormenting your bullies right back instead.

[ She shakes her head, her thumb stroking over his chest through his shirt - gentle intimacy, softness, companionship, the things she knows her best friend responds to. ]

I did punch one in the face once. I duelled the other, the worst of them all, after pretending to be her to break into a bank.

[He raises his eyebrows, even as her expressions of affection keep him in place. His hand settles on her leg as he moves back into place.]

You've lived a very strange life, Hermione Granger. And that's from a man who everyone thinks is just a character in a book.

You have no idea the stories I could tell you. I trapped a woman in a jar, once, for spying on me and writing awful things in a newspaper. I broke into a bank, the Ministry, transformed into someone else to do it, I was tortured, I rode a dragon, I fought dark witches and wizards and all because it was the right thing to do, to help my best friend.

[ Her eyes glance back up at him and it's clear what her message is, in this moment. To help her best friend she would do anything, even die. Hermione Granger would have died for Harry. ]

[Vengeance. Torture. Violence. Extremes. Dorian listens, and now—now it doesn't surprise him. He is not surprised to see her bring her vengeance down on one who crossed her; he is not surprised to know she has endured terrible things. Hermione Granger has a will to her, strong and unshakable, and such willful people can do and suffer anything.

It is how he is, after all.]

And even so. [Soft, along the backs of his fingernails, he traces over he side of her face and tugs hair behind her ear.] You're pure.

[Pure of heart, pure of soul.]

[ Pure. Wholesome and untainted by immorality. Is that true now? Hermione Granger who has a death to her name, blood on her hands, who had seen what her mistakes had done to this world - the horror and pain her choice had caused Caer Scima. Her scar is a mark of that, is an echo of it, and she closes her eyes and tilts her face into his touch, letting him move her hair, letting him touch her; there is so much she would let Dorian do, that she would do for him.

She isn't pure, but perhaps she can let him believe that she is, that she is untouched by this world, that she's undamaged from her own. She isn't, but he can believe it. ]

Am I? [ Hermione breathes out, her eyes closed, her hand gripping at him, and the chill down her spine makes her feel lost. ] Dorian? Would you kiss me?

[Perhaps Dorian has a different perspective on pure. For Dorian, purity is not a morality but a quality, an element of substance. Pure gold, pure water, pure hope—pure good, and pure evil. Each of them is purity. And all purity is rare.

His fingers slide over her jaw bone. With a gentle pull, he brings their lips together. Just as asked.]

[ As soon as his lips touch hers Hermione leans into it; she shifts closer, lifting herself a little so she can press into it, so she can draw him close. It's something that stems from the battle, from her losses, from the way that she's sure she isn't as pure as she once was - a desperation that comes from needing something she can't name, needing to know that she's real, that she isn't losing herself.

It's not the chaste, innocent thing she had given him months before. Instead, Hermione tilts, drawing Dorian closer, deepening the kiss. He's real, she tells herself, I'm real, we're alive and we're together. No matter how far she goes, no matter how frayed the tethers of her heart and her emotions get, she will always have him. He will always draw her back. ]

[Dorian understands that. Dorian needs that. He can't lie with his words, but at least he can do this. He can tell the lie of their kisses, the reassurances that this won't go away.

He needs it as much as she does right now.]

[ It's everything and not enough all at once. Hermione doesn't know what she needs, really, only that she needs to know Dorian is safe, needs to know she's safe, that they're together and alive even though she's seen the life ripped from him twice now. She grips at him, leaning into the kiss as he does, offering herself to him and trying not to let her emotions betray her as surely as she knows they are.

Gentle hands shift to cup his cheeks and Hermione fights her tears, giving in to her needs for the first time in a long time. Is she using him? No, he needs this too, she thinks, a reassurance, the knowledge that they're in this together. ]

[When he draws back, he doesn't let go. His brows furrow over eyes that turn from her, set down, and his mouth curves.]

It's the best thing I can do. What I did on the battlefield, what I—I'm damned, Hermione. I am unsaveable. [A little laugh, and he tips his head forward, gives a fleeting press of the lips.] But I can die, at the cost of a little pain, and I can save someone else that way.

[When he finally looks at her, he is desperate and hopeful, despairing and vulnerable. He reaches for her face.]

It's good, isn't it? I didn't want to hurt you, but this way—I won't leave, not even when I die, and it's a good thing. To protect other people. To make a sacrifice that would be so much greater from someone else. Isn't that good?

[ She knows that if she argues that he isn't damned he'll fight back and argue against her, maybe even laugh, so she bites her tongue on that point - but her hands lift, stroking over his cheeks, holding him close, and she closes her eyes all the tighter. ]

It's not just a little pain, though, is it? It must hurt, horribly, every single time. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. It hurts here.

[ She puts a hand over her heart, letting his hands touch her face, leaning in to him, gazing at him, this man who is her best friend. ]

I'm glad you want to protect people, Dorian, I'm glad that you're doing something good. But it isn't a little pain and I'm never going to be used to it, to seeing you die. I don't think I'll ever be okay with it.

[He smiles a little, and it is such a fragile expression, such a delicate lifting of his lips, like he's scared that it won't go away. It is something good. Hermione says it is good. So, there's a little good left in him, right?]

But if it is me or you . . . There is no choice.

You have to live.

[ Hermione closes her eyes and leans close, pressing her lips against his forehead, against his nose and his cheek and then finally his lips, slow things, before she nods. ]

I know. But...

[ That shouldn't mean you have to die. ]

Can I give you something?

[Dorian's eyes open up. He looks at her, curious, uncertain.]

Of course.

You don't have to look so worried.

[ She shakes her head, fond, before she goes to her bag and pulls out two chains, connected to each other, before she splits them. ]

I used a little bit of runic magic and some of my own to adjust a spell from my world. This should act as a sort of compass for us, just each other, so if we're in trouble we can find each other.

[ She glances up, almost shy. ]

So if there's another battle and you need me...

[Dorian takes one half in hand, turns it over. He feels a touch of the magic beneath it, sensitive to the sparks. And he looks back up at her.]

Yes. And you'll come find me, if you're the one in need?

[ She pauses, for a moment, before she smiles and leans forward. ]

Of course. If I need you I'll come.

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