Chapter Seven
In the warm, glowy haze, he could see the shadowy form of a girl. His eyes felt as though they'd been shut for a very long time, and it took a great deal of strength for him to drag his eyes open. He felt a warm blanket around him, and the softest cushion he'd ever felt cushioning his back. He tried to stir but found that his legs were dreadfully weak.
His eyes almost hurt from trying to keep them open, but he didn't dare to shut them, and allow the darkness of his dreams to overwhelm him again. So he struggled with the eternal heaviness pulling at his eyelids, watching the Someone kneel before the source of the glow. He heard a girl's voice murmuring quietly, and he wondered why she'd talk to the fire-- but then he saw something in her hand, and his heart jumped to his throat.
He let out a cry of fear, at least he tried, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. Instantly the girl whipped around, still holding the weapon (for that was all he could think that it was, unless his grandfather had been right) aloft. He struggled, kicking his legs and fighting to get away; she must be one of them. One of those!
His vision cleared and then blurred, and he knew he was crying, but he couldn't get the sobs out properly, nor the angry yells he was dying to unleash. He felt a soft hand brush up against his hot cheek, cool and gentle, and he hated it when he realized that all his strength had left him, and that he couldn't fight it anymore.
"Shh..."
A slender finger swept across his cheekbone, catching his tears.
"It's all right." assured a gentle, soothing voice, "You're safe."
"You're one of them." he managed to choke, "You hurt her, you hurt her--"
"No." said the voice, and he opened his eyes again, squinting at the face that belonged to the voice. The girl's face was rather small, and she had soft brown eyes that glowed warmly as he looked up. Almost instantly, something came over him, something that soothed him. She smiled kindly, then ran a hand through his hair.
"You're all right now." she said again, and she lifted a cupful of something to his lips. "Here, drink this."
He parted his lips and allowed the liquid to pass his mouth. He coughed at the sharp, bitter taste, wondering for a wild moment if she'd tried to poison him, but as soon as it hit his gut some energy entered his limbs, and he struggled upright.
She was kneeling beside the couch he was sitting on, the firelight casting a slight glow on her face. She had rather curly brown hair, and he noticed now that it was night. Again she smiled-- a rather nice smile, he thought.
"I'm glad you're awake." she spoke again, in a warm voice that he now realized was how she spoke normally. "I was worried."
This reminded him immediately of his mother, and he looked at her mutely, unable to speak. She seemed to understand his look, however, and she pressed a hand to his cheek.
"They're gone, aren't they." he managed to whisper flatly. To his ears the words sounded hollow, harsh... too real. She lowered her eyes, a look of sadness shadowing her face.
`I'm sorry."
He clutched at the blanket's edge and looked down. Two dark red spots appeared on the blanket as his tears dropped onto its threads.
"But you weren't one of the ones who came, were you?"
"No." she said, quite firmly. "I wasn't."
He shuddered.
"I was afraid you were." he said at last, or rather croaked. Again her hand slipped through his hair, in a soft, gentle gesture that somehow calmed him.
"That's understandable."
He fixed his eyes on her face, his eyes scanning her every detail, and he found himself thinking that she was sort of lovely. Not that he fancied her, of course. Girls were simply too different. But he rather liked the way she smiled, the way she spoke. It made him feel a bit more secure, like his mother-- like she used to.
"Why don't you get a little more rest?" she suggested, and at this he felt a wave of panic rush over him.
"No! I don't-- I mean, I can't--"
She placed a hand on his cheek and gave a slight, warm pressure.
"I'll be right here." she promised reassuringly. "Nothing's going to happen to you."
He felt a lump in his throat; a weight of about a million pounds had settled in his stomach. She didn't understand that he dreamed-- and that resting hurt him more than being awake..
"Oh..." she sighed, and before he knew what was happening, she had lifted him into her arms and cradled him against her. "I'm so sorry."
He leaned back, letting his head press against her shoulder. She leaned back, arms wrapped around him.
"What's your name?" he asked suddenly. The name came near to his ear.
"Hermione. And yours?"
He opened his eyes, turning his neck so that he could look at her.
"My name's Adrian."
She smiled.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Adrian."
He merely turned his head back and rested his head back against her shoulder. He could feel her chin rest in his hair.
"Sweet dreams, Adrian."
"G'night."
He closed his eyes, cautiously allowing her to rock him back and forth in her arms. He could hear the steady, muted sound of her heartbeat. Sleep threatened to take him again, and he yawned despite himself. He felt her slim fingers smooth over his bangs, and just as he drifted off to sleep, his ears caught snatches at what sounded like his mother's voice humming a familiar lullaby.
-->