[ She hasn't gotten further than the first mention of Tranquil, deciding on the spot that she had to stop when she started to see spots from how hard she'd started clenching her jaw. The existence and factual description of the ritual in the book, the justification, it had all cut deep and nobody had scolded her (publicly) at that point, for Hermione to pause and think.
Now she may have to go back to it, if the ritual of Tranquility is reversible.
Her condolences are on the tip of her tongue to offer, but then the woman points to Hermione's arm, and her gaze drops to follow, and then her stomach drops. ] Ha - no. Torture. [ Almost as if she's been inhabiting another body, not hers, she grazes a nail down the centre of the ugly word. ]
From - my actual world. [ well, if she'll show Hermione hers, she takes a soft breath and opens up about it. Three years in, she's not giving Bellatrix any more power. Not giving the word power, either. ]
The mages in my world, we live in a separate society, secret and hidden from non-magical people. You'd think that would make for a utopia of sort, which is what I thought, but no. There's contingents of that society who are - or were - obsessed with blood purity. Were you born from wizards as far back as centuries, or were you the first mage in your family. To those... [ how to call them, ] monsters, to be a wizard whose parents were not wizards was considered... Well, this. [ She lets her hand drop so the word can be legible again. ]
My friends and I, we fought in a war against the blood purists. We got caught, and - [ Her mouth dries, cotton-stuffed sensation on her tongue. The rest is complicated. Even what precedes it is complicated. ]
Anyway, yes. A madwoman carved it into me with a dagger so I'd tell her where my friend was. [ This time when Hermione lifts her gaze, bringing her hand down to her lap, fists pressed to her skirt above her knees, her expression is fierce and proud, despite all scars that came out of it. ] I didn't.
no subject
Now she may have to go back to it, if the ritual of Tranquility is reversible.
Her condolences are on the tip of her tongue to offer, but then the woman points to Hermione's arm, and her gaze drops to follow, and then her stomach drops. ] Ha - no. Torture. [ Almost as if she's been inhabiting another body, not hers, she grazes a nail down the centre of the ugly word. ]
From - my actual world. [ well, if she'll show Hermione hers, she takes a soft breath and opens up about it. Three years in, she's not giving Bellatrix any more power. Not giving the word power, either. ]
The mages in my world, we live in a separate society, secret and hidden from non-magical people. You'd think that would make for a utopia of sort, which is what I thought, but no. There's contingents of that society who are - or were - obsessed with blood purity. Were you born from wizards as far back as centuries, or were you the first mage in your family. To those... [ how to call them, ] monsters, to be a wizard whose parents were not wizards was considered... Well, this. [ She lets her hand drop so the word can be legible again. ]
My friends and I, we fought in a war against the blood purists. We got caught, and - [ Her mouth dries, cotton-stuffed sensation on her tongue. The rest is complicated. Even what precedes it is complicated. ]
Anyway, yes. A madwoman carved it into me with a dagger so I'd tell her where my friend was. [ This time when Hermione lifts her gaze, bringing her hand down to her lap, fists pressed to her skirt above her knees, her expression is fierce and proud, despite all scars that came out of it. ] I didn't.