In her defense, he could have replied with a simple, You don't want to know, and that would have been the end of it. All right, maybe not the end, since she'd never liked not knowing something, but at the very least, it could have spared her the immediate trauma.
She almost thinks he's going to do just that, but then he finally speaks up. The slavery bit... that's hard enough to swallow, but at least it isn't unfamiliar, given that that's the fate of most house-elves, no matter how hard their wizarding families try to pretty it up. She doesn't know the term "alienage," but it certainly doesn't sound pleasant, especially not paired off with the rest of that sentence.
But then he goes on about ritual sacrifice and-... and company. And.... "Eight years old?" She doesn't realize she's breathing the word out, just as much as she doesn't realize that she staggers back a few steps, the news like a harsh blow. It doesn't make sense, not with the image of elves Hermione has in her mind - who would want to do that with a-...? But the who or the what or the why doesn't matter. However the cards fall, it's still so revolting that she has to literally force herself not to get sick all over the snow.
Bull's form begins to waver, and she turns away from him when she realizes that the tears are winning out. Crying in front of her friends is one thing, but doing it in front of a stranger....
"Why is it that whenever things finally get put right, we stumble across something else that's so wrong?" She doesn't believe in fate, but there comes a point where coincidence and luck join forces just long enough to make something like that seem tangible. Maybe there's a reason she's found herself here.
"People need to start blinking. Blinking and talking and yelling and doing. No world should have to go on like this."
no subject
She almost thinks he's going to do just that, but then he finally speaks up. The slavery bit... that's hard enough to swallow, but at least it isn't unfamiliar, given that that's the fate of most house-elves, no matter how hard their wizarding families try to pretty it up. She doesn't know the term "alienage," but it certainly doesn't sound pleasant, especially not paired off with the rest of that sentence.
But then he goes on about ritual sacrifice and-... and company. And.... "Eight years old?" She doesn't realize she's breathing the word out, just as much as she doesn't realize that she staggers back a few steps, the news like a harsh blow. It doesn't make sense, not with the image of elves Hermione has in her mind - who would want to do that with a-...? But the who or the what or the why doesn't matter. However the cards fall, it's still so revolting that she has to literally force herself not to get sick all over the snow.
Bull's form begins to waver, and she turns away from him when she realizes that the tears are winning out. Crying in front of her friends is one thing, but doing it in front of a stranger....
"Why is it that whenever things finally get put right, we stumble across something else that's so wrong?" She doesn't believe in fate, but there comes a point where coincidence and luck join forces just long enough to make something like that seem tangible. Maybe there's a reason she's found herself here.
"People need to start blinking. Blinking and talking and yelling and doing. No world should have to go on like this."