[ And of course she didn't. How could she? Their worlds are so different that the idea of whatever happened in Luke's being the same as what happened in hers seemed so illogical and strange that it weighed on her. She wanted to know about all these differences, all these things, the thousand or more than made her world different from Luke's and, then, different from Korra's, John's, Lancelot's -- all the histories and the knowledge she could pick up from it. And by the sound of it all the things she knew of Greek mythology, all the ideas she'd had in her head of it, had all been wrong. She isn't surprised by the knowledge at all; it's not the first time something she read in a book had been a little bit less than the entire truth (here's looking at you, Professor Lockhart).
So she does the only thing she can do. She listens.
Hermione listens as he tells the tale of Hercules, the way Luke talks about him, the anger and the frustration that sits around his shoulders as she talks about him. She listens to him hear about the fact that he had wanted to prove himself, to show that he could do something, that he could live up to the name he'd been given from his father. She can't imagine being the child of any kind of God, to have that kind of weight and expectation on her shoulders; it's uncomfortable and unsettling and, more than anything, it's disorientating. To have magic was one thing, a heady and powerful thought, but to know that her gifts came because one of her parents was a being beyond any imagining... It would be so much for her, too much for her to believe. Perhaps it would be easier if she was a part of Luke's world but she isn't; she's a witch from Hogwarts, not a demigod from the realms of the Camps. She can't understand the magnitude of it or the way it has affected him, no matter how hard she tries.
But as he goes on little things click into place. Ladon being his Bellatrix, the dream, the nightmare of his that she had slipped into where there had been a tree and apples before they had fled, the twelve large chairs that circled the room and entrapped them, the way Luke had looked as she watched him. It's as though drinks of ice cold understanding are being poured along her spine and Hermione breathes out sharply, listening, leaning forward into the camera. She wishes she was there, at his side, to hear this in person, because she feels that this is the type of conversation that needs a hand on the side, a touch to the shoulder, linked fingers - something to hold him as he goes through these memories and tells her about them. She knows how it feels to have that intense amount of emotion pressing around you; she feels it herself for her own demons.
As much as she wishes that she could urge him to be proud of the mark the dragon laid on his face she knows that's not her duty right now. She can't force him to admire himself for something that has obviously affected him so much even if she wants him to. He sees it as something bad and it's something he has to overcome. Even so, she breathes out, nodding along as he speaks and listens to the story. ] People worshipping someone for things they didn't do, for lies? That sounds familiar. [ She doesn't know what else to say, not for a long time, not until Luke gets to the end of his story. Then her eyes go a little stern and she frowns, lips twitching into the expression even as she breathes out and sits up. It isn't lecture time, exactly, but, oh, she has some words for her demigod friend. ]
The thing is, Luke? [ She smiles, finally, after a moment's pause, trying to find the words that want to come tumbling out. She's never been good at great, motivational speeches - that was always Harry, even if it was mostly accidental. She was good at lectures, at a stern telling off. ] I do like the person you are, right now. The person I've spend months getting to know in this world. And I know it's probably a little dramatic, saying what you did at home doesn't matter, because it does, it's shaped you and it's made you who you are, but... I don't think it's going to change the way I feel about you - I mean, the way I think about you.
[ And she pauses again, considering, tilting her head before she shakes it and looks back at the camera. ]
I once kept a woman in a jar so that she couldn't spread lies about me or my friends. I've broken into wizarding banks, kidnapped a dragon, sort of, and once I cursed a girl so that she had 'sneak' written across her face in spots that didn't come off easily. I travelled through time to make sure a man didn't go to prison and I made my parents forget I even existed. Do those things make you think any less of me? I'd like to think not - maybe they're not the same, maybe the things you're not proud of are far worse, but...
[ Finally, she looks into the camera properly, looking right at him. ]
To me? You're Luke Castellan, the boy who tried to track down a muggle for me, who tried to delete my nightmares when it was plastered on the lockets, the boy that went to fight for the moon not because he had to but because it was the right thing to do. [ She swallows, ignoring the lump in her throat. ] I don't know what happened after your quest. I don't know what happened to you when the campers turned on you or when you felt like you failed. But I do know what's happened to you here and I know that has made me very fond of you. Really fond of you, actually. So I'm afraid if you were trying to get rid of me you're a little bit stuck.
video » locked.
[ And of course she didn't. How could she? Their worlds are so different that the idea of whatever happened in Luke's being the same as what happened in hers seemed so illogical and strange that it weighed on her. She wanted to know about all these differences, all these things, the thousand or more than made her world different from Luke's and, then, different from Korra's, John's, Lancelot's -- all the histories and the knowledge she could pick up from it. And by the sound of it all the things she knew of Greek mythology, all the ideas she'd had in her head of it, had all been wrong. She isn't surprised by the knowledge at all; it's not the first time something she read in a book had been a little bit less than the entire truth (here's looking at you, Professor Lockhart).
So she does the only thing she can do. She listens.
Hermione listens as he tells the tale of Hercules, the way Luke talks about him, the anger and the frustration that sits around his shoulders as she talks about him. She listens to him hear about the fact that he had wanted to prove himself, to show that he could do something, that he could live up to the name he'd been given from his father. She can't imagine being the child of any kind of God, to have that kind of weight and expectation on her shoulders; it's uncomfortable and unsettling and, more than anything, it's disorientating. To have magic was one thing, a heady and powerful thought, but to know that her gifts came because one of her parents was a being beyond any imagining... It would be so much for her, too much for her to believe. Perhaps it would be easier if she was a part of Luke's world but she isn't; she's a witch from Hogwarts, not a demigod from the realms of the Camps. She can't understand the magnitude of it or the way it has affected him, no matter how hard she tries.
But as he goes on little things click into place. Ladon being his Bellatrix, the dream, the nightmare of his that she had slipped into where there had been a tree and apples before they had fled, the twelve large chairs that circled the room and entrapped them, the way Luke had looked as she watched him. It's as though drinks of ice cold understanding are being poured along her spine and Hermione breathes out sharply, listening, leaning forward into the camera. She wishes she was there, at his side, to hear this in person, because she feels that this is the type of conversation that needs a hand on the side, a touch to the shoulder, linked fingers - something to hold him as he goes through these memories and tells her about them. She knows how it feels to have that intense amount of emotion pressing around you; she feels it herself for her own demons.
As much as she wishes that she could urge him to be proud of the mark the dragon laid on his face she knows that's not her duty right now. She can't force him to admire himself for something that has obviously affected him so much even if she wants him to. He sees it as something bad and it's something he has to overcome. Even so, she breathes out, nodding along as he speaks and listens to the story. ] People worshipping someone for things they didn't do, for lies? That sounds familiar. [ She doesn't know what else to say, not for a long time, not until Luke gets to the end of his story. Then her eyes go a little stern and she frowns, lips twitching into the expression even as she breathes out and sits up. It isn't lecture time, exactly, but, oh, she has some words for her demigod friend. ]
The thing is, Luke? [ She smiles, finally, after a moment's pause, trying to find the words that want to come tumbling out. She's never been good at great, motivational speeches - that was always Harry, even if it was mostly accidental. She was good at lectures, at a stern telling off. ] I do like the person you are, right now. The person I've spend months getting to know in this world. And I know it's probably a little dramatic, saying what you did at home doesn't matter, because it does, it's shaped you and it's made you who you are, but... I don't think it's going to change the way I feel about you - I mean, the way I think about you.
[ And she pauses again, considering, tilting her head before she shakes it and looks back at the camera. ]
I once kept a woman in a jar so that she couldn't spread lies about me or my friends. I've broken into wizarding banks, kidnapped a dragon, sort of, and once I cursed a girl so that she had 'sneak' written across her face in spots that didn't come off easily. I travelled through time to make sure a man didn't go to prison and I made my parents forget I even existed. Do those things make you think any less of me? I'd like to think not - maybe they're not the same, maybe the things you're not proud of are far worse, but...
[ Finally, she looks into the camera properly, looking right at him. ]
To me? You're Luke Castellan, the boy who tried to track down a muggle for me, who tried to delete my nightmares when it was plastered on the lockets, the boy that went to fight for the moon not because he had to but because it was the right thing to do. [ She swallows, ignoring the lump in her throat. ] I don't know what happened after your quest. I don't know what happened to you when the campers turned on you or when you felt like you failed. But I do know what's happened to you here and I know that has made me very fond of you. Really fond of you, actually. So I'm afraid if you were trying to get rid of me you're a little bit stuck.