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[ The locket opens on just Hermione's face; behind her there is nothing but a blank wall, at least until she turns. Then there's a small bookshelf, a series of vials and a cauldron before she sits down and refocuses the camera on her and nothing else. It takes her a moment to speak but she does - after taking a long, deep breath. ]

For anyone that doesn't know me, my name is Hermione Granger. We're about to enter a war and I don't think it's right that any of us enter entirely unprepared - there's only so much we can do, but I intend to do whatever I can to make sure that everyone is ready and as capable as they can be.

[ Another deep breath and she turns, so that both her cauldrons are in sight. ]

I've been brewing potions for the last few days, as much as I can and as quickly as I can. I have things for cuts, scrapes, wounds, for loss of blood and for burns, anti-paralysis... I think you get the idea. I've got a lot of stock and I'm ready to give it to anyone who thinks they might need it before they go and fight. If you need it after then you know my name and how to contact me, right?

[ She looks troubled, still; war isn't something she is entirely comfortable with, even now, even with how familiar she is with it. ]

Just let me know if you want or need something and I can pop over and deliver it. And if you have, um, friends that might need it but can't read this? Let me know. I'm an equal opportunist potioneer, I promise. Thank you for your time.

[ And, added a little later, if the change in the shadows of the room are any indication -- ]

You don't have to pay me for them, but if you can find ingredients or donate something that would be nice. Just so I can keep this going.

[ Happy, Mako? ]

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[ Hermione, for her part, flicks her eyes over Luke and, innocently enough, thinks tha George is quite right. She doesn't say anything, of course, considering how dismissive Luke is of the entire thing. And there are more important things to think about. ]

As long as it isn't too much trouble and you won't get into trouble. I do have some antidotes for regular and uncommon poisons, you know. Just in case.

[ She pauses, her lips twitching into a smile, before she leans close and nods, once, sharply. ]

Of course. What?

[ ... yeah, luke's fingers are crossed behind his back as he makes that promise. but he can only think this will endear george to hermione — getting rid of his competition when it comes to rats as food. he's never been particularly good at the whole sharing thing. ]

[ in the background, martha's cooing rather loudly toward his little fox. he remains on his couch in his suite, undisturbed by the goings on around him, even if george may be ranting to no one in particular — or perhaps his wife, who ignores him — about the rats in loch noa possessing little manners and very little skill in knowing how to properly devour a rat and enjoy it. ]

[ honestly, it's kind of gross. ]

[ it's with a pointed look: ] You stop getting into trouble. I can make locks lock from the inside, you know. [ from castle suites to secret houses that he can't speak about directly but he'll purposefully reference and talk around — he's the kid of language, he finds talking about things that are secrets by not talking about them but talking about them to be a major turn on. ]

[ Honestly, he makes it sound like she gets into trouble on purpose. It's not like she goes outside and thinks 'how can I stumble into a life threatening situation today' -- it just sort of happens without her control. She shakes her head and sniffs a little, put out, before the facade cracks a little and she offers him a little smile, leaning closer to the camera. ]

I'll promise it if you do. I think you're just as troublesome as I am and I can't go around locking boys in my house. [ Which... Sounds a little worse than she had intended, really, and her cheeks go a little pink. ] I mean I'm not as talented as you in that area. I. Um. [ She scoffs, leaning back in the chair in front of her cauldrons, trying to brush off that her flustering is just from the warmth of her brewing. ]

I think I remember that last time I told you to be safe and check in on me you didn't because you thought you murdered my magical otter.

[ his brows raise as he grins. truthfully, she only makes it worse by trying to unflub her flub. but trouble always finds him — being a demigod often means the monsters know his scent. he's swapped aramis for calvin klein aftershave, but they can still find him. it's probably his soap. ]

[ but just as he's about to begin teasing her, she brings up the fucking otter. he's never going to live this down — and he knows it. caring a little too much about a silver, slithery thing will be his doom with a girl he only wants to impress. with the hurdles she places up for him to leap over, perhaps not realising she gives him the choice to either run straight into them and disappoint her or take to his athletic roots and pound the earth as he practically soars over them, it'd been a little too much, knowing he may cause her grief by losing her otter within the caves. with his poor state of mind only beginning to fracture into something better, and thalia and annabeth both appearing, he hadn't been as put together as he had hoped to be. it's a side of himself he doesn't want anyone to see, much less hermione. ]

[ a hand immediately hits his forehead as he drags it over his face with a groan. but he smiles, flushing slightly, perhaps even joking as he raises his brows, ] I like animals, okay? When I was five, I bawled like a little baby because I had to flush my goldfish down the toilet instead of burying him. He had seven million names. [ and hoping to see her flush even pinker, he shames her, ] You're just bringing up unnecessary trauma, Granger.

I like animals too, but I don't really have the best of luck with them. There are so many stories I could tell you - snakes, especially. Snakes have tried to kill me a lot. [ The Basilisk, in her second year, Nagini in later life, twice... She isn't particularly keen on snakes. She's sure she could spin some kind of metaphor about Slytherins and snakes too but there's no needs; she's never entirely signed up to the idea that all Slytherin students are evil. It's far more complicated than that - but that isn't really a thought for right now.

She watches Luke and she smothers the smile, shaking her head and trying to bite back the wrinkle of her nose. She's only trying to tease him and her eyes are drawn to his cheeks before she coughs. ] And that isn't even mentioning the large cat mixup of my second year. Honestly, I don't know how it happens to me, really. [ And here she is in the Drabworld with a cat and a dog and probably more animals to come in the future, knowing her luck. Maybe something nice and quiet, like an owl. That would be nice.

Just as he expects, Hermione's cheeks go even pinker and she bites back her pout, trying not to be so desperately petulant and frustrated as she crosses her arms and glares at him, raising an eyebrow and biting back her smile. ] I was just trying to tease! I promise.

[ martha gasps. with indignation coiling around her rather hard and distraught tone, ] They're not our kind of snakes! [ basilisks and other large snakes that prey upon the weak, magical or otherwise, have never been welcomed within her embrace. too often then not, luke imagines she had a hand in sending them into extinction — or perhaps into a nice pair of boots. ]

[ luke glances over his shoulder. ] I'm sure she doesn't mean old as balls Greek snakes, Martha.

I take offense to that! [ perhaps it's good hermione can't see george primp himself, tail curling against one cheek then the other. ] I've been told I'm quite young for my age.

[ shaking his head, luke doesn't bother to roll his eyes as he no longer pays either snake attention. martha continues to coo in the background, ignoring her husband as he inquires maia, you think i'm very young, right? to martha's laugh i think she disagrees, dear. his brows crease together for a moment as he smiles, uncertain if he wishes to laugh, pry, or merely let her large cat mixup slide on by. but he knows the answer before he even has to question himself. ] Do I want to know? You didn't somehow boil and bubble and create a tiger that meows as softly as a cat within your cauldron, did you?

Oh, no, I'm sure they're not! The kind of snakes I dealt with were... Different. One of them was large enough to move through the pipes in the school and the other was technically a part of someone's soul. Someone evil. Nothing like you two whatsoever.

[ She really doesn't want to upset the snakes; she likes them, she does, and she feels a strange twitch of warmth in her chest. They're absolutely precious and she has to bite back her laughter as she settles in her chair, shaking her head. George and Martha are - well, they're incredible, for lack of a better word, and watching how Luke is around them is something different and unique.

It's like seeing another side of him, and she likes that. ] No, I didn't summon a cat. I, uh. [ She sighs, huffing out a noise and tilting her head a little, nose wrinkles and eyes turning away from the locket. ] I half turned into one, actually. It was a bit of a potions accident, some cat here where it shouldn't be - I was only thirteen! It all got fixed after a few months.

Sounds like my old boyfriend ...

[ luke pulls a face at that admission. he's only fond of two snakes — the very two he realises were the voices in his head, so faint he can't quite unravel if it had been his instinct or them, that had guided him when he had been nine and all alone, instilling him with strength and faith that everything would turn out all right in the end if he just applied his energy into one, attainable positive. george and martha mean too much to luke — as the surrogate parents he never had, may never quite being mentally equipped to be there for him when he needed her most, he's himself with them without any hesitation. ]

[ thankfully, his disgruntled expression, one a child often wears when their parents are being gross shifts. raising his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth quirks upward in amusement. he laughs, ] Thirteen-year-old Hermione with whiskers. That's kind of cute. [ it beats turning into a tree. ] I hope you have pictures.

Poor Martha.

[ Hermione grins, her lips twitching up even more as she sees Luke's face. It's obvious that he's attached to his snakes and while Hermione doesn't exactly know what's going on with them and their connection she does know that it's important. She'd seen them in the cave as she had given Luke her Otter, too, and they've always been there in the background doing whatever it is they do. Charm people, she imagines, considering the way her lips twitch and the surge of affection she feels towards them.

Still, at least Luke is smiling at her again and her cheeks go pink as she looks at him. ] No, it was far worse than what you're thinking. I was covered in fur and half-cat for months. It was awful. [ She shakes her head, pursed lips for a moment. ] There aren't any pictures. Sorry to break it to you.

Poor! Poor!

[ luke doesn't pay george's own sensitive outburst any mind as he laughs — and he feels slightly bad for it, laughing at what he could only presume to be her own misery. but it's endearing — and slightly normal to a kid who had been saved by a satyr who liked to eat his coke cans instead of drinking it. ]

You were half a cat? [ his eyebrow remains arched, disbelieving. it beats being a titan. he says it slowly, attempting to picture it, ] You weren't transformed into a cat, you were half a cat?

[ And her nose wrinkles as she gives him the best glare she can manage - everyone always laughs at her when, really, it had been a bad case of magic gone wrong. There was a reason why people weren't supposed to use animals in Polyjuice, after all, and it wasn't supposed to be used on actual people. She had been in the hospital wing for weeks... ]

I was, quite literally. Fur and whiskers and the lot. Let me tell you - when they warn you not to mix animal hair with the potion they mean don't mix it with animal hair. I was in the hospital for weeks trying to get better.

[ And then she spent another series of months in the hospital recovering from being petrified. ]

[ he thinks to say my best friend got turned into a tree, but he finds he can't. he can't laugh about it, he can't joke about it, he can't even say it in a detached way by feigning it's a joke — it's still too raw for him, his anger continuing to thrum painfully beneath his skin. though he doesn't doubt she may have been laughed at for being turned into a cat, perhaps she can look back at it now and not feel the sting of anger that may have sparked within her at such insolence being displayed toward her. it still sends him into intense rage — zeus had struck thalia down as a tree instead of saving her. ]

[ he takes note of her glare, feeling slightly bad for laughing, but without the context, it's all he can truly do. he continues to smile, but he doesn't laugh. his brows crease, ] Why did you turn into a cat? It's a mistake, I get it, but — Did you pull a hair from the wrong hairbrush?

[ Hermione can joke about these things because she has; it was years ago and she has to shrug it off. So much worse has happened since then and she's shouldered it all because she's had to. To do anything else would - well, it wouldn't end well. She had to be strong and stern and the confident, smart one even when, sometimes, all she had wanted was to crumple and cry. Sometimes she had; sometimes she'd had no choice. But other times she had to be the one that was bold and brash and, admittedly, a little insufferable. How else would they have survived?

She sighs, shaking her head. ] I plucked it from a girl's robes. I was meant to turn into her but I didn't know she had a cat. I had no idea.

[ without the gift of foresight, if he wanted to transform into someone else, he wouldn't research into their lives and note the black hair he plucked from a jacket belonged to a cat, either. too eager for adventure — and to do the right thing — he'd dive headfirst into it without properly knowing. it's why he's had george and martha — and his cows — do some reading for him when he hasn't had any time. ]

I can't say I've ever transformed into anything. [ save the villain of the story. ] But, uh — [ he cards a hand through his hair, eyes watching maia for a moment before she goes to play with george and martha somewhere behind him. he keeps his voice light, it detached from any humour, as he tries to offer her some sliver of comfort, ] I underestimated someone once. A lot of people, actually. But I thought, because it'd been done before, there's no way in Hades I'd fail.

I had no idea I'd walk away with a scar. [ and more hate in his heart than he ever thought he could carry. ] You don't have cat ears. [ his voice pitches slightly, returning to its usual low pitch as he comes back to the conversation comfortably, ] While I think you'd be able to pull them off better than a daughter of Aphrodite — It could've been worse.

[ Hermione can tell he's trying his best to be light-hearted about his story but - she knows his scar, she can tell that it isn't something he's particularly happy discussing and it makes her hand drop to her arm, to squeeze at the skin there buried under jumpers and coats. She breathes out sharply before she nods, lifting her head - and it's not just the scar on her arm. It's the marks on her neck, too, that are present no matter what she does to hide them. One long, thing line across the lower part and more, bite marks, as if someone had wanted to rip her flesh off with their teeth.

It wouldn't have shocked her if Bellatrix had done it, honestly. ] I've transformed into a few people. Harry, once, to help protect him, and a woman that worked at the Ministry so we could try and get something to stop the Dark Lord winning. And - and the woman that hurt me, once, so we could break into her bank account. [ The woman that hurt her; she knows Luke knows about that. 'Sabrina's a dick'. She remembers it well. And she remembers him mentioning Landon, his own personal Bellatrix that gave him his scars. ] But you're right. I don't have cat ears, or whiskers, or - messy hair and green eyes. I survived all that and came out alright in the end.

[ Her voice is lower and quieter now and she breathes out sharply before she looks up, lips twitching up into a soft smile. It's all she can manage but, for Luke? She can do it. Her hand touches her neck, the thin white mark there, before she pushes her hair out of her face. ] People like to think that once a scar is healed all the pain is gone. That because it's there it means the wound is better, right? That it doesn't hurt anymore. It's not always that easy. [ She hadn't had much time to get over the emotional scarring left by Bellatrix; it's why she still has nightmares, even now, while darkness makes her see eyes watching her despite knowing the woman is dead. ] But we're here. I might have to wear this scar forever but I am mudblood and proud. I always will be and no mark to try and shame me will change that.

[ uh. How did they get here, exactly - she breathes out. ]

I don't know what happened, Luke, or how you got your scar. [ Other than Ladon. ] But whatever happened it made you the person you are right now. And I rather like the person you are now. [ She isn't even blushing; she's just serious, face set. He might not appreciate it, but - she has to let him know, doesn't she? She's always been rather verbose with Harry about how much she cared about him - and with Korra, with Mako, with John. ] I'm not glad you got the scar or - or that any of that happened, but I am glad I got to meet you and see you, Luke.

Edited 2015-01-20 14:02 (UTC)

[ he tries to trick himself into believing his scar being healed means he is. it no longer bleeds, it no longer itches, but looking upon it makes him uncomfortable. it always has, and it always will, as he can easily relive that day as he had bore that scar in order to appease a father who had never even visited him, who hadn't even beseeched his own brother to see if apollo could heal his own son from the pain that would be carried with him for the rest of his life. though she may not carry the features of another on her, lady luck looking down upon her to see her returned to herself, disliking the shoes she had to walk in as bellatrix, he finds he carries the spectres of himself and the slips of hatred he has only half-heartedly try to shed latch itself properly onto his heels. ]

[ he watches her, how she reveals her own scars, but she doesn't take to it with self-hate or even a snarl as he would. retelling the tale of how he got his scar would only see his voice turn acidic as the taste floods his mouth. even revealing how he had plunged a knife into his side, pulling his shirt up to show the scar of his own death, would see his own tone turn from mirthful to sharp and biting. a scar, to him, has always been an affliction one could go without. it's a reminder of his own weaknesses, of his own failures — the one over the right side of his face is of his first failure, incapable of even outdoing heracles as he had been doomed from the beginning of his own quest, and the second still stings to this day as he recalls how he had failed his family. the scars on his body are reminders of his own failings as a son and a demigod, a friend, a brother, and a protector, as he had broken each and every one of his promises — to a little girl who he had swapped a hammer for a dagger to give her something to believe in to a little boy who deserved better. ]

[ a part of him wishes he could take to the scar over the right side of his face with pride, but he can't. it's forgiveness he seeks from himself that he will never, ever grant — it as unlikely as an apology from hermes. but where he often keeps his own history a secret, only ever giving slips of himself to others as scraps, he feels compelled — uncharacteristically so — to not peel back a scale of ladon, but to rip the claw right from his paw all over again. ]

[ remaining quiet for a moment, he hears her — her gratitude for a boy she doesn't know, and may not even like when the entire story is revealed, for being in her life — but he doesn't respond. his voice is soft, as though he doesn't wish for those in his suite to overhear him, despite knowing they can easily prod into his head to know where he's wandered during a conversation that has only seen him illuminate. ] You know what the Eleventh Labour of Hercules was?

[ Hermione could easily fall into the trap of hating her scar. She had, once, when she had first received it, when the burning pain was the only familiar thing and the blood red mark against her skin had been the center of her focus; it was a brand, a reminder that, no matter what she did, no matter how hard she fought or tried to prove herself she would never be anything more than dirt in the eyes of the purebloods. Not all of them, of course, and she was always quick to remind herself of it, but so many of them had been Death Eaters, so many of them had signed up to this philosophy that it was, at times, hard to think of her fight as possible.

But she had come out of it fighting, with as much fierce determination as she had ever had. She had stood up and told the world that she didn't care if they called her mudblood, dirty, thief, anything. She had risen and told herself that she could fight to show just how strong and brave and smart she was; she was a Gryffindor, she was top of her class, she was the Brightest Witch of her Age and she would prove to the world that she was better than they had imagined her to be. All the newspapers that her played her as Harry's cheating girlfriend, all the rumours about her place, all the people that looked down at her and called her names - she would show them just who she was, and that was something, someone special.

The thing was, she could see that in Luke too.

She doesn't know what it is that's making her so desperate to learn more about him but she wants to know, she wants to understand the dreams she had shared with him and the nightmare that had overtaken him. She wants to know about him because she wants to offer him the same friendship and support she had shown Harry, not so long ago. Luke is important to her, the same way so many people here have become important to her, and when had she ever been the type of person to give up? There has never been a time where Hermione has thought that it's time to stop fighting, time to stop petitioning and crying out about injustices; she wants to graduate and do something about it. She might as well make Luke her test subject.

The question, though, makes her pause and she leans back, tilting her head before she nods. ] I remember reading about it once, when I was little. The eleventh was stealing some apples, wasn't it? I don't remember much about it, honestly, since it's been a long time and I've been a little focussed on magical knowledge than muggle mythology - or actual events turned to myth, in your world, I suppose?

Half of that is complete shit. [ utter shit, if he's truthful. the myths are either completely off their rockers or they're merely a retelling of a moment in history that had never occurred. the greeks like to stroke their egos a little too much. luke's taken note of the discrepancies in almost every story. ] Everything you read about them? It's PR.

Hera and Hercules — they're a real piece of work, you know. [ two shits in a family tree, it's funny to him how the one greek trait that remains in common with all the greats is that. they may not have dna, but he thinks they did at some point. but he tries to keep the acid out of his tone as he remains detached to a story he knows by heart. ] King Eurytheuses assigned him ten labours after he killed his entire family. Hera thought she'd throw in an extra two, just to sweeten the punishment pot a little. She's a real hell of a lady. [ he'd roll his eyes, but his voice is saccharine enough to supplement. ]

The eleventh was the Garden of Hesperides. He was tasked to steal the Golden Apples from the tree and bring them back to good ol' King Louie. [ and this is where the story tends to deviate, but luke knows the truth. unlike those who play chinese whispers with the myths of the greeks, falsely recalling hercules as this great guy who deserves a disney film made in his honour, he's the one greek hero he had wished to emulate. learning his hero was a real piece of shit was devastating. despite his attempts to keep the bite out of his tone, his lip curves upward as he shakes his head, ] You know what he did? He cheated. Hercules didn't do half of the labours the myths credit him for. For the great hero he is, he sat back and let other people do his dirty work.

I met Atlas. He's strong. Definitely a contender for the biggest dick in the universe. [ after atlas had forced him to bear the weight of the world, he's none too keen on this douche, either. ] Hercules convinced him to give him the sky, since his daughters were the Hesperides. He'd be able to get the apples without a problem. [ it's with a mirthless smile he shakes his head, his own experience with the bearer of heaven sinking slightly into his own retelling. ] But there's always a hitch in a plan that involves Atlas. He's not a big fan of the sky. The dude's desperate to get rid of the weight of the world off his shoulders. [ his shoulder lifts, as if he can feel it pressing painfully upon him again. ] But he's not very smart. Of course he gets the Apples, because he's an idiot. Can't sense treachery even if it were to whack him in the gut. Hercules tricks him to take the sky by saying he needs to adjust his cloak, [ he rolls his eyes now. ] takes the Apples, and leaves him there — using him for his hard work to only toss him to the side so he can gain the repentance he hadn't earned. [ he shakes his head, condoning hercules' actions, even though atlas isn't the nicest tool in the shed, he hadn't deserved it. he may have signed his life away to be team kronos, but he hadn't deserved it, just like hal hadn't deserved his punishment. ]

[ running his tongue over his teeth, it somewhat quietens the anger that will always thrum inside of him. his gaze remains off-camera, his voice lowers, ] I was seventeen when my father decided he'd walk right back into my life. He assigned me the quest to steal a Golden Apple from the Garden of Hesperides. I was thrilled about it — half the kids at Camp go a good portion of their lives not knowing who their godly parent is. [ his brows raise as his lips curve upward. for the briefest of moments, he feels as though he's nine again, as if the rest of his future wasn't true, that his father had wandered to the porch of his house in connecticut and had embraced him as all mortal fathers do their children. that's what being that quest had felt like, in the beginning. it was like his wish had finally come true. ] But me? I'd known my entire life. I was honoured he saw me. To be picked out of the crop of kids who have been claimed in Cabin Eleven … [ he shakes his head, lips pressed together as he recalls the moment where he had finally realised he had earned his moment of glory. ] It's an honour all demigods crave.

[ any curve to his lips falls away. ] But Hercules had already done it. I'm pretty sure I'm the first kid in the history of Camp Half-Blood to ever be given a quest one of the Greats had completed. [ his brows raise as his voice, despite his own words, is actually proud. he doesn't realise it. ] But I did it. I found the Garden and I did it. I thought maybe if I was quiet, maybe if I snuck around the tree like I did at Camp when I snuck out and went to town with my brothers, that that would be the best tactic to get one of the Apples. [ he remembers how he had it all planned out, being stealthy, attempting to thieve the apples with no assistance from a god of the sky nor anyone else. it was his quest. he wasn't going to completely copy hercules. pride had lead him toward the tree and it had shredded him beneath the talons of ladon. ]

There's a dragon guarding the tree. Ladon — three heads, sharp senses, snores so loud he sends tremors through the ground. He woke up just as I had my hand on one. [ but he never had the chance to pull it free. ]

[ his eyes narrow as he winces slightly. ] I barely made it out of there alive. I don't even remember how I got out. But I had his claw in my hand. And when I went back to Camp, all I got was pity. [ it's with a mirthless exhale that a laugh dies on his lips before it even emerges. ] My dad couldn't even come and see me. The dragon claw? It sits up in the attic collecting dust. I bet if I got an Apple, they'd showcase it. Put it in the middle of the camp itself to show that I stole an Apple. [ but they hadn't. like the oracle, like all the useless junk brought back to camp, it had been stored away to be forgotten. his greatest triumph squandered as any pride he had felt in the fact that he survived had been pulverised beneath the weight of a titan. ]

[ he doesn't speak of how his scar reminds him of his downfall, of how he had been lead astray, lost and confused and angry. the scar on his face is more than ladon claiming him as a victim. it reminds him of how he had failed himself. the hero of the prophecy shouldn't be a boy with hate in his heart. with a pause, he shakes his head as he looks to the locket, the bite in his tone, the acid that inevitably laces into his words pertaining to the greeks, is no longer there. ] I can't be proud of my scar. I never got a quest again. My father didn't — [ love him anymore — he didn't really love him at all. ] The campers wouldn't even look me in the eye after.

[ quietly: ] You wouldn't like the person I am if you knew. [ about what happened after, of how his father hadn't given him a quest, but kronos had. failure after failure, he's been haunted by his own fear as if it were a monster itself. but perhaps it's the only secret she knows about him, gleaning it easily from his own tones and the words he chooses when he takes to speaking of himself. ] I don't.

Edited 2015-01-20 15:45 (UTC)

I had no idea.

[ 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.

Edited 2015-01-20 18:22 (UTC)

[ no one does. no one knows. though he may have told the heads at camp what had happened, he'd never really uttered a word about the garden to another camper. even with annabeth prying, even with clarisse trying to get him to be like himself again, even with chris asking softly and nicely what the hell happened to him in the garden, he hadn't told anyone. it's only to kronos, even to his mother when he had to steal her blessing for the curse, and percy — though the latter was said more in a lets turn against the gods, kid speech more than it was this is what happened to me — who know he hadn't emerged from the gardens with pride in his step. ]

[ people worshipping the gods when they've done nothing to earn it is a piece of shit to luke. why are they forced to sacrifice to a godly parent who can't even be assed to answer their prayers? worshipping hercules, despite the contradictions in his own stories, only opens the floodgates to reveal how stupid people are for a hero. they all want to believe heracles had completed each task himself. they all wanted to believe he had slain ladon. but luke knows, even if he did, even if ladon went to tartarus to only come back to his perch, heracles was never the type of hero the mortals and even the gods make him out to be. a man of incredible strength, of incredible endurance, he had let a young luke down in the worst of ways by not being brave. luke had wanted to be the type of hero hercules was — and he thinks he accomplished at least that. ]

[ what he did at home matters too much — to the point where he refuses to even speak about it. unless it's some barb flung in the direction of one of his demigods, or even a self-deprecating knife plunged into his chest, the details of the titan war — from his motivations to his guilt to the energy he wasted when he still is warring with himself with the truth percy had given him but hadn't been able to properly process as he refuses to even talk about it — remain tight-lipped and only revealed by those who don't know. clarisse doesn't know. percy doesn't know. annabeth doesn't know. none of them know he still thinks kronos is capable of getting to him. even in death, even in another world, he still hears his voice when he's asleep and he's fearful of hearing it boom around him when he's awake. he's as damaged as his face — and he doesn't see anything attractive about that. ]

[ i don't think it's going to change the way i feel about you. it's on the tip of his tongue to inform her she doesn't know him; she only knows a performance he's put on, refusing to dig any deeper than what's on the surface out of fear of what he will find. it's on the tip of his tongue to tell her about the titan war, of how he had caused it, of how his hands may be quick to thieve but they're saturated in the blood of his family, of how that throne room she had been in in his dream was the last place he ever saw — and he hadn't felt at home. her own list isn't the same — even without context, he can see the reasons for placing a lady in a glass jar, of breaking into a bank, of travelling through time to save someone, of making the most important people forget who you are for their own safety. it's all an act of selflessness or self-preservation, but it's not out of a desire to hurt or punish. any other time, he'd tease her for her slip to see her flush bright pink, but luke can't quite summon the mirth as he cards a hand through his hair before he leaves it there, curving to the back of his skull as his elbows sit on his thighs and the points dig in. he can't evade the conviction in her voice. and he'll never be able to shatter his own refusal to break the truth to her. he likes how she looks at him. he likes how she speaks to him. he likes how she makes him feel as though he's not the biggest piece of shit in the world. elicited by selfishness, he purposefully blinds her to the truth instead of shattering her own perception of him as this big, fat hero when he's always going to be remembered as the villain of the story. ]

[ he will never understand where her faith stems from. it's partly why he wishes to never tell her, or even throw a quip about the war and himself toward her, as he's too selfish and afraid to see that shatter. george and martha remain quiet, even his little fox stops attempting to duck beneath the furniture in a bid to hide from them, but he doesn't hear nor even see them, wherever they are. overwhelmed, he looks away from her, just an easy flicker of his eyes to focus on a golden point in his suite. pressing the heels of his palms to his wet eyes, it's the faith and the unwavering loyalty that he had wanted from hermes that he has been getting from those in the drabwurld. she's been giving it to him in heavy doses since the moment he spoke to her. after wanting it for so long, he isn't even sure how to take it and even care for it once it's been placed in his palms. ]

[ so, he does the selfish thing. ]

[ he looks back to her, guarded, though he doesn't wish to be made of angry marble any more. he doesn't know what to say, let alone how to truly process it or how to feel. all those things he's done for her aren't really anything at all — it's just what you do. it doesn't make him any more special. ] I can still outrun you. [ his voice sounds too choked up to him that he clears his throat. running his fingers against his cheek, he rests it against his knuckles as he looks at the locket. ] But it sounds like you're a better thief than me. Is that list meant to be your least finest moments? The sneak thing's a little on the Cabin Eleven side, but if you're trying to prove the point that I could find you less appealing, you're going about it all wrong.

[ Hermione wishes, more than anything, right now, that she could understand what Luke wants from her in this moment; telling her this story, explaining about his past, his scar, the betrayals he felt, it can't be for her benefit. There's no way this all has anything to do with her, even she isn't so desperately selfish that she imagines that it all circles around her as though she's some neat little box into which people can pour their thoughts and feelings and come out on the other side better for it. She can see just by looking at him that talking about the situation, while helpful in the long run, isn't doing much for him in the now. He's a little choked up, a little red-eyed, and she wants nothing more than to give in to that familiar ache in her arms, the one that wants to tug someone close and hold them until their hurts have fallen away, at least for a little while. She wants to help him feel better and she feels powerless.

There's only so much she can do and she realises it; growing up as the Chosen One's best friend and confidant had given her room to understand that she had suffered, maybe a little more than on the average, but some of the things she had seen and done and experienced were nothing compared to what her friends had faced -- she knows that her life can't really be compared to theirs, not in any way that's measurable, but she still thinks she came out of her war, personal and otherwise, relatively well off. She survived, which is more than others have, and it hurts her heart to think that she might be powerless in this situation. She hates the idea of it; Hermione loves her control and her lists and her knowledge more than she can say and to have it taken from her hands makes her feel weak and out of place.

Here's the thing; she isn't good with her words. She isn't good at comforting people, not really, at least not when it comes to things she isn't experienced with (she still winces when she thinks of Lavender Brown and her rabbit). Hermione is the type of person to lose herself in a book and brew until her hair falls out and fight until her last breath; she doesn't know how to handle this. But for these people here, in this world, that she has come to love and care for more than there are words to say? She thinks she can muster the voice to do what she has to. Her lips turn in determination and she shakes her head, the curls and the bushiness of it flying around her and tangling even as she moves a hand to brush it out of her face. Oh no, Castellan, you're not getting out of this one so easily. ]

This isn't about me and how appealing I am, is it? [ Drawing attention to his face is the worst thing to do and Hermione just watches him, stern, for as long as she dares. ] I might not be your best friend, Luke, or anything close to it, but I'd like to think I know you a little bit. We've talked a lot, you and I, and I want to believe that I know you well enough to know when you're dodging things. Did you know my two best friends are absolute idiots that think 'I'm fine' is an acceptable answer to every question, no matter what it is I ask them? It's given me a bit of an understanding when it comes to boys. [ At least on the bullheaded side of them, not on the romantic side, but - that isn't the point right now.

The point is she needs Luke to understand that whatever happened isn't going to change the way she sees him. She's sure there are people she knows that have done things at home, in their worlds, that would horrify her, but she has to think that what people do here, in the Drabworld, to prove themselves, to earn their friendships and the love they can get, is what matters. Otherwise what is the point of all the work she's been doing and all the people she's fallen into caring for? If it's all moot, in the end, then why fight? (Because it's the right thing to do, her mind tells her sternly, and she shakes her head a little to try and focus). ]

I could tell you a thousand stories about ridiculous magical things I've done and - they might make you laugh or roll your eyes or even think that I'm absolutely insane but they're still me and they made me. Hopefully you like the me you know here. It's the same for you, Luke. The Drabworld isn't as black and white as we want it to be and maybe you - maybe you don't like the person you are, or were, and you don't expect me to. But this place, this world? It's kind of a second chance for all of us to prove who we are and who we want to be. Maybe I don't have to be the insufferable mudblood Know-It-All here - [ and, progress, she doesn't wince at the slur, she holds her head higher. ] - and maybe you don't have to be the person that knows the truth about this great Greek Hero. It's all up to us to decide what we can do with what we have here.

[ And maybe she's... Gone on a little. She feels a little ridiculous and she crosses her arms, eyes glancing here and there, before she scoffs and throws him the best mock-dirty look she can, trying to pretend her heartfelt speech was nothing. She can shrug off her emotions and deflect too, Luke, and she's learning. ]

Maybe I can't outrun you, but maybe you'll slow down a little so I can keep up. [ A pause, and then - ] I mean that now, too. If you'd like me to visit, Luke, I will. You just have to say the word.

[ Because if he is upset, if he's hurting? She will be there. It's what she does. ]

[ luke had thought talking on the locket would be easier. it can click out. he can easily manipulate it. technology has always been his domain, just as running is — but he finds he can't quite outrun this. after opening a can of worms, he finds that they turn into snakes that coil around him, refusing to let him go despite how he tries to pry their tails from his legs and whip them away from him. this is why he doesn't talk. he may be able to make deals and be diplomatic and know the right thing to say to see someone else smile instead of frown, but he's clueless when it comes to himself. what did he want from this? why did he even tell her the story behind his scar? the dream they had shared hadn't encouraged him to open up — it'd forced him to shut down. revealing so much to hermione, knowing she wouldn't understand the boom of the voice and the violent tremors in the ground was kronos — it'd been too much. she's not dumb — too quick-witted and too analytical, if he tried to play it off like it was his imagination going wild from a book he'd read the night previous, she'd see right through his bullshit. and, truthfully, he isn't quite so sure he'd be able to sell it. ]

[ the drabwurld has changed him. by giving him a second chance at redemption, by the monarchs listening to him when he had chosen to use his voice — it's everything he had ever wanted when he had arrived at camp half-blood determined to not let another demigod fall victim to his or her godly parent's shitty parenting. being turned into a tree in an effort to save a hero from joining the ranks of the many who had fallen and who would never be remembered wasn't what he wanted. he wanted heroes like thalia to be revered, to be saved as they deserved, instead of being locked within mansions like hal green had been. but the drabwurld has been easier to swallow when it gifts him his handouts, believing in him as it allows him to strive for the excellency he has always pushed himself to soar toward. but when another identifies it, when another gives him a golden cloak to welcome him into a team of champions, his self-deprecation and self-hate see fit to come into his house, regardless of how intricate his own locks are, and decimate his hope. and he lets it. ]

[ he doesn't know why he said it; he doesn't know what he's meant to gain from this. she doesn't understand how ladon and the garden had been the beginning of the end for him. it'd hardly had been a beginning; sometimes, he thinks it was the end of luke castellan and the start of a boy he would never come to recognise in the mirror. it's been haunting him; ever since he had been given his second bundle of boons, the shield he hardly takes with him to spar with being fashioned out of ladon's scales, the ghosts of his past hadn't left him alone. latching themselves onto his heels, they'd forced him to carry their weight all across the drabwurld. in his dreams, she'd spied the worst of him, what he was afraid of, the moment he realised he regretted everything, the moment he realised he'd never be remembered and revered as hercules, despite being such a douche in reality. but he does know, even if he'll deny it to himself, he no longer wants to be the kid who tried to raze olympus and who had killed everyone who got in his way. he hadn't meant to. it hadn't been his hand that had struck against them. just like with ladon, he had tried to survive, defending himself against a titan who he thought was asleep as he approached but had struck out harshly and powerfully against a boy who was unprepared for him. ]

[ he doesn't want to slow down in fear of her — and himself — not liking what they see. but he doesn't want to stop running so the beast that's chasing him, the forgiveness and the want to stop hating himself, never catches him. the fields of punishment no longer exist in hades; he's brought it right to drabwurld for him to run through as he refuses to give himself what he wants, believing he's undeserving — and he'll always think so, about the cloak representing the cadre, about the forgiveness nico has given him, about the peace percy has bestowed upon him. he can feel himself wanting to destroy it now. with all the stones falling into place for him in this very moment, he can feel the impulse, as it's been building inside of him, to tear it all down with one big, mighty shove. and maybe the part of him that has begun to believe, so slowly, that he deserves good has been fighting against such a self-destructive instinct by making him latch onto a story about a scar and give her one of his own without missing the intricate details. he's always kept himself locked in a jar, unattainable to all, that a part of him wants to break out. ]

[ he just watches her, expression not as blank as he would hope it to be. it's confronting; he wants to bolt, as he had when annabeth first left. but he knows, unlike those who were in his life months before, she won't let him. but for being wordy, he finds he only has a few. ] I've always known what I wanted. Always. [ to be a hero; to make a difference; to be the son a god would be proud of. he had always known the roads to travel, the alleys to cut through to make the journey a little quicker. but he's found it so difficult now, uncertain of where he wants to go at the forked road he's been stuck at for years. he cards a hand through his hair, it sticking up at all ends. his hand returns to his lap, fingers interlaced with the other, before he breaks them to cup his knees instead. it's as though he wishes to move, but a part of him ties himself to the couch. his gaze becomes distant as he doesn't look at the locket, and his voice mimics it, ] I don't know what I want anymore. [ for her to come over; for this story to make a difference; to strive to be better; to be left alone. he doesn't know — and he has always known. ]

[ It's not as easy as knowing the right words to say or the right things to do - nothing is ever so easy. It's a constant fight to try and prove that you know what you're doing, that you're reading the right books, talking to the right people, lifting your head high enough to show that you're doing something good. It's not all as easy as getting up and grabbing a sword, not even for the soldiers; it's more than that, it's more, a weight on your shoulders no one can really shrug off. The weight of expectation can be the worst burden to bear and she wishes there was something she could do to ease the pain that was bearing down on Luke's shoulders, the way that it made his hands run through his hair and his eyes drift away from her. She cares about him and she wants to support him. She might not understand the broad depth of his pain or the nightmare she had sat in on as an unwelcome guest, but - she knows him.

(Or she thinks she does.)

This isn't something that she can wave her wand at and make it better, though. This isn't something she can fix by simply flicking a spell and hoping it'll repair the hurts inside of him that are tangled up like a web. There's more to it and she knows it; it's something Luke has to do himself, a demon he has to fight and overcome and even if she stands by his side it's something he needs to take down by himself. It's like an echoed reminder of when she had to let Harry walk alone and she breathes out sharply, forcing herself to relax, forcing herself to feel calm overcome her; she can't fix Luke because he doesn't need fixing but she can help him. If he wants her friendship it comes with a side-effect of a nosy, overactive witch that wants to do whatever possible to help him in this journey. They're in a magical world that has them out of their element and they have to rely on one another to get through it, she's learned that already. The other option is losing, and she refuses to give in and lose.

I don't know what I want anymore. It breaks Hermione's heart.

Breathing out, she nods her head and moves, slowly, so not to get too much attention from him. Her beaded bag, her wand shoved up her sleeve, the potions set to brew alone for a few hours - Padfoot and Crookshanks are already upstairs sleeping and they won't mind if she pops out for a little while. There's something a little more important and the house is as protected and warded as she can possibly manage with a mixture of faerie magic and her own spells - so she can leave. She smiles, nodding her head, leaning into the camera before she picks it up and bites back the urge to warn him before she literally pops in - but she wants to give him a surprise, maybe make him laugh, and she isn't going to be able to do that if she warns him about it. Instead, she just swallows back her words, closes her eyes (imagining a place she hasn't been is harder, but she's seen enough of the room from the video to have a good idea) and pops.

She stumbles as she lands in his room, almost falling over, but she soon gathers herself. She doesn't pay a lick of attention to George and Martha or the fox (later, she promises herself, more focussed on the boy rather than his snakes and his pets) before she moves and walks over, through the room, finally turning her locket off and shoving it back around her neck with the numerous other jingling bits of metal hanging there. Finally, Hermione is sitting at his side, reaching out and putting a hand on top of his on his lap, tilting her head and doing her best to look as sweet and innocent as possible. She has, technically, just invaded his privacy and entered his house without actual permission, but she thinks she can be excused this time. She has a good reason; Hermione Granger doesn't want to see Luke Castellan in pain. It's as simple as that.

And, now that she's here, she can squeeze his hand gently and he can hear her voice in person. ] You don't always have to know what you want. Especially in a place like this. It's never going to be as easy as one or another here, is it? [ She pauses, leaning forward to get a better look at his face - scarred but still handsome to her. ] We can wait until you work out what you'd like from this world.

[ in the beginning, he had been insistent she reminded him of annabeth. she still does — determined to unlock a particularly tricky puzzle, even annabeth had taken to him in a similar manner, except it'd been a little softer in its approach, a young girl perhaps not understanding the depth of his own anger and hurt as she tried to continuously reach a boy who would drift further and further away from her. she had tried when kronos had latched onto him — and she's trying even now. but hermione may remind him of annabeth with her determination and love for analysing almost anything, even a mound of dirt, but it's thalia's ruthless determination and strength to barrel right into something that her sudden appearance beside him truly reminds him of. it's not frightening as much as it is comforting. ]

[ when she nods her head, he's confused for a moment. as if george or martha, or perhaps both of them, had heard her or suspected her intentions, george had hissed at maia, sparking her into leaping around the room as she tried to burrow her way into the cushions of the couch beside him. distracting him successfully, luke's attempting to glance at maia, buried beneath a hard cushion on the other end of the couch, when he feels his other side dip and weight and a hand press over his own. slightly startled, his head whips around, brows pinched, as he looks to see hermione no longer on the locket, but beside him. martha appears on the corner, slithering behind the cushions to either dig maia out or keep her company within the makeshift of her own den. but hermion's here to help him with his. though it's a task he thinks not even the greatest hero could ever hope to accomplish, he isn't as alone. ]

[ without direction, he's lost. he can take to the terrain of any part of the drabwurld he's never been to and he knows where the sinkholes are. he knows where north and south and east and west is without looking up at the sun to read it or even glancing at a compass — or using his own boon. but when it comes to navigating the terrain he's studied over and over, that of himself — he doesn't know where to begin. stumbling, he trips over vines, twists his ankle in ditches, and even finds himself stuck in quicksand. he'd navigated la llorona with an angry and irritant clarisse as his companion for weeks, but he hadn't faltered. but in the company of his own shadow, he falters. he's always known what he had wanted — he's always been the one with all the answers because he had to be. but he's finding he's too out of his element in the drabwurld, being thrusted into a universe that he doesn't know how to navigate, regardless of how tightly he closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. the terrain isn't as angry as he's used to, the mountains less steep, the weather less scorching. ]

[ we, she says, instead of you. we can wait until you work out what you'd like from this world — and it's the promise she may not even be aware she's making — or perhaps she's too aware, either having gleaned it from him or just simply knowing — of sticking by his side until the bitter end. glancing down at her hand on his, his head doesn't shift as his eyes return back to hers. his hand shifts beneath hers, palm no longer pressed against his leg as he flips his over gently under her own. his voice isn't as soft and hopeless as it had been before, but it remains rough, ] You're willing to wait that long? [ what he easily implies is until the end of this world, as luke believes he'll never know what he wants, it perhaps his own punishment to be at an eternal war where one part of him wishes to decimate all that he believes he's worthy of as the other half longs to give it to him. ]

[ Her fierce determination might be a mark against her character in some cases, some people frustrated by the stubborn know-it-all that spouts knowledge like it's as easy as breathing and puts her foot down, shouting high and low about injustice and unfair treatment even when it's not welcome, but Hermione knows that her stubborn nature can be more than enough, sometimes. Sometimes, being stubborn and petulant and unfair is what the world needs to make a change and sometimes it's what people need to see that there's more than what they can see with their own two eyes. Nothing is as simple as one plus two in this life, she knows that, as much as the logical side of herself screams that it should be, that things should be as easy as Arithmancy and numerology and the study of runes. Real life isn't as easy as the classroom and that was a lesson that got her hurt more than just one or two times. She's had to struggle to overcome her own thoughts and preconceptions and maybe Luke has to do the same.

So she's here. Hermione is here and her fingers slide against Luke's, linking hers through his own as the other comes to rest on top of it, brushing along the warmth of his hand. She's done this before, with Ron and Harry, she's sat at their side and held their hands when they needed it and she would bear their pain as much as she could, as much as she needed to. When it came to being a friend Hermione knew that her obstinate nature was, at times, a good thing. She could be at someone's side and be with them through the darkest hours because, in her mind, there is no other option. Why would she turn away from someone when she had a choice to be with them, to take care of them, to cherish them? Why would she abandon someone she cared about when she could help lift them up or encourage, sometimes quite violently and harshly, them to become the person she always saw them as? Maybe not a hero but something close to it - a hero in the eyes of people that know the truth about what heroism really is.

Shuffling a little closer she nods, smiling, her eyes lifting to look at him. Luke is someone that needs something and while she isn't sure if it's something she can actively give him, if there's something more she ought to offer, she is still going to try. He's been her friend for longer than she knows, since near the beginning of her waking up in this strange magical world so unlike her own, and the idea of leaving him to his fate, of abandoning him to however it feels to be alone and unsure... She refuses to accept it. She shakes her head and squeezes his hand, leaning forward so she can get a better look at his face - until, finally, a soft smile crosses her lips and she can manage to brighten, leaning against him a little and hoping to draw him more out of his shell. What more could she ask for when she's barrelled into his life and his house without so much as a 'how do you do'?

When she speaks her voice is low and careful, quiet, ignorant of the snakes and the fox behind her, all her focus on Luke. ] Of course I am. I'm pretty sure we have a handful of lifetimes here to work it out, Luke. No one says you have to rush and I'll be right here if you need me. All you have to do is call. [ Her hand squeezes again, almost without her consent. ] And if you ever want me to go away you can just say that too. I understand needing time alone sometimes - but you're not alone, Luke. You don't have to do any of this by yourself anymore, not if you don't want to.

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