A drabble that was inspired from a prompt from Sage. 500 words (I went a tad over), Any Pairing, and a Silver Knob.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter Characters. sigh
Viktor was dead.
No matter how many times Hermione said it to herself, it didn't sound real. The words had no form, no meaning. Just a repetition of sound that crowded out all the other thoughts in her mind and left only itself to resonate throughout her being. She had the use of her eyes, her ears, her voice, her limbs, but not the control or presence of mind to utilize them. All she could do was stare unblinking at the package on the table. The letter was open and discarded, the news inside just a bunch of scribble. She vaguely recalled trite phrases like "we regret to inform you" and "most unfortunate" and, still worse, "he will be missed".
She doubted very much that the person who had penned the script had known Viktor well at all. Viktor had not been a social creature. He had guarded himself and his emotions closely. The insecurities that had risen from his less than stellar appearance coupled with the intense scrutiny of his remarkable talent had given birth to an intensely private person. Whoever had written her probably thought of Viktor as The Quidditch Player, The Pride of His Country. He didn't know Viktor, the sweet but awkward boy that had given Hermione her first kiss. He didn't know the boy who had crept into her affections despite the ridiculous pronunciation of her name and the apparent lack of anything in common. He didn't know the Viktor that had been her faithful friend for so many years, who spilled his secret thoughts to her, who kept her own secrets to himself.
No one knew that Viktor, except Hermione.
But he hadn't even hinted that he was seriously ill. Hermione blinked back the rush of tears, trying to fight the urge to sob. Later. Now was the time to explore the very last gift Viktor had ever sent her, when her husband was out and she had this moment alone. A final instant that would be shared only by her and Viktor.
Gently Hermione unwrapped the brown post paper. A beautiful handcrafted box emerged, the only sign of visible wear was at a hole in the center of the lid. It looked as though something had been twisted out…The words "My Treasure" were inscribed around the hole. Hermione tried to lift the lid but found that it wouldn't open. It was locked.
It was when she was reaching for her wand that Hermione thought of it. Only days ago Viktor had sent another package to her, this time containing one simple thing--a silver knob. There had been no explanation, but Hermione had kept it anyway. She rose and retrieved it from her bureau. It fit into the hole perfectly. Slowly she twisted until a soft click filled the silent air and the lid lifted, eerie notes of a lullaby filling the air.
This time Hermione couldn't hold back the tears. She stared at a photo of herself at fourteen, smiling gaily into the camera in her periwinkle dress. The letters underneath were worn from handling, having been read a thousand times.
"Ah, Viktor," she whispered. "I treasured you too."
The End
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