Reaching for The Beatific
Book 1: The Styx
Prologue: Disappearer
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I sure wish I did.
A/N: Minor TW regarding depression, insecurity, and an unhealthy sex life.
A/N II: Sorry for the update, I forgot the disclaimer. Oops.
I
I'm becoming a ghost
18th of June 1999
Summer was just around the corner as a soft spring breeze rustled her thick wild brown hair. It made her eyelids flutter close and with it came the smell of the large pine that stood proudly in the backyard of Harry's home, Grimmauld Place. She felt like floating because of the sensation and the palm of her hand gently stroked the grass, which desperately called for a mown. It tingled and made her feel right at place, a small smile forming on her lips.
The garden here was the only place where she would feel comfortable; the narrow corridors, the dusty rooms and the sneering portrays of the great House Black suffocated her. Along with the memories of the time she had spent here during the war, taking care of wounded people and forging plans to bring down Voldemort (when some people she cared about deeply were still alive and walked within the walls of this house) it was an insufferable combination that forced Hermione to sit in the beautiful garden, which she didn't exactly mind.
She slowly opened her eyes, trying to take her mind of the past and focus on her calming surroundings. The sharp light of the sun blinded her and she had to squeeze her eyes half shut. The world seemed a bit lighter around her due the impact of the white bright light, which made her head a bit dizzy and it took a while before she had adjusted again. When she opened her eyes fully again, she could clearly see the pure green grass, the big pine, the rosebushes, and the hydrangeas and with them the white gardenias she planted just this morning. The compost around it was still fresh and it was a contrast with the old flora that was planted there decades ago.
She had seen them when she was grocery shopping yesterday and had decided quickly that she should buy them, and plant them, so she could keep her hands busy. An old lady was selling all shorts of flowers outside the mall and these white ones had stood out because they were almost innocent. It seemed like a good deed to plant innocent flowers in the previous backyard of a not-so-innocent family, to make it a bit homier.
A good deed.
Many people would say that her whole life had consisted of so-called good deeds, defined by the morality of the human species plus the fact they didn't know her at all. Truth was, she had convicted many crimes in the war, in order to save the world. How many people she had killed in order to save others, was a too big number. Her blood cold and her skin frozen when she spoke the unavoidable curses.
The conscience hadn't kicked in until they had won the war and she walked on the many floors that were covered with dead bodies of her home away from home. Many people believed that all the moments in her life had led up to that battle or the war in general. They supposed she had felt victorious and proud when she had conquered the evil. How they were wrong, she was evil herself too.
If someone would give her the opportunity to change one moment in her life, she would change the moment of her birth. The moment that the magic had settled in her DNA. Because it was true- everything had led up to the war and final battle and what she wouldn't give up to change that. She didn't want to be a killer; she didn't want people to believe her to be the famous ultimate hero, because she wasn't. They thought she was, but she had never been capable of being one. It had been her destiny; there hadn't been a moment when she truly had been given any choice.
She had been born digging her own grave. She was done with digging it, and now she was dead. Not in the literal sense- the evil blood still flooded through her veins, but her soul was the one who was dead.
She was waiting for something good to happen; something that would imply she still had control over her own limits. Something that would imply she was alive.
Being around the nature helped. Being around the suffering people inside the cold house- not so much.
She was waiting for the chance too come, but also too afraid to grab it when it finally represented itself in front of her. Too afraid that once she picked up her life again, the evil inside her would resurrect with her and ruin her future again. She shit on destiny; sitting in a garden was much better.
Planting the white gardenias was one of the first useful things she had done since helping rebuilding Hogwarts- another good deed. She had hoped back then that with restoring it to its old glory, she would find closure. She hoped with planting these flowers that she would make it feel like it was a home for Ron, Harry, Ginny, and her; not that of the Black family. Both attempts hadn't worked out.
But she liked the flowers, and she knew the others would like them too.
Her thought train was irrupted by a noise behind her. She quickly turned around, her eyes taking in a young boy, man, with red hair standing in the doorway of the French doors that led to the garden.
"Ron." Her voice sounded shrill, as if she hadn't used her voice in a while. Maybe she had, she didn't count the times she spoke, but she knew it was not often these days.
"Dinner is ready." His voice was soft and strained- she knew he was tired, tired of fighting the pain and his conscience. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was greasy and his clothes didn't fit his once filled-out muscular body anymore. He looked ill. It didn't bother her the way it should bother her, as his girlfriend. She was just tired too.
He went back inside again. So she followed, waiting long enough to put some distance between them, avoiding with that any awkwardness that could arise in the many hallways that led to the kitchen.
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The smell of spaghetti sauce and red wine greeted her warmly when she opened the door to the kitchen. As she stood in the doorway, she took in Ginny who was sitting at the large oak table, nervously sipping her wine, what seemed something that she was doing all day and night long. Harry was grabbing the spoons and forks out of the dresser, making an awful lot of noise. Ron was staring blankly at the wall, his hands folded in front of him. They didn't seem to notice she was even there.
She softly closed the door and took a seat at the head of table, carefully folding her hands in front of her. In front of her on the table was a large pan filled with spaghetti, the smell was nauseating, but she couldn't afford to eat even less. She believed that the only thing they ate when Molly wasn't around was spaghetti; it was the only thing Ginny could cook.
Harry had returned from the kitchen and began to fill everyone's plates. She frowned; it had been a while since Harry had been so active. "Have a nice meal." Ginny almost whispered. Only Harry picked up his spoon and began to eat. Ron just kept staring. She grabbed the wine bottle from across the table and poured her glass the French way.
"Hermione, can you pour me a glass too?" Harry asked. She just looked at him and obeyed.
It was the first time this day they acknowledged her presence. He didn't even thank her. She took a large gulp of her wine.
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?" She turned to look at him.
He looked at her with a frown, appearing to study her eyes and what they may hold. "I suppose Ron hasn't told you yet."
Her eyebrows formed automatically into a frown too and her lips changed into a thin line. She shifted her gaze to Ron, who didn't meet her eyes, but had now focused on the table instead of the wall, or her eyes what seemed like the normal thing to do in such a situation.
She decided to handle the matter with care, too tired to start any conflict. "What hasn't Ron told me yet?" Her voice was sharper and edgier than she meant it to be, she momentarily closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening again.
Harry was looking pointedly at Ron, but Ron just kept his eyes on the table. Admitting his defeat that was spoken in silent words between the two, Harry focused his gaze back to Hermione, "Okay, I think it's me who has to tell you." He scraped his throat and she rolled her eyes.
"We've been accepted to Auror training."
It remained silent for a second, as Hermione had to progress his formally, which were void from any emotions. Then Ginny broke out in sobs and she started screaming desperate pleas, and clawing hopelessly at Harry's arm.
The realisation crashed into her too, "What?" She stood up and she looked first at Harry, and then Ron, accusation and hurt flashing bright in her brown eyes. "What the fuck."
"Hermione-," Harry desperately pleaded, worry flashing in his eyes.
"Don't! How could you do this without telling me first?" She hissed.
"We already expected you'd become angry, but why are you even becoming angry in the first place? Decisions like this should be made by us, and we don't need your approval!" Harry's voice grew louder with each word he spoke, which agitated her only further, resulting in her screaming too.
"You ask me why? Are you fucking insane! You know how I think of Aurors."
"And I think your opinion is bullocks." Harry had stood up too. "The fact that you don't want anything to do with violence doesn't mean violence is wrong. You are wrong about it Hermione."
She huffed as a reply to his ridiculous claim, "I'm not wrong."
Harry pointed a finger to her, "You don't realize that you killing and hurting people in the War was just!"
Her eyes grew big and gathered tears at that, pursing her lips in anger, her voice shrill, "Because it wasn't just!"
Harry's voice turned softer, lowering his finger, "It was, Hermione."
"No! I've killed people without seeing what face there was behind their mask, without thinking."
He was walking towards her and said with a plea, "You did that in order to survive! In order for others to survive!"
Ginny's sobs turned into hysterical cries.
"Well, maybe I didn't want to survive if I knew I would end up like this, living my life like this!"
Harry's eyes turned big like saucers, stopping in his tracks with a shock, and Ginny stopped crying. Ron still looked at the table, obviously pretending that he wasn't there, the coward.
Hermione voice turned into a hissing as she continued, "You know what, you go out and hurt and kill people! I thought we were done with that. Why would you want to do this? You are only sulking in the past."
Harry looked hurt at her words, but she kept her gaze firm and steady, not wanting any other emotions but anger to take over.
"You don't understand, Hermione. I am the Chosen One."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and smack him, "Voldemort is dead, Harry. You are not obliged to fight evil."
"You don't understand me!" At this point, he just sounded like a sodden baby to her, so she said, her voice void of any understanding or sympathy, "Right now, I don't even want to understand you." And with that she left the kitchen and retrieved herself to the drawing room, leaving Harry frozen, Ginny crying and Ron trying to convince himself he had no place in the argument and wondering why Harry had ever opened the damned can of worms.
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She didn't know for how long she had been sitting behind the piano in the drawing room, playing away her anger and sadness with some Bach, which didn't make her feel any better at all.
Time had been a lost concept this last year, due she had spent her time doing nothing and just waiting around for her life to restart. It hadn't been her first argument with Harry on the Auror subject; she just never expected he would actually apply. She would always know Harry's next steps, because he was like a brother to her and she like a sister to him. But now she just wanted to strangle him.
Had she been so caught up in her own silly 'waiting around' or did he just push her away, like he had always done, when it became difficult? Ron had certainly pushed her away this last week. But she knew that Harry would enter this room soon and that he would just sit beside her and watch her play. He would ask her if she wanted a cup of tea and if she would join them for bed.
So she carried on playing just in case she was once again, right.
Moments later, she heard that the door behind her was softly opened, but she remained playing. She heard his footsteps on the soft carpet, him walking towards her, but she still went on playing. No way she was going to turn around. She just kept her fingers moving and pressing on the keys. He had reached the piano and sat on the other side of the long bench that stood in front of it, but turning around, she saw it wasn't Harry- it was Ron. She had been wrong again.
"We are going to bed, do you-" Ron had nearly screamed, because the loud sound of the piano, so she stopped playing, what caused him to stop speaking too. "-Want to join us." He finished softly.
She looked him in the eye and nodded. She pushed the crutch backwards and they stood up, Ron softly grabbing her hand when they walked through the room, then the corridors and up the stairs. All the paintings were asleep, which made it for her more silent than usual.
In the daytime there would always be soft whispers and silent cursing when she past them, or even screaming when they were in a foul mood. She had asked Harry multiple times to put them somewhere in an empty room, but he didn't want to touch them, the paintings reminding him of his time here when Sirius was still alive. She didn't understand how awful people, who were painted for preserving their memory, could help you relive your memory of a beautiful time, scarce in your traumatizing past.
When they had reached the third floor, Ron still held her hand and led her to their room. She knew what he wanted; they hadn't slept together this week and obviously he thought that this was a good moment.
She didn't want to fight, so when they stood beside their bed, she let him undress her and she quickly and silently undressed him. All without him saying anything too, only the sound of his quickening breathe caused by her touch ringing in her ears.
When they were naked, he moved his hands towards her breasts and started to massage them. Even God knew she didn't like that, but she let him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him better access, and he lowered his head to suck softly on her nipples. He pushed himself closer, so she felt his arousal against her hip. She lowered her own hand and began to stroke herself, in order to get aroused too. Pornographic images flashed in her head and she felt herself getting wet.
She didn't feel sorry for him about the fact his touch or naked body couldn't arouse her; it had always been this way, but she still felt guilty, in a strange way. She loved him, she really did, but he just couldn't let her show him her love through intimacy, her love wasn't build like that.
He had always been a selfish man.
He pushed her onto the bed and climbed on top of her. He didn't kiss her mouth; instead he began to suck rather painfully on her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to think of more pleasurable things other men could do to her.
His first thrust caused him to moan in pleasure, but she didn't feel anything more than pain at his harsh and forcing entrance.
"You are so bloody tight." He whispered in her ear.
She had to refrain from pushing him off and slapping him; she wasn't a sodden merry he could tread whenever he felt like it.
His thrusts followed up quicker and quicker and she once again faked her moans. She had never came by his accord, always by her own. She knew he was on the edge. She faked her own orgasm and shortly after that he came too with a loud grunt.
He rolled off of her and fell asleep.
She listened to his loud breathing and after that his snoring. She grabbed her wand from her bedside table and put a Silencing Charm on him.
She sighed; she knew she couldn't keep 'them' going for much longer. She knew he wanted to marry her and have a big family. She knew he thought that she wanted this too, but she didn't want to marry, she didn't want five kids, she didn't want to have bad sex for the rest of her life and she didn't want to have daily arguments with him, which she knew she would have if she stayed with him.
She had to break up.
The problem was, she loved him and she didn't really want to break up, cherishing the comfort and familiarity he brought with him. Also Ginny and Harry would hate her, maybe even break off contact, it already was like they had no attention for her anyways.
There was a high chance too she couldn't longer live here. She didn't want to live her in the first place, but she had nowhere else to go. She could buy her own flat, but although she hated to admit it, she would be scared something would happen to her physically or mentally without anyone nearby.
Breaking up with Ron would mean breaking up with all three.
She was stuck; stuck in a relationship and situation she didn't want to be in and never had control over in the first place. Was there one moment in her life where she had made her own choices? She had been thrown in difficult situations over and over, till this day.
She let her mind roll over the fights and moments of peace today. Today Harry had told her they were going to Auror training, which meant they went away. Maybe this was her chance. Maybe she could leave too, because they barely would be home. She could escape from it all. She only had to see what she was going to do with her life after her 'escape'.
She looked over at Ron, suddenly feeling dirty from his touch; she stepped out of bed and walked towards the bathroom. She turned on the faucets of the bathtub with a flick of her wand and poured her favourite jasmine-scented oil in the water. When the tub was filled to the brim with hot water, she slowly lowered herself in it. She breathed in the sweet smell and she felt her muscles relax.
Leaning her head back, she lowered her right hand between her legs. She softly began to stroke her clit, which became more erect each moment that passed; first she ran circles around it, and then rubbing it between her folds of skin. A pleasurable kind of heat spread across her legs, making her toes curl and a soft whimper escape from her lips. Her breathing became more hasted and the whimpers transformed into soft moans, the longer she continued and the faster she rubbed.
But she found she couldn't continue towards her climax, guilt and shame settling itself in her brain.
This was selfish.
She angrily slapped down her hand on the surface of the water, which resulted in her hand burning in pain, quickly pressing it to her body. She let out a frustrated groan; tears stinging in her eyes.
She carefully stepped out the hot bath, placing her feet slowly on the white marble tiles, afraid to slip. When she looked in the seven feet tall mirror, she saw that her skin had turned pinkish from the water's heat and her hair was frizzled and had became enormous.
It was then when she realized, as she took in her small form with angry and unsatisfied eyes, that she wasn't happy anymore with herself and the way her life was heading.
She slept the remainder of the night in the drawing room next to the piano, on a hard, cold sofa.
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A/N: I think we can all agree Hermione's not really healthy.
I'm back again, trying to write/finish/update a fic again.
Regarding grammar faults: English is my second language and I'm in desperate need for a beta, anyone interested?
Regarding the story: This will be quite a long story, including five books, and about five chapters each. The chapters will be spread over multiple updates, so this chapter isn't finished, it has a part two (do you understand or nah?).
It's not going to be a happy or fluffy story, it is quite angsty and I have a feeling you will not find the end satisfactory, but I love it (because I'm the author, and they tend to love their own endings). There is a risk I will never finish or update this story (or it will take me two years...), BUT I WILL TRY. There will not much smut, only if it's relevant to the story and/or characters. It's still rated M for that, plus possible harsh language.
I like reviews, and would be thrilled if you'd like to be my beta.
Next up: Draco and Blaise :)
-Hannah
