A/N: This is in response to the "Make it Angst or Make it Fluff" Competition. This will probably just be a oneshot, unless people want more….anywho, here goes nothing!
Angst #2
How come we always remember the bad stuff and the good fades away? Why does it seem like we're hard wired for pain?
"You're the most amazing person I've ever met."
Even that memory, something she would have recalled fondly-was tainted now. Painful. Surely, it shouldn't be this fresh, hurt this much….
The pain.
Flashes of hands and skin, the smell of sweat and sandalwood, hearts racing and ears tickled with moans and the exhalation of breath. That night had been all heat and passion. He'd brought her to completion so many times, she'd thought she'd burn up from his ardor. Funny, how she felt so cold now. She almost regretted it. Why had she let things go so far? Why had he? Perhaps like her-he was missing something. The chance to feel whole. Well, it was gone now. She pulled on the matching set of crimson lace underwear. She remembered the way he reacted to seeing her that night. She could almost smile. Almost.
God, it wasn't fair. To have all her happiness snatched away. To bleed out onto the dirty floor of the shack right in front of her. And there was nothing she could do. She had never felt so helpless. So numb. And there was still work to do, no time to mourn. To comprehend so great a loss. Slowly, she walked to the white garment that hung on her closet door. She knew her friends had been puzzled by her selection for today's ceremony. By all rights the get up seemed too cheerful for the occasion. Eyeing the snowy sheath, the way the fabric glittered subtly, she could understand their concern. Not that she cared. They could never understand why she needed to wear this dress. No one did.
"You're the most amazing person I've ever met."
His eyes had been so open and full of love, it hurt to think about it. But she couldn't help it. As the minutes ticked by it was all that consumed her thoughts. They never found his body. Only his wand remained, lying in the pool of his blood. They decided to bury it in his stead, along with the Order of Merlin-first class, awarded to him posthumously. Feeling tears sting her eyes, she slipped on the dress quickly, careful not to mush up the curls she had painstakingly put into submission.
Tea.
That's what she needed. Perhaps it would settle her stomach enough to finish her preparations. She called for Kreacher, who obediently (albeit grudgingly) returned with a tray bearing a hot cup. Jasmine. His favorite. She uncovered that secret on the night they started their relationship. She healed his wounds and he had been too injured to protest. Or maybe too weary. Either way, their acquaintance developed from there into a sort of odd companionship. For a while it had been strictly platonic until she demanded that they both needed more.
The need to feel whole…..
She of course, had no idea just how much he'd been thinking the same. As he knelt before her, with the elegant diamond ring that now rested on her dresser, in his hand…..she had to say yes. They performed the bond right then. He'd been too stubborn to take her virginity under any other circumstance. Plus...
"You're the most amazing person I've ever met."
That's what he whispered to her that night. Like she was something sacred. Stop this….she chastised herself, but it was no use. Her grief left no room for sensibilities. Tea gone, she set the cup down on the tray. Time for her shoes. Heels that raised her calves and elongated her legs. If she closed her eyes she swore she could still feel how his long sable locks teased her thighs and how is mouth fluttered over her knees with its kiss. She shivered. Could she ever love another man? Would his ghost always haunt her heart? And truthfully, didn't she welcome such possessiveness? After all, a large part of her wanted to deny that he was dead. It wasn't fair.
The need to feel whole…
For a moment, mere days….that need was satisfied. Did he know? When he knelt before her that night, not as a wizard, or a traitor, but a man in love-did he know? Did he know that he would die? Or maybe he didn't think she would say yes. After all, he betrayed them and they hadn't spoken in a year. She'd been too busy on the run then. But that night, just days before the final battle….she gave herself to him. It didn't matter that the Order viewed him as a traitor. Or that anyone else would have killed him on the spot. Her heart ached when she saw him. Beyond the fear. He too, must have been missing something.
He was tired and broken. Just like her. Hermione had no idea if he was truly on their side or not and he offered no reassurances. But he knelt in front of her just the same. For an impossible, incredible moment-he was hers. And she said yes, much to his surprise. But he smiled. An act so rare. They married that night. Made love. Over and over…
And now he's dead.
Would she ever feel whole again? Maybe. When his death wasn't so...fresh. Along with the guilt. She had done nothing. Did their secret matter when his life's blood was draining before her very eyes? Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have done something. But Harry needed her. And Ron. Her role wasn't over and above all she knew he would have looked down on her shirking her responsibilities. Still…
"You're the most amazing person I've ever met."
Hard to believe that lips choking on blood, gasping for air, had once uttered those words. Rising from her bed, she had to use the wall to steady herself. As the day of his home going approached, she had felt increasingly ill. Once she gained her bearings she walked to her dresser and picked up her ring with trembling hands. It really was beautiful. Edwardian. An heirloom, from his grandmother. Slipping it on her left ring finger she felt her heart twinge. There was a knock on her door. "Ready to go, Hermione?" Harry asked.
Glancing at her reflection, she donned her white veil. The young savior of the wizarding world gripped the doorknob tighter. "Are you sure that you're wearing that? It's not too late to change, you know?" He murmured, staring at her with brows scrunched together in worry.
Hermione tried to smile. Rubbing her ring affectionately, she nodded. "Let's go, I'm sure the others are downstairs waiting."
In spite of the somber reason that had the small party of witches and wizards gathered on the lawn, the sun shone down cheerfully on the cemetery's occupants. Like Harry, many of the Order members carried lilies to lay at the feet of the obsidian obelisk that served as his headstone. His love for Harry's mom was infamous now. Hermione wondered how they'd feel if they knew her secret. That his great love no longer belonged to Lily, but to her. His wife.
No.
Widow. Her heart corrected. Beneath her veil, she examined everyone's solemn faces. However, some people who had been closer to him-like Professor McGonagall, actually shed a few tears. Head bowed she approached the black casket. Her bouquet of purple jasmine stood out among the sea of white lilies. "Goodbye my love," she whispered just out of earshot of Ron who came up behind her. He gave her shoulder an awkward pat, obviously confused by her behavior. To him, he was just a professor-one whom he had disliked exceedingly. A hero, in disguise, but nonetheless a git. Those were his exact words. Even now it angered her. Screw, the judgement, the stares, the whispers. Screw it all. She would give her husband a proper goodbye. Kissing her fingertips, she traced the portrait in a loving caress. "You're the most amazing person I've ever met," she remarked. There was cough-she'd lingered too long. Ron squeezed her shoulder before going to sit by his family.
Returning to her seat, she felt like she'd fall over any minute now. This was too much. The casket. The sad faces. The reporters. It made it all unbearably real. Hermione's eyes blurred and for a moment it felt like she couldn't breathe. A wave of nausea hit her and she forced down the bile that rose from her stomach. "You were in love with him." It wasn't a question; however, the words served as a bolt of lightning to her already frayed nerves. She turned to the girl beside her. Like Hermione, she had defected from the typical black garb worn at these functions. Instead she wore dark fuchsia robes made from a wispy light fabric. Her silvery blonde hair fanned out from her face in delicate curls.
"Y-Yes. Yes I was," she admitted. Feeling something warm wrap around her hands she looked down to see a hand bearing a weird radish ring gripping her own. "Luna, how did you know?"
She didn't answer, at least not directly. Hermione noted that her eyes took on a familiar dreamlike quality. "You look quite beautiful," she mused soberly. "I'm sure he would agree." That was all it took for the tears she'd been valiantly holding back to come pouring down her face. She swiped at them angrily. What use were tears if they couldn't bring him back?
"Severus….."