*A/n: Well everyone welcome to my second fanfiction a dark little bit,
inspired by the Incubus song "The Warmth." Oh and by little bit this is
going to be really a lot shorter then my 1st because school is so damn time
consuming. like normal I hate the 1st chapter by since I have already
written a few more chapter I know it will all and up being worth it, plus I
think I will always hate the 1st chapter as long as I write. Its just a
thing of mine. I have no beta so it's my own damn falt for the grammer +
spelling , I hope to get chapter 2 up by the end of the weekend, and if you
review and tell me it sucks then please stop reading it, I don't want to
disappoint you any further.
I rated this fanfiction R for morals in the story being a tad bit shifty... I believe around chapter 6 you might understand
J.K.R. came up with the characters, and I came up with these absurd circumstances, I hope she will forgive me. ^_^ *
1. You think I should adhere
The fine art of suffering, Hermione thought. Everything about it will suck like a bloody fuck and you will hate every minute of it. But when you look back on it and how far you've come, you will reminisce. You think that was some good suffering, and just maybe I am a stronger person because of it. For you have experienced that fine art know as suffering.
And Hermione couldn't wait for that moment she could look back on Ron, and this whole dumb relationship, and reminisce. But right now she was tied into it, married. Wow, wasn't that was a dumb idea. But she didn't know that then. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Too late now.
Hermione had her foot against the headboard of their bed, lying backwards. Like she was rebelling against the way you are supposed to lie in your bed. She wanted to piss something off right now, maybe the god of how to lie in beds was pissed off at her right now. She looked outside to the window imagining that somewhere up in the clouds there was some old balding god with two barely clothed woman curled up next to him in the bed, and he was glaring at her.
iYeah well fuck you.i
Actually that guy wouldn't probably be that angry, the gods of how to lie in beds didn't have it very hard. Two women to teach how to lie in the bed the right way. Yes he wouldn't give a damn. Too much for that. Hermione lie rocking her for self in the bed. More like a nervous action made by her foot. The as the bed groaned and swayed under the movement. She was rocking back and forth, faster now that she noticed that she was doing it.
The neighbors in the apartment below theirs were probably wondering what she was doing to make that entire racket. Or more likely thinking of what uthey/u were doing. They were probably trying to block that thought out now. It wasn't true anyways, so they could just shut up. Ron had just left.
Not left for good though. Of course not for good, he had just left announcing "this is a dumb" and "I'll be back in a couple hours." He was off at the pub, adding a bit more to that belly of his. Hermione kicked the headboard. He was the dumb one, really fucking dumb one.
So when he came home he would pretend like it had never happened. Just say "Hello 'Mione" And kiss her with that taste of alcohol on his lips and walk off to take a shower. So, as he believed, by the time he came out of his shower she had forgot all that have ever happened between them. She was supposed to continue loving him.
Loving him when he came out of the shower ass naked. Loving him enough for this to turn her on. Loving him enough that he could wave away her clothing and fuck her till he came.
Only it was to getting to the point he came and she didn't. And that really pissed her off for some odd reason. Though she supposed sex with the same person did get to be like that, she never had wanted to ask. She still didn't. the thought of the subject "does Dad still give you an orgasm?" To her mother made her want to throw up. Almost as much as Ron smelling of Zest, ass naked with a boner did.
Because she would have just forgiven him, for him being a total asshole two hours ago. Because she let him go spend, what was probably her damn money towards his liquor, while she sat at home. Because she knew he was always going to come back to her. This whole situation seemed wrong.
She wondered if this was the best it could be. If the average married couple did this. And she fell upon her answer. Which was probably, why yes, of course
But then Hermione asked herself if she was average enough to stand it.
And that answer was no.
Hermione packed with vengeance, and with a smile. Just a small trunk. Six robes, six set of underwear, socks... shoes. Hey what's a girl without her shoes? And with her flick of wand she lifted the trunk and levitated it out the door. With another wave of her wand she closed all the blinds, curtains, and doors, only leaving one small beam of light enter the room, aimed directly onto directly onto the note.
Hermione walked out the door, and it knew damn well enough to slam shut behind her.
....
Dearest Ron,
I need some time to myself. No don't track me down. Maybe you can use this bit of time to think about things. What you really think is important. Because I will be.
Hermione
...
The cold wind blew Hermione's hair back fluttering around her face. It made her feel sexy, empowered in some odd way. Like some actress in a muggle movie walking down the street as the whole audience thought about how pretty she was and how dumb that guy must be to treat her like that. Cause they knew that she wasn't going to put up with that shit.
Her silhouette boots teetered and sunk straight into the snow and she saw the large manhole in front of her. She smiled and stepping her foot right onto the rusted manhole cover. It immediately began to sink straight into the earth. Accepting her.
"Beam me down Scotty" Hermione couldn't help muttering with a smile on her face as she sank. The wind only on her hair now and soon there was nothing, just a dim darkness. A still and humid darkness. Hermione took a deep breath and let out a shiver. No, Ron would never look for her here, because he didn't even know here existed.
No, Candle Lit Alley was far to untamed for his pure Weasley ears. No, he never even read up on the Great War of Voldemort, the war of the devils own son, flesh and blood. He just said they had lived through it and there was no reason to be concerned with other war stories. That their own was enough. Little did he know that the story she wanted him to read was her own.
Because Candlelit alley was the mudblood concentration camp. It was here that she coexisted with the others of "her kind." Only most of them died, and she didn't. Be cause she also coexisted with the dark. And she sold herself to them, she had to punish and keep order of her own kind. And in return she wouldn't die. So week by week would pass and she would see the new faces, they would look to her scared...
"Oh, Miss how can we survive like you?"
"Why are you taking us here!?"
"You are the devil!"
No, she wanted to tell them, she was just smart enough to play on the devil's side. Because she had to survive. Maybe you, miss, would have survived if you played your cards right. But too bad. Sucks to be you. Because if you cant lie to save your own life its your own problem and not mine.
Hermione pushed the memories away and stepped into the inn that was engraved into the wall. They had cleared all the things they could away, but the main buildings couldn't be un-engraved from the walls, so they were just reused.
So now she was staring at the old main death eater building. Which was now an inn. At least as close to an inn this area could get. The whole alley was a suspicious place for suspicious wizards and witches who couldn't even afford to live above the ground. The arch shaped hole that was the door brought her to the bar and what one could consider an eating area, motioning to the bar keeper, he glared at her.
Oh, yes, she didn't look like the type here. Her tailored leather coat falling around her and the crisp snow beginning to drip at her pant hems, she should be somewhere where someone with actual clothing should stay. Too bad.
"I need a room" she said simply to the man, who upon closer look had a perpetual twitch in his right eye. The dirty cleaning rag in his hand was almost the same color as his faded clothing. How it got faded was beyond her as the wax drenched candles barely lit the place.
He gave her a smile. Hermione might say it was creepy, but she was here on her own business, so she didn't care. She didn't care if it looked odd that she was here. She didn't care that that twitch turned more onto a wink as the bar tender told her "yes ma'am" and handed her a key. Hermione snatched the key from his lanky hand and walked straight up the stairs to the room two.
It actually had a door, now that was a small miracle. They didn't used to, or at least they were always open all he time. Because the perverted Death eaters liked to "recruit" mudbloods in whole view of everyone who walked down this hall. Hermione shunned the thought from her mind with the feeling of sickness in her stomach. The crude chalk 2 wrote on the door of her room was staring up at her.
She was surprised the old innkeeper was even educated enough to do that. And upon entering the room the stale air assaulted her senses. Hermione let out a small cough and surveyed the mattress on the floor, a crumpled blanket sat on it looking though someone would have to be crazy to even to touch it.
Hermione let couple small coughs; secretly thankful this room didn't resemble the one she remembered. It even had a door to the left which on closer inspection lead to a bathroom. It was a sort of bathroom you would expect to go with the room, a chipped porcelain toilet and sink. Along with the cracked mirror, in which one glace could tell you that was taken from a dumpster, by a person who didn't have the proper tetanus shots that he probably needed.
And then there was the shower. A simple nozzle from the wall and there was a drain on the ground. Hermione didn't care. Hermione threw off her cloths balancing them on the sink, watching the white silk absorb the discolored droplet of water. She thought that wasn't a good idea now, but it was too late.
She turned the shower onto it hot streams of water came drizzling out. The steam filled the room as she tried to scrub herself under the slow drip, and wondered if it would be a better idea to use the cold water. She had a feeling that her sweat made her wetter then the water did. But that didn't matter because she was going to be clean.
And she turned off the water and walked to the mattress collapsing on its dirtied surface trying to not think about it. Closing her eyes she tried to let the sleep overcome her and on several hours of thinking about it, fell asleep.
I rated this fanfiction R for morals in the story being a tad bit shifty... I believe around chapter 6 you might understand
J.K.R. came up with the characters, and I came up with these absurd circumstances, I hope she will forgive me. ^_^ *
1. You think I should adhere
The fine art of suffering, Hermione thought. Everything about it will suck like a bloody fuck and you will hate every minute of it. But when you look back on it and how far you've come, you will reminisce. You think that was some good suffering, and just maybe I am a stronger person because of it. For you have experienced that fine art know as suffering.
And Hermione couldn't wait for that moment she could look back on Ron, and this whole dumb relationship, and reminisce. But right now she was tied into it, married. Wow, wasn't that was a dumb idea. But she didn't know that then. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Too late now.
Hermione had her foot against the headboard of their bed, lying backwards. Like she was rebelling against the way you are supposed to lie in your bed. She wanted to piss something off right now, maybe the god of how to lie in beds was pissed off at her right now. She looked outside to the window imagining that somewhere up in the clouds there was some old balding god with two barely clothed woman curled up next to him in the bed, and he was glaring at her.
iYeah well fuck you.i
Actually that guy wouldn't probably be that angry, the gods of how to lie in beds didn't have it very hard. Two women to teach how to lie in the bed the right way. Yes he wouldn't give a damn. Too much for that. Hermione lie rocking her for self in the bed. More like a nervous action made by her foot. The as the bed groaned and swayed under the movement. She was rocking back and forth, faster now that she noticed that she was doing it.
The neighbors in the apartment below theirs were probably wondering what she was doing to make that entire racket. Or more likely thinking of what uthey/u were doing. They were probably trying to block that thought out now. It wasn't true anyways, so they could just shut up. Ron had just left.
Not left for good though. Of course not for good, he had just left announcing "this is a dumb" and "I'll be back in a couple hours." He was off at the pub, adding a bit more to that belly of his. Hermione kicked the headboard. He was the dumb one, really fucking dumb one.
So when he came home he would pretend like it had never happened. Just say "Hello 'Mione" And kiss her with that taste of alcohol on his lips and walk off to take a shower. So, as he believed, by the time he came out of his shower she had forgot all that have ever happened between them. She was supposed to continue loving him.
Loving him when he came out of the shower ass naked. Loving him enough for this to turn her on. Loving him enough that he could wave away her clothing and fuck her till he came.
Only it was to getting to the point he came and she didn't. And that really pissed her off for some odd reason. Though she supposed sex with the same person did get to be like that, she never had wanted to ask. She still didn't. the thought of the subject "does Dad still give you an orgasm?" To her mother made her want to throw up. Almost as much as Ron smelling of Zest, ass naked with a boner did.
Because she would have just forgiven him, for him being a total asshole two hours ago. Because she let him go spend, what was probably her damn money towards his liquor, while she sat at home. Because she knew he was always going to come back to her. This whole situation seemed wrong.
She wondered if this was the best it could be. If the average married couple did this. And she fell upon her answer. Which was probably, why yes, of course
But then Hermione asked herself if she was average enough to stand it.
And that answer was no.
Hermione packed with vengeance, and with a smile. Just a small trunk. Six robes, six set of underwear, socks... shoes. Hey what's a girl without her shoes? And with her flick of wand she lifted the trunk and levitated it out the door. With another wave of her wand she closed all the blinds, curtains, and doors, only leaving one small beam of light enter the room, aimed directly onto directly onto the note.
Hermione walked out the door, and it knew damn well enough to slam shut behind her.
....
Dearest Ron,
I need some time to myself. No don't track me down. Maybe you can use this bit of time to think about things. What you really think is important. Because I will be.
Hermione
...
The cold wind blew Hermione's hair back fluttering around her face. It made her feel sexy, empowered in some odd way. Like some actress in a muggle movie walking down the street as the whole audience thought about how pretty she was and how dumb that guy must be to treat her like that. Cause they knew that she wasn't going to put up with that shit.
Her silhouette boots teetered and sunk straight into the snow and she saw the large manhole in front of her. She smiled and stepping her foot right onto the rusted manhole cover. It immediately began to sink straight into the earth. Accepting her.
"Beam me down Scotty" Hermione couldn't help muttering with a smile on her face as she sank. The wind only on her hair now and soon there was nothing, just a dim darkness. A still and humid darkness. Hermione took a deep breath and let out a shiver. No, Ron would never look for her here, because he didn't even know here existed.
No, Candle Lit Alley was far to untamed for his pure Weasley ears. No, he never even read up on the Great War of Voldemort, the war of the devils own son, flesh and blood. He just said they had lived through it and there was no reason to be concerned with other war stories. That their own was enough. Little did he know that the story she wanted him to read was her own.
Because Candlelit alley was the mudblood concentration camp. It was here that she coexisted with the others of "her kind." Only most of them died, and she didn't. Be cause she also coexisted with the dark. And she sold herself to them, she had to punish and keep order of her own kind. And in return she wouldn't die. So week by week would pass and she would see the new faces, they would look to her scared...
"Oh, Miss how can we survive like you?"
"Why are you taking us here!?"
"You are the devil!"
No, she wanted to tell them, she was just smart enough to play on the devil's side. Because she had to survive. Maybe you, miss, would have survived if you played your cards right. But too bad. Sucks to be you. Because if you cant lie to save your own life its your own problem and not mine.
Hermione pushed the memories away and stepped into the inn that was engraved into the wall. They had cleared all the things they could away, but the main buildings couldn't be un-engraved from the walls, so they were just reused.
So now she was staring at the old main death eater building. Which was now an inn. At least as close to an inn this area could get. The whole alley was a suspicious place for suspicious wizards and witches who couldn't even afford to live above the ground. The arch shaped hole that was the door brought her to the bar and what one could consider an eating area, motioning to the bar keeper, he glared at her.
Oh, yes, she didn't look like the type here. Her tailored leather coat falling around her and the crisp snow beginning to drip at her pant hems, she should be somewhere where someone with actual clothing should stay. Too bad.
"I need a room" she said simply to the man, who upon closer look had a perpetual twitch in his right eye. The dirty cleaning rag in his hand was almost the same color as his faded clothing. How it got faded was beyond her as the wax drenched candles barely lit the place.
He gave her a smile. Hermione might say it was creepy, but she was here on her own business, so she didn't care. She didn't care if it looked odd that she was here. She didn't care that that twitch turned more onto a wink as the bar tender told her "yes ma'am" and handed her a key. Hermione snatched the key from his lanky hand and walked straight up the stairs to the room two.
It actually had a door, now that was a small miracle. They didn't used to, or at least they were always open all he time. Because the perverted Death eaters liked to "recruit" mudbloods in whole view of everyone who walked down this hall. Hermione shunned the thought from her mind with the feeling of sickness in her stomach. The crude chalk 2 wrote on the door of her room was staring up at her.
She was surprised the old innkeeper was even educated enough to do that. And upon entering the room the stale air assaulted her senses. Hermione let out a small cough and surveyed the mattress on the floor, a crumpled blanket sat on it looking though someone would have to be crazy to even to touch it.
Hermione let couple small coughs; secretly thankful this room didn't resemble the one she remembered. It even had a door to the left which on closer inspection lead to a bathroom. It was a sort of bathroom you would expect to go with the room, a chipped porcelain toilet and sink. Along with the cracked mirror, in which one glace could tell you that was taken from a dumpster, by a person who didn't have the proper tetanus shots that he probably needed.
And then there was the shower. A simple nozzle from the wall and there was a drain on the ground. Hermione didn't care. Hermione threw off her cloths balancing them on the sink, watching the white silk absorb the discolored droplet of water. She thought that wasn't a good idea now, but it was too late.
She turned the shower onto it hot streams of water came drizzling out. The steam filled the room as she tried to scrub herself under the slow drip, and wondered if it would be a better idea to use the cold water. She had a feeling that her sweat made her wetter then the water did. But that didn't matter because she was going to be clean.
And she turned off the water and walked to the mattress collapsing on its dirtied surface trying to not think about it. Closing her eyes she tried to let the sleep overcome her and on several hours of thinking about it, fell asleep.
