Hello folks, so idek what this is lol, I just had to write it you know?
Hope you'll like it, let me know what you think!
Thanks to the amazing weestarmeggie for beta reading this piece. You're an angel.
See you next time!
-*o*-
She never had quite thought it would pass. Never had quite believed it even could.
The grief. Blinding, unforgiving pain that had almost swallowed her whole.
She had learned to live with it. She could manage to ignore the ache, on her best days.
But then, after the pain, after the loss, there had been the fear. She had been scared out of her mind. Barely leaving her apartment, refusing to even acknowledge there was a world outside of it.
Because, what if they found her? What if he found her?
She was living with a target on her back. Each breath she feared would be her last.
-*o*-
In the end though, it had dulled out.
After the trial, after the winning. It all had gone back to normal, albeit slowly.
She had conquered it, and for quite some time she had the illusion that she could go on, live her life as she always was supposed to.
She was wrong.
-*o*-
"He's been released," chief Dumbledore had said, eyes boring into hers. There was something in his voice, something that for a brief second made her think that if he could go and bring the man back to jail, he would.
Her heart almost stopped at the words. Eyes widening in both fear and incredulity. She supposed she should have expected it. Prepared for it, even. It shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did.
She knew. With alarming clarity, she knew perfectly well that he had connections. Important connections. People that could bail him out even if the bail had been set for a hundred thousand euros.
She swallowed, tried to reason past the pounding of her heart in her ears.
"What?" She demanded, quite stupidly. She had heard him. Clearly.
"We can put you into a witness protection program," the man had repeated. He was as composed as ever. It unnerved her. She was as good as dead and this man looked like they were discussing dinner plans.
She wanted to laugh. Laugh out loud, bold and rich, and tell him that nothing could ever save her.
She wanted to cry. Ask the stars why. Why was justice so faulty? Why did her best friend have to die? Why so many people before him had to die? Why were most of the charges dropped for 'not enough evidence'? Why was Tom Riddle unstoppable?
She did neither.
Instead, she nodded slowly. A new kind of calm settling deep into her bones. She eyed the gun sitting on the chief's belt and swallowed thickly, a new plan waltzing into her mind.
-*o*-
She thought about ending it quite a few times. Confined in the small house they had put her into, it was hard to keep her resolve. She had many options, she thought grimly. It wouldn't even have to hurt.
She had discarded the thought as quickly as it had come, every time.
On the worst days, though, she couldn't help but wonder how he would do it. What would he do once he found her?
She didn't have to wonder whether he would find her. It was only a matter of time. That much was obvious. She knew she was dead the moment she had accepted to testify against him.
She had been all bravery and belief in justice, back then. She had only thought he had to pay for his crimes. For killing her best friend in cold blood. For being a despicable excuse of a human being.
She had been so terribly naive.
They had been lucky, to get in front of the grand jury. Most of the charges were dropped then, only a relatively minor charge still standing. Enough to get him into jail, but not enough to keep him there. With a single look, she had understood that he had all of them in his pockets. Some out of fear, others out of greed. She had wanted to shout, wanted to tear through the room and slap each one of them silly.
Don't you see, she had wanted to yell, scream, cry, can't you see he's dangerous. A murderer.
He had smirked at her, when she had looked at him. Boyish and almost charming.
She had emptied the contents of her stomach in the court's bathroom, after.
-*o*-
It had been easy enough, to coax the chief into leaving her with a gun. For any eventuality, she had said. He had trusted her.
He shouldn't have.
When the package arrived, two days later, she almost cried with relief. She had lifted the bottle with extreme care. It was unlabelled, as she had clearly requested. Only a single small note accompanying it, handle with care, Miss. Granger, it read.
She smiled, a bittersweet memory of her chemistry professor fresh in her mind.
This time, she thought, we'll play my game.
-*o*-
The officers appointed with her protection always phoned her before coming inside, by default. It was a precaution they had taken, less they find her in anything other than appropriate attire.
She had to answer the phone with a simple "yes" and then she would hear the gate croak, loud and grating. It was an old and ugly thing, but it served a most convenient purpose.
That afternoon there was no phone call. Just a loud croaking of metal as all the hair of her body stood to attention. It was time.
-*o*-
Sometimes justice isn't enough. Sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands. See things done. And be through with them. Sometimes it's either kill or be killed.
What would you choose then?
-*o*-
"You've put me through quite some difficult times, haven't you Hermione?" He asked. There was a strange tilt to his voice. He sounded almost teasing. As if he wasn't there to take her life. As if he wasn't the pure definition of a monster.
She wondered then, for a brief second, how different it could have been. Had he been human, had he been normal. She could have met him in a coffee shop maybe. Or in a library. They would have gotten along pretty well, she presumed. They were both fairly smart, witty. It could have been the best thing of her life. He could have been.
It was stupid. A reality so far from her own it sounded absurd, in a way.
She didn't answer him. She knew she didn't have to.
His gun was pointed straight at her chest and she realised, with a twisted shot of relief, that he was aiming to kill. He wanted it to be done as fast as possible. He wanted to get her out of the way, quickly. And then leave, never look back again.
She was almost flattered, the knowledge that he had not granted the same mercy to any other of his victims vivid in her brain.
"Are you ready to die, Hermione?" She hated how he kept saying her name. The memory of somebody she couldn't be anymore. Somebody that was lost in a storm of pain and horror. Somebody that was about to perish.
"Are you, Tom?" She played his own cards against him. She saw the smile slip from his face as she drew her own gun.
The shot rung clear and loud in the small room.
His eyes enlarged almost comically as he looked down, a patch of dark red coating his abdomen. As he looked back at her there was a mix of unmasked shock and pain on his expression, his hand wavered a bit as he adjusted his grip once more.
"You missed me," he mocked, a gasp tumbling from his lips.
She smiled, in spite herself. She wished she could somehow see his death. Plead with some god to let her see it. See the life leaving his eyes, see the shock as he realised it was the end. For real this time. She wanted to capture it in a video and keep it for all of eternity. She wondered when she'd become so twisted, but one look at him and she had her answer.
She drew in a breath, deep and fulfilling. She knew it was one of the last times she would ever do so.
The smile never left her, as victory set in, as satisfaction - despite everything - coated her every bone.
She laughed, and just a moment before he fired his gun, she told him, "the bullet is poisoned, Tom."
Then she felt the bullet pierce her skin, and knew no more.