Glare of the morning sun.
Drink.
Aching muscles, old bones.
Drink.
Think of her.
Drink.
Drink again.
-0-0-0-
The bottle is the only shelter for him anymore. It used to be four walls and a stone bed. Not anymore. There is no concept of home. Never has been. Most likely never will be. He went from hell to purgatory. And then straight back into hell.
This place, these people around him... He knows he doesn't belong. That the only reason they let him out was because of her. Her, ironic that it also happened to be the first three letters of her damnable name. He despised her. He loathed her. But he also wanted her. He wanted her to be the only thing in his world. In this world. Nothing else mattered. Not anymore.
Even the so called "cause" he had once fought for, swore to die for, meant nothing. Not when his master was dead. Not when his allies were either dead or lurked around him, looking much the same as he did. They didn't have purpose either.
He regularly wondered if death would be more appropriate. But when he remembered his sordid history... probably not. This, this endless torment, was what was due to him. He deserved nothing less.
...Then what about her?
Why did she have to exist with him?
-0-0-0-
Work, nine to nine.
Sweep the floors, mop the halls.
Look down, look away.
Don't let them see.
Don't give them reason to talk.
Move to the next floor.
A monster in a human form.
Ignore that office.
Ignore the urge to look.
Ignore that feeling.
Make yourself seem small.
Imagine you're invisible.
Wish that you were.
If it weren't for that broken wand...
-0-0-0-
Forcing him to work for the Ministry was cruel enough. Not as much as having to see her. But close. He had always hated the institution. Even when his father had first dragged him to Britain, he had commented on the backwards sense of government these Brits seemed to have.
And now he was owned by them.
Antonin grit his teeth as he pushed his broom down the aisle of desks. Even when it was technically empty, he was never alone. That bloody house elf was always just around the corner, ready to rat him out for shirking on his duties. Given orders by an elf...
He felt a twinge of his old self resurface. The angry teenager turned resentful adult. Had he always been this bitter? Shaking his head, he went back to work. Wouldn't do him any good to get back into that age old debate.
A light at the end of the hallway caught his eye. The office was still occupied, even at this late of an hour. Turning his head for a moment while keeping up the rhythmic motion of the broom's gentle scraping across the floor, he tried to see where his "boss" had ended up.
Asleep on top of a desk.
Perfect.
-0-0-0-
Click of the door.
Frenzied hands.
Warm against his chest.
Heavy breathing.
Lips crash.
Mesh.
Intertwined bodies.
In. Out. In. Out.
Again.
Again.
Release.
-0-0-0-
His head hit the pillow. A smile plastered on his face. Maybe hell wasn't so bad, he figured. Not with her in it. Her image crossed his mind again; wild, uncontrollable brown curls, dotted freckles, caramel colored eyes, and lips so sweet he often times felt as though he would weep.
She was perfection.
She was the best part of his day.
Hermione.
The words escaped his lips in a breathless whisper before the grips of exhaustion took him.
-0-0-0-
Sleep.
Repeat.