Several 100-word drabbles set six years after the war.
Enjoy.
xxx
I know that she is upset as she comes into the room. She wears her heart on her sleeve. I would say it was typical Gryffindor, but even I know that stereotypes are not all that they seem.
She goes to her work, crushing the Oleander flowers. The white petals are obliterated under her pestle. The oil from the petals pools on the wooden cutting board. Her fingers pause over the oil; I know what she must think.
This is an easy way out.
The Oleander would kill me efficiently and without too much mess.
"Don't."
xxx
His one word stops my momentary lapse of rationality. His voice is not judging or cruel, it was soft and sincere. His hand on my wrist, right above where my protective dragon hide gloves ended, is warm and firm.
"It is not worth it."
My eyes fill with tears; of course he is right.
"Why?"
I do not answer, instead I drag my fingertips in the oil as if to taunt him. In return he grabs my by the wrists and shoves me backwards into a desk. He rips my gloves off and throws them across the dungeon.
Now it is he that taunts.
x xx
"I asked you why."
She remains silent for a moment and then speaks, "What makes you think that I was going to use the Oleander to take my own life?"
"I never said that," I reply, going to her work station. I make quick work of the Oleander, collecting the oils in a phial.
Her eyes grow even larger, white completely surrounding the brown. I shove the liquid at her.
"You wanted it. Now take it."
She hesitates and her body shudders violently. She throws the Oleander to the ground and the crystal smashes into tiny pieces.
"Help me. Please."
xxx
I broke his phial and I was expecting him to comfort me. All rationality has abandoned me.
Again, his face is not judging. His eyes aren't criticizing me.
He asks me what is wrong.
I tell him everything. I hold nothing back.
I tell him that I'm not happy. That I don't love my husband. That I don't remember ever loving him. That I wish I would have died when Voldemort did, rather than hate my life this much.
That I know Ron feels the same.
That I feel safer in his arms than I have since I was eleven.