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A/N : For hermione-lover, cause I did promise. But you didn't tell me what kind of story you wanted, and you weren't logged in, so I can't ask you, so I'm just going with your name for inspiration. If you happen to ask for something else, I'll do my best to write that.
If anyone knows good, completed fanfiction, please tell me? Pretty, pretty, please? Specifics on my profile. Please? Just click the little blue button saying Illyessa Fa Carnet and I'll love you forever. And yes, this is copied and pasted from Atlas.
Disclaimer: What do you mean, disclaimer? I own the world! Mwa-ha-ha!
A
In elementary school, Hermione remembered when the teachers would teach the younger children the alphabet. A was for apple, B was for bicycle, C was for cat, D was for dog, E was for exit.
Now, Hermione knew better. A was not for apple, had never been for apple. (Maybe for what Snow White ate, maybe. But not for apple.)
A was for Avada Kedavra.
A for what had killed Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Luna. A for what had killed them all, what had stopped their hearts from beating, had turned Ron's skin so cold, face so unknowing.
Such an innocent looking letter.
A was for what had left Hermione alone. Alone, alone, all alone, with the monsters, all the monsters chasing her. Hermione was cold, so cold.
She shivered, picturing her lips turning blue. Ron's lips had been blue when he had died, when he had fallen, down, down. And he was gone. Gone forever. Just like Harry, just like Ginny, just like Dumbledore. Just like all of them, all of them, all of them except for Hermione. Gone.
Lucky, lucky, Hermione.
Where are you, Ron? Where have you gone, Ron?
Ron?
RON?
V
V was for Voldemort. Voldemort, that horrible, horrible, man, in the loosest form of the word man, on the other side of that evil, so evil, wand, the brother wand of Harry's, pointing, lips moving, shouting, cursing. Who knew that wand could do such evil, when Harry's had done nothing but good?
Who knew? Hermione had known, a little, but only Harry, only poor, darling, Harry who had seen all the horrors of the world, had truly known. But she knew now. How much she knew.
She knew everything now. Death had told her, whispering his secrets in her ear, now that he knew that she would never be able to tell anyone.
Green light, bang!, and Harry was dead. Green light, bang!, and Ron was gone. Green light, wand waving, - no, not yet. Not yet for her.
Soon.
Red light, crucio, and Hermione was screaming, screaming, oh it hurt, it hurt, and someone-please-dear-God-help me. And then relief, sweet relief, but oh how she ached, her muscles twitching, flapping this way and there, Hermione trying to still her nerves.
A potion forced down her throat, a mumbled Mudblood in a hatred-filled voice, and she fell into unconsciousness. Sleep, blissful, wonderful, sleep. But even in oblivion, their screams rang in her ears. Ringing, ringing, ringing, like church bells, but shriller.
In third grade, V had been her favorite letter to write, when they were learning cursive.
( I think I hear the monsters coming. I can hear their roars in my ears. Loud roars they are, very loud roars.)
A
And A was for the killing curse, for such a horrible thing deserved mention, deserved recognition, deserved warning. The Killing Curse, green, green light like Harry's eyes, Harry's eyes full of kindness, compassion, weariness. Such beautiful green eyes so empty now that Harry was dead. The blank eyes on his corpse glittered in the moonlight next to her like fake jewels, adorning his dead body. Sometimes, after long Crucio sessions, she could almost believe that he was still alive.
Red-eyes laughed at her every day when they passed her cell. Mudblood filth. Such cruel red eyes.
Black robes swished past her every day when they passed her cell, taunting her. Mudblood.
Such cruel red eyes.
(But all the better to see you with, dear.)
D
D was for death, dead, dying. Death for what had happened to them all.
Dead for what Harry and Ron were now.
Dying for what Hermione was.
D for delusional. They had been delusional to believe they could ever been able to defeat Voldemort. So, so, delusional. So naive, such children they had been. They had been wrong, Dumbledore had been wrong. Love could never defeat anything. After all, who was the victor now?
She was the last one left.
She had never imagined it like this. It had always been a sweet, Happily Ever After, fairytale future with Voldemort dead, and she and Ron married and happy. Harry and Ginny married with children. At worst, she had thought Harry would be dead.
Never like this, never, never.
Her head drooped. She was so tired, so tired. The Golden Trio was no more, not even a Golden Duo anymore. She was nothing, no one, not anymore. Had she ever been someone? She couldn't remember anything, not now, not anymore.
No, no, no.
His red-eyed, cruel face, haunted her dreams.
She remembered terror, sometimes, through the blank haze.
A
A was for many things.
A
Avada Kedrava.
A last, muttered Mudblood from a black-cloaked wizard, Hermione backing away in fright, in horror, mind awake again. Fear was such a powerful motivator.
A hideous mouth moving, white lips stretching, a chilling, terrifying laugh. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood.
A last bright flash of green light, green light the color of Harry's eyes. A cold, sadistic smile, curving, hanging like a dagger, the curved scythe that Death always carried, and -
Falling, falling, falling.
And nothing.
She saw his cold smile, non-existent lips stretching cruelly, before she was gone.
(But all the better to eat you with, darling.)