Disclaimer: Any characters, scenes, or settings recognizable from the HP
series belong solely to JKR and her publishers. No infringement was
intended.
A/N: Please note that the rating may and most likely will go up in future chapters due to explicit language, graphic violence and other adult content. If you are underage, or disagree with any of the mentioned themes, it would be in your best interests to exit this page now. If you find that this story does not comply with the rating or rules, you'd be a peach to let me know. My former account was deleted for that reason. : (
Poison By Azkaban Fugitive
The beauty and simplicity of Harbor Oaks escaped me as I sprinted along the long cobblestone path, anxious to present, thus far, the most significant argument of my life. I ran blindly past goldfish ponds and ornate pewter fountains, my quickened heartbeat in perfect cadence to my pounding footsteps. Spotting the extravagant main building partially hidden behind a small grove of dogwood trees to my left, I took a shortcut through the freesia gardens.
"I need Hermione Granger's room number," I announced urgently, slowing my pace as I entered the foyer.
The witch at the front desk surveyed me with a look of blunt disapproval written on her taut face as I stood panting, a trail of muddy tracks and pale flower heads soiling the ceramic floor behind me. "You'll need an invitation," she said, straining to conceal her vexation. "That is, if you've got one, sir."
I reached into my robes and produced the crinkled invitation. "I need Hermione Granger's room number," I repeated impatiently. Didn't the old wench realize that she was wasting valuable time?
"The service is scheduled at four o'clock, sir. Why, it isn't even noon yet. I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."
The desk attendant was near tears by the time she gave me the room number, and I was red in the face from shouting at her. My anxiety mounted higher as I pounded on the mahogany door to room 217 in vain, for there was no answer. I wriggled the brass doorknob to find that it was locked. When the door finally swung open, I stood momentarily in awe gaping at Hermione- my Hermione-standing in the threshold wearing only her chemise and stockings a shade darker than her natural skin tone. She took my breath away; her wild honey-brown mane piled on top of her head in a mass of curls, unruly tendrils coming undone defiantly; her shoulders squared, summoning dignity from her prideful heart whilst she welcomed me in her undergarments; her square, stubborn jaw held higher than necessary; her full lips, often pursed in disapproval, then favoring me with a wry smile; her eyes, however, perturbed me greatly, dull and hollow and lacking the vibrant sparkle that I so adored in them. Suddenly, I remembered my purpose.
"Hermione, you can't do this." I pleaded, grasping both of her wrists. She cast her plaintive brown eyes down, her face void of any emotion. I tilted her chin up and her gaze reluctantly followed, settling shakily on me. "Sit down, 'Mione. Hear me out."
"No!" Hermione gasped as I took a seat on the queen-sized bed. "My dress, Ron!"
Immediately I rose to my feet and peered down at the immaculate gown laid out neatly across the bed. It was so brilliantly white that the sheet beneath it appeared to be a dull, light gray in color. I had the impulse to touch the flowing silky material, but I withdrew my hand quickly as if I'd been stung. To me, it symbolized poison. I glared at Hermione. Didn't she know? That the moment she slipped into the pretty dress and adorned herself with pearls and flowers, her grave would be dug?
"Damn him, he'll kill you, Hermione!" I spat out and continued before she could get a word in. "He'll shatter all your dreams! Everything you've worked so hard for, he'll crush it! Bloody hell, you're brilliant, Hermione! He doesn't appreciate it or admire it! Soon he'll stamp out everything I love so much about you!"
She fell to her knees, unable to look me in the eye. I dropped to my knees as well and I held her until her strangled cries dwindled down to a hushed muffled sob. Wiping the tears off her lovely ashen face with my thumbs, I whispered, "I came to save you, 'Mione. You don't have to marry him; I know you'll never be happy. You don't have to marry him."
"Yes I do!"
"Damnit!" A rage as I'd never known before swept over my body at her words and I shook her shoulders violently as I thundered. "He doesn't love you, Hermione! He doesn't know you, I know you!" I lowered my face to hers and enveloped her lips in a lustful, rampant kiss. My hands grazed the length of her back before settling around her waist. She breathed a moan of wanton longing into my mouth so soft that I felt it rather than heard it. No sooner did she surrender herself to my shameless embrace than she pushed me away, her lips slightly parted and swollen from the impact of the endearment I'd forced on her. She shook her head in disbelief, her brown eyes fixed stagnantly at me. Her chin quivered, yet she refused to sob.
"I-I want you to know," she began, her voice flat. "I'm-Viktor and I are going to have a baby."
I felt as if I'd swallowed my tongue.
"I'd appreciate it if-"her tone became almost desperate as she continued, "Oh, please Ron, don't tell! I couldn't bear it if anyone knew yet! My parents would be so ashamed, I don't know how-"
I stopped listening. How could she have that monster's seed growing inside of her? Curtly, I opened the mahogany door and left, deaf to her voice calling-screaming to me. From the foyer I took a pinch of Floo Powder from the mantle and ended up at Sirius Black's waterfront manor. It proved to be the perfect sanctuary for me as I brooded, staring off into the tumbling Irish sea. Our Graduation was scarcely a month ago-was she pregnant then? Could she have known, while she made her valedictory speech and received letters from the best colleges in England and abroad, that she'd be married shortly after? My thoughts were interrupted by Sirius' notorious girlfriend, who joined me out on the terrace.
"Do you want a drink?" Sunny asked, taking a seat beside me. I graciously accepted the glass of brandy she handed me and drank deeply from it. "It helps, doesn't it?"
I turned my head and looked curiously at her.
"A drink always helps, no matter what Sirius says," she continued lightly. "He thinks it just puts off your worries and by the time you face them again you're weakened. He likes his brandy too, I've noticed, after we have a big fight."
"I'm sure," I said, not particularly interested in the conversation.
"Look," she began again, "I know you sent Sirius and even Harry off when they tried to talk to you, but you might as well let it out. Piece by piece, if you want. I'm a good listener, you know."
"He'll kill her," I said quietly. There was no mistake in who I was talking about, for Sunny herself was preparing for the wedding.
"He won't." she said. "He doesn't deserve her, though, as you do! Boring little fool-why, he doesn't have half the vitality that you and your red-headed brothers do! If she dies, it'll be of boredom."
I stared at her. She wasn't helping my mood a bit. She seemed to sense it too, for she offered, "Oh, alright. D'you want to get high then?"
I managed to make all the correct responses when Mr. and Mrs. Granger greeted us in Harbor Oak's regal foyer a few hours later-Hell, I even managed to force a polite smile when Mr. Granger joked about grandchildren. Inside, however, I was festering. Festering, as an obliging elderly house elf led us to the shaded enclosure where the ceremony would take place. "Wonder if Hermione knows?" Harry asked, nodding towards the wrinkled elf. Festering, as I slid into the second row of seats between Harry and my mother. Festering, as I awaited the sacred ritual to begin. Wretched day, why had we come so early?
The next hour was a confusing blur in which Hermione joined Viktor Krum in matrimony. I felt oddly detached as I watched her walk down the long cobblestone aisle, as a spectator might feel attending a stranger's wedding. She looked so holy-like an angel-in her gown; virginal; saintly. The sea of well-wishers around me had no idea that growing inside her womb was a baby-unexpected, though clearly wanted-that contradicted the pureness of her heavenly gown. The years in which I'd neglected my religion came flooding back to me, and I whispered a prayer of good-will to the newly married couple. For a slight moment, as Viktor swooped her into his arms and made his way down the aisle, my eyes met hers. In that moment, I bid her farewell.
A/N: It would be mighty kind of you to review. : )
A/N: Please note that the rating may and most likely will go up in future chapters due to explicit language, graphic violence and other adult content. If you are underage, or disagree with any of the mentioned themes, it would be in your best interests to exit this page now. If you find that this story does not comply with the rating or rules, you'd be a peach to let me know. My former account was deleted for that reason. : (
Poison By Azkaban Fugitive
The beauty and simplicity of Harbor Oaks escaped me as I sprinted along the long cobblestone path, anxious to present, thus far, the most significant argument of my life. I ran blindly past goldfish ponds and ornate pewter fountains, my quickened heartbeat in perfect cadence to my pounding footsteps. Spotting the extravagant main building partially hidden behind a small grove of dogwood trees to my left, I took a shortcut through the freesia gardens.
"I need Hermione Granger's room number," I announced urgently, slowing my pace as I entered the foyer.
The witch at the front desk surveyed me with a look of blunt disapproval written on her taut face as I stood panting, a trail of muddy tracks and pale flower heads soiling the ceramic floor behind me. "You'll need an invitation," she said, straining to conceal her vexation. "That is, if you've got one, sir."
I reached into my robes and produced the crinkled invitation. "I need Hermione Granger's room number," I repeated impatiently. Didn't the old wench realize that she was wasting valuable time?
"The service is scheduled at four o'clock, sir. Why, it isn't even noon yet. I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."
The desk attendant was near tears by the time she gave me the room number, and I was red in the face from shouting at her. My anxiety mounted higher as I pounded on the mahogany door to room 217 in vain, for there was no answer. I wriggled the brass doorknob to find that it was locked. When the door finally swung open, I stood momentarily in awe gaping at Hermione- my Hermione-standing in the threshold wearing only her chemise and stockings a shade darker than her natural skin tone. She took my breath away; her wild honey-brown mane piled on top of her head in a mass of curls, unruly tendrils coming undone defiantly; her shoulders squared, summoning dignity from her prideful heart whilst she welcomed me in her undergarments; her square, stubborn jaw held higher than necessary; her full lips, often pursed in disapproval, then favoring me with a wry smile; her eyes, however, perturbed me greatly, dull and hollow and lacking the vibrant sparkle that I so adored in them. Suddenly, I remembered my purpose.
"Hermione, you can't do this." I pleaded, grasping both of her wrists. She cast her plaintive brown eyes down, her face void of any emotion. I tilted her chin up and her gaze reluctantly followed, settling shakily on me. "Sit down, 'Mione. Hear me out."
"No!" Hermione gasped as I took a seat on the queen-sized bed. "My dress, Ron!"
Immediately I rose to my feet and peered down at the immaculate gown laid out neatly across the bed. It was so brilliantly white that the sheet beneath it appeared to be a dull, light gray in color. I had the impulse to touch the flowing silky material, but I withdrew my hand quickly as if I'd been stung. To me, it symbolized poison. I glared at Hermione. Didn't she know? That the moment she slipped into the pretty dress and adorned herself with pearls and flowers, her grave would be dug?
"Damn him, he'll kill you, Hermione!" I spat out and continued before she could get a word in. "He'll shatter all your dreams! Everything you've worked so hard for, he'll crush it! Bloody hell, you're brilliant, Hermione! He doesn't appreciate it or admire it! Soon he'll stamp out everything I love so much about you!"
She fell to her knees, unable to look me in the eye. I dropped to my knees as well and I held her until her strangled cries dwindled down to a hushed muffled sob. Wiping the tears off her lovely ashen face with my thumbs, I whispered, "I came to save you, 'Mione. You don't have to marry him; I know you'll never be happy. You don't have to marry him."
"Yes I do!"
"Damnit!" A rage as I'd never known before swept over my body at her words and I shook her shoulders violently as I thundered. "He doesn't love you, Hermione! He doesn't know you, I know you!" I lowered my face to hers and enveloped her lips in a lustful, rampant kiss. My hands grazed the length of her back before settling around her waist. She breathed a moan of wanton longing into my mouth so soft that I felt it rather than heard it. No sooner did she surrender herself to my shameless embrace than she pushed me away, her lips slightly parted and swollen from the impact of the endearment I'd forced on her. She shook her head in disbelief, her brown eyes fixed stagnantly at me. Her chin quivered, yet she refused to sob.
"I-I want you to know," she began, her voice flat. "I'm-Viktor and I are going to have a baby."
I felt as if I'd swallowed my tongue.
"I'd appreciate it if-"her tone became almost desperate as she continued, "Oh, please Ron, don't tell! I couldn't bear it if anyone knew yet! My parents would be so ashamed, I don't know how-"
I stopped listening. How could she have that monster's seed growing inside of her? Curtly, I opened the mahogany door and left, deaf to her voice calling-screaming to me. From the foyer I took a pinch of Floo Powder from the mantle and ended up at Sirius Black's waterfront manor. It proved to be the perfect sanctuary for me as I brooded, staring off into the tumbling Irish sea. Our Graduation was scarcely a month ago-was she pregnant then? Could she have known, while she made her valedictory speech and received letters from the best colleges in England and abroad, that she'd be married shortly after? My thoughts were interrupted by Sirius' notorious girlfriend, who joined me out on the terrace.
"Do you want a drink?" Sunny asked, taking a seat beside me. I graciously accepted the glass of brandy she handed me and drank deeply from it. "It helps, doesn't it?"
I turned my head and looked curiously at her.
"A drink always helps, no matter what Sirius says," she continued lightly. "He thinks it just puts off your worries and by the time you face them again you're weakened. He likes his brandy too, I've noticed, after we have a big fight."
"I'm sure," I said, not particularly interested in the conversation.
"Look," she began again, "I know you sent Sirius and even Harry off when they tried to talk to you, but you might as well let it out. Piece by piece, if you want. I'm a good listener, you know."
"He'll kill her," I said quietly. There was no mistake in who I was talking about, for Sunny herself was preparing for the wedding.
"He won't." she said. "He doesn't deserve her, though, as you do! Boring little fool-why, he doesn't have half the vitality that you and your red-headed brothers do! If she dies, it'll be of boredom."
I stared at her. She wasn't helping my mood a bit. She seemed to sense it too, for she offered, "Oh, alright. D'you want to get high then?"
I managed to make all the correct responses when Mr. and Mrs. Granger greeted us in Harbor Oak's regal foyer a few hours later-Hell, I even managed to force a polite smile when Mr. Granger joked about grandchildren. Inside, however, I was festering. Festering, as an obliging elderly house elf led us to the shaded enclosure where the ceremony would take place. "Wonder if Hermione knows?" Harry asked, nodding towards the wrinkled elf. Festering, as I slid into the second row of seats between Harry and my mother. Festering, as I awaited the sacred ritual to begin. Wretched day, why had we come so early?
The next hour was a confusing blur in which Hermione joined Viktor Krum in matrimony. I felt oddly detached as I watched her walk down the long cobblestone aisle, as a spectator might feel attending a stranger's wedding. She looked so holy-like an angel-in her gown; virginal; saintly. The sea of well-wishers around me had no idea that growing inside her womb was a baby-unexpected, though clearly wanted-that contradicted the pureness of her heavenly gown. The years in which I'd neglected my religion came flooding back to me, and I whispered a prayer of good-will to the newly married couple. For a slight moment, as Viktor swooped her into his arms and made his way down the aisle, my eyes met hers. In that moment, I bid her farewell.
A/N: It would be mighty kind of you to review. : )