The Feather from a Black Swan
Summary: Everyone has seen one; detested it for what it's done, thrown a stone at the creature made of onyx. Just to see it shatter before their eyes. All that remains is a single untouched feather from the black swan.
Hermione stood in front of the door, hand still poised over the wood as she held her breath. She must have been like this for a solid minute, just standing there in the hall where anybody could see her outside of the classroom. Like a statue as she tried to decide whether to knock or not, or just walk away without saying a thing.
The latter would be easiest. She wouldn't have to see him as she told him of her decision, those eyes wouldn't look back at her with the question of why swirling in the depths. There would be no accusation thrown at her that would just dig the thorns already in her heart that much deeper. All of that could be skipped if she just turned away. Unless he came after her for an answer on the disappearing act. She wasn't sure which of those options would hurt the least, but she needed to make the simple decision to even knock or walk still.
If she didn't that cat might spot her and Filch would come running to give her detention. Though, he would hear the squabble and come out into the hall himself to give her an excuse just after taking a sip of the foul potion that somehow didn't linger on his lips. Would he regret getting her off the hook afterward though? Once he learned of the reason she was here this time. Unlike every other time she came after the sun had set, shrouded in the dark lengthy shadows of the castle.
Her lips parted as she was left panting, her arms still encircled around his body, fingers digging into his back at she clutched at him in desperation before their lips met again. And she was sinking into him, tugging him closer. Always closer. Her hands would move to his front, part the robe and slide up under his shirt, leaving thin scratches from her nails in their wake.
She would feel his teeth at her ear lobe, hands on either side of her waist to keep her on top of him, fingers slipping beneath her waist band or skirting across her stomach to some unknown beat. Stubble scratching at her cheek as he murmured to her, "I love you, my temptation."
A shiver ran through her as the memories clouded her mind.
My temptation. He always called her that, never the usual sweetheart, darling, anything ordinary. It reminded her that what she was doing, what she had done, would never be accepted. That everything up till now was a forbidden fruit she kept picking from the tree just as the snake turned away. It was a miracle it hadn't caught her, and she couldn't let it happen.
Her fist fell on the wood with a dull thump. Barely even a second later the words, "Come in, Hermione," slipped around the door and she was pushing it open. Drawn in by that voice that rolled her name off his tongue as if she were some foreign delicacy.
"Barty," she whispered once the door was closed behind her, looking anywhere but him.
"Do you wish to sit or stand?" Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment. He had asked that same question the first time she came here, when she figured out who he really was and demanded to know why he was here and that if he didn't leave she would tell the Headmaster. That hadn't gone exactly as she had planned when she found herself in his arms, kissing back fiercely as the fire consumed them.
She walked forward slowly, stopping in front of the desk he was seated behind. The answer was in her posture, she would stand. Just like the first time. "I can't see you anymore," she said it fast, wanting to get the words out as quickly as possible. Without beating around the bush. "This, us, it's too much," her voice was strained but she kept the sob down, not letting it through. What if the snake looked now? If they found out the one thing she kept secret from them? As if they would forgive her if they did.
He was silent though, just his fingers tapping away at the wood until even that fell away. "It's too hard, isn't it?"
Hermione glanced to him then, looking at him for the final time since she entered the room. His hair was now combed, not the mess of tangles it was before. His skin was less pale, healthier. His eyes... they glowed in the candle light, a halo present around the orbs. "Yes," she practically choked on the word.
For a moment she felt as if the room was spinning and pressed her hand to the desk, barely an inch from his own. A hand that had glided over her skin, rubbed at her shoulder, calmed her. She reached out to wrap her fingers around his but met empty wood. His hand had moved away. "We can't." Just two simple words that had too many different meanings, but one hurt her more than the rest. We can't be together.
Her hand slid from the table, hanging limp at her side. Then it was done. They weren't a part of each other's lives anymore. Their past was just a shadow. Hermione turned quickly as her eyes started to warm. She wouldn't have him see her cry.
She took a step forward, away from him. "Where are you going?" The question dove like a knife into her heart.
How could he ask that? He knew. After what he had said, he must know. "Out." It hurt too much to say the other word, much less think it. Away. I'm going away.
Just as she was about to start walking again his voice washed over her, "Promise me something." She closed her eyes, waiting and trying to keep down the sob that wanted to rip out of her throat right about now. "Promise me you won't love anyone like you love me."
Her lips parted, even so it took a few seconds before she could get the words out, "That would be impossible." She walked quickly to the door, footsteps echoing around the room until she was out in the hall again, the door closed firmly behind her, keeping her from falling over as tears streamed silently down her cheeks.