Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters within.
A small one shot. I hope that you all enjoy, and don't forget to review. I may possibly write a sequal! -evil grin- It can be done, believe me.
If love isn't real, what do I feel?
My heart is a gaping hole it seems, that I cannot mend or fix. Thread and needle cannot sew the pieces together, yet I feel such elation in every piece.
Forever has it been since I have allowed myself such thoughts of emotion. After I lost my first love, I have been a walking shell in society, yet another blank stare in the crowd. I have only my knowledge. My books that keep me reading all night long.
I'm looking at myself in the mirror now. So thin. My once lively brown hair that would crackle at the touch of a hand falls past my shoulders in a cascade of limp curls, no longer the honeyed gloss that showed golden in the rays of the sun. My once warm eyes are dull and lifeless, shadowed by pain and loss. Premature lines live at the corners of my mouth, a frown touching my once soft and welcoming lips. My cheeks are hollow, creating angles in my face that were never there before.
I lift my shirt over my head and drop it to the ground. His shirt. Black silk, lined with a undertone of deep green threads. My hands touch my collarbone, and for a moment, I imagine that they are his. His hands used to move so gracefully. So beautiful.
My breasts are small, but they had been his favorite to touch. His fingers would barely brush my skin, and a rush of heat would explode within me, causing my body to blush. He would smirk at my reaction.
"Such a beautiful color on you, Hermione."
I unbutton my jeans now, letting them join the shirt that lost his wonderful smell too long ago. They fall easily, no longer fitting my hips like they had before. I thin waist, hip bones jutting out, and legs that seem too small to hold my weight. He had loved my hips. They were perfect, he had said.
As I stare at my naked form in the mirror, a silent tear slips from the corner of my eye. His heart would break at this sight. He would hold me down and force feed me until I could hold no more. He would yell at me for not taking care of myself. He would run his hands over my wasted body and weep as I have for years in his absence. He would rock me against him, and tell me that I was being insufferable.
His insufferable know-it-all. That is what I am. What I was once upon a time.
I close my eyes against my reflected image, but I cannot make it go away. I feel him stand behind me and grasp my shoulders gently. But he is not there. He hasn't been there for years. Too many years.
"Hermione…"
I hear him whisper. But his voice can never be heard again.
My shaking hands cover my ears, but it is still there, echoing in my tortured mind.
Slowly, I open my eyes. I look at myself for a long time, then turn away, the numbing cold of the dungeons no longer seeping into my very bones.
I walk to my bed…our bed, and stroke the cloth that we both slept on, made love on. I climb into the warmth of the blankets and sit against the mahogany backboard, his wand in my hand. I had discarded mine long ago. Stroking it lovingly, I turn it upon myself.
"If love isn't real, what do I feel? I'm sorry, Severus…so sorry…"
I will be with you shortly, and finally…we shall be whole once more…