Hermione Granger looked at her reflection in the shattered mirror. Long cracks ran haphazardly through it and the effect was like looking into the face of an old china doll- brown eyes gazed unblinkingly back while each part of her face seemed disjointed from the next.
Her hand reached slowly up and pushed a wave of chocolate curls behind her ear, and she winced as her fingers brushed the wild black bruise that was beginning to blossom around her right temple. Her eyes smarted at the contact and she squeezed her eyes shut to chase away the tears. Suddenly, a strong, masculine hand crept about her waist and held her around the middle. Tender lips kissed her neck and a wave of heat rippled through her, leaving her feeling weak all over. Damnit! Why did he have this effect on her?
"Sorry, love," he whispered into her ear and she knew with a sudden clarity that this was how it was always going to be. He would cause her pain, perhaps not always physical, but when he spoke in that voice he kept only for her she would forgive him. She loved him, couldn't ever leave him. Seconds passed and she remained silent. A flicker of something- anger? regret? – passed over his features and he pulled her closer to him.
"Come on," he urged her, not realising her silent consent. "Please? You love me."
"I know," she murmured. "That's the problem."
At her words he smiled softly. She grasped his hand and kissed it, almost resignedly. He pulled it away and rested it on her bare shoulder, his fingers tracing soft designs on her skin. She rested her head against the hollow of his clavicle and inhaled his scent- damp stone, freshly turned earth-, felt his hands dip down lower and explore the soft curves of her chest when she chanced to glance up and see their reflections in the mirror.
His was whole. Hers was broken.
Her hand reached slowly up and pushed a wave of chocolate curls behind her ear, and she winced as her fingers brushed the wild black bruise that was beginning to blossom around her right temple. Her eyes smarted at the contact and she squeezed her eyes shut to chase away the tears. Suddenly, a strong, masculine hand crept about her waist and held her around the middle. Tender lips kissed her neck and a wave of heat rippled through her, leaving her feeling weak all over. Damnit! Why did he have this effect on her?
"Sorry, love," he whispered into her ear and she knew with a sudden clarity that this was how it was always going to be. He would cause her pain, perhaps not always physical, but when he spoke in that voice he kept only for her she would forgive him. She loved him, couldn't ever leave him. Seconds passed and she remained silent. A flicker of something- anger? regret? – passed over his features and he pulled her closer to him.
"Come on," he urged her, not realising her silent consent. "Please? You love me."
"I know," she murmured. "That's the problem."
At her words he smiled softly. She grasped his hand and kissed it, almost resignedly. He pulled it away and rested it on her bare shoulder, his fingers tracing soft designs on her skin. She rested her head against the hollow of his clavicle and inhaled his scent- damp stone, freshly turned earth-, felt his hands dip down lower and explore the soft curves of her chest when she chanced to glance up and see their reflections in the mirror.
His was whole. Hers was broken.