Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: I wrote another drabble. Maybe it's drabble season or something, I don't know ;) Anyway, this is darker then the last drabble. I guess I had to make up for all the fluffiness. Also, I'm kinda feeling blue lately, so there you go.

Drabbles are kind of nice. I don't have to watch out so much because there won't be any plot holes that will bite me in the ass later.

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Nothing Special

The last time she saw him was a lie.

Hermione couldn't see anymore. Lifeless and cold, she lay in a small box. Her eyes were closed by lids that she couldn't move anymore. Cheeks were sunken in and skin pallid and waxy. Her body was wrapped in a blue dress with its hems decorated by a floral design. It was a summer dress and in the middle of November as much a lie as everything else.

There were people around her, insisting to keep her company when she neither wanted nor needed it anymore. The black fabric of their clothes proclaimed their purpose even as their wearers sat in silence. There were some words spoken, of course, but despite her being right there Hermione could not hear them. The talkers' voices were dull and hollow, the sound dampened by the wood panelling of the room and the heavy velvet curtains. The sombre words didn't reach Hermione and she was left unmoved.

The last time she had felt anything, it had been so immense, so deep and all-encompassing, that it would have felt like a lie had someone told her she would never be able to feel again. It had been a horror that furiously lacerated everything and in a matter of seconds it had left nothing intact. It had crushed and torn and everything known had been destroyed. Finally, the lie had been exposed and Hermione had been aware. While that awareness had been unbearable, ice-cold and cruel, she still hadn't wanted for it to be stolen away from her by a green hue.

How could Tom be blamed for being afraid? To Hermione, death was not the next great adventure. It was the end. After that, nothing. For her, life was not a circle. It had had a beginning twenty-four years ago and now it also had an end.

†

"-her many friends and performed her tasks as Head Girl admirably while still being one of the best students Hogwarts has ever seen. After graduating Hermione continued her outstanding performance and joined the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Her colleagues knew her as a dedicated and caring-"

The door closed behind him, cutting off the eulogy. Tom breathed in the cold air. A drizzle fell from the grey sky and already unpleasantly stuck to his clothes and skin. His fingers were stiff and clumsy as he fished a pack of cigarettes from his robe pocket. Ignoring the cold wind blowing in his face, Tom took off. He was a lone figure in the otherwise completely empty cemetery. The cigarette smoke stung in his lungs as Tom swiftly walked towards the gate. He could barely breathe and it was a convenient explanation.

Without a look back, Tom left the cemetery behind. From now on there would never be uncertainty again. He would always know where she was. Another drag from the cigarette made Tom cough slightly and he flicked the stub away. From now on, she also would never have a reason to hide from him again. Shaking slightly from the cold, Tom finally reached for his wand and the same magic that had made her stationary now took him away into Apparition.

.

Tom didn't want to think and for a moment he managed to accomplish that. It really wasn't difficult to find a prostitute he could take to a cheap hotel room. As he fucked her his thoughts only circled around the act itself and the urge for release. The girl herself was neither pretty nor ugly and good enough in bed for Tom to enjoy himself. In a mindless bliss, he climaxed and, satisfied for the moment, rolled from the girl to float in a cottony soft feeling.

He should have left right then, but the pleasant tiredness that took over his body made him relax on the hotel bed. The girl had been paid for the night and obviously saw no reason to leave either.

.

An hour later, Tom still lay in the bed. He had rolled on his back while the girl sat, cross-legged, beside him. He didn't really care about her presence, but also saw no reason to tell her to leave. What bothered him, though, was that he talked. The girl's fingers gently ran through his hair and if Tom closed his eyes he might even imagine them to belong to Hermione.

"I don't know why they were even there," he continued, thinking back to the funeral home. "It's not like they really cared about her."

The girl gazed at him and for all that she was listening to him, she might as well have been a prop. He didn't care either.

"I'm sorry about your girlfriend," the girl eventually said, sounding sincere enough.

"Me too," he whispered, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue.

"My brother died last year, you know," she continued and Tom detested the shakiness in her voice. "Cancer. At least, we knew it was coming… Doesn't make it any easier in the end, though."

Tom breathed in deeply and let his eyes fall shut. "No, I suppose not."

She didn't reply, but continued to softly rake her fingers through his dark hair. He should go. The girl had served her purpose. There was no use conversing with her. Her ideas and thoughts were worth nothing when with one stroke of his wand Tom was able to erase her whole persona.

"It would have never worked out anyway," he stupidly continued. "Hermione was not like me."

"Hermione is a beautiful name," the Muggle girl whispered gingerly.

Tom pressed his eyes tightly shut now. Something squeezed around his chest and his throat felt raw. He didn't know why he didn't just curse the asinine Muggle. The girl's fingers left him and Tom would have liked to yell at her for destroying the illusion. He almost reached for his wand, but then her voice interrupted him.

"It's going to get better," she told him and despite her reassurance her own voice was thick with unshed tears. "It's never gonna be like before. I still miss my brother but… it's better."

He looked up at her and spotted a watery smile on her face that made him want to punch her. Instead he turned his head and stared up at the ceiling.

"She didn't even really know me," Tom said, not knowing why he continued this pointless conversation. "She'd hate me."

"I don't think so," the girl's attempts to soothe him were pathetic. "She was with you, after all."

Yes, Hermione had been with him. Tom swallowed thickly. Now she no longer was. He still stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room. The white paint was yellowed with age and dirt and he felt so heavy. His eyes burned with a sting that he couldn't blink away.

"No." His voice was oddly uneven. "She wasn't anything special."

He was better off without her. Something wet and warm trickled down the side of his face. Tom gritted his teeth and with an impatient hand wiped the salty water away.

.

Before he left the hotel room, Tom pulled his wand and in a smooth movement brandished it. His magic forcefully flowed into the girl and for a second her eyes unfocused. Tom slipped out of the room before she lost the hazy look again. To the Muggle girl it would be as if they had never met. To Tom the words could not be made unspoken and he had to live with them.

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