A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR!
These characters are J.K.Rowling's. Okay? Don't sue me.
I never really liked the concept of Hermione and Harry's world ending through a tragic divorce, one generally caused by Ron or the like. Myself, with my (I'm hoping) notoriously sick mind, like rape and murder. It has a more curious, less clichéd, allure, when used correctly. But I can't use it correctly. Fuck. But here is, anyway, my struggle to have fun with peoples heads, and my absolute failure. HAVE FUN READING! :-P
PROLOGUE
You always disgusted me. Your speaking as though the world waited to hear what you had to say, your souped-up internal and external struggles, and the spotlight so constantly on you, and you acting as though you didn't notice, and yet you noticed enough to make yourself look dazzling.
And not even last night did you forget to give your performance your all for the possible audiences that, Gods know, could've been lurking in the shadows, waiting just for a glimpse of you.
As you pressed yourself into me, as I could tell you'd been longing to do, you acted as though, of course you weren't a virgin. Of course you knew what you were doing.
Bullshit.
And that is exactly what I'm tired of.
Take a moment to consider this as well. Perhaps I'm not the girl you thought I was. Don't gasp melodramatically at me. I'm tired of the melodrama. Ironic, isn't it though? I mention my tiring of melodrama as I begin a soliloquy.goes to show how ironic things can become, hmm?
Like how you tried to save me, so valiantly, so many times, as though it was our equal friendship holding us together. Try equal enmity. You knew, know, what I'm capable of.a passionate love that you'll never know, a brilliance you never possessed, and a poise that has stolen the spotlight occasionally and passed it on to me.
And so you rape me, to possess my love, and are surprised to only feel cold.
And to steal my brilliance, you try to hurt me, make me as dark as your "tragic" past, eh?
And as for your struggle to maintain the spotlight, you do it all: bringing the dead's bodies back to the tearful parents, fight the power of Slytherin and whatnot, and you'll even try to steal the hearts of everyone you know, while still maintaining the tragic hero figure.
How cute.
Or should I say, entirely idiotic and naïve?
But now I've gained my own spotlight, I've gained a self without you. And to make sure that you don't cause others to doubt their selves, to lose their dreams, it ends here. Here where, last night, you took so much pleasure in the thought that you were ripping my ego and self-esteem to shreds, only to discover I wasn't a virgin anyway, and couldn't really give a fuck.
Not to say I couldn't fuck. Even you must agree at my skill in that area.
But now that you've so tastefully consecrated this area, I thought it would be absolutely quaint if it ended here. How sweet.well, at least I've granted you one thing-you won't die a virgin, like you would've if I hadn't been there to be the "helpless victim" of your lust.
And, yet again, more irony.
Here you come, a lusty light in your eye, a blush on your cheeks, a sheepish grin on your lips. You can't believe your luck. Not only did you shame me, now I want more.
More control, though. Not sex.as usual, you underestimate me.
Look at you. Thinking that your "rash" act last night gave you some sort of control over me, control over how *I* would behave.
I can't believe how someone as absolutely stupid as you ever had the spotlight.
But I can resolve that.
I can bring on a revolution of my own.
Come closer, Harry.
These characters are J.K.Rowling's. Okay? Don't sue me.
I never really liked the concept of Hermione and Harry's world ending through a tragic divorce, one generally caused by Ron or the like. Myself, with my (I'm hoping) notoriously sick mind, like rape and murder. It has a more curious, less clichéd, allure, when used correctly. But I can't use it correctly. Fuck. But here is, anyway, my struggle to have fun with peoples heads, and my absolute failure. HAVE FUN READING! :-P
PROLOGUE
You always disgusted me. Your speaking as though the world waited to hear what you had to say, your souped-up internal and external struggles, and the spotlight so constantly on you, and you acting as though you didn't notice, and yet you noticed enough to make yourself look dazzling.
And not even last night did you forget to give your performance your all for the possible audiences that, Gods know, could've been lurking in the shadows, waiting just for a glimpse of you.
As you pressed yourself into me, as I could tell you'd been longing to do, you acted as though, of course you weren't a virgin. Of course you knew what you were doing.
Bullshit.
And that is exactly what I'm tired of.
Take a moment to consider this as well. Perhaps I'm not the girl you thought I was. Don't gasp melodramatically at me. I'm tired of the melodrama. Ironic, isn't it though? I mention my tiring of melodrama as I begin a soliloquy.goes to show how ironic things can become, hmm?
Like how you tried to save me, so valiantly, so many times, as though it was our equal friendship holding us together. Try equal enmity. You knew, know, what I'm capable of.a passionate love that you'll never know, a brilliance you never possessed, and a poise that has stolen the spotlight occasionally and passed it on to me.
And so you rape me, to possess my love, and are surprised to only feel cold.
And to steal my brilliance, you try to hurt me, make me as dark as your "tragic" past, eh?
And as for your struggle to maintain the spotlight, you do it all: bringing the dead's bodies back to the tearful parents, fight the power of Slytherin and whatnot, and you'll even try to steal the hearts of everyone you know, while still maintaining the tragic hero figure.
How cute.
Or should I say, entirely idiotic and naïve?
But now I've gained my own spotlight, I've gained a self without you. And to make sure that you don't cause others to doubt their selves, to lose their dreams, it ends here. Here where, last night, you took so much pleasure in the thought that you were ripping my ego and self-esteem to shreds, only to discover I wasn't a virgin anyway, and couldn't really give a fuck.
Not to say I couldn't fuck. Even you must agree at my skill in that area.
But now that you've so tastefully consecrated this area, I thought it would be absolutely quaint if it ended here. How sweet.well, at least I've granted you one thing-you won't die a virgin, like you would've if I hadn't been there to be the "helpless victim" of your lust.
And, yet again, more irony.
Here you come, a lusty light in your eye, a blush on your cheeks, a sheepish grin on your lips. You can't believe your luck. Not only did you shame me, now I want more.
More control, though. Not sex.as usual, you underestimate me.
Look at you. Thinking that your "rash" act last night gave you some sort of control over me, control over how *I* would behave.
I can't believe how someone as absolutely stupid as you ever had the spotlight.
But I can resolve that.
I can bring on a revolution of my own.
Come closer, Harry.
