Story Title: Caribbean Blue
Chapter Title: N/A (One-Shot)
Author: Bansera
Beta: Self-betaed
Warnings: Femme-slash, self-harm.
Pairings: Hr/??
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own any of this, I just enjoy using the characters for my own sordid purposes. They don't mind.
A/N: Though I personally think the pairing is obvious I decided not to state it outright until you get into the story, 'cos in a way the 'mystery' is a part of it. This is not a song-fic, not in the generally accepted (as far as I can tell) sense of the word, it is more a song inspired fic. I know I should be working on SoD but I've kinda finally admitted to myself that there is no way in hell that I actually have time to work on a novel length fic, so it is being temporarily (I hope) shelved. If I do decide to delete it I'll let you know. The reason this is only self-betaed is mainly because slash and femmes-slash, and tbh even het, rather squicks my beta.
Ok, know I've said all that: I hope you enjoy the story!
Caribbean Blue
So the world goes round and round
with all you ever knew.
They say the sky high above
is Caribbean blue.
If every man says all he can,
if every man is true,
do I believe the sky above
is Caribbean blue.
If all you told was turned to gold,
if all you dreamed was new,
Imagine sky high above
in Caribbean blue.
Hermione lay in the bath, her hair dangling over the edge so as not to get wet. It was late, well past curfew, and the intenseness of Hogwarts' late night stillness – a contrast to its daytime bustle – swept over the prefect in waves as she floated peacefully in the water.
The school year was barely a week through and she wished it would end. Whilst with her parents for the summer Hermione had sunk into a downward spiral, a longing for who knew what. She'd assumed that she was simply missing her friends. Especially after the debacle of the Department of Mysteries. This assumption led her to the belief that things would improve upon her return to school. She was wrong.
Loneliness, Hermione had discovered, feels ten times worse when surrounded by people. Especially by friends. And Hermione was lonely. Unbelievably so. Yes, she had friends. Harry and Ron were the best friends a girl could ask for. The girls too, they were wonderful, if a trifle annoying at times.
And yet, still, Hermione felt this aching loneliness. A longing for someone to love her.
With a sigh, the brunette girl pulls her focus from the ceiling and looks at herself critically through the water. Whilst aware that she is not stunning she cannot understand why it seems that no one is even remotely attracted to her. Through the perfumed water Hermione eyes her long legs, slim and pale the half light and bath water gives them an unearthly appearance.
Cautiously, uncertainly the girl runs one hand up the inside of her thigh. Fingers feather-soft, caressing as they skim the surface of her skin. Shifting she smooths the hand across the slight convex of her stomach, before continuing the upwards journey bump-bump-bump across her ribs.
Hesitantly Hermione began tracing runes on the swell of her breast, her fingers dancing closer to her nipple. She held her breath as she reached the target, and let it out again having found no thrill of excitement.
Her eyes shifted again, back down her body in contemplation. Her hand drifted down to tangle in the triangle of curls. Moving carefully so as not to send herself underwater Hermione pulled one leg up towards her chest and carefully slipped a finger inside. Tentatively she moves the finger in and out slightly before attempting to insert another.
"Shit."
With an expletive and a grimace she withdraws the fingers and angrily pulls herself out of the bath. She curses, how dare she feel lonely, how dare she ache with desire when the thought of some boys fingers there…
Hermione curses herself again, a fool no less. For that is what she is, or so she feels. The only thing that evokes even the slightest whisper of arousal is the fantasised image of her best friends intertwined. Harry admittedly is gay, but he prefers his men less like Ron and more… well, blond, Slytherin and named Draco Malfoy. Ron Hermione was less sure about. He seemed to be willing to try anything that presented itself as an opportunity. In any case, even if the fantasy were true it would do no good to her decidedly un-lusted-after state.
When depressed time seems to pass at a verily depleted rate. That's what I've perceived in any case. But then I seem to discern a great deal of things that others don't.
I've been watching her you see. The smile slips away when she thinks no one is looking. More time engulfed in books and less in human company. She thinks books are her only true friends: classical conditioning, or is it operant?
Regardless, she appears to believe that they can ease the loneliness. Oh, I know about her loneliness. It rolls of her in wave after aching, agonising wave. Loneliness is perhaps the worst possible form of torture. I am never lonely, but then some would say I'm mad.
I'm watching her now. Eyes downcast as she crosses the courtyard. It's a Hogsmeade weekend. She's early back. But then, she's never been one for being late.
I've always said looking down is dangerous. She's fallen. I start, to go to help her. But angrily she brushes away a tear, and flies away thestral-like. Mind only on her destination.
I'll not follow her. Not this time. I am like a moth, darting around her light. Waiting. Waiting for the moment when…
Or perhaps she is the moth, and I the net. I'll catch her and hold her in my gentle hand, stroke softly her wings to see her writhe.
But that's for another time.
It's late again. By all truths no ordinary student should be out of bed at this time of night. But Hermione is no ordinary student. She has been assisting Snape with an important potion projects. And as Snape often reminds her, "Potions wait for no witch, no matter how much she needs her beauty sleep." He was a caustic man, but Hermione was growing to like him.
As a result of this need to be up at all hours to tend to potions Hermione had dispensation to be in the hallways at night. A privilege which she intended now to take full advantage of. She slips quietly along the corridor and darts into the prefect's bathroom. Pushing the door behind her she takes a deep breath and sets her bag on the floor.
For a second tears well, threatening to blind her, but then, with a shake of her head, Hermione's resolve strengthens. Moving forwards she turns on a tap, watching the thick, white foam gushing forth. A few minutes pass and the bath is full. She moves to turn off the tap, then returns to where she left her bag, staring at the surface of the water. Dragging the bag with her she moves to sit on the edge of the bath, still fully dressed. She lets her feet dangle over the side, a half smile graces her lips as she notices the way the heavy foam attempts to suck them down.
Pulling open her bag Hermione reaches inside and retrieves a knife. It is not very clean, looking as though it has recently been used to cut potions ingredients, but the brunette ignores this. She places the knife against her wrist.
I had followed her again, my instincts telling me that to do so was important. I knew never to doubt my instincts. The curfew did not bother me; I'd become good at hiding.
Immediately as she entered the prefect's bathroom I knew something was not right. She's always valued her privacy, so I was surprised when she neither locked the door, nor even fully shut it. She didn't appear to even notice.
I watched in growing worry as she made her preparations, and barely suppressed a gasp as she placed that knife to her wrist. A few drops of blood landed on the surface of the water, startlingly crimson in contrast to the snowy white.
"No!" I gasped. She froze, just for a moment, then chuckled derisively as though hating herself for thinking someone could care.
I could stand it no more, and as she pulled the knife back to her wrist I hurried across the bathroom and sank to my knees behind her.
"Don't."
Hermione stopped again. She'd definitely heard something that time. The voice was closer to, and she felt she should recognise it...
"Why?" She asked, voice cracking. "No one will miss me for long."
"You really believe that?"
Hermione felt the person behind her shift closer, could feel the warmth of them against her back. She closed her eyes.
"They will find love."
The person froze, then lent forwards. Hermione felt the knife plucked from her grasp. "They love you." The voice said. "They would miss you terribly." There was a pause, then it continued. "I would miss you terribly."
Hermione's eyes flew open, and she tried to turn, but the hands, pale, slender hands, that had taken the knife were now wrapped around her, preventing her movements.
"You?" She sighed. "Why would you care?"
One of the restraining hands moved and pushed at Hermione's hair. The brunette gasped as soft lips pressed against her throat.
"I care." The lips barely moved from her throat, the words were breathed against her skin. Hermione moaned.
The lips remained, nipping and suckling at her throat, but the hands moved. Deftly they undid her robe, pushing it apart. The tie was next, flung into the water, and for a moment Hermione marvelled at it as it floated among the water and the drops of blood. She was soon distracted as the hands gently worked open the buttons on her shirt. She gasped.
The unknown person pulled her closer, and some part of Hermione's brain noted that it had breasts, a girl then. She found she didn't mind, just as long as those wonderful hands didn't stop there sensual dance across her own breasts.
"Don't stop." She begged, lost in sensation. The girl laughed a breathy laugh and gently kissed her shoulder. One hand continued its game, whilst the other began to slide lower, maddeningly slowly. One finger slid inside the hem of Hermione's knickers, beneath the waistband of her pleated skirt. She moaned wantonly and shifted so that she was ensconced within the legs of the other girl. As the finger rubbed against her she reached one arm backwards, and pulled the head closer to her neck. As it slipped inside her she shifted again, rolling her hips and beginning to fuck herself on the other girl's hand.
With her eyes closed she turned her head and found the other girls lips. Hermione kissed her deeply, desperately, hungrily, revelling in the sweet warmth. Another finger entered her, and another, and she began to move more desperately. As she felt herself nearing climax she opened her eyes and saw the identity of her mystery girl. As stars burst across her vision, obscuring the burning pools of silver before her she moaned one word. "Luna."
A/N: Words: 1700
So, I hope you liked that... I know it's not anything like what I've posted before, though admittedly I've only posted SoD lol. I'd love to here what you think of this so if you have an opinion either way then please do let me know!