Author's Note:
Hey guys! First published fanfic so bear with me. Please, please, please review. I'd love to here from you.
Constructive criticism welcome...I know this storyline has been way overused.
Disclaimer: I own nothing (except plot)
Pocketful of Sunshine
Hermione timidly set the steaming plate of lasagna down on the table in front of her expectant father. She sucked in a silent breath of hope as she cautiously sat down across from him and watched as he carefully inspected the dish. Not seeming to find any fault, the fairly large, harsh looking, middle aged man, with a permanent crease between his brows began eating.
Thank God, Hermione thought in relief as she perched herself upon the edge of the hard, uncomfortable oak chair and slowly began picking at the lasagna she had spent all day diligently preparing.
The Granger family always ate lasagna on Sundays. Of course, family now held a different meaning for both father and daughter alike. No longer did the word family bring about a warm, loving sentiment. No, the word was now hollow and bitter, a grim reminder of what used to be.
Two days after Hermione had arrived home for summer holiday, her mother had committed suicide. Hermione could recall that day with such acrid clarity that it made her throat close up with dryness as she sat, absentmindedly scattering bits of lasagna about her plate and reminiscing.
She remembered everything, everything…
--
She had just woken up and was prancing about her room in nothing but shorts and a cami, listening to an upbeat tune emitting rather loudly from her muggle radio. She loved singing along with the radio; it was one of the things she missed most when she was off at Hogwarts. Hermione had to admit, even to herself, that she had a decent voice. But she strictly sang only for her mother, and when she was alone of course. She found it quite embarrassing, singing in front of people. But now, singing along to this lovely song, the grin couldn't be wiped off her face.
"I got a pocket,
got a pocket full of sunshine
I've got a love and I know that it's all mine
Oh. Whoa
Do what you want,
but you're never gonna break me,
sticks and stones are never gonna shake me
Oh. Whoa"
She felt ecstatic. The freedom of summer, though she loved Hogwarts dearly, was rather addicting. She was on a bit of a high and wasn't quite certain why. She missed Harry and Ron obviously, but for Merlin's sake, it had only been a day or two since they said their goodbyes. Good on her word, Hermione had already written a letter to both earlier this morning. The letters had no substance other than a sincere statement of friendly love and a query as to how they had settled in. They had all agreed that once a week they would touch base, and nothing more (unless of emergencies of course). They all felt a break would be nice, what with the whole defeating-the-dark-lord thing and such. It had been an eventful and stressful6th year and they all needed some much needed peace and "alone time" as Harry had stated. Hermione couldn't have agreed more. Her nerves had been on edge all year and with the weight of Voldemort and impending doom suddenly off her shoulders, the feeling she was left with had been quite odd, almost as if you had been holding your breath for so long, that the actual act of breathing was strange and new.
She continued this merry little jig across her tiny room until she was startled by a powerful, yet muffled, bang, causing her to collide with the dresser and cause a crash of her own as a photo of herself and her mother smashed to the ground. Hermione hurriedly picked up the shattered frame and set it back as she anxiously left her room to inquire about the noise.
It was eerily quite as she padded softly down the hallway to the top of the staircase.
"Mother," she called rather timidly.
Her father was away at work and the enveloping silence was putting her senses on overdrive. She didn't like this one bit, not one bit at all. Months of war practice had her reaching into her back pocket for her wand. Oh hell, she thought. She didn't even have a back pocket, let alone a wand.
She continued onward, a sense of urgency pulling her faster and faster till she was running down the stairs, frantically calling again and again for her mother.
"Mum!" she screamed again, fear laced through her voice as she searched the living room and kitchen finding both empty. The house was rather small and for this Hermione was grateful as she sprinted to the last place available to look.
She rushed up to her parent's bedroom door and suddenly paused, her shaking hand clutching the doorknob and her heartbeat pounding rapidly in her ears.
She was consumed with dread as she slowly pushed open the door…
--
"It doesn't taste the same," her father growled as his fork clattered to the plate, startling Hermione out of her deep reverie.
Hermione stared at him blankly, still digesting the statement.
"You bloody twit! Answer me!" he hollered unexpectedly making Hermione's own fork clatter out of her hand. "What did you do to the food, bitch?!"
The sense of dread Hermione had just been experiencing through a memory was now all too present as she stammered out a feeble reply.
"I-I didn't do anything d-different from all the weeks I've been making it s-since…" she stopped, knowing this would push his unstable temper too far.
Too late.
His fist slammed into the table, rattling the plates and glasses. He swiftly stood, his chair falling back behind him as Hermione watched in terror. She knew what was coming. She knew it like one of her textbooks, but no matter how many times they "played this game," it never became any less horrible.
"Get up," He growled.
Hermione quickly scrambled out of her chair, cringing slightly at his massive presence. Delaying would only make it worse. Hermione had learned a long time ago that fighting back only made the blows harder.
She lifted her chin in anticipation and was not disappointed. Her father promptly shoved her up against the wall, slamming the back of her head against it, and pinning her bruised arms at her side.
"How many times do you have to learn this lesson bitch?" he questioned her in a rough whisper.
He threw her small body to the ground and issued a swift, forceful kick to her side causing her eyes to water as the excruciating pain began. Hermione shut her eyes, thinking of happier days and hoping that unconsciousness would claim her quickly.
Author Note: WEll, there it is. Hope you liked it. The song i was reffering to was Pocketful of Sunshine by Natasha Beddingfield, one of my favorite artists.
Next chapter will be the week leading up to the first day of Hogwarts. It should be pretty interesting as I don't plan on Hermione staying cooped up in the house for too much longer. Maybe...just maybe, we might see our favorite blonde boy. )
I am anxiously awaiting your reviews )
Next chapter should be up by 9/24!
