Pretending
By Lidi.
"Intact"
"Tut, tut, baby, why are you crying?," - Lucius was smoothing Hermoine's too curly and too stiff hair. Girl's Yule ball dress was totally soaked with rain, pouring from everywhere. Gel she used to make her hair look beautiful was leaving sticky trays on her back. Mascara made her eyes itch.
"If you want to date Draco you should meet his family first," - his hand moved roughly, tearing clotted hair with ease, again and again.
Hermione barely could stand. She was outside Hogwarts grounds. So close, yet so… doomed. Frosty air ripped her tired lungs. She couldn't see a thing. All her being concentrated on feelings. It wasn't that painful, but it was humiliating, hopeless, desperate and surreal.
"Do you know what will happen to you, don't you,
mudblood?" – bored voice with hints of growing excitement, - "You should know
better than to play with Malfoys."
Something – perhaps the combination of hissed "games" or nails, moving slowly
down her exposed neck and spine, leaving bleeding marks in process – something
pushed Hermione from inside. And she ran.
So stupid, so inappropriate, but she smiled, thinking of her resemblance with Forrest Gump. Sparkling ball hit ground in several inches from her foot. Hermione kept running, and falling, and running, and falling, and crawling, and collapsing. Blasts of light were hitting snow by her sides, never really hurting her.
She felt in the snow or pitches of icy ground so many times she couldn't count. She bumped in so many trees, she wouldn't want to know. She got so many bruises, it would be miracle she won't be blue from head to toes in the morning. Or it would be miracle if she'd be alive in the morning. She was so desperate to get away, she was going insane. She didn't have any thoughts, only instincts. She was running and it was all that mattered.
She bumped into another tree, but she couldn't move forward because it wouldn't let her. Or it was Lucius who apparated in front of her? She couldn't tell. But she felt warmth. And it was 10 times worse than the feeling of cold snow. It was Lucius's warmth. It was hunter's warmth. Her death's warm breath on her face.
"Enough! I don't have time for such games, mudblood".
The wave of his wand (or is it his cane? Hermione can't see a thing) and she feels different… She can't place that feeling. Something changed, something insignificant…
"I'm sure now you'll behave yourself. Don't make me repeat this lesson."
With that she's dropped back into the snow. Wet, crispy and sharp ice surrounds her as she tries to get to her weak feet. She only falls deeper into snowy mess. Finally she manages to sit. And then she can tell what's different – there is no bruises, blood or even a scratch. And her dress is intact. Only her dignity is not.