They say all is fair in love and war. They also say love makes you do crazy things, however, They forgot to add that war does too.
They.
The faceless proverbial know-it-alls, who wrote every universal cliché.
It's cliché because it's true.
They say that too.
Hermione Granger hated they. Because after the war They said to "take it one day at a time" and "Let go and Let God" or silly rubbish such as "Every dark cloud has a silver lining." They apparently thought life after war was a sodding cakewalk, and expected her to execute it effectively.
To press the button on a perfectly time schedule without ever asking why or what happened if one deliberately did not. What if the button was bad?
Every day she witnessed wizards and witches pressing the blasted button. Wake up, shower, go to work. Buy the groceries, tidy the house. Make a living. She saw them flirt, kiss, get married. Pick out curtains, bicker over a color scheme. Creating a life.
Pressing that God-damned button.
And yet Hermione religiously pressed the button too, and it gave her nightmares.
Terrible dreams of horrible things. Of what she saw and did. The blood, the broken, the twisted faces.
Her fallen comrades.
And it was not fair, because she knew those who had passed were no longer forced to press the button. To hear the cold ignorance of They. To pretend that everything was normal and happy.
Because Hermione was most definitely not normal or happy.
She lived in a four bedroom flat with three men. Two of which she loved dearly, and the other, well, he was nothing to mention. She neither adored nor hated him. He just existed. He was grey.
Each spent their evenings sitting in the front room, watching a muggle film about a cocaine lord from Cuba trying to take over Miami with his "Little Friend".
Didn't her boys see enough carnage and gore in the war? Or were they positively gluttonous for it?
Wrinkling her nose in distaste she returned to her magazine that she nipped from her parents' dentistry waiting room. Not that she needed to know precisely how to apply eyeliner in order to attract the fit bloke who delivered the water to the cooler. But it distracted her from the Button, They, and War.
Ronald guffawed, pointing at the telly, shaking his head with admiration. "That's what I should have done to you, Harry, when I found out that you were with Gin again."
"Piss off," Harry mumbled lightly, a small smile on his lips.
Draco muttered an annoyance and returned to his book.
Wait.
He wasn't indulging in a thirst for action-packed absurdity?
That was interesting.
Very interesting.
Perhaps he was tired of all things death too.
Like her.
No. It was not something she wanted to dwell on. "I'm taking a shower before I turn in."
Two grunts bid her good riddance, but she noticed that a pair of hooded eyes watched her walk away.
Well she hoped he enjoyed the view.
Prat.
They probably had something clever to say about that, but she chose not to guess. Instead she wondered if she would be able to sleep peacefully. She doubted it. Yet, it rained upon her in a waterfall of epiphany. Harry had Ginny. Ron had Lavender. and Malfoy…well he had himself. Everyone had a reason to press the button. To believe in what They said.
Not her.
She had nothing.
Nobody.
She was lonely, and she needed someone. Not just anyone. She wanted a lover. A special kind of companion. Someone to make her feel again. To chase away the ghost that caused her insomnia.
Arms to hold her.
Lips to kiss her.
Eyes to see her.
She would kill for it.
For a moment in time, she wanted to truly exist.
After hours of laying awake, unable to find a nod due to her busy mind and fear of horrid visions she arose and crept through the dark flat. Careful and determined she made her way down the hallway to his room.
His door opened soundlessly and she paused to watch him in his slumber. He was beautiful, that she couldn't deny. And it wasn't affection that tip-toed her to his bed. It was raw need.
Exist.
So she could continue to press the button. Do to as They suggest.
But she nearly ran away. Fear of the consequences, she supposed. She didn't want to hurt him. Lead him on. Nobody deserved that deceit.
"Granger?" A sleepy growl of curiosity made her start. Goosebumps racing over her skin.
She smiled weakly. "Hush." Soft. Reassuring. As she tugged her cotton nightgown over her head.
He said nothing more, just raised the blankets to allow her entrance. Permission.
Because perhaps he knew.
Maybe he needed her.
For a moment.
To exist.
They touched. Not a frenzied panic of need or a soft caress of fondness. It was sad and delicate, but loud and out-of-key. And she felt fulfilled, alive. Living. Existing.
Justified.
Because after all, They said to keep friends close, but enemies closer. And she had never been closer to anyone in all her life.
It was insanity at it's finest.
"when the sun came up
we were sleeping in
sunk inside our blankets
sprawled across the bed
and we were dreaming
there are moments when i know it
and the world revolves around us
and we're keeping it
keeping it all going
this delicate balance
vulnerable
all knowing"
A/N: Just something I thought would work for this prompt. There was a night, when my friend John and I had a lengthy discussion on Existentialism, Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, and how it all ties into Pressing The Button, like our beloved survivors on LOST. It's possibly that I might write more on this. No promises however. And the lyrics at the end, to sum it all up…well its "Existentialism on Prom Night" by Straylight Run. Enjoy. Review. After all, it's food for my starved soul.