"Another diversion story?" I hear you ask. Yes. I'm afraid so. But have no worries, I have a Moonlight AND Irish chapter written. I just have to go through the editing process before I can post. Apparently I needed to take another little exit off the fanfic highway. This is just a short...albeit odd...little bit of drabble. Don't ask me where it came from exactly. I'm not depressed or anything. I just started writing and this is what I got. Call it what you will. It's a little different than my norm so I went with it. And yes, you can tell me it's odd if you'd like. I know it. LOL
She didn't understand why they were sent off alone. They could barely stand each other's company, and that had started well before he'd called her a Mudblood. Why couldn't she have been sent off with someone else? Anyone else? Or why not with another person or two?
She didn't understand why they couldn't take a spelled tent like the Weasleys used at the Quidditch game her fourth year. Instead they were given a regular Muggle tent and bundles of material that were rolled up called "sleeping bags". Would this really be beneficial to their assignment from the Order?
She didn't understand why she woke up the second morning lying curled up next to him, though still in her 'bag'. She couldn't remember being cold, which would certainly be the only reason she'd want to be close to him, or afraid, which would have been understandable as well.
She didn't understand why she thought his jokes were funny. It had only been the past year that he'd taken to telling jokes that weren't that funny in reality. But she found herself laughing at them anyway. Her laughter seemed to encourage him to tell more.
She didn't understand the awkward moments that became more frequent between them with each day that passed. They shared many nervous glances and acted almost shy if one accidentally touched the other, immediately retreating.
She didn't understand how they got caught in the rain shower. It seemed one minute the sun was shining and the next they were running back to their tent through sheets of rain pelting against them like little liquid daggers.
She didn't understand why she allowed his touch to linger when they entered the tent finally. He'd grabbed her hand as they were running to help her along, but she hadn't let go.
She didn't understand why her heart rate quickened when he stepped closer to her as water dripped from their soaked bodies and clothes. They were panting from their run, yes, but this was different.
She didn't understand why she let him press his wet, quivering lips to hers. She'd never found him attractive, or so she thought. She'd punched him for crying out loud, but she wanted to do anything but punch him now.
She didn't understand why their kiss deepened and escalated so quickly or why she was compelled to pull him down to the sleeping bags and on top of her. All she knew was that she wanted to and couldn't stop herself.
She didn't understand where the urgency came from when they began to peel wet clothes from their bodies. A force greater than she had taken over and she was powerless to stop it as hands grasped and tugged at the material now heavy from being rain soaked.
She didn't understand the desperation that overwhelmed her when he slid inside her warm passage, causing her to wrap her wet legs around him and claw at his lower back, trying to pull him as close as she could. Their kisses were frantic and hungry and any thought of reason was left outside the tent flap.
She didn't understand why her body throbbed and pulsed like it did under his forceful and certain ministrations. She was, or had been, a virgin, but waiting didn't seem so important any longer. She was more than willing to open her thighs and let him commandeer whatever he wanted of her, unable to stop herself or him.
She didn't understand why she rolled away from him afterwards, curling up in a ball physically, unable to control her sobbing. She was overcome with such a rush of mixed emotion and could not stop the cascading tears from flowing from her chestnut eyes.
She didn't understand why he held her so tightly in comfort as she cried. She'd never been a particular friend of his. Why should he care if she was upset or not? They'd been under the control of their hormones and it was over now. Why didn't he just dress and leave her alone? Why did he act like he almost cared?
She didn't understand why they found physical comfort in each other every night after that. They would certainly have no relationship, at least she didn't think so, yet they eagerly reached for the other when they bedded for the night. They'd even fixed their sleeping bags so they could sleep beside each other bodily with no barrier in between them.
She didn't understand his avoidance when they returned to Headquarters. What happened? Couldn't they even discuss it? She didn't suspect he'd suddenly confess undying love for her, but certainly their nights of heat and lust meant enough that he could at least talk to her. She'd given up her innocence to him, after all. She deserved something.
She didn't understand when he told her he loved another. She finally cornered him one night in the library demanding he talk to her, but hadn't expected to hear those words from him. She was devastated and hurt. He'd been with his girlfriend for months now, but they had kept it a secret from everyone.
She didn't understand the anger that began to consume her. She'd never been the volatile sort, but she couldn't figure out why he'd not only taken her virginity so willingly, but also allowed himself to be with her physically in the first place if he had a girlfriend that he loved. She continued to try to ask him, but he always avoided her. She didn't even pretend that she wasn't crushed. How could he do that to either of them?
She didn't understand why she told Ginny she'd be her maid of honor when she hated the thought of their marriage. The whole concept made her skin crawl. She'd spent, at the very least, ten nights writhing in sweat and heat underneath his muscular body, welcoming his member into her body over and over, after piercing her the very first night. How could he have done that with Ginny waiting for him back at Headquarters? Didn't Ginny understand the kind of scum she'd agreed to marry?
She didn't understand why she sent curses at him when the war came. He was on her side technically. He was fighting for good like she'd spent most of her life doing, yet she aimed for him more than once. She'd even used an Unforgivable, but everyone was. She didn't suspect anyone noticed, but secretly wished she could have hit him.
She didn't understand why Ginny refused to speak to her. She tried to help the younger girl by telling her about the kind of Slytherin man she was planning to marry. She felt Ginny needed to know about the nights they lay spent in each other's arms. Ginny was unreasonable and wouldn't listen to her though. Why couldn't she see her fiancé for the ferret that he was?
She didn't understand why she was told to leave Grimmauld Place and never come back. She'd spent half her life helping them, devoted to fighting evil with every ounce of her being. How could they ask her to leave? What had she done? She'd been used by her friend's fiancé and she'd tried to tell that friend about what had happened. Ginny needed to know. Why did she have to leave?
She didn't understand why she was given names and floo extensions for magical psychiatrists. Did everyone think she was crazy? A young girl was about to make a horrible decision that would affect her life. She'd given up her own innocence in the hopes that maybe something could develop. Both of the girls had been used and lied to. Was she supposed to just accept it? Was she supposed to just let her friend make that horrible decision uninformed? Why was that wrong?
She didn't understand why the doctors and nurses were asking her these questions. She couldn't see what good these tests and ink blots would do. What were they trying to learn? Couldn't she just move on with her life, what there was left? She came from the Muggle world. Couldn't she just return and forget about the first eighteen years of her life?
She didn't understand why they made her take these little blue pills every morning. They made her feel funny. And quite lethargic. Were they supposed to be helping her? How long would she stay here? Did anyone else know she was here? She wondered if they ever contacted her parents. Why couldn't she leave?
She didn't understand why she never saw her friends again. She was so lonely. The people wearing the white coats didn't seem to ever want to talk to her, but they were the only people she saw. She began to make up imaginary people to talk to. She knew it was silly, but she was tired of silence. The made up people were always there and always wanted to talk. So she talked to them and ignored everyone else. She decided she liked her imaginary friends better anyway.
She didn't understand why she looked older when she gazed into a mirror, but yet felt as if no time had passed. She had silver strands in her hair and creases around her eyes, though she didn't remember the last time she'd celebrated a birthday. It was growing more difficult for her to move as well and often she was content just to sit near the window and stare out over the green lawn, talking to her imaginary friends and swallowing little blue pills every morning.
She didn't understand what had gone wrong in life or why she never left this place she'd been brought to so many years ago. She'd never been allowed to leave. She never saw her friends or family. It seemed as if she was simply forgotten, like a distant memory. Why? Was she such a horrible person that she deserved to be forgotten?
As she sat in the silent room, surrounded by white walls, white furniture, white bed linens and wearing a white gown, she still didn't understand any of it as she watched a trail of crimson red flow from her wrist, staining her gown and the sheets around her. The dark red was sort of pretty against the white.
And as darkness closed in around her, slowly stealing away her life one minute at a time, she closed her eyes and silently slipped away to join her imaginary friends, the only ones that had ever loved her anyway.
But Hermione still didn't understand…
"Father, I thought you might be interested in reading this," Draco said, handing a copy of The Daily Prophet to Lucius, now in his eighties with ailing health. He spent his days in his luxurious bedroom in Malfoy Manor that he shared with his son and daughter-in-law of thirty-six years, Ginny, and their three children Stefan, Dimitri and Yasmine.
A bony, feeble hand took the paper already folded to where he was to read. Adjusting his small half moon glasses, Lucius read the following.
Hermione Jane Granger, one third of the infamous trio that helped in defeating Voldemort over thirty years ago, died yesterday in Bedlam Royal Hospital for the Mentally Afflicted in Rutland, England from an apparent suicide. She was 54.
Lucius continued reading the short excerpt about her life, what an incredible student she'd been, how she'd assisted Potter in finding and destroying all the horcruxes and how sad it was the day she'd been admitted to Bedlam. He shook his head when he finished and tossed the folded up newspaper to the bed beside him.
"She was my age," Draco remarked quietly as he sat in a chair beside the large bed where his father lay.
"She was unwell," Lucius told him as he had the day he'd paid the staff at Bedlam to deem her 'mentally unstable'. "She was a danger to you and my grandson."
"Hermione had no idea that Ginny was pregnant with Stefan," Draco reminded him. "Hell, I didn't know until our honeymoon."
"She was slowly going insane and would have come after Ginny and the child," Lucius said, his voice quiet and weak. "Neither of which was acceptable." He paused to cough viciously. "Your family has been protected, has it not?"
Draco bit his lip and nodded.
"Your children are all healthy and unharmed?"
He nodded again.
"Your own grandchild just born a few months ago is safe and well?"
Again, he nodded.
"Wouldn't you do whatever it took to make sure they remained that way?"
Draco sighed and reached for his father's hand, understanding he had just been told by the Malfoy patriarch that he was loved. If Draco was honest with himself, he knew the answer.
"Yes I would," he answered, voice solid. "Whatever it took."
Lucius smiled, patted his son's hand with his other and then released them. "Now," he said quietly with a tired smile. "Make an old man happy and bring me my great-grandson, Vittorio."
Draco stood, walked from the room and headed for the nursery to retrieve his grandson. He agreed with being protective of his family, but wasn't sure about the decision his father had made so many years ago.
Even now, he didn't completely understand…
As before, please check out my profile for the blog link that will take you to a little banner. I do enjoy looking through pictures to try and find expressions that match the image I'm trying to create.
I know many of you receive "author alerts" for me and I wanted to say THANK YOU for choosing that particular option. As we all know, the story alerts and favorites are most popular, but it's a high honor when the author alert is chosen. Maybe you did it from Intimate Vulnerability. Maybe you did it from Moonlight Healing. Maybe you did it from Irish Eyes. Regardless, I'm thankful and I hope that, even if a new story isn't your cup of tea, that you will at least try to read a little bit, if for no other reason than to find out if I've made another lovely little banner. (I know how much you all LOVE those! LOL)
And always feel free to leave a review. If you like it, tell me. If you don't, tell me (but be nice and able to explain why. All kindly given opinions are appreciated.). If you have questions, ask me. If you're wondering if I'm smoking crack with some ideas I post, ask me (j/k). I enjoy hearing from all of you, and many have been reading my stories for the past couple years. I feel like I have an extended 'friend family' here and it's quite nice.