Four Months. Four. Months. I am so so sorry. Please forgive me.
I had an outline to this story, which I lost and that all but killed everything. I am essentially flying dry right now, but I will continue to do my best.
Also, I have to say. I effing hate the summer. My brain does NOT work during the summer. Now that it's winding down, I'm feeling creative and inspired again.
Again, I hope you can forgive me for my absence. It was unacceptable and I hope that you all enjoy this chapter.
I do not own the people or places in the Harry Potter Universe.
On with it!
Hermione Granger had always had control. She had been able to control the many things that added chaos to the lives of young women her age. She not only had to deal with the constant horror that surrounded her life, simply due to her association with Harry Potter, but she kept remarkable control over her emotions which were always in flux, thanks to her association with Ron Weasley. Neither Harry nor Ron were particularly complex individuals. She always had a quiet understanding of Harry and while their bond wasn't instantaneous, it was nearly unbreakable once it was formed. Ron was quite possibly the simplest person she knew. It wasn't a negative thing, by any means. Ron was simply…Ron. There was nothing else. There wasn't a lack of depth or character. Ron had plenty of layers. He was who he was and there was nothing more to say. Ron's simplicity was one of his many attributes that she had fallen in love with.
It was her understanding of them that helped her keep control regarding Harry and Ron. With Harry, she knew that she had to stay as strong as she possibly could. Breaking down was not an option; Harry needed strength in his life and she did her part to provide it. With Ron she knew that she had wanted to be with him. She was only twelve when her gazes began to linger on his face, admiring him; his striking hair color, his freckles, the gentle pout in his lips, his slightly crooked smile. As a grown woman, Hermione now understood their rows. Ron tested her and pushed her to the breaking point. Not out of cruelty, but instead as a means of helping her release steam. If she wasn't angry at him, she may have broken down from the stress that came with being Hermione Granger.
Logical, brilliant, reliable, clever, and in control. Those were Hermione's attributes and she was under pressure from the start. Ron tested that control with everything he had.
For the first time in her life, that control was gone. She found herself at the mercy of a malevolent force, bent on destroying her life, simply for the pleasure of it. This force had hidden itself behind Ron's face, the face of a man that she trusted and loved more deeply than anyone she had ever known. This force left her living in fear of him. She never knew when she was with Ron or in the presence of this dark creature that had been fooling her for the last six years.
After the defeat of Voldemort, she allowed her logical mind to dismiss the visits as the result of too much work, stress and sleepless nights. In fact, when she was happiest, it seemed to stay away completely. She was lulled into a false sense of security, she supposed, completely convinced, as was everyone, that there was no more evil in the world. It made sense, after all, seeing as Harry had done away with a being as dark as Voldemort, they were all convinced that things just couldn't possibly get as worse as they had been during that time.
However, she was now being made to understand, that even having been so corrupted and so filled with dark magic, at the end of the day, Voldemort was but a man. He was a sick, sad man, with no love or regard for anyone, save himself…if he even ever loved himself at all. He harnessed a darkness that had taken from him the handsome face he once possessed and by the time he met his end, his sanity and grip with reality had been all but gone. The same had happened to Bellatrix Lestrange, the person that Hermione began to suspect was most responsible for her current ordeal.
It had fooled her at every available opportunity. Using Ron's outline to leer at her through the steam during a shower. Using Ron's face to appear behind her in the mirror when she prepared for work in the mornings. Using his voice to call to her in the dead of night while she slept, knowing full well that he was out on a raid, miles away from her.
It had even begun to series of outright assaults, the most notable being during a particularly intense evening that they were together. It was an exceptionally warm night and there was little to do between two people living alone when it was entirely too hot for clothes and lights. Things had started off pleasantly enough, however in time, his kisses became vicious little nips on her sensitive skin, his playful fingertips sank into her flesh, sure to bruise and by the time he'd roughly pinned her arms above her head, she knew she was in trouble. Fighting back, she eventually found herself rolling, naked in a pile of sheets, struggling to regain her strength and find her voice. In the end she had found herself nude, bruised, and nearly violated. As for Ron, he had been fast asleep in front of the desk in the living room. He was going over a case that was to go to trial. He had been called to testify, as he had been among the first at the crime scene. He heard her struggling and came into the room to check on her. He denied entering the room and waking her for sex only moments earlier. He would have teased her for having a "naughty dream" had she not shown him the bruises that corroborated her story. Up until that night, Ron had dismissed her experiences as a figment of her traumatized imagination. He had vivid nightmares himself, and simply thought that Hermione was just having the same. Now that he'd seen evidence of the assault for himself, he refused to leave her alone for too long if he could help it. For a short while, Ron's presence and his support seemed to keep it away from her, relegating it to dark corners and hidden spaces. She knew it wasn't gone, but rather waiting for Ron to back off.
RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR
Following his visit, Draco Malfoy had sent her another book and a dozen pages of notes that he himself had made. It should be noted that reading through his notes had made Hermione admire Draco. Under normal circumstances, she imagined that Draco would have been someone she respected very much. Perhaps he could have been someone she had fancied. He was an exceptional student. His penmanship was beautiful. His notes were impeccable. He was organized, thorough and incredibly well spoken. While writing a quick note of thanks to him, Hermione had mused to herself, "if there were no Ron Weasley, I might have liked Draco Malfoy…that and if he weren't such a bigot."
She folded the note and placed it on the mantle of her fireplace. When Harry came by, she would give it to him to send off to Draco. She'd send the note off herself, but she felt better using Harry as her messenger. She didn't quite feel so alone with him involved in every part of her life.
She had not spent a night alone since Malfoy's first visit. While preparing for bed, she was overcome by the feeling of someone watching her and she had sent and owl to Harry. He was over within a half hour and for the remainder of the week, he'd been sleeping on her couch. Hermione felt horrible, of course. He should have been at home with his wife and son, not camped out in her living room. She begged him to pull even more strings and perhaps see to it that Ron could spend the night with her instead, but Harry had called in enough favors and the Ministry would not budge on this matter. Since their "fight," she and Ron were not allowed in each other's presence. However, Hermione did not budge either and finally sent a letter to Kingsley pleading her case. She insisted that having Ron with her was the first step in fighting back. She'd promised Kingsley that if he allowed her and Ron to see one another, she would tell him anything he wanted to know.
She'd hoped Kingsley would respond by morning, but there was nothing. She'd grown increasingly restless with the fact that she was essentially imprisoned in her own home. She'd walked to the supermarket the morning after Draco left and noticed that she was being tailed by Abel Mercer. Sparing him the awkwardness of following her, she'd backtracked and asked him to simply accompany her. They walked and talked and he helped her carry her bags to her flat. Leaving the bags in her entrance, he turned down a cup of tea and returned to his post in front of her building. She wasn't able to get him to tell her what exactly it was he was protecting her from outside of her flat. "You are aware the problem is inside right?" He simply smiled sympathetically, told her to be safe and walked away.
Closing her door and leaning on it, she took a few calming breaths. She needed answers, she needed stimulation. She needed her boyfriend.
"Granger."
Yelping in surprise, Hermione jumped to attention only to find Draco seated on her couch. Wearing his customary black on black ensemble, he sat cross legged waiting for her. He looked bored as ever and smirked at her reaction to him.
"Scared you, did I?"
"Draco, from now on you must write before coming here. And I have to let you in; you can't just come and go as you please. This is inappropriate. You know it is."
"You think I just apparated in here? Into a flat, protected by the Ministry? Now that you're insane, I suppose your common sense would be the next to go."
"Drop dead, Malfoy."
"Potter let me in. He's busy tonight and you need company apparently. And since I have no life, no friends and no autonomy, here I am. Shall I undress?"
"Please. Spare me. I can hardly keep down a full meal; I don't want to vomit up the rest."
Walking to her bookshelf, Hermione pulled out a small stationary set and began writing.
"What are you doing?"
"Writing to Harry. You are not staying here tonight. I'd rather play Exploding Snap with Mr. Thing."
"Mr. Thing?"
"I know naming it is the worst idea, but I'm not about to call it 'Other Ron.'"
"You have no choice. I'm your company tonight. And judging from the temperature of your flat, I'd say 'Mr. Thing' is the last company you'd want. But go on and write him. I'll just sit here. I've got nothing else to do."
Noting the bitter cold in the air, she gulped. Tonight would be a bad night to be alone. It was here and it would give her no peace. Attaching the note to Horus, the brown owl that the Weasleys had given her as a Christmas present, Hermione offered Malfoy a glass of water and excused herself so that she could unload her shopping. Of course, Malfoy was right and within fifteen minutes her letter to Harry had gone out and he'd sent a short response.
"Sorry 'Mione,
I'm too busy pulling strings. You're just
going to have to be inconvenienced if
you want to get what you've been asking
for.
Kill me in the morning,
Harry"
Looking up from the note, Hermione locked eyes with Malfoy, who simply smirked at her and raised his eyebrows. Sighing, she resigned herself to her current situation and plastered on a smile, "do you like frozen pizza?"
RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR
She ate out of necessity. Her appetite was nonexistent and being in Malfoy's presence had left her seated on pins and needles. Initially, she wanted to do nothing more than fling the melted cheese of her pizza onto her aristocratic houseguest in response to his grating comments on how embarrassing it was that he was eating "Muggle foods" to save his family. However, within an hour, both she and Malfoy grew to accept that tonight was not going to change. They had to tolerate each other.
"So…how long have you known about…Mr. Thing?"
"Since Seventh Year, when Harry, Ron and I were in hiding. I thought it was all part of the Horcrux, but when it was destroyed, he…it…seemed to linger. I don't know what caused this. I mean, I understand that it was random and I know it was all part of the risk of handling something as dangerous as a horcrux, but part of me still can't believe that this happened. All we did was dream of peace. How nice it all would be when this was over. When Voldemort was gone. And it just continues. It doesn't seem to stop."
Seated on her couch, Hermione pulled her legs up and rested her head on her knees. Using the sleeves of the jumper Ron had given her, she wiped at the hot tears that slid down her cheeks. Under normal circumstances, whatever those were, she would never have imagined crying in front of Draco Malfoy, but she didn't care anymore. She was much too tired to care.
Malfoy was seated on an armchair across from her couch; he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know, when all you want is power, the consequences don't matter. I'm not completely clear of the exact mechanics of making a horcrux, but I do know that summoning guarantees that it would work. If it seemed to come from the horcrux that you travelled with, then that's where it came from. I personally don't think that its origin is even close to being as important as simply getting rid of it."
"But when is it simply going to be too much? I barely had a childhood. My life has been a battle since I met Harry and I don't regret meeting him, or fighting for him, but I'm so tired. I'm just so tired." She buried her face into her knees, now completely embarrassed to be crying in front of Malfoy.
Glancing up at Malfoy, she detected the slightest hint of sympathy behind his eyes. "What happened with you and Weasley? What really happened? Everyone's talking about how you're wasting your time in your department when you should have been an Auror. You managed to best Weasley, who as far as I've heard has really benefitted from all of his training."
"No. I didn't best him. If he had been facing anyone and I mean ANYONE else, he'd have killed them. He took so many hits because he didn't want to hurt me. But trust me, he beat me. My back still hurts. Sometimes my left ear rings. And I'm still sore all over."
"Do you remember it? What happened?"
Closing her eyes, ignoring the biting cold of her flat and brushing off the nagging sense that It was watching, just outside of the living room, just a few yards from her, Hermione began to tell Draco about the day that she'd dreaded would happen since that confrontation in the Chamber of Secrets. The day that she had tried so hard to avoid. She didn't want to talk about it because It was still here and she knew It would relish hearing the story. Hermione Granger had no choice but to swallow the bile rising in her throat and revisit the day that she tried to kill Ron Weasley.
RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR
The Night, The Fight - 2004
Nightmares, visitations, scratching, biting, choking. Hermione had endured it all. That morning was the final straw. She had awakened from a restless sleep only to find Ron lying beside her, watching her sleep. When she'd fully woken up, Ron began to question her incessantly about what was happening to her. Eventually it had turned into an argument, with Ron dressing and going off to work. She felt horrible. Ron was being patient, but she was coming apart and he was helpless. Even though he was an Auror, he had no right to force her to talk about what was happening to her. He suffered, watching her skin grow paler ever day, she developed dark circles under her eyes and she began to visibly lose weight.
Hermione's heart broke when she thought back to the night she showed up on Ron's doorstep, cold and dripping wet during a thunderstorm. They'd had a massive blow out earlier that evening and she angrily threw him out of her flat. Her sadness and anger fueled the darkness that rode on her shoulders and It began its assault, whispering curses and vile threats from every corner. Grabbing only her wand, she escaped from her flat and ran out into the rain. She needed to get to Ron. She needed to go where it was warm and quiet. She was testing his patience lately and as she ran through the rain, she prayed that he had enough forgiveness in his heart to take her in. More than anything, she needed his love, even after pushing him away, she still needed his love. She'd asked him in a small voice to allow her to stay with him that night. He let her in; alarmed that she would even ask and drew a hot bath for her. Later that night, she clung to him like a small child as she slept, her small frame trembling lightly. Before drifting off she heard him whisper, "Please, just tell me what's wrong," his voice thick with emotion.
Shaking the unpleasant memory to the back of her mind she took a shower and readied herself for a long day at work. She steeled herself against the knocks on the walls and bathroom door. She attempted to ignore the uncanny sound of breathing in the room. She even refused to acknowledge the cold bursts of air she periodically felt against her skin as she bathed. Her thoughts drifted to the days when she sat up in bed as a small child, petrified at the creaks she heard around the house. Her mum had told her that the house was simply settling and all she need do was ignore the annoying sounds. She became an expert at ignoring annoyances and carried on throughout life. She ignored the little girls who teased her for her bushy hair; she ignored Malfoy's taunts and Ron's grating comments. She'd even expertly ignored Harry's incessant brooding and soldiered forward.
Stepping out of the shower and wrapping her body in a towel, she walked to the mirror and gingerly wiped the steam from the glass. Lately, she'd grown to abhor her own reflection. She didn't consider herself a great beauty, but she certainly wasn't bad looking, but lately, "bad" was exactly how one would describe her appearance. There was no color in her cheeks. Her eyes were becoming hollow sockets and her hair hung limp and dull. She had even taken to wearing concealing foundation on her face to even her coloring. Make up usually was not a necessity for her, mostly because Ron hated it and honestly thought she was beautiful without it, but these days she found herself caking her face with it in order to keep Ron or anyone else from asking her questions.
Glancing up at her reflection, Hermione let out a small gasp and stepped back. Regaining her composure she leaned forward, inspecting what was looking back at her. Her own eyes, no longer brown, were blacked out, shiny, endless, empty and staring back at her. Raising a trembling hand to her face, she wordlessly inspected the image that stared back at her. Dropping her hand and gripping the sink, the clamped her eyes shut and gulped down a few mouthfuls of air. It was everywhere. All around her. She thought of the years of terror. The initial horrors that accompanied the horcrux, the nightmares filled with blood and cries and death, the hallucinations all created for the sole purpose of making her fearful of Ron. She thought of the threats and taunts constantly thrown in her direction and the ultimate threat, that if she wanted this pain to stop, she'd have to kill Ron. She'd have to kill her rock, her love; she'd have to kill her future.
Knowing full well that it would be a bad idea to bait this thing, she simply didn't care. Quietly preparing for her day at work and the evening she would spend in the Ministry archive searching for any case that matched hers, she decided she'd had enough. If It wanted her, it could come and get her. She didn't care anymore. She'd fight with everything she had left, but she wouldn't be a victim any longer. Grabbing her purse and her wand she stopped at her front door, she stopped and addressed the air around her.
"If you want me. Come and get me."
With that, she walked out of her flat.
Hours later, she sat alone in the Ministry archives. Files, folders, books, loose papers, and glowing orbs surrounded her. She'd found vague references to her own ordeal, but there was nothing that she could access that gave her any real answers. She'd have to ask for special permission to view the restricted and classified files, but that would require telling the Archivist and Minister Shacklebolt what was happening to her. She simply wasn't prepared to do that. Since enrolling in Hogwarts, she learned that anything is possible and nothing is too insane, but she just wasn't ready to share this.
Peering out the small window along a far wall, Hermione noted that it was growing late. The sun hung low in the sky and it would be dark in less than an hour. No one sat in the archive with her as she combed through the files in front of her. She stopped for another brief moment to admire her wand. She hated the thing. It had belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange and it was all she had after being tortured in Malfoy Manor. At first it was alien to her, but she found its strength comforting. Oftentimes Ron tried to talk her into going to Ollivander's and getting a new one and getting rid of this curved monstrosity for good. He'd shake his head incredulously when she told him that somehow, she'd grown attached to it. It was a trophy now. Proof that Bellatrix was dead.
She snapped to attention when she heard footsteps approaching the room she was in. It was the first time she heard walking about out there, and she was fully expecting whoever it was out there to walk by, seeing as no one really knew she was in here. It was much to her surprise that the footsteps seemed to be getting closer, eventually stopping at the door. When the door opened, she was surprised to see Ron come through the threshold, smiling sweetly.
"Hey, what are you still doing here?"
Smiling back, she answered, "Hey, yourself. I just wanted to do some research on something before leaving. I was going to come and see you when I was all finished up here."
"No need. I'm here now." He lifted some of the papers on the table surrounding her, his curiosity piqued. "What are you looking at here?"
"Oh, a case my department landed. Just getting some background info."
"Hm. Why sneak around? Why not ask?"
"Sneak around?"
"You didn't tell anyone you were here. One would assume that you were sneaking around."
"I just wanted to do this quietly."
"Ah. That's interesting because it looks to me like you're sneaking around. Almost like you don't want anyone to know what you were looking for."
Hermione's stomach clenched nervously. He regarded her like she was one of his interrogations. Ron was pacing the small room slowly, placing himself between her and the door. "Well, in any event, I'd figured I'd come and help you. Make your work a bit easier."
"Oh, Ron there's no need for that. I can pack myself up and come home with you. It would be nice to have a quiet night."
"But, you told me to come get you."
Without a word Hermione jumped from her seat, backing herself up against the wall, her desperate mind racing and searching for a way out of the room. Her tormentor, having heard her challenge and wearing Ron's face stood before her. His eyes full black and features menacing. He stood before her as a predator would stand before its trapped prey, "You said that if I wanted you, I had to come and get you. Now, those weren't words spoken in anger were they?"
"Stupefy!" The red light shot from her wand and sent him against the opposite wall. She dashed for the door only to crash down face first onto the room's marble floor. She cried out in surprise as she felt hands around her ankles pulling her away from the door. Fighting and kicking with all of her might, she felt him straddling her and reaching for her arms. Her wand clattered toward the door, out of her reach as she struggled to get away.
Flipping her over onto her back, she could feel him pressing his weight upon her in an effort to keep her still. She had no idea what he was going to do to her in this moment, but her memory pulled on a bit of research she had been doing in recent weeks. Drawing upon her reading into the field of the demonic, something she had been denying for far too long, she remembered bits and pieces of the incantations and rituals performed to banish these evil spirits. In this one moment of desperation, Hermione decided to make an attempt to use the small amount she had learned.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-," he brought his closed fist down onto her face. Hermione cried out sharply, her vision going white with tiny black bursts in front of her eyes.
"You little bitch!" He attempted to pin her down, but he'd been slightly weakened by her short attempt to battle back. Capitalizing on this opening, Hermione brought her legs up and managed to kick him off of her. Scrambling to her feet she reached the door and picked up her wand and pointed it at his prone form. A wand was a conduit for energy and having one simply gave it greater focus to that energy. Drawing on her strength and ignoring the dull pain of her assaulted face, she held the wand steady and said it again, "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus." Without staying to ensure that the encantation worked with the wand, she made a mad dash out of the door, with her tormentor's piercing cries behind her.
She could only hear her ragged breathing around her. She ran through the empty halls, her footfalls echoing around her, bouncing off of the marble columns that surrounded her. Her heart pounded, slamming so hard she thought it would burst from her chest.
'Have to get to the atrium. To the fireplace. Floo out. He'll be on my tail. I just need a few seconds.'
*pant, pant* She could hear footsteps behind her. *pant, pant* Running. *pant, pant* Gaining on her. *pant, pant* He wasn't winded.
She glanced back, her frantic breaths coming out in exhausted puffs. He was smiling. His delighted grin mocking her terror. She was running for her life, but to him, it was a game.
Rounding a corner, reaching the lifts, she threw herself in, unable to stop herself, she rammed against the wall inside the lift. She slammed the door shut, her fingers frantically pushing the button for the main floor. She'd heard the clicking and whirring of gears when he'd reached the lift. He'd slowed down to a walk, approaching her as she cowered in the corner, as far out of his reach as she could get. Flattening herself against the wall, she stared at him, brown eyes rounded in shock. He stood there watching her, blue eyes, cold and hard, trained on her. He hadn't broken a sweat; his breathing was even as he calmly surveyed her. His lips spread into a slow grin as the lift began to move back. As he shrunk from sight, she heard him utter one word.
"Tricky."
Now, mindlessly she exited at the Atrium and made her way to the fireplaces. There were very few people about and she managed to make it out of the Ministry without being noticed. Her use of a stunning spell would no doubt go noticed by the various wards, but she had no time to think of that. She needed to get home and regroup. Considering the possibility that It had beaten her home, she kept her wand ready for another confrontation.
Exiting her fireplace, she quickly removed herself from the floo network. She rationalized that she needed to close as many doors as she could. Kneeling in front of the now perfectly normal fireplace, her shoulders slumped. "I could have asked for help," she thought. Was her pride so great that she couldn't be completely honest with Ron OR Harry for that matter? They would have believed her in a heartbeat. She truly knew that. So why not say anything? She knew they wondered. She knew that Ron was scared for her.
"All I had to do was ask for help. But how could I? I barely even recognize my own reflection anymore."
"Help with what?" Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. She jumped to her feet and turned to find Ron standing in the doorway to her kitchen.
Without preamble, she raised her wand and pointed it directly at Ron. "Get out."
"Yeah. That's not funny, 'Mione."
"Why are you here?"
"Um, I came to see you. What's with you?" His blue eyes widened. "Your nose's bleeding. What happened, Hermione?" He made a move to approach her but she didn't lower her wand. Defensively, Ron raised his arms to show her that he was not a threat.
"Get out of here. You can't scare me anymore."
"Scare you? Hermione, where is your head right now. I brought you dinner, I came to see you. Ease up." He took another step forward. "Baby, what's happening to you?"
Her breathing coming out in shaky rasps. Question. Ask the question, her mind barked. Ask the question that only Ron could answer.
"What story did I tell you when we searched for my parents? The story that I didn't tell to anyone else?"
Nodding his head, he calmly provided the answer. "You told me of your mum's miscarriage when you were nine years old. It was late in the pregnancy. It was a boy. Joseph. Your mum couldn't have anymore after that."
Under normal circumstances, she would have believed what she'd heard, but these circumstances were hardly normal. It could have known that. It was the dark passenger she carried for years, after all. He could have known everything there was to know. She kept her wand raised.
"Hermione? What are you doing?"
"I said get out."
"Hermione…this stopped being funny a long time ago. It's me. You know it's me. Now lower your wand."
"I swear to you. I will kill you. Leave. Now."
Producing his wand from the holster on his wrist, he kept it pointed down, albeit prepared to defend himself.
"I will ask you only once more. Leave."
"Hermione. No."
"LEAVE!"
"Not happening."
"Avada Kedavra."
"NO!"
A flash of green shot from her wand, hitting an unseen wall and seeming to shrink to nothing. She looked up to meet his gaze only to see a streak of red. Slamming directly into her chest, the curse sent Hermione flying back against the mantle of her fireplace, picture frames and a snow globe from Australia hitting the wooden floor along with her body. Glass shattered around her. Slowly crawling to her feet, she surveyed the empty space where Ron once stood. "You have to kill him."
"Hermione! Listen to me! I'm not trying to hurt you."
Silently eyeing the kitchen door, she now knew where he had retreated to. Blasting the Reductor curse, she blew her kitchen door to splinters. If there was one thing she liked about this wand, it was its power. This wand was able to cause devastation with the simplest of curses. He had been thrown back by the resulting blast. Regaining his bearings, he composed himself in time to dodge another Killing Curse she fired at him. She heard him yell, "Stupefy," and tried to move away but she was hit again, blown onto her back.
She laid there, her ears ringing, her vision producing spots and bursts.
He retreated to the kitchen taking a moment to regroup. 'She tried to kill me. She fucking tried to kill me!'
She stood on shaky legs. Fingers tightly grasping her wand. Her wand. Bellatrix. 'This was her wand. It was so easy. So easy to cast that killing curse. My wand could barely push out a patronus, but I can kill with this.'
"I asked you to leave, Ron. Now you'll be carried out."
His back was pressed against the wall. She was up and threatening him. He'd stunned her and she was back up. He used a verbal spell the first time. Having been focused on pronunciation, any spell or curse is naturally weaker. He purposely cast a verbal for that purpose. Non-verbals came from within. They came from the heart and were by nature far stronger. He could also cast a volley of curses and end this.
"Hermione. I don't want to hurt-" A streak of green raced by his head.
With all his might he lunged out of the kitchen a silently fired a volley of three stunning spells, as she fired some of her own at him. While only one of her curses hit him, all three of his hit her, throwing her into the air and against the mirror hanging upon the wall. As he fell back, slamming his head on the ground, she crumbled to the ground, covered in glass and blood in a lifeless heap. She opened her eyes in time to see a spectral dog, a Jack Russell terrier, scamper out through her closed front door. Ron's patronus. Ron. No dark entity could form a patronus could they? It had to be Ron. She tried to move her aching body, but her energy was spent. She had nothing left.
He wasn't moving.
I've killed him.
Distant footsteps echoed in the room. The breeze of an open door. Cloaked figures swept into the room. One of them stood over her. The figure bent down. Panic set in.
"Nooooo…" She felt a gentle hand on her head. Drifting out of consciousness, she was able to make out the identity of the figure kneeling over her. His black hair. His green eyes.
His frightened voice.
"Hermione. What happened? What did you do?"
RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR RHR
Coming Up:
"Harry may be grateful for your little lie, but I will never thank you. My best friend is alive and I'm happy about that. Believe me, I am. But, fuck you. Fuck you and your shit family. Fuck you and your beliefs and your preservation of magical blood. You may think you were brave, going in there, grabbing your boy and running with your tail between your legs. You may think you did something great but that doesn't erase the shit you and yours put us through. To me, you and your son will always be pieces of shit!"
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed/understood it. I dunno LOL! Reviews are welcome. Be constructive and mature. Save the drama for Facebook! :)