Death Becomes Her

by C

A young woman left her family and friends ten years ago to become a (drum roll....) HIT-WITCH! Now she is offered a job to murder one of her friends. And now her world is turned upside-down as she re-enters the world that she left so long ago. A tale of

2. Drunk

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There is a Disclaimer to this story. It is that the characters that I am using are of JK Rowling's property. The story was, interestingly enough, inspired by the film "Grosse Point Blank" and some of my dialogue is loosley taken from it. But unlike the film – there will be no High School Reunion. There will be no passionate love scenes (yet) and most of all, my character isn't intending on retiring just yet.

This is my very first piece of Fanfiction. But I'm not going to go off and say that you must be gentle because I'm just a beginner. To be honest, I don't mind whether I get a Flame or a Brilliant Review, though a brilliant review is much preferred. In my opinion; Flames are useless. But if you have something good to say, like my grammars all wrong, or that the story is too vague and you have a suggestion on how to inprove it. Then the constructive criticism is welcomed with opened arms.

The second chapter, my friends, is no longer an introduction. In the second chapter, we dive deeper into the dark life of Hermione Granger and encounter some no too welcome thoughts. Please be warned that since this story is written in first person, it's written as Hermione gets it. If she just thinks of something, it's most likely to come into this. It's not going to go into sudden descriptions of areas and such, Hermione knows what's around her, she's lived in the area all her life. And it's definitely not her fault if she doesn't describe the colour of the apothecary walls – she already knows its there and couldn't care less about it.

Welcome to Chapter Two…

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Chapter O2 – Drunk

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"Mad, bad, and dangerous to know"

– Lady Caroline Lamb, Of Byron, in her Journal

I have no friends. I know that. I know that I did have friends. I know that they loved me dearly and all that kind of stuff. And when I left, the passion that I held for my friends was still there. But as the years went by, the flame was dampened out by reality. My reality is that I kill people for money. Not a very glamorous job. And it's certainly not a job that you flaunt around to people. And unfortunately, when I killed darling Percy, I had to go back into my life with my circle of friends, and I had to make up a job. I certainly could not tell them that my job was deleting people and getting paid for it. And I certainly couldn't tell them that I was the one who got Percy. Some part of me wanted to. But my heart that had frozen to ice was beginning to melt and told me not to. Hurting them for the third time isn't a very nice thing to do.

And I had to face them every single day. It was like if they blinked, I would disappear. Which was probably most likely. I longed to just slip away out of the light back into the dark little corner that I called home. And Fiona was of no help. And she was of a lot of help. She helped me pick out a profession in which she could be incorporated in as my - of course - secretary. So she chose that we should have a private firm that specialised in, this is extremely eccentric, pet funerals. How… cheerful. I honestly wasn't in the best of moods when she declared that. But who am I to say that I wasn't nervous about having dinner that night at the Weasleys.

Which brings me to another point. The Weasleys. Such an annoying family bunch. It really tore them to shreds when Percy died. One member of the family down and eight to go. And what really gets me, is that now they're hanging on to me like a person who can't swim does to a bit of floating wood. Molly thinks I'm special and all because of me being the last person there at the very moment he died. You would think that they could put me on the suspect list at least. But no, it's old Mrs. Cobb the pensioner with arthritis who is obviously the murderer. The magical world is so stupid at times. They should take a leaf out of the Muggles and they're forensic sciences. They at least would convict me. I can't believe that I haven't been caught yet…

I've got another job on the weekend. This man named Nathaniel Hallidaye, who is the head of the Save-The-Mules campaign (don't ask me what that is, I have no idea) and he's apparently been making counterfeit money. I'd like to see the way he does that, it's past me how you could create false Galleons and Sickles when they're all made exculsively by the Gringotts goblins. But he probably worked there or had a goblin for a girlfriend. And I'm getting good money on the job too, nothing much compared to what I got for Percy, but it's still enough treasure – just above the minimum.

Oh no. I've just thought about Ron. I haven't seen him yet, but Harry tells me he's looking forward to seeing me. And now this huge stone is swelling in my stomach and I feel like vomitting. Ron. The boy I imagined myself being married to, having children with and living in that house with a white picket fence. My stupid school sweetheart. Then I thought it was love. When we shared our clumsy kisses, longer embraces and red faces. Oh sure, we had passion. From all that fighting. And there was emotion. We both had been brought up by loving parents and when it came to emotion, we had no choice but to show it. Unlike Harry. With Harry you can't tell whether he's mourning or ecstatic. That's what happens when you're orphaned at a very young age, then brought up by people who couldn't care less about you, you go all stony. No emotion. New, Ron, I suppose, was the worst of us. Of course, my parents loved me and I had my emotions, but when they missed my birthday for emergency root canals (and that happened not once, but about ten times), I learnt to take a deep breath and remain neutral. Ron just let out whatever popped into his head.

There I go again. Talking about us and the good old days. I really shouldn't hurt myself taking a trip down memory lane. I might remember something that I longed to forget. Oooh, Fiona's going to get a nasty shock next pay day. I wished she never told me take a rest and try not to kill anyone. I wish she never told me to go and see Percy. I wish that I hadn't killed Percy. I just suppose that my killing instinct took over. It's terrible scary, you know. When killing becomes a part of your nature.

* * * *

Just grin and bare it. This is what, four months, since Percy's funeral. Four months since I came out into the real world. All this sunlight is blinding me. I compalined to Fiona and she simply told me off for whining and to take life as it comes like a good little girl. That was a little perculiar as I'm a year older than her.

Ron and Harry are coming over to my flat for dinner tonight. Wonderful. I'm dreading it so much. Life is just so cruel to me at times. But I suppose it's just repaying me for all those lives I've taken. Not much pain it's causing me though. It's just giving me these awful senses of dread and guilt. I think my conscience has come back for a visit, the stupid git. I thought I fired it.

I had another dream last night when I slept. I've noticed that I've been doing a lot of sleeping these past few months. It's un natural for me to sleep so much. But last nights dream was well, creepy. Percy visited me. And it was terrible. It just replayed the scene of his death repeatedly.

'So you're a professional killer?' He said, looking almost ready to call security.

Ouch. That would be harsh. Getting taken in by the oaf who had escorted me up to the board room.

I gulped and nodded.

Percy's eyes grew wide with shock, and he swallowed. 'A-a-and why exactly have you come back?'

I took a deep breath and looked at him hard. 'Well,' I said slowly. 'I've been hired to, how do I say this…, take someone out of the Ministry. For good.'

Percy began to back away, hastily putting a chair between us. 'Who?' He stammered.

A tear trickled down my face, but I quickly brushed it away. 'You.' I said quietly, instantly regretting it.

He suddenly moved very quickly towards the door.

'I'm calling the guards.'

'Don't!' I cried, a few more tears started to make they're way down. 'I'm not going to do it!'

I moved quickly towards him and touched his arm.

He jerked it away.

'Don't touch me, murderer!' He growled.

I had a sudden vison of Harry and Sirius in the Shreiking Shack in my third year. Before Harry knew about Wormtail.

I pulled out my wand and pointed it at him.

'If you do anything,' I said, my voice quavering. 'I'll do something that I don't want to do.'

He paled very quickly. 'What have I done to make you want me dead?' He stuttered.

I shook my head. 'Nothing.' I whispered. 'It's not me. It's my client.'

'That's just as bad. Why does this "client" want me dead?'

I choked back a cry.

'I think you had an affair with his wife.' I sobbed.

His eyes proved he knew what I meant. And who I meant, which was good for him as this client had wished to remain anonymous. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and he strode over to me.

'You tell your client to bugger off.' He spat, grabbing my wrist and holding it tightly. It was getting harder to hold the wand.

'Percy,' I said lamely. 'Please forgive me.'

He instantly backed away and drew his wand.

'You murderer.' He said harshly. 'You murdering mudblood. You're going to Azkaban.'

He advanced onto me like a bull towards the red flag. Suddenly all thoughts of doing the right thing escaped my head. And I did the thing that had become a part of my nature.

'Avada Kedavra.' I whispered.

He looked at me with sad eyes and his lips parted as if to say something. But it was too late, he toppled silently to the floor.

I put my wand into my pocket and looked at my hands. And began to scream like a banshee.

I woke up out of breath and almost in tears. For once in my miserable life, I felt pangs of regret. Great big pangs. As if I was at the epicentre of an earthquake. My conscience had come back into town and was making my life hell.

* * * *

Ron took a sip of his wine and looked at Harry and I. He gave me a lop-sided grin. I smiled weakly back.

'So Hermione-' He hiccoughed. 'What have you been doing these past ten years?'

'I've already told you, Ron. I'm a mortician. I run pet funerals.' I said for the fifteenth time that night.

He laughed. Which was a different reaction from the last times. I rolled my eyes. He was a little tipsy. No, scrub that. Very tipsy.

'You! A mortician!' He snorted. 'I can't believe it. I won't believe it! You're more of the Professor type. Or the successful literature person. You're not a mortician!'

I shrugged. I think I've been doing a lot of shrugging lately. 'So? I make good money from it.'

It was Harry's turn to laugh now. 'You make good money from burying pets?'

I nodded. 'Yes.' I said, irritably. 'And it's a growing business.'

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. And I noticed Ron giving a small nod. Harry took a deep breath.

'Hermione… We have been extremely curious to know why you left Hogwarts just before we finished. And how come you never contacted us?'

I bit my lip. 'I realised that there was more to life than Hogwarts. So I ran away.' I said finally.

'Whatever.' Harry sighed. 'That's still not a good reason.'

I rolled my eyes again. 'I have my own personal reasons.' I snapped.

Ron leaned forward to me, and I could smell the wine on his breath. He was definitely drunk.

'What about us? You just left me!' He stammered loudly.

My eyes narrowed. 'There is no us. There never was.'

Ron's eyes widened with shock. 'B-b-but you loved me. And I love you!'

I raised an eyebrow. 'You still love me?' I said disbelievingly.

He grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes. 'Yes, Hermione. I still love you.' He looked perfectly serious, and uncannily sober.

'You're drunk.' I said, brushing his hand away. 'You're talking nonsense.'

He shook his head. 'I'm not talking nonsense.' He rasped. 'I love you.'

I snorted. 'Bull.' I said shortly, grabbing my coat. 'I'm taking a walk.'

I stood up and strode over to the door and walked out.

I could hear Harry calling after me. 'But Hermione! It's your flat!'

* * * *

I decided to go over to Fiona's apartment. I needed somewhere to rest and I certainly wasn't going to go home. They'd be waiting there. And I wasn't sure whether I wanted to talk to them for the moment. I racked my brain for Fiona's flat number. It was either 13 or 4, but I may as well try both. I pressed the button to call upstairs, and trust my luck, a tired Fiona answered.

'Who's there?' She yawned.

'It's Hermione.' I said impatiently. 'Let me in.'

'Hang on…'

A small buzz came from the door and I pushed it open. Fiona's the only witch other than me to live in a muggle apartment. I stepped into the lift and pressed number 13. When the door opened, Fiona was there waiting for me.

'Hermione,' She said, scratching her head. 'What're you doing here?'

'I was in a terror zone at home.' I said simply. But seeing her confused look, I hastily added. 'Ron and Harry came for dinner.'

She looked at me sympathetically. 'I've tampered with the last of the files.' She told me. 'Poor Oscar thought I was only visting him.'

'Thank you.'

Fiona, like me, is a disappearing person. But unlike me, she has an incredible social life. She conveniantly has boyfriends dotted all over the place, mostly security guards or members of the Ministry. Oscar was one of them. I had met him once at a party and he was a small young man who was in charge of the Ministry Files. And anytime Fiona and I were close to being found, or caught, Fiona simply paid Oscar a visit, taking a few of the files and changing them to suit our needs. I trust Fiona, and I know that whenever she goes to Oscar, both our lives are in her hands. And I think that she updates her files too.

'Come in Hermione, fancy some tea?'

I shook my head. 'I think I'll go and get some sleep.' I said, heading to the guest room.

She smiled. 'I'm going to have some tea before I sleep.'

I yawned and went to the room.

At about 2.00 am, I heard the telephone ring. I heard Fiona rush to the kitchen where the phone was and quickly pick it up, so it would stop ringing and stop disturbing. But, too late, I was already up, and I crept into the coridoor. She was speaking in a hushed voice, but I could hear her well. And for some reason, I was tempted to eavesdrop. So I did.

'Yes sir… She's here… Staying with me…. Her friends were at her flat but she couldn't cope… Yes, sir…. The money sir?… Oh, Yes sir!… Shall I meet you tomorrow at, say, 3.30?… Yes, sir. But where sir?… At Flourish and Blotts… That's a marvelous idea, sir!… Oh, alright, sir. I'll stop calling you sir, sir…. Yes, sir. I'll tell you everything… My account number is 1305… Six hundred thousand galleons, fourteen sickles and eight knuts, sir?... Oh, thank you, sir!… Goodbye sir!… Oh, alright, Mr…… Goodbye!'

I swore silently at myself for not picking up the name. Fiona was obviously speaking about something to do with me… but what? I settled my head by saying it was a birthday present. But I decided to check up on her at 3.30 at Flourish and Blotts tomorrow.

* * * *

Flourish and Blotts still smelled the same. Like books. And I remembered buying many books here. The Standard Book of Spells, The Monster Book of Monster's with Ron…

There I go again. Thinking of Ron. I wonder if he really does still love me? It's a bit pathetic, still loving me after ten years, in my opinion. I know there's a buried part of me that still loves him. But like I said, it's buried. Buried, just like those pets. Fiona managed to put on a record that I own a pet funeral parlour, and I had had it for about five years. It apparently flourished as many people wanted to bury their "Mittens", "Snowball" and "Postie-poos". So that was the reason why I'm quite well off. But I still don't understand why Fiona chose being an undertaker. I suppose it was for a laugh. It's one of the closest jobs to my real one – it has to do with the dead. Lovely.

I looked at my watch. 3.30. And I could tell that Fiona was becoming restless. She was a few bookcases down, and I was wearing my invisibilty cloak. She was fumbling with a book. L'Histoire de Beaxbatons was the title. She was just turning the book over and over. Talk about obsessive compulsive.

A man walked into the shop and made a beeline to Fiona. She smiled nervously at him, but I couldn't catch his face. She spoke to him in a hushed whisper and handed him the book. And I could see him inspecting it, flicking through it. He stopped at a page and pulled out a piece of paper that had been put in there. I caught a glimpse of it. It was a photo. Of Fiona and I at a party. I think it was a banquet for Fiona's cousin's wedding, or something like that. She tapped the picture of me. The man nodded and with a twirl of his cloak he left. Fiona let out a sigh of relif.

Inside I was boiling up with anger. She was engaging in affairs with an outsider. And somehow I was involved.

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There we go. The end of that chapter. Isn't that nice?

Well, I have a long thank you list, which is good as I wasn't expecting to get that many reviews.

*ahem*

A.Spinnet (Since you're my beta, I think that you're review was really nice. But you'd better do a better job at spelling when you're betaing next time!), Crystal (Thanks for the tip.), velvet sun (Hey! I knew I forced you into reviewing, but I didn't realise you liked it that much!), Pices Girl (I like doing out of character things..), Astra BZ (Ooh! A long review! And another twisted person! Wahooo!), anonymous (er- thanks. Does that count as a flame?), Sirius Black (Twisted stories are cool. That's what's up with it.), Lily Weasley (Thanks, I'll keep you in mind for a Beta for another one of my stories… I've got one for this one!), Josi (Thanks! And Harry was very moody because he was! I can't tell you know though..), Silverbolt (I'll write more! Promise!), Corey (Was it really that predictable? I'm glad that you like the BAD Hermione.), Afan (It was deep? And Tragic? Coool!), Satine (Okay about Harry. He was just in a mood. Glad you liked Fiona!), Wild Cat (Here's you're 10 points and another 5 for being you!), Ides of Diamonds (Thanks! I was sad that I killed off Percy…), Queen Kate (Odd sense of humours are the BEST!), PikaCheeka (Unusual stories get better reviews! Read the other ones!), drops of jupiter (Happy you liked it… and I love your name!), Gambill (Finally! A worrier after Ron! He doesn't work for the Ministry.), Sunshineglow (Hermione has issues…), Dru (Dark humour is my middle name!), Erica (Wow! That was really nice of you to say that!!), FanFicChick (I'm very glad you liked it… there's a lot of things you don't know about me…), Anja Lesinsky (You like the word tasty, huh? Thanks for the great review!), draicana (I'm a PURE GENIUS? Awww… thanks!), Misty Potter (Thanks… I love it too! My mind is very weird…).

Whew! 26 reviews! That inflated my ego big time! And I am soo proud to see the amazing amount of CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM! Give yourselves a pat on the back.