Disclaimer: This is fanfic inspired (via strange routes...) by J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. I make no claim on her property and expect no material profit.
Cuckoo, Cuckoldby Persephone
Once more, this time in the dead of night, she slips away from him. Ever so slowly, she squirms free of his tender but suffocating embrace and creeps out from between the warm sheets of his bed.
Her feet strike the chilly stone floor with the softest of slaps, and she pauses for a moment in the cool dim light. Moonlight, slanting from the window, insubstantial liquid silver on gray -- there isn't that much time.
To the door, as quickly and as silently as she can move. It's been left ajar; she squeezes through without a creak. How careless of him. How convenient for her.
She jumps for joy as soon as she's safely out of earshot, then sets off again at a brisk pace. For sheer frivolity she hops a few times just as energetically as she always loved to do as a young thing; he keeps her cooped up as often as he can, so the only times she has a chance to stretch her legs and really be herself are when she can get away from him.
Well, perhaps it isn't all *that* rare.
He's bright enough, she supposes, as those like him must always be... but she is clever too, and he almost never spots her as she leaves, though all too often her absence is noted too soon and she has to return, pretending it was merely a whim. A passing fancy.
He knows nothing of her true purpose. His absurd, degrading pet name for her only goes to show how little he really knows her, how blind he is to her true nature.
Free of the confines of the oppressive old building, she will truly be able to begin her journey. Before long she is making the long walk through night-damp grass, cool and fresh and welcome on her bare feet in a way the stone can never be, down to the edge of Hogwarts's Forbidden Forest where her true love awaits her.
This, this is what she really desires, and her heart beats more quickly until she has to stop and crouch down, fingers splayed against the ground, to calm herself. Only a little time -- she is almost there; she has no time to waste, though her heart flutter free of her chest. Nearly there.
The walls of the gamekeeper's hut loom ahead as she hurries along; ecstasy floods her as she reaches the gap left for her. Nearly there.
Nearly to her love, her master, her purpose....
And her child.
Child-to-be.
She will bring to birth a thing of power, yes....
Squeezing swiftly under the wires, Trevor the toad finds the hen's egg she is sharing and settles carefully over it for the rest of the night.
One day soon, another basilisk will roam the grounds.
Trevor nestles contentedly on top of the egg.
She'll have to poison the rooster, of course.