DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own here is Audrey. Everything else belongs to
J.K. Rowling.
A/N: I fixed the part about Hermione's mother Appartaing. I knew she was a Muggle but for some reason I momentarily forgot. Oops.
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"I'm s- so co-cold," said Hermione through clenched teeth. She wrapped her black wool coat more tightly around her body. A few wisps of hair came loose from the bun under her hood and sprang out into the air, soon getting covered with snow.
"Y-you're tel-telling m-me," Harry responded, putting his arm around Hermione, more for body heat than love.
The couple was returning from a trip to Hogsmede late one January afternoon. Their house was about ten minutes outside of the all-wizard village, and the weather had been only crisp and cool when Harry and Hermione were ready to leave, so they had decided to walk. Little did they know that when they were all done with their trip the clouds would become and angry shade of dark gray and open up to dump tons of snow on top of them. Audrey had been left at the house with Hermione's mother, who had taken the train to see her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter for the day.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Hermione and Harry were walking up the wooden steps and onto the porch in front of their house. Hermione pulled open the dark oak door and stepped inside. Immediately she was hit with a blast of warm air, for which she was glad. Stepping aside as to let Harry inside, she called to her mother, but got no response.
"Maybe she's upstairs in Audrey's room," suggested Harry. Since Audrey was now older, she had been moved into her own room down the hall from her parents.
Hermione nodded and shrugged her coat off, then hung it on the coat rack. Harry did the same as Hermione walked away slowly, calling for her mother again, yet still there was no answer. Her footsteps were muffled as she walked on the Merlot-colored carpet in the living room, then got louder when she reached the hardwood floor of the hallway. She peered into the small den, but the lights were off and no one was in there.
"Mom?" she called, turning towards the stairs with their beige carpet.
No answer.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she considered the possibilities. "What could be wrong with Mum though?" she muttered to herself. Her mother was a fairly young woman, only forty years old.
Hermione began to climb the stairs, and when she reached the top she suddenly felt cold, despite her sweater and jeans. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked along the upstairs, not bothering to turn on the lights.
By now she had reached Audrey's room. The pale pink wallpaper came into view first, then the white crib, then the rocking chair and changing table. All of a sudden Hermione felt a strange feeling, as though someone was with her, but when she turned around no one was there, although she heard harry downstairs rustling the pots and pans, preparing dinner.
"What am I doing?" Hermione asked herself, "This is crazy! I'm just going to go into my daughter's room, that's all!"
And so she did, very slowly. She didn't push the door open all the way, for she didn't have reason to. Audrey was sleeping soundly in her crib, luckily still alive. Hermione smiled and touched her daughter's hand; it wasn't too cold or too hot, just right.
"Wait a minute," said Hermione, "why am I thinking it's good that Audrey's alive? Of course it is, but I had no reason to suspect that she might be otherwise. I think."
SLAM!
Hermione whipped around to see that the door had slammed shut.
"It must be the wind," Hermione concluded aloud. She was shaking from nervousness.
But when she observed all the windows, she saw that none of them were open, and for a good reason too: it was the beginning of January and very cold out, as Hermione and Harry had learned the hard way.
Hermione began to walk out of the room and tell Harry that she had found Audrey but not her mother when she suddenly froze mid-stride.
For there, in a crumpled heap behind where the door would be if it was open, was the dead body of Hermione's mother, horrifically distorted and bloody.
A/N: I fixed the part about Hermione's mother Appartaing. I knew she was a Muggle but for some reason I momentarily forgot. Oops.
*************************************************************
"I'm s- so co-cold," said Hermione through clenched teeth. She wrapped her black wool coat more tightly around her body. A few wisps of hair came loose from the bun under her hood and sprang out into the air, soon getting covered with snow.
"Y-you're tel-telling m-me," Harry responded, putting his arm around Hermione, more for body heat than love.
The couple was returning from a trip to Hogsmede late one January afternoon. Their house was about ten minutes outside of the all-wizard village, and the weather had been only crisp and cool when Harry and Hermione were ready to leave, so they had decided to walk. Little did they know that when they were all done with their trip the clouds would become and angry shade of dark gray and open up to dump tons of snow on top of them. Audrey had been left at the house with Hermione's mother, who had taken the train to see her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter for the day.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Hermione and Harry were walking up the wooden steps and onto the porch in front of their house. Hermione pulled open the dark oak door and stepped inside. Immediately she was hit with a blast of warm air, for which she was glad. Stepping aside as to let Harry inside, she called to her mother, but got no response.
"Maybe she's upstairs in Audrey's room," suggested Harry. Since Audrey was now older, she had been moved into her own room down the hall from her parents.
Hermione nodded and shrugged her coat off, then hung it on the coat rack. Harry did the same as Hermione walked away slowly, calling for her mother again, yet still there was no answer. Her footsteps were muffled as she walked on the Merlot-colored carpet in the living room, then got louder when she reached the hardwood floor of the hallway. She peered into the small den, but the lights were off and no one was in there.
"Mom?" she called, turning towards the stairs with their beige carpet.
No answer.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she considered the possibilities. "What could be wrong with Mum though?" she muttered to herself. Her mother was a fairly young woman, only forty years old.
Hermione began to climb the stairs, and when she reached the top she suddenly felt cold, despite her sweater and jeans. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked along the upstairs, not bothering to turn on the lights.
By now she had reached Audrey's room. The pale pink wallpaper came into view first, then the white crib, then the rocking chair and changing table. All of a sudden Hermione felt a strange feeling, as though someone was with her, but when she turned around no one was there, although she heard harry downstairs rustling the pots and pans, preparing dinner.
"What am I doing?" Hermione asked herself, "This is crazy! I'm just going to go into my daughter's room, that's all!"
And so she did, very slowly. She didn't push the door open all the way, for she didn't have reason to. Audrey was sleeping soundly in her crib, luckily still alive. Hermione smiled and touched her daughter's hand; it wasn't too cold or too hot, just right.
"Wait a minute," said Hermione, "why am I thinking it's good that Audrey's alive? Of course it is, but I had no reason to suspect that she might be otherwise. I think."
SLAM!
Hermione whipped around to see that the door had slammed shut.
"It must be the wind," Hermione concluded aloud. She was shaking from nervousness.
But when she observed all the windows, she saw that none of them were open, and for a good reason too: it was the beginning of January and very cold out, as Hermione and Harry had learned the hard way.
Hermione began to walk out of the room and tell Harry that she had found Audrey but not her mother when she suddenly froze mid-stride.
For there, in a crumpled heap behind where the door would be if it was open, was the dead body of Hermione's mother, horrifically distorted and bloody.
