An: write I must . It was a calling. I hope you like it. Kind of confusing Sorry!
Sleep Talk.
"I'm dieing," she said softly to herself, but loud enough for him to hear. Her voice was enveloped with many emotions; amazement, joy, fear, and perhaps a tad bit of grief. Maybe more then a tad but still grief wasn't the focus of her voice.
His stone eyes stared at the pale petite angel that lay in front of the fire. "No." he said sternly, but softly trying not to be to reprehending.
"I'm going to be with all of them." Yet again her voice was soft but now it held no grief, and thus shattered his heart to a million pieces.
"No. You're staying with me, dear."
"I'm going to fly and fling my arms out open tackling each one of them with tight embraces. I'm dieing I feel it. I'm going to leave." Her eyes were dreamy and he bit back a cruel retort.
He looked away from her and focused solely on the fireplace. "You're as well as the day you were born, love. You can't be with them."
"They died. He died, He died with a smile on his face his eyes focused on me. Dead he was. No more life. His soul had lifted into the beyond." She let out a small giggle.
He didn't budge from his focus point. "Don't do this to yourself." Nor to me.
"Dead. Death. Why can't it overtake me?" At that she flung her arms out and then returned to her fetus position.
"You don't want to die." He nodded curtly at the fire, as if reassuring himself.
"Oh yes I do. I hate my life. I hate it all. I hate him. I hate him so much. He was so mean to me. Then he decides to love me. He killed him. No, Voldemort didn't kill him. He did."
He shook his head and couldn't seem to focus anymore as he returned his gaze to her. "Did he now?"
"Yes. I hate him. I'm going kill him someday."
"Will you?"
"Yes." She said simply then seemed to blank out and stir softly.
"Dear?" he asked hopefully.
"He doesn't deserve the pleasantness of death. They tell me how much they miss me. There here right now. They want me to kill him."
"Are you going to listen to them?"
"Not at the moment. They're just jealous. I know they love me, but they're still jealous. Soon ill die. Right now. I'm dieing."
"Will you miss him when you go."
Those words seemed to stop the endless babble. It seemed as though she compensated what he was asking seriously, which he knew she wasn't.
"I'm not very sure. I might, he is kind to me now."
"Do you love him?"
"I can only love one, and he's dead."
"I see."
"Two men love me, one alive and one the opposite." Her voice was light as if she was talking about the weather.
"But you still save your heart for the dead one?"
"It might change, but I doubt it. I love him."
"I love you."
"Hmm." The girl shifted and her head fell limp as if in fact she did die.
He knew better.
"Draco?" her voice asked as if worried she stood up and shook her head softly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Watching me sleep again were you love?"
"I slept."
"You lie."
"Do you love me?"
"Of course! What a stupid question why would you…" she faltered and realization dawned on her. "Did I..?"
He nodded stiffly.
"You know I don't mean it."
"It's still hard to listen to."
She went over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her ring catching the light from the fire and sparkling.. " It will stop. I try so hard to stop it. I hate it when you have that abandoned puppy look in your eyes."
He kissed her head and smiled warily. "Well I suppose were even. I hate it when you talk to me in your sleep, Hermione."
A/N: For those unable to follow it, this is after the war most of 'Miones friends are dead including her lost love, whoever you choose it to be. I guess its sort of a personality disorder. She talks in her sleep, like it's a secluded part of her. Sort of like she has split personalities.
In other words one personality talks through her during her sleep. Things she used to think or haven't even thought before can come out.
She's married to Draco now.
Poodles! (R/R)