Here is a new story with a (hopefully) new idea and a (again, hopefully) fairly new pairing. We hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters created by the marvelous J.K. Rowling. In fact, anything you recognize, we don't own. Hopefully we own the plot...
Prologue
It's been two weeks since the death of my father at Death Eater hands. Even now, I can still remember what I should not have been there to see.
The night was dark, now more so than any other night, but the heavy clouds made it seem so. No stars shone over my suburban home and the moon only occasionally peeked through. Still, for all purposes, the night was no different for me than any other. My mum was at the market buying groceries for the week, my dad was in his armchair with the London Times he had been unable to finish with his morning coffee, and I was up in my room trying to finish one of Professor Snape's over summer essays. Really, just another ordinary night.
It did not stay ordinary for long.
In my room as I was carefully measuring what I had written (27 inches, only 3 over his asked amount) I heard a loud thump in the sitting room. Thinking it to be Crookshanks hopping down from one of the book shelves (that cat really does need to lose some weight) I ignored it. When a louder thump followed the first I became suspicious. Did Crooks finally feel the need to exercise? I looked up and was surprised to see a contentedly purring ball of orange fluff sleeping on my pillow. What in Merlin...? Then, from downstairs I heard a pained yell that was quickly cut off. My heart leapt into my throat. Dad.
I jumped from my desk, startling poor Crooks, and grabbed my wand. As I headed out my door and for the stairs, I kept a steady mantra running through my head. Please don't be Death Eaters, please don't be Death Eaters, please don't be...
I slowly went down the stairs, trying to guess who was in the sitting room with Dad by the shadows cast on the floor by the fire in the grate. It was impossible to tell anything other than the fact that there were a lot more of them than there was of me. I gripped my wand tighter, trying to decide whether to run in with wand blazing or wait until I could be sure of a safe entry. My logistics were interrupted, however, by a cold drawling voice.
"My dear Mr. Granger," the voice said silkily. "As much as it pains me to actually stoop so low as to use a Crucio upon you, I must insist that you tell me your daughter's whereabouts. It is of great importance to the Dark Lord, you see." The last bit was added lightly, as though this should've pleased my father, knowing he would be helping Voldemort.
"I--won't--tell you," I heard my father gasp out between pained breaths.
The drawling man's voice was suddenly hard. "You'll tell me, you filthy Muggle, or you'll be experiencing pain beyond your imagination." My heart seemed to stop and my breathing hitched.
"Hit me--with your--best--shot."
"As you wish, my dear Muggle." I could almost see the man bowing mockingly to my father. "Crucio."
The sounds of my father's cries of agony echoed through the empty house. I covered my ears in vain, hoping to not hear them. It was useless. They reverberated through my skull and I felt the tears in my eyes dripping through my lashes. I shook my head desperately, hoping for it to stop.
"Finite Incantatem." I let out a whoosh of relief. "Now, where is she?" The voice was demanding.
"I'll--n-never--tell--y-y-you." And I was proud to have so strong a man for my father.
"Tell me, Muggle." Every trace of civility had vanished from the voice.
"O-over--my--d-d-dead--b-body."
The voice chuckled. "What a delightful suggestion." I felt my eyes grow wide as I ran down the stairs, no longer thinking, just knowing I had to get into that room before--
"Avada Kedavra."
The flash of green light erupting from the sitting room was so bright and intense that I instinctively shielded my eyes. But when I heard the THUD of a body hitting the floor, I fell to my knees limply, my wand dangling from my nerveless fingers. Several POPs echoed out as the murderers apparated, but I barely registered them.
I crawled numbly into the sitting room and cried out when I saw my father's lifeless body sprawled out over the floor, his glazed eyes staring at nothing, his mouth frozen in horror. I hurriedly rushed to him, cradling his head in my arms.
"Daddy, oh Daddy, don't be dead," I sobbed as I shook him, desperate to wake him. "Don't be dead, please, don't be dead." And I stayed like that, crying and screaming and trying my hardest to wake him. "Wake up, Daddy, please?"
The hysterics gave way to emptiness as I simply held him, numb and disbelieving. I rocked back and forth hopelessly, my chest in pain and my breathing shallow.
That's how my mother found me forty minutes later.
"Hermione? Jason?" I heard the keys hit the table near the front door and her footsteps head into the kitchen. The unmistakable sound of paper bags could be heard as Mum set down the groceries. "Anybody home?"
I heard her footsteps come closer, but I did nothing save rock my father back and forth.
"Hermione?" Her voice was just beside the door now. Two more steps and she'd be here. "Jason?"
Then the sudden silence. I did not have to look up to know she was there. I continued rocking, even as I heard Mum's breaths come in short gasps. Even as she screamed out a futile "Jason?" Even as she stumbled over to me and Dad. Even as she fell beside me with sobs to rival mine. Even as she took him from me to try and revive him herself. I just kept rocking, rocking...
That was two weeks ago and my Dad is dead. And it's all my fault.
So, d'ya like? Well, either way, review. We'd love to hear what you think! Thanks for reading and keep an eye on us, then, yeah?
