"STOLKHOLM SYNDROME"
DISCLAIMER: I DONT OWN IT. I NEVER WILL. SHUT UP.
WARNINGS: THERES A REASON ITS RATED "R". DRINKING, BULIMIA AND SOME IMPLIED NON-CON THATS NON-GRAPHIC AT THE END. DONT FORGET ABOUT SUMMA DAT MURDER SCENE GOING ON AT DA BEGINNING...
"No...no...no...you wouldn't... you..."
Would you? Or maybe a better question would be, could you?
Yeah. Yeah you could.
0...0...0
With the passing of the days came the deterioration of your lord. What to do, what to do? He fell apart piece by piece, his sanity remaining painfully intact, his wit bitingly present. His long spindly fingers tapped irritated rhythms on his throne, a drum beat to his own funeral. You watched as his dissatisfaction grew, his death drawing nearer. He refused to admit it to the very end. He was not mortal, so he could not die. But he could rot. He was a walking corpse. A mind inhabiting a festering body. And finally, he was gone.
0...0...0
You're walking into the bar again, but this time its not for a drink. This time the bartender is absent, this time the glasses are as clean as they'll ever get and are piled (somewhat) neatly on a shelf. This time, you sit at a barstool and wait.
You know he heard you, you made quite a racket with the door as you entered. Its easy to break a muggle doorknob, just unscrew the bolts keeping it to the door. Then its easy as pie to enter. Of course you could have used magic, but where's the fun in that?
"Hey there. You. The bar is closed."
The bartender is thumping down the stairs. His slippers are thin and covered in obnoxious little fuzzies. He is wearing a pair of grease stained grey sweat pants and thin and yellowing t-shirt. He is carrying a baseball bat.
What does he hope to accomplish with that primitive weapon? Is he hoping to be intimidating as he plays the part of Homo Habilus?
You chuckle to yourself.
"Hey, you. I remember you. Didn't you hear me? The bar is closed. Get going."
"Avada Kedavra," you whisper.
Secrets are safe only in the ears of the dead.
0...0...0
Your name is a sputter, a something-caught -in-your-throat, a choking noise that echoes up from the stomach, like the cough of an old woman who has been smoking since she could fit a cigarette between her lips. At least, that's the way she says it. Does anyone else matter?
0...0...0
How easy was it to pick the muggle lock and enter the bar? Far too easy. How easy was it to lure the old barman out of his room and down the stairs into the barroom? Far too easy. How easy was it to get him riled up, his white shirt stained with grease jiggling as his stomach tightened with indignation, how easy was it to goad him into swinging that baseball bat? Far too easy.
How easy was it to kill him?
They should've made it harder, thats for damn sure.
0...0...0
"No...no...no..." she moaned as she scrambled back over the edge of the bed. She fell to the floor with a dull thud that made you cringe. She had hit her head. You too scrambled to the edge of the bed but swung your body with an unexpected grace. You kneel next to her on the floor and examine her dilated eyes. Pale goldenish ridges around the cirumference of her irises. Closer in the brown got darker, richer, like mahogany. The eye came to point with a tiny black, cream filled center. Her breath, sweet and sticky against your face brings you back to reality. You had leaned in close to her face.
Maybe...maybe just once...just once...the first time...the last time...
"No..." she whispered.
Who heard her? Not you.
0...0...0
Of course back then you knew it wouldn't only be one time. Because once you get a taste of the good stuff, you never go back, man.
0...0...0
She's far into the third trimester and she looks happier. Her hair is full and thick and braided back at the nape of her neck extending downward towards her hips. Her lips, full and pink, close around a spoonful of mousse, the first bite of anything rich and rosy she's eaten since she became a part of your life. Dinner with her is always a pleasure.
Now her stomach is large and swollen as if she were carrying her sorrows and triumphs in there. You look down at your own stomach. You have your anger burried there. Where are your triumphs and sorrows?
Then it hits you with all the wonderful glory of a mid september morning. They're inside her.
0...0...0
"No...no...you can't...you wouldn't...you...you..."
Oh but you would, you disgusting excuse of a human being. You would.
And you did.
0...0...0
You get up from your place at the table and she's immediately alert. Her hands tremble and you marvel at their size. She's a miniature model of perfection, her muscles and veins intertwining like vines and branches. They braid together and lash themselves to her bones and over all of that mess stretches that silk called skin. And somewhere in between all of that is your child. Yours. Yours.
Her spoon clatters on the plate and her smile drifts from her face like a passing cloud. She pushes her chair out and scrambles away from you. You pause. She shouldn't be moving like that so far along with the pregnancy.
0...0...0
"No...no...no...", she whispers as she stares down at the mangled body of her green eyed boy. You are approaching her from behind. She can't take this kind of shock, she's probably seeing spots right now. If you could see through her eyes, you imagine you would see sparkling purple and green flashes of color, like bruises. Eye sores. Literally.
You quickly stun her and catch her as she falls back into your arms.
0...0...0
All of a sudden she groans and throws her head back. The sound of her voice wells up in your organs and every piece of you shudders with the feeling of urgency. She pants and then breathes in once, slowly, her chest expanding like a balloon. Her eyes flutter and she moans again.
And time twists, just once. The universe rearranges itself and you feel it. You feel it. And then...and then...and then...
"Nononononono...no...no...no..."
Oh yes. Oh yes.
You're asphyxiated as her face blushes a pretty, rosy little hue. You come to kneel next to her.
"No...no...nnnn...nnnn...NNNNNNNNNOOOOOO!", she shrieks.
0...0...0
The doctor arrives not a moment too soon. The two of you manage to levitate her to your bed, where she screams as if she were being split in two. You fumbled anxiously with the bottle of Draught of Relaxation the doctor gave you, but it slips from your fingers and you curse violently.
She's on the bed wailing and then she goes quiet. Her eyes roll back into her head and you panic. The doctor shoves you out of the room.
0...0...0
Four hours later and you're twitching nervously on the couch outside the room. You get up and pace, your movements quick and jerky. Not a sound has issued from inside the room since you left, and somehow the silence has you more anxious than the sound of her screams would.
You push bangs from your face impatiently and wonder whether or not the child will have grey eyes or brown. Perhaps it might have green eyes. You might like having a child with green eyes.
0...0...0
Your child had grey eyes. Its skin was grey too.
Stillbirth, the doctor said.
Murder, you thought.
Hermione lay motionless on the bed, eyes shut, skin almost as grey as her child's.
0...0...0
You want to hurt her.
You want her dead.
Its her fault.
Dumb slut.
You raise your arm to strike her, strike her for the first time since you brought her into your home, strike her for her crimes against you and that thing she nestled in between her guts, that precious, precious thing she destroyed with her own self loathing, but you watch her flinch and instead you press your palm to her cheek and she moans, long and slow, in her sleep.
Fascinated you watch as she turns her head to the side, exposing her neck. Your heart beats faster than ever before and you realize, far too late, what is happening.
Nothing.
0...0...0
Surely, surely, she feels differently now, you think. She sits on the window seat, eyes unfocused and looking off into the distance. She's not sad. But she's not happy. She's, she's, she's, gone. Gone. Gone? Where?
Who knows? You dont.
0...0...0
"No", she whispers, barely audible. "No."
It doesnt matter. When had it ever.
You slide your lips onto hers.
"No", she mumbles.
Your hand skims the surface of her belly.
When will you tell her you now rule the wizarding world?
Not now. For now, just now, the last time, you promise yourself, the last time...
0...0...0
Er...
Yeah.
Dont look at me like that.
Its disgusting. Im disgusting.
-9clouDs