authorsnote: warning rn, this is dark, it is depressing, it is angst city, population hermione. triggers: mentions of suicide, coercion, depression. turn back now if this is not your thing, srsly, don't read it and complain it was too sad when I'm giving you fair warning. dead dove do not eat x9. ty.
anywho, if you're carrying on I do hope you enjoy! idek where this came from, this lil oneshot, I was listening to this song and this just sprung forth! I do hope you enjoy, do leave a review if you can.
songrecs: when the party's over - billie eilish
'Don't you know I'm no good for you, I've learned to lose you can't afford to'
He pets her hair, he likes to do that, pet hair, like a kitten or a puppy, gently. She doesn't like it too much, but that doesn't matter.
Not much of what she wants does.
Pet, pet, pet.
This time she sits on his lap, as he goes through his papers, as he answers a floo call or two, as he goes about his day, business this and business that.
She supposes she's going about her day too; it's just her day is dictated by him, as everything is in Wizarding Britain, but especially her.
Come here. Do this. Sit here. Turn this way, that way. Smile.
Pet, pet, pet.
Sometimes she sits at his feet, like a kitten again, curled up at her master's feet. She had said that to him once, he'd laughed, so handsome now, his smile almost perfect, and petted her again.
Pet, pet, pet.
'Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin', but nothin' ever stops you leavin''
When he has visitors (for as Minister for Magic he has a fair few), she'll turn her head into his neck, not wanting to see who it was, what nightmare of her childhood has dropped by.
Dolohov maybe? Making the purple scar on her chest burn. Bellatrix? The scar on her arm itches. So many others, faceless as she hides from them, something he indulges her in, one of the few things.
He strokes her hair then, which she prefers, or pretends to, as long as he lets her bury her face in his neck, hiding.
Hiding away, like a little lost mouse, some of his followers even call her that. She wishes she could hide away, hide from the whole world and never see it again. Hide away, and never come out.
She wishes.
'Quiet when I'm comin' home, and I'm on my own. I could lie, say I like it like that, like that'
"If wishes were fishes" She mutters to herself, tired, always so very tired. She can't remember the last time she didn't feel utterly exhausted by everything.
Well she can, it's just too painful to remember. Everything from before is too painful to remember.
For a while she'd tried to hold on. She tried to think of the good, of her happy memories, fading so quickly from her mind, like water through a sieve. Had tried to keep them close, clutch them like pearls, but away they go, down the river.
Tried to think of Harry, her best friend, smiling, laughing, doing a loopy de loop on a broom as she cringed in fear.
To think of Ron, mouth full of food, grinning as she admonished him with a smile. Always ready with a joke and an arm around her shoulder.
Ginny, giggling, giving her advice, so besotted with Harry.
Luna, gaze far off, but always with an upturn to her mouth and a kind word.
So many friends, family … her parents. All those she loved, so very much. All gone or locked up or worse, gone and gone.
And she's here.
Alone. Always alone.
'Don't you know too much already? I'll only hurt you if you let me'
"What's that my love?" He asks and the air in the room goes tense. She hears the two men he was addressing suck in the air. Her shoulders cringe just a touch. She's almost immune to this, almost, but it's not enough.
She can still feel fear, as dead as she is, as tired as she is, and she hates it, hates that when so much of everything else is gone, that remains.
It would be easier if she didn't, if one day she could jump from the top of the Ministry. If she could get away and just fall to the ground; down and down, land like a broken doll, finally put to rest, finally sleeping.
I could be with them again.
But she can never do it.
'Call me friend but keep me closer, and I'll call you when the party's over'
"Nothing" She mumbles, tucks her chin into his shoulder, hides away, from the world. "Tired"
"Mmm" He says, clearly not having bought it, he never does, she can hide nothing from him, nothing at all, sometimes that's easier, often it's not.
"Sorry" She whispers, cuddles into his neck, lifting her legs up, to rest on him, on his lap, like a little kitten, "Sleepy" Sometimes that will give her a reprieve, sometimes.
"We'll talk later" He says before turning back to his men, to business.
Not this time then.
'Quiet when I'm comin' home, and I'm on my own. I could lie, say I like it like that, like that'
Tries to hold onto her memories, so hard, but they fall and turn to ash her in hands, almost gone. Tries so hard, to burn them into her brain, to never let them go, to keep them as close as she can. For who will she be when they leave her?
Harry, dead on the ground, green eyes empty of light, killed for the second time, but this time not getting back up, not ever again.
Ron, dragged to Azkaban, screaming for her, throat roar as she reached for him, torn apart, fingers not even to brush, as Dolohov had dragged her away, to him.
Ginny, the cell next to Ron's, quiet, almost dead like her, head against the wall, not even able to sleep, no reprieve.
Luna, dead, executed for a prophecy, as are all the Seers, blonde hair stained with blood.
All gone, so far gone she can't even reach for them anymore. Never again.
'But nothin' is better sometimes, once we've both said our goodbyes'
And here she is, alone, but with him, in luxury compared to them. But then sometimes she thinks a cell in Azkaban would be easier, at least she might be able to sleep. Or death, death would have been so much easier, so much quieter.
She wishes for either … but if wishes were fishes … she's not sure how that phrase ends. She daren't try remember it out loud.
She hates him, so, so much, and yet as he turns to her, presses a kiss to her cheek, asks…
"How's my love?" He whispers, as more men file in, others file out, she doesn't look, doesn't turn away from her spot, curled up, turned away.
As she is from everything.
She just nods, but hears him sigh, and she flinches, "I'm okay" She hurries to say, and he nods, satisfied, for now at least.
'Let's just let it go, let me let you go'
"I love you" She promises, as he smiles at her, indulgent, presses a kiss to her forehead this time, all forgiven for now, which she leans into, before turning back to business once again.
It's not a lie, she does love him, in a way, some way she doesn't understand, but it's there. He's the only thing here, the only constant, the only one who can have her smile, even a little bit. He's here, and everyone else is gone.
It's been years, 10 maybe? No, closer to 20 now. She looks the same, feels the same, always the same, never changing.
A part of her died that day on the battlefield before he'd seen her dragged away. Died with her friends and has never come back. Like Harry, like so many others.
If wishes … she can't remember the rest as she falls asleep in his arms.
'Quiet when I'm comin' home, and I'm on my own. I could lie, say I like it like that, like that'
sooo thoughts?
told ya so.
I do hope you enjoyed! I do like writing these dark pieces, hard hitting as they are, and I hope you like reading it, do leave a review and lemme know.
also, check out my other tomione fics: my wip multi-fic 'paradox' was updated recently, check it out!
speak soon