Challenge: based off of Screaming Faeries 30 Disney song lyrics challenge!
Disclaimer - JK ROWLING IS LOVE. JK ROWLING IS LIFE. I'm just going to borrow the lovely universe she has chosen to create.
Ratings - I'd say this is for a more mature audience, use your discretion, if something makes you uncomfortable feel free to put down the story or message me if needed! Sex. Drugs. Rock n' Roll…. Also some minor violent scenes.
I also don't have a beta….. I'm bad with fish.
Chapter 4 - "If there's a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I've already won that."
A/N - Hey, so I'm back after QUITE a while. I entered a bad relationship and have spent quite a bit of time moving forwards and learning to be me again (whatever that means). This storyline will hopefully have a continuation later in this series, but then again, plans are often broken. Haha. Anywho, thank you all for being so sweet and kind! Send me prompts! 3 3 I will try to write them!
A/N - If continued, this specific plot bunny will evolve into a much happier, cuter, fluffier/sexier bunny
"You write. You don't have to love it. You don't even have to like it. You just write like your sanity depends on it." The advice echoed in her head as she stared at the piece of starch white parchment in front of her. Her quill tapped furiously against the tabletop. Where does one start- how does one start to write about the thoughts screaming inside her head, waiting to be released like an opening floodgate. Hermione slammed her quill onto the table and ran both her hands into her hair with frustration.
With a disgruntled frown on her face, she stood to set a kettle onto the stovetop. As the water slowly began to bubble she leaned forward against the kitchen counter, head tilted forward, unkempt hair shielding her face from an empty room. Glimpses of honey blonde hair flashed through her mind, overwhelming her senses. She could practically feel the other woman's body pressing her back into the countertop as she had done so many times before. Her throat tightened up at the sheer humiliation of the situation. How stupid could I be? To think that she actually-
She cursed herself internally and slammed her eyes shut in attempt to stall the tears threatening to spill over. Fuck Narcissa… Fuck her and her wisdom… her perfection… and her… everything! Agh!
It had been nearly two months since the older witch vanished from Hermione's life, leaving nothing a but a small silver quill on her pillow in the bed that her and Hermione had once shared.
I want to hate her.
The blonde had filled every moment of the young witch's life when the war had ended. Draco was hiding in the muggle world. Lucius Malfoy was dead. Bellatrix Lestrange was only Merlin knows where. Both Harry and Ron were quick to get caught up in the fame surrounding their names. It seemed as fate had planned for the two witches to end up drowning their sorrows together one cold night. They were both alone.
Hermione poured the scalding water into her mug along with a loose spoonful full of peppermint tea. She wandered back to her chair and placed the mug beside the pen. You write like your sanity depends on it.
If only the older woman had realized she was keeping Hermione sane. After the war had ended, Hermione was quick to retreat from the wizarding world and into a small cabin in forest on the outskirts England. She still wasn't entirely sure how she ended up meeting a puffy eyed Narcissa Malfoy at a muggle pub in the nearby village, but from that night onwards the two women were inseparable. Narcissa wasn't at all what Hermione expected her to be. The blonde was haughty, temperamental, and full of herself, but she was also kind, wildly intelligent, and had eyes teeming with a passion for life that Hermione had instantly fallen for. That very night they ended up at Hermione's cabin only to spend hours on end discussing novels, varieties of tea, the treatment of house elves, and so much more until they noticed the sunrise peeking from between the trees. Narcissa became a routinely presence in Hermione's life. The youngest Black sister had taken up residence in Hermione's cabin and spent most of her time on the worn out loveseat in the living room. Hermione didn't mind in the least, Narcissa was the only living presence she intended on interacting with, until it got bloody well fucked up.
Hermione sunk back into her chair, allowing herself to indulge in self pity. Narcissa wasn't under any obligations to remain in the company of the brunette, she was a free woman. And given the past couple of decades, who could blame her for wanting to take off and explore the world? The youngest Black deserved every second of her freedom. Hermione only wished for the blonde to achieve what truly made her happy, unfortunately that didn't include me.
A stray bit of ink from the quill trickled down the parchment resting on the table. Hermione followed the gleaming liquid with her eyes, allowing herself a moment of mindlessness. The thoughts in her brain weren't so much thoughts as they were streams of emotions that flooded her head- it was an unfortunate habit that she was unable to analyze what any of those streams truly represented. Narcissa had left. Hermione was devastated. Angry. Frustrated. Betrayed. Hurt. But she couldn't bring herself to blame the other woman in the slightest. Hermione didn't have anyone to blame, not even herself.
She just wanted to throw the contents of her mind out the window, over the balcony, into the trash, all over the damned piece of parchment in front of her. With a grimace, she lifted up the silver quill and brushed her fingers along the soft threads. Ink continued to drip out of the nearly drained cartridge.
There was only one thing on her mind that she was able to make out in the blurry mess. So that's what she decided to write. Hermione's quill looped into elegant letters over the parchment at a painstakingly slow pace. When she had finished, she leaned back in her chair.
Narcissa.
The letter bled into the paper, the ink seeping it's way into the fibres like the woman had seeped her way into Hermione's veins.
With a start, Hermione jumped out of her chair and grabbed her traveling cloak off her coat rack, ignoring the cup of tea that she had unceremoniously knocked over, and disapperated.
When she felt her feet land firmly on the ground, she opened her eyes. She was standing in what appeared to be the centre of Diagon Alley- Strange. Deciding to be practical about her change in location, Hermione made her way in the only logical direction, towards the Leaky Cauldron.
The cobblestone had been repaired since the war had ended. The streets looked as they had before, but the air was quieter, softer, and somewhat eerie. Hermione shrugged the odd sense of foreboding off her back as she pushed the door open and made her way into the pub. It thankfully didn't appear that she recognized any of the patrons as she made her way to a stool by the bar.
"Can I help you dearie?" The small, dark haired witch behind the counter wasn't much older than Hermione.
"Um, yes. I'd like a butterbeer please."
The small witch let out a chuckle, "Butterbeer? You look a little old to be studying at Hogwarts."
Hermione felt the heat rising to her cheeks, "I happen to enjoy Butterbeer."
The smirk grew on the waitress' face as she leaned forward, "You look like you need something a little stronger than that love-"
"She'll have the firewhiskey."
The crisp voice that cut through the air barely registered in Hermione's mind, until the waitress moved towards the taps and several strands of platinum hair drifted into her peripheral vision. Hermione's neck nearly snapped as she spun around. This can't be happening…
"Hello Hermione." Narcissa Black stood tall, looking as regal as she always did.