Where Her Love Awaited Her
The music washed
over Hermione like a wave. For a moment she was a child again, sitting
on the piano bench next to
her aunt,
listening to her playing Hermione’s favourite song. But then she awoke,
and came to reality. No one was
playing piano.
It was simply one of those electric grand pianos which play by themselves,
the ones where you simply
insert a CD
and it starts playing.
She felt her
husband’s cold arm around her waist and inwardly shuddered. "I see what
you like about that foul Muggle
instrument,"
he said coldly. "But I will not tolerate it. Throw it out."
"Of course," said Hermione.
He laughed.
"Very well then. And while you are so extremely eager to do my bidding,
you are due in my bedroom
tonight. You
do remember that, don’t you?"
"Yes."
"I am glad
that you agree. Not that you wouldn’t otherwise." He looked sideways at
her and lifted her chin. "My love,
I have done
well with you. I only hope this obedient behaviour continues."
Hermione cringed at my love. "Yes."
"I am having
friends over for dinner. I trust you will do the necessary to obtain an
appropriate dinner. And you are
reminded,
that if I do not find it to my tastes, you will be punished. Understood?"
he said coldly.
"I understand," said Hermione dully. "When shall dinner begin?"
"In five minutes."
Hermione closed
her eyes. Five minutes. She would have to urge the house elves on double
speed and to retrieve
certain special
drugs that her husband used to subdue his guests to do his bidding.
***
Later that
night, on the bed, amidst all the groaning and thrusts, she thought again
of how she had come to be amidst
such a horrendous
situation.
Oh, Harry, she thought, I did this for you.
In their seventh
year, in exchange for saving Harry, she had agreed to be his wife. Hermione
didn't know why she'd
resorted to
such a drastic solution. But Ron was already dead; she couldn't lose Harry
too. She remembered when
Harry had
found out, a look of horror on his face. But there was nothing she nor
he could do about it. Right before it
had all happened,
Harry had given her his pocketknife engraved with the words Harry Potter
to remember him by.
"Just in case
anything happens," he'd said, solemn. "What could possibly happen?" Hermione
had said, happy,
laughing.
At that time everything had been right in her world. Unbeknownst to Harry,
Hermione had secretly
bewitched
it to say Harry and Hermione Potter.
He had given
her the knife that day by the sea. Hermione had always loved the sea. Forever
going in and out, in and
out, the tide
passing back and forth upon the beach. Its deep moods, aqua green, dark
blue, ruby red, alternating
colors. Harry
and Hermione had often talked about when they died, they would want to
be buried in the sea. So that
the waves
could forever wash upon them.
But then Voldemort had had to come.
Hermione closed
her eyes and swallowed. She hadn't even be able to bid Harry goodbye. He'd
died a year later, out
of grief,
and had been buried in the sea, like he wished. The very sea, in fact,
that rumbled right next to Hermione's
villa.
Suddenly her hair was yanked back roughly. "You are not paying attention, Hermione."
"I apologize. I am tired."
A rough movement, a scream. "You are not allowed to be tired. Do you need reminding?"
Silence.
"I said, bitch, do you need reminding?"
More silence.
Hermione was
slammed into the wall and made no movement. She appeared as if dead. He
bent over her and noticed
a gash in
her neck. He looked down at her hands and noticed she held a small pocketknife
in her right hand. Looking
down on it
closely he noticed an inscription.
Harry and
Hermione Potter
With a scream
of rage, he threw Hermione's lifeless corpse out the window. A sound of
crashing glass sounded
throughout
the bedroom.
Hermione's body fell into the sea. Where she had always loved. Where she had always belonged.
And where her
love was awaiting her.
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