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[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

Congenital Heart Disease is not severe enough for Government Aid

I’m studying to be a sociologist. Next semester I will earning my associates with honors. And then transferring to a university to continue my studies. I’m part of Phi Theta Kappa and have a GPA of 3.8.

I also suffer from severe congenital heart disease, caused by a rare genetic mutation. I spent 37 days in the NICU. Then spent my first Christmas in the hospital due to congestive heart failure. I spent my 16th birthday in the CICU due to a viral infection and sinus tachycardia. A month later, I had surgery where they implanted a single-chamber cardioverter defibrillator.

I attended my first college orientation, six hours and then soon as it was over, I went to the hospital. Because I’d been experiencing palpitations throughout the day but didn’t want to delay my education.

I was denied medical benefits as a baby because my parents made “too much money.” My Dad didn’t work at the time and my Mother was an elementary school teacher. So instead, they remortgaged the house five times.

Now, I am in the process of applying by myself. At first, I was also told no.

I brought letters from all of my doctors, vouching on my behalf, insisting that this was essential for me but was told immediately, no. Because I had 12$ over the cap amount of 2,000$ in my account.

Someone can have the most debilitating disease and if they have more than 2,000 in their name. They are rejected regardless.

Additionally, if I ever chose to move in with someone, if they thought that we were married ore even dating then they would deduct from my aid, seeing as I could possibly receiving financial support from them. Nobody wants to be financially dependent on their spouse or their parents. Especially for something out of their control.

Under this policy, families and individuals who are in need of dire support will stay in poverty. And never have the opportunity or stability to climb their way out because every time they try, they have the rug pulled out from underneath them.

I understand this is a cautionary measure to assure that those who need it most, receive it.  But shouldn’t something called Medicaid have the criteria be based firstly on medical needs?

I started the process in August and it’ll be another six months before the evaluation is completed.

I will likely be denied again, because I am still on my Mother’s insurance. And the insurance, incidentally, sent a letter before my first surgery stating that it was medically unnecessary.

[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

Bellamione; Corpse Bride AU 

We are weaned from our timidity In the flush of love’s light We dare be brave And suddenly we see That love costs all we are And will ever be Yet it is only love Which sets us free.

~Maya Angelou

Once upon a time,

There was a young girl, so bright both in intelligence and kindness, that she illuminated every room that she entered. Casting it in shining beams of golden light. But underneath the surface of charm and delight was someone who had suffered through loss and grief their entire life. Every day, the enchanting witch struggled to grapple with why she was even bothering to get out of bed that morning. When she had so few left whom she could trust. Confide in. Those left, who she feigned the best of interest were only her friends when she was useful, helpful, kind. But outside of their adventures, they were embarrassed to be seen with her. Sitting at the end of the breakfast table. When she did try to speak, she was often talked over by someone more outspoken. She knew that if she were to disappear that nobody would notice.

Nobody except maybe her professors. Who constantly would shower her with praise and approval at her unbelievable gifts. Her insights and incredible work-ethic. The way that she applied herself to her studies, and took to each subject with the goal of having total mastery. She was a prodigy. And it was what she lived for every day, to learn and to use what she studied to benefit her fellow witches and wizards. To hopefully someday, save their lives.

But again, that little voice in the back of her mind would snide. What was the point? It wasn’t like it really mattered in the end. She did not matter.

Summer vacations were the most difficult time of year, as the busy shuffle, non-stop animation of school life was brought to a stagnating halt. Silence. The lively sounds to nothing but her distant relatives stepping on the creaky hardwood floor below her.  

She indulged in her studies as much as possible but there was only so much she could fill her mind with before her concentration would waver. And she was left to be maddened by the slow tick tock of the clock. Minutes felt like hours. And days felt like years. There was no escape.

One afternoon, she relinquished herself from the home that had become her prison. Going by train to a cemetery that was overcast with dark skies. But she found the shadows that loomed over her to be actually good company. As opposed to a threatening presence in the back of her aching heart.

After spending a good hour, crying albeit softly in front of her parent’s memorial. She began to walk the grounds. A humid summer. Dark clouds created a most pleasant mist all around. A fog almost. Across a clearing, away from the cemetery there was a rotting chain link fence where from behind wild, feral dogs barked madly. Their growls, barks carried through the field of dead. Sounding like a melody to Hermione’s ears.

Walking upward to a tall hill that overlooked the entire cemetery. There at the center was a large black olive that had arms which outstretched into the clouds. Weary from her hour long commute there and then hours of walking, she sat and resting at the foot of the tree. Breathing in the air of death and nature with a sigh of relief. The grass heavy with the smell of cold rain. 

When she saw out of the corner of her eye, an outline of a figure. Causing her to jump back. Before standing on shaking legs again to investigate. Circling the tree until the skinny shadow of a person came into full view. They weren’t dead, for the gentle rise and fall of their chest. But their blue skin and their ribcage protruding through their chest showed that they weren’t alive either.

Her petal pink lips parted at the sight of them. Despite having no life, no pull to this earth, she felt the strongest gravitation toward this woman. With their long tresses of ebony curls, eyelashes that fluttered against her sharp cheekbones. She wore a white satin gown that had long since gone tattered and gray. The once voluminous skirts beginning to tear from it’s seams. A veil worn in her hair that had grown cobwebs pinned by wilted, black roses.

As if sensing her presence, the woman lifted her head and opened her eyes that were opaque. Her endless black orbs staring into their golden-speckled brown ones for a small eternity.

“Who are you?” The goddess of the non-living finally asked. The bride to Hades. Persephone.

“My name is Hermione, and you?”

“Bellatrix, Bellatrix Black.” They said with an aristocratic tilt of their head, before extending their skeletal hand out to shake their warm one.

“A pleasure” Hermione said with a genuine smile. “Mind if I sit beside you?” She asked.

Bellatrix shrugged. “I don’t see why not. But surely you don’t want to spend all day in a creepy place like this?”

“You would be surprised.”

They fell into a companionable silence until Hermione finally asked. “So… why are you here? Instead of you know…”

“In Hell?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m waiting for my groom to show up.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked, taken aback. For some reason feeling a pang of disappointment.

“I’ve been waiting for my beloved, to-be husband for over seventy years. I stayed waiting at the church hill over there. Rain, snow. He told me to wait. Promised me that he would show up. Not to stray elsewhere, that he would be there.”

If Hermione didn’t know better, she’d think those were tears accenting her voice. Maybe she was crying. Maybe she couldn’t because she was dead. Hermione didn’t know. But she still reached to affectionately hold their hand, although she didn’t reject the touch, Bellatrix scoffed.

“I’m not looking for pity. He’ll show up, he said that he would.”

Hermione didn’t say anything to that, just continued to hold their hand until the sun was beginning to set over the horizon. As the young witch got up to leave, she saw the woman’s lifeless eyes take an even more haunted look. Accentuated by the darkening surroundings.

“I’ll come back.”

“Okay.”

Hermione could have sworn she saw them smile. But it might have just been a trick of the moonlight.

--------

The young witch continued to visit the forgotten bride nearly every day of Summer. Forgoing eating, studying, every aspect of living apart from sleep and continuing to love this woman. They talked about anything and everything, they read books together. And shared dark secrets that would never leave from under the black olive tree where they were shared.

Still Hermione longed for the day that Bellatrix would finally recognize her undying love for them. How she’d been completely enamored with her, body and soul since the day she laid eyes on them. That she would follow her into hell if she asked. She would burn a thousand times, just to have this ethereal goddess by her side.

Of course, she knew full and well that this day may never arrive.

The bride had devoted herself to the heartless fiancé, who stole her heart and never returned it. He took advantage of her, took her soul and laid her body bare to a starving death. Hermione would never understand it, ever. How you could knowingly hurt someone, intentionally. Watch as you break them apart and tear at the very seams that are holding their fragile body together. How you can watch them sob and beg for relief that only you can provide. Only to laugh and snide at their pathetic cries.

But oh, what Hermione would give to have her accept her love. They would embrace, touch hands in the most magical and electrifying of way. They would kiss each other, the taste of their cold lips against her own. She would kiss them as if their mouths were of tea and wine and she was a woman of unquenchable thirst drinking from them with unheeded affections. They would make love, passionate and all-consuming as the fires of hell themselves. And then lay intertwined under the cool of night.

As days went on however, as she laid beside the ebony-haired woman, so close yet so far. She became too weak to even imagine such things. How could she for as long as she had denied herself food. Her pale flesh was as ghostly as the whites of her eyes. The shadowed divots of her ribs and collarbones. Soon made her look not much more alive than the woman beside her. She felt like fine china, a simple rattle away from shattering beneath Bellatrix’s uncertain touch.

Soon the fallen angels laid dead, side by side. Each dying only to be with the love of their life. A burning, all-consuming desire that fueled the bride but now a corpse. Still ethereal and divine. Who lost their fight and will to survive.   A desperate longing that would never be satisfied. Choosing to love is a most certain death, but without it, you will never even survive the night.  

“Because more than God himself; I love his fair angels” ~Marina Tsevetaeva 

[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

Preview of the next chapter :) {if there is one because I have more plot bunnies}

[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

Chapter Four

The room was silent for a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the distant wind chimes outside, being blown by the winter wind. Cold sunshine illuminating the otherwise dimly space. When Hermione’s stomach growled. Bellatrix immediately turned on her heel toward the kitchen.

“On that note, I’m going to make breakfast.” She said matter of fact, hiding an involuntary shiver. Turning expertly on her heel. Hermione slowly stood up, her knees popping as she did so, stretching upright, moving to help Bellatrix cook when the exiled death-eater smack the table before they could even start for anything. “Go sit.”

Not one to argue, or to really that be interested in cooking. Hermione obediently retreated to the kitchen table. Sitting with her hands folded neatly as she watched Bellatrix twirl her wand around, assembling their breakfast.

“It’ll be good, promise. When he ate, when he used to eat, I was always the one who cooked for him.” Bellatrix said in a voice that sounded almost vulnerable.

“Your husband?”

Bellatrix snorted. “No. That dog could eat scraps off the floor like a disgusting mutt.”

Hermione knew then that she was speaking about the Dark Lord, without her having to say so. Soon Bellatrix turned and levitated the breakfast to the table. Each a plate of eggs, toast and bacon. Then with an air of apprehension, moved to sit across from them. She sat, picking at her food unsurely. Turning the fork around over and over in her slender hands, like she wasn’t sure what she was meant to do with it. If she could even remember how to even eat.

“You’re right” Hermione exclaimed, breaking the silence. “It’s really good.”

Bellatrix wasn’t one to say ‘thank you’ so instead she just smiled, genuinely happy. She finally reached for her toast and took a few hesitant bites. Hermione grinned, a wave of relief washing over her. She knew that outside these walls, Bellatrix wouldn’t care if she thought the food was good and Hermione wasn’t supposed to care if she ate at all, but here, away from the rest of the world, they could relax.

The two ate in companionable silence when Bellatrix finally muttered, nearly finished with her food.

“God, I’m pissed.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, taking a drink of orange juice. Her brown shone with golden specks of curiosity.

“Because I had almost killed myself and then you so rudely interrupted.”

“Oh, I’m sorry – wait, no I’m not.”

“Hm?” Bellatrix looked up intrigued at that, if not amused.

“I’m not sorry that I stopped you.”

The woman couldn’t help but let a smile pull at the corner of her mouth.

“Yes, because you want me to suffer another thirty years in Azkaban. Is that it?”

Hermione faltered, she looked down at her now empty plate. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t say yes, she just shared a meal with this woman. But in the back of her mind knew that being capable of domesticity in no way shape or form erase who she was, at all.

What to do? She didn’t really have the right to, perhaps, perhaps she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

“Cat got your tongue, Muddy?” Bellatrix quipped.

Silently, Hermione stood up and move to take their plates to the sink. Washing them by hand instead of using magic. Needing to think hard. Her mind running itself in circles, over and over. Until she’d charted the same territory a good dozen times. The water coming from the faucet having long since gone cold.  

“Muddy!”

Hermione snapped back to the present. The dark witch shook her head in disbelief. Walking over, turning the faucet off with a loud squeak. Again, with foreign tenderness reaching for a towel from the rack and dried the lioness’s hands. Before taking each hand and planting the lightest of kisses on the back of her wrists. Your hands are taxed, you work too hard.

“You care?” The brunette asked, entranced.

“No.” She shot back. “Merely an observation.”

The two began to gravitate toward each other again, an unknown pull bringing them closer and closer. Bellatrix reached to trace Hermione’s jaw, the girl winced at the feel of their cold touch. She placed a hesitant hand on the sharp curve of their hip. Their velvet skirt soft underneath her hand. Hermione was close enough to smell their hair of roses and taste the coffee on their breath. Bellatrix with her freehand grazed her long black talons, lightly, along the length of their back. Just hard enough to leave a rise of goosebumps in her wake. Hermione noticed lingering drops of the bitter, hot liquid on their lips. She didn’t question when she suddenly felt compelled to lean forward, nearing their mouth when Bellatrix pulled away with a loud cough. Causing Hermione to jump back, hand reaching to clutch her chest as her heart crash-banged into her ribcage. Throbbing between her ears at a deafening volume.

When she finally calmed enough, she watched with growing concern as Bellatrix’s thin frame continued to wrack with coughs. Unable to catch her breath, wheezing helplessly between bouts. Hermione reached, open-armed to help when Bellatrix pulled away violently, her face one of despair. “No, please –” she started. “Please…” Her voice hoarse. “Please just let me die now, okay?”  As the episode subsided, Hermione’s eyes widened as she saw the blood dripping out the corner of their mouth. Their face an even more ghastly pallor than before. The silence was louder than a buzz-saw. When Bellatrix began to cough again, breaking the ice that had formed between them.

Hermione crying out as the raven-hair witch finally toppled over and collapsed with a loud thud to the hardwood floor, right before her feet.  

[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

Chapter Three 

Hermione had almost drifted off against the bedpost when she heard the clatter of Bellatrix’s wand falling to the floor and the dark witch herself stirring with tiny, incoherent mumbles mumbles. Their eyes fluttered, the woman stretched in the bed, clearly comfortable and a content little smile gracing her features. Standing up the brunette watched with baited breath. The rays of sunlight beaming down on her pale skin from the window gave her an other-worldly glow. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she’d think they almost looked angelic. But as their eyes opened and began a steady stream of conscious thought, the woman practically leapt from the blankets and lurched herself unexpectantly at the young witch. Hermione gave a shriek of surprise, as the small woman of fury propelled herself at her like a baseball out of left field. The two of them falling together unceremoniously with a loud thud.  

The older witch, that was evidently not a morning person immediately reached for Hermione’s exposed neck, digging her sharp talons into the soft skin making the girl beneath her wince, and bite her bottom lip, swallowing back a pained whimper. “You tell me right now little lion,” Bellatrix hissed breathlessly, “What the fuck you were planning on doing, where the fuck we are and why the actual fuck I was in your fucking bed.”

Hermione despite the vulgarity of such inquiries would have been more than willing to answer such inquires had the woman not been constricting her airways and been an absolute cunt since upon awakening. She coughed, placing her hands hesitantly over the woman’s and trying to loosen their hold, and instead of answering promptly only quipped in a casual voice. “You know most people in your situation would say ‘thank you,’ for future reference.”

Bellatrix’s eyes widened, shrieking back indignant. “THANK YOU?!” Bringing a free fist and slamming into the hardwood floor with a snarl. “Yes, thank you so very much for prolonging my useless existence. I’m so incredibly grateful.” Bellatrix drawled sardonically. Too enraged to pay attention the fact that her hips were squeezing Hermione’s waist and that an intimate part of her anatomy was arched into their midriff, likely being able to feel the warmth collected between her legs through the fabric of her shirt. Hermione felt her mouth go dry, as she struggled to form any kind of response or coherent thought. Her hands falling listlessly to her sides as a warm haze took over her mind.

Bellatrix noticed the young witch had suddenly stiffened underneath her, the insolent flailing brought to a halt. She arched a neatly sculpted eyebrow, observing everything and seeing that their current positioning could be making Hermione uncomfortable for an unexpected reason. Letting the smallest smile tug at the corner of her lips, Hermione oblivious to their realization. Hunching down so that now not only was the muscle between her legs pressed up against their taut belly, but her breasts was flushed with their own, making the young witch’s breath hitch. Bellatrix trailed one hand slowly down her slide, tracing the beautiful outline of their young figure while her other remained cupping their cheek that was warm against her cold fingers.

Lowering her head until their mouths were inches apart, her dark mane falling like a veil over them, breath thick with night scum grazing across their flawless skin. Finally leveling her lips with their exposed neck and planting a soft kiss. Moving to the spot precisely below her ear, Bellatrix then whispered tenderly. “I wonder if she tastes as good as she looks.”  

Not wanting to miss the shocked expression on Hermione’s face, she immediately jumped off of her with renewed prowess and energy. Hands on her hips and grinning triumphantly from ear to ear. Hermione still laying sprawled on the floor, looking positively scandalized. A bright pink color flushing from her neck to her cheeks. Bellatrix threw her head back and cackled delightedly. A new sense of life flourishing within her.  

[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

Chapter Two

The formidable trio thought it best to split up and continue paroling around the wintery terrain for any more evidence of what had occurred just the night before. Against the wishes of the Order that had insisted the return to Hogwarts with the rest of their friends at once. Of course, like with most commands given to them they took such authoritative notions as mere, thoughtful suggestions.  

Hermione took in the formidable stretch of frozen land before her and grimaced. The cold air nipping her nose and cheeks. Trying her best to look on the bright side. There was a momentary hint of blue sky, and even this bit of light was enough to release a flash of diamonds across the wide landscape, so oddly disfigured by its snowy adventure. Usually the snow stopped at that hour of the day, as if for a quick survey of what had been achieved thus far; the rare days of sunshine seemed to serve much the same purpose, the flurries died down and the sun’s direct glare attempted to melt the luscious, pure surface of drifted new snow. It was a fairy-tale world, child-like. 

Boughs of trees adorned with thick pillows, so fluffy someone must have plumped them up; the ground a series of humps and mounds, beneath which slinking underbrush or outcrops of rock lay hidden; a landscape of crouching, cowering gnomes in droll disguises—it was comic to behold, straight out of a book of fairy tales. But if there was something roguish and fantastic about the immediate vicinity through which you laboriously made your way, the towering statues of snowclad alps, gazing down from the distance, awakened in feelings of the sublime and euphoria, she breathed in the air and exhaled slowly. Feeling infinite, magic flourished from the tips of her fingers and danced around her into the ever expanding white. Which made the speck of blackness that she spotted just a way off contrast even more vividly. Hermione walked toward it apprehensively, however the general likelihood of it just being a dying plant. 

As she neared closer though, her eyes widened as the rest of the obscured figure came into view, a frantic pace upon discovering it was a person nearly half buried in the snow. Hoping she that wasn’t too late and that they hadn’t died out here in the cold. Far away from any of civilization. The slush weighed heavy on her boots, making each step laborious but she didn’t stop once. Out of breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fell to her knees before the unknown person. Starting to swat away the snow that had gathered on their cloak, and turning them over onto their back. The hurried animation of movements suddenly brought to a grinding pause. Her hands dropping to her sides as she let out an audible gasp. Recognizing the reddened, hypothermic face of Bellatrix Lestrange instantly. Her mind went blank as she couldn’t even comprehend what had led to the infamous witch lying near death in the middle of nowhere and her, unforeseeably, being the one to find her.  

The young witch took this opportunity to take in the older woman’s appearance fully for the first time, her lips parting slightly in awe. The snowflakes had caught on her eyelashes, and specks of white that now decorated her cascading curls of ebony hair. Which haloed her starkly pale face. Her thin lips had been tinted blue, and ashen complexion starting to take a gray hue. Hermione wondered briefly if she was already dead. She looked so ethereal and small. Upon examining her, the brunette discovered she was still breathing but just barely, her intakes of air were very shallow. Hermione casted a few charms to restore proper blood flow and heal that frost bite that had taken worse to their hands and cheeks. Then bringing the small woman into her arms, she lifted her up, surprised at how light they were and likely being because she’d only been recently released from Azkaban. Yet again, another strike of sympathy came across Hermione’s face and perhaps just the tiniest bit of affection for this obviously hurt, exhausted witch. The young witch had to keep reminding herself of how this woman was not to be pitied. She had just watched them kill Harry’s Godfather and as soon as she restored her to health. That she needed to report her to the Aurors.

Apparating away and materializing in a spare hideout that not even the boys knew about, the rooms were heavy with the smell of cinnamon and incense, warm from the running fireplace. Letting out a sigh as she walked along the hardwood floors, paintings hanging on the walls. Taking another careful look around before letting her guard down and carrying Bellatrix to the bedroom.

Laying her with tender care onto a fourposter bed, draping a handknitted quilt over her. Unable to stop herself from tracing the distinct features of their face with her hand. Thinking how when they were asleep like this, with her white skin and dark hair, the dark witch looked almost like a beautiful china doll she had when she was a little girl. Their vicious, violent and almost satanic nature the furthest thing from her thoughts as she appreciatingly gazed at them absentmindedly.  

[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

Chapter One 

Bellatrix knelt before her Master, not daring to look up. Listening only to the sound of his footsteps as he paced the hall, the sound echoing loud between her ears. She had failed. She had lost the prophecy that the Dark Lord so desired. Lost it to a group of teenagers, no less! That the teenagers had been joined by many members of the Order of the Phoenix was no comfort, she should have been able to overpower the children long before they were joined. That she had not been alone so the blame should not rest solely on her was no comfort either. She was the Dark Lord's most faithful, most powerful and she should have been able to procure the prophecy, no matter anything or anyone else. He had saved her, of course, that at least was a bit of comfort. He could have left her to the mercy of the Aurors, and the chance of yet more time spent in Azkaban. But he had grabbed her, had saved her. Surely that was something? No. He only wanted her saved so he would have someone upon whom to vent his rage, she was sure.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed at last, the tense silence no longer bearable, "I deserve punishment. I have failed you." "So you have," he said coldly, continuing to pace. Bellatrix raised her head. She had her hands clasped in front of her, and tears of shame at her terrible transgression streamed down her cheeks. "Punish me in whatever manner you see fit, my Lord. I deserve only the worst." Just do it, get it over with, I cannot stand the waiting… "Very true," he said, not looking at her.

The Dark Lord was still for several painfully long minutes, then he caught Bellatrix's chin in his long, cool fingers and tilted her face up so she was looking straight into his crimson eyes. Bellatrix flinched. She was still not used to her Master's new appearance, and his piercing gaze frightened her, though she dared not admit it.

"Master," she whispered, forcing herself to keep her eyes steady, stay looking at him. "I apologize, I apologize, I beg your mercy." He said nothing as he stared at her. Then he leaned in until his stoic voice was level with her ear and whispered emotionlessly, "I'm very disappointed in you, Bella."

Then he released her, stepping out of her line of sight and into the darkness. Leaving her alone against the cold mildew concrete, hands shaking and tears running down her face. Bellatrix burst into a fit of nervous sobs. She buried her face in her hands and rocked back and forth on her heels, hearing his words playing over and over in her mind.

Very disappointed… very disappointed… very disappointed… She knew she should be grateful he had made the decision not to torture or kill her, but knowing he was very disappointed in her, hurt far more than any spell could. Very disappointed. Bellatrix could not help but read into his words, and the more she thought, the more upset she became. Disappointed – he had lost faith in her. Disappointed – she was no longer his most favored. Disappointed…She knelt there and cried until she ran out of breath and drops of water from her eyes. Then she dragged herself to a corner of the room and curled up as small as physically possible, wrapping her arms around herself and breathing raggedly. His disappointment was the worst punishment she had ever received.

Voldemort watched uncomfortably, as if he was sitting on his own throne of pins and needles. ‘Bella, I have one last command of you. May you not pose any argument and fall even further into my displeasure.’ ‘Yes, my Lord.’ Bellatrix gasped, as if finally forcing her head above water and regaining breath. ‘Azkaban has made you weak of not only body but mind. I insist you leave and never return.’ ‘My Lord!’ the raven-haired woman cried out as if being struck in pain. ‘Why-I have no other purpose in life then to serve you.’ Voldemort turned his back to her, already being completely obscured by shadows. ‘Then perish.’ Bellatrix pursed her lips tight shut and nodded, his last wish was she not argue. She’d honor him by leaving quietly and no longer disgracing him with her presence.

She walked silently through the candlelit corridors, back into the manor and toward the fireplace where she appareted away. Not thinking once of Narcissa, Lucius or anyone else who had suffered this night. She imagined somewhere white as an abyss and frozen her begotten cell in Azkaban. Landing on both feet and sinking to the unyielding earth below, collapsing face first. The ice, almost like a gentle caress against her cheek. And as she felt her petite form being absorbed into the frigid coldness, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the biting cold until she grew numb to it. Her thoughts dissolving into nothingness as she awaited a quiet, merciful death.

[bellamioneandotherscribbles]

The prologue.

Stepping across a pasture of dark grass that was wet with the smell of rain. Each step was as if lifting her foot from a thick treacle, hiking through a midst of molasses. A fuzzy texture filtering everything around her, muffled sounds traveled through the wind, that was cold against her face. There was this odd feeling of coming back into somebody’s body, a body that felt unfamiliar. She sighed sadly but her chest did not heave. The skies were a blur of gray and tall trees. The young woman dropped with care onto her knees, the tall tombstone casting a shadow over her.

She was drawn to this morbid sight like a moth to flames, with no thought of her own she traced the sublimely etched name that had been burned into the marble. A single tear ran down her cheek. But she could not feel it, nor could she feel the engraving that her feminine finger was outlining. Turning an empty gaze to the gloomy skies heavy with mist and sighed again. Her eyes still bright brown and light catching on them, like a sprinkling of golden dust.

How long ago had it been since that ill-fated night? So many images, thoughts, memories felt just out of her grasp. No matter how many times she reached out as they replayed in her mind, she could never get hold of them. Slipping through her fingers over and over again. She couldn’t even recall her name. Only that the ebony-haired woman had said it many times, how she used to relish in the sound of it rolling of their tongue, she also knew their bewitching voice had said their name that night in a cry of anguish.

Even now, she longed for their frigid embrace. The darkness which enveloped her now, reminded her so much of them. She could still see those eyes of the night-sky piercing through her soul. How beautiful they had been. She would give anything just for a glimpse of their enchanting orbs, just once more.

What was it that had lured in her into their snake like charm? That had enchanted the young witch toward a woman so abhorrent that many would cower in fear just at the mentioning of their name. How many times would she lurk in this intimidating blackness, expecting her to appear and grace her with her mere presence? As these questions bombarded her hazy mind, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

Hermione woke suddenly, her heart beating with frantic purpose against her chest. Like a clanging firebell. Sweat beaded along her brow and her face was wet with tears. But she could not recall anything. Wiping her hand across her face, she tried to even out her breathing. Her chest still feeling tight and claustrophobic, as she saw Harry and Ron still dozing blissfully alongside her. She sighed again, soundlessly standing up from the nest of blankets and quilts and tiptoeing over to the entrance of their small tent. Alas the cold wind that hit her face as she pulled back the curtain, without a second glance she slipped on her boots and stepped out into the winter night.