Post by jazzyjess on Nov 28, 2011 0:02:47 GMT -8
Title: The Quidditch Pitch (vii)
Word count: 230
Warnings:
Summary: Hermione tries to find herself, looking for answers in an unlikely place. EWE.
-
Despite the varying emotions raging inside her body, Hermione can’t quite shake the feeling that her sanctuary has been breached. She knows that this Quidditch pitch is more home to him after all these years than ever it would have been to her, but she’s spent the better part of two years coming here with her tears, her fears, her heart.
“What are you doing here?”
Hermione is the first to break the silence, but before she’s even finished speaking he’s moving again, long strides eating up the ground. She stiffens her back, turns to keep the corner of her eye on her sleeping baby, and puts out a hand. It’s an effort for nothing, though, for he’s stopped again and has fixed his eyes on the same point she has.
“That’s her?” is all he says, arms hanging limply at his sides, hands clenching and unclenching in a rhythm she doesn’t recognise.
She sends him away and he resists for only a moment, eyes seeking hers, scaring her with their intensity. She lifts her wand with a shaking hand and he flinches – she knows it’s a low blow, knows he doesn’t have magic anymore – but slowly he turns and walks back to the castle. She waits for him to look back but he doesn’t, and as she sags against the wall of the stands she lets the tears come.
Word count: 230
Warnings:
Summary: Hermione tries to find herself, looking for answers in an unlikely place. EWE.
-
Despite the varying emotions raging inside her body, Hermione can’t quite shake the feeling that her sanctuary has been breached. She knows that this Quidditch pitch is more home to him after all these years than ever it would have been to her, but she’s spent the better part of two years coming here with her tears, her fears, her heart.
“What are you doing here?”
Hermione is the first to break the silence, but before she’s even finished speaking he’s moving again, long strides eating up the ground. She stiffens her back, turns to keep the corner of her eye on her sleeping baby, and puts out a hand. It’s an effort for nothing, though, for he’s stopped again and has fixed his eyes on the same point she has.
“That’s her?” is all he says, arms hanging limply at his sides, hands clenching and unclenching in a rhythm she doesn’t recognise.
She sends him away and he resists for only a moment, eyes seeking hers, scaring her with their intensity. She lifts her wand with a shaking hand and he flinches – she knows it’s a low blow, knows he doesn’t have magic anymore – but slowly he turns and walks back to the castle. She waits for him to look back but he doesn’t, and as she sags against the wall of the stands she lets the tears come.
