(no subject)
For, as most of my drabbles have been, dhr100
Author: Irisri
Title: Flowers
Rating: PG-13 __Langer (Language)
Summary: Now, here she was, standing in the middle of her kitchen, holding a card and staring at the vase of flowers on her counter.
Warning: May contain some OOCness, and might not be 'HPCS' compatible, subtle mention of character death.
Word Count: 511
Theme: My Choice - Flowers
Themes Completed: 5/100
Disclaimer: Hp's character's are JKR's, flower scene was slightly inspired by Angela Hunt's book, A Time To Mend.
In all truthfulness, she should have expected it. October. She hated the month October. Why? Well, the answer is pretty simple.
All her life, every single stinking year, something really bad happened in October, from the time she was eleven years old. Now, here she was, eleven years later, and still having bad luck.
I mean, its not like she didn't have a good reason for hating it. As was told before, something bad happened every year, on that month. First, there was the year she came to Hogwarts. Getting stuck in a girl's bathroom with a troll that just happens to have a special dislike for witches isn't the best thing in the world. The next year, she was petrified, and the next year after that, an escaped convict from Askaban decided, oh, well, he'd come to Hogwarts and scare the hell out of everyone, including herself.
Of course, Sirius Black hadn't had any intention of killing, raping, hurting anyone at the school. He'd just wanted to see and talk to his godson.
Like they knew that!
Now, here she was, standing in the middle of her kitchen, holding a card and staring at the vase of flowers on her counter. She could smell the magic on them, that kept them charmed and alive. And so, she slowly read the card.
Dear Hermione,
Please don't take this the wrong way. You're a nice girl and all, but I don't think it is wise to see each other again.
Again, I'm sorry,
Malfoy
Short, brief, business-like to the very end. Goddamn bastard. The fucking playboy. Running off with some twit who was wanting him his money and looks, no doubt.
And he didn't want her. Her eyes filled up with tears before she even had a chance to stop them. They splashed on the card, making the ink run, his family Symbol leave the cardboard-like paper. She let out a screamed sob and swung her arm out as hard as she could towards the vase. It smashed to the floor, chips of glass hitting her bare legs and cutting through the skin, making them sting.
Her legs crumbled beneath her and she sunk to the floor, still sobbing.
"I hate you," she whispered. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, and I hate October, and I hate Harry, and I hate everything."
She whispered those words so many times, she almost believed it. But, somehow, she knew it wasn't true. She felt like she'd always felt.
By the time she stopped sobbing, her tears stopped running down her cheeks shamelessly, and she'd picked herself up off the floor, her head hurt like crazy. She didn't even bother drinking one of her headache potions.
She felt hollow, empty, forgotten. She didn't clean the cuts, hoping they'd sting even more so she could feel. She left the flowers and broken vase on the floor, so she could be reminded of what he'd done.
And then she walked to her bedroom and fell onto her bed.
Twelve months later, A muddy, drenched Draco Malfoy appeared on her doorstep demanding, not asking, her forgiveness.
A/N:What a way to end a drabble, eh? I might do a drabble sequal later, but I like the way this ends.
Author: Irisri
Title: Flowers
Rating: PG-13 __Langer (Language)
Summary: Now, here she was, standing in the middle of her kitchen, holding a card and staring at the vase of flowers on her counter.
Warning: May contain some OOCness, and might not be 'HPCS' compatible, subtle mention of character death.
Word Count: 511
Theme: My Choice - Flowers
Themes Completed: 5/100
Disclaimer: Hp's character's are JKR's, flower scene was slightly inspired by Angela Hunt's book, A Time To Mend.
In all truthfulness, she should have expected it. October. She hated the month October. Why? Well, the answer is pretty simple.
All her life, every single stinking year, something really bad happened in October, from the time she was eleven years old. Now, here she was, eleven years later, and still having bad luck.
I mean, its not like she didn't have a good reason for hating it. As was told before, something bad happened every year, on that month. First, there was the year she came to Hogwarts. Getting stuck in a girl's bathroom with a troll that just happens to have a special dislike for witches isn't the best thing in the world. The next year, she was petrified, and the next year after that, an escaped convict from Askaban decided, oh, well, he'd come to Hogwarts and scare the hell out of everyone, including herself.
Of course, Sirius Black hadn't had any intention of killing, raping, hurting anyone at the school. He'd just wanted to see and talk to his godson.
Like they knew that!
Now, here she was, standing in the middle of her kitchen, holding a card and staring at the vase of flowers on her counter. She could smell the magic on them, that kept them charmed and alive. And so, she slowly read the card.
Dear Hermione,
Please don't take this the wrong way. You're a nice girl and all, but I don't think it is wise to see each other again.
Again, I'm sorry,
Malfoy
Short, brief, business-like to the very end. Goddamn bastard. The fucking playboy. Running off with some twit who was wanting him his money and looks, no doubt.
And he didn't want her. Her eyes filled up with tears before she even had a chance to stop them. They splashed on the card, making the ink run, his family Symbol leave the cardboard-like paper. She let out a screamed sob and swung her arm out as hard as she could towards the vase. It smashed to the floor, chips of glass hitting her bare legs and cutting through the skin, making them sting.
Her legs crumbled beneath her and she sunk to the floor, still sobbing.
"I hate you," she whispered. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, and I hate October, and I hate Harry, and I hate everything."
She whispered those words so many times, she almost believed it. But, somehow, she knew it wasn't true. She felt like she'd always felt.
By the time she stopped sobbing, her tears stopped running down her cheeks shamelessly, and she'd picked herself up off the floor, her head hurt like crazy. She didn't even bother drinking one of her headache potions.
She felt hollow, empty, forgotten. She didn't clean the cuts, hoping they'd sting even more so she could feel. She left the flowers and broken vase on the floor, so she could be reminded of what he'd done.
And then she walked to her bedroom and fell onto her bed.
Twelve months later, A muddy, drenched Draco Malfoy appeared on her doorstep demanding, not asking, her forgiveness.
A/N:What a way to end a drabble, eh? I might do a drabble sequal later, but I like the way this ends.