fic: angel (draco/hermione, pg)
Oh God, I cannot even begin to say how out of practise I am vis-à-vis writing anything that isn't an Oxford essay, but I suppose that is what the point of this exercise is! Thank you so much for your prompts -- it may take me a while to write them all, not the least because Oxford wants my soul, but I promise that I will in time. The goal is to keep them under 500 words, which I obviously failed with this first one.
Title: Angel
Author: V.M. Bell
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR.
Summary: He hadn't been killed, no. The point had not been to kill but to warn that he, his family, and his kind would benefit from only so much tolerance.
Rating: PG
Characters: Draco/Hermione
Word Count: 569
Author's Notes: For alexajohnson. I'm not sure how you write this pairing so often, as I found it rather tricky! Nevertheless, I hope this is hurt/comfort enough for you and that you enjoy it! All comments, concrit, and review welcome.
--
When she first proposed the idea, her colleagues reacted with nothing less than derision, but Hermione was not deterred. She took the matter up with Kingsley because she knew him to be forward-thinking and rational and explained it to him. The Wizarding world was growing tired of the slow pace of the Death Eater trials, the endless reams of evidence and testimony needed to convict them in a court of law, and the pardons issued to those followers of Lord Voldemort that the Ministry had deemed to be sufficiently reformed. Death Eaters that had, for one reason or another, avoided imprisonment began waking up to Howlers threatening retribution for this matter or another; more than one had fled the country for fear of this retribution coming to pass.
She did not like Death Eaters more than anybody else did, she insisted, but there was a larger issue at stake here. If the masses began to play arbiter in matters of guilt and innocence, there would be no end to their vengeance, and then how would this feud ever end? The Death Eaters required protection because justice required protection.
Kingsley contemplated her proposal for a week before summoning her to his office one day. It was an idea with merit, he said, but its limits were apparent. By seeking to shield Death Eaters from vigilante threats, this policy may have the adverse effect of drawing greater attention to their continued presence. We shall have to keep it -- he was silent as he searched for the right word -- clandestine.
It was some Wednesday or another, a few months later, at three o'clock in the afternoon when Hermione got the message: St. Mungo's, now. She pushed through the crowd of journalists gathered at the door and accosted the nearest Healer, who led her to bed number ten in the emergency ward. She paused, for a moment, outside the curtains that demarcated one patient from another. Rusted metal grated against rusted metal as she parted the fabric with her hand, watched the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe.
He hadn't been killed, no. The point had not been to kill but to warn that he, his family, and his kind would benefit from only so much tolerance.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, his pallid lips pursed into a grimace, and she covered her face with her hands. "God, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. If only I had been there -- I mean, I know it's not possible for me to be there all the time, but if I had -- this is exactly what I was supposed to stop from happening, and now it's happened --"
"Granger?"
She looked up to find his head turned towards her. "Could you stay with me a while?"
Hastily dashing away her tears, she set her things down and conjured a chair beside his bed. It was an uncomfortable creation, made of spindly wood, and the back was perhaps a touch too upright, but anything more than that would have seemed inappropriate. She sat down, and, being unsure of what to do, she began absently smoothing his bedcovers. And, when he reached for her, his fingers grasping weakly, she could only cradle his hands in hers as he closed his eyes and sank back into his pillow.
"Of course I'll stay with you, Draco," she said. "Of course I will."
--
Signing off, V.M. Bell
Title: Angel
Author: V.M. Bell
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR.
Summary: He hadn't been killed, no. The point had not been to kill but to warn that he, his family, and his kind would benefit from only so much tolerance.
Rating: PG
Characters: Draco/Hermione
Word Count: 569
Author's Notes: For alexajohnson. I'm not sure how you write this pairing so often, as I found it rather tricky! Nevertheless, I hope this is hurt/comfort enough for you and that you enjoy it! All comments, concrit, and review welcome.
--
When she first proposed the idea, her colleagues reacted with nothing less than derision, but Hermione was not deterred. She took the matter up with Kingsley because she knew him to be forward-thinking and rational and explained it to him. The Wizarding world was growing tired of the slow pace of the Death Eater trials, the endless reams of evidence and testimony needed to convict them in a court of law, and the pardons issued to those followers of Lord Voldemort that the Ministry had deemed to be sufficiently reformed. Death Eaters that had, for one reason or another, avoided imprisonment began waking up to Howlers threatening retribution for this matter or another; more than one had fled the country for fear of this retribution coming to pass.
She did not like Death Eaters more than anybody else did, she insisted, but there was a larger issue at stake here. If the masses began to play arbiter in matters of guilt and innocence, there would be no end to their vengeance, and then how would this feud ever end? The Death Eaters required protection because justice required protection.
Kingsley contemplated her proposal for a week before summoning her to his office one day. It was an idea with merit, he said, but its limits were apparent. By seeking to shield Death Eaters from vigilante threats, this policy may have the adverse effect of drawing greater attention to their continued presence. We shall have to keep it -- he was silent as he searched for the right word -- clandestine.
It was some Wednesday or another, a few months later, at three o'clock in the afternoon when Hermione got the message: St. Mungo's, now. She pushed through the crowd of journalists gathered at the door and accosted the nearest Healer, who led her to bed number ten in the emergency ward. She paused, for a moment, outside the curtains that demarcated one patient from another. Rusted metal grated against rusted metal as she parted the fabric with her hand, watched the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe.
He hadn't been killed, no. The point had not been to kill but to warn that he, his family, and his kind would benefit from only so much tolerance.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, his pallid lips pursed into a grimace, and she covered her face with her hands. "God, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. If only I had been there -- I mean, I know it's not possible for me to be there all the time, but if I had -- this is exactly what I was supposed to stop from happening, and now it's happened --"
"Granger?"
She looked up to find his head turned towards her. "Could you stay with me a while?"
Hastily dashing away her tears, she set her things down and conjured a chair beside his bed. It was an uncomfortable creation, made of spindly wood, and the back was perhaps a touch too upright, but anything more than that would have seemed inappropriate. She sat down, and, being unsure of what to do, she began absently smoothing his bedcovers. And, when he reached for her, his fingers grasping weakly, she could only cradle his hands in hers as he closed his eyes and sank back into his pillow.
"Of course I'll stay with you, Draco," she said. "Of course I will."
--
Signing off, V.M. Bell