Cold Embrace

The tears fall silently down my stony face. I watch, let them drip where they may. Nothing seems to matter.

I know he loves her. That he always has. I hear him murmuring her name in his sleep, calling to her while he holds me. I see the way he looks at her. There's something beyond the warm affection on the surface - something that chills me to the bone. Something that's blistering and intense and yet lacking warmth - like cold fire. Cold fire, lying dormant behind his eyes before he realizes. Until he realizes he loves her still.

I tried to deny it for so long. I saw the way he looked at me, after all - affection, passion, caring all flashing in his bright sapphire eyes. And how we danced - how our bodies moved symbiotically in the darkness, how we became one in the scorching heat that consumed us. I remembered that, and I thought it could never be. He loves me. I love him. I thought I had to be dreaming.

But it wouldn't let go of me, the thought. It nagged at every corner of my mind until his smile seemed like treachery, and I couldn't bear to listen - couldn't bear to hear him say her name. Ginny. An acceptance and a denial in one syllable; a declaration and a retraction in the other. Everything and nothing in her name.

He used to say my name like a prayer; Hermione, he would say, with reverence and adoration. He still does. But I can't hear it anymore. All I can hear are a thousand Ginnys ringing in my ears, and I know he loves her, I know he'll always love her, and it doesn't matter how much he loves me, or I love him. It doesn't matter how much she loves Harry or Harry loves her. Because he will always say her name that way - he will always form the sounds as if he's saying, "I need you, I love you, I want you, I can't".

No matter how much he ever loves anyone else, they won't be able to be with him. The Ginnys will haunt them night and day and echo in their minds long after they've heard them. Long after they've given up on him.

I would try, anyway. I love him that much, that I would try to pretend that they don't exist. I would look into his eyes, and ignore the way they see her; I would only see them shine for me. I would mimic his smile, and ignore that it's for her; I would only know that he was happy with me. I would listen to his words, and ignore her name; I would only hear mine.

But I've noticed something else. I listened to her saying his name. Ron. I say his name in faith, in loyalty - in love. I wouldn't have paid it a thought if she said it the same.

But she says Ron like he says Ginny. She says Ron as if he's the only thing in her world that's real. She says Ron and there's something about her eyes - they change, as if they're the eyes of a different person. She says Harry, and her eyes shine. She says Ron, and she becomes someone who's not Virginia Weasley anymore, not the girl I've come to know; she's a soul, a force of nature - emotion in its purest form.

She loves him still, and by her eyes, I can tell that she knows it.

I swallow. I watch my haggard face in the mirror.

The door creaks open, and she walks in.

"Hermione," she says, purposefully. The tone changes when she sees me. "You're crying."

She doesn't sound concerned. Just curious, slightly confused. She doesn't care about me.

I can't blame her for hating me. I hate her, even though she had him first. I hate her, even though I won't say why. I hate her, and I hope she knows that everyone will hate her for her love, and everyone will think she's wrong, and no one will see why it's right.

I do. And I hate her still.

"I need your help," she continues, trying to remain unfazed by my tears. Her expression is dark.

She isn't saying his name, but her eyes have changed nonetheless. Her eyes aren't that of the Virginia Weasley I know. They're her real eyes. They're the eyes of his Ginny, and I watch them carefully. There's no fear, now, but only interest.

I know what she's here to do.

"You don't have to bother," I say. "I can see it."

She smiles. A twisted smile. A smile devoid of the innocence I expect from Virginia Weasley, but full of the malice I know his Ginny has for me.

She points the wand at my throat. Her hand trembles. Some part of her doesn't want to kill me. Some part of her knows that everything about this is wrong.

That part is Virginia Weasley, and it puts up more of a struggle than I might have thought. Not for long, though.

"For Ron," she says, and at the utterance of his name, Virginia is gone.

His Ginny says the words that send me to my grave.

"Avada Kedavra," she says, and releases me to death.

But beyond its cold embrace, those words are not the ones to haunt me.

Instead, I spend an eternity hearing Rons and Ginnys echoing in my ears.