Four Scenes to Change Her Life

Four Scenes to Change Her Life

I.

It was the last place she ever expected to see him. Truthfully, she didn't expect to ever see him again. She certainly didn't want to. He had caused so much pain in her life, so much grief. When she approached the gravesite she'd been avoiding for a year, and saw him standing there, imperious, every ounce of strength she had left gathered itself up in a ball of rage inside her.

How dare he? A strange voice screamed inside her head.

She was only a few feet away from him, his back toward her, when she realized her arms were stretched out, ready to grab him by the throat. What are you doing? The voice whispered and she stopped abruptly. She took a deep breath, and dropped her arms back down to her sides.

What is he doing here?

She retreated a few steps, careful not to crunch the heel of her shoe on the crisp fall leaves that littered the grounds. She watched his black robes billow in the breeze for a moment before she found her voice.

"Malfoy." She said through clenched teeth.

He stiffened at the sound of her voice, but spun around, glaring, after a second's hesitation.

He looked just as angry as she had been to find him there.

"You-" He replied with the traditional disgust.

"I don't know why you're here," Her jaw locked up, "And I don't give a damn, just leave. Now!"

He didn't seem to register what she said, or he didn't care. He turned back around without any reaction to her anger.

"Go!" She shouted. A few elderly women standing just up the hill turned abruptly at the sound of her raised voice. One of them seemed to recognize her and began whispering to the other women, excitedly, her eyes wide. She jutted her chin up in defiance and waved them back to their own grief.

Still he kept his back toward her and said nothing. She walked around to stand in front of the tombstone and placed shaking hands on the cold marble as though protecting it from him.

"You have no right to be here." She seethed.

"It's a public place- " He said, his eyes never straying from the front of the tombstone. He seemed to be reading it.

"How dare you?" She spat at him. "How- how can you be so- so-" She bit her lip. "How can you be such a monster?" It seemed fitting.

"According to the ministry, I'm no such thing." He looked up then and the voice inside her head was screaming 'murderer! You're nothing but a murderer!'

"I don't care what the ministry says, or how much it cost you to buy a verdict." Her voice shook, "Everyone knows what you are. Totally ostracized, aren't you? I'm surprised you haven't killed yourself yet."

"You and everyone else." A cruel smile crept on to his pale face. His eyes, so cold and unfeeling bore into her and she retreated a small step without realizing it.

She was speechless. She hated him so much. She wanted to kill him, to torture him, to make him scream out in pain, as she had done for so long now. Her fist tightened and blood seeped from the cracks in her white fingers. She couldn't attack him, no matter how justified she felt, and her own flesh bore the brunt of her frustration. But, why? The voice was back. He has taken a life and he feels no remorse, nor is he in Azkaban! Why couldn't you......Because I'm not a murderer! I could never, ever......

She felt a lump form in the back of her throat. She hadn't expected this. She had been so nervous about coming she hadn't eaten in two days. It had been difficult enough, anticipating this trip on her own. To have someone else there, and especially someone that she loathed as much as him, was making her feel weak. She couldn't keep this up for much longer. She was sure the tears would come at any small disturbance.

"Why are you here?" She said in a desperate voice.

"It doesn't matter. " His voice was hollow. He turned just then and walked down the sloping path at a quick pace.

She shrank against the tombstone of her beloved husband, great sobs racking her frail body. A quarter of an hour passed before she was able to pull herself up from the damp earth. She ignored the dirt on her own robes and, instead, gently brushed the dirty streaks she had made away from the smooth marble. A year, she thought wearily, running her fingers over the sharp edges of the engraving. She had made it through an entire year without him. The fact that she hadn't killed herself was more of a miracle than Malfoy's self-preservation. Her blood boiled at the thought of him, and she glanced in the direction he had walked, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of the empty path.

What was he doing here? Gloating? Does the murderer often celebrate the anniversary of his kills, the way a widow grieves? She looked down at the words she had so painstakingly written for him.

Ronald Billius Weasley

1980-2004

Cherished Husband of Hermione

Good Night, Sweet Prince

II.

It had been one year, almost to the day, since the last time she spoke on behalf of S.P.E.W. It was her passion before Ron's death, revving up the groups of witches and wizards who were actually interested in elf rights (Most of whom were either muggle-borns, or half bloods) with small successes over the years. Elves were actually paid wages now, due to the legislation she had helped bring about, but most still smuggled their earnings back into their master's pockets. Very small successes. She had finally agreed to speaking that night after a month's worth of lectures from Harry, and one highly embarrassing episode in which he physically had to shove her off of her own front porch and into the world.

True, she hadn't been out since the funeral, which, technically, made her agoraphobic- but she tried not to think about that. She wasn't able to pinpoint the exact moment when she went completely insane, but she was pretty sure it was around the time when she chose the anniversary of Ron's death for her first speaking appointment. After her meeting with Malfoy earlier, though, she knew she wasn't up to feigning enthusiasm for a crowd of strangers. She had been putting off her small band of supporters for eleven months, however, and they were ready to ask for her head if she cancelled another speaking appointment.

She was at a precipice: allow her soul to breathe back to life, or forget the whole thing, altogether. She could've keeled over right then as she took the podium, and not have cared one bit.

~

"Good Evening, ladies and gentlemen." Hermione cleared her throat and squinted in the harsh lights as she looked up from her notes. It was the largest crowd that she'd ever had. She knew why they'd crammed themselves into the hot auditorium and a sardonic smile spread across her sunken face. They want me to talk about the war, about Harry, and- and- Ron...fat chance. She would sooner discuss her late husband and best friend with these vultures than hand them a galleon each on their way out the door.

They applauded politely during her tirade of Ministry policies which still governed the house-elves, but even Hermione felt their anxiety as they waited for the question and answer section that always followed one of her speeches.

She dropped her last note card back on top of the stack and paused during their applause, before lifting her head back up. I can handle this. Just keep reciting it; she thought of the words she had written after Ron's funeral that had been of such comfort to her.

I do not live in my body

Mere bone and blood

I do not live in my house

Just nails and wood

Deep breath,

"We'll begin with the questions, now-" She cleared her throat. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and her face growing hot as several hands shot into the air. She didn't like crowds anymore.

She pointed to a stately looking, middle-aged witch, her hand raised shyly, with two pre-teen girls tugging at her robes.

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but looked stricken suddenly, as if aware that her question was inappropriate. She started to shake her head and sit back down when one of the girls stomped on her foot and hissed something at her to make her proceed.

"Is- is it true that you and Harry Potter have become engaged?" She asked timidly, sitting back down as soon as the words were out of her mouth. The murmuring started and Hermione closed her eyes.

I do not live at work

Where wages drive

I do not live for you

You're already alive

She sucked in another deep breath.

"The purpose of this section of the lecture, " She said, retaining the authoritative manner she was famous for, "Is to answer any question you may have about the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

She looked down her nose at them, as she saw several faces drop in disappointment,

"If your question does not pertain to the Society, or its' goals, I'll ask that you lower your hand."

Only one hand remained up and Hermione nodded toward the older, graying gentleman in the front row.

"Missy- " He shook his finger at her, "What in Merlin's name are those fools at the Ministry doing to put that scoundrel Malfoy away for your husband's murder?"

The murmuring broke out into full-blown shouting, as the people hadn't enjoyed a good Malfoy bashing in some time.

Hermione would have fainted, if she had been able to move at all. The angry voices from the crowd seemed to drift away as she remembered that day- when Ron died, and the thoughts she had tried to keep locked away in her subconscious came spilling out.

She tried to remember the words

I do not live in my body

But that was all she could remember as Ron's corpse shoved her mantra aside and everything became cloudy.

They had all been rejoicing.

He was dead.

Harry killed him.

Ron came running toward her, his arms stretched out, that adorable grin stretched across his freckly face.

Just as he reached her, she saw the jet of green light, explode from somewhere behind him.

The smile died from his face and his grip on her relaxed.

He died right in her arms.

As he collapsed on top of her, she saw the shocking, white-blond hair disappear behind a tree in the forest.