Triumph Out of the Bitter Taste of Ashes
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,808
Reviews:
244
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,808
Reviews:
244
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Twenty Six
AN: Warning! Suicidal thoughts contained in this chapter.
Added: 01/29/04
**********
Chapter Twenty Six
**********
Hermione stared out the dormitory window. She wasn\'t thinking. She wasn\'t seeing. She wasn\'t doing anything, really. It was all too much to take in. No, that wasn\'t quiet right; there was one thing she was doing. She was *feeling*. Anger and hate warred for premier position inside her. Anger at everyone who *assumed* she had known all along, robbing her of her *choice*. She wanted that choice back. She had made her bloody decision, only to find that unlike *normal* people, she was just out of luck and out of time. Hate, too, swirled in her heart, true hate, not the kind she\'d always felt before. Raging, unadulterated, thought robbing hel held her in its grasp.
She hated Lucius Malfoy with an unequalled passion. She hated the parasitic little monster that grew inside her and reminded her . Every . Single . Minute . Of what had happened to her. Last, but certainly not least, she hated herself. She hated that she hated. It made her feel guilty, her mind and her heart at disparate odds with each other for one of the few times in her life.
In her mind, she knew the child within her was innocent of everything that happened, and hating it didn\'t make any sense. It hadn\'t done anything wrong, after all. Her heart, on the other hand, raged at it, at the *imposition* it caused, the havoc it was going wreak on her life.
She snorted into the obscene quiet surrounding her. She had long ago given up the childish fantasy that life was fair, that lesson having been driven home years before her current . . . predicament. \'Magically intertwined by 16 weeks.\' \'To abort the baby now, would kill you too.\' She laughed. \"What\'s so wrong with that?\" she asked alouhakihaking her head.
Madam Pomfrey had explained it all in far more detail, of course, but most of it had gone right through Hermione. She\'d really stopped paying attention after the medi-witch had revealed the \'connection\' and that the baby\'s death would mean her own as well. Nothing else had mattered to her, after all. Why should she care about the specifics?
A faint spate of laughter briefly drew her attention outside herself, her head automatically turning in the direction of the unexpected sound. Hagrid out out on the grounds, tossing what appeared to be a tree branch for Fang to fetch. He laughed as he watched the dog struggle with the -- to him -- monstrosity, the branch wobbling like a child\'s teeter-totter as Fang faithfully brought it back to the half-giant.
A sad, envious smile crossed Hermione\'s face as she watched them play. Sometimes she wished she could be like Hagrid; he always seemed so happy, so carefree. He never seemed to lose that for long, no matter what happened around him. She closed her eyes against the scene, dropping her head. When she reopened them, her view contained not Hagrid and his best friend, but rather the ground below her window.
**So far down,** she mused, feeling oddly numb all of a sudden. **It would be so easy. And then it would all be over.**
She laughed suddenly, the sound bitter and harsh. \"Oh, that\'s just lovely, Granger,\" she told herself. \"How . . . *cliche*, the unwed pregnant girl considering jumping from the window and ending all her troubles. The only thing to make it complete would be a mad, tear-filled dash to the astronomy tower.\" She could picture it now, running pellmell through the castle without a single concern to anyone in her path. She would slam the door of that circular room, carefully locking it behind her to give her time from anyone who might be nosy enough to follow.
She would then walk slowly, stately, toward one of the many expansive windows and climb onto the ledge. She would look down at the ground so very far away and ready herself. Of course, to make the cliche complete someone would have to arrive, just in the nick of time. \'Stay away!\' she would exclaim. The only question remaining was, would she actually jump, or would this fantasy interloper know enough about her to convince her not to?
Would anyone truly miss her if he failed? Her parents certainly would, she mused. They would be unconsolable . . . for awhile, anyway. Eventually they would move on. Ron? Would he really miss her? Probably, she thought venomously, if nothing else, because she was the only reason he consistently passed most of his classes. That wasn\'t entirely fair, she realized in some small portion of her mind, the part that was still thinking rationally, but she shoved that part of her away. She didn\'t *want* to think rationally right now, she wanted to *feel* this. She was a horrible, hateful person, and she wanted, deserved, to be miserable.
What about Harry? She winced as her friend\'s probable reaction flashed through her mind. He had been through so much already. He would feel *responsible*, she knew. **Well screw you, Harry!** she thought angrily to her vision Harry Potter. **I didn\'t ask you to be \'responsible\' for me.**
Growling now, anger momentarily gaining the upper hand over her misery, Hermione shoved aside all thoughts of her friend as the twinge of guilt she felt for even contemplating something that just might be the final straw to destroy her friend tried to overwhelm her.
**How can you be so utterly selfish?** sneered her fantasy hero. He took one step closer to her. **Voldemort couldn\'t destroy the boy who lived. No, that honor goes to his close friend and classmate, Hermione Granger, who in a moment of wasteful self-pity threw herself from the astronomy tower, effectively destroying three lives in one pathetic, unthinking act.**
**Oh, God!** Hermione thought a touch hysterically as she suddenly realized just who it was she\'d pictured as her rescuer. **I\'m completelying ing it!** Her fantasy hero was none other than Professor Severus Snape.
She scrambled away from the window, shock overriding everything else. Not even taking the time to grab her cloak, or put shoes on her feet, Hermione fled the dormitory. She had no specific destination in mind, she simply needed to *move*.
**
Draco blew out a weary breath as he and Ron worked silently side by side on their assigned project. They had, of course, finished all of the separate totals -- had before they\'d spoken with Professor Snape -- and they were finished with over 3/4 of the results -- number percentages that compared stillborn, miscarriages, live births, and of the live births, the rate of squib over magically inclined. Of course, this had to be done for each grouping, as well as the comparative numbers *between* the separate groupings.
They\'d considered, very briefly, going into some detail about the relation of power vs parentage, but had in the end decided that there was no way they could truly discover that without literally years of research. Draco had, instead, written a note to himself -- one of many -- that he would include the question somehow in his own personal report.
Draco dropped his quill, arching back to stretch out muscles cramping from too long spent bent over parchment. Had he realized at the beginning just how many separate parental pairings they had been creating by dividing the wizarding world into 12 categories, (66 to be precise) and just how long it would take to thoroughly document each group, Draco would have balked and demanded that they broaden the definitions for each. He would have even, reluctantly, allowed that 6 generations or more removed from muggle heritage could be grouped as \'pure\'. Originally, when Ron had wanted to label 6 to 10 generations as pureblood2, Draco hadn\'t liked the idea at all, but had reluctantly given in, more to just get it over with than actual agreement. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the numbers had supported the lines they\'d \'drawn\'.
Unfortunately, the numbers did seem to point to the fact that biologically they could be considered \'pure\'. That grouping was where the problems began. It only worsened with the next step up. Much to his dismay, the numbers, so far, seemed to indicate the best range -- all problems weighed against each other -- was when both parents were from one of the two three to five generations grouping, labeled muggle3 and halfblood3, respectively. That was followed a close second by parentage of the \'pureblood2\' group with either of the three to five groups.
Less generations than that and the number of squibs rose . . . slightly -- not nearly as much as Draco originally speculated, however. More generations than that, the increase of other problems began to rise -- exponentially it seemed after 10 generations. Draco, quite frankly, was growing increasingly grateful to not only *be* a wizard with a respectable amount of power, but to also be reasonably sane, whole, and good looking. Okay, so he was a little shallow in regard to his looks, but it was a little difficult not to be thankful for them, when he contemplated some of the more common, but not debilitating, deformities they\'d researched.
Taking in the data as a whole, Draco was also increasingly surprised that the Weasleys had managed to actually *have* seven children -- all of whom were magically inclined, not a squib or obvious deformity in the lot. It was an intriguing mystery and he was half-tempted to do a little more in-depth research to see if he could determine the reasons behind it. He mentally snorted. **Not this lifetime,** he thought. **As soon as this bloody report is done, I\'m not looking at another number before I\'m absolutely required to.**
\"I\'m done,\" Ron said suddenly throwing down his quill.
Draco turned toward his research partner, surprised. \"You\'ve finished *all* of your groupings?\"
\"Hell no,\" Ron replied, laughing. \"I just can\'t do any more right now.\"
Laughing in response, Draco stood. \"Agreed.\"
\"Thank God,\" came the fervent response from behind them. Both jumped, turning to glare at Harry Potter.
\"Don\'t *do* that, Harry!\" Ron exclaimed, but ruined the effect by laughing immediately after. \"I swear you just took a couple years off my life.\"
Draco rolled his eyes.
Potter shrugged sheepishly. \"Sorry about that,\" he replied, then grinned. \"Quidditch practice anyone?\"
\"You have *got* to be joking, Potter,\" Draco snorted. \"It\'s freezing outside.\"
\"Never too cold for a bit of quidditch,\" Potter and Ron responded in unison.
\"Oh, spare me,\" Draco drawled drolly, \"the \'twins\' are now harmonizing.\"
Ron chuckled, patting Draco\'s shoulder \'sympathetically\'. Potter glared
\"Not me,\" Ron said, turning toward Potter. \"I\'ve got something I need to do,\" he continued, heading for the door. \"I\'ll be back in about an hour.\"
Watching Ron\'s retreating form, Draco\'s jaw dropped. \"You\'re leaving me here, alone, with *him*?\" he exclaimed, outraged.
Ron laughed again. \"Yes,\" he replied succinctly. \"I am.\" His mouth twisted up into a crooked, mischievous grin -- one that worried Draco. \"Why?\" he asked. \"Do I have something to worry about?\"
Draco froze, utterly gobsmacked. Ron had not just-- No way! \"No, you bloody prat! And by the way . . . *ewwww*,\" Draco shouted, hastily scrubbing his brain free of the disgusting mental images Ron\'s words had evoked.
Ron just laughed as he disappeared from view. **Now where could he *possibly* be going?** Draco wondered, frowning in thought. It didn\'t take him long to begin feeling Potter\'s heavy stare. \"What?\" he snapped when it didn\'t seem like the prat was going to stop any time soon.
\"So tell me,\" Potter began evenly, \"what\'s going on between you and Ron,\"
TBC
Kiristeen
Feedback: The lifeline of muses everywhere. : )
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com
AN: Does anyone have *any* idea how many times I\'ve had to correct the word squib because I originally typed it out as squid? LOLOL Sorry, just a silly side note of perhaps some interest. : )~
Added: 01/29/04
**********
Chapter Twenty Six
**********
Hermione stared out the dormitory window. She wasn\'t thinking. She wasn\'t seeing. She wasn\'t doing anything, really. It was all too much to take in. No, that wasn\'t quiet right; there was one thing she was doing. She was *feeling*. Anger and hate warred for premier position inside her. Anger at everyone who *assumed* she had known all along, robbing her of her *choice*. She wanted that choice back. She had made her bloody decision, only to find that unlike *normal* people, she was just out of luck and out of time. Hate, too, swirled in her heart, true hate, not the kind she\'d always felt before. Raging, unadulterated, thought robbing hel held her in its grasp.
She hated Lucius Malfoy with an unequalled passion. She hated the parasitic little monster that grew inside her and reminded her . Every . Single . Minute . Of what had happened to her. Last, but certainly not least, she hated herself. She hated that she hated. It made her feel guilty, her mind and her heart at disparate odds with each other for one of the few times in her life.
In her mind, she knew the child within her was innocent of everything that happened, and hating it didn\'t make any sense. It hadn\'t done anything wrong, after all. Her heart, on the other hand, raged at it, at the *imposition* it caused, the havoc it was going wreak on her life.
She snorted into the obscene quiet surrounding her. She had long ago given up the childish fantasy that life was fair, that lesson having been driven home years before her current . . . predicament. \'Magically intertwined by 16 weeks.\' \'To abort the baby now, would kill you too.\' She laughed. \"What\'s so wrong with that?\" she asked alouhakihaking her head.
Madam Pomfrey had explained it all in far more detail, of course, but most of it had gone right through Hermione. She\'d really stopped paying attention after the medi-witch had revealed the \'connection\' and that the baby\'s death would mean her own as well. Nothing else had mattered to her, after all. Why should she care about the specifics?
A faint spate of laughter briefly drew her attention outside herself, her head automatically turning in the direction of the unexpected sound. Hagrid out out on the grounds, tossing what appeared to be a tree branch for Fang to fetch. He laughed as he watched the dog struggle with the -- to him -- monstrosity, the branch wobbling like a child\'s teeter-totter as Fang faithfully brought it back to the half-giant.
A sad, envious smile crossed Hermione\'s face as she watched them play. Sometimes she wished she could be like Hagrid; he always seemed so happy, so carefree. He never seemed to lose that for long, no matter what happened around him. She closed her eyes against the scene, dropping her head. When she reopened them, her view contained not Hagrid and his best friend, but rather the ground below her window.
**So far down,** she mused, feeling oddly numb all of a sudden. **It would be so easy. And then it would all be over.**
She laughed suddenly, the sound bitter and harsh. \"Oh, that\'s just lovely, Granger,\" she told herself. \"How . . . *cliche*, the unwed pregnant girl considering jumping from the window and ending all her troubles. The only thing to make it complete would be a mad, tear-filled dash to the astronomy tower.\" She could picture it now, running pellmell through the castle without a single concern to anyone in her path. She would slam the door of that circular room, carefully locking it behind her to give her time from anyone who might be nosy enough to follow.
She would then walk slowly, stately, toward one of the many expansive windows and climb onto the ledge. She would look down at the ground so very far away and ready herself. Of course, to make the cliche complete someone would have to arrive, just in the nick of time. \'Stay away!\' she would exclaim. The only question remaining was, would she actually jump, or would this fantasy interloper know enough about her to convince her not to?
Would anyone truly miss her if he failed? Her parents certainly would, she mused. They would be unconsolable . . . for awhile, anyway. Eventually they would move on. Ron? Would he really miss her? Probably, she thought venomously, if nothing else, because she was the only reason he consistently passed most of his classes. That wasn\'t entirely fair, she realized in some small portion of her mind, the part that was still thinking rationally, but she shoved that part of her away. She didn\'t *want* to think rationally right now, she wanted to *feel* this. She was a horrible, hateful person, and she wanted, deserved, to be miserable.
What about Harry? She winced as her friend\'s probable reaction flashed through her mind. He had been through so much already. He would feel *responsible*, she knew. **Well screw you, Harry!** she thought angrily to her vision Harry Potter. **I didn\'t ask you to be \'responsible\' for me.**
Growling now, anger momentarily gaining the upper hand over her misery, Hermione shoved aside all thoughts of her friend as the twinge of guilt she felt for even contemplating something that just might be the final straw to destroy her friend tried to overwhelm her.
**How can you be so utterly selfish?** sneered her fantasy hero. He took one step closer to her. **Voldemort couldn\'t destroy the boy who lived. No, that honor goes to his close friend and classmate, Hermione Granger, who in a moment of wasteful self-pity threw herself from the astronomy tower, effectively destroying three lives in one pathetic, unthinking act.**
**Oh, God!** Hermione thought a touch hysterically as she suddenly realized just who it was she\'d pictured as her rescuer. **I\'m completelying ing it!** Her fantasy hero was none other than Professor Severus Snape.
She scrambled away from the window, shock overriding everything else. Not even taking the time to grab her cloak, or put shoes on her feet, Hermione fled the dormitory. She had no specific destination in mind, she simply needed to *move*.
**
Draco blew out a weary breath as he and Ron worked silently side by side on their assigned project. They had, of course, finished all of the separate totals -- had before they\'d spoken with Professor Snape -- and they were finished with over 3/4 of the results -- number percentages that compared stillborn, miscarriages, live births, and of the live births, the rate of squib over magically inclined. Of course, this had to be done for each grouping, as well as the comparative numbers *between* the separate groupings.
They\'d considered, very briefly, going into some detail about the relation of power vs parentage, but had in the end decided that there was no way they could truly discover that without literally years of research. Draco had, instead, written a note to himself -- one of many -- that he would include the question somehow in his own personal report.
Draco dropped his quill, arching back to stretch out muscles cramping from too long spent bent over parchment. Had he realized at the beginning just how many separate parental pairings they had been creating by dividing the wizarding world into 12 categories, (66 to be precise) and just how long it would take to thoroughly document each group, Draco would have balked and demanded that they broaden the definitions for each. He would have even, reluctantly, allowed that 6 generations or more removed from muggle heritage could be grouped as \'pure\'. Originally, when Ron had wanted to label 6 to 10 generations as pureblood2, Draco hadn\'t liked the idea at all, but had reluctantly given in, more to just get it over with than actual agreement. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the numbers had supported the lines they\'d \'drawn\'.
Unfortunately, the numbers did seem to point to the fact that biologically they could be considered \'pure\'. That grouping was where the problems began. It only worsened with the next step up. Much to his dismay, the numbers, so far, seemed to indicate the best range -- all problems weighed against each other -- was when both parents were from one of the two three to five generations grouping, labeled muggle3 and halfblood3, respectively. That was followed a close second by parentage of the \'pureblood2\' group with either of the three to five groups.
Less generations than that and the number of squibs rose . . . slightly -- not nearly as much as Draco originally speculated, however. More generations than that, the increase of other problems began to rise -- exponentially it seemed after 10 generations. Draco, quite frankly, was growing increasingly grateful to not only *be* a wizard with a respectable amount of power, but to also be reasonably sane, whole, and good looking. Okay, so he was a little shallow in regard to his looks, but it was a little difficult not to be thankful for them, when he contemplated some of the more common, but not debilitating, deformities they\'d researched.
Taking in the data as a whole, Draco was also increasingly surprised that the Weasleys had managed to actually *have* seven children -- all of whom were magically inclined, not a squib or obvious deformity in the lot. It was an intriguing mystery and he was half-tempted to do a little more in-depth research to see if he could determine the reasons behind it. He mentally snorted. **Not this lifetime,** he thought. **As soon as this bloody report is done, I\'m not looking at another number before I\'m absolutely required to.**
\"I\'m done,\" Ron said suddenly throwing down his quill.
Draco turned toward his research partner, surprised. \"You\'ve finished *all* of your groupings?\"
\"Hell no,\" Ron replied, laughing. \"I just can\'t do any more right now.\"
Laughing in response, Draco stood. \"Agreed.\"
\"Thank God,\" came the fervent response from behind them. Both jumped, turning to glare at Harry Potter.
\"Don\'t *do* that, Harry!\" Ron exclaimed, but ruined the effect by laughing immediately after. \"I swear you just took a couple years off my life.\"
Draco rolled his eyes.
Potter shrugged sheepishly. \"Sorry about that,\" he replied, then grinned. \"Quidditch practice anyone?\"
\"You have *got* to be joking, Potter,\" Draco snorted. \"It\'s freezing outside.\"
\"Never too cold for a bit of quidditch,\" Potter and Ron responded in unison.
\"Oh, spare me,\" Draco drawled drolly, \"the \'twins\' are now harmonizing.\"
Ron chuckled, patting Draco\'s shoulder \'sympathetically\'. Potter glared
\"Not me,\" Ron said, turning toward Potter. \"I\'ve got something I need to do,\" he continued, heading for the door. \"I\'ll be back in about an hour.\"
Watching Ron\'s retreating form, Draco\'s jaw dropped. \"You\'re leaving me here, alone, with *him*?\" he exclaimed, outraged.
Ron laughed again. \"Yes,\" he replied succinctly. \"I am.\" His mouth twisted up into a crooked, mischievous grin -- one that worried Draco. \"Why?\" he asked. \"Do I have something to worry about?\"
Draco froze, utterly gobsmacked. Ron had not just-- No way! \"No, you bloody prat! And by the way . . . *ewwww*,\" Draco shouted, hastily scrubbing his brain free of the disgusting mental images Ron\'s words had evoked.
Ron just laughed as he disappeared from view. **Now where could he *possibly* be going?** Draco wondered, frowning in thought. It didn\'t take him long to begin feeling Potter\'s heavy stare. \"What?\" he snapped when it didn\'t seem like the prat was going to stop any time soon.
\"So tell me,\" Potter began evenly, \"what\'s going on between you and Ron,\"
TBC
Kiristeen
Feedback: The lifeline of muses everywhere. : )
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com
AN: Does anyone have *any* idea how many times I\'ve had to correct the word squib because I originally typed it out as squid? LOLOL Sorry, just a silly side note of perhaps some interest. : )~