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Yet another drabble done for the wonderful community of dhr100.
Title: Deserted
Author: roannaweenie
Word Count: 876
Rating: PG
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are not mine. Let me check...nope. Still not mine.
“It’s rather odd, isn’t it?” Draco asked her as Hermione read her book from across the table. She appeared to detect the curiosity in him and folded the upper corner of her current page, book marking it.
“What is it now, Draco?” she asked, slightly bored with her husband’s persistent questions.
“When’s the last time it snowed around here in London, Hermione?”
She pondered for moment, not clearly seeing the point in his question.
“Christmas Break during our seventh year,” she answered, slightly opening her book again. “Why do you ask, Draco? Is something troubling you? You know you can always tell me.”
“Ever since we’ve lived together,” Draco pointed out. “I’ve never seen a speck of snow. It’s been five years now.”
“...Are you saying that it’s our fault there isn’t any snow?”
“No, no, absolutely not. I just find it quite peculiar.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“Five years is quite a long time.”
“Draco, dear, you’ve always been the kind to wonder.” She fully opened her book in her lap this time. “But just give it a rest. I promise you that you’ll see snow sometime throughout your life.”
“Oh, really? You promise?”
“Really.”
Draco stood up from his seat and walked towards his wife, placing his hand on her book, pulling it gently downward. He closed it, Hermione’s hand still caught in the middle of the book.
“I’ll have to make the most of my life until that time comes, wouldn’t I?”
He leaned foward, and after Hermione let out a delayed giggle, Draco kissed her.
~
Hermione’s hand rushed to her temple as she shook her head with doubt. These sudden flashbacks of the happier, brighter past kept coming back and she couldn’t find a way to stop them. She had suffered several losses, but no. No, not as great as her most recent one.
Stepping out of her bed, she folded her mattress sheets evenly and opened her blinds, her head turning back to face her cream colored bed. She looked at the spot beside where she usually slept.
No one had slept in that spot for many years now. She let the thought slip out of her mind as she made way to the bathroom.
Twenty-nine year old Hermione Granger looked at herself in the unusually misty mirror. Her hair had grown less bushier, her skin more fair, but her chocolate brown eyes were still the same. He used to tell her to stop whenever she ran her fingers in her bushy hair, completely displeased with its fluffy appearance. He would tell her not to worry. He would tell her that she looked beautiful the way she was. She remembered.
But she hadn’t heard that voice for a long time now.
After dressing herself in a white long sleeved shirt and gray skirt, she made her way to the door where a self-picked bouquet of flowers waited for her. She tied a lavender ribbon around the end, put on some black shoes and walked outside.
Her destination was about ten minutes away, so she walked. The sky was unexplainably white, reminding her of her promise. It still hadn’t snowed ever since. Not much people didn’t put much attention into it as she did, because she knew better than to break a promise.
She walked by the small park, which, as usual, was completely deserted. There were never any children laughing or playing on the swings ever since the day he left. The lonely swings just swayed back and forth in the soft wind, preparing themselves for any children nearby.
Then she reached a very familiar black gate only five minutes away from the park. She welcomed herself in, and crows from the distance took flight, their caws dying out once they were out of range.
Hermione walked to the very center of it all, and then turned to her right. The slab of stone still stood like it always had, and she found herself smiling at the sight of his name.
Bending over slightly, she brushed her fingers over his gravestone, like she had countless times. Placing the flowers aside it, she noticed that something was rolling down her cheek.
Tears. The familiar sensation streamed from her eyes and onto the grassy floor began to take play once again. And as much as she wanted herself to stop, she couldn’t. She could feel her shoulders trembling and wished she had worn jeans instead, for the weather was growing bitter and cold.
She just stood there for a couple of moments, her eyes racing back and forth on his name. She did not notice that the wind died down and the color of the sky became a blinding white, and something soft and fluffy piled on her head and shoulders.
Turning her head to her left shoulder, a light, white substance stuck to her fingers while other parts of it sunk through her fingers, droplets of water running down her hand.
Hermione looked up and felt some of this mysterious but familiar texture land on the tip of her suddenly rosy nose and cheeks, and she could taste some of it when it descended on top of her lips.
Without waiting, she looked back at his gravestone.
“Look, Draco. It’s snowing.”
-------end------
Was it good? Bad? Let me know. :)
Title: Deserted
Author: roannaweenie
Word Count: 876
Rating: PG
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are not mine. Let me check...nope. Still not mine.
“It’s rather odd, isn’t it?” Draco asked her as Hermione read her book from across the table. She appeared to detect the curiosity in him and folded the upper corner of her current page, book marking it.
“What is it now, Draco?” she asked, slightly bored with her husband’s persistent questions.
“When’s the last time it snowed around here in London, Hermione?”
She pondered for moment, not clearly seeing the point in his question.
“Christmas Break during our seventh year,” she answered, slightly opening her book again. “Why do you ask, Draco? Is something troubling you? You know you can always tell me.”
“Ever since we’ve lived together,” Draco pointed out. “I’ve never seen a speck of snow. It’s been five years now.”
“...Are you saying that it’s our fault there isn’t any snow?”
“No, no, absolutely not. I just find it quite peculiar.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“Five years is quite a long time.”
“Draco, dear, you’ve always been the kind to wonder.” She fully opened her book in her lap this time. “But just give it a rest. I promise you that you’ll see snow sometime throughout your life.”
“Oh, really? You promise?”
“Really.”
Draco stood up from his seat and walked towards his wife, placing his hand on her book, pulling it gently downward. He closed it, Hermione’s hand still caught in the middle of the book.
“I’ll have to make the most of my life until that time comes, wouldn’t I?”
He leaned foward, and after Hermione let out a delayed giggle, Draco kissed her.
~
Hermione’s hand rushed to her temple as she shook her head with doubt. These sudden flashbacks of the happier, brighter past kept coming back and she couldn’t find a way to stop them. She had suffered several losses, but no. No, not as great as her most recent one.
Stepping out of her bed, she folded her mattress sheets evenly and opened her blinds, her head turning back to face her cream colored bed. She looked at the spot beside where she usually slept.
No one had slept in that spot for many years now. She let the thought slip out of her mind as she made way to the bathroom.
Twenty-nine year old Hermione Granger looked at herself in the unusually misty mirror. Her hair had grown less bushier, her skin more fair, but her chocolate brown eyes were still the same. He used to tell her to stop whenever she ran her fingers in her bushy hair, completely displeased with its fluffy appearance. He would tell her not to worry. He would tell her that she looked beautiful the way she was. She remembered.
But she hadn’t heard that voice for a long time now.
After dressing herself in a white long sleeved shirt and gray skirt, she made her way to the door where a self-picked bouquet of flowers waited for her. She tied a lavender ribbon around the end, put on some black shoes and walked outside.
Her destination was about ten minutes away, so she walked. The sky was unexplainably white, reminding her of her promise. It still hadn’t snowed ever since. Not much people didn’t put much attention into it as she did, because she knew better than to break a promise.
She walked by the small park, which, as usual, was completely deserted. There were never any children laughing or playing on the swings ever since the day he left. The lonely swings just swayed back and forth in the soft wind, preparing themselves for any children nearby.
Then she reached a very familiar black gate only five minutes away from the park. She welcomed herself in, and crows from the distance took flight, their caws dying out once they were out of range.
Hermione walked to the very center of it all, and then turned to her right. The slab of stone still stood like it always had, and she found herself smiling at the sight of his name.
Bending over slightly, she brushed her fingers over his gravestone, like she had countless times. Placing the flowers aside it, she noticed that something was rolling down her cheek.
Tears. The familiar sensation streamed from her eyes and onto the grassy floor began to take play once again. And as much as she wanted herself to stop, she couldn’t. She could feel her shoulders trembling and wished she had worn jeans instead, for the weather was growing bitter and cold.
She just stood there for a couple of moments, her eyes racing back and forth on his name. She did not notice that the wind died down and the color of the sky became a blinding white, and something soft and fluffy piled on her head and shoulders.
Turning her head to her left shoulder, a light, white substance stuck to her fingers while other parts of it sunk through her fingers, droplets of water running down her hand.
Hermione looked up and felt some of this mysterious but familiar texture land on the tip of her suddenly rosy nose and cheeks, and she could taste some of it when it descended on top of her lips.
Without waiting, she looked back at his gravestone.
“Look, Draco. It’s snowing.”
-------end------
Was it good? Bad? Let me know. :)