Don't think this one's been seen anywhere before...
This Nameless Cookie Is In The Federal Cookie Protection Program
Author: Quin Firefrorefiddle
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this thing and I am making no money. Scout’s honor!
“George? George, where are you? George!”
She was alone. Completely, utterly alone, in the dark, no less, and it was very cold. For that matter, a foul smell came from somewhere, descending upon her with the bitter cold wind that cut through her completely inappropriate clothing with very little trouble. Aforementioned clothing, apparently for the sole purpose of annoying her even further, seemed to be made from some sort of dingy leopard skin, the origin of which she was not inclined to think about.
Where on earth was her obviously useless fiancée? Hermione swore, once, very loudly, just on the off chance that the sheer improbability of her performing such a pointless action would bring the attention of someone (who it was she didn’t care much about at this point) to her.
It didn’t work. She swore once more, in a softer but much more expressive tone of voice, for a completely different and much baser reason.
That course of action caused her to miss the telling swish through the air of the ice ball that hit her shoulder a moment later. It gave her a very bad bruise and a small cut that oozed out a few drops of blood and then stopped. This was apparently due to a “What’s the point?” depressed state of mind on its part, which was obviously ridiculous as it didn’t have a mind, or at least she hoped not.
“What do you want from me, blood?” She yelled at the now howling wind, trudging towards wherever the ice ball had come from.
“Why yes, in fact, my dear, I do.” She tried to spin around to see him, but Wormtail already had grasp of her hair. With his silver hand, he touched the cut in her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch, and then shuddered again when he turned her to watch him taste her blood from his hand. He smiled evilly at her and she screamed.
She woke to a firm hand on each shoulder. “Hermione, love, wake up! It’s a nightmare, love! Wake up!”
“George!” She embraced him tightly, and he stroked her hair gently as she caught her breath.
“You know, love, those nightmares of yours are getting worse. Are you sure you don’t want to see someone about them?” Dear George, always so protective. She shook her head no and then buried it in his neck. She’d think about seeing someone tomorrow. She was fine for now. He was there, and he always would be.
Author: Quin Firefrorefiddle
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this thing and I am making no money. Scout’s honor!
“George? George, where are you? George!”
She was alone. Completely, utterly alone, in the dark, no less, and it was very cold. For that matter, a foul smell came from somewhere, descending upon her with the bitter cold wind that cut through her completely inappropriate clothing with very little trouble. Aforementioned clothing, apparently for the sole purpose of annoying her even further, seemed to be made from some sort of dingy leopard skin, the origin of which she was not inclined to think about.
Where on earth was her obviously useless fiancée? Hermione swore, once, very loudly, just on the off chance that the sheer improbability of her performing such a pointless action would bring the attention of someone (who it was she didn’t care much about at this point) to her.
It didn’t work. She swore once more, in a softer but much more expressive tone of voice, for a completely different and much baser reason.
That course of action caused her to miss the telling swish through the air of the ice ball that hit her shoulder a moment later. It gave her a very bad bruise and a small cut that oozed out a few drops of blood and then stopped. This was apparently due to a “What’s the point?” depressed state of mind on its part, which was obviously ridiculous as it didn’t have a mind, or at least she hoped not.
“What do you want from me, blood?” She yelled at the now howling wind, trudging towards wherever the ice ball had come from.
“Why yes, in fact, my dear, I do.” She tried to spin around to see him, but Wormtail already had grasp of her hair. With his silver hand, he touched the cut in her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch, and then shuddered again when he turned her to watch him taste her blood from his hand. He smiled evilly at her and she screamed.
She woke to a firm hand on each shoulder. “Hermione, love, wake up! It’s a nightmare, love! Wake up!”
“George!” She embraced him tightly, and he stroked her hair gently as she caught her breath.
“You know, love, those nightmares of yours are getting worse. Are you sure you don’t want to see someone about them?” Dear George, always so protective. She shook her head no and then buried it in his neck. She’d think about seeing someone tomorrow. She was fine for now. He was there, and he always would be.