[Fic: Hermione/Barty Crouch Jnr.] To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time
Title: To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time
Character(s): Hermione/Barty Crouch Jnr.
Prompt: To the last syllable of recorded time.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 580
Summary: And she, whom I have fought against my entire life, turns out to be the one thing I think about as I leave this world.
Notes: Number 2 for the challenge at 7spells! Warning for dementor death. Thanks go to the_ladys_opal for the beta. You're an angel darlin' :o). I'm highly uncreative and couldn't think of a name for this fic, so I just went with that of the prompt.
I have no idea how she managed to get to me without the entire population of Hogwarts noticing. Everyone knew what had happened, the death of Cedric and my failure to help my Lord as I should have done. She wasn't exactly low profile - the best friend of Potter, and easily recognisable with her large, bushy hair. And yet here she is, standing in front of me. The Ministry was due to arrive at any moment to take me away, and I knew that we didn't have much time.
Even though she's only Mudblood, I'm not sure which I am more afraid of. The Ministry... or her.
She is glorious in her anger. I can tell that she wants to kill me, and it is an understandable instinct. Over the past nine months, I have made her trust me, made her believe that I am her friend. And yet all the time, I have been the one plotting her downfall, and that of all she loves.
Yes, I can understand why she is angry.
She is crying, and had her voice been but a few decibels louder, she would have been yelling at me. Although the effects of the Veritaserum have not yet passed, they have lessened, and I find myself able to resist answering her questions. Or, should I say, question. I still cannot lie - but I can keep silent.
She wants to know why. She wants to know the one thing that I cannot tell her. How do you tell a girl that the reason you hate her best friend is her? She might be just a Mudblood, but I know that she is so much more. She is brave and courageous. She is a Gryffindor. This means that she is also intensely loyal. As much as I may hate her kind, I do not hate her. Her blood condemns her to death, but her spirit demands more. I do not wish to see her broken.
We both feel the cold enter the room where I am kept at the same time. She looks at me, and I see understanding and horror in her eyes. She knows, as well as I, what is coming next. I am not afraid. Her eyes begin to mist as she asks me, one last time, why. I look straight at her, and smile.
I do not answer.
She slips out the door quickly, as she footsteps draw closer. I see her lean against the wall briefly, before she disappears beneath Potter's invisibility cloak. As the Dementor enters the room, and my memories begin to fade away, I can still feel her there, see her within my mind. Her memory is not exactly a happy one, and so the Dementor cannot take it from me immediately. I know, however, that she will slip away soon enough.
The Dementor is reaching for me now. I feel it's icy arms grip me above my elbows. Death's grip.
I focus on her, briefly, in my mind. One last time. A young Gryffindor, a young woman.
The Dementor's mouth is hovering above mine now, and I know that whatever soul I may have had is now beginning to leave me.
I find it ironic that the epitome of all I have fought against for the majority of my life is my final thought. To the last syllable of recorded time, before all that I am ceases to exist, I think of her.
Darkness.
Character(s): Hermione/Barty Crouch Jnr.
Prompt: To the last syllable of recorded time.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 580
Summary: And she, whom I have fought against my entire life, turns out to be the one thing I think about as I leave this world.
Notes: Number 2 for the challenge at 7spells! Warning for dementor death. Thanks go to the_ladys_opal for the beta. You're an angel darlin' :o). I'm highly uncreative and couldn't think of a name for this fic, so I just went with that of the prompt.
I have no idea how she managed to get to me without the entire population of Hogwarts noticing. Everyone knew what had happened, the death of Cedric and my failure to help my Lord as I should have done. She wasn't exactly low profile - the best friend of Potter, and easily recognisable with her large, bushy hair. And yet here she is, standing in front of me. The Ministry was due to arrive at any moment to take me away, and I knew that we didn't have much time.
Even though she's only Mudblood, I'm not sure which I am more afraid of. The Ministry... or her.
She is glorious in her anger. I can tell that she wants to kill me, and it is an understandable instinct. Over the past nine months, I have made her trust me, made her believe that I am her friend. And yet all the time, I have been the one plotting her downfall, and that of all she loves.
Yes, I can understand why she is angry.
She is crying, and had her voice been but a few decibels louder, she would have been yelling at me. Although the effects of the Veritaserum have not yet passed, they have lessened, and I find myself able to resist answering her questions. Or, should I say, question. I still cannot lie - but I can keep silent.
She wants to know why. She wants to know the one thing that I cannot tell her. How do you tell a girl that the reason you hate her best friend is her? She might be just a Mudblood, but I know that she is so much more. She is brave and courageous. She is a Gryffindor. This means that she is also intensely loyal. As much as I may hate her kind, I do not hate her. Her blood condemns her to death, but her spirit demands more. I do not wish to see her broken.
We both feel the cold enter the room where I am kept at the same time. She looks at me, and I see understanding and horror in her eyes. She knows, as well as I, what is coming next. I am not afraid. Her eyes begin to mist as she asks me, one last time, why. I look straight at her, and smile.
I do not answer.
She slips out the door quickly, as she footsteps draw closer. I see her lean against the wall briefly, before she disappears beneath Potter's invisibility cloak. As the Dementor enters the room, and my memories begin to fade away, I can still feel her there, see her within my mind. Her memory is not exactly a happy one, and so the Dementor cannot take it from me immediately. I know, however, that she will slip away soon enough.
The Dementor is reaching for me now. I feel it's icy arms grip me above my elbows. Death's grip.
I focus on her, briefly, in my mind. One last time. A young Gryffindor, a young woman.
The Dementor's mouth is hovering above mine now, and I know that whatever soul I may have had is now beginning to leave me.
I find it ironic that the epitome of all I have fought against for the majority of my life is my final thought. To the last syllable of recorded time, before all that I am ceases to exist, I think of her.
Darkness.