disclaimer: -points at the recognisable characters, settings, names, etc.-
...you know the drill people, and you know they're not mine. j.k. rowling
owns them. the plot is mine.
a/n: this is the sequel to 'a thorn-torn soul of thunder weeps for the rain'. this story would make more sense if you read that one first. :)
~
Clicking off the last light in the library, Hermione sighed somewhat tiredly. She picked up her jacket from the table near the door with a yawn, and decided that a drink was what she needed. Drowning her sorrows in jazz and liquor...a fatal combination surely, but one that could knock away the ghosts of the past for at least a few hours.
The dimly lit bar in East London had surprisingly few customers for a Friday night. But there were a few people scattered throughout the room, enveloped in a lonely half-light. They all resembled moths that had fluttered towards a distant globe, battered and worn.
//Just like me//, Hermione thought. Wearily dropping into a barstool, she ordered a gin and tonic. Then another. Being drunk meant she lost her mind to an intoxicated world of spinning strangers and strange voices. As she reached out her hand for another glass in front of her, Hermione absentmindedly noted that the bartender had blonde hair. A wave of something electric ran down her spine and then tingled through her hand to the finger with the silver dragon. Half out of her mind, she half expected the dragon to start writhing across her skin, but nothing happened. It remained solid and motionless. Shrugging listlessly to herself, Hermione downed more of the alcoholic substance in the glass, ignoring the way it burned her throat as she swallowed it.A few hours later, she stumbled out on to the dark street and barely made it to her car. But as she reached the door and drunkenly fumbled with her keys, the skies opened up and large drops of rain fell to the earth. The sudden downpour made something in her snap, like an instrument string pulled too tightly. For two years, there'd been something in the back of her mind...a splinter. An inaccessible itch that often made her dizzy with a need to get -something- out into the open. Feelings long buried, perhaps.
Kneeling on the wet cement by her car, Hermione dropped her keys and cried.
//You silly pretty thing. What kind-of-a-mess HAVE you gotten yourself into??// A sadistically gleeful voice in her head cried.
Hermione didn't fight the inner demons that cackled madly inside her. Instead, she sank back on her heels, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed quietly.
When we feel something deeper than the blackness of night, we give up on caring about what the rest of the world -thinks-, and strive to rediscover what our hearts -feel-.
~
A/N:
Short chapter, I know, but more chapters are coming. Thankyou for the amazing feedback, the continual support, and the time taken to read and review. You're all truely wonderful :c)
a/n: this is the sequel to 'a thorn-torn soul of thunder weeps for the rain'. this story would make more sense if you read that one first. :)
~
Clicking off the last light in the library, Hermione sighed somewhat tiredly. She picked up her jacket from the table near the door with a yawn, and decided that a drink was what she needed. Drowning her sorrows in jazz and liquor...a fatal combination surely, but one that could knock away the ghosts of the past for at least a few hours.
The dimly lit bar in East London had surprisingly few customers for a Friday night. But there were a few people scattered throughout the room, enveloped in a lonely half-light. They all resembled moths that had fluttered towards a distant globe, battered and worn.
//Just like me//, Hermione thought. Wearily dropping into a barstool, she ordered a gin and tonic. Then another. Being drunk meant she lost her mind to an intoxicated world of spinning strangers and strange voices. As she reached out her hand for another glass in front of her, Hermione absentmindedly noted that the bartender had blonde hair. A wave of something electric ran down her spine and then tingled through her hand to the finger with the silver dragon. Half out of her mind, she half expected the dragon to start writhing across her skin, but nothing happened. It remained solid and motionless. Shrugging listlessly to herself, Hermione downed more of the alcoholic substance in the glass, ignoring the way it burned her throat as she swallowed it.A few hours later, she stumbled out on to the dark street and barely made it to her car. But as she reached the door and drunkenly fumbled with her keys, the skies opened up and large drops of rain fell to the earth. The sudden downpour made something in her snap, like an instrument string pulled too tightly. For two years, there'd been something in the back of her mind...a splinter. An inaccessible itch that often made her dizzy with a need to get -something- out into the open. Feelings long buried, perhaps.
Kneeling on the wet cement by her car, Hermione dropped her keys and cried.
//You silly pretty thing. What kind-of-a-mess HAVE you gotten yourself into??// A sadistically gleeful voice in her head cried.
Hermione didn't fight the inner demons that cackled madly inside her. Instead, she sank back on her heels, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed quietly.
When we feel something deeper than the blackness of night, we give up on caring about what the rest of the world -thinks-, and strive to rediscover what our hearts -feel-.
~
A/N:
Short chapter, I know, but more chapters are coming. Thankyou for the amazing feedback, the continual support, and the time taken to read and review. You're all truely wonderful :c)