I love him. I don't care what all say.
Nothing will change my mind, I warn you just stay away.
If you try to hurt what I have.
I swear a demon I'll arrive.
Happy, I am you see.
But if any try to hurt us evil I'll be.
Mine.
Mine. Mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her once vibrant, now dull, brown eyes looked down at the sweater in her hands. Her fingers tracing the H with
deliberate care…
Ire
She pondered as she zipped up her black dress, as she descended the stairs to join her family, and as they traveled to
the burial site. Why am I not angry about this? My brother is dead and I don't feel any anger. I don't feel
a thing.
She was even further puzzled when they reached the grave. He had already been buried and the tombstone Harry had paid for had already been erected. She felt nothing as she gazed at the name on the stone slab: Ronald Weasley.
The service began as she stood between her mother and Fred. She watched as the people around her began to sniffle, weep, and clench their jaws. She felt no stinging in her eyes to indicate tears, or tension in her face.
She looked across the grave to where Harry and Hermione were standing. She noticed that tears fell from eyes both brown and green, yet no sound escaped from either pair of lips. Still, she felt nothing.
Her gaze trailed down and she noticed as their hands moved to twine together.
Her eyes narrowed and her heart pounded. And, she finally began to feel.
Strong, stern, or fierce anger
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her heart beat heavy and fast in her chest as she made her way through the mourners who had assembled at the Burrow. The heaviness grew as she made her way outside and silently crept to the back of the house. It slowed as she stopped, partially hidden behind a bush. It flat-lined as she watched Hermione being comforted by Harry. Her lungs stopped working as she watched him lift the face of the bushy-haired girl gently by her chin and place a loving kiss upon her lips.
Her eyes narrowed; her heart began to beat again. And, feeling returned once again.
Forceful, often vindictive anger
She pondered as she zipped up her black dress, as she descended the stairs to join her family, and as they traveled to
Grimmauld Place. Why am I not upset by this? They have moved in together and I'm not upset. I don't feel a
thing.
She was even further puzzled as she mingled with the other party-goers. She watched them, carefully. She saw the way his hand rarely left the small of Hermione's back. She watched the way her fingers played with the hair where his neck and scalp met.
Her gaze trailed down. A simple emerald and diamond ring rested on the finger beside Hermione's left pinky.
Her eyes narrowed and that feeling returned.
Rage, resentment, fury, choler
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her heart beat weighty and quick as she silently made her way down the dark hall. It grew as she heard the muffled moans and sighs. It slowed as she slipped silently into the shadows of their room. It stopped as she watched their bodies move. Her lungs paused as Harry thrust into Hermione's welcoming body, her legs wrapped possessively around his rear.
Her eyes narrowed; her heart began to beat again. The feeling had never left.
Vengeance or punishment as the consequence of anger
She pondered as she zipped up her blue dress, as she descended the stairs to join her family, and as
they traveled to the church. Why don't I feel guilty? He's gone and I don't feel guilty. I feel
nothing.
She was even further puzzled as she joined Hermione in the bridal chamber. She watched as her own mother fussed over Hermione in the absences of the other girl's mother. She watched as her own father came in, he would be giving the bride away in the absence of Hermione's father.
Her bewilderment intensified as they began the march down the aisle. Hasn't anyone found him yet? Hasn't anyone noticed the groom is missing?
Her bemusement clearly showed as she faltered at the end of the aisle. Harry was standing there in dress robes with a brilliant smile on his face.
Her eyes narrowed and that feeling returned.
Deeply resentful indignation
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. MINE.
Her heart thumped intense and swift in her chest as she made her way through the celebrators who had assembled at the reception. The weight grew as she made her way outside to the gardens. It slowed as she stopped, taking deep breaths. It flat-lined and her eyes widened as pain seared through her body.
Falling to the ground she writhed and shook in agony.
The pain subsided as she lifted her head, her gaze traveling up a dress of white and stopping when they met brown eyes flashing with rage as the owner of those eyes lifted her wand.
Her puzzlement continued as Hermione said something about knowing what she had tried to do to Harry last night and what she had done to her parents months before. Her confusion lost as another torturous curse wracked her slender form.
Her blue dress began to turn red as Hermione hurled a curse she had learned in sixth year but had never used.
She heard the distinct sound of heels coming closer and closer to her prone body as it lay on the ground, surrounded by flowers, grass, and blood. She felt the tip of Hermione's wand press into her heart before she saw the brown-haired woman lean over her and whisper a curse she had never heard before.
Her eyes narrowed; her heart slowed. The feeling was gone
Wrath: Divine retribution for sin
She pondered as they placed the straightjacket around her, as she descended the stairs to see her
family in tears, and as the orderlies transported her to St. Mungo's. Why don't I feel the pain? I've
lost everything and I don't feel any pain. I feel nothing…I feel nothing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
AN: Thanks to my beta, LadyStarlight
AN2: The poem is by Melissa Killough and is called "The Wrath of a Woman in Love".
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