A Setting Sun

sarahmay

Rating: G
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 17/08/2007
Last Updated: 17/08/2007
Status: in_progress

Probably not the most chipper story in this competition...and unfortunately, it follows the book a bit more (the whole book...). Another one of my nameless drabbles of despair!

Chapters

1. The Wedding

1. The Wedding

Author's Note: Well, this came to me as I was riding home from the airport the other night. The sun was just beginning to set and I had this…feeling of complete despair and I never realized just how sad a sunset could be until that moment. So this is a short little blurb as my post-DH fic. I'm mourning, ya'll…so forgive the angst of it.

And as of now, this is all there is…but I have ideas if I were to do more. Let me know what you think either way…

Cheers.

-Sarah

Slowly, she made her way down the stepping stone path which led to the edge of the property. Her new plum-colored heels were clutched in one hand; a tall flute of champagne sloshed around in the other.

As she reached the end of the path, the hand with the shoes loosened its grip and they fell to the ground with a soft thud. She downed the last of her champagne and the flute joined the shoes. She turned precariously on the spot, nearly tripping over the hem of her gown in the process. She could see the tents in the distance, their crests bathed in the pink glow of the setting sun. The occasional breeze brought music and laughter swirling around her.

She turned from the party to face the horizon. The sun was beginning its final descent, the moon already becoming visible in its wake. She couldn't tear her gaze from the blinding light - and with each dip it took toward the night, she felt a part of her soul go with it.

He had, at the last moment - just as he proclaimed his vows, glanced over his bride's shoulder and into her eyes. The quiet angst vanished from his eyes as he turned to the congregation, his name being announced as theirs.

But in that moment, everything she had forced herself to believe came undone. And here she was, standing at the edge of the reception, mascara making its way in swirling rivulets down her cheeks. She swayed on the spot, wishing she had something stronger than champagne to drown out the pain. Only a small piece of the sun was visible now, although its rays were more radiant than ever.

She felt her heart break as she sunk to the ground with the last, dying gleam of sunlight.

“I do,” she whispered, succumbing to her own misery.

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