Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know; maybe we just wouldn't feel real - Anonymous

***

Chapter Sixty - Kill

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

PROPHET MEDIA PURCHASES WIZARDING NEWS NETWORK

Prophet Media's new venture into the realm of television comes with a buy out and merger of the existing WNN. To procure new viewership in the wizarding world, Prophet Media will surely assist with their already broad, international subscription. Rita Skeeter, Head of Prophet Media, was absolutely thrilled after negotiations with WNN's senior advisor, Jeffrey Cobb, in the movement to a brighter, more lucrative future for the new media industry. With televisions in every Muggle household, Prophet Media is hoping to reach out to those witches and wizards into subscribing to a quicker, more to-the-minute news broadcast. The Daily Prophet is by no means going anywhere with its audience increasing every day. Miss Skeeter has told the press how Prophet Media has reached to an even greater distance, showcasing in parts of Africa, South America, and even the Arctic Circle where Prophet Media had never gone before her time as Head.

"With the Wizarding News Network now part of Prophet Media," said Miss Rita Skeeter in her daily press briefing. "The future is exceptionally bright!"

In up-coming days, the Wizarding News Network's logo will change to display its affinity and workmanship with Prophet Media. Instead of "WNN", the logo will now display as a rotating "PM" in conjunction to News Network. Miss Skeeter has a host of new projects she would like to achieve and present to a greater audience! Watch out for them in the coming months!

Here at Prophet Media we are ecstatically head over heels about our venture!

Kara Roslen

Writer

Page 1

***

I raised from the sink, having splashed hot water on my face, the water from the upper parts of my features, down around my eyes, my cheeks, to my chin. Some suds from the facial wash still clung helplessly on as my focus lay on my tired reflection. At least I was up, but nevertheless, my heart still ached. I couldn't believe it-I wouldn't believe it. My warmth gone. That one person I lived to wake up to, to eat with, to travel with, to sleep with…

I dunked my head back down for another handful of hot water, splashing my face once more before shutting, turning the nozzle to hush the faucet from freely flowing.

I'd been crying. I couldn't help it. It may have been better than lying in bed, but it still hurt…and it hurt like Hell. I had chest pains, and I was terribly afraid with my heart how it was that I'd have complications even with my medication. I'd slow down whatever I was doing and dutifully observed myself with any action I'd do. It helped, however, to have something on my mind…albeit a thought I never wanted to have…ever.

I'd clothed myself, a simple tee shirt and jeans, nothing special. I had socks on to keep extra warm…that warmth being figurative, and literal. The v-neck of my shirt tee drooped low, as my shoulders did, seeing myself pick up again and witness the rather deathly "me" in the mirror. I closed my eyes, reopened them, and wished for it to go away. "It", being…

I wanted Harry to rush in, lift me up, and embrace me.

Just like he'd do when he wanted to bother me in the best way possible.

I smiled when I thought I could feel him…in his white clothes…straight from the meadow…behind me, arms locked around my waist…and his head on my shoulder, looking at me, my reflection, and smiling that…simply handsome smile.

I blinked.

And, it was all gone.

I was in a semi-lit bath, having commandeered Ginny's bedroom…which I felt bad about.

I had a…tiny argument with her from the whole ordeal, but didn't get anywhere. She insisted in her Weasley way that I'd get the bed and she'd sleep on the sofa in the living space.

And, that's where I met her, having softly stepped down the hallway, my hand every-so-often touching the wall. She heard something, me, at the very last moment and shook upward from her sprawled-out position on the sofa. The telly was on, Prophet Media now in the corner with some new news anchor this morning. Not McCrady's Corner.

"Hermione!" called out Gin when she saw me turn the corner towards the kitchen.

I stopped my progression, a hand on the wall, and I smiled in her direction. "Hey…" My speech, raspy in the beginning, spoke out rather normally now. I did have to clear my throat.

She tossed the sheets off her legs. "Did I wake you when I came in to get my slippers?"

I shook my head. "No… I just got up."

She looked between me and the kitchen. "You want something in there?"

"Water…"

"I'll get it," She shuffled from the sofa, catching her slippers by her toes on the way around. She told me to, "Come to the sofa and relax. It'll just take a second."

I just nodded and headed for the sofa, not in the mood to defy the Weasley in her.

My hand on the armrest, carefully I twisted and fell into the cushiony plush of the sofa. I sighed and ran my hands from my forehead through my hair. I was so glad to have showered… It felt good, my hair not absolutely mad, bushy… Yuck.

Outside the rain continued to pour. I don't think the weather had stopped raining. I heard lightning snap, and its twin, rolling thunder, the lamp aside me flickering a bit from the electric discharge. My eyes followed the pattern of Gin's form from the sheet I now sat on, and plucked whatever held underneath my bum from beneath me out of courtesy. If she wanted to lie back down, that is.

My eyes went to the TV and saw a devilishly bizarre, bird-like woman behind a desk. Very stale, her posture was starkly erect and very…abnormal. Long raven hair hung toward starched black business attire, her rather bright pale skin sticking out like a sore thumb.

I sickly up-turned my nose at her and swallowed hard.

She looked like a piece of work straight from the Prophet Media shelf.

Underneath the frightening woman read a strolling ticker, explaining in repeat:

MINISTRY ELECTIONS PUSHED UP TO FEBRUARY

I couldn't bear to look at the date, looking away from the TV at just the moment Gin came around with the glass of water.

"Here," she offered the cold aqua, ice cubes clinking inside. "Nice and chilled."

I grinned and retrieved it.

Gin flopped down beside me, the sofa slightly bouncing by her light weight. She crossed her legs and looked at me. "How are we feeling this morning, love?"

I couldn't answer that second, eyes closed, lips to the rim of the cup where I drank my thirst away. I set the glass down in my lap when I could, and said, "A bit better… I can feel my toes today. So, that's something."

Gin laughed. "Yes, feeling your toes is a good sign things are looking up."

She played a bit with a strand of my hair.

I coughed a little when I went for another sip. My hand to my chest, I could feel both necklaces I'd kept on: the crucifix given by my parents, and…the Hippogriff feather.

"Don't choke now…," Gin laughed a little through her nose. I felt her hand at my back, rubbing it.

I held the back of my hand over my mouth and laughed a little, too. "Just trying to make up for all those days…"

Her back-rubbing felt good, and she remained doing it even after my cough.

"Did you want anything else? Are you hungry?"

I closed my eyes, grinning some at actually feeling something other than weight on me, and shook my head in reply. "Maybe a bit later. I'm fine right now…"

"Aww…," Gin absolutely enjoyed playing with my hair. "We need to get you out of the house soon… Fresh air…"

I smiled, asking, "Where's Ron?"

Gin paused.

I felt the silence, and then heard her say, "…He's gone back to his `superior' for updates. I'm sure he…won't be gone long."

To open them again, and witness the flashing images on the television screen.

LIVE FEED brandished the bottom of the screen, whoever or whatever capturing the photos becoming extremely fidgety, the camera shaking everywhere as each shot tried to get…

NUMEROUS DEATH EATERS TO BE SENTENCED TODAY AT THE MINISTRY

The shot…the picture…him…

Xavier.

In black robes, his black robes, Death Eater robes.

He smiled into the lens, and it felt like…

…He was smiling at…

…Me.

And, only me.

"'Mi?...?" I heard Gin becoming frantic. "Hermione! What's wrong?! Why are you shaking?!"

My eyes were dead-set on the picture, that picture, of him smiling, of the wicked, murderous grin… I didn't know, but I knew…

…Him…

The lights in the apartment began to flicker on and off violently.

I couldn't feel myself anymore.

I wasn't thinking, or at least, of one thought…

…To kill.

The bulb of the lamp aside me burst, having Gin shout, yelp.

The TV's glass blew out.

A groan began to sound, the very floor of the flat trembling.

The entire building began to shake.

Gin was blown backward from the sheer energy pulsating from Hermione, unbeknown to Hermione herself, her veins having come clear to the surface, pure magicks emanating from what once was a flawless, feminine form. Her skin crawled, the feeling literal, a wind storm ripping most of what was in the room in a tornado.

I stood up, and all I could remember was hearing Ginny yelling, pinned up against the wall as hard and as difficult she tried to get to me.

She'd try to reach out, but her arm was automatically pushed back to the wall.

I didn't quite understand everything.

But, the one thing I did understand…

…I was at the Ministry, the atrium in no time, having apparated without knowing I had.

The atrium patrons, the everyday business men and women, the security, whoever happened to be in Hermione's proximity was utterly thrown back and pinned wherever they happened to land. A beat, a throb, like a heartbeat, raced inside her head, shuddering the atmosphere with shocks, and…

…the water from the Atrium's fountain gushed and flooded.

…the Atrium's famous statue of humankind and magical creature cracked…

…and every, single glass object shattered at once, raining dust like snow.

She was at the lift, without the lift, and shot down to the Ministry's underbelly…to her target, creeping evermore in her run down the hallway, blowing back a person, and another, the security batted back like flies. Even the Aurors in her vicinity hadn't a chance, pinned to the walls as well.

Each door she passed flew open, locked or unlocked.

The very tiles on the walls would begin to tear apart, peel off and drop to the floor, being picked up with the whirlwind she created behind her.

Hermione couldn't see herself, how her hair streamed in the winds, how her delicate brown eyes had gone to a terrifyingly crimson red.

Her breath exaggerated, each inhale and exhale out of proportion, as if he body was trying to compensate between mortality and immortality.

Her speed unearthly, unreal, something the Ministry had never witnessed before…even its most veteran Auror.

Blue veins crisscrossed at the apex of her flesh, in even greater detail than before, as if someone had taken a marker and coloured lines with blue ink.

Whitish sparks would release from her fingertips, the very ground breaking when her feet would scrape against its cement-like makeup.

The door ahead of her teetered on its hinges, a group of Aurors at her heels…though greatly struggling to catch the enflamed Granger.

The door to the Hearing imploded from the inside, causing a stir from the sitting witnesses, the Ministry parliament and Wizengamot. The men and women all stood from their seats, their parchment blowing in the rush of wind now entering the room. At the entrance of the rotunda stood Hermione, her eyes darting around with laser precision, to find, to seek out…

…Xavier, chained and locked in the centre of the courtroom.

When he saw her, Hermione seeing him…

…It brought great pleasure, a smirk, a sinister laugh…

…When she felt the fear within him, his face, his withdrawing body, and the gleeful sparkle in his eyes vanishing.

She could feel, see his blood churn.

She was at him, the cage, where he pleaded desperately to be saved by all those…who had been shoved to the side by Hermione's force, pinned backward. Chairs were kicked up, benches were overturned, the very tabletops being unhinged by the pressure reverberating from the…severely maddened, angry…murderous…witch.

Hermione, her hands on each of two bars, found a strength she never had.

Slowly, so extremely slowly to Xavier, he saw this tiny, lithe girl bend the bars back…her eyes wild, keeping at him, her smirk…her brilliantly evil smirk, smelling…that blood…

"Please God, no!"

Xavier screamed, his screams being drowned out by sirens filling the air.

Aurors from every corner of the Ministry had been called the Ministry High Court, many of them inside now, but unable to do much of anything.

Spells shot an array of colour throughout the room at Hermione to tame her, to restrain her, to calm her down.

The spells merely ricocheted off and hit the rotunda's walls, ceiling.

"Please! Someone help me!" Xavier, himself, tried to open the bars, too, but was scorched by the containment charm.

The bars, close they had been, were opening to a breadth Hermione could easily begin to get at Xavier, the rat now huddling himself farthest from her in the cage.

Hermione flashed a smile and swiped at Xavier, missing, and began again to bend back the metal bars.

"I was under His will! I was under His will-I swear!!"

The magicks to keep Xavier, and anyone, from getting at him had failed to do so, the power, the mastery, the ferocity of magic oozing, sparking forth from Hermione's figure, brightening the room with shocks unseen to anyone before overcoming what should have pushed her backward. In opposition, the very magicks had her eagerly licking her chops at the scared Xavier now in tears, his ego crushed back to that of a simple child, a teenage adolescent like he really was.

Her hand, her nails were claw-like.

She almost had him that time, catching his robe sleeve by her middle finger's nail and tearing the cotton, and the flesh underneath, like paper.

She grunted, yelled at how close she'd gotten, and pulled on the bars as if they were licorice.

Xavier fell to his knees, holding his bleeding wound.

With nowhere to run or hide…all he had was his prayers, knowing, down deep, that his life was about to be snuffed out.

"I'm sorry, Hermione! I'm sorry! Please! Don't kill me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!!"

His incessant, weak apologies didn't so much as faze her, but rather, made her almost giddy, happy-happy to get rid of him once and for all…

…What I should have done so long ago…

…Then maybe…he would be…

…Alive…

…Harry…

Xavier caught the intent, the gleam in her eyes…

…She reached out, the bars separated enough now to get him…

…A hand length of hers away…

…She finally felt something.

A skip.

Like a hiccup, she held herself, her hand at her chest.

Another skip…like a crushing weight set on her chest.

She winced, the weight crushing straight to her bone, the ribs, breaking them.

She screamed out, crumbling to the floor at the cage…

…To be caught by arms around her middle, an embrace, crossed arms, secure…

…Warmth…

…The pumpkin pie scent she forever knew…

She turned in her sudden pain, her nails clasping her shirt, her chest, to look directly into Harry's kind eyes.

"Love…," He whispered to her.

The world around her ripped to shreds.

He shook his head.

She stared, wide-eyed, and in tears.

"…It'll be okay."

She fell back into Harry, weightless, without breath, a heartbeat, and…

"…I've got you…"

Everything went black.

***

The Quibbler

THE COUNTRY WILL MISS ITS SUNRISE

Erin McCrady, the youngest Muggle-born news anchor on WNN at the age of 24, was found murdered in her Violet Hill flat the day after the Death Eater attacks. When asked why her death has remained confidential for more than a week now, the Desk of Defense Secretary Eaton commented, "The Ministry was taking cautious measures necessary to track down the one or those associated with the death of Missus McCrady. The fugitive has been caught and is awaiting sentencing".

Her television program, McCrady's Corner, held WNN's highest viewer rank since its introduction. Fans of Erin have sent flowers and cards to her office in hopes of giving a little something back to their early morning friend. Erin McCrady will leave behind a legacy of helping to fight cancer. She sponsored events throughout her schooling since she was 14 with the help of St. Mungo's Hospital after her mother was diagnosed with cervical cancer and later passed before her daughter's 16^th birthday.

Erin McCrady also leaves behind a newlywed husband of three months, Preston McCrady. Mister McCrady has asked the press for solitude while he and his family grieve, his attorney said.

We all are praying with the McCrady family.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

P.1

{Inspiration: `Dark Willow' after Tara dies from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She gets quite pissed, and I hoped to show that thoroughly through similar imagery via Hermione who has bottled the hefty price of deep sorrow. Hermione's a talented witch after all, and pressed to the brink of insanity…}

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