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teddy_radiatorDay 4
In your own space, create a fanwork. Make a drabble, a ficlet, a podfic, or an icon, art or meta or a rec list. Create something.
Now, mind you, this is the beginning of a larger fic, and the first 500 words at that, but since it didn't say it had to be complete, I'm going to go with this for the challenge:
We Become The Lie We Tell Ourselves
Hermione Weasley opened her eyes, and stared up at the dingy ceiling. It was easy to contemplate life in this position, so she hastily rolled out of bed and made her sluggish way to the loo. Life was dreary enough without throwing contemplation into the mix, she thought.
The bathroom mirror showed a woman tumbling headlong into her thirties with a vengeance, so she looked away from it as well. She no longer bothered to watch herself anymore. Simple tasks like brushing her teeth or combing her hair were automatic; she didn’t have to watch herself do them, did she?
She had been doing this a lot lately, she realised – avoiding both the mirror and her own thoughts.
Hermione gave her mouth a final rinse, dressed herself, and went downstairs. Ron was already gone; his almost-empty coffee cup and crumb-scattered plate sat on the drainboard, waiting for her to come down and wash up. Dully, she made herself a cup of tea and a slice of toast, not because she was particularly hungry, but because it was habit. As she slathered the butter over the dry bread, the scrape of the knife irritated her, and she put it down beside her plate and chewed.
When breakfast was done, Hermione looked around her more-or-less clean house, her functional-but-drab clothes, and her comfortable-but-stagnant life, and thought, where is the brightest witch of our age?
Where was the sharp, snappy girl who had helped the saviour of the Wizarding world? Where was the bossy little madam who had blazed her way through double classes with all the energy of a dozen witches and achieved the most Outstanding N.E.W.T. scores in Hogwarts’ history?
Who was this dull-eyed, bored, uninteresting housewife with two miscarriages and a year’s worth of marriage guidance counseling under her belt?
After the war, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to marry Ron. They loved one another; Hermione was almost sure they still did. And she had wanted to make him happy. If her reasons had not been wholly unselfish, she had kept them to herself. Her parents, her only living relatives, were in Australia, living happy lives with no knowledge of her. Fine; she would make her own life here.
She should have been more assertive, Hermione knew that now. She should have put her foot down when Molly cautioned her to take those ‘first few, important years of marriage’ and become a full-time homemaker and mother. She should have hexed his bollocks off the first time she caught Ron in a clinch with that perky little witch with the big eyes and big boobs, but once again, Molly urged her to ‘find out how she could ensure this never happen again’.
She should have remembered who Hermione Granger was, instead of who Molly Weasley was telling her to be.
Hermione walked into the bathroom, and switched on the light. She stared at herself in the mirror until she saw Hermione Granger again.
Then she packed a bag, left Ron a note, and moved out.
In your own space, create a fanwork. Make a drabble, a ficlet, a podfic, or an icon, art or meta or a rec list. Create something.
Now, mind you, this is the beginning of a larger fic, and the first 500 words at that, but since it didn't say it had to be complete, I'm going to go with this for the challenge:
We Become The Lie We Tell Ourselves
Hermione Weasley opened her eyes, and stared up at the dingy ceiling. It was easy to contemplate life in this position, so she hastily rolled out of bed and made her sluggish way to the loo. Life was dreary enough without throwing contemplation into the mix, she thought.
The bathroom mirror showed a woman tumbling headlong into her thirties with a vengeance, so she looked away from it as well. She no longer bothered to watch herself anymore. Simple tasks like brushing her teeth or combing her hair were automatic; she didn’t have to watch herself do them, did she?
She had been doing this a lot lately, she realised – avoiding both the mirror and her own thoughts.
Hermione gave her mouth a final rinse, dressed herself, and went downstairs. Ron was already gone; his almost-empty coffee cup and crumb-scattered plate sat on the drainboard, waiting for her to come down and wash up. Dully, she made herself a cup of tea and a slice of toast, not because she was particularly hungry, but because it was habit. As she slathered the butter over the dry bread, the scrape of the knife irritated her, and she put it down beside her plate and chewed.
When breakfast was done, Hermione looked around her more-or-less clean house, her functional-but-drab clothes, and her comfortable-but-stagnant life, and thought, where is the brightest witch of our age?
Where was the sharp, snappy girl who had helped the saviour of the Wizarding world? Where was the bossy little madam who had blazed her way through double classes with all the energy of a dozen witches and achieved the most Outstanding N.E.W.T. scores in Hogwarts’ history?
Who was this dull-eyed, bored, uninteresting housewife with two miscarriages and a year’s worth of marriage guidance counseling under her belt?
After the war, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to marry Ron. They loved one another; Hermione was almost sure they still did. And she had wanted to make him happy. If her reasons had not been wholly unselfish, she had kept them to herself. Her parents, her only living relatives, were in Australia, living happy lives with no knowledge of her. Fine; she would make her own life here.
She should have been more assertive, Hermione knew that now. She should have put her foot down when Molly cautioned her to take those ‘first few, important years of marriage’ and become a full-time homemaker and mother. She should have hexed his bollocks off the first time she caught Ron in a clinch with that perky little witch with the big eyes and big boobs, but once again, Molly urged her to ‘find out how she could ensure this never happen again’.
She should have remembered who Hermione Granger was, instead of who Molly Weasley was telling her to be.
Hermione walked into the bathroom, and switched on the light. She stared at herself in the mirror until she saw Hermione Granger again.
Then she packed a bag, left Ron a note, and moved out.
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Date: 2016-01-05 03:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 03:57 am (UTC)Lovely writing!
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Date: 2016-01-05 04:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 04:32 am (UTC)Great stuff, lady!
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Date: 2016-01-05 04:59 am (UTC)Oh, Hermione! I feel so much for her.
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Date: 2016-01-05 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 11:33 am (UTC)FedUp!Hermione needs to find her way out there.
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Date: 2016-01-05 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 10:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-06 01:34 am (UTC)