Well, it's about that time to see what I've been up to for the past month and a half or so. Thanks for being patient, and even if you really weren't, thanks for making it seem like you were anyway. The entire work is finished... (see my note at the beginning of chapter iv).

On another note...plans for this story have changed drastically; I've revamped, cut, added, smashed and burned various pages of paper in the process of writing this. My muse was kind of...lost...while I was writing chapters two and three. But then it came back, and it's still here, so I'm glad. If you noticed or not, that 'four years later' segment at the end of Vertigo has been removed, but part of it is in this story. Also, if you see that something is off and/or lacking, then I can assure you it was intentional on my part. Not everything is going to be explained in this story, hence the need for a third segment.

This story is completely new-reader friendly. You don't need to read the prequel if you don't want to - 150,000 words is a lot, I understand. This story is only going to be ~70,000 words, 6 chapters, and the rating is going up to M by the time I post chapter 6. It will remain T until then. Usual warnings for language, angst, mild drama, conflicting emotions, etc. You know me, but there's nothing extreme here. Read Chauvinistic Coquette if you're craving drama.

I don't own Harry Potter, its characters, settings, etc. - they are all the sole property of J.K. Rowling. This isn't for profit. Don't sue me.

***

Scowl & Sneer

you make me sick.

because I adore you so.

literally.

Possession at its finest~

***

This story is dedicated to Fernanda, whom I care for deeply. Let my writing reflect my constant improvements of myself, for you.

i. space dementia

Sunday, October 15th, 2000; Department of Mysteries.

What did she tell you, Bellatrix…?

About Hermione.

About her thrall.

About the seeds.

“Mmm…” Fleur continued to stroke her face thoughtfully, careful to not scratch herself, however appealing it may have been to do so, “I have thought of using the Granger girl to help me along with this plan. Hermione, yes.. Lucius, what is the status of the Repository Chamber in the Sorceress Memorial?”

“I have tampered with it just enough so that it will have no effect whatsoever on you should we ever fall,” Lucius said proudly, glancing predatorily at Bellatrix as he did so. “However, you will be weakened considerably once inside... Should Delacour ever be faced with enough of an emotional upheaval even after being freed from the Chamber, you will be at risk for possible destruction..”

“Worry not about that, Lucius,” said Fleur dismissively with a wave of her hand, blowing more purple haze in front of her face, “it cannot be helped. There must be risks taken and I am not coward enough to simply neglect such an opportunity.”

“Exactly what do you have in mind for your thrall, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked earnestly.

“Ahh…yes, yes.. Fleur’s thrall… You see, she and Hermione have quite the lovely bond, with their relationship being most powerful. Despite it helping to break down Fleur’s barriers, I admit that the feelings even overwhelm me sometimes.. It is most tragic. However, I can certainly use this to our advantage and plant…seeds..”

“…’seeds’, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked, confused. Fleur chuckled and nodded, casting her eyes to the high, dark ceiling as she did.

“Yes.. yes, oh yes… I will keep that part secret. A surprise, if you will, when it works. Hermione will be an excellent back-up for us once this happens. But, again, neither of us will be without our weaknesses… Unfortunately. And yet Fleur’s thrall.. it has the power to seduce, to control, to ensnare the senses, the mind, the will… To possibly even freeze time, just as it preserves her beauty…”

Walk you zombie, walk.

Walk down these aisles.

Walk through these orbs.

Walk among these tiles.

Walk, crippled, walk.

Walk for your Delamort.

Walk because you’re dead.

“Lord Delamort..” Bellatrix continued slowly. Fleur beamed approvingly and chuckled, “you must be certain that the…the girl and her friends are on her way. She will want to defeat you and have her woman back.”

“For now,” Fleur said simply.

“For now?” Lucius drawled. “Exactly what do you have in mind for her?”

“A Kiss of Death.”

“You’re going to kill her?!” Bellatrix screeched. Fleur winced and shook her head.

“Even if so, wouldn’t you just love that, Bella..?” Fleur asked slowly. Bellatrix showed no sign of acknowledgment, and Lucius looked at her fearfully. “Hm? I asked you a question. You, my loyal follower. Or am I just talking to myself? I’ve grown tired of that over these past few months, you see. Speaking to Fleur who thought she was above me, who thought she could get away with not listening to me.”

You will listen to me.

You have only one chance.

You’re not scared.

You can’t die.

Echo, footsteps, echo echo echo the sounds of your footsteps of desire to redeem yourself.

You’re holding on.

You need to hold your ground; keep walking.

You need to keep leading the woman to her death.

Ignore her struggling, ignore her bleeding, ignore her curses at you – she can’t kill you for you are already dead.

The cousin Lucius overlooked is the ace up my ripped, feathery sleeve.

“It’s.. rather funny, really,” Fleur breathed, just audible enough to echo dangerously throughout the Atrium, “how attached I’ve grown to dear Hermione. She helped me, us.. Without her, I doubt Delamort would be speaking to you right now, holding onto your life in between her claws. It is true that love has the power to destroy me, but what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger. Hermione…she has done this for me. I owe her a great deal.

“And if it means submitting to Fleur’s stronger will of making Hermione my Queen, then so be it. I do not have complete control over this woman’s body, Bella. She is far stronger than I could have ever imagined. Hermione makes her stronger. Hermione will lead me to greatness. So, no, I do not want her killed. I wish to simply improve her. And to see you try to belittle her with your jealousy… Bella, Bella, Bella…I thought more of you..”

You pathetic woman.

Pathetic, Bellatrix – pathetic.

Jealousy lost your life.

Life lost your jealousy.

Live your lost jealousy and do this for me.

“Do not lie to Lord Delamort,” Fleur growled, finally taking the opportunity to dig her talons further without any patience for making Bellatrix suffer slowly. “You dare disrespect Hermione. You filthy woman. I amthe one with the fool-proof plan, even should I fail when Hermione arrives. You are of no use to me, doubting the woman Fleur loves. If you doubt Hermione, then you doubt me. If you are jealous of Hermione, then you are jealous of me. She and I will soon be one… Separate entities.. but still one, powerful, romantic being.”

Bellatrix’s eyes rolled to the back of her bleeding head, and Fleur shouted in disgust while she ejected the filth from her grip and immediately sent her flying into Lucius’s pathetic form. The violet was growing in power, more and more and more, and Lucius pinched Bellatrix to get her to stop her pitiful drooling. Bellatrix and Lucius both watched feebly as Fleur extended an arm out to them, making her palm face them while she moved her body about to face them in profile. Her nostrils were flared, violet eyes were narrowed still, and her fingers were curled ever so slightly.

“I know you both doubt me,” Fleur said loudly, “just as you doubt Hermione. I see it in your fear; I smell it in your doubt that I do not have complete control over Fleur. You doubt my actions, my decisions, my very being. You even doubt why I removed your Marks. Lucius, for you, it is because you disobeyed my orders. There is an entire city, a metropolis of living Veela in Diagon Alley that I’m choosing to let alone for now. Paris, Lucius. Paris! Despite the wonder that is Fleur, you failed me. And Bella, you dare insult Hermione with your wicked thoughts. I do not need followers. Hermione is all I need…”

Hermione, not you.

Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…

Hermione needn’t ever know about this. Not until the time is right.

Hermione is the one.

Hermione is the one.

Hermione is, you are not.

Hermione is under the woman’s care.

Hermione will slowly be exposed to the agency for my seeds.

And once I have returned, naïve little Hermione will suck them right in.

A powerful gust began to erupt behind the two ex-Death Eaters, blowing at them, towards Fleur, just as every bit of wind in the room did. Every single particle of sound, air, movement, light, emotion; it all gathered right at the centre of gravity that was Fleur’s powerful hand. Lucius and Bellatrix could only cower on the ground, immobilised by the anger gathering high above their heads. The sounds in the room all melded into an amethyst black hole at Fleur’s palm still pointing down at Bellatrix and Lucius; more and more did everything continue to gather at the centre, building in strength, in magnitude, in desire.

And then it all stopped. Fleur stopped gathering power. Any light in the room was gone except for the golden glow of Fleur’s skin and feathers. Any sound that remained was from the gentle flap of her single wing. Any emotion that lingered still was the violet laser from Fleur’s line of sight, burning Lucius and Bellatrix on the ground. Fleur merely smirked at them and shook her hair from her eye before speaking softly, but audibly enough for them to hear her as clear as crystal.

“Love has given this to me. Such…sweet irony. I am a Sorceress; I can control time inadvertently, I can control emotions, but I cannot control Hermione. Not now, not ever…but she will stand by my side. And, depending on what I decide, perhaps I will be able to sit here and file my nails in peace. Hermione will come.. She will. But until then…”

The slice of pained, fearful looks upon Lucius and Bellatrix’s faces and the overwhelming pounding of their heartbeats in their chests were cut short and overwhelmed by a loud vortex of emerald, two screams, and three tinkling bells of sinister laughter.

That was when I killed you.

Don’t you remember, Bellatrix? Your moment of glory…

You are an Inferi; soon she will be one, too.

Nothing lies in your way of fulfilling your duties.

You will be my follower no longer once the woman is dead.

I want her dead.

I want her immortal; freeze her beauty and blood and blonde to hypnotise Hermione. A subtle hypnotism, you pathetic woman – one to keep her loyal to Fleur. I want that hook in deep and I want it to stay.

I want her as my only follower; my only blood relative; the only one I can ever trust besides Hermione.

Drop down this pit hole; fall down, down, down in the darkness, drown in your own vertigo; drink the adrenaline and don’t you dare drop the woman. Dance in the dust of darkness and don’t you dare drop the woman. Keep dropping, dropping, dropping, drop drop drop drop drop –

Stop.

Don’t hit the ground.

Hover.

Glide up

Stand

And walk.

Walk her to the veil. Ignore the voices. Ignore the cries. Ignore the rage.

Shove her in.

Pull her out.

Let her writhe; watch the purple in her eyes as she tries to resist; watch her try. Watch the mist of her family and friends surround her, suck the life from her, make her scream and cry and agony.

Kill her. Kill her. Kill, kill, kill; surround her in the emerald of your envy.

The mist is her dead life.

Let her be.

Go inside the veil and stay there. She will summon you, and everyone else, once I have the strength to control her.

She will observe in the mean time.

--

Observations – Patient: Hermione Jean Granger, Session 1398

Tuesday, August 3rd, 2002

She still hasn’t made the decision to move out of her parents’ home and into one of her own, or at least the Burrow. Sitting here in her room, at her desk, while she is lying on her bed and staring at the darkened ceiling will never get old, but she is aging, though it seems that she’s aging far too much. She is twenty-two, I’m thirty, but it feels like she’s so much older than me in terms of where we are in life. Sure I’ve been through a lot. So has Hermione. She reminds me of Fleur now that I’m taking the time to notice, watching her behind my spectacles. Spectacles that don’t help with more than reading, might I add. Spectacles that can’t do anything but help me to see her outline more clearly and try to decipher her body language.

So long it’s been, almost, since Fleur’s been released from the Sorceress’ Memorial. She used to have at least one visitor every single day for nearly fourteen hundred days. SM referred me to Mademoiselle Granger to keep watch on her; the government knew that she’d need therapy and someone to talk to throughout the entire ordeal. Still, the ordeal is over, and my cousin is doing just fine, but I haven’t divulged any details to Hermione. She hasn’t asked me about Fleur.

She knows Fleur is staying with me. She wants to see her, I know she does. Still, she airily changes the subject whenever I offer to have them meet. She confuses me, Hermione – the woman went to SM to simply watch the blizzard for a room that Fleur was in, every day, for four years straight. She brought gifts, she spoke quietly to her. She kept her promise of waiting for her. So now that no more waiting needs to be done, she’s biding her time. Stalling; I understand why. Still, I just wish she wouldn’t.

She is stubborn, Hermione. Stubborn, sensitive, slightly senile, struggling with herself, still somehow sensible, short-tempered, spent… She still loves Fleur – this much I’m certain of. She and I have discussed Fleur, her feelings her uncensored fantasies her desires her longings passions wants needs. She keeps saying that she needs to apologise once more to Fleur. Sorry is a hard word for Hermione to even say casually, as are the following words – flower, rain, run, kiss, breathe, Hogwarts, Slytherin…

Still, Voldemort is a name that she says vehemently. She has a backbone now. She still has her pride. She still has her bravado. She’s grown so much. Still, four years is a long time. So long for someone with a broken heart to keep on living, though I know she’s tried to see Fleur through me because we look so much alike. She’s said that though Fleur and I look like twins, almost, I don’t share her eyes. Shared eyes are between Hermione and myself. Some funny coincidence, really. She’d laughed and said that maybe if she and Fleur ever had a daughter, that she’d look like me.

She still laughs and smiles with me; she’s comfortable with me. She trusts me. She’s said many times that I’m more of a best friend than just her Therapist. She thinks that everyone else has moved on with their lives and don’t have room to understand why she feels so stagnant, though she is getting on just fine. Surplus isn’t coming in for her because she quit her previous job a month ago. She lost her nerve the closer and closer it came for the time for Fleur to be released. So now she just lies in bed and I sit here, at ‘work’, while Fleur is at our home, presumably reading. Sometimes she’ll lie there dejectedly, other times proudly, sometimes tiredly while she lulls herself to sleep by pining over Fleur or from me soothing her, telling her that Fleur will still be around once she’s ready to see her.

Still, I wonder about Hermione. She’ll see Fleur once she’s ready. Sometimes I wish I could help more, but she does loosen up considerably whenever I take her out for a few drinks in Paris with the others. Sometimes I wish I could play Cupid for them, but that’s not my job. She’ll muster up the courage on her own. So, until then, all I can do is sit here and let her gaze at me like I’m my cousin, though I know I’m not.

Such a shame…

-Chanel Valentine Delacour.

****

Darkness…bone-chilling rain…and a castle… A castle which embodied the quintessence of aged grandeur; but a mere dark silhouette against the steel-coloured clouds, only lighting when Nature allowed – a bolt of lightning… The darkness howled with the boom of thunder soon after, but it paled in comparison to the might of one that stood within the castle’s barriers.

Rivulets of Misunderstandings and Ignorance beat a powerful cadence upon the walls of stone, the frozen glass, and it all played a stark affair for all to see atop the Enchanted ceiling of the Hall housing so many minds – old and young alike. The flickering candle lights floating overhead hovered over the faces of minds innocent, tainted, marred and bare – a powerful contrast.

Even with trees threatening to fall outside, with life drowning from the torrents of Nature and a biting wind pounding the fortified walls silly, one woman stood strong against it all underneath the Enchantment of the beautiful sight just outside. Long robes, dark enough to rival the colour of the desolate storm outside billowed at her heeled feet. The woman stood tallest among her peers as she led them at the fore down the centre of the aisle, right behind the Deputy Headmistress with her poised, authoritative stride.

But this student - elegant, assured, powerful, and cynical she walked – her stride embellished her confidence and a very wild twinge of a natural sex appeal; a twinge because of the sickening stares she received. Received, and was all too automatic to ignore now. Her mind was worn but at the ready – ever eager to learn more. Eager to prove everyone wrong... Eager for revenge, to snatch her chance at life, and to forget…

All eyes in the Great Hall were upon her. All mouths were ajar, hoping desperately to chew away at any bits of her they could get. Natural allure exuded from her, bouncing from her like her shimmering blonde silk against the back of her ostentatiously priced black robes. The woman didn’t bother with any ridiculous hats of black, unlike most of her foolish-looking peers. She will not subject herself to such shows of recluse. Only the best, but not for materialistic purposes... But everyone already thinks her so vain; so vain just because of the sheer, pure beauty pumping through her veins, keeping her stride going.

The eyes upon her and the sweet fascination overhead kept a smile from her face. Her face was too hard and soft to read – a stern, passive expression resided upon her pale flesh. Eyes of an effervescent blue hue dropped to a colour far below freezing point when she willed them to, namely now. Now that the walk has ended, and she no longer has an excuse to focus on her walk…

This was supposed to be ‘F.l.e.u.r D.e.l.a.c.o.u.r’ – the part-Veela.

“Are you into boys, Fleur…?”

“What?”

“Do you fancy boys…?”

“Fancy?” Fleur was baffled. Pansy smirked slightly and shook her head; her friend still had some degree of innocence, and it was extremely endearing.

“Have you ever felt strongly for a boy before?”

“No… Do you mean love?”

“Well, yeah.”

“No.”

“How about for a girl?”

“No.”

“For…Granger?”

“…no.”

“Really…?”

“Maybe…”

“Fleur…now try answering the question. I won’t get anal.”

“Fine… She… I mean, I told her everything and the first thing she did was hold me. She’s perfectly comfortable being like that with me. She really trusts me… She’s kind-hearted…something I haven’t known in years… And she’s so…so b--… b…”

“…beautiful.”

“…yes. I’ve been faking my hallucinations all this time, just to get close to her and tell her things that I couldn’t bear telling her if she knew it was really me saying it… Pansy, I can’t keep doing this… This vertigo or her keeps making me light-headed all the time I’ve been blushing around her I can’t keep track of what I’ve said under hallucinations or non-hallucination I don’t know what’s happening to me or why I couldn’t stop it and I feel like an idiot and I don’t know what to do about this what I feel and I don’t even know what it is it’s all so new and—“

This was also rueful Fleur who needed Hermione to aleeV her.

Identity seemed to revolve around one for her.

Hermione…

To love the one who gives her meaning, breathing and living was immensely, wholly incredible and incomparable to anything else. And yet the world just had to intervene and rip that security away from her.

That was the source of her true fury, her confusion and absolute Pandemonium– not the manufactured one from the demented soul inside of her.

****

July 1998; Repository Chamber, Sorceress Memorial.

Hermione. Where is Hermione? Have I protected Hermione? Is she safe? Is she protected? I have to rely on scraps of hope that she’s taken care of… Faint hues of effervescence, mild memories and a heart re-born for her… I can’t do anything but…pray. Pray? Me? Praying… I can actually think clearly for the first time… My mind isn’t coloured purple anymore. I can see the shades of brown and red and cream but I can’t taste them.

I can’t taste you. I can’t hear you. I can’t touch you. But I can see you… I almost feel as if the part of me that I’ve lost, the part of me that you love, is watching you. Watching you… Like I always have.

I always watched but could never get too close. Because of fear, because of obliviousness, because of…time barriers. Locked away, secret memories…tender feelings no one could ever know… Memories of longing, memories of feeling hurt by your scowl… I’d sneer or just not react at all to your non-verbal abuse, but I wonder sometimes… Hermione, I wonder if all along we were just duelling. You would always make the first move and I would never be provoked to react verbally.

I’m sorry. I lost control when I shouldn’t have and made myself vulnerable to him. But you were just so inviting…you didn’t even have to say a word. I couldn’t understand my odd craving to make sure you were protected that night. How many years has it been now…? I don’t even know how long I’ve been in here… Will I be out today? Tomorrow? The next day? Day…

How are your days, Hermione? I can see them but at the same time I can’t. The transmission is muddled… it’s frustrating me to no end, or at least it is in theory. I’ve stopped feeling. The only thing I can feel is this ever-burning fire, warming me enough to keep me alive but burning my insides all at the same time – I burn for you, I freeze as I wait and melt when my patience is ripped to shreds. I’ve ripped your heart in ten thousand, haven’t I? Just tell me if I have…

--

November 1999

What…

What…?

What is it…?

Fleur was alone in her room that night; Madam Pomfrey had left just moments ago after coming in to check on her. To her own surprise, she was standing at her bedside after taking a bit to walk around. The pain in her head was gone, but she felt dizzy and weak instead of searing pain now that she was up. Her pride refused to let her believe that she was incapable of walking without Hermione’s help in a few days’ time. Now she was looking at her bed, her eyes cold and the imaginary vapour swirling in her narrowed lids. She was surprised at what she was able to do in merely ten or so minutes after the nurse left.

Her chest was heaving up and down while she observed her ripped sheets and duvet. Her nails were tingling painfully while she remembered nearly ripping them clear off her fingers when she picked up various books and threw them at her mirrors her posters the ceiling and the floor. Her normally pristine hair was tousled and irritated; her very blood was irritated and near the point of explosion within her very veins.

Everything in her room was either ripped or broken; a very fitting state of her own mind and body and everything. Everything but her heart was that way and she hated how warm and tingly it was even with her completely angry at everything. Everything was nonsensical; nothing was right, everything was left and she hated what was left around her and she hated everything. Everything kept reminding her of Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione Hermione HermioneHermioneHermioneHERMIONE; EVERYTHING WAS HERMIONE!

Her claws reached down and grabbed the duvet, nearly shredding it to pieces when she sent it flying from her clutches and over to the books, glass, and parchment covered floor some feet away. Her body told her to collapse on her bed, her face buried deep in her still in-tact pillow while she rolled and thrashed around, tangling her weak and still somehow adrenaline-filled body in her half-ripped sheets. For the first time in years, she wanted nothing more than to cry in someone else’s arms even if she hated the person for making her feel this way.

And cry she did while she shouted and snarled and gasped sharply for air, feeling too violated. Fleur felt violated that Hermione had spun her so out of control; the euphoria only lasted so long before she realised that she didn’t want anything to come out of the stupid crush she had. But even then, her deep, sick, twisted curiosity always got the better of her, even if just for a moment, and made her fantasise and daydream and pine and moan because a quarter of her knew that this very feeling was her very being.

The snaps and shifts of her personality and wants and needs made her do this, and she was tired of needing to clutch on to her feelings and keep them in control. Controlling her feelings was getting old, one part of her soul said. But the darkest part of her soul unfolded and made her feel such a high and a wonderful feely feel about Hermione that she damn near wanted to explode every time. It wasn’t just a crush or a phase or a twinge…

What else could she do other than think about Hermione while she could only be stuck to the confines of her room? She lay on her back and smashed the bed beneath her with her fists, wary of digging her fingernails too deep in her palms but not caring anyway. Over and over she kept smashing her beaten bed, sick of the prison she was in and sick of how easily she could be pushed over the edge. All she could do in her room was think and think and think about Hermione; her first everything. No one and nothing could ever compare to her and Fleur knew it. But the insanity was absolutely horrible and mind-boggling and self-deprecating that she just wanted to shout her feelings to the world in hopes of making it all go away.

Her blood pressure was rising at an alarming rate and breathing was very difficult to come by. The tears had slowed down somewhat, but she knew that she couldn’t stop whatever it was she was going through.

There was no chance at escape. Hermione got what she wanted in every way possible. Hermione won. Fleur lost. The game was over and Fleur could only hang her head in defeat while she either tried to hide her overpowering feelings or make Hermione drink her own venom somehow. But since when did she buy into the idea of this all being a game? Didn’t she like Hermione so because the girl was so kind and gentle and understanding?!

A façade? A falsity? A lie? A scheme! No one could click so easily… But Fleur did. She was right then. She’d calmed down and was catching her breath, damn near smiling because of how wonderful she believed Hermione to be.

“So beautiful… So beautiful… Hermione, you’re so beautiful… I can’t…just sit here and look… I need to…taste…feel…own…conquer…”

And then… Fleur began to giggle. She rolled over and buried her tear-stained face in her sheets, laughing to the darkness and ignoring how idiotic she felt for being yanked and ripped about so easily from the mere panorama of Hermione.

What was even better was that her friends didn’t understand at all. Draco was positively disgusted, Pansy finally showed her true colours and expressed her disapproval, Blaise merely made a face, and the others were silently grossed out in their own ways. It was perfect! Everyone approved of her feelings for Hermione except for Fleur and Hermione themselves! Friends…friends?!

She didn’t have any friends anymore and she never did – the only one who could ever understand her was Hermione. This tiny detail brought a cataract of more understanding and justification for her feelings, but she was confused as to why she couldn’t deny how much she genuinely may have needed Hermione in her life.

The giggles soon turned into shouting and more thrashing, her thundering heartbeats began to nearly rape her chest, and yet she knew that every other heartbeat was saccharinely sweet and warm for Hermione. It didn’t make any sense…

I don’t hate her… I don’t hate Draco or Pansy or anyone… Especially not Hermione…

No…I’m not telling myself I don’t hate them just to prove you wrong… I have friends…I have a family… I have Hermione…

Stop trying to control me…

--

September 2000

Mirages in the blizzard; I can see you now that the Chamber is helping me suppress him, but that gluttonous part of me refuses to ever really leave… I can see you there, smiling, just under the blue gate that I’m crossing… Smiling because I’m pure again, because I’m back to the one and only one you love and because I’m free and happy. I’m seeing through the very vast, frozen expanse that’s been what I’ve called eyes since I was nine. I’ve always had such a cold gaze; an arctic one that still somehow managed to burn you with rage, or jealousy, or love every time I looked at you.

I’m not supposed to be weak, but it is weakness in and of itself that I’m in here – I lost control. How am I supposed to get it back? By staying in here, doing nothing and everything all at the same time while I think and think and think and think and think about you? You, Gabrielle, our family, our friends, my life, your life… I feel like I’ve seen your life all before. Protecting you is completely natural. If I’m strong enough to protect you, it makes me feel like I can do anything; absolutely anything I set my mind to. I can’t get out of here because I need to rid myself of half of who I used to be.

But even if he never left me, you would still love me. I know you would. You would follow me across the universe and back and over and around again if it meant stopping somewhere in between and being able to share your love with me. I know you would…because I would do the same, and then some. What if I get out and nothing changes? What if I’m free again and yet I can’t even remember what I do for hours on end, only to ‘wake up’ and find that you’re angry with me? The first time you woke me up like that was healthy for our relationship, and yet…

And yet I don’t want it to happen again. One of the things I’m afraid of is making you angry. If I ever make you angry again…I won’t know what to do. It’s going to end up happening, I know it will, but I still can’t say that I’ll be prepared for it. Maybe you’re angry now because I was obviously angry with you that day... It wasn’t me that hated you, though… I don’t know. That doesn’t even deserve to be an excuse.

But shouldn’t I hate you? I should hate you for being so selfless and kind and innocent. Well…almost innocent. I can’t even think of any half-baked reasons for hating you. Even your faults are something that I admire, just because they’re a part of you. They’re hidden and interwoven so intricately with you, with what I love of you, all of you, and I couldn’t pick them out with such vague, empty entities such as words even if I tried. Thinking for so long in between dreamless sleep is wonderful, but…speaking… I haven’t tried it, and I’m afraid to.

I feel demented and uninhibited and absolutely insane at the moment, all the time, never, today, yesterday, last year, the next century – where are my thoughts going and why am I letting them stray so simply? I have some need to fulfil, involving you, and yet I don’t know what it is, I can’t pin it down with words, and yet it’s there. It’s there it’s there and I can see it so clearly despite this purple haze. My thrall is still permeating the sanctity of this Chamber; I feel it and I feel you, and yet I’m too afraid to open my eyes and see anything. Even if I keep my eyes closed, all I see is you. I see you in between this universe that is my stark, starless gaze that I wish I could make into reality. But what does that even mean…?

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Preview for the next chapter

Existence. The entire scope of existence is questioning the truth of the being that you love. And yet this same being has been tampered with and violated and maimed and possessed to death and cold and back – but you still want her. You’re suffering with the very being of your lonely existence, you’re miserable, you’re tired of being without me… But none of this would have happened if…if…

None of this would have happened if nothing could happen except for us. If we were the only ones who existed, if we were the only ones who were alive enough to give the world an expression of our apathy, then you wouldn’t be angry… If I had all the time in eternity and beyond to make up for this, to make up for who it is you love or don’t love, and to protect you one last time, for the rest of endless time, then I would do it far past the best of my abilities… I can’t go back in time and prevent this from happening, but I can make up for it…

You deserve…so much from me, Hermione. I do still hate everyone and everything but you. I do still hate everyone else who gets to smile while we can only scowl and sneer to the blizzard before us. I hate everyone who’s moved on with their lives and forgotten about us and the bane of our existence. I hate that I don’t know who I am and that I’ve lost myself so much that I keep having to question my existence. I aspire to you, but you already are – you deserve such praise for that. Such praise for already being, already living, and still becoming a self… and yet you’re suffering along the way because I’m not there with you.

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So...how do you feel in regards to Fleur's issues? Hermione, even? Was that even Fleur talking? And yes...Chanel's dead. Cough, cough - I was saving that initial part for later, originally, but I decided to just get it out of the way. It explains her S thing going on. Why is she dead, you ask? You'll see, but not any time soon. Review please and let me know what you think. I promise to reply if it's signed!