Disclaimer: I dont own the Harry Potter universe or make a profit off of this.

Thank you to my beta. As always and I can never say it enough.

I got an inspiration for this and wrote it under an hour. I checked with my beta so any spelling mistakes here are intentional on my part. This is a one shot, no further chapters after this.

This may be difficult to read, but it is not purposeless. The nonsensical here actually has meaning. I have made some changes to clarify certain aspects of the story, meddle with grammer and have taken down the author reference for personal reasons.

I'll try and explain a bit at the end in an author's note without going into too much detail. This is surrealist.

Btw, WARNING: Disturbing imagery and dialogue, character death.


Do you know what I know?

She doesn't care but oh how you love her. You want her, you need her, your beloved, your SOUL MALE. Soul mate? What? No, nevermind.

Gawd how I miss her, her lovely tits, her beautiful ass and her supple thighs. Fuck her all you want nothing will come of it. Burn for her, yearn, beg and crawl it means NOTHING. You touch her, fingers subtle, exploring and knowing, your instincts in full force. She squirms, confused and wanting some more. But nothing comes of it. No one comes.

Gorgeous blonde hair, blue fucking eyes. Just blue. Not cobalt, not sapphire no shiny shit. Just pretty blue. People are too stupid. Veela are too stupid. Everything is stupid. But you are pretty too! Fuckable Delacunt.

It hurts, it hurts and it hurts so much and it hurts so good now. That's all you feel, that's all you want to feel... He fucks her too you know and by the gods she comes for him doesn't she? You saw, oh you did see with your pretty blue eyes. His cock ramming into her and she loved it so and all you could do was think: SOUL MALE. But no, soul mate. Stupid, so stupid.

But it was all so funny wasn't it? Hilarious irony, magnificent joke.

Effervescent.

Salt, you're covered in salt, you're drowning in it. Drowning and dry mouthed. And your eyes are swollen shut and thick and slimy. Mummified by cruelty.

A rose by any other name... how many names for brown? Amber, auburn, bay, bronze, burnt sienna, chestnut, chocolate, cinnamon, cocoa, coffee, copper, drab, ecru, fawn, ginger, hazel, henna, khaki, mahogany, nut, ochre, puce, russet, rust, sepia, sorrel, tan, tawny, terra-cotta, toast, umber... Brown like her hair, brown like her eyes, brown is the colour. Colour of shit. Healthy shit. The kind of solid shit that comes from your consistent daily fibre intake.

Laugh.

It's all so very funny. The gods are laughing at me, oh how they laugh and you must join them! It's fucking! fantastically! furiously!... amusing. Chuckle with me now. No? I'm still not making you laugh? Not even a smile? Where is the love?

Llllllllllllllllove. Love love love love love love love. La la la la la la. You need to die Flar. You need to die Flap. Then you could see her in the afterlife. That's what soul mates do you know? They meet each other in the afterlife. I tell you what, together; we can plot her demise from the heavens. Laughing maniacally with the gods and twisting our hands in eagerness like some evil villainess from a stupid children's story. That way she can meet you earlier. Perhaps Ronald could choke her to death on his cum? She probably swallows, that useless slut.

The author is raping you, the readers watch, voyeurs jacking off to your pain. Ahhh but you could always make the masses cum couldn't you? Biggest slut of them all. Where is a gentle hand, where is a loving gaze? Where is the artist to paint you in many colours? To gave you shades and depth? No no no. This is incorrect. You are a gaping cunt meant to be fucked over and over again till you sag and wither away. Wither, shiver, vomit.

And the gods laugh.

Hermione, oh gods, Hermione I love you. Gods? God. Lord almighty. Goddess?

Who are you?

"Who wants to know?"

"I do."

"And you are?"

"Psst, she's in bed with you. Right now."

"Right now?"

"Yes... look to your right."

Fleur tentatively twisted on the bed, glancing over at the body that lay next to her.

"Why are her pupils gone?"

"..."

"Hello?"

"Fuck off."

White, unseeing eyes stood out from Hermione's sockets, bulging to the point of falling out. Naked Hermione, lying comfortably beside the Veela with a faint smile on her face. All her svelte curves and slopes so beautiful... Fleur reached out to touch her cheek; her fingers sank into liquid flesh. Like toothpaste. Fleur's mouth parted open slightly, surprised, she dug her fingers in deeper, passing through the cheek and poking rotten teeth. A tongue flicked out to lick her finger.

Eyes are windows to the soul. SOLE MALE.

"That was disgusting."

And then, Hermione was gone.

Shhh. Not yet, this has only been 696 words.

Do you know what I know?

I know you're a reject. RE-ject.

I hope it hurts her. I hope it hurts her to see me like this.

But I love her; she is my everything, why can't I see anything anymore? Why are there so many words all the time?

Are you awake now?

She doesn't want you. Don't you find it funny?

She makes you cum, bleed, puke and rot. What a rush.

Does it make you laugh yet? Laugh with me.

Laugh with me.

Laughing with me.

Open your mouth wide, take in a big breath, laugh with me.

Laugh with me reader, laugh with me. Dance with me my love, hold me tight. I need to be tied down, I need stability. I can sing for you, song of death and lunacy.

Laugh with me.

Please. Laugh with me.

*****

Apolline stared. Her mother had always told her it was rude to stare; all people were rude, because all people stared at the Veela. She had always argued that it was impossible for people not to stare at Veela. Her mother smiled and told her that people with real manners would do the impossible, politely keeping their eyes to themselves. At the time she didn't understand, but later she realized her mother meant the Veela Soul Mate.

It was romantic. It was cliché. A Veela would know her mate because they are the only people capable of facing the thrall and feeling nothing. They were meant for one another. Intimacy as no human could ever truly know. A Veela and her mate. Fleur Delacour and Hermione Granger. No exceptions, no substitutions, no half assed attempts. A Veela offered and gave everything; her mate could deny or claim her. To claim her was celebration, ecstasy and a connection that lasts through eternity. To deny...

Apolline looked to the man in dark robes, his face cloaked. They had snuck into the hospital quite easily. She knew her daughter wouldn't approve of her hiring a former Death Eater, but her daughter was no longer there. All that was left was a half transformed, almost mutilated, Veela strapped to a bed. A few deadened strands of grey hair on that balding head and glassy blank eyes. She was thin. And ugly. And dead. A broken mind. But... she was grinning, slightly. A bit disconcerting. But Apolline hoped that whatever made that living corpse smile pleased it.

The cloaked man shifted but she couldn't leave yet. She leaned down and pressed her lips to that hollow form. The kiss of death, kiss of mercy.

She left the room, the walls briefly flickered emerald.


A/N: Ok if you've made the effort to read this I have written the next few paragraphs to help (a little) make some sense if it truly seems utterly nonsensical to you.

This is a twisted version of the Veela soul bond story that is quite popular with the Fleur/Hermione pairing. This doesnt mean I dont like the plot, but I wanted to make this as morbid as possible to subvert the typically optimistic and lovey version we usually get lol It's a cosmic joke here, Hermione is her soul mate but its horribly wrong. She is straight, totally straight. I tried to hint this throughout the story, she is in love with Ron and although she tried being with Fleur it just didnt work. Fleur's love is poisoned by suffering and insanity. I call this: death of a possibility, because there was a possible bond between them, it would have been fantastic, read any other version of this plot and you will be overjoyed, but this possibility died.

The narrator can be anyone and anything really... me? Fleur? Third party? I wrote it from the perspective of insanity, the italics come and go but there is method to everything I have written. I wont give too much of my own interpretation away because I want you all to have fun figuring it out however you like. I break the fourth wall quite a few times. The author is raping her? Is that Apatija? Bad writers? God? Herself? Who are the readers?

I wanted to show how pain and loss can disfigure love. I do this by making Fleur almost hate Hermione and by literally disfiguring her. Her own mother doesnt think she's really alive anymore. I'll leave the rest to you (and believe me there is much to this one lol) Oh and if you do a word count and DONT highlight the disclaimer and beginning authors note, the words do add up to 696 words.

Please drop me a review, any probing questions or comments will happily be addressed (if you're anonymous I will try addressing you in my latest chapter in the other stories I have). I dont bite, unless it gets me reviews... then just say where ;)