Originally Posted by 3uzz3ee

Originally Posted by Anthony Devon

Thanks ... I will admit that my favorite part about writing Hermione/Killian's story was trying to weave it into canon without changing anything in the books, and making it seem plausible at the same time. I don't know why, but it made the writing that much more enjoyable for me

Originally Posted by Anthony Devon

“I’m going to marry her, you know.” Killian grinned, knowing how it would disgust his Professor, something he took a bit of joy in doing.

“How wonderful for you.” Snape sighed, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes. “I think I may vomit.”

“You will be invited, of course,” Killian went on.

“Allow me to send my condolences in advance,” Snape returned, narrowing his eyes at his gifted apprentice.

* * * * *

Several days had passed since the attack. How many, exactly, Killian was not entirely sure. Burying one’s family had a tendency to make time seem obsolete. When Killian and Kuulic had returned to the manor, it was utterly devastated. Searching through the areas that were still standing, Killian found the bodies of his mother, his father, his sister. As he went on, the numbers grew. Thomas, his clever little ferret, crushed under a pile of burning rubble. Seti, Anubis, all of the servants and House Elves … Tanzar and his brood spared no one.
There she was. Hermione. He fought back every effort to run to her.

* * * * *

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes beaming. She raced up the stairs and embraced him. But Killian fought any urge to reciprocate. He needed to distance himself. He could not hurt her. Hermione, on the other hand, could not understand his reasoning. She argued with him, pleaded with him, and then, when all else failed, threatened him. He could see it. This was not the way it way supposed to be. This was not how they had planned it. Everything was falling apart, destroying her, destroying him.

As he looked upon Hermione as she stood before him, her wand drawn, her eyes welling with tears, a memory flooded back. He could fight it no longer. She kissed him, and he was filled with a passion that he feared had left him forever. Amidst the death and destruction that surrounded them, Killian and Hermione found each other that night.

Just before morning, Killian left his bed with Hermione still deep in slumber. He made his way to the foyer and put on his father’s overcoat. He then took his father’s shillelagh and carefully unscrewed the silver orb. His father’s wand was still inside, although bashed and splintered. He removed the damaged wand and replaced it with his own, fastening the silver orb back in its place.

With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the letter he had sent to Hermione. He headed back to the bedroom and stood at the threshold, staring at his Gryffindor as she slept ... a vision of beauty ... a vision of perfection.

“Do not fail me, Kuulic,” he said as he handed Hermione’s letter to his house-elf.

“Kuulic makes promise,” Kuulic insisted weakly. “Kuulic no breaks this time.”

With that, Killian crossed the room and knelt down beside the bed. He gently drew his hand across Hermione’s cheek and leaned in, kissing her softly just below the ear. His lips hovered momentarily, the scent of her skin pervading him.

“I love you, Hermione Granger,” he whispered. “Always.”

He quickly stood with a deep sigh, fighting off the welling in his eyes. In an instant he Disapparated, ending up in a dark corner of Knockturn Alley. It was as good a start as any. But first, he would have to wait. He would have to be sure that everything was all right.

It did not take long. Killian had only been standing there for a short time when a letter, singed from the fires of transportation, appeared before him. It was Hermione’s letter, slightly damaged, but its Charm clearly having been put into effect.

Killian had placed a Summoning Spell on the letter so that it would return to him, once read. The letter had returned. It was done. The realization began to set in. Done and gone … gone forever. Every muscle in his body, every thought in his mind begged him to run to her, to take it all back, to hold her until the entire world faded away. His Gryffindor … his constant … his equal … his Hermione.

But it was not to be. He buried his emotions. Killian and Hermione were no more. She had forgotten him. The pain was now solely his to carry … a pain that he would use to reign death upon his enemies or share in its company. The hunt was on. [/FONT]