Number One
"What a place!" you moan as you leave the room, headed outside. Your urgent need of tobacco has won over the reproachful eye from Hermione.
With a flick of wand you light the cigar, which until sometime before was turning between your fingers. Your old self, who occasionally remembers kicking inside you, it's getting a big laugh behind your back: Draco Malfoy, trapped in a – Muggle's – restaurant, between an indefinite number of freaks and Gryffindors, hides from the look of fire of his - Mudblood - girlfriend because he smoke – Muggle's - cigars.
Laugh, Draco, laugh.
You pull the first puff of cigar and you think that is not fucking true that smoking relaxes. Reluctantly you find yourself looking inside the room through the open door: Finnegan's still staring at Brown's breasts, who continues to chat with Lovegood; nothing ensures neither you nor her interlocutor that Loony is listening.
Potter whispers something in Hermione's ear, she looks at you, you intercept her dark eyes: she's not happy with your last outburst, you shrug your shoulders, still angry. Then she returns to pay attention to Saint Potter, again.
You draw the smoke with greed, feeling the knuckles of your left hand shaking dangerously: the hand of your girlfriend is conveniently placed on the knee of another man - your eternal rival. It is an intimate act of complicity. A gesture that, in public, she doesn't grant to you. But Saint Potter is allowed to everything.
"You better let it go."
You turn shuttering, ready to throw a tight fist to anyone who is intruding in your anger. Muggle.Definitely, too much Muggle.
"What do you want, Weasley?" You spit, despising more than ever Weasel's knowing expression.
"Cigarette" he says, pulling out one from a shirt pocket. Nonchalant you shrug, as your eyes return, with almost their willingness, to look inside the restaurant: they're still talking earnestly to each other - he looks worried, she reassures him. And then they laugh. You hate when they laugh together.
Wealsey shakes his head: "You know what I think, Malfoy?"
"As if I wanted to know," you mutter, but you know he will continue with his not wanted opinion.
"I think you're really in love this time."
You almost miss the cigar from your fingers: since when Ronald Weasley is so sure about his ideas on other people's business? Your own business, for Merlin's sake! "It's so easy to fall for her, right? We are her angry and frightened puppies: she takes care of us, reassures us, cuddles us, protects us. " You don't know where he's leading but you let him continue: he wants to blather, continue to do so.
And yet , it is true.
"But you see, no matter how much she's loving you now - and though it costs me to admit it, I think she really loves you - in the life of Hermione Granger, there is only a number one. Number two? Many and well-pampered, but number one: just him. Trust me, I know. "
The burning between your index and middle finger awakes you from the series of thoughts that are tormenting your mind: you'd like to carry on with the mask of anger that you have decided to wear tonight, but tears - fucking tears - pluck your eyes, like a girl. You hold them back. Weasley's words are just another confirmation of an old consciousness.
Viewers, here's what you are. Like now. Only two spectators of something that you cannot fully understand.
"The first place has always been his."
Hermione's hand is now playing jokingly with one of his best friend who's sitting beside her, while he's talking with Luna Lovegood. And then they laugh again, together: a knowing smile, private and secret. A smile from which everyone is excluded: even you.
NA: Hi, I hope you enjoyed that little thing – the second person sounds kinda more strange in English… I don't know really. I really didn't know under whom put that story: it's a Draco/Hermione and a Harry/Hermione… I truly hope you could give me some advice; I know I still do that kind of mistakes typical of a non-native speaker. I would like to find a beta who can help me through all this. You know? You've got that little wonderful button under there: you could say what you'd thought about my little story, especially if you didn't like it.
So bye!
