A/N: Ah, look at that. Not dead after all. Sorry it's been so long since I've updated/uploaded anything but I've been seriouly busy and had a shocking case of writer's block... So this is dedicated to a few people for reasons that they all know... Will, Charlie, Lauren, Eva and Tass... you guys keep me going.
D Enjoy !
Dear Ron, Harry,
I'm sorry.
Love, Hermione.
--
Dear Ron, Harry,
I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you. I didn't mean to make things more complicated. I just wanted to be happy.
I love you,
Hermione.
--
Dear Ron, Harry,
I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you to accept… and I didn't mean to make things complicated. I know you need me there, with you.
But I need me here.
I love you,
Hermione
--
Dear Ron, Harry,
I'm sorry, I'm
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
--
"What can I possibly write to make it any better?"
A pause.
"Just… say what you feel."
--
Three days earlier
--
"Why don't you watch where you're going?" Jeers of affirmation all around. I look up at my opponent, feeling anger pent up inside until I'm just about ready to pounce.
"Whatever, Mudblood." I try desperately not to let the insult sting, but it still gets inside a little bit. Covering my hurt, I throw back the first insult that comes to mind.
"That the best you can come up with?" Is that the best I can come up with? What is wrong with me?
"Not the best, and yet still obviously efficient." He smirks. "Watch your back, Mudblood."
"Are you threatening me?" I say; deadly, quiet. There's a pause, and I can feel support welling up from the crowd of Gryfffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs behind me. He stands almost alone, with one supporter at his side. He snatches a glance at the angry faces of my friends, and decides better than to pick a fight with half our year.
"Whatever," he says, and walks away. Inwardly, I'm terrified (I've always hated confrontation), but there's a grin on my face when I turn to my friends, who hasten to pat me on the back for a good match and my excellent poker face. I grin appreciatively, and link arms with a couple of them. Ron is suddenly behind me, draping his arms over my shoulders as though expecting me to give him a piggyback ride. The two girls I have linked arms with release me, and I swivel on the spot to give him a quick kiss. He grins and his ears turn a remarkable colour resembling beetroot. The action used to drive me insane, but now I almost find it endearing. It's amazing, the way humans can adapt.
"Good job, Hermione," he tells me, and envelops me in a bear hug. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you punched him… stupid git."
"Well, it wouldn't have been very ladylike of me, would it? Besides, I did fine without the physical violence," I reply, but suddenly punching my opponent square on the nose seems like a rather marvellous notion.
"Malfoy. When will that pillock learn?"
I smirk along with him, remembering how angry I was at the time of the fight, how angry I was even half a minute ago, but now that the adrenalin rush is subsiding and I'm thinking clearly, I'm already feeling guilty. This doesn't usually happen for at least a few hours.
"Yeah," I laugh along. "When will he?"
It is a question that wasn't meant to be answered, but Ron does anyway.
"Never."
He sums it up in a nutshell, as though it's as simple as day, and only deserves a one-word description and two seconds of thought. But it's more complicated than that. I should know. I've spent the last six months thinking about it.
Thinking about him.
--
Later that night, doing my nightly rounds around the castle, I bump into him. Ron likes to come along when I'm doing rounds at night, but he's sleeping in Gryffindor Tower – the aftermath of a few too many during my victory party earlier – so, unusually, I'm by myself tonight. But I don't really care. Draco and I can, at least, talk honestly.
"Hermione," he nods at me, in acknowledgement of my presence, and I sigh.
"Draco, I'm sorry about earlier. You know how Harry and Ron get… they just wanted to defend me."
"I know," he nods again, and breathes in deeply. "I'm sorry too. I wouldn't have usually… I mean, I wouldn't have-"
But I'm too quick for him. "I know. It's fine," My sentences are short and sharp, but warm and friendly. But I know he's used to this manner by now, so I don't think much of it.
When I look up at him again, he's smiling. "It's getting harder to keep this up, Hermione," he says gently. "I can't keep pretending that I don't… that I'm not…" he pauses. "That I hate you."
"It's difficult," I agree. "But could you imagine Ron's reaction if he knew about our… friendship? Or Harry's? Or any of my other friends, for that matter?"
"I understand, I do. It's just difficult. Both of us have everything to lose if people find out."
"But we have everything to gain from being able to be… us."
"I just don't want to lose anything. I don't want to lose you." He tells me, and I smile generously.
"I won't get lost. You'll be here to find me."
His eyes shine, the light reflected in them from my candle flame dancing happily. I feel horribly guilty about lying to Ron – to everyone – but there is no other choice. Sometimes the truth is just best left unsaid. The truth would crush him.
"I love you."
The phrase is spoken by both of us at the same time, as though of divine inspiration, and we grin. A brief kiss and we part: I to the Gryffindor tower, him to his Slytherin home.
It is a short meeting, much shorter than usual, but it seems to be our most significant yet.
--
As I lay back in bed that night, I remembered the night, almost six months ago, when this had all started. Draco and I had both been chosen as Head Boy and Girl, and we were actually getting along. We were actually communicating.
To start with, I wasn't exactly thrilled to bits about the fact that we were going to be working in such close proximity to each other, but he was really starting to grow on me. The only thing was, suddenly being with Ron wasn't as exciting as being around Draco, and it was as though every time Ron kissed me it was passionless. Boring. Completely suddenly, it was as though all the colour in my world had been shut off, and everything was in black and white. Clear as crystal, but completely dull.
This particular night, we were in the Head's Tower, planning decorations for the Halloween feast. We had gotten into an argument over some inane thing, and I distinctly remember being so ridiculous angry that I picked up the nearest thing to me and threw it at him with as much force as I could muster. Recovering from my passionate fit of outrage, I looked up to find him laughing and removing my jumper from his head.
"Nice shot, Granger. I'm sure the Department for Cloth-throwing will be coming to recruit you any day now."
"Shut up," I said, all anger having suddenly completely dissipated, and laughed along with him.
"You can't expect me to let you get away with that," he told me, throwing the jumper from his head, and leapt forward, fingers outstretched. I shrieked as he tickled me, laughing breathlessly, and in my desperate attempt to free myself from his strange torture method, I moved a few steps to the left. Unfortunately, a big chair was blocking my way.
We toppled onto the sofa, laughing hysterically, infected by the same late-night bug that had infused us with anger only moments ago. Draco was still attempting to tickle me – I swatted his hands away sharply whenever they came near me. Holding my wrists in one hand, he sat up and straddled me, still laughing. I laughed as well, but as he bent closer to my body to tickle me, I felt myself sober up, despite the laughter I felt bubbling up. He stopped suddenly, looking at me strangely, still laughing lightly, breathlessly.
And then, as suddenly as he stopped, he was leaning forward and kissing me, adjusting his position on top of me so that now he was lying flat facing me. He was kissing me with a passion that Ron had never expressed, releasing my hands to let them grip his back. I kissed him back hard, earnestly, desperately moving my lips against his own, letting his tongue slip into my mouth. His hands were everywhere – at my side, brushing gently against my breasts, reaching up to my face – until we started losing steam, and he broke away, panting.
I looked away, blushing horribly, too embarrassed to look at him… and I felt a hand grip my chin and force my head back to its original position. He grinned at me, gently touching his nose to my own, and his hands came to my face as he kissed me again. This time, it was a softer, slower kiss, more like how Ron always kissed me – but Ron's kisses had never inspired such a feeling in me; of passion, of lust, of love. I could feel him pouring every frustration, every bit of love and anger and emotion that he felt into the kiss, and when he next broke away, I didn't blush, or look away. I looked him dead in the eye and he kissed me again, briefly. He smirked, though it was a world apart from his trademark smirk of arrogance, and after a moment spoke.
"Well, we may have a problem on our hands."
--
We may have a problem on our hands.
A/N: Part Two coming soon hopefully. Please review.