Saudade [Galician-Portuguese]: a deep emotional state of nostalgic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. It often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return. It's related to the feelings of longing, yearning.
….o….o….o….
Part I
June 1, 1999
Hermione rolled over onto her side so that she was facing the sleeping form next to her. His deep, even breathing told her that he was still lost in slumber. He seemed to be having peaceful dreams, as there was a hint of a smile on his face. She smiled at that. Lucky, she thought to herself.
Her own dreams had been anything but peaceful. Nearly every night for the last thirteen months, Hermione's dreams had been filled with scenes from the torture she endured at Malfoy Manor and the death she witnessed at the Battle of Hogwarts and memories of him.
She shook her head, as if that could somehow clear her mind. She pushed thoughts of her dreams away and instead focused on what had occurred during the time she'd spent awake last night. She still wasn't sure how she felt about it.
After the war ended and everyone had gone back to trying to find and feel something normal, Ron had started pursuing Hermione. At first, she resisted, as she didn't want to damage their friendship. But Ron had been persistent, and finally she'd given in, though with much hesitation. She had no feelings beyond friendship for him, but had agreed to a date when she remembered what he had said to her a year ago:
"Promise me something, Hermione," he'd said with a pleading look in his eyes. He'd taken her hand in both of his, and she gasped with the discovery that they were nearly ice cold. "Please."
She didn't hesitate with her reply. "Anything."
"Promise me you won't wait for me."
The tears that had been swimming in her eyes finally ran down her cheeks and she shook her head. She tried to say "no", but a small sob escaped her throat instead.
"Promise me, Hermione!" His voice was filled with sorrow and desperation. "I want you to move on. I want you to be happy. Date some nice blokes, be spoiled, have a fancy wedding with a huge dress, have children…"
"No, no…" she cried into his chest, not sure if he could hear her words. She hoped he could hear her heart, and how it ached with every word he spoke.
"There's no future with me. I'm going to be gone a long time, and what would people think if they knew you of all people were waiting for a man like me?" He sighed and pulled her even closer to him. She suspected it was to hide the fact that he, too, had tears running down his face. "If you truly love me, you will grant me this one last wish. Promise me…" he whispered it into her ear.
It was a cruel move, and she knew she was trapped. She loved him so deeply that it hurt; she could not possibly deny him his last wish as a free man.
She went limp in his arms in defeat. "I promise."
Thus far, she was keeping her promise, however much it was secretly killing her inside. Her one date with Ron had turned into two dates then five; now, they'd been officially a couple for three months. They'd taken it slow, as they were still very present in the gossip sections of the Daily Prophet, and hadn't wanted any extra attention on their new and fragile relationship.
And then last night, Hermione had let Ron into her bed for the first time. Although Ron seemed to know what he was doing, it had still been clumsy and awkward. It hadn't been terrible, but it hadn't been fantastic, either. Hermione wondered how Ron felt about it, and if he had noticed she hadn't been a virgin.
Ron had been gentle with her, though perhaps a bit too gentle. Ron's kisses and touches had been nice; therein laid the problem. Pumpkin juice is nice. Going to Hogsmead is nice. Being intimate with her boyfriend should be a bit more than nice.
Of course, maybe she was being a bit unfair. It was hard for the tiny flame Hermione felt for Ron to be anything more than nice when she had once been consumed by fiendfyre for someone else, and even now, she could still feel heat in her bones and in her heart when she thought of him.
Ron snorted in his sleep. Another small smile graced Hermione's face, but this one was sad. He was cute and endearing, and didn't deserve her. She loved Ron; she just didn't love him as he loved her. She didn't love him as she loved another. And it would always be that way; always lingering in her heart, always a secret. Hermione was, and would always be, in love with Draco Malfoy.
….o….o….o….
December 24, 1999
Hermione's gloved hand was wrapped tightly in Ron's. He led her through the soft, sparkling snow to their destination: a small restaurant, nearly hidden in the snow banks and trees.
"I thought I'd choose some place nice and quiet, to balance out all the commotion we'll be dealing with tomorrow," Ron said, looking at her.
Christmas at the Burrow was always rowdy, but in a good way. Hermione smiled up at him, and at that moment, wished with all her heart that she was capable of falling madly in love with him. "It's perfect, Ron. I've never even heard of it. La Fenêtre… It looks quite nice and cozy."
And it did. A tiny little thing that looked like a countryside cottage, it looked warm and inviting in the white landscape. Candlelight cast a romantic glow from the front windows, and Hermione could already smell the cuisine cooking inside.
The moment they stepped inside, Hermione knew that this would be no ordinary dinner. Though it was small, it exuded simple elegance, and she knew Ron couldn't afford this place easily. It made her uncomfortable, and she grew increasingly so after they got seated and Ron requested their finest wine.
"I remembered that you said you really liked French food," Ron said with a shy smile. "I hope you like this place. It was a bit hard to find, honestly."
"Oh Ron, I love it already! It's both elegant and cozy, and it smells so good." She smiled back at him, though inside she was wilting. She'd acquired her taste for French food when she had been with Draco, since he always insisted on taking her to fancy restaurants in Muggle London, where no one would recognize either of them together.
"Tu es si belle, mon amour. Vous tenez mon cœur, de tout mon coeur," he whispered into her ear as he cuddled up close to her in their booth.
Hermione giggled as she pushed her bowl of blanquette de veau away and turned to face him. "It's so romantic when you speak French. Although, for all I know, you could be making comments about how much of a pig I am after eating all of that."
Draco kissed her cheek. "I take it you liked the food, then?" He smirked.
She laughed and lightly swatted his arm. "Yes, although I still think some of the menu items sound rather frightening, I think I could get used to this French cuisine you love so much."
"Good, because I fully intend on bringing the woman I love to all my favorite restaurants. Combining two loves into one delicious combination." He waggled his eyebrows at her.
She laughed again. "Well sir, perhaps if you're good, you'll even get dessert."
Their secret escapades to Muggle London stopped after Draco fixed the Vanishing Cabinet. Everything they had together changed after that night…
"Hermione?" Ron was looking at her intently.
She blushed. "Oh, sorry. I just couldn't decide what to order! Everything just looks so good."
"It's alright, I just wanted to make sure I had your attention. I, um, got you an early Christmas gift and I really hope you'll accept it…"
Hermione held her breath. She knew what was coming, and her heart froze.
Ron took out a small box with a little golden bow out from his jacket. "I know we haven't been together very long, but we've known each other so long, and I love you, and I just know you're the one for me." He opened up the box – Pandora's box. Once he opened it, everything in her world would change. "Hermione Granger, will you marry me?"
Hermione took one shaky breath. The diamond ring in the box seemed to be staring at her. She stared back. She took a second shaky breath. She slowly raised her eyes from the ring to the eager eyes looking at her from across the table. She felt a stab of pain, and then another one of shame, when she realized they were a clear blue, instead of a misty grey.
Promise me…
"Yes."
….o….o….o….
June 5, 2000
Hermione hadn't had any part in planning her own wedding. As soon as she and Ron had announced their engagement at the Burrow last Christmas, Molly had immediately taken over and planned everything, from the flowers to the guest list to the date.
The date.
Ginny was helping Hermione put her veil on when she realized the cruel irony: she was getting married to Ron on Draco's birthday. She'd started crying, but luckily, Ginny just mistook her tears to be pre-wedding jitters.
When she walked down the aisle, arm linked with her father's, she felt like she was having an out of body experience. Nothing seemed real. It couldn't be real. This wasn't supposed to be how it all happened. She was supposed to be blissfully ecstatic on her wedding day; but she only felt like a shell of herself. The smile on her face as she approached the groom, her groom, was one of bravery, not one of unwavering love. As she stepped up in front of the altar to face Ron, she wondered when the guilt eating at her would finally go away; if it would ever go away.
As the two said their vows in front of the huge crowd of witches, wizards, and muggles who had come out to see the unity of two war heroes, all Hermione could think of was how much she hated making promises.
