A/N: The idea for this came to me years ago, but this is my first attempt to write it. It's also my first FF so if you notice something wrong (in the composition, the language, the rating, anything whatsoever) don't hesitate to tell me so that I can fix it if I can.
The title is a reference to the RHCP song "Under the bridge". As I was trying to think of a proper title for this story and I would have dismissed it immediately, but I thought of the song and it fit perfectly as a sort of soundtrack to the story. It fit my idea of the events, so I think it's absolutely perfect. If you plan to damage your brain cells by reading this, it's my recommendation that you listen to the song while you read. Enjoy
Hermione lay silent in her bed. It had been almost 40 minutes since she and Ron went to sleep and she waited as his breathing got more even and deep. She counted the seconds, feeling more and more intense as they passed. Her eyes, already accustomed to the darkness in the room, flickered from the alarm clock on the bedside table to the doorknob. She almost startled when Ron gave out a load and rasping snore – a sure sign he was fast asleep.
Hermione slowly uncovered the sheets and silently got up. Her clothes were in a pile on a chair by the door. She levitated them with her wand, snuck through the door and, casting a last glace at her snoring husband, she closed it.
Her hands were shaking as she put on her sweater and jeans. She knew what she was doing was wrong, she almost hated herself for it, but she could not help herself. She thought it was all behind her, a dim dream of a memory of another life. She was content, happy even, until she received the letter. It was more like a note, really, a few words scribbled on a small piece of parchment, but the letters, each written in that painfully familiar hand, had pierced her heart like a knife.
I have to see you. Saturday night. Our place.
After all these years, after all the pain it cost her to put it all behind and move forward, after everything she had been through with Ron, her heart squirmed as she read the words again and again. It was as if not a day had passed, not a tear had been shed, and not a heart had been broken. It was as if she was healed, but when she saw the note, delivered personally and left on top of the mailbox, trapped under a ring, her ring, her heart broke again. It was shuddered to a million pieces and she was sure – this time it would not be healed.
Even now Hermione did not know whether she wanted to see him or not. She kept telling herself that she should just forget about the whole thing and go back to her husband. She told herself that as she locked the door on her way out, as she raised her wand to call the Knight rider, as she told the driver where her stop was…
She knew she wasn't supposed to be there, under that bridge. As her glance glided on the pavement bellow and the stone arch of the bridge above the memories overwhelmed her: his soft untidy hair, scattered about by the wind, his eyes, boring through her with their intense love-filled look, his hands on her cheeks. She could remember his musky smell, his tingly breath, the fore he left underneath her skin every time he touched her. She could recall with maddening clarity every inch of his perfect face and every silver strand in his eyes; every moment spent on that precise spot by the water flashed before her eyes.
The memories were so vivid Hermione could see him as though he was there.
He was there, flesh and bone, with the same look of absolute adoration in his eyes. As the stunning realization came over her she tried to run, but her legs would not move. He walked towards her and her heart almost skipped a beat. Her chest had swollen as though her lungs had suddenly taken in too much air and yet she could hardly breathe. Her arms ached to reach out and welcome him in a warm embrace, her lips thirsted him, her whole being craved him. She hadn't realized how much she needed him until now.
He stood in front of her, barely a hand stretch away, and she could see their breaths mingle in the cold January evening.
"I wasn't sure you would come" he said with an almost tangible joy in his voice, "I've been here for hours. I was prepared to wait all night for you…" he trailed off, knowing that these words meant nothing now. There had been a time when he should have waited for her. She had counted on him. They would have eloped, hidden on a deserted island somewhere in the Caribbean and lived their lives soaked in the salty waters of absolute bliss. They could have had all that, had he waited then. Had he waited for her. It was too late now, all lost to the past, to their regrets. If he had only waited then, all would have been different.
But he hadn't. He had got scared. She had waited and when he had not come, she had gone back to her life, to Ron, to pain and heartache. Sharp pain shot through his heart as he thought of her with him. Draco was jealous to the point of sick and his heart ached with the knowledge that it was his fault. He could not blame him any more than he could blame her. Even less so, as he could well understand how Ron could love her and want her.
Draco's pain grew even sharper when he saw agony written across Hermione's face.
"Is that why you called me? To torture me? Isn't it enough, what you've already done to me, Draco?" Draco winced and she almost rejoiced in his pain. For five years she had wondered whether he felt at least one hundredth of the amount of agony she had gone through, pretending that life had never been better when all her hopes were destroyed.
"Perhaps you wanted to make sure that the damage you made is permanent?" she went on, five years worth of piled up anger and heartache boosting her eloquence. "Maybe you wanted to hear a first person account of the suffering you caused. Is that it? I waited for you! I waited for a week and you never came! Do you know what it was like? Do you even care how absolutely unbearable it was to go back to my old life and forget you existed?"
She had not realized she had started crying until his cold hand swept the tear from her cheek. She leaned in, unconsciously, to feel his touch. She hated him in that moment; she hated him with all her soul. She despised the way he made her feel. And at the same time, irrationally and irrevocably, she loved him with her entire being. She rejected his love, but it crept back in her soul with an ever burning fire. She put her hand on top of his and her gaze slid from her feet to his body, slowly crawling upward, leaving goose bumps on his skin, until it reached his lips.
She had missed the taste of those lips for so long! Before she could stop herself she pressed hers onto them and was completely washed away by a wave of senses. Draco's perfect cold lips warmed as he moved them with hers. She felt his breath on her tongue and it melted her from the inside. His hands dug and weaved in Hermione's hair, pressing her tighter to him. Her fingers traced the familiar curves on the small of his back and slid forward to rest on his neck, just below his jaw line. Her head swam and she gasped a few ragged breaths while his lips drew a feverish path down her neck. His thoughts were only barely coherent, his mind completely occupied with her. His Hermione. She was there, in his arms, under his lips, her warmth wrapping his entire body. Part of him suspected this was all an illusion, a dream, an insane hallucination, but he welcomed it anyway. He would rather have that unreal Hermione in his arms rather than his sanity and the painful, agonizing reality without her.
With a great effort Draco pulled himself away from her, but only so he could look in her eyes." Come with me, Hermione." he said with a trembling voice, "Come away with me! I know that I am late, too late perhaps, but, please, come away with me now! I've found the perfect place for us. It's remote and hidden and we can have the life you wanted, the life we wanted!"
Hermione looked straight in his eyes. They were now full with painful hope. He kept them on her and waited silently for her answer. She wanted to say yes, but she knew she could not. She could not leave everything she had accomplished after the war, her marriage, Ron and Harry. She could not abandon what she had worked so hard to create. He could not possibly want that of her. With all the logic and sense she possessed she could see how impossible his request was.
And yet. She felt no pain for the first time in years. She was so accustomed to the heady dull ache deep inside her chest that she almost lost balance and swayed. She was completely ache-free. His kisses, his arms, he was the antidote to her misery. He was that slow poison that had ever so gently killed her inside, but he was also the cure that washed all damage away.
In that singular moment of painless clarity she knew with absolute certainty that she could not leave him again. She was part of him now as he was part of her – inseparable.
Draco's eyes were still on her, every second passed adding agony and erasing the hope. She could not bear that, she had to ease his pain. She placed a warm hand on his cheek, and whispered "Ok."
Ron awoke in the empty bed. He sat up and looked around. Hermione was nowhere to be found. With the corner of his eye he noticed a small piece of parchment. His eyes swept through the words on it once, and again, and again.
Everything became very quiet suddenly and he could hear his heartbeat echo from the walls of the empty house…
I'm sorry, Ron. I love you. But I love him more.