Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor have I made any money from the writing of this story. The song lyrics belong to
AN: This isn't as morbid as the title sounds. Just something that came to me one night.
Make it Bleed
"Destructive, exciting and I can't let go
Inciting a riot on my radio
I'm going, I'm gone, even though I know it's wrong
He's a Saturday night and Sunday morning rolled into one
With a dirty smile that could shame the sun"
The lyrics blasted out of the small charmed radio that sat strategically on the windowsill. Sighing Hermione looked up unblinkingly at her whitewash ceiling. The words seemed to fit her mood today. She wasn't in a bad mood, per say, it was more of a calm awareness of the situation. Light danced across the ceiling as a car passed and for the first time in over a year she was regretting moving so close to a muggle neighborhood. The house was wonderful though, standing tall with white boards and forest green shutters. It was the ideal country home. Now if only her significant other was as ideal.
She had disparately been hoping that once they started this new chapter of their lives things would change slightly. They had in a way, just not the way she was hoping for. He was never around any more anyway so the changes didn't really matter all that much. Hell, he hadn't shared her bed in six months. Right after Harry and Ginny got married. She suspected he had a thing for the youngest Weasely, even when they had first started seeing each other. The way his eyes would follow her, glazed over with some unnameable emotion. Ginny was, after all, what the heir to the Malfoy family should have considered a perfect bride. She was beautiful, graceful, caring, intelligent in her own way, and above all else a pureblood. They should have gotten married, they were the perfect match in stature and class, especially since her fathers election as minister. Right now they should be lounging about Malfoy manor sipping tea and living up the upper crust life style. Instead of having that he was shacked up with the Gryffindor mudblood know-it-all in a two bedroom country home in a muggle neighborhood.
Punching her pillow she willed the tears not to come. Everything had been fine before the wedding. They had separate rooms then the same as they did now but she had rarely spent anytime in her bed. They had shared the master bedroom every night for almost a year and a half. Then the wedding invitation came. He hadn't pulled away then, but at least not by much. No, it was after the wedding was said and done and they had returned to their quiet home that he changed. He shut himself up in his room that night, she had tried the handle only once and found it locked. She had cried herself to sleep that night, her radio covering her sobs. She had expected something like this, she had after all known of his affections towards her best female friend since before they had begun to date. Parkinson had a big mouth sometimes, prattling on to Ron about how she knew of Draco's feelings for a certain Gryffindor spit fire. The girl had truly been vindictive, she knew that Hermione liked Draco and that she was within hearing.
It had shocked her slightly when Draco had asked her out the following week. It was just a casual thing as friends, dinner and conversation. She'd worn her best dress anyway. There had been more to follow, some including dancing at her favorite club. Months slide by and soon they were splitting their time between each of their flats. She couldn't recall how many nights she had spent in his bed, enjoying it while it lasted. A year after their first date they moved into this house together. A routine had set in after that. Now even that was ruined.
Her luck with love had never been very good. Ron, although he was her best friend, had been the worst of choices when it came to a first love. She and Harry had dated briefly one summer but called it off after the second date. It was too awkward to date someone who felt more like her brother. A few meaningless dates followed that but nothing serious. Then Draco had stepped into her life, like she'd been waiting for him to do since she was seventeen years old. Four years was a hell of a wait to get a date. Sighing again her eyes drifted around the room, looking at the nicknacks and keepsakes she had collected over the years. The war had been tough, and many of her things had been destroyed but the few that remained meant more to her then anything. Glancing at her side table she saw her clock flash five o'clock. Draco would be home soon, in about an hour or so. Pulling herself off the bed she glanced at her appearance in the mirror, grimacing at how she looked. She definitely had to freshen up before she faced anyone. Heaving one last sigh she exited the room, hoping that just maybe she would be able to wash this all away.
AN: I'm thinking about continuing this but I'm not sure. Any feed back is welcome.