Your Cheating Hearts
He clumsily fumbled at the buttons of my dress, gnawing at my earlobe playfully. He was giggling, and I all I could do was sigh. I wanted this, I really did. Ron was beautiful, and it was perfect. Thoughts like these finally relaxed me, until he said something as he removed his own black tuxedo jacket that set me off completely. "This is ours. This is our night."
It was, Ron. But it wasn't supposed to be. I didn't want it.
He was lying on his stomach, snoring lightly. I looked at him for any signs of movement, but found none. I stepped out of the bed cautiously and grabbed fleecy white robe carelessly hung by the upholstered dressing chair. The sun was barely present and the clouds had a pink and tangerine shade.
My vision scanned my left hand. On the ring finger I found it, proof to my foul mistake. I wanted to scream bloody murder, run away, pretending it was all a dream, but I couldn't. This is me, sensible Hermione doing the sensible thing I really ought to do.
But was it sensible to run down to the deserted pool area at 6 am just to get your heart broken again? It wasn't; I was sure, but whatever possessed me to do such, I will never know.
He was resting on the edge of a plastic lounge chair, smoking. His hair was a haphazard mess; his eyes were squinting at the sunlight. My pace dwindled, shame increased. What was I thinking facing him?
"So," he began. "How was it for you?" He took a long drag. I bit my lip, and after seconds of silence, he sighed tiredly. He looked at me, with that world-weary face of his and said, "Nice dress, Mrs. Weasley."
I consciously tugged at my white eyelet dress. I had a conservative scoop on the neckline, and ended right on my knees. Was he being sarcastic? I could never tell.
"Isn't a little too late to be wearing white, Hermione?" He queried. His question was playful, but his tone was morose. I was beginning to think that he hated this situation so much that he'd turn all mellow, but I was reassured that he hasn't changed. His smirk told me so.
I sat on the lounge chair adjacent to his and asked, "What's going to happen now?" He snorted lightly, and dropped his cigarette on the ashtray conveniently placed on the floor. "Doesn't white symbolize innocence and purity or whatever shit you girls make up?"
"You know it was the right thing to do. We talked about it." I reasoned out. I was hoping that the rational side of him would start talking to me. "I mean, if you're still wearing white, then surely the Weasel has yet to take your innocence. Or are you not telling me something?"
"Stop trying to avoid the subject, Draco. You know it has to come to all this. You knew that." I hold out for his hands. He shoved me away and popped out another cigarette. I could see in his eyes that he was definitely angry.
"I know that Hermione. I know all of that. But why the hell do we have to talk about it? Why? So you can tell me that yes, you married that pathetic wanker and I should most definitely feel better now? Excuse me, but I don't think I'd like to deal with that kind of shit." His expression was venom. What did he want? That we do what we used to do and just go on hurting the people who loved us? Why was he always demanding so much from me?
I started to cry. He let out a frustrated huff and pulled me into his arms, plopping me onto his lap roughly. It was like that for awhile—just sitting there, witnessing the sunrise. It could've been a pretty scene if he weren't so irate and I wasn't married.
"Maybe you were never the one." I murmured sadly.
"I don't have to be. He sure isn't. So why did you marry him?"
"Because he's a Weasley. And you're…you're Malfoy."
He grabbed me closer, and I absently fondled his blonde hair. There was something very intriguing about his hair. If everything about him was rigid, his hair was the total opposite.
"And the sky is blue. What the hell are you trying to say, Granger?"
I chuckled softly at his pet name. After all these years, all the things we've been through, he still calls me Granger. Even when I've already changed my last name.
"I'm Hermione Granger, Draco. Everyone expects me to marry him. I had to marry him."
"That's bullshit. If we all did what everyone expected us to do, I'd have to kill you and spread your blood all over this place. But will I do it? No, I won't."
I didn't feel like answering back. Through my sniffles, I managed to say somewhat fondly, "You look like shit, Draco." His grip on me loosened a bit. Was he pushing me away already? The tension between us seemed to recede, but I felt the distance to be alarming. I didn't want to be away from him. It was fast-becoming more irritating that the voices of everyone else we knew reverberated in my head, reminding me how we were never really for each other.
It was at that moment when he fully released me, realizing the lack of necessity. I looked up to his almost empty eyes, and it made me want to cry. Was it right for me to accuse him of being selfish, when I was being selfish of my feelings towards him? It was making me feel guilty. There I was, all-condescending, hating him from accepting defeat when it was I who gave up and quit. It's so fucking confusing already. It makes me want to run away and turn into a lesbian.
"On the other hand, Hermione Weasley, your life is going to bomb like a fucking shitfest. So good luck with that." He wasn't really insulting me as much as he was sympathizing this time. It made me feel worse than I would imagine.
I loved Ron. Really, I did. That's what made everything so much harder, because I knew that deep down in my heart, I did love Ron. He made me feel safe.
Watching Draco walk away was almost too heart wrenching to watch. We promised to see each other sometime as friends. But I knew better. I wouldn't dare try to. After all, I'm Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's sensible go-to-girl. I'd know better than to fall in love with the enemy, no matter how soft his hair was.
Did I really know better?