Chapter Twelve—The Day Before
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of the characters in the book, or anything else related to the book.
- -- -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- -
Saturday (December nineteenth)
Hermione had spent all night crying, and her morning had followed that sorrowful example. Somewhere in her mind, what Draco had done hurt her more than she had preconceived it to. It was not until Ginny showed up, unannounced, that the crying had sufficed.
Ginny showed up to Hermione's house both frustrated and exhausted.
"Hermione!" she reprimanded, "You have to stop this weeping. It's awfully depressing."
"He's leaving me for Pansy!" she cried indignantly. "He wasn't even planning on telling me! The wedding is tomorrow and he wasn't even going to tell me! They're lucky the ceremony was going to be small—that way I can, OH God." She yelped, throwing herself off the couch. In her rumbled sweatpants, untidy hair and crooked zip-up sweater, she began to pace. "I've got to tell your family. I've got to tell my parents." Barely audible, due to the muffling of the pillow currently stranded and clenched on her face, she began an angry rant.
Ginny, being the friend she was and a person not too fond of Hermione's logical rants, took it upon herself to interrupt. She carefully picked her words. "Don't worry, dear." Ginny tried, placing a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder before pulling her up from the suffocating couch and towards the door. "I'll tell my family."
"That just leaves mine," she huffed. "Do you think I should get changed?"
Ginny did a one over, shrugged and then smiled sweetly, "Yes, Hermione. You look like a wreck."
"Thanks."
- - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - -- -
Draco was pacing. Back and forth. To and from. There to here. Here to there. There and back. Every single emotion he had ever felt, which was a mere few, had decided to drop in at this exact moment. He was in the process, well the people in the other room were in the process, of discussing the wedding tomorrow and of having such a smashing time tonight. He had escaped the room, complaining of a sudden need to use the bathroom. But his silence and escape lasted for a short period of time.
A subtle knock on the door granted the intruder immediate access to him. His best man stood, arms crossed and brow furrowed, with a bottle of alcohol and two cups. He set them down on the table and gestured towards Draco with the bottle. Draco shook his head broadly, "No."
"Come on, man."
"No, Blaise. It's not going to happen. I've got far too much to think about. Save the drinks for later; for tonight."
"Good thing there's a tonight or I'd have to quit this whole wedding thing. I hope you don't mind my speech. I took out all the Hermione's and put in Pansy's."
"Eh, it's fine." Draco dismissed, playing with a piece of paper he had just found on a nearby desk.
"So what's bothering you, mate?"
"I just feel guilty; that's all."
"Well, I've never heard of a Malfoy feeling guilty before, but because you are a Malfoy, it is safe to assume the felling will pass soon."
"Let's hope so." Draco doubted, "But what's so great about Hermione, anyway? I'm a fool to think she's anything."
"Eh, she seemed nice enough during our Hogwarts days; slugclub and everything. But she's a mudblood, mate. Don't let it bother you."
Draco just shrugged and then followed Blaise out of the room and back towards his pureblood friends.
-- - -- - -- - -- - -- - --
Anxiety, nervousness, and pressure were crashing down on her at the same, exact moment, causing her to knock on the front door of her parents' house rapidly. They opened it soon enough, relaxing Hermione slightly. "Come in, dear." Her mother smiled genuinely. Hermione followed her inside, taking a seat at their kitchen table. Her father joined them soon. Her hands were clasped with anticipation. They didn't stay that way for long. Out of pure habit, she fidgeted like mental. Telling them this would surely push her over the edge. Glancing at her father first, she began.
"The wedding is off." There, it was out. Completely and utterly out. But the looks on her parents' faces didn't convince her mind that she had actually told them.
Her father was the first to say something, "What?"
"Draco and I broke up."
"Oh, really?" her mother snapped, "Isn't that interesting." Her hair was up today; her face was more pointed than ever. Hermione considered the possibility that her parents had been fighting already that day, due to the fact her father was sitting at the table with nothing in his hands and nothing in front of him—an empty occupation, perhaps? Such as yelling, shouting and being accused. Silently, Hermione attempted to find the argument they were hiding behind her problem.
"You don't have to say it like that."
"Listen, dear." Her father started, but was harshly cut off by her mother.
"How about your guests? Did you notify them?"
"I told you before—it was a small ceremony. Everyone has been told."
"And why were we told this late?" Her voice both accused and faulted.
"I just found out yesterday," she shouted, standing up from the table. This was too much to bear, too much to deal with. Yet her mother wouldn't back down, she knew her too well.
"I can't believe you, Hermione." Her mother yelled. Abruptly standing from the table, her chair slamming against the wall, she walked up to Hermione, placing a sympathetic hand on Hermione's forearm. Hermione immediately shook her off and backed away. She searched her mother's eyes for the next patronizing question. "What happened?"
"We decided that it wasn't going to…work. I thought, up to yesterday, that we were definitely getting married. There were certain reasons that convinced me we would not break up," she started, a great attempt to choose her words delicate gone wrong, but her father interrupted.
"Honey, you owe us no explanation. As long as you're happy." He smiled, but then gave her a stern glare, "And as long as you don't go back to that redhead."
"About that—"
"She does owe us an explanation!" her mother persisted, turning to her aggravated husband.
"About that? I prefer this Draco boy to Ron any day. He didn't treat you right, Her—"
"Ron is not the issue at hand." Her mother snapped, "I want to know what happened with Draco."
"And I want to know what the hell is going on with her and Ron. Did you cheat on Draco?"
"I'd prefer to hear about why they broke up. I didn't really mind the Ron fellow, anyway."
"Are you delusional?"
"No!" her mother shouted. Their little argument had progressed into quite the verbal battle, Hermione standing helplessly against the wall. "Sometimes I wonder why I married you. Obviously, you do not care enough about our daughter to—"
"Never say I do not care about our daughter. And do not bring the topic of another fight, another disagreement, into the current one. You know for a fact what you're doing, so stop it right now," her father sneered, crossing his arms broadly. He turned to Hermione and began, "Simple questions. I just want some sort of answer."
"Alright," she sighed, sitting back down at the table.
"There's no wedding, right?"
"Right."
"Are you with Ron?"
"Not quite. Potentially. He agreed to wait…Until when everything was settled down."
Her father opened his mouth to scold her, but Mrs. Granger cut in like a sharp, butcher's knife, "Dear, it's alright if you go back to him. At least you knew him for more than two weeks," The sweet, caring tone of her mother's voice immediately confused Hermione. At first she believed her mother was being
sympathetic, but then came to a sudden realization that Mrs. Granger did not support her potential marriage to Draco and the fact that they broke up made her happy.
"So, Hermione, dear," her mother smiled tenderly, inhaling deeply, "Does this mean Draco's completely out of your life—you know, it isn't good to keep people around that hurt you."
Hermione pondered at what would be the correct answer as the tips of her fingers rubbed her stomach area subconsciously. Her thoughts wandered from the baby to telling her mother the whole and complete truth. "Not exactly."
And then, as if her mother's eyes were able to see right into her soul, a wave of recognition washed over Misses Granger's features. "You-You're pregnant."
A rigid knot of pressure that had been tightening in Hermione's stomach instantly snapped, causing her to jump out of the chair and tend to her tears.
"So you are?" her mother drawled in an elongated, whispering voice. Her tone was both final and questioning, leaving Hermione no room to answer properly. "Is this child Ronald's?"
Hermione chose not to answer, just to stare disapprovingly at her mother. In her whole lifetime, Hermione had done nothing rebellious, wrong, horrible or immoral. The thought of cheating, lying, betraying and hurting both angered her and turned her off. Never had she cheated and never would she. And she was more than certain that all her life she had made it perfectly clear, through both actions and words, that she would never consider such an act of indecency, infidelity and disloyalty.
"Is it Draco's?" her mother prompted. Her attempts to remove an answer from Hermione's sealed mouth were dwindling to little pleas in Hermione's mind. There was no space to easily reflect her frustration with her mother. She never considered herself to be thought of so low and dirty as that of a cheater—by her own mother, at that. Glad enough, she accepted the words of her father who seemed to come to her rescue more often than not lately.
"Leave her alone, dear."
"I know," Mrs. Granger said sullenly, "I don't believe Hermione would ever cheat. But with the sudden, rash actions of the past two weeks I would find it highly unsurprising."
There was a solitary moment of silence in which Hermione chose, what she considered to be, the better of two self-determined choices. "Draco is the father. I'm not a cheater."
Her father sat, a disappointed sigh escaping his lips. Her mother was the first to speak, "And instead of regarding the life of the baby, your reputation, and your future as a mother you wish to keep your pride and not marry this man. You have a responsibility now—a child to take care of. You aren't being responsible; not at all."
"Well, maybe life is more complicated than what you should do and what you shouldn't do. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone and everything is willing to compromise in order to help you be responsible." Hermione snapped, eyeing her mother with distaste before turning for the door. As she opened it to leave she heard one last call from her mother.
"And this, my dear," her mother smiled, "is why you practice celibacy."
- -- - -- - -- - -- - -- -
A/N: Short, but it had to end there. :)
