A/N- So, this chapter will have the first of many huge differences from the film- just FYI!
I hope everyone is doing well and thank you so much for reading! Honestly, I'm flattered that anyone takes any time out of their day to read something I wrote! *mindblown*
Thanks again, to ArrayofColours, BlueGreenAndPurple & Cheesy for being the amazing beta's for this fic! Go check out their work as well! (PSA-BGP beta'd this in her pyjamas)
It was already pretty much love at first sight between Ron and Hermione, but what will happen when they actually meet?!
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Day 1-
By some miracle, Hermione managed to make it out of the dining area without completely breaking down. Although her eyes were watering, she hadn't allowed her tears to fall, knowing that she would have to get to somewhere private before she could show any emotion. Through her blurry vision, she tried to read the signs as she stumbled down the halls. She was searching for the stairs that would take her up to the deck, hoping that the fresh air would both help her calm down and sober up.
Luckily, she didn't have to go far before she found an exit, and when she made it to the door and opened it, the freezing air awakened her senses. When she stepped out, she looked around and realized that she was on the lower deck rather than the upper one. She was about to turn around to head back inside, but then figured that the lower deck was probably the better option — no one would think to look for her here.
Closing the door behind her, she walked over to the edge and gripped the side railing before leaning over and looking down into the sea. It somehow seemed menacing in the dark as the waves crashed violently against the sides of the ship, and she couldn't take her eyes off of it. When she leaned over even more to get a closer look, the thought crossed her mind that if she were to just lean all the way over and fall in, all of her problems would cease, and she would be free. When she realized just what she was thinking, Hermione let out a loud gasp and stumbled back, her body shaking with sobs, the reality of everything crashing down on her once again.
"Hello?" a voice called out, and she whipped her head around to see someone with a flashlight heading her way.
Putting her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs, she turned around and ran in the opposite direction, hoping she hadn't been seen. She ran as fast as she could manage in her heels, but she was relieved that no one seemed to be following her. She kept running until she could hardly breathe, her corset squeezing her tight, preventing her from taking in full lungfuls of air. To her right, she noticed a small secluded spot behind a large pillar, and made her way behind it before collapsing in the corner. She kicked off her shoes out of frustration and hugged her knees to her chest as her cries continued, not even worrying about how her position or tears would be ruining her dress. As she cried, the same words echoed in her head.
I don't want this wedding.
She knew that just because she didn't want it to happen, didn't mean it wouldn't, because it was going to happen regardless. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't get out of marrying Draco Malfoy, and she knew it. She was going to do what she had to do, just like she always did. She would get married, and she would make the best of it. First though, she needed a moment to herself. She needed to clear her head before going back to pretending that everything was okay— even though it wasn't.
She cried until her ribs ached, wondering why she had been born into the life she had. A sheltered life, full of rules and restrictions, and always keeping up appearances. However, in her heart, she had always dreamed that one day she would be able to get away and do all the things that she had only read about in her books—that she would be able to go where she wanted, befriend who she wanted. She had also secretly nurtured a hope that maybe she would find someone who would love her not because of how much money she had, or how high she was in society, but simply for who she was. Somebody who loved her for being her. Someone who she could have a real conversation with, who—
The sound of slow footsteps approaching broke her out of her thoughts, and she shrank back even further into the corner, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't notice her presence and walk past her. She was not in luck though, because as she watched, a man stepped out from in front of the pillar to stare down at her. Hermione immediately turned her head, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't recognize her as Draco Malfoy's fiance.
After a moment, the man spoke, his voice incredibly soft.
"Hey."
"Go away," she snapped, still not turning to look at him and hoping he would just leave.
There was a pause, but then she heard him take a few more cautious steps towards her, and she had to resist the urge to yell at him for not respecting her wish to be alone.
"Here," he said, his voice now much closer than it had been before.
It was only out of irritation that she turned to look at him, and when she did, she saw he was now crouched down a few feet beside her, a hankerchief held out in his outstretched arm.
Her eyes went from the handkerchief to his face, and the first thing she noticed were his eyes. They were a stunning shade of blue, and even in the shadows, they were more beautiful than any eyes she had seen before. When she took in his whole face, she saw that it was covered in freckles, and then let out a small gasp when she realized it was the same man that she had been staring at out on the deck earlier. She turned her face away from him again, biting her lip to keep from crying even more at the mortification she now felt from him seeing her in this distressed state.
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I just — you look like you could use it," he continued in the same soft voice, the sound of it causing a few more tears to leak out of her eyes and trickle down her face.
She was not used to anybody talking to her the way that he currently was, like he actually cared. Then again, why did this man care? He didn't know her, so he really couldn't care that much. But still, he was there, wasn't he? He was trying to help her, even though he didn't have to. He could have walked away, could have left her alone as she had asked, but he hadn't.
Sniffling, she turned to look at him again. When her eyes met his, the sight of them took her breath away, and as he stared back at her, she saw that they held nothing but concern. Instead of getting up and moving away from him as she knew she should, she eyed the handkerchief again before grabbing it from him. She wiped her eyes and nose, no longer looking at him as she did so.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice sincere.
For some reason, her thoughts went to earlier that day when she had been watching him. He had looked so carefree, which, other than his vibrant hair, is what had initially drawn her gaze to him. He had what she did not — what she desperately wanted.
Freedom.
This man could do whatever he wanted. He could go anywhere, do anything. He could choose who he wanted to marry, if he even wanted to marry at all. For all she knew, he already had a wife, and maybe even children. And although he was currently being nothing but kind to her, her jealousy of him made her angry, as illogical as it was.
She turned to glare at him. "As if someone like you would understand my problems."
To her surprise, he let out an amused chuckle. "I'll try not to take offense to that," he said as he gave her a lopsided grin that made her insides do a little flip. "But forgive me if I have the same thoughts about you."
He was still smiling at her with his twinkling eyes, and her mouth gaped open in disbelief.
"You aren't being forced to marry anyone, are you?" she replied sharply, still glaring at him.
She watched all traces of humor drop from his face as he studied her, his lower lip between his teeth.
"Oh," he finally said, as if he didn't know what else to say.
To her surprise, he then shifted from his crouched position and sat down across from her with his back against the pillar, his long legs sticking out in her direction. She eyed him warily, saying nothing as he continued to study her.
"Well, why don't you just...y'know, say no?" he finally asked.
If it wasn't for the sincere expression on his face, she would have thought his question was a joke.
"What?" she asked, her voice icy.
He didn't seem to notice her warning tone as he went on. "You know, just tell whoever it is that's forcing you into marriage that you don't want to do it, and refuse to marry the bloke."
"Oh because it's that easy is it?" she snorted.
He shrugged, "Seems that way to me."
Anger flared up in her. "Do you think that I would be out here despairing over something that I could get away from that easily?" she retaliated. "Even if I 'said no' — as you so eloquently put it — I would still be forced into this marriage by my mother. Trust me, anything other than dying or running away with a completely new identity would excuse me from this wedding."
He let out a loud sigh before replying. "Doesn't seem like a motherly thing to do," he mumbled. "But then again, I guess I wouldn't know. My mum died in a house fire when I was two — my whole family actually."
Hermione immediately felt guilty for having snapped at him as she had. "That's terrible. I'm sorry," she told him.
"Yeah, it is." He shrugged. "But I don't really remember them, and I reckon that makes it a little easier to deal with. I've often imagined what they'd be like, though. I have their looks, their personalities, everything all up here." He pointed a finger to his temple before he let out a chuckle. "I'm probably dead wrong about all of them, but it's always been comforting to think about."
"My dad died when I was very young," Hermione said quietly. "I don't remember a lot about him, but I do remember that I loved him very much. He was the one who gave me my name, and I vaguely remember him tucking me in and reading to me every night before bed. I've always thought that he was the one I got my love for reading from, and I've always been grateful for that."
He smiled. "A reader, eh?"
She nodded. "I suppose it's always been an escape for me. When I'm reading, it's like I'm in another world. It's the only way I can mentally escape the life that my mother insists we live. A life full of social gatherings, fancy dinners, and her favorite: ' husband hunting'." He grimaced at the last part, and she gave him an appreciative smile before she continued. "My mother hates that I read so much. She tells me that men do not like their wives to be smarter than they are, and she also worries that hunching over a book will do horrible things to my posture and..."
She stopped talking, her cheeks reddening as she realized that she had been rambling. The man didn't seem to mind though. He had a small smile on his face, and his eyes —ohgod, those eyes — were staring at her so intensely that she felt her heart start to race.
"Well," he started. "If a man wants a stupid wife rather than an intelligent one, he's a bloody idiot," he said, giving her a small grin. The unexpected words made her let out a loud laugh, and his grin widened.
"You have a wonderful laugh," he told her, a blush creeping over his cheeks, but still- he held her gaze. "You should do it more often— laughing, I mean. You certainly look prettier than you do when you're crying- y'know, with the puffy eyes and the snotty nose, and all."
"Hey!" she cried, pretending to take offense as she stuck her leg out and lightly kicked his shoe.
"You have pretty little feet," he mused, looking down at her bare foot.
She pulled her foot back to herself, now self-conscious. "Do you have a foot fetish or something?" she asked him, only half-joking.
He threw his head back and laughed before shaking his head at her. "No, I—I guess I just have an eye for…"
He trailed off and she raised her eyebrows.
He swallowed. "I draw, you see. I've always seen things differently than other people, and I try to find the beauty in everything."
"Oh, so you're an artist?" she asked, intrigued.
"I mean, I guess...in a way," he said, and Hermione smiled at his obvious discomfort. He very evidently didn't like talking about himself.
"Do you paint, or..?" she pressed.
He shook his head. "Nah, I'm not that fancy. Paper and pencils — sketching."
"How long have you been sketching?" she asked, wanting to get more information out of him.
He shrugged. "Long time. But enough about me. What's your name?"
Hermione gave him a look. He was very obviously trying to change the subject. It made her curious as to why, but she decided to give in for the moment. "Hermione Granger."
He raised his eyebrows. "Shakespeare. Interesting."
Her mouth gaped open in surprise. "You've read shakespeare?"
He chuckled. "Again, I'll try not to take offense to that."
"Oh. I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean it like—"
"Hey, it's okay," he said as he shook his head, still smiling. "I was only joking, Hermione Granger. I'm Ron Weasley, by the way."
She returned his smile. "Short for Ronald, I presume?"
His face scrunched up in distaste. "Well...yes, but only my mum calls me that when I'm in trouble — in my imagination, that is."
She laughed. "What do you do for a living, Ronald? Tell me more about yourself."
He didn't answer, and raised his eyebrows as if he were waiting on something.
She let out a sigh, "What do you do for a living, Ron?"
He chuckled. "Well, like I said earlier, I sketch."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"It means that I sketch stuff."
She gave him an exasperated sigh. "Okay, so what do you sketch?"
"Mainly people," he said nonchalantly. "I set up my easel on the side of the street, and people pay me to sketch their portraits. It's mainly tourists, so the amount I make changes depending on the time of year. I don't make much, and half of what I do make goes to buying more supplies. But, it helps get us by, and I've met some amazi—"
"Us?" she interrupted, realizing that she had been holding her breath since he had used the word.
"Oh." He waved his hand dismissively. "Me and Harry. He's my best mate. We do everything together. We met at a particularly bad foster home when we were both fifteen, and we ran away. Been together ever since. He works— well, worked at a shoe store in London. He's a great bloke. You'd like him, everyone does."
She smiled. "He's the man you were playing with on the deck earlier," she blurted out without thinking, and the smile on her face dropped from embarrassment as his face broke out into a smug grin.
"I was wondering if you were going to mention that."
She shrugged, hoping to seem indifferent, not knowing what to say.
"Why were you staring at me?" he asked, his face eager as he leaned forwards.
"You were staring at me, too!" she retorted, crossing her arms.
He chuckled. "You were staring at me first! But why?"
She sighed. "I guess because you just looked so happy, and so... free."
His face softened and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but she spoke before he could.
"Tell me more about Harry," she asked, not missing the look he gave her, as if he knew she was purposefully changing the subject.
He took a deep breath. "Like I said earlier, he's my best mate. He's a right git sometimes, but he really is the best. He's indecisive, and he changes boyfriends like he does clothes, but-" he stopped, looking guilty as if he had just said something that he shouldn't have.
"Boyfriends?" Hermione asked, making sure that she had heard correctly.
"Yeah," Ron nodded, staring at her as if waiting for some kind of reaction.
She gave him a small smile. "My friend — the only friend I ever had actually — he liked men, too."
She saw Ron visibly relax. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "He—he died almost two years ago now, and I really miss him."
She bit her lip and stared at him, his face sympathetic as he stared back.
"I'm sorry," he said, and she nodded as she wrapped her arms around herself, just now realizing how cold it was.
His eyes widened when he noticed what she was doing. "Bloody fucking hell! What a complete arse I am!"
She was about to ask him what he meant, when he hastily unbuttoned his jacket and took it off. He crawled over beside her to wrap it around her shoulders, and she didn't stop him. It was still warm from his body heat, and as she pulled the front together with her hands, she felt as if she were being wrapped in a full body hug. She closed her eyes, inhaling the earthy, soapy scent of him, and she had the fleeting thought that she could easily drown in his smell.
"Better?" she heard him ask, and her eyes popped open, embarrassed from getting caught.
He smiled, and she realized that she had never in all her life met anyone quite like him. For a moment, she felt as if he had just stepped out of one of her books. He was fascinating to her. From the way he lived his life, down to his lopsided grin and infectious laugh.
He pursed his lips. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"You don't...you don't seem real."
He raised his eyebrows. "Well I can assure you that I am real — flesh and blood — just like you."
She shook her head, turning away from him. "While that may very well be true, Ron, we are nothing alike. Our lives couldn't be any more different and…" she trailed off, almost gasping when she felt him push a stray curl behind her ear. His hand then trailed down the side of her face, so gentle and warm. Instead of wanting him to stop, Hermione found she very much welcomed his touch. When she looked back at him, he was closer than ever.
"That may be true, but we can both make our own choices, Hermione. You shouldn't be forced into something you don't want."
She looked into his eyes, feeling so many emotions at once. Him being this close to her filled her with a calming energy, but at the same time made every nerve in her body react to him. She also knew, without a doubt, that she inexplicably trusted Ron Weasley — no matter that she had just met him. She found she wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, and somehow, she knew he wanted that, as well. She had never truly been kissed, aside from a few chaste goodnight pecks from Draco that she hadn't enjoyed in the slightest. She turned her head away, knowing that she couldn't do what she desired.
No matter what Ron said about her being able to make her own choices, she knew it just wasn't possible. It wasn't his fault, of course. How could someone like him understand a life he had never lived? He lived his own day to day, while her entire future had been mapped out for her since birth. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat before pulling his hand away and standing up. Still sitting down, he looked up at her in confusion.
"I have to go," she murmured quietly, looking down at him but not quite meeting his eyes. "I've been out here for much too long already, and I—"
Ron stood up as well, and for the first time, she realized just how tall he was. He didn't say anything as she pulled off his jacket and handed it to him. He took it from her hands reluctantly before putting it on and dropping his arms at his sides. She stared down at his hand, seeing that it was smudged with a lot of grey.
He followed her gaze. "Yeah, there's always lead on my fingers. Comes with the job, I suppose."
"I like it," she admitted.
He was quiet for several long seconds.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?" she answered, her eyes still on his hand, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
"You feel it too...don't you?"
She looked up to see him watching her closely, his brows furrowed. Her breaths became shallow as she stared back. She did feel something that she couldn't quite name. Something that she had never felt before. She knew that she shouldn't admit it, that she should pretend that she had no idea what he was talking about, but she couldn't.
She nodded. "What is it?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," he confessed. "All I know is, I can't let this be it — I have to see you again."
He took a step closer, taking one of her hands in one of his. Lifting his other hand, he wrapped it around the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw, and she closed her eyes at the feeling.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Unable to formulate coherent words, she nodded. She was scared to admit, even to herself, how 'okay' this was. Scared to admit that she wanted to step even further into him, to be as close as she could possibly get. It made no sense, but for once, that didn't seem to matter.
"Can I see you again?" he asked.
She let out a pitiful choking noise. She knew that she would never be allowed to spend time with someone like him on this ship. Her mother, not to mention the Malfoys, would never allow it. Not only that, she was engaged. She was getting married, and being here with Ron would only make it more painful in the end. She shook her head. "I—I can't, Ron. I'm sorry."
His face didn't mask the pain he felt from her words, and she had to look away from him.
"Please?" he begged, his large hands now cupping her face, making her meet his gaze again — his expression desperate.
She opened her mouth, about to relent, when her vision was invaded by a bright light. She stumbled back in surprise, realizing that a flashlight was now pointing at them from only a few feet away.
"Is this her?" a rough male voice rang out, and with horror, she watched as Draco stepped out from behind him.
His eyes were narrowed as he came forward, his gaze flitting between both Hermione and Ron. He finally settled on Hermione, walking forward to stand directly in front of her.
"Where the hell have you—"
"Hey," Ron cut in, walking over to stand next to her. "This is my fault. I—"
Letting out a roar, Draco grabbed Ron by the shoulders and shoved him backwards until his back collided with the pillar.
"Who the fuck are you?" he spat out.
Ron didn't fight back, but his jaw was set and his face unafraid as he stared back at Draco with hatred, not saying anything.
"Draco!" Hermione screamed. "He didn't do anything!" she cried as she tried to pull him away from Ron.
Draco turned halfway around, roughly shoving her away. Taken by surprise, Hermione fell to the ground, letting out a yelp of surprise as she landed hard on her bum.
She watched as Ron's face turned murderous. "Don't touch her!" he yelled as he pushed Draco away from him and started to rush over to Hermione.
Before he could reach her, however, Draco pulled his arm all the way back and delivered a hard punch to Ron's jaw. Hermione let out a loud scream as Ron stumbled to the side. Recovering quickly, Ron gave a punch of his own, catching Draco on the jaw as well. Hermione stared in horror as blood flew from Draco's mouth when he staggered backwards.
"Stop it. Now!" she heard another voice yell.
She turned to see two men, both of them with guns pointed at Ron. She stood up to run to him, but Draco put his arm out to stop her.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you okay?" one of the men asked.
Angrily wiping blood away from his mouth, Draco nodded. "Yes. I'm fine."
"What do you want us to do?" the other man asked.
Draco eyed Ron as if considering his punishment. "I'll give this sewer rat a warning... this time."
Both men nodded, but Ron kept his eyes trained on Hermione. His gaze then moved to Draco, hate etched in his features. Ron's chest heaved up and down, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"That's it! Get a move on!" one of the men ordered Ron.
"And stay away!" the other one added.
Ron didn't move. Draco roughly grabbed Hermione's wrist, causing her to let out a whimper of pain. Ron again looked murderous as he moved towards her, his eyes locked on Draco as if he wanted to kill him.
"Don't you dare, son," said one of the men, his gun aimed at Ron.
Ron glanced at the gun, then at Hermione. She shook her head, wordlessly asking him not to do something foolish. She tried to tell him with her eyes that she was going to be okay as Draco started to drag her away, but she could tell by the distraught look on his face that it hadn't worked. She was thankful that he remained silent and didn't make a move to follow her, knowing that it could be disastrous if he did.
Tears fell down her face as Draco pulled her all the way to their suite, his hand still gripped tightly around her wrist. As soon as he opened the door, he shoved her inside, and she fell backwards, landing on her side. A sharp pain radiated from her hip from where she landed and she cried out.
"What were you doing out there with him?" he demanded as she lay in a heap on the floor.
Crying, she opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted before she could.
"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, you will regret it," he seethed. "No wife of mine will be hanging out with the likes of that filth. No wife of mine will be sneaking away like you did tonight."
She stared up at him, terrified to witness this side of him that she had never seen before. His eyes looked manic, and she had never been more scared in her entire life. She had always suspected that there was something terrifying about him, but she never knew what until now. He reached down and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up to look at him, his face inches from hers.
"We have a family reputation to uphold. You are going to be a Malfoy, and I expect you to act like a Malfoy. Got it?" he hissed.
She nodded, not wanting to upset him further. He stared at her for several long seconds before sighing and letting her go.
"Let this be your first warning as well," he said in a more controlled voice. "Now, go to bed."
Hermione nodded again, practically running to her room and locking the door behind her.