Sorry for the delayed update. I was on holiday with my husband and I had no option to upload, nor desire to do so as we were having way to much fun haha.
Here we are, a new chapter. I know some of you wont like it, some of you will hate me and some will just snigger and patiently wait for the words: the end, before they bash me and the story (and you know, I like those people best).
However, the story must go on and without further ado… here is the new chapter of For you I have waited.
Hermione felt disgusted with herself. She sat in her childhood bedroom, with her head pressed against the window, watching the snow fall in slow patterns. It was Christmas morning and little over a day ago, she had left Draco Malfoy in Paris. He had been sound asleep when she had gathered her stuff, got the stuff from her own room and apparated directly to the house where she grew up and her parents still lived.
They had been surprised when she had shown up a day early but hadn't asked questions. Especially her mother had known there was something amiss, but she didn't pry. Hermione hadn't showered before apparating, hadn't fixed or removed her makeup and her hair was a mess. She looked like she came home from a night out through the pouring rain. Her father had assumed there was a guy involved, but her mother had calmed him down. Hermione had always been able to count on her mother.
There was a placid knock on the door and as Hermione turned, her father came in. The past years Howard Granger had grown old, Hermione noticed. His dark hair had become white, and the narrow frame of his glasses added to his presumed age. He was long and thin and usually all smiles and cuddles.
Now, however, he was looking rather mournful. 'Morning Princes', he said, using the pet name he had given her as a little girl. Hermione expected that, no matter how old she would grow, he would always call her princes.
'Morning daddy', she said, trying to smile. 'Happy Christmas'.
'Happy Christmas', her dad replied and he sank down on her bed, which was sleepless. 'How are you feeling?'
Hermione shrugged and turned her gaze outside again.
'Listen sweetheart. Whatever it is, whatever boy has caused this…I want you to know that I'm here for you. Me and your mother both'.
Hermione smiled and nodded. 'It's not a boy dad', she assured him. 'Well…not in the way you're thinking. This time…this time it's all on me'.
'Well whatever has happened', Mr. Granger said, 'I know you can fix things. How many O's did you have for you exams again?'
Hermione giggled. 'I can't fix this with a spell daddy. I need…I need to do the grown-up thing'.
Mr. Granger sighed and slid a bit closer to her so he could put his hand on her shoulder. 'The grown-up thing huh? It's really that bad?'
Hermione nodded solemnly. Her father kept still for a few moments before he said, 'Will you do this before or after breakfast? Your mother wants to know. And we have presents too…'.
At this Hermione turned to look her father in the eye, smiling unsure. 'I'm not six anymore dad, presents won't fix my problem'.
'I know', Mr. Granger sighed, and he gave a hopeful smile. 'Does that mean you don't want them then?'
'Of course I do!', Hermione exclaimed and she pretended to rush from the room in excitement. Leaving behind a smiling, yet worried father.
Hermione's mother was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from her tea when her daughter came in the room, dressed in what were unmistakably "depression-clothes". A pair of baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt so old the hems were fraying and which was at least two sizes too big for her. She noted Hermione hadn't combed her hair, but her face was clean and she smelled like toothpaste. Hermione hadn't given up on everything just yet, which to her mother meant her daughter would be fine in the end.
'Morning mum', Hermione smiled as she kissed her mother on the cheek. Unlike her father, Hermione's mother didn't seem to age at all. She had the same bushy hair Hermione did, but hers was blond. There were some crow's feet by her eyes and there were lines around her mouth from smiling often, but other than that, Pennelope Granger didn't look a day over thirty, even though she was nearing her fifty fifth birthday.
Hermione sank in one of the chairs opposite her mother and poured herself some tea. 'How have your holidays been?'
Every year Mr. and Mrs. Granger closed their practice for the month of December. They travelled for a week or three before coming home and celebrate Christmas with their only daughter. One year they had tried to go skiing with Hermione, but that had been a fiasco and they hadn't attempted anything like it again.
Jeffry had commented that he would love to go skiing with her parents, but Hermione didn't want to think about Jeffry right now. Nor the implications of him going on a trip with her family.
'It was wonderful', Mrs. Granger smiled as she grabbed her daughter's hand. 'We made a trip round the south coast of Italy this year. It was so warm Hermione! It was bizarre. Sitting outside a restaurant with drinks and no need for a coat! We should move there', she joked.
Hermione laughed but felt a stab in her heart. The last few years her mother had mentioned a fair few countries and regions where she would love to go and retire when she and Mr. Granger would sell the dentist's office. It hurt Hermione thinking she would never be able to just barge in like she had done now and find the love and comfort of her mother's embrace and her father's voice.
Right on cue, Hermione's father entered the kitchen and took his place at the table. 'We're not moving to Italy, Penny', he said sternly. 'We don't speak the language and it was too dusty there'.
Mrs. Granger scoffed but refrained from an answer. Mr. Granger wasn't as adamant of moving like his wife was, finding an excuse not to live in any of the places his wife suggested.
'Let's eat', Hermione said, and she began ladling some eggs and bacon on her plate. 'This looks so good mum'.
Mrs. Granger smiled warmly at her daughter before grabbing some toast and the jar of marmalade. And for a while they only sound you could hear where those of three Grangers enjoying breakfast.
After Hermione had cleaned the kitchen, "really mum, it takes me like, five seconds!", she joined her parents in the family room, carrying a tray of tea mugs and a plate of biscuits. There stood the same Christmas tree that had been there since before Hermione was born.
It was always decorated in the same way too. Every bauble, streamer, every faux-candle was hung with precision and spaced evenly around the whole of the tree. The fact that the tree itself was a fake didn't matter, it looked like it came from a magazine and no one looking in on the family room would know the tree here wasn't cut from a forest.
Hermione bit her lip and felt a tear trickling down her cheek as she stared round the decorated room, taking in all the details that remined her of her childhood Christmases.
'Hermione!', Mrs. Granger cried as she got to her feet and put her arms around her daughter. 'What on earth is the matter dear?'
'Nothing mum', Hermione mastered a weak smile. 'Just feeling a little nostalgic, that's all'.
Mrs. Granger gave her daughter a big hug and pressed a kiss on her hair before returning to the armchair in which she was seated, picking up her mug of tea in the process.
'Come join us princes', Mr. Granger said, a bit insecure. 'We can open presents now'.
'I remember when you were little', Mrs. Granger began, as Hermione put the tray down and sank to the floor next to the big tree. 'You used to jump on our bed until we would take you downstairs to see if Santa had brought you a little sister'. Both Grangers chuckled. 'It took you years to give up on that dream'.
'I remember that', Hermione smiled as she picked up a rather large parcel wrapped in blue and green paper. 'This one year I wrote an incredibly angry letter to Santa because he hadn't gotten me one'.
Mr. Granger broke in a booming laugh. 'That's true! The postman gave it to us because of course couldn't deliver it. You expressed your…ehhmm…scorn rather nastily and very eloquently'.
Hermione laughed too as handed the parcel to her father. 'What's in it?'
Her father shook the box and with a smirk said: 'As I suspected, books'.
Mrs. Granger laughed and although Hermione managed a watery grin, she felt like someone had punched her in the gut. Could she have five minutes without being remined of Draco Malfoy and her horrendous betrayal?
All in all, opening presents was a pretty enjoyable affair. Hermione got several new books from various family members, her parents had gotten her gift certificates to a few furniture stores near her flat so she could pick something herself, although her mother insisted on going shopping with her when Hermione had the time.
Harry, Ron and Ginny had not sent her anything as there was a Christmas party at the Potter house with gifts the following day. The presents Hermione had gotten them lay neatly wrapped in her bedroom.
Mr. Granger was very pleased with the socks she had gotten him and smiled as he shed his old pair to put them on. The big box of sweets was opened immediately and under the scorn of his wife, Mr. Granger indulged in candies.
Hermione had gotten her mother a beautiful scarf and a little bottle of perfume that would change scent depending on the season in which it was worn. She too was extremely pleased with her gifts.
'There is one last present', Mrs. Granger said as she pulled a small box and a letter from her writing desk and handed it to her daughter.
'What's this?', Hermione asked surprised.
'This was delivered via owl-post', Mrs. Granger said. 'No need to ask whom it was for'.
Hermione smiled a bit as she recognized the handwriting on the envelope. 'It's from Jeffry!', she exclaimed, and she tore into the letter with anticipation. It was a rather short note. It just said that he was sorry he would miss her Christmas day, but he would come home the twenty seventh. He asked her to come to his house for dinner and to please wear her present.
Intrigued Hermione opened the parcel. Inside, on a bed of red velvet, lay a beautiful necklace. It was silver with a small diamond for a hanger.
'Oh Hermione', Mrs. Granger sighed as she peeped over her daughter's shoulders to see. 'That's gorgeous. Let me put it on you'.
Without asking Mrs. Granger got the box from Hermione and hung the necklace round her daughters' neck.
'Howard? How does she look?'
'You're stunning, princes', Mr. Granger smiled.
Hermione fingered the hanger, her gaze averted. This was so pretty, so delicate. How on earth had she ever managed to ruin the best relationship she ever had? A tear slid down her cheek, followed by a second, a third, until she was flat-out crying. She scrambled to her feet and ran from the room, ignoring the startled cries from both her parents.
She was bawling, there was no other word for it. Disgusted by herself, Hermione leaned against the window. Crying over a man, she was better than that. Or was she?
Hermione let out a sob and drew a shuddering breath, her shoulders jolted and she clamped the back of her hand in her mouth to stifle her cries. What would her parents think if they saw her like this? What were they thinking after she ran from the room like that?
There was soft knock on the door. Not waiting for her to answer, Mrs. Granger came in holding two mugs of tea and bearing a cautious smile.
'Hermione dear, I think we need to talk', she said while she sank onto Hermione's desk chair.
Hermione sniffled and let out a soft cry before nodding. But her mother said nothing to get a conversation started, she was just looking.
'I…I screw…I screwed uhup', Hermione finally got some words out. Though through the sobbing and gasping for breath they were hard to make out.
Her mother, however, understood perfectly. 'How come?'
'I think I broke…I think I broke two…two relationships', Hermione moaned and tears started leaking from her eyes again. She wiped them from her face, but her vision remained a bit blurry.
'How come?'
'It's just…I'm a dreadful person', Hermione cried out and she started crying again, so violently there was no speaking with her anymore. Mrs. Granger got up and just wrapped her arms around her daughter. Holding her tight to her chest, she stood there for what seemed an eternity. It reminded her of the days when Hermione had been little and scraped her knee or when she had fallen of her bike. She had never been much of a crier, but in those instances, where pain was inflicted without a valid reason, her little girl just lost it. The thing Mrs. Granger had never thought though, was her daughter would cry over a boy.
And yet, there they were, she the loving mother, comforting her aching child who, at twenty five, still yearned for a mothers embrace. Gently Mrs. Granger pressed a kiss on Hermione's curls and held her until there were no more tears and no more sobs. Only then did she let go and asked her daughter to tell her everything.