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Eighteen

Crying is for when you are lost, confused – when you don't know what to do or where to go or who to turn to. Crying is for when you're all alone, and you have no shoulder to lean on and bury your head in, no hand to squeeze when the world is closing in around you. Crying is for when everything seems to be against you, and you don't know who you are anymore. I suppose that's why I cried.

Many people don't want to cry because they think it shows that they are weak. Guys almost never cry. They think it makes them look immature. But that's not true. Because if you cry, it shows that you are mature enough to admit when things are wrong. If you cry, it will sometimes help. Sometimes, when large tears leak from your eyes, you actually grow stronger. Sometimes, it will help you to calm down to let off some steam. Sometimes, as you cry, you will start to realize why you're crying and you will think of some way to fix the problem. And sometimes, as you cry, you will forget the world.

Sometimes, though, crying doesn't help. Sometimes, it will make things worse. Sometimes, you will get so angry that you will block out the world. Sometimes, you will start throwing things, or you will say things to people you never would have said if you weren't so sad, if you weren't so angry, if you weren't crying. Sometimes, when you cry, it makes things worse than if you hadn't cried at all.

I don't really know why I cried. I suppose it was because I had thought that Operation Jealousy would make Ron like me, when really all it did was make things worse. Instead of him realizing how much I loved him and how much he really loved me in return, it made him realize how black my heart had become and how beauty was vain. It made him realize that my looks weren't the only thing that had changed over the summer. And it made me realize it, too.

Now, all I had left to hold on to was a boyfriend who said he loved me, but everyone else said he didn't. Maybe that's what kept me going – all the sweet things he ever said to me, all the times he kissed me. Maybe that was what I was holding on to. But for all I knew, it was like chasing the moon.

"Does he love me?" I asked myself every so often as I cried. I don't know why I cared. Perhaps it was because if he did, he was the only one left, and if he didn't, then I had no one. Perhaps it was because if he didn't, then I would cry even more, and this time, I'd have no shoulder to cry on.

What had made me cry? I asked myself that night at four o'clock in the morning as I listened to Draco pacing in the next room over. Was it because of what he did? Where he touched me? What he said? What he told me about Ron? Or was it because I had come to realize that both he and Ron were slowly slipping out from between my fingers?

I had thought that the second I left Hogsmeade, he would come and find me. I had thought that he wouldn't stay that long. I had thought wrong.

Draco came back with everyone else. By that time, I had begun my rounds. He, of course was excused in the eyes of the teachers, as he was at Hogsmeade. A kid has to have fun every so often, right? But he was anything but excused in my book. What kind of boyfriend watches his girlfriend run away, practically in tears, and just sits there for hours in a pub drinking Butterbeer and getting more drunk by the second?

"Where were you?" I asked when he walked in at three o'clock in the morning after just having to finish the rounds he had to make up.

"Doing my rounds . . . d'you mind, doll?" he said hotly.

"Yes, I do. I've been waiting up for you as you sat there getting drunk at the Three Broomsticks, while I was up here, crying my eyes out!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, babe, I'm sorry. Why are you so upset?" he asked, walking over to me and putting his arm around my waist.

"Oh, Ron's just being . . . mean," I said quietly.

"Come on, doll, do you still hang out with that loser, Weasley? All he ever did was lower your social status. You hung out with guys like him, and you were a loser, too. You start hanging up with me, and suddenly everyone wants you. See what it does to you?" Draco said nonchalantly.

"Did you just call me a loser?"

Draco's eyes widened as he said, "Of course not! I called the old Hermione a loser. Why on Earth would I call my girlfriend a loser?"

"Well, maybe you didn't call me a loser, but you did say that about Ron. He's my friend, Draco! You have to understand that!" I said defensively.

"I do, I do, I just don't necessarily approve of your friends."

"Well, I don't necessarily approve of you not approving of my friends!"

He smiled his sexy little smile, kissed me hotly on the lips, and said, "I'm sorry, alright, doll?"

I opened my mouth, a hint of a grin on my face. But he didn't wait for me to speak. He simply leaned into me and continued kissing me. I felt his tongue prodding at my lips, so I parted them and let him in. There was something about his kiss that was different, not exactly the way I wanted it to be. But I brushed it aside.

As soon as we pulled away from each other, I said, "Let me get on my pajamas – it's late and we should be getting to sleep."

"Sleep? I don't think so. It's three o'clock in the morning, you just kissed me like a hot chick, and there's no one else around. We don't have time to sleep. We're too busy."

My heart stopped. I knew what he was hinting at, and I didn't want it. I proceeded to enter my bedroom, smiling slightly. He simply followed me.

"What are you saying, young man?" I asked.

"We're too busy to sleep. I don't know what your agenda is, but mine is completely full for tonight. You are booked in for every second of immense pleasure," Draco drawled.

He didn't even give me a chance to speak again before he started up with the kissing. But somehow, when he kissed me, I lost all sense of time and space and everything that was around me or what he was trying to get at. It grew more intense as his hands moved from my back to my waist and slowly began climbing up. I was gradually becoming more aware of what was happening, but I was still to deeply entranced to notice.

I did notice, however, when I felt my shirt being unbuttoned more than the original three I had unbuttoned at the top. Now, there were four . . . five . . . six . . . until I was lying there, on the bed, with my shirt completely open. He could see my bra. And I could see where this was going.

I put my hands on his chest in a feeble attempt to get him off, but he must have taken it the wrong way, because his hands began sliding from my shoulders and closer and closer to my chest. I couldn't take it anymore. I ripped away from him and pushed him off me completely.

"What's wrong, doll? All I want is a little bit of you," he said.

"What's wrong? What's wrong? Draco, we're only seventeen! I don't want to end up pregnant tonight!" I shouted.

"D'you want me to grab the condoms? I have a box of extra heavy in the bathroom –"

"NO! That's exactly my point! I'm not ready for this, Draco!" I yelled at him. "This is one of my first real relationships. Up until this year, I've only been kissed a couple of times. That's why I've been so leary about everything. And not to mention that we've only been going out for a month or two! I'm just not ready!"

"Well, Hermione, I can teach you everything you need to know," he said, advancing on me. "You know you want me to."

"No, I don't! Don't you get it, Draco?" I said, pushing him away. "I am not ready for sex!"

He just stared at me, as though I had grown an extra head. "What d'you mean, you're not ready for sex? You're seventeen, Hermione! Maybe it's time you grew up!"

"Or maybe it's time you grew up! Just because you get your way with your father constantly and every girl in Slytherin wants you – probably even more than that – and almost every girl would have sex with you if they could doesn't mean that I will! I like you and all, but I'm just not ready!" I screamed.

Without another word, he simply walked out of the room and slammed the door, leaving me on the bed with only my bra covering my chest. I breathed a sigh of relief. That was way too close for comfort.

But then I got even more worried. It was bad enough that I had just gotten into a huge fight, but now I might lose the only person I had who still liked me. Maybe I would turn into a miserable old maid with nothing to do but sit around and feel sorry for herself. Maybe I would never have any more friends as long as I lived.

And so as I lay there, with only my bra covering my chest, I cried to myself. Because I had no other shoulder to cry on.