Beautifully Written Misery

A writer I once was an illustrator of fairytales. I wrote of intoxicating enchantments that I had never seen, felt, smelled, or tasted unless it was scrawled out on the creamy pages of a book. Beauty had never fallen so elegantly in my lap. Bravery was a word whose presence in my vocabulary was missed. The taste of adventure had been denied to me. And I had never fallen from love's tender graces.

Until I met you.

Before you came into my life, reality was always found behind closed doors. I weaved a web of illusions that imprisoned me beneath the written word. Books were my sanctuary, my world. In them I was always hopelessly lost, yet happiness was found at every corner. I could hide from my fears, my flaws. I could run forever from the cold emptiness of my heart. In the stories I could find perfection. I could become a faultless person whose tale always ended in happily ever after.

There was nothing I loved more.

When I had devoured every novel in sight I began to write my own, creating my life, my person into the heroine's epic. I made myself ideal, adding on traits that I didn't possess. I gave my character gracefulness, beauty, and courage. I gave her a spunky, spontaneous personality that was loved by all. In a way I locked myself up, shackled to my utopia.

But you found me, clinging to my false perception of life. You saved me.

Yet I was destroyed. After you I could never dream of writing a fairytale again. Once upon a time is dead to me. Happily ever after never existed.

If I had known I would've never given you the broken key into my heart. You would have remained an outsider forever. But I was naïve. Innocent. I opened my doors hoping you would never shut them.

Stupid. Ironic isn't it? I'm supposed to be the most intelligent girl Hogwarts has taught. But a smart girl wouldn't have fallen for your grey eyes, and she wouldn't have loved a liar. Any girl with a brain would've seen passed your deceit.

Why is it so hard to move on? It's torture to forget you. It's even worse to remember all those times you lied with a smile. I hate you for that. Of all things I hate you for your smile. It was perfect, just like you, just like your lies.

I only love you. I'll always love you. One day, Hermione, we'll run away. We'll leave them all behind. And then we'll never have to worry about the Dark Lord, about the troubles of our world, about death. We'll hide away, leaving all that behind. And I'll love you forever.

If only we could've ran. Run forever away.

As much as I wanted to only have you I was torn. You were ripping my heart in half, right down the middle. Harry and Ron were a sacrifice you required. But you knew that I could not live without them.

Yet I loved you enough. It was strong enough.

I almost did give up my two best friends for you and your beautiful illusion? It tore me apart to pretend that I hated you in front of them. But I know Harry and Ron. They would have killed you, had they known. I almost ran away to our hidden world. You were the only secret I ever kept from them. You were the only lie I ever told. They trusted me, loved me.

Once I trusted you. Once I loved you.

Then all my innocence, my love was shattered, like a beautiful glass dropped on a cold stone floor. You let go of me, let me fall. All the while you smiled, watching me delicately break. My tears were the sound of destruction. They cascaded down my face at the exact moment when I was destroyed, when I saw you smile.

But I could never hate you. How could I despise you? Because for two long years I loved you.

And you gave him back to me. You were my angel.

It was midnight. I remember the twelve bell chimes, quietly ringing into a velvety darkness that encompassed me. The moon was hidden beneath the clouds and the bare white walls of my small flat in London were tightly closing in on me.

Ron was lost. He had gone missing. At the height of the struggle against the Dark Lord, he had disappeared.

I was beside myself. I could not move, could not speak. All I could do was silently cry, attempting to drown in my tears. For days I was like this, completely and utterly lost in despair. I replayed memories of laughter over and over in my head until I could bear it no longer.

Many tried to save me, snap me out my coma. Harry called and called. He knocked and knocked until finally the door broke. Then he tried his best to comfort me. But I could not be moved. Mrs. Weasley read to me and cooked for me, even though it should have been I that comforted her for the loss of her son. Neville came. Dumbledore came. Cho came. They all came.

But none of them could cure my helplessness, remove my pain. I loved Ron. And love is pain. No one could bring him back to me. No one could make me whole again.

Until that night that you came. It was the first time you ever played your part as the prince, and I the damsel in distress. But you rescued me, saved me from myself yet again. You kissed away my tears and held me tight, protecting me from the evil black dragon of loss. You whispered in my ear, "He'll come back Hermione. Remember he's not dead just yet. He's only missing. I'll find him."

And you did. Somehow you found him, beaten and broken left to die in a forest. You gave me a part of my heart back.

When you brought me too him, it was early morning. The sun was rising; the sky was lit up in soft pinks and oranges. You brought him to my bedside. So that when I awoke from my nightmare I would know it was all just a dream, because Ron would be there. Then you left, leaving us to share a moment of pure happiness and relief.

Ron told me it was you that found him, you that saved him, and so I apprated to you without showering, dressing, or even without brushing the tears from my eyes.

When I showed up on your doorstep you smiled and kissed me in all my ugliness, whispering, "It's all over now."

I cried and cried, screaming thank you a million times over.

You held me close and looked into my eyes and said, "You're welcome beautiful."

After that how could I hate you? You saved my Ron from death.

And you said I was beautiful, something I could never see in myself, because I could not bear to look at my reflection.

So you see I will always have to love you. But I cannot love your actions, your betrayal.

It was Christmas day. Of all days, you had to destroy me on Christmas, the one day where love and humanity are celebrated. The day of hope and happiness where differences are put aside because the world's people realize they are all the same. Any day but Christmas would've seemed less harsh, less cold.

The snow fell lightly on my brown curls. It melted into my long hair leaving it soft and cold. You were supposed to meet me beneath the lamppost in the park. It was our spot, the first place we had ever kissed. But you never came. You didn't even bother to come and see me. Of course I thought maybe I was just early and that you were late. Perhaps you were still walking through the park. So I set off, making my way beneath the tall evergreens frosted with pale white snow.

I found you on a bench hidden behind a tall tree. At first I thought you alone, but as I drew nearer I saw her. I watched you kiss her, smile at her, pull her close. And I thought back on those past few months. Realization hit me.

"Draco, you had extra Quidditch practice yesterday and the day before. We were supposed to go to the muggle movies tonight?"

"Darling, you cancelled again. When will I ever get see you?"

"Work on a Saturday again? You've really got to tell them to stop."

But each excuse you gave me was told with a smile, where after you ran off to see her. To hold her, and tell her that she is beautiful.

The second I saw you two I knew. I knew along that you had lied, betrayed me. I could see it. And so I dropped to my knees into the powdery snow and began to cry. I had always been able to let my tears fall quietly but now at the most vital time I could not. I sobbed. You heard.

You broke away and ran to me. "Hermione, I didn't…It isn't what you think…Please believe me…" You smiled, hoping I would accept your falseness as truth. That I wouldn't see past your smile that had trapped me for so long.

I ran from you.

I haven't seen you since Draco. It's been 7 years. And every day I still question why you betrayed me. Was I too ugly? Too needy? Where were my flaws? Was I not brave enough? Not smart enough? What was it that made you cheat? What made you go to her?

I need to know. But that is unobtainable information. I will never understand. I will never see.

I hope you're happy, now that I am dead. Now that my heart has closed.

Because you destroyed me, Draco. Now all my stories end tragically, all my books in sadness. I am tainted, broken, unwanted. I am cast away, left, discarded. I am alone and unloved. I am what you made me.

I am searching for my illusion again but I can't find it. I can't find the fairytales of a princess who was swept off her feet by the knight in shinning armor. That is dead to me.

You are dead to me.

The world has faded.

The sky has fallen.

Love is a present that I will never unwrap.

Yet I am still alive, but my heart has perished, blown away like a leaf in too strong a wind.