Words to convince, words to deny
Speakin' the language of love and lies
Bleeding words they lead to joy and sorrow;
Freedom to death row
Hopelessly she said I'm so sorry
It's nothing like I ever heard
'Cause nothing hurts like your bleeding words
Words you use to hurt me
You can easily throw them away
Where they will stay on someone else's mind.
- Bleeding Words, Mobile.
Molly Weasley is not one to muck about. Every day she makes herself as useful as her dwindling body will let her. Tending the chickens, de-gnoming the garden, cleaning the house, preparing dinner, and going to visit family and friends that may or may not need support. It's all in a day's work.
Lately, however, she finds herself with exponential free time. Less and less people in the house to mess the place up, she can often skip chores that are unnecessary. Right now for example, she's sipping her morning tea in the cozy sitting room, browsing the Prophet, which she'll fully peruse once Arthur's gone off to work. At the moment, she's contemplating how exactly she got from never having a spare minute to having spare time for everything. And everyone.
Andromeda comes over often and brings Teddy, which is the highlight of her week. Arthur is busy at work, but not swamped. The world seems infinitely less filled with crime, and counterfeit objects scarce, so he gets a call maybe twice a week to leave the office. His promotion remained intact when Kingsley Shacklebolt had become the new Minister for Magic in the election shortly following He Who Must Not Be Name's defeat, and Rufus Scrimgeour's death. This close kinship with Kingsley from the Order also gained Arthur some well-deserved respect after all the years of 'Muggle-lover' being whispered behind his back. Now, Molly yearns for the next party or function, where she is envied by other women hanging on to Arthur's every word, instead of loathing the swotty interns who dressed to the nines and giggled at the aging couple.
They also go out to eat at least once every two weeks, something they hadn't done since Bill and Charlie had a sitter.
Bill now has his own pregnant wife at home, she doesn't want to impose (too much). Charlie is off like he always is, on to the next adventure so different from the pace of English life. George has finally livened up a bit what with his imp-like, vivacious girlfriend, Verity, moving in to his flat. Molly has yet to evaluate her as tarty or endearing. She's just glad he's not moping about Fred 24/7, god knows she can't keep her composure seeing her funniest son shed tears. Percy is still in London, and still increasingly busy at work under Kingsley as well; but he has also found a girl, Audrey, casually dating as he has little time for romance.
Even with the Hogwarts kids back for the few weeks, she feels underwhelmed by the lack of errands to do; the empty nest so it were. They're growing up, her babies, and she doesn't want to smother them on their holiday, but she's itching for something to do. So it's with no surprise that as soon as Ginny comes back from Hermione's and informs her that she's A-OK the previous day (if that Malfoy boy had done something, there'd be hell to pay from her youngest son, she knew) and that she's visiting? Elaborate dinner plans.
It was very odd not to have Hermione around to complete the circle that was Ron and Harry, she hadn't been round in months. She knew very well it was Ron's fault, that lovely girl was too strong headed to let him forget a mess up so big, though the magnitude or details of what fizzled them out, she still didn't know. She just wished the girl would forgive him already!
Nevertheless, she was completely surprised and gleeful that she would see her again tonight, especially because she was alone at home, apparently. What had she eaten, the poor thing? Oh, she would get that belly full up, she would!
Satisfied with the prospect, she decides she'll do a crossword in the meantime, waiting for Arthur to hurry his hind from showering. A small smile forms on her lips as she thinks of Arthur's body getting wet; he no doubt singing a Muggle tune while soaping up. He has the classic English frame, a trait she wouldn't have any other way. Yet still shining with youth and handsome features, lined with slight wrinkles, he was paunchy and pale from all that bread and stout. She didn't care though, about his weight; she wasn't exactly winning any prizes herself. In any case, what with the kids gone, their sex life had been renewed with such vigour, she found herself far less uptight than usual, and had made more than a bit of effort on looking nice again.
She decides that the puzzle clues are too difficult at the mo, her lustful desire distracting her, and instead flicks to the very back of the paper, for a recipe perhaps Arthur might like. She knows Hermione won't mind.
The happiness and smile quickly fades from her face and mind however, when she reaches the trashy tabloid-like division of the Prophet, one she scarcely reads, and on principle detests since Witch Weekly has slandered dear Harry. Gossip, she decided, was not her 'thing'.
The article in question is by Rita Skeeter, a sensationalist, half-witted journalist, in her opinion. Claiming stupid love matches! And yet here is photographed proof that her beloved Hermione, (the one that her Ron, her Ginny, and her soon-to-be Harry if she had any say in it, ached over) was off gallivanting with her school partner; Draco Malfoy. The son of that disgusting, elitist, no good….bastard of a man. She scanned through the piece and decided she didn't care that his mother was remarrying someone more upstanding, didn't care that he could give up previous blood prejudice , didn't care that he looked genuine and happy (as did she, she had to admit); he was up to something. Definitely. And she could see from the snap in the restaurant, where he kissed her, that he had the Mark. She couldn't let what should be her daughter-in-law stray far from her moral uprightedness.
No, no, this would not do at all. This would NOT do.
"Arthur!" she beckons to the upstairs, with as little malice in her voice so not to alert the sleeping kids. "ARTHUR!"
"One moment Molly Wobbles," he calls sweetly. She blushes, the flush reaching her ears. She can now hear his characteristic quick footsteps, and she calms herself as best she can, knowing his pending reaction. It's better to ready him now, instead of later when he reads the piece at work, or if people start talking, the cads.
He gets down to the main floor, whistling a vague tune, adjusting his tie, fastening his belt. "What is it my dear?"
He enters the room, noticing his wife in her satin housecoat, sitting in the old leather armchair, looking troubled. His smile fades to a frown.
"It would seem that our Hermione has decided to be rebellious, at least in a social sense, a little late in the game."
She points to the pictures resting on her lap, ones so personal, it seems almost grotesque that thousands of people will see such an intimate moment between two people. To have people witness, judge and whisper behind their backs. Hermione is leaning in to the boy, her hand clutching at his bare wrists, pulling him to her, which is why his tattoo is visible. She then grabs his face and kisses him, wherein he takes her hands in his, and returns her affection. If it had been Ron, she would have cooed at the sight. (though obviously not if it was deemed national news. )The other one, in London, Hermione is laughing, her lovely smile spreading out to show her perfect teeth. The boy is rubbing the back of his head, rocking on his heels, clearly happy he roused a laugh, his other hand preoccupied with several carrier bags.
Molly's stomach tightens at the prospect that that vile boy is toying with her emotions, Godric knows that his father was the expert. Amendments made from cash flowing through the hands of the inherited wealthy to the government, shuns to Arthur from the higher-ups because her family respects all walks of wizards, not just the pure. Lucius Malfoy was the source of all the things Arthur loathes in this world, and now his offspring seemed to be courting the brightest witch for his personal gain, perhaps to re-level the status quo.
This would simply not do.
Molly squeezes Arthur's arm as she sees his hateful expression, the red flaring on his cheeks in silent rage. "How can Hermione possibly think that anything good will come of a relationship with – with –"
He can't finish.
"Now, now, I would imagine he's being extremely pleasant to her. People can be very persuasive, enticing even, especially after they'd been rotten towards you. You know very well that she wouldn't give a boy a chance had they not passed her internal test."
"Well how could a boy like that pass it? Where Ron seemed to fizzle? He's a bad seed, I tell you, that Malfoy. Just like all of them are."
"Arthur, you know that's a harsh statement to make," she soothes, trying to quell his upset. But inside she shares his bitterness, knowing it should be Ron holding her hand, and not some son of a Death Eater.
"No, it's fact. This boy was ordered to murder Dumbledore, and he actually tried to! Harry said he was nervous, insincere, but he didn't even talk to the headmaster beforehand, he didn't take the protection that would've been offered – what kind of person – I mean, he bullied Ron for years, he's clearly a coward like his father – only cares about status -"
He cuts himself off before he explodes and smacks the paper with his hand.
"He's up to no good."
"Yes – yes, I was thinking the same. But I think maybe we should talk with Hermione first, you know, people go through bad phases all the time."
"But Draco Malfoy? Surely, she can't be that daft. Why would she go to France with him? Can you imagine what could have happened? What has he done to deserve her kindness? Bah! I'll never understand women," he finishes heartily, kissing his wife on the cheek and grabbing his suitcase. "I'm going to the office, this is not something I'd like to witness when Ron finds out, and I don't need to rile him up more with my no doubt agreeable sentiment."
Molly had almost forgotten about her son's reaction to all this, and how awful it would be. Perhaps Harry as well, she knew they used to be heated rivals.
Lucky her, she got to witness the whole thing.
She sighed, waved her husband from the household, not bothering a good bye, and walked into the kitchen.
"RON! HARRY! GINNY? It's breakfast!" she yelled from her spot near the stove. She readied herself for the storm about to brew from her heavy-hearted loves up the staircase, hearing slight rustling through the wooden floors. They were soon to be on a bloodthirsty rampage from the news, without speculation.
No, this would not do.
This scenario was, excuse her vulgarity, a bloody disaster.
{}
"This eez an outrage! 'Ow could you let zis happen in such a vulgar, tawdry way? Augh!"
"You were present at the restaurant, were you not? You saw with your very eyes the staff throw out the man who snapped our photographs! How is this my fault? How was I supposed to know he would follow us!"
What the fuck is going on downstairs?
I'm laying on my stomach in my bed, blinking my tired eyes open. I note the clock hanging above my door, which is very slightly creaked open. It's only 7:30 AM, for christ's sake.
All I can hear are angry voices in a fit of screaming match, but I'm a bit too groggy to decipher it all.
The main thing on my mind is that my mother is home. And it would appear that my new grandmamma is as well. I wonder what exactly has transpired to make Marie so irate, so irate she has chosen to come to my home, or else made mother uncomfortable enough that she had to return here.
I roll onto my back and exhale a whoosh of air, knowing i`m going to have to settle this matter with my usual charisma. I can no longer hear any conversation, just click clacks of heels that traveled to the parlour, I would assume.
I sit up and walk slowly to my wardrobe across the room, feeling pretty frigid, the outside of the house blowing with whistling wind, as my window suggests from the branches of the elm tree rapping on the glass. Opening its oak doors, one side reveals a grey wool housecoat reserved for fall and winter. I pull it onto my bare chest, only having worn checked bottoms to sleep the previous night.
I sigh before closing the door to my room, resenting the fact that this interrupted a good night's sleep after nearly a week of inns and accidents, longing for my plush black duvet. But I need to defend my mother.
I make my way down the stairs through the entrance room and into the hallway, listening for the fray. I find the commotion not the parlour, but the dining room. My mother is sitting with her head in her hands at the head of the table, while Jean is shielded by Marie, who stands with her hand grasping his arm on the adjacent side. He is obviously wanting to comfort mother, while Gaston is near the crackling fireplace, a cigar lit. Jean's face is shining with trepidation.
Nobody is saying anything.
I knock on the cedar entrance, tentative to enter the tension charged atmosphere, to make my presence known.
Mother looks up, the chair creaking, her long hair swinging around her face as she turns to look at me. She doesn't smile, in fact her expression goes from exasperation to panic.
"You!" It comes from the French lady's hostile mouth.
Marie's nostrils flare, I can practically see the steam rise from her ears. She drops Jean's arms like a hot coal and points a finger at me, beginning to saunter over to where I reside.
Mother makes a point to stand up, but since she's on the other side of the room, Marie reaches me first, breathing heavily.
What the hell?
Fuck this bitch, I'm standing my ground.
"Yes?" I ask, snidely. "What is your malfunction?"
She emits an angry growl, but always debonnaire, she smooths out her already impeccable jacket and clears her throat.
"My 'malfunction', az you so rudely 'ave put it, iz zat you have revealed to ze press zee nature of your mother and my wonderful Jean's relationship! And of yours with ze Granger girl! 'Ow could you do zis? Did you 'onestly zink zat aftere everysing you 'ave done in ze past, that you would be able to better ze Malfoy name by chatting up somebody clearly too good for you? Can't you zee wizzout our help, you are nothing? And now you've gone and ruined it; Ha!" she laughs mirthlessly.
"What in blue blazes are you on about?" I ask, anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach.
"Do NOT play stupid!" she cries in her Parisian accent. She marches over to the table, picks up a newspaper I didn't notice until now, and launches it, wherein I catch it as it hits my chest.
Le Gazette De La Semaine.
It's a weekly French Wizard tabloid-esque publication; it`s the front page. I'm confused until I notice a snapshot of everybody before me in this room walking away from Cerisier the same day I was there with Granger. Marie and Gaston trailing my mother and Jean, who hold hands and look fairly unhappy.
To my horror, a bit down the page there's one of Hermione and I kissing. I thought we threw that bastard reporter out!
I scan the article, and it is a biased, non-factual piece about Narcissa Malfoy courting Jean-Pierre Du Pont. A scandal because my father is in jail, she must be cheating on him; and Mr. Du Pont`s recent ex-wife gave an interview last week about how much she's enjoying her new husband, her new life. (Clearly she's his rebound). It goes on basically to say that obviously this is a way for mother to get back into the public good side, noting the ring on her finger. The photo zooms in onto the clasped hands to highlight the hefty diamond. It says that Marie and Gaston are simply looking for a way to regain their heaps of money, as Gaston's business has been waning for years now, and Jean is 'stupid' enough to fall for my mother's wits because of her wealth and tartiness by the way she dresses (she's covered up in the picture for Merlin's right testicle), and his desperation to get back at Violet, his ex.
And then at the end, it's a blurb about me, and how I also am coerced into the entire operation, that by dating Hermione, I will bring down her reputation of being an intelligent saint, and level up my prestige. Already boiling with rage, the last straw is when I notice the caption to my most intimate moment this year; Photos courtesy of Gavin Hughes, photographer for the Daily Prophet.
Oh fuck me sideways.
I crumple the paper with my hands and toss is heavily across the room and it misses the flames, landing right in front of the mantle onto the stone floor.
"I did not go to some garish, gaudy magazine in fucking France to sell them a story! Why the fuck would you think I'd do that to myself or my mother!" I yell loudly.
Marie crosses her arms and my mother begins to cry, falling back into the seat.
"I do not appreciate your tone, was your kindness ze other day in ze restaurant merely an act in front of your date? Ze people in ze restarant? Narcissa has sworn she 'asn't told anybody, you are ze only other person 'oo knows. Jean told 'er if she let ze news out before it was planned, thanks to our wishes," she points to Gaston, then back to her breast, "she wouldn't 'ave our blessing. It was already a delicate situation when Jean told us who 'e was seeing, what with your appalling 'istory, but zis will simply not do. You 'ave ruined it for your mother, Draco."
Mother now sobbing, Jean attempting to hold her hand, but she shrugging it away, I realize what I've done. This lavish, awful woman has been holding this promise of being a good a mother-in-law and genial grandmother above my mother's head for nearly a year, and that's why she couldn't tell me right away, and why she was probably waiting to tell me when I came home before I found out too soon. They'd have to do a piece for the French public, one they control, which must be why it was so hush hush; blackmail and tears have been gripping my mother for a long time. And now, all that has been destroyed.
This is all my fault.
"Look," I begin, my hands shaking. "I was locked from the Manor, and the only way I was able to stay at a – a friend's home is if I had told her why I wasn't able to get inside, and why I was upset. I went to my ex-girlfriend's, who later in the night suggested we be married ourselves! Which is a notion I obviously rejected, as I had feelings for someone else." Mother looks up at me with a mangled expression, sad I didn't inform her. "I had only just learnt that these two were seeing each other, I had no clue who Jean even was! I was distraught. How would you feel if your mother told you she was leaving your prison-bound dad? So when I told Paisley Parkinson," my mother cries an audible sob, "the vile mother of my ex about him, when she prodded me about who my mother was seeing, how would I know she'd use it against us? She probably went to the papers because I left her daughter angry and crying, and this is her petty revenge."
As this info comes full circle, I realize that that paparazzo was no random incident. In fact, I recall some sketchy man in Muggle London that kept popping up unannounced wherever Hermione and I went, feeling like I was being followed, but shrugged it off as paranoia.
"Well zen you are an idiot for divulging information zo freely to people you dislike. There could 'ave been other options to explore besides going knowingly to a 'ousehold you knew would be reluctant to accept you. You 'ave caused slander to not one, not two, but zree households, Draco," she huffs. " I imagine Miss Grangere will not be pleased with zis development."
I gulp, my inside growing hollow, then lurching tightly with fear.
She's going to fucking kill me.
This means the Weasel will find out before she tells him, I know the Prophet must've had our kissing picture somewhere in the edition, though not on the front page, I fucking hope. The possibility that one of the Weasley's won't find out however, let alone Potter, is laughable.
Fucking Pansy.
"I know she won't be pleased, but unlike you, I think she could forgive me!" I reply stupidly. "Can't you see that if you break off the wedding, you'll be doing exactly what the press suspects of you? My mother clearly loves your son if she was willing to be your bitch for a year!"
Marie looks taken aback. "What do you mean, my 'bitch'?"
"My mother is a proud person, she wouldn't submit to doing what you say for just anybody. And now because of some bad, falsely accused press, you're running scared. What, was it actually the truth? Do you just want our fucking Galleons? Huh!"
"Draco, please," my mother croaks in a weary voice.
"Of course not! Your family eez just infamous and - and 'orrible! You know 'ow it eez in zis world; it eez all about appearance! And you Malfoy's 'ave lost your shiny glow long ago. 'Ow dare you suggest that we need your wealth more zan you need our status. Gatson, Jean? Allons-y," she spits disgusted.
Gaston follows his alpha-female like a stupid wolf in a pack to where I stand at the door. But Jean stays in his spot.
"Jean," Marie titters huffing.
"I'm not leaving," he mutters, hand still desperately clutching my mother's shoulder.
"Excusez-moi?"
"Je ne suis pas quitter," he repeats en francias, calmly.
"You will stand by some, some, 'arpy, but not your family?" she asks, and for the first time, her steely demeanour waivers. I can see it in her topaz eyes.
"Family stands by you when you make decision such az who you love, mama. And you 'ave done no such zing. She's made me ze 'appiest I've been in years, she 'az followed your every whim, even zough you 'ave only met zis past week. You 'ang like a shadow over my internal affairs. You always 'ave," he says a little aggressively. "And you fail to see zis, that you damage me, you only care about what everybody else zays about you! Regardless if you're trying to 'elp me, you fail to realize I simply do not care! You only approved of Violet because of her family, but she was a gold-digging femme fatale, and now after it 'as gone sour, you take no responsibility for arranging me to wed her. You act like my 'Cissa is the same as she, refusing to see her good points. But I zay that I love her. I love her, maman, papa."
Gaston looks up briefly, uncaring, obviously too buzzed on something to be aware. Marie looks positively shattered, to my satisfaction.
"And I choose 'er over you, if you will not allow us to all live in 'armony, together."
I didn't realize until now that I was holding my breath since he started speaking. My mother has finally decided to show her face, absolutely aghast with what just happened. What he just admitted. I can't fully fathom the courage it must take to distance yourself from your family, your blood. For the sake of something so simple as love.
Marie is struggling for words to say, her mouth twitching between open and closed. She humphs, and turns on her heel, clacking out the door, saying nothing, Gaston following in stride. I notice she wipes her face as she crosses the hall to the front door.
Nobody says a thing until the loud slam of the door reverberates all the way into here.
What god-awful people.
From behind me, I can hear very quietly, 'Oh, Jean,"
I turn round and see her nuzzling Jean, clutching at his expensive robes.
And in that moment, I know my mother has finally done away her riddled past of fighting morality, because Jean has set her free. He's shown her he doesn't care about appearances, that she is infinitely more important than how he looks to people he doesn't even know, something father never could have; he'd always tried to smooth things over.
And in that moment, I realize that unless Hermione can convince her friends to give me a chance, that I'll be the one walking away bitterly. Maybe her mum liked me for the hour I met her, but if I can't get Potter or any of the Weasley's approval, or at least a settlement, I'm fucking doomed.
I walk over to the table, where Jean now sits beside my mother, stroking her hand while she insists on finishing her waterworks display.
"I'm really sorry." I say it aloud, yet it feels oddly like an out of body experience, as if I'm a ghost traveling through a stranger's home. Because I am sorry for myself, yet I'm not for my mother. If I hadn't had this happen, perhaps my mother would have suffered being stuck in another submissive relationship where she obeyed because she loves too much.
There's a moment of silence with light sobs.
"You didn't mean it to 'appen. It 'as affected you no doubt as well, 'asn't it?" Jean says, no expression etched on him. "And truth be told, I 'ave always wanted to say zose zings to my maman. Papa 'as always stood by 'er side, agreeing to every little detail, and silly zing she 'as desired, while I 'ad no say; she eez a control freak. Until she learns some 'umility and respect for me, for your mother and now for you, she does not need to be in my life."
A stab of something, perhaps envy, pokes me in the gut. This is a man who is willing to sacrifice tons for something he truly cares about, and it's not himself. He could be me almost, in another life. He feels relatable.
The very prospect of giving up my lap of luxury and security here, of having my own mother's support disappear, is the most daunting, horrifying idea that I could think of. And he just gave it all away as a testament to my mother's love.
"You're a good man, Jean-Pierre." I say. He looks up at me suddenly, curiosity checking out if I am sincere or not. When he sees that I am, he stifles a grin, looking down at nothing.
"So," mother sniffs, and Jean is alert, wary of her needs. She smiles at me. "When are we expecting H- Hermione for dinner?"
I wish, oh I dream, that I could return the happiness in her grin. The permission she has just granted me to see whomever I like, thanks to a man I barely know, makes my brain glow anew with thankfulness. But I can't make my body float with pride because the girl whose been driving me crazy, with lust and greed and longing, may soon be forced to dump me in the trash bin.
"I don't know. Possibly never," I reply, looking at the ripped up paper. It almost doesn't feel real, the idea that I was in a tabloid from another land.
"Why ever not?"
"She's very close to her friends, very loyal, a true Gryffindor," I reply gruffly. "And her previous boyfriend, that Ron Weasley, still loves her. And unlike Pansy, he regretfully understands the concept of love better than to pick her for her blood."
"So what does that have to do with you dating her?"
I look up at the ceiling, rolling my eyes. "A lot," I laugh hollowly.
"Sit," my mother commands, patting the table on the placement of the chair beside her.
Reluctantly, I obey, and saunter over to the chair, across from Jean. I sit down, and she grabs my hand, her other occupied with her fiancées.
She has a shaky smile, trying hard not to cry, hopefully from happiness rather than anguish.
"Explain to me what you're going through, love," she asks.
"Why do you want to know so badly?" I ask shaking my head.
"Because for once, you are upset over something I can discuss with you. You are fussed over a girl, something I wished you were able to experience earlier in life, rather than fretting over some things completely detrimental to your sanity and life. This is miles away from Death Eater duties," she pulls a face. "I thought you liked that Parkinson girl, but truth be told, she was very annoying like her mother. And when she was cooing over your nuptials, your father and I almost had a heart attack. I'm so very happy you've moved on."
I genuinely laugh, and she squeezes me palm.
"Thanks, mother," I reply. "I don't know how you'll help though."
"Try me," she muses.
"Well, alright, you asked. Sorry Jean," I note to him, and he shrugs, content to simply sit there. "I am not dating Hermione. Not for certain. I've discovered she likes me, before she said she liked the way I looked, but was on the fence about my personality. And I couldn't blame her, I'd feel the same given what I did. But she, uh, kissed me in a way one wouldn't if you were reserving your judgement." She gives me a knowing look and I flush. "I really enjoy her company, though. I'm fairly certain the feelings' mutual. I just don't know where the hell I stand, for once in my life, I feel inadequate next to somebody, like I've met my match. At the same time, I feel my inner anger just melt away when we're together, it could be because we listen to music often, and tons of witty banter is included. But that's not it. She actually cares about me in a way that my friends before hadn't, they weren't willing to let their guard down. I just – she just drives me crazy!"
"Sounds like you are a smitten kitten," Jean adds out of the blue, and mother giggles.
"I think he may be right." I humph, too stubborn to reply.
"Clearly, she likes you, she seemed to in the restaurant. So why wouldn't she be able to persuade her friends on such a handsome boy like yourself?"
Mother's can be so oblivious. I choke out a laugh.
"So - I've been less than her friend for years, and even though I was forced to be her enemy the past few, there's a lot of unspoken ugliness from our past that her friends could use as a weapon to distract her from me. She's never done much, it's all been me. I've verbally assaulted her, and done way worse to her friends, mostly because the company she keeps is Potter, and because I was jealous of her intellect."
My mother shakes her head.
"Have you apologized to anyone?"
"Er-"
"Draco."
"I said I would! She should know I'm sorry by now, I apologized to her and I'd do it twice again if she so desired, I just haven't had the chance. I'm merely worried of the fact that she may tell me she can't be with me more than an acquaintance, and we still have to finish our project," I confess, feeling my chest dart with anxiety.
"Sweetheart, if she's as smart as everyone says, she's not going to let a paper ruin a budding relationship or jeopardize a good grade."
My mother's usually cold eyes are filled with warmth, she's trying. She's trying for me. When before, Hermione would be an obstacle in the way of her baby boy's future.
"Well, I hope you're right."
"I am. I know I am. When will you see her next?"
"Tomorrow." God, that's too far away, I'm so nervous that she's going to get hurt by Weasley, or that I'm going to show up at her door unable to kiss her.
"And what will you do today?"
"Go back to sleep, I'm just going to fidget otherwise, and Merlin, it's barely 8. Who's up at this hour?"
"Well, my apologies for waking you up," she says, but Jean cuts in.
"No, Narcissa, I am sorry Draco, zat my parents are …."
"Disagreeable?"
"Mais, oui," he chuckles.
"Okay, well, I forgive you. As long as you love my mother, I always will," I say sincerely. "I'll be down later, I need to pay a certain Parkinson a visit, but I'm exhausted. Good night….morning. Enjoy your newly invested privacy."
They look at each other, almost wickedly, and I turn to exit, not wanting to interrupt their moment.
"Draco, let me know when you're leaving, I'd like to have a word with Paisley as well."
"I will."
I return upstairs into my room, feeling surreal at the past 20 minutes. I discard my robe and fall into my unkempt bed, thoughts of what tomorrow and this afternoon will bring taunting my thoughts. However, I'm so exhausted that after mere seconds, my eyelids close and my dreams overtake me, filled with sweet lips and violin playing.
I pray to any god in the sky and on earth that I'll be given a second chance. I know I don't deserve it, but I need it more than anything.
I make the finishing touches by adding a ribbon to the braid in my hair and look at the overall effect. I'm standing in front of my wardrobe mirror; I've tried to make an extra effort to look presentable today, yesterday I looked unkempt and horrific. I'm wearing a red top with beige corduroys, and a black blazer to top it off. I want to look good, but not sexy.
Around my neck is a ruby pendant that my parents gave me for Christmas two years ago. The jewellery box contained a note citing that this particular gem represents love; especially in friendship, so while I'm not a big believer in that nonsense, I can take all the help I can get at this current junction.
I haven't managed to get my hair tamed since it being completely mussed after the infinite snog sessions I had last night, so after a failed conditioning attempt, to keep the strands from my face is the best attempt. I smile at the memory of yesterday, Draco's smirking face, his curved lips. This quickly fades to dread in my stomach, knowing once and for all today's the day.
I'm going to tell Harry and Ron about Malfoy.
They deserve to know, they deserve my explanation and for me to answer any questions they might have.
I grab my purse, tuck my wand in my pocket, and gather my wits before making my way to the closet at the front door, donning some calf length boots.
Before I go, I check my phone, knowing it won't work in Ottery St. Catchpole, and see a text from Andrea. I called her late last night and explained the situation, and she didn't help me, merely cooed over the progress, but she calmed me enough to not lose my sanity.
Good luck, love! Don't succumb to fear, you are a strong, confident woman, and nobody can tell you what to do xx
I shake my head smiling and text back: Thanks! I'll let you know how it goes x
Which will probably be horrific.
I replace the phone onto the banister, turning it off. When I step outside and lock my door in one swift thought I focus on the forest a 5 minute hike away from the Burrow.
Brief suffocation follows, then relief.
As my feet regain their stability, I whiff the crisp spring air, patches of snow covering the dirt. I make my way to the very top off the sloped ground, which then turns into a hill, the Weasley household residing at the bottom like a diamond in the roughage of field.
I clear my head as I walk down it, thinking of nothing but the beautiful wintry scenery, and listening to the sounds of nature; wind, birds and footsteps.
I try to look in to the windows of the home, but it's rather cloudy today, and it's oddly dim. As I near it, it's uncharacteristically quiet.
Must be because only the younger kids are home….right? No, there should always be commotion. Everything feels off.
My whole body can sense a change in aura as I reach the crooked doorframe.
Before I can even knock, it's whooshed open to reveal Molly, who looks slightly deranged.
"Hermione!" she begins a tad too warmly.
"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," I reply, going in to give her a hug.
She doesn't lean in, in fact she's frozen to the spot.
I then freeze with my arms out, looking like a ninny without an explanation as to her refusal to greet me. I cross my arms, a little embarrassed, but shrug it off.
"Er, anything wrong?"
"Well –" she hesitates. "No, no nothing. Come on in," and she disappears into the house.
I drop my bag and shoes to the floor, and go to the living room, hoping I find Harry or Ginny to explain this odd behaviour. Before I get there, Mrs. Weasley stops me out of nowhere, grabbing my upper arm, making me jump out of my skin.
Merlin's baggy pants, what is the matter?
"Oh, Hermione dear, don't go in there at the moment."
"Why?"
"Um – there are a few doxies in there, you don't want to see them, - with the eggs and everything."
Are a few vermin really worth all the fuss?
'Oh, well I could go in there, I'm not sure if you've ever had to deal with it, but there's a not too complicated spell you can cast –"
"It's fine, it's fine, love, just, why don't you come upstairs to see Ginny, she's been really wanting to –"
"HERMIONE."
A loud feral yell comes sounding from the upstairs, and Molly and I both look to the source of the noise.
It's Ron.
I can see his red face looming on the third floor, and the whole house seems to quake as his tall thunking strides smack the baseboards.
I'm paralyzed with terror. He looks livid.
I look to my right and Molly is in the same position as me; stagnant.
"I thought he was down here," she breathes more to herself than me.
"What the bloody fucking hell were you thinking? Are you thinking? Huh!"
He's made his way down the last few steps, his cheeks scarlet, his green eyes with a watery sheen, and his teeth in a snarl. He stops before me, casting me into a shadow and I have no idea why. No idea what to say, or what action to take.
"Ron - what are you talking about?" I finally gulp, very quietly. I've never seen him like this.
"Oh, I take it you haven't seen the happy news yet – brilliant!" he laughs like a maniac in an asylum, no trace of mirth.
"What? News?"
"HARRY!" he barks, "Bring it down, our guest is here!"
What haven't I seen?
The happy news?
"Ron, that's no way to talk to a lady, let alone friend. Now –"
"Mum, I'm sorry, but this doesn't concern you! And she asked for it, she wants to know why I'm so delightfully proud of her," he addresses her in a high pitched voice. "So stay out of it!"
"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare use that tone with me!"
"That tone? You think I'm just going to welcome in somebody who hides secrets, someone who I've fought for, and doesn't even notice or care! Now that there's nobody to hurt her, she just does whatever she bloody well pleases without any thought of the consequences."
I suddenly catch on to what he means, feeling pale. He knows.
How does he know!
"If she wants to snake her way into being accepted by different, awful people, then she very well can try, but I won't be so nice anymore. I'm not going to wait."
The double entendre finalizes my whim; he knows! Oh my god.
Oh.
My GOD.
Harry appear out of nowhere, looking grim. He meets my frightened gaze evenly, then shakes his head, evidently repulsed with me, and slams a piece of newspaper into my hands.
"How could you?" is all he says. He gives an outward sigh of disgust and turns round to go back up the stairs to Ginny's room.
"Well, go ahead; Read it."
"Merlin, help us," Mrs. Weasley whispers, crossing herself with eyes closed as I can see from the corner of my eyes. However, she stays put, watching me with a horrified expression.
I slowly pull the page in front of my face, feeling more like a viewer of a drama series than an actual participant. It's the 'Gossip' column of the Prophet.
And underneath a bolded headline, is me. With Draco.
In France, and in London. Kissing him, and laughing with him.
Our intimate moments splayed out for entertaining the masses.
I find the article difficult to read with shaking hands rattling the print, but the gist of it is that there is speculation of our relationship, and whether it is me being the 'bad girl' or him being the 'good boy'. It also speaks about his mother briefly and Jean.
My heart drops into stomach, lurching and causing me nausea. This is awful. Everyone is going to see this.
Everyone.
And I know for a fact that Pansy or her mother informed Miss Skeeter, that – that bitch! That horrid, will sink to the level of a rat, no good - augh!
Oh my god. Has Draco seen this?
What is he going to do when he finds it? What will his mother do? His poor mother, finally getting on to the right track.
More relevantly, what am I going to do now?
With shaky breaths I look at Ron again. His jaw is set, his arms are crosses, his anger omnipresent.
"Well?"
I say nothing.
"What? Suddenly too good to speak to me, like your slivery new boyfriend. What the fucking hell, Hermione? I was at your house yesterday, and you didn't have the decency to tell me you were lusting after the ferret?"
"I – I was r-really nervous, Ron. I knew you wouldn't be able to understand."
"Understand? No, no I don't. Clearly, you're deluded, or perhaps you secretly want to make me jealous? You just love torturing me, apparently."
"Ron! I do not!" His words cut me like a blade, and I know I deserve them.
"YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME. You didn't even tell me, or Harry, or Ginny for Salazar Slytherin's sake! What could you possibly see in a retch like him?"
"Plenty," I counter, attempting to stand my ground.
"Ha! Like what? Money? Pretty shallow if you ask me, and you move pretty fast too though, don't you? First Dean, and now Malfoy? How utterly revolting. Is it because he jinxed me, and saved you? You make me sick."
"Ron. I came over here to try and explain to you what happened, today. Yesterday, I wasn't ready."
"Yes, well you never are, are you? Yet you're ready to do reckless things? What has gotten in to you this year? Dating boys you hardly know? Going to France with your best friend's mortal enemy? Are you mad?"
"No, actually I'm not."
"Prove it, then."
"Fine," I reply icily. "But I'd like Harry here too, so he knows how I feel."
"Mum, would you fetch Harry for us, please?" Ron bites. "We'll go into the living room."
Mrs. Weasley shakes her head, but surprisingly grits her teeth and retreats to the top floor. I whip around and ignore Ron as I sit in a single seat by the fireplace that's cackling, barely any wood on it.
Ron pulls me in the bloody chair to the middle of the room, like I'm being interrogated, facing the long couch he sits on.
After excruciating silent minutes, Harry appears with Ginny, who refuses to look at me or acknowledge my existence. Molly tells us she's going to lie down for a bit, she doesn't want to interfere, though I know she's aching to, and exits the room.
"So, go on. Explain yourself," Ron challenges, his stare splitting me apart, and I sweating bullets of guilt and shame. He's placed the paper on the coffee table, mocking me from afar; the constant repeat of myself kissing Draco an ugly reminder that every single person in Hogwarts will know and judge me before I can enlighten them.
"Draco," I enunciate, purposely biting at Ron's wounds, "confessed that he liked me first. That was Sunday. Our previous encounter, as I already clarified yesterday, was rather pleasant. He was leagues away from that awful boy we once knew, and appeared a completely different soul altogether."
Ron grunts, but I continue. "It so happens that I've been conflicted over the past few months or so on my attraction towards him." Ginny darts a confused look at me, then quickly away again.
"You liked him?" Harry blurts out, then snaps his jaw shut.
"No, I found him aesthetically pleasing," I reply, raising my eyebrows to differentiate the two, embarrassed.
"But Dean, a more worthy person, asked me out first, and Ron went and ruined that, didn't he?"
"I'd rather you date Dean than that monster!" Ron spits.
"No, actually, you don't," I laugh haughtily. "You'd rather me stay single unless I see you!"
He flushes harder than he already was "You'll go out with anybody that pays you a compliment, won't you? You were all over Krum when clearly he just wanted to shag you because you didn't fawn all over him!"
"You haven't read what he's written me, so I don't think you have any sense in the matter," I reply, thoroughly insulted. What a cad.
"Oh, I don't, do I? Because I'm such an idiot?
"Viktor, as he so recently revealed to me; is gay." I recall the letter Viktor sent me during the summertime; he was distraught over a boy in his Quidditch league. Obviously its forbidden to copulate with people on your team, and frowned upon in Eastern Europe to be openly gay (in the Wizard community) unfortunately. He told me what he saw in me was admiration, and intellect, and while he enjoyed our chaste kisses and companionship, he wasn't in love with me like Ron thinks.
"What?" Ron asks disbelieving.
"Yes; gay. And Dean, while very nice, was all compliments, flattery and jealousy; clearly if he was going to fight you on our first date, he hasn't learned the idea of personal space like when he was with Ginny. He's a great friend, but he's a little possessive like someone else sitting in the room."
"Yeah, because I love you. I fucking LOVE YOU, Hermione. I want you back." He buries his face in his hands, and begins to sob.
Guilt stabs me everywhere, my mind reeling of fond memories with the ginger boy in front of me.
"Ron," I whisper, tears of their own forming in my pupils. I reach out to touch his hand, but he bats it away. He sniffs and wipes his face.
"I spent the whole summer filled with regret about how I treated you that night, hoping we could resolve it on the train and then you didn't seem to care about me the same way."
I glance at Harry, who seems lost about whether to stay or go, and when he sees me looking at him, forms a steely resolve to stay for moral support.
"Ron, maybe I regret what happened between us and how we are now, maybe I regret always being so high strung and always searching for the right and proper way to go about things before doing them. But you never once owled me. You didn't chase me as you're so ready to do now. Neither did any of you," I say, choking back tears and spilling out feelings I never realized I felt until now.
"I always had to initiate it, and when sent back a reply, I got 'Ron isn't ready for it yet.' So I didn't come over, I didn't pry. I spent months without friends. Why? Because I wanted you to be comfortable, and you know what? I am so sick of the fact that we can't be separate. Why can't Harry and I hang out, or Ginny and I? Or even you Ron, without each other? Since when did it all have to be some package deal of all or nothing? Huh? !" I cry, bitterness at the forefront of my emotions. "Did you ever stop to think that I was scared that night, Ron? That I hated worrying about if you loved me or not. But I realized something about that night a few nights ago, that I didn't the whole summer, the whole fall. I was so worried about you loving me, because my feelings had shifted while we were together. The curtain fell down on what I dreamed it would be like to be with you."
"W-what do you mean?" Ron asks.
I take a deep breath. "You weren't what I fantasized for so long, just as I wasn't for you. And don't you deny it; you thought I wouldn't be insecure, just like I thought you'd be able to wait for me to be sexually ready."
"Look! I'm sorry I didn't reveal anything about Lavender, it was difficult!"
"I know, I forgive you, alright? The fact is, you hate my hobbies, and I hate yours; where're the similarities? We have none besides being friends with Harry, and besides schoolwork or defeating Voldemort. After that, what've we got? You hate reading, politics, human rights, music even, and especially school. I love all those things, while I hate Quidditch, chess, and trivial things like jokes or tricks."
"So? You like me, not my interests!" he counters, out of anger, filled with sadness.
"Yes, I do like you. I love you too, but not romantically. You are the most loyal, bravest, yes brave as Harry," I say when he scrunches his face at me, "and greatest friend anybody could possibly ask for. You stuck with Harry through everything, despite feeling scared or feeling inadequate. It's why I fell for you, after all. But I don't think a long term romantic relationship can happen between us."
"But why?" he asks broken. Tears fall down my face as I reveal the truth.
"Because it doesn't feel meant to be."
"And it feels meant to be with Malfoy?" The angry voice is Harry, not Ron. Ginny too is staring at me with criticism and resentment.
"That's not what I said," I reply meekly.
"But there you are, snogging him like some flitty school girl in a foreign country! That isn't you! He's using you!"
"How do you know what I am!" I reply incensed. "He's not using me, because he let me in; he opened up to me, and if he wanted to gain status or whatnot, why divulge information that I can use against him later if he got me angry? Draco is the first person to help me understand who I am! And you know how? Through talking to me about what I wanted to. Everybody around me listens but they don't hear, they write me off as being too smart for my own good or stupid and thinking I'm merely good at memorization. A know-it-all. Well let me tell you something – Ron, I explained to him what happened between us - "
"Oh, bloody hell!"
"And he was on YOUR side. He's the one to open my eyes to the fact that I can't always be ready for everything, that some things you can't prepare and plan for."
"But I could've told you that!" Ron retorts.
"BUT YOU DIDN'T!" I scream. "Listen to me for once! Let me finish!"
"We are," Ginny finally chimes in, fettered by her pulsing temper. "It hurts me you think you can't talk to us."
"I do, but not on a deeply intellectual level. You lot don't want to, and I get it, I understand it's boring for you, which is why I don't press it, but I need it! Can't you understand that? Before L-Lupin died, he was the only person who liked doing that sort of thing. And now, Draco will, he – he keeps me laughing, keeps arguing with me so I can truly find my point of view on matters, but can keep most of his actual temperament out of it for a debate purpose. And you don't know how that feels."
"How what feels?" Ginny asks, still restraining herself.
"To have someone completely get you, and how you work."
"As a matter of fact, I do." She replies, pointing to Harry, who is staring at me with an unreadable look.
"What about Ron?" Harry asks. "You cried for weeks when he left last year, could barely function without him."
"True, because I missed him, he disappointed me when he used to be my knight in shining armour. Ron has always known me and how I am, but I don't think he knew how to deal with me, because we constantly bickered, always fought."
"But you resolved it! Always."
"Yeah, no thanks to you! Whose side were you on when the going got tough? HIS. I was always cast aside, bros before hoes I suppose, yes?" I rage.
"What about ME?" Ginny explodes finally, standing up, hair and eyes wild. "Didn't I help you? I talked to you for an hour on the train about Ron, and you still couldn't find it in you to talk to me about how you felt about Draco," she says unbelievably. "is that what you wanted to talk about in your room? And you lied again, couldn't bring it out of your system?
"Given his past history, no, I couldn't. I came over today to try and explain it to you all rather than merely showing up to school to exclaim it, I actually care about your feelings, unlike the way you're portraying me."
"But HERMIONE," Harry interjects, rising as well, leaving Ron to stare blankly ahead, upset. "This is a boy who plotted against Dumbledore, I know, I know, by accident, but STILL. He almost killed Katie Bell, and he nearly poisoned RON. He tormented all of us through the years, and purposely joined organizations like the Inquisitorial Squad to further annoy us. And then, he still tried to thwart us as petty revenge for his stupid father during a WAR, and we had to save his stupid arse TWICE. Has he apologized or thanked me? NO! And I didn't kill him at school only because of you telling me that you thought I liked Ron more; to help ease your project experience, and from his jealousy, I tried to help keep Ron at bay!"
"I know, okay, I know! He did it all for the sake of his family, you need to understand that –"
"And himself! He's as selfish as they come, and you know it."
"I do, but he also apologized to me, and he said he'd apologize to you. All of you. His father is in Azkaban, rightfully so, but his mother is divorcing him and has a fiancée he just found out about, he's really distraught. Harry, he came to Muggle London, he is rid of his prejudices. He's so different it's scary."
"But he's still the boy who made me get expelled from Quidditch, who didn't care that Umbridge would use an illegal spell on me, who constantly put down my girlfriend and best friend's family any chance he got. His ego is bigger than his remorse, it always will be, regardless if he has some kind of caring bone in his body, his damage is permanent."
"But it's not. I've tried forgiving him, why can't you?"
"You choose to believe that he will be different because you are trying to justify yourself liking him."
"He is different."
"HE'S A BLOODY DEATH EATER!" Ron yells.
"He adapted to the environment he was thrust in! His father was in too deep for him to just stop being involved with Voldemort! He was forced to do it or be killed, along with his parents! What would you have done?"
"I'd have told Dumbledore, gotten him to help me," Harry retorts.
"But he wasn't you, nobody was close to him except you! Everyone hates the Slytherin's on principle, who would've taken him seriously?"
"Well if he wasn't such an asshole –"
"He isn't anymore! And I like him, that's not going to change, Harry – Ron, and I wanted to tell you that I'll be seeing more of him, whether you liked it or not, but I thought we could all get together to ease into it."
"Fat fucking chance. You disgust me."
Ron's bitter, broken-down tone plunges a knife into my chest.
"I think you should leave," Ginny adds, fiendishly. "This will only get worse."
"You can't convince us, Hermione. Why suggest having a playdate? That will only result in violence." Harry sighs frustrated.
"Why can't you try, for me? Please?"
"HA! You betray us and expect we'll comply to your wishes? How uncharacteristically foolish. I'm done trying for you, Hermione."
"But –"
"I fucking hate that no good pureblood asshole, so I suggest you stop talking about him and get the hell away from me. You're probably tainted from touching him, after all."
"Ron."
"Look – it's non-negotiable. I don't want to talk about him anymore. And I don't want to see you anymore today – you ruined our dinner plans, you pretty much decided to fraternize with the enemies of my whole family, and you don't really realize the full capacity of it. So go, so I can just fucking catch my sanity. Cause I have little left."
With his final word, I try to stand up with dignity, and walk firmly to the front door, grabbing my things, putting on my shoes.
And I say no words as I walk out that door, and my resolve fully diminishes as I let the tears fall all the way to the apparition spot, and back to an empty home, having lost the only true friends I ever had. I collapse to my knees at the front door, into a sprawling mess.