HoH, Ravenclaw, Short, Wedding, WC: 1944
Cormac asks Hermione on a date. She reluctantly agrees, and soon finds out that she was reluctant with good reason.
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"Hermione, wait up," Cormac calls after me, as I gather my things. He moves towards me; through the throng of people escaping the conference room for the final meeting of the day. "Great presentation."
"Thanks," I return, hoping that there isn't much more to Cormac's comments. However, I appear to be incorrect. He hovers, twisting his hands together, straightening his tie, while I shuffle my own bumf of paper. I clear my throat, thinking it might prompt him into getting on with whatever he wants to say to me this time. "Is there something else you wanted, Cormac?"
He starts. "Yeah, there is - sorry." But words appear to be failing him to some extent. "Look, it's something I've thought about for a while. Something I've wanted to talk to you about for a while. And I guess I'm just working up my courage, or something ridiculous like that." I wait patiently for him to just spit it out, and perhaps my facial expression lets him know that I'm tired of his blabbering. "Yes. Well, it's just that I find myself more than a little attracted to you, and I wanted to ask you out. I know we never got off to the right start back at Hogwarts, and I am sorry for that. But maybe, just maybe, you could give me a shot this time?"
Um, what? I almost laugh in his face, but that would be rude.
Back in our Hogwarts days, I brought Cormac to a party as my date to spite my high-school crush, Ron Weasley. I took advantage of his liking to me, not even considering that to go on a successful date, the pairing must be at least somewhat mutual. Which simply had not been the case.
Sure, he was good looking. Fit from sport. Vaguely intelligent. But his pompous attitude reminded me too much of the posh kids at my old middle school. They were the kinds of person who boasted about something just to say something, not because it was at all important. To me, it was an incredibly unattractive trait, but dating Cormac was a guaranteed way to piss Ron off. Hence, that's why I did it.
Karma served me, because the whole evening was a disaster and I decreed that I would never consider dating Cormac McClaggen, or anyone of the similar type, ever again.
And here I am. The same person standing in front of me who I have based the last ten years of my dating life on. Asking me out on a date.
Perhaps he notices my pause.
"Just one date, Hermione," he persists, his cow lick falling into his eyes. Dammit. "And if I'm still not right, then we can just go our separate ways."
"What makes you think things will be different this time?" I ask.
He almost smirks. "Ten years of maturity, and I'm not competing with you being in love with another man."
This is completely fair.
So I agree to the date.
It's possible that I am naïve in the world of dating, having only been in a relationship with two men and casually dated on rare occasions. However, it still means that I have been on a sufficient number of dates, and that I most certainly would not expect someone - no less, someone who seemed to want to impress me - to take me on a date to an event he must have known I was attending. And an odd one at that.
Cormac McClaggen, just a week after asking me out, offered to escort me to Harry's wedding. Yes, Harry Potter, my best friend. The boy I have known since we were eleven years old, five years before I even met McClaggen. Obviously I would already be attending the wedding, as a bridesmaid even. Maybe Cormac couldn't quite comprehend that, or maybe he wanted a way in? I'm really trying not to think about it too much, for fear of what I might assume before the day has even begun. I refuse to let him ruin my best friend's wedding.
A wedding is a somewhat romantic setting, one would suppose. Thus, it might make sense as to why Cormac thought it would be a good idea to go together. The Potter-Weasley wedding is hyped to be the most sought-after event for the next five years, and it will be a lavish occasion no matter what.
Hopefully Cormac was just thinking that accompanying me to the wedding would be the best of the best occasions he could possibly hope to attend. And so far he has been the perfect gentleman. He brought me a glass of prosecco, hasn't presumed to kiss me on the lips or even the cheek, and has talked genially with everyone who has approached us thus far. He's been friendly, polite, and even funny.
It seems odd to say, but I guess I could see myself falling for him. Just about.
"Fantastic speech, mate," Cormac congratulates Ron as he finishes his best man speech. "Really funny."
Ron, who would usually be so far deterred by Cormac that any comment would propel him across the room simply smiles and replies, "Cheers Cormac. I worked bloody hard on it." And they both laugh, like there was never anything between them in the first place. It's peculiar, but I'm thinking it's definitely a positive thing. Because someone who can get along well with Ron - who I occasionally deem to be the most ludicrously difficult person ever - is going to be winning whatever kind of race there might be.
As the day wears on into early evening, I find myself almost attracted to the winning charm of Cormac McClaggen.
It's the small intricacies that really make me believe that we might be a good match - that he would be a gentleman, and a gentle man. That he would look after me, and care for me, as well as being scintillatingly intelligent and somewhat humorous.
Yet, things start to break down when my favourite song comes on from the band.
I begin humming, almost unaware of how much I am enjoying the music and desperately wanting to be on the dancefloor. My foot taps on the linoleum floor, and fingers play through the chords of the song as though I am on the piano like when I was younger. Cormac sits beside me, sipping on a whiskey. Wistful, I glance out over the dancefloor at Harry and Ginny gently swaying to the music. Ron is chatting to the Weasley twins on the other edge of the room. He spares a look in my direction.
"Can you stop humming a sec please?" Cormac interrupts my thoughts, raising an eyebrow.
What?
"I'm just trying to think and I can't focus with you making that horrendous noise."
I don't say a word but simply stare at him. Impossible. That he could go from someone so gentle and caring to... this. The bravado in his tone. No way; I refuse to deal with this shit at my friend's wedding.
So, more than happy to part ways for a moment, I stand and leave the table we are sitting at. The fact that he doesn't follow me is perhaps indicative of the certain lack of care that he must feel. Maybe it's better for him not to follow me, as I stumble, halfway drunk, through the throng of people over the dancefloor, gathering in the corridors, hollering into the glittering night sky. Decidedly, it's much better outside. The air is fresh and gives me good enough time to think and just collect my thoughts all over again.
Okay, so it wasn't so bad. He's not been completely written off for one comment. But we shall see.
"Drink, Hermione?" he's asking me ten minutes later, gulping down his sixth pint of the evening. How he is still standing, I have absolutely no idea. I nod, smiling, watching the dancing from afar, feeling sad that I can't join in with Cormac. But ultimately sad because it's not proper to dance at a wedding by one's self. It should be, for all of those people who simply do not want to attach themselves to another person.
I glance across the glittering room, past the people in their shimmering gowns, to see Cormac leaning over the bar where the drinks are served. Opposite him, a blonde with a black, sheer top. The girl with the fantastic body and the brilliant smile. He whispers something in her ear, and she unleashes the smile onto him. Of course, he falls right for it, grinning back. He hands her a piece of paper, and she smirks, tucking it into her bra.
Jesus.
I know Cormac and I aren't dating, but that was really wrong. Not gentlemanly at all.
He can't fool me anymore. Bringing the drinks to talk to the bartender. Keeping me quiet in the conversations, talking genially. I realise I haven't actually spoken that much all day, that he has been blocking my conversations. Pulling me around like I must follow his every direction.
"What's her name?" I ask when he returns with our drinks, another five minutes later.
"Who?" He sips at the next pint of beer, half a smile still splattered on his features.
"The girl at the bar."
Cormac balks, and I wish I could have caught it on camera.
"Melanie, why? Because I was talking to her?" I feel my heart clenching, because I know the tension of an argument is about to bring itself upon us and I'm too tired. Also, I'm at my best friend's wedding - this is not the place to get into things with Cormac McClaggen. "Hold your tongue, Granger, don't be petty. It will ruin our night of what is yet to come."
The true audacity of his statement lies in the wink that follows immediately after.
Perhaps I should have indicated one salient thing before we embarked on a date, that my everything is not something that is just for fun. I mean everything as in every sense of who I am, and who I would be in a relationship. The dates, the sex, the time. I am not someone to simply spend a night of fun before cutting the chase and moving on. I'm not going to be his conquest. I want to settle, to date responsibly, and I want to give my everything to someone who is going to respect me. That feels simple enough to me, in all honesty.
Perhaps he was just acting the gentleman.
It's not love, he had some twisted plan. He just executed it very badly.
"Sorry, I'm not doing this with you, McClaggen," I mutter into the awkward silence between us. "Not any of it. Ever. You can't fool me into believing you're actually decent, but there's no gentleman here. And I really thought that you might have actually been someone I could fall in love with. But I was so wrong that it honestly makes me very sad inside."
He frowns. "I don't want you to feel sad."
"I just... I need someone who will hold my hand, who will be gentle, and who will accept me for how I am - not want someone else. Cheating is weak." I pick up my handbag from the chair and stand up. I don't need my drink. I'm going to find my best friend's and dance until my feet fall off, because I am not going to spend my life thinking back to this evening as the time when Cormac McClaggen decided to be a dick to me.
He thought it was effortlessly in hand, but perhaps I'm too savvy for that.
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