Chapter 11
Dear Hermione and Draco,
We wanted to apologize for Ron’s behavior last night. He really got out of hand last night, and to put it frankly, was scary. I guess we saw what happened when grudges go to far. Normally we would send Ron over to apologize for himself, but we think it can be agreed upon that he wouldn’t do so willingly. Well, also because he has a wicked hangover since after we revived him, he decided to drown his sorrow with Firewiskey.
If you didn’t know already, Draco, but Ron has fancied Hermione for years. We’re sure that he would have been mad at anyone you (Hermy) dated, but since it was you (Draco) it pushed him over the edge. We would strongly recommend that you guys don’t contact him until he has calmed down. Good luck with your research Hermy, and good luck with whatever it is you’re doing, Draco.
Your friends,
Harry and Ginny
P.S. We thought of baby names! Lily, if it’s a girl and James if it’s a boy. (That was totally Ginny’s idea!) (Hey, you agreed to it!) (Hey, stop hitting me!) (Oh, stop complaining!)
I finished reading the letter to Draco as he devoured, though politely, a stack of French toast. Sighing, I dropped the letter onto the table.
“Who knew Weasely would go mental over a girl?” Draco asked rhetorically. I scoffed.
“Don’t call him that, call him Ron. Maybe then he’ll call you Draco.” He shrugged. I drenched my meal in syrup, just to watch the gooey substance drip down onto my plate. “He really scared me last night. I never would have thought he would try to…” Draco layered his hand over mine. It was sticky from the syrup, but I didn’t care.
“Don’t dwell on last night. The point is he didn’t kill me. He’s your friend and though what he did was, for lack of a better word, dumb, he needs you, and you need him. Don’t give up on him.” His face was stern, but loving.
“You’ve changed so much.” He looked down at his plate bashfully. “You used to be such a cold bastard, but now you’re so sweet and loving. And you’re with me, the muggle-born? How can someone change so much?”
“When they realize they need to change.” His face was earnest and truthful. His eyes were in their normal silver state. “Besides, I’m still a Slytherin Sex God, not that you would know.” With that he swaggered to the bathroom, waving his butt from side to side a little to exuberantly to show he was joking. Draco had changed, it was true, but a little part of me still feared that he would leave me. I was insecure about men; I was inexperienced… in some ways more than others, if you catch my drift. So I hesitated on… that… with him. I knew he wasn’t making fun of me, and wasn’t angry with me, but I couldn’t laugh. It just wasn’t funny.
“Happy new year!” said a peppy, though sleepy, voice from the door. I turned to see my mother, already dressed in sweats. She worked out at the local gym almost every mourning. When she got a good look at my face concern swept across her sharp features. “You’re worried! What happened last night?” The faucet went on in the bathroom and she looked accusingly over her shoulder at the door. “What did he do?” I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
“No mother, this isn’t Draco’s fault.” I continued to pick at my food.
“Then what is it?” She padded over the tiled floor. I sighed yet again. “Stop doing that, you sound like a broken vacuum.” Swirling my fork around in the syrup, I contemplated my words.
“See, I have this friend, and I’ve just found out that he, you know, fancies me. But I have Draco now, and I don’t feel the same way about this friend. He found out last night and stormed off. I don’t know what to do.” Okay, he didn’t storm off, but I didn’t want to tell her that I knocked him out. Mom stole a bite from my plate.
“It seems to me you should go talk to this friend, alone. He needs to understand that you care about him and you still want to be his friend.” I nodded. “Just make sure you stay calm, you need to be there to stabilize the situation.”
“Should I go now?” She shrugged, licking her fingers.
“Sure, I’ll tell your boyfriend where you’ve gone.”
“Thanks,” I said. She waved her hand dismissively.
“Don’t mention it.” I ran over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the mantle. Within minutes I was dusting myself off in the living room of the burrow. A red head was sprawled on his back on the sofa, just staring up at the ceiling. The room was empty except for him, and it stank of whiskey. His hair was greasy and flopped on his face. The curtains were closed, and he was still wearing his robes from the previous night. The sight of my friend in such a disheveled state made guilt run through me. I did my best to fight the urge to back up into the fireplace and return home. Timidly I walked forward.
“Ron?” I mumbled uneasily. He sat up quickly at the sound of my voice, then groaned and sank back into the pillows.
“What are you doing here?” he asked bitterly, rubbing his forehead while glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I sat down gingerly on the couch by his feet.
“I wanted to see if you were alright.” He laughed coldly. Sitting up, he looked me right in the eye. I trembled and looked away.
“No you didn’t, you just couldn’t do Malfoy without feeling guilty.” I turned to slap him across the cheek, outraged by his rude comment, but he caught my wrist. Damn keeper skills!
“Don’t you ever talk to me that way again, and keep your hands off me.” With that I retched my arm from his grasp but didn’t move away. Out of spite I added, “It’s none of your business what I do with Draco.” Ron sank backwards again.
“Damn it Hermione, don’t you see how wrong he is for you? How he’s using you?” I ignored the latter.
“And I’m guessing you know who’s right for me?” Sarcasm oozed through my words.
“I’m right for you! Me!” I felt like I had been stunned, I feel right into that one. Before the power of speech returned to me he pushed me down on the couch and kissed me. I could taste the liquor in my mouth and I tried to push him off me, but he grabbed my hands and pinned me down. Struggling, I writhed around, but he was too heavy and strong.
“Hermione?” said a small voice. Ron finally got off me and sat up. I turned, still lying on my back, feeling shell-shocked. Draco stood in front of the fireplace, lost for words. I had expected anger, frustration, yelling, hexes, anything other than the silence. His eyes brimmed with sadness, sorrow, and disappointment, the usually silver eyes grey and even black in parts. I had let him down, and I could feel it. Without another word he walked back into the fire.
“Wait, no!” I followed him without even saying goodbye to Ron, who was pouring himself more smoking whiskey from a bottle that he had pulled out from between the couch cushions. Emerging back in the kitchen, I found it empty, as Draco’s figure retreated through the door. “Wait!” I called again. I caught up with him in the living room and he whipped around. Sun poured in through the bay windows, making his hair seem white and his face seem sickly pale. Fury mingled with the sadness in his eyes and I felt my knees shake.
“No you wait!” he yelled. “How could you kiss him! How! After all that you’ve done for me! I thought you cared about me! And you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to share myself with! I thought you wanted this!” His voice broke and he paused, panting.
“I do want this, Draco!”
“Then why would you blow it with a guy like that?”
“I was trying to get him off me,” I said weakly, feeling the tears well up in my eyes.
“Even if you were you still kissed him! I can’t even think of that! I just can’t even look at you right now!”
“But no…”
“No buts, Hermione, just shut up!” With that he stormed off in the direction of the TV room.
“Wait, please!” I yelled feebly. He couldn’t leave me, he just couldn’t! He whipped around, framed in the open doorway, his eyes swirling with blue, red and green. Anger distorted his features, and for the first time in years, I was scared of Draco.
“NO! YOU STUPID, FILTHY, FUCKING, LITTLE MUDBLOOD!” As soon as he said it, I could feel regret radiate off him, but he didn’t take it back. I yelped as the tears fell, soaking my shirt collar. I fell apart and collapsed right there on the carpet, my head barely missing the coffee table when I fell. How long I lay there, crying and gasping for air I don’t remember, but I had no memory of being moved. When someone scooped their arms beneath me gently, I was barely conscious, and couldn’t place the musky scent that lingered behind them, even after they had laid me down on my bed and left the room.
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