Just One Night
By Pensive Puddles
A lone figure walked down a rather empty street. Her small hands, callused from the many years of practice and battling with her wand, were tucked deeply inside her heavy black winter coat. She buried her chin deeper into her red scarf, trying to prevent her lips from chapping. Her hair caught the falling snowflakes that did not melt in her bushy hair.
"Happy New Year," cried a slurred voice from across the street. The grizzly old man raised his bottle that was hidden in a crunch paper bag to her in a toast. She only nodded, too cold to say anything.
Her legs were freezing. Why she had worn such a skimpy outfit in the middle of the winter, and to a bar was beyond her understanding. Ginny had proclaimed that it would make the Red Carpet proud, which did little to encourage her. She had bought the outfit with reluctance, yet Ginny's slithering tongue ended up with her dressed in a small mini-skirt with a nearly see-through long sleeve shirt and white, knee high go-go boots. With her rather, bushy, hippie like hair, she remembered feeling as if she had stepped back to the 70s. Flower child, all the way.
She still couldn't believe she had let herself fall into another of one of Ginny's "Just one night" traps. One time she bought an expensive meal. It left her starving for the rest of the week to make up for the 300 smoked ala beef tenderloin she had gotten at a French restaurant, not to mention the red wine that was selling for 400 dollars a pop. Then there were the times where "she just had to buy this dress" because she was "drop dead gorgeous" and "the boys wouldn't be able to take their eyes of her." First off, this was her that Ginny was referring too. And Hermione Granger knew that she was no drop-dead beauty. And let's not forget the rare times where Ginny had dragged her to the airport, picked whatever plane left the soonest, and stayed at a flashy five star hotel for a couple nights, never becoming sober enough to realize how much money she was blowing. She should have known that the after affects of Ginny's oh-so-innocent "Just one night" phrases were painful.
The consequences on this "Just one night" action were taking their toll sooner then expected. And it, of course, was on New Years. What a great way to start of the new year anyway-freezing to death in a mini-skirt that prevented her from bending down even the slightest, her top making her eligible for Playboy, and let's not forget that she was alone and still sober.
That's what New Years was all about anyway, wasn't it? It was just a time for younger kids to stay up way past their bedtime. Well, that was the innocent way of spending New Years. Then there was the "adult" ways of having a party to ruin the beginning of their new year: throw things about, light fireworks, get drunk, and/or get laid. Of course it wasn't only a nice night for people to wake up with a splitting head ache and a new sex partner the next day. New Years was great not only for individual people, but also for large companies. Such as the party business that rakes in millions when New York City orders 3,000 pounds of confetti and hands out party hats for the 10-second ball drop. Or the liquor companies and bars that nearly run out of booze and eventually bring out the expired crap for those too drunk to tell the difference. Of course, how could we forget the multiple condom companies hitting their highest mark on the charts because of all the horny people out there that stay even in the most horrible rooms in the cockroach motel to pretend that they were in the Sin City herself, Las Vegas. Oh yeah. New Years was great.
It also brought memories. Past joys and mistakes that the year before yielded. And the constant wondering, hope or dread that the new year would bring.
She tended to remember the nice things, the things that made her warm and toasty inside: the sweet kisses, the vows of love, the smell of his clothes and his skin. They still made her smile. And then she'd remember how he left her without a word, without a note explaining his sudden departure. He left her. Selfish bastard. It would have been a little less confusing if he had told her why he was leaving her. Was it some other girl? Was he actually gay? Had he just gotten sick with her? Was she ugly? Was that it, he needed someone prettier? Questions leading to millions of others and none were answered.
She pulled her jacket closer to her petite, ill-dressed body. Apparently she wasn't too ugly if guys were now trying to grab her ass. Then again, it could have been the booze they were drinking, and the fact that every other girl was taken by some guy already. She was barely dressed, vulnerable, but the most important factor: alone.
She wouldn't have been alone though. She could have been married. Oh yeah, she could have been Mrs. Hermione Draco Malfoy, with all the above: a handsome husband, rich…and happy. She wasn't that stupid, she would have been happy if he had been poor, and even if the war had ruined all his features, she still would love him. He had something inside of him that drew her to him that no one could understand or comprehend.
It had started during the war. It had never been love though. Hells bells, never love. It was hate, such hate that became such a fierce lust. Harry was off in his own little world, so involved in his plans on how to kill Voldemort and save the world that he rarely spent any time socializing. Ron was practically challenging Draco's reputation of bedding any girl that wanted to be bedded. Ron was so busy flirting and finding his next catch, he never really noticed that Hermione was lonely. The Avada from a Death Eater killed him before the AIDS he had gotten could. Hermione always thought he was a selfish boy. He had died with a smile on his face. He was going to die somehow; he preferred it to be in glory. Ron's death shattered Harry. Luna was there to comfort him in any way she could.
And as crazy as it sounded, Hermione blamed all of it on Draco. When she thought logically about it, it wasn't his fault that Harry was so distant or that Ron died. Harry carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. And Ron was recieving the consequences for his actions. But she didn't want to think logically, and besides, it made her feel better, even if it was just a little. After all, any bad thing had to be blamed on something, or someone. And she usedany little excuse, even if it wasn't probable.
He was never around (not like she cared...well, not that she cared a lot, anyway). Sometimes he would sneak into their meetings, sit in the back, and quickly inform them of Voldemort's plans. But most of the time, he was playing along in the Dark Lord's game. He was always mischievous and he gave her the most odd vibes that left her rather perplexed. And she hated how she always felt so off-guard when he was around her. He knew things she didn't, and that never happened to Hermione before. Hermione knew almost everything that went on in the Order. She was second in command; and yet she felt like she knew nothing when Draco was near her. The way he'd stand firmly on his feet, arms crossed over his chest, his pale eyes staring as if she knew nothing of the world outside, it just irked her. And she'd deny it, but she was jealous of him. He was there, risking his life daily, always with the chance of being caught and killed, and she was mostly stuck inside the Orders Headquarters. She wanted to have a thrill, an adrenaline rush, the feeling of risking everything she had for just a few moments of something.
Something that reminded her why she was fighting.
She didn't know how it happened. It was after Ron's funeral. Merlin, that had been hard on her. People apologized for his death to the Weasley' family. They cried buckets of tears. Molly had to be taken away she had had an emotional breakdown in front of everyone. She had lost Bill, and George, and Arthur was gone as well. Such a big family, dwindling down into a couple. And sorry certainly wasn't going to bring any of them back.
Draco had come near the end of the ceremony; the meetings with the Dark Lord were becoming more and more frequent. She had been clearing the food away after the reception, and he had helped, brining the large dishes and things. They had bumped into each other, spilling punch and pudding all over their clothes. They yelled and screamed; she remembered ever word. The curses...she would have never believed that she was capable of spitting out such vile words that would have made Ron proud.
And it was the harsh realization that Ron was never coming back that led her to collapse to the floor after trying to shoot another nasty comeback to Draco. It was a lame comeback, she had remembered. She couldn't say anything else afterwards; she was sobbing too hard. She hated Ron for leaving her alone. The Trio was diminishing. It had already been breaking when all three had gotten heavily involved in the Order. And he always was off with his "special girls" never really remembering her for anything.She'd watch him leave the room with his arm around the waist of some pretty girl that had no name. Am I not special too? she wanted to ask him, but she always bit her tongue. They rarely spoke; they had drifted so far apart. Even Harry had spent most of his time in another clique. He was always with the elders, talking of plans. But the Trio sat next to each other and acted as if nothing had changed during those horrible months and years of battling. Appearances were everything. The Golden Trio was the symbol of unity. And if the Golden Trio broke up, what would become of the others? The last remaing, shining example of hope would have been extinguished. That was the last thing they needed during a war.
Draco had tried to comfort her, not really succeeding. Angry with everyone and seeing him as the only thing she could take her anger out on, she shoved him off her, making him land painfully in the corner of the counter. She stood to her feet and tried to punch him. He shoved her off him, underestimating his own strength and sending her flying backwards. They were the only two left. Everyone else had gone home. And they cursed and brought up even the stupidest, childish memories to give justification to their immature actions.
She supposed he had thought it would be the worst hit, but whatever he thought, he had grabbed her and kissed her soundly on the mouth. He had probably expected her to push him away and keep the argument going now with a new motive, but he was surprised to find her eager to his kiss him and responding so well that he was the first to pull back. She attacked him with such ferocity that he didn't know how to react.
She had had her shirt off and his pants down when they heard a commotion outside. They had broken apart instantly, putting their clothes back on panicky. Nothing else had happened. However, it prevented them from ever looking at each other in the same way. Their kisses were like fire, tempting and desiring. No one else in the world had they found that could understand like they understood each other.
They eyed each other in meetings, avoiding each other's presence and quickly looking away whenone tried to catch the other's eyes. Finally, they had gotten braver. It was all a game to see how far they could go, how far they'd venture into the forbidden, into sin. And in same way, it was the thrill Hermione had always been envious off.
New Years, one year of the war had passed, and the people prayed that that New Year would bring the end of the war. It was a great get together for the Order members. Probably not the wisest move, considering one explosion would have led to the death of all the Order members. But they had tried to make the time somewhat enjoyable. People drank champagne merrily and laughed and talked about anything they could think of. It was harder then it sounded.
They had bumped under the doorway, one trying to get in, and the other trying to get out. There was dead silence in the room, and the two looked around, wondering why everyone had fallen so silent. Harry gave a smirk, a cocky smirk as if he knew that they had been eyeing each other since Ron's funeral. He pointed up and Hermione and Draco followed his finger. Mistletoe was tapped in the middle of the doorway frame. They chuckled nervously and were about to step away.
They found that they were incapable of moving.
"Damn it," Draco had cursed, suddenly realizing there was a Binding charm placed on the doorway, so that when unfortunate people like himself and Hermione walked under the same door, they were trapped.
"A kiss will break the spell," Luna said, with a dreamy look on her face. Many chuckled at the play on words, since that was usually written in fairytales. Hermione's face was red from embarrassment at the idea of kissing Draco, more because she kept reminiscing of the time in the kitchen.
A cool hand lifted her chin up and she looked into his eyes. His lips brushed against hers and suddenly he was gone. He was walking out the door, to his own party. People clapped and laughed. Harry only continued to smirk and led Luna out to the dance floor. He had gained a rather darker side since the war began. It was rather exciting and unnerving.
She was left alone then. No one was there to talk to her. Ron was dead. Harry was busy with Luna. And her lips were still tingling from that kiss. "Hey everybody! 30 seconds till New Years!" someone shouted and instantly people were grabbing streamers and party hats. Fred, finally wearing a smile, pulled out some fireworks. Hermione could see his eyes water as he swalled hard when he pulled out the fireworks that he and his twin had created all those years ago in Hogwarts when they had only been amateurs. "This one's for you, George," Fred whispered, eyeing the largest firework. He led the kids outside, all of them screaming in glee.
Hermione looked around the room and suddenly found herself walking out the door and running down the street, screaming "Malfoy!"
A lone figure dressed in black turned around, blond hair glinting in the dim light the street lights provided. She continued to run towards him.
"10…9…8…" she could distantly here. She wanted to make it there in time.
"7…6…5…4…3…" She ran and wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly knocking them to the ground. He caught her, a puzzled look covering his face.
"Happy New Year," was all she whispered while the voices counted, "2…1…Happy New Year"
Hermione placed a hand behind his head and brought his head down, pressing his lips against hers in an innocent kiss. They pulled away as the fireworks went off. Admiring the colorful display, Draco smirked and cupped her face to make sure she was looking at him. "Happy New Year…Hermione," he said and leaned down to kiss her again.
She wiped a tear away from her face as she continued to walk down the street, her bare legs numb from the winters cold. It had been a good kiss, a sweet kiss, and the beginning of their love. True, it had started out as lust. She remembered they had gone to a hotel. It hadn't been personal and so they had decided that a hotel was more proper than their homes. It was just suppose to be a New Years treat, and all the ecstasy and sweet memories of their cries and lovemaking would be left in that hotel room with the soiled sheets. 'Supposed to be's' never really turn out the way she wanted them anyway.
For instance, they were supposed to get married. And the 'Supposed to be' curse left Draco standing at the altar. They had been together for five months, secretly. No one knew that they were together. It didn't even appear that they liked each other on friendship bases either. They constantly would fire cruel remarks or glares and give the impression of pure loathing to the other in public. No one suspected the sweet words being passed back and forth behind closed doors.
Except maybe Harry. Harry always seemed to know, or so he led on. People remarked how his eyes twinkled like Dumbledore's occasionally and shined with the wisdom of the old wizard. Dumbledore had passed away. Old age took its toll even before deadly spells could. She had always dismissed Harry's knowing eyes. Draco was her world, her own private world that she treasured dearly.
Marriage was a frightening thing. Many things flashed through her head, if she was ready. She was a woman in her twenties now. She was ready to get married. She had always imagined it even when she was still in Hogwarts. She used to plan her whole wedding. It was always magical and beautiful, although the groom's face was always hidden. Now finally, the shadowed groom had a face.
He had been so excited when she had accepted. She could still hear his gasp of relief and happiness and his wild shriek. She had never seen Draco loose control of himself like he did then. And she had cruelly left him standing humiliated at the altar. They were going to do a simple Justice of the Peace wedding. Quick and fast, it wasn't her dream wedding, but it would do. And then she thought of it. What if one of them died in a battle? What was the point of marrying? Why did he want to marry her? The thought of marrying him and staying true to him was easy. But then the thought of his loyalty frightened her. She wasn't incredibly attractive, and she certainly had nothing going for her but her brains. So why would he, of all rich Purebloods, want to marry her, a Muggleborn? Why would he want to do that unless he had a motive?
Call her crazy, but she was terrified. And so she left a note, saying she couldn't. And she disappeared. Well, at least for a few months. He eventually found her again. He sent her a bouquet of burnt, dead roses. It had been a frightful thing, seeing twelve burned roses on her desk, the smoke still rising from them. A note scribbled in his handwriting gleamed up at her in green ink "Happy Anniversary."
She saw him in few meetings. Harry had, for some reason, grown closer to the quiet blond hair arch-nemesis ever since Ron had died. He told her that Draco was there, always there. He was always in the shadows. It freaked her out, especially when she walked home and suddenly heard something behind her, indicating someone was tailing her. She had seen too many horror/thriller movies. He'd watch her. She could feel his eyes on her every time she moved or did anything. It used to bother her, and after awhile, it became her support. It proved that he was there. And still, even after leaving him so cruely like she did, just his presence calmed her.
And one day, he just wasn't there. She had never sat through such a long meeting. Harry said Draco had been moved. Hermione feared Voldemort had discovered Draco's true loyalties, that he was a spy. It ripped her guts to tiny masticated pieces.
It was then during that meeting that she realized that she truly did need him to live. He was her support, the thing that kept her sane. Those months without him were treacherous and filled with many tearful nights. Harry had been her crying shoulder once in awhile, but the amount of emotional breakdowns was absurd. She finally confessed to Harry all that had happened since Ron's funeral. It was a great relief to finally tell her dirty secret. Harry told her she had to move on. And after months of rehab, her own personal rehab, she had moved on with her life.
But it was always New Year's that brought the memories of her past lover to her mind. And it was always New Year's that made her cry. She stopped in the street, trying to figure out where she was. Dwelling in the past seemed to take up all her logical space, and she discovered she was lost. Now she really wanted to cry. This was a great way to spend her New Years: alone, lost, without a wand, and freezing.
She shivered and looked around for somebody that she could ask for directions. Maybe she could flag a cab down. The only problem was that the streets were empty. She wondered why she didn't stay at the bar with Harry and Ginny and Luna and other random ex-Order comrades. Why didn't she have that extra tequila? Why couldn't she have been one of those poor saps that woke up with a massive hangover the next day? At least Harry or Ginny would have had the heart to bring her home. But she was sick and tired of watching Harry flirt with Luna (When was he going to ask her to marry him? Merlin knows she was waiting!) or Ginny playing with all the heart's of men, both married and single.
Her forehead burned and she wondered if she had a fever. She hoped so. Maybe she could just drop dead. It'd probably feel better being dead then freezing like she was now. She sneezed as another snowflake fell on her runny nose. Yes, she could feel a nasty cold coming on. Maybe she could skip work.
"Not quite suitable for the winter season, don't you think? Although I have to admit that you've always had nice legs," the voice drawled. Hermione turned around, startled. It couldn't have been him…could it?
He stood with both hands in his jacket pockets. His blond hair was slicked back, a style he couldn't let go of. He always considered himself more sophisticated and professional with his hair back, not to mention his hair didn't hang in front of his eyes like Harry's did. His eyes were still the pale gray as they always were, and his facial features were almost still the same except for his perfect Greek nose that had been broken during the war. However, it had not damaged his features too drastically. It gave him a rather…intriguing look, for lack of a better word. He was tall, he had always been tall, and he was lean. His black boots were shiny even in the dim light that the street lamps gave off, and his lips stilled pulled down in his usual frown. It wasn't an actual frown. His face was naturally set like that.
"You look cold," he said and he took off his jacket, shaking off the winter snow and putting it around her shoulders.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Her feelings were a mixture of shocking pleasure, and anger. He just disappeared like that and now he believed he could pick things back up where he had left them? Oh, no siree! That's not how the game was played with her!
He raised his eyebrows in amusement at her harsh tone. "Tsk, tsk, my dear, Granger. It that how you treat your fiancée?"
"Ex-fiancée," Hermione retorted, emphasizing ex.
His pale eyes never flickered as he continued to stare down at her. "Right," he said quietly.
There was a moment of pure silence as they stared at each other, the snow still falling down among them. "Granger…" Draco paused, "Would you care for a drink?"
Hermione wanted to slap him. And then proceed to slap herself mentally instead. It was her fault both of them were unhappy anyways. But humans have a way of looking at other's mistakes rather than their own. "You think that you can just meet me on the street like this, and just pretend as if nothing happened? You think that I've forgotten that you left me like that?" Hermione nearly screamed.
"I think it'd be wise to remember, Granger, that it was you who left me at the altar. I remember specifically feeling a rather crushing despair after I found your note along with your ring. It was a rather...below the belt kind of feeling, if you get my drift," Draco said calmly, which infuriated her even more.
"I told you in the note," she began but was cut off by Draco who yelled, finally showing some emotion "One measly little note! Four words: I can't do it. I'm not lying, I even still have the damned thing!"
He pulled out a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. It was obvious that the note had been open and closed thousands of times. Hermione took the note, feeling how the paper was soft due to the amount of times he's held it and looked at it. The note seemed to fall right open into her hand and she stared at those dark four words, ashamed at how pitiful an explanation it was.
"You deserved much better."
"Don't you dare give me that shit!" he screamed, grabbing the note away and putting it back into his pocket. "I deserved you. After everything I went through in that bullshit of a war, I damned well deserved you."
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. The lies disappeared, leaving her with the proof that she had been stupid in everything she had done. She could have been happy. But she let her own, pointless doubts get in the way, screwing up her own future.
"Sorry's not going to fix it," Draco said bitterly. Hermione turned around, looking at the voices that drifted over to her cold ears. People were huddled around a TV shop that had TVs piled up on one another in the window display. The screen flashed a TV station, showing reporters' live downtown , and up in the corner of the screen, a large clock ticked down the time before the New Year began.
"Well, I hope that you'll move on with your life. I certainly have. It took a little while, but I've finally gotten over you," she said coldly. She had no idea how that hurt him. The night covered the anguish that flashed in his eyes. A thousand Crucio's could not equal the pain.
"Fine. You know what, Granger? I don't give a damn anymore," Malfoy snarled, turning around and walking away. Granger…Merlin that had hurt. They were now back to last name bases. All those months and years had finally landed them back to square one. And the snarl in which he had said her name…
Hermione turned around and walked the other direction, finding her face warmer than it had been before. She wiped her face and her had was instantly wet from the tears that had fallen down her face. Merlin, that had taken a lot out of her.
"10…9…8…" the people crowded around the TV shop counted out loud, already pulling out their streamers and firecrackers.
The same feeling that enveloped her all those years ago suddenly came back with the same great force. She turned around. His body was growing smaller and smaller…and he had no coat. She did. He must have been freezing!
She ran, her go-go boots not giving her any friction on the ice and she caught herself twice, but nonetheless kept running. She was actually thankful that she had such a short skirt on. The little fabric didn't prevent her from running. Her breath was heavy and it puffed up in little clouds. Her eyes watered from her own tears and the cold wind that blew. She felt so alone. She could feel the scars of old opening again, bleeding. And he was the one who could heal them. Or at least, he had the same scars as she.
"7…6…5…" he was pulling out his wand. He probably was going to Apparate and she'd never see him again. Malfoy was quite good in disappearing and not being heard from if he wanted to.
"4…3…2…" He was closer now. "Malfoy!" she yelled. He stopped and turned around, startled at the sound. She swung herself at him, landing in his open arms and wrapping her arms tight around his neck.
"Happy New Year, Draco," Hermione whispered and leaned in to kiss him right when the people counted "…1…Happy New Year"
Draco pulled back and laughed outright, pleasant memories from the past flooding over him like they were flowing over her. He twirled them both around, snow falling on either side of them. It was the perfect picture of love at its sweetest. And with his laughter filling her ears, and his large hands holding hers in tenderness, and his pale eyes looking at her in such love and devotion…she had never felt so loved and content in her whole life.
And Hermione knew she had fallen for him all over again.
A/N: Not one of my favorites, sure. I know my calling is definetly with angst writing. But this was in my head for awhile, and I needed to get it out. Hopefully I'll concentrate on my other stories now:shrugs: never was good with responsibility...
Review please!