Babe

I attempt to swallow, to breathe in any amount of air. Swiping furiously at my cheeks, I stand shakily. After sitting on the kitchen floor for so long, my thighs and ass are sore. My hands shake as I support my weight on the marble kitchen counter and pull myself up. My head swims as I to breathe normally and it comes out uneven and half a sob. I sigh shakily. Everything hurts. My eyes are red and sore from crying and my throat aches. My sobs have been so intense, I’ve sounded like a Banshee for the majority of the night. I feel pathetic and silly, but there’s not much I can do to stop the flood of emotion pouring out of me.

 A cracking sound out in the foyer startles me and I panic, jumping up and hurriedly checking my reflection in the kitchen window. I had originally intended to come in here to make a cup of tea, and ended up sobbing on the floor. It had started with me opening the tea drawer to see his tea. The tea he took every morning before running off to the Ministry to be with her. The tea he took with me before shattering my life into a thousand pieces. Everything had washed over me again and I had crumpled to the floor, unable to breathe, move, or do anything but wail like a wounded animal. I have no idea how long I laid there, undignified and hurting. I quickly assess my reflection as I hear footsteps approaching. My eyes are red and my cheeks are flushed, but I look otherwise okay. 

I force a smile and quickly duck out from behind the kitchen counter, to see Emmy, our house-elf, shuffling through the door. Her small blue eyes find mine, and I see them widen with sympathy. I attempt to hold my head up high, but she sees right through me. 

“Is Miss needing anything? I can go get Mr. Malf-” 

“No. That won’t be necessary,” I choke out quickly.

As much as I want to see him again, I know I shouldn’t. I need to stop. But how do I stop? How do you stop loving your husband, your partner? How do you let go of a marriage that you were all in for, and he was only ever half?

The questions swim around my head as Emmy slowly waddles away and I make my way up the main stairs and to my room.  I shut the door behind me, a sense of relief washing over me. I have been hiding in my room for the past week, only leaving for the bathroom. I thought it would be nice to try and get some tea today. That didn’t turn out well. I sink to the floor, hugging my knees and sniffling. I hate him. I hate my husband. I hate Hermione Granger. I know they’re happy, I know he’s finally content, but what about me? I still love him. Of course I do. And he’s with her. I bite my lip bitterly as my thoughts switch to her. The Golden Girl. Hermione Granger has been known as perfect for as long as she’s existed. She’s been the favourite, everyone’s favourite. Including my husband’s. The tears are back and sliding down my face. I’m all alone, crying in my bedroom of Malfoy Manor, and my husband is god knows where, having the time of his life. 

Several hours later, I’m laying in bed with the covers drawn up to my chin. I haven’t moved in hours but I don’t care. I can’t focus on much except the excruciating pain in my heart. I glance lazily at the grand clock on the wall opposite me. It’s been hours since I’ve moved. With a sigh, I draw back the covers and slowly sit up. I resent time for moving on, for carrying on as though nothing happened. I glance around my bedroom, not caring that the once spotless and pristine room is now covered in clothes, empty dishes, and other junk I won’t let the house elves clean up.

 My four-poster bed has remained unmade and unkempt since I first crawled into it after finding out about the affair. I had been so bitter back then, bitter that he didn’t choose me, bitter that they were happy. Quickly, my anger had morphed into grief as I mourned the loss of my marriage and husband. I didn’t eat, barely slept, and I drank. A lot. He came by to check on me once, and I threw him out with some of his clothes and a nasty retort about him shoving a pixie up his ass. I was mad. But as before, the anger soon gave way to heartbreak. All of my emotions had cycled, come back, and cycled again. This week has been hell. A hell I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Except maybe Hermione Granger. As far as I knew, she would never have to worry about that though. Her and Dra- Malfoy, are perfectly happy. I sink my head into my hands as I attempt to forget Hermione Granger for the billionth time this week. I don’t want to think about her, I don’t want her in my head. I want my husband back. I begin to sob slowly. The tears fall and I can’t stop them. I’m damned for loving him still. And he will never be mine again. 

I wake up groggily, annoyed at the sun flooding my large bedroom. I must have forgotten to close the curtains last night. I make to get up and close them, but before I’ve moved more than an inch, I’m halted by a ferocious pounding in my head and a searing pain behind my eyes. 

“Shit!” I yell out, pressing my fingers to my temple.

My eyes flutter closed and I try to move slowly. As I pull back the covers, I hear the clink of glass and realise why my head hurts so bad. All of the memories come flooding back in. I guess I’m not doing as well as I thought, and I didn’t think I was doing well. I stumble out of bed, wincing at the throbbing in my temples and the sting of the cold marble on my bare feet. I stagger over to the massive paned windows and wrench the velvet green curtains closed. My room, now covered in darkness, is a mess. My bed looks like an alcoholic’s grave, my floor is littered with clothes and tissues, and my bathroom door is wide open, revealing a glittering gold-trimmed bathtub and sink, the latter of which I stumble to clumsily.

I wave my hand lazily at the light switch and it flicks on. I rub furiously at my eyes and raise my gaze to the mirror above the sink. I yelp in shock and draw back quickly. God I look terrible. My platinum blonde hair is a tangled mess, resembling a bird’s nest. I have mascara rings so bad, I look like a racoon. My face looks dull and void of any life, my normally high cheekbones and pouty lips falling flat. My skin is normally very pale, but at the moment I look like a corpse. I grimace into the mirror. A wave of irrational anger overtakes me. I hate him. He’s taken everything from me. My happiness, my marriage, my best friend, my husband, and now my beauty.

My heart aches at the thought of him waking up to HER, I’m sure looking perfect every morning, not a flaw in sight. How could he do this to me? To us? I had thought we were happy. I had been in love. And he hadn’t. I grip the sides of the sink as I struggle with that revelation. Did he ever even love me? Or was he planning on shattering me from the moment he signed the marriage contract? Tears threaten to spill from the corners of my eyes. My grip on the sink intensifies and I bite my lip to thwart a sob from escaping. Everything aches. 

Sighing resignedly, I pull a towel from the rack to my left, and run it under the water. I wipe my mascara stains from my eyes and then get to work on my hair. After what feels like hours, I manage to untangle it a bit. I look in the mirror again and see a woman that resembles me a bit more anyway. I glance down at my clothes. I’m wearing an oversized sweater and pants that I haven’t taken off in four days. I should probably change. 

After slipping into an appropriately fitting black dress, I stand in front of my dresser. I study my reflection before grabbing my wand from the bedside table. I quickly turn it several times, my hair responding to form perfectly bouncy curls as I move the wand over my head. Once my hair is done, I summon my darkest red lipstick and apply it. I feel a bit more myself. I turn to look back in the mirror and wince. It doesn’t matter how much makeup I apply, I won’t be able to cover the tragedy I wear on my face like a scar. I turn and try admiring myself from different angles. None of them work.

Just as I spin for the second time to my right, I hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell of Malfoy Manor ringing. I freeze. Who the hell is here? And why? Who would come here, everyone knows to contact D- Malfoy at stupid Granger’s residence now. Well I guess not everyone.

I angrily storm out of my room and down the pristine hallway. At least the elves have kept up with the cleaning. I appreciate that and make a mental note to express this to them later. I hurry down the steps, my feet still bare and my anger swelling.

As I march across the foyer, I see the study door open and our elderly house-elf Marcus shuffle out. He squints at the door and turns to face me as I draw even with him. 

“Good morning Miss,” he croaks out. “Shall I see who is at the door?” 

“Yes please Marcus and for the love of Merlin, get rid of them.” 

I frown and shake my head as he shuffles forward to open the door. After a second, he sticks his head back in and calls to me. 

“It is your sister Mrs. Malfoy! Shall I let her in?”