When the Party's Over
“So that’s its then?”
“That’s it then.”
Tears burned Hermione’s eyes, but she would not allow them to fall. Their ears rang with the crushing silence that follows when both parties have said everything there was to be said, the air between them thick with the finality of a simple truth; this wasn’t going to work.
Tomorrow, Draco Malfoy would marry his betrothed, Astoria Greengrass, uniting two strong and prominent families amongst the sacred twenty-eight, creating a bloodline that would withstand the test of time, and placating the surviving Malfoys who were counting on Draco to restore their family name.
Was it what he wanted? No.
He was looking at what he wanted right now. She was fire and cinnamon, and she was perfect.
He could see the hurt written all over her face. They had argued about this more times than he could count, but she knew he had finally made his choice. He couldn’t turn on his family. She aways knew he would choose them, but hearing it hurt all the same.
Don’t you know I’m no good for you?
I’ve learned to lose; you can’t afford to.
She knew this truth even as she allowed herself to fall for him. “It’s war” she constantly told herself, “Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, so why should I deny myself anything that feels good now”. But then the war ended, Voldemort was dead, and she was still allowing Draco Malfoy into her bed every night. So, she changed her mantra, “it’s just sex” she would assure herself, but she never had it in her to make him leave when they were finished. And somewhere down the line, something changed. The pillow talk got deeper, the conversations longer. She fell for the boy with eyes the color of rain from a broken home.
The first time Draco told Hermione he loved her was the night his family informed him he was expected to marry one of the Greengrass sisters. He had showed up on Hermione’s doorstep in a state, reeking of firewhiskey and begging her to help him forget.
Tore my shirt to stop you bleeding.
But nothin’ ever stops you leaving.
She accepted her fate that very night as she kissed away his tears and swallowed his confessions. Love doesn’t care about logic, love doesn’t care about blood purity, the heart wants what it wants, and both Hermione and Draco were realizing just how much they resented that hard truth now as they stared at each other over Hermione’s dinner table; the silence screaming louder than they ever could. They both knew that this was the end of their story, but neither was ready to let go quite yet.
Hermione didn’t stop him when he crossed the kitchen floor and threaded his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck, nor did she stop him when he pressed his lips to hers. Fire and ice, just the way it had always been, one last time. She melted into him and let him pull her up against his hard frame. They were going to end this the way they began, two fragmented souls looking to feel whole, if even just for the night.
Draco picked her up and carried her up her stairs to her bedroom and deposited her on the bedspread he had become painfully familiar with over the last few years.
Call me friend, but keep me closer.
Draco stripped her clothes just as quickly as he had stripped her defenses, she took one look in those storm cloud eyes, and she was a goner. As Draco pushed himself into Hermione, the tears that she had been holding back burst from her like water from a dam. She clung to him as he worked himself in and out of her, her tears soiling his unshed white t-shirt that still clung to his pale chest. He offered no words of comfort; they knew what this was, this was goodbye. He would run his hands over every inch of her body, trying to memorize the shape of her, and she would let him; and in return she would ruin his t-shirt, and he would let her, it was a fair trade. Draco had never entertained her with any promises, they both knew this relationship had a shelf life.
Once we’ve both said our goodbyes.
Even as their lips became tainted with the taste of salt and despair, they kissed just as passionately as they had the very first time. Realty was rearing its big ugly head, and it was time to pay the piper. He couldn’t help but entertain the fantasy that if his lips never left hers, than the night would never end, so he inhaled every moan and sob that left her mouth.
Let’s just let it go.
Let me let you go.
The pleasure that pulsed through them at the end was bittersweet; a finish line that neither wanted to cross. Instead of ecstasy, she felt dread. And instead of satisfaction, he felt emptiness. She clung to his shoulders as he hovered above her. He felt so fleeting, like the moment she let go he would disappear into thin air.
His stormy grey eyes met her honey cinnamon eyes. She was an Indian summer in his eternal winter, how would he ever stop wanting her? She was the only person he had ever said ‘I love you’ to, and she was the only one that he had ever felt loved by. Words of affection were deemed weak in his household, so he had certainly never felt loved at home. But Hermione, her love was so pure and so all encompassing, it was like stepping into a warm bath after being out in the cold for too long. She accepted every part of him, even the dark and twisted parts he buried deep down after the end of the war. She kissed his dark mark and repeated over and over that a handful of bad choices doesn’t make him a bad person, she repeated it so many times he almost believed it. That is until his family gave him a choice, be with Hermione and be disowned by the family, or marry one of the Greengrass sister and inherit the entire estate and carry on the Malfoy line. Now he knew Hermione was wrong, he was a bad person, and even worse, he was a coward.
Draco kissed her for the last time, pouring every ounce of love he had for her into it, praying that this one last epic kiss would hold him over for a lifetime. She gripped his face and she wept.
He pried her fingers from his face and stepped away from her, shielding his own tears from her line of view. He redressed in silence, pretending that each sob from her mouth wasn’t tearing his heart to pieces.
He turned back to face her, trying to find the words to make everything okay, but failing.
“I love you Draco”
He stared at her, sitting on the bed and covering her chest with that obnoxious bed spread he hated, staring at him with cinnamon-colored eyes brimming with love. Her curls looked positively feral, and her lips were tinted red and slightly swollen from their passionate love making. If he opened his mouth, he knew he would never leave, so instead he turned around and walked out of her bedroom. The door shut behind him with a bang, and Hermione was alone in the darkness, the ticking from the clock the only sound to be heard.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
And I’m on my own.