|
A
Silent Night
by
Anne
M
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sometime
life disappoints us. Sometimes we disappoint life. In my 29 years on
this planet, I've often been disappointed, and I've often
disappointed others. No more. I refuse to be disappointed. It was
Christmas Eve, and I had a bad feeling that this evening would end
one of two ways: either I would be disappointed, or I would
disappoint someone very dear to me. Nonetheless, life was all
about taking chances, not that I usually took any – no, I
usually took the easy way out, but this time, things were going to be
hard, and you know what, I think she’s worth it, and I know for
a fact that I am as well.
So there I sat at the table in her
small flat, watching as she took off her shoes in the other room. She
then removed her earrings and disappeared to the other side of the
room. I continued to watch from my perch on the chair, watching her
through the kitchen, through the sitting room, into her bedroom. She
reappeared, still in her pretty, red dress; she crossed in front of
the opened door, and disappeared again. She crossed back over and
then finally came out of the bedroom. She walked through the living
room, in her bare feet, picking up cups and plates on the way. She
walked into the kitchen, (never once even looking my way) and
deposited the dirty dishes in the sink. Grabbing a large trash
liner from under the sink, she shook it out, and attached it onto the
back of one of the kitchen chairs. Then she went back into the living
room to gather more plates and cups.
Pathetic.
Earlier,
and throughout the night, I'd tried to speak with her, but she kept
avoiding me. It was irritating. Finally, I grabbed her arm, pulled
her to the side, and said, “When the party’s over, and
all your little merry-making friends are gone, I need to have an
important discussion with you.” I didn’t leave it open to
debate.
She seemed nervous, almost as if she sensed what I
had to say and was dreading it, or something more sinister, but then
she smiled that smile, (which never failed to melt my heart) and
asked me if I wanted more eggnog. I hated eggnog - so I told her
yes.
Now, later still, she walked back into the tiny
kitchen, behind my chair, touched my shoulder, but didn’t say a
word. She bent forward and picked up a plate with a dirty fork, which
sat in front of me. She took it over to the sink. She walked back to
the sitting room, grabbed an ashtray, said, “Disgusting,”
and emptied it into the trash liner.
She placed the dirty
ashtray in the sink and I finally said, “Hermione, it’s
time we have that talk.”
Then just like life, she
disappointed me. She ignored me.
She always did.
She
wouldn’t even turn around and face me. Whoever said Gryffindors
were brave surely had never witnessed such a blatant display of
cowardliness as I was witnessing right now. She was liable to be
thrown out of the ‘goody-two shoes’ club for this! I
untied my tie and pulled it from my neck, balled it in my fist and
threw it across the room. Perhaps that would get her attention. She
shuffled back into the other room, stepped over my tie, back into
kitchen, her arms full of the last of the dirty dishes, and said,
“Give me that glass.” She started putting dishwater in
the sink, and then she pointed to a glass on the table.
Then
just like she did to me, I disappointed her. I ignored her.
I
never did.
“Hey,” she repeated, “will you
hand me that glass?” She turned back toward the sink and began
to wash the dishes.
“Leave them until tomorrow,” I
implored.
“I can’t get to sleep if I leave them,”
she replied, walking over to the table. She picked up the glass,
(which I wouldn’t give to her earlier) and placed it in the
sink with the other dirty dishes.
“Why, will they stay
up all night talking and keep you awake?” I asked, though I
found no humour in my statement.
Neither did she, so she
didn’t respond.
“Hermione?”
“What?”
“Turn and look at me.”
“I’m
busy.”
I stood up and walked toward the sink. When I was
an arm’s length from her I demanded, “Turn around and
look at me, please.”
She sighed. She kept her arms in
the water and looked down. “Not tonight,
Draco.”
“When?”
“Maybe never. I
just don’t want to talk.”
“Well I do. I want
to talk about what’s going on between us. It can’t wait
any longer. We need to clear the air, once and for all, and get on
with our lives one way or the other.” There, I made my
intentions clear. I laid it on the line. Now I would see
what she had to say about it.
She turned around so suddenly
that I took a step backwards. Soapsuds splashed all around us. Then
she screamed, “What do you want from me? It’s Christmas
Eve! You know how hard this night is for me!”
Silence
filled the air between us after her outburst.
Yes. I knew how
hard Christmas Eve was for her. I shook my head, rolled up my
sleeves, and said, “Never mind. It's nothing. Nothing at all. I
don’t want anything from you, so just never mind. I’ll
dry.” I walked to the sink and grabbed a clean towel.
However,
she apparently no longer wanted to wash the dishes. She walked
through the little kitchen, through the sitting room, and disappeared
into her bedroom. She closed the pocket doors that separated the two
rooms, but not before she said, “Show yourself out, Malfoy.
Happy Christmas.”
I leaned against the counter and
folded my arms. There was nothing I wanted more than to have a Happy
Christmas, but that sentiment would never come true as long as
Hermione Granger wasn’t having one.
The first problem
was that I loved her.
The
second problem was that she probably didn’t love me in
return.
The biggest problem of them all was that she might not
be capable of loving anyone, not anymore, not since last Christmas
Eve.
I
walked over to her living room couch and sat down. I placed my feet
on the coffee table, something she hated, and cursed the day
that Hermione Granger met Ron Weasley, I really did. But more than
anything, I regretted that day, last Christmas Eve, when the stupid
wanker left her...left her all alone...and incapable of loving ever
again.
You see, here's what happened. Last Christmas Eve, her
bloody fiancée of five years, the love of her life for the
past ten years, her secret crush since she was twelve years old, the
Witless Wonder Weasley, whose first name shall not be named, left her
on Christmas Eve. He told her that he had fallen in love with
another, and he said that he figured if he couldn’t be honest
with her on Christmas Eve, then when could he be honest?
That
was the biggest pile of shite I had ever heard.
Regretfully, I
remember that night as if it happened, well, tonight, instead of a
year ago tonight. They had just had their big annual holiday bash,
right here in this very flat. Since I was their upstairs’
neighbour, and her co-worker, and since we had all decided years ago
to let bygones be bygones, she invited me to their little soiree.
It was one of the worst nights of my life, because it was one
of the worst nights of her life.
The prat didn’t even
wait to tell her after their guests had left. He took her into their
bedroom, (the very bedroom in which she was now hiding) closed the
pocket doors, and then he told her he was in love with someone else,
and he wanted to be fair to both of them, so he was leaving her that
very night.
It was the most cowardly thing I had ever seen a
man do, and I've seen many cowardly things in my time. Hell, I've
done many cowardly things in my time, but that beat them all.
The
next thing everyone in the other room heard was the sound of her
heart breaking, in the form of a strangled cry, which pierced the
night, and seemed to seep through the solid oak doors straight into
my shrived-up, little piece of shite heart.
If
I had to pinpoint a title for that night, I would have called it ‘A
Silent Night’, because after that cry, everyone in the living
room stopped talking. Some of us stopped breathing. Potter turned off
the Christmas music, and when Weasley walked out of one of the doors
of the bedroom, Potter walked up to him and said, “I thought
you were going to wait until after Christmas!”
“I
couldn’t wait. I had to do this. I needed closure. Don’t
I deserve a Happy Christmas with the woman I love?” the weasel
responded.
I
wanted to hex the man, right then and there, but I was in a room full
of former Gryffindors, so to keep the peace, I held my wand tight,
but I never withdrew it.
Then Harry Potter, the man I loved to
hate, did something, which for one second made me admire him. If I
were truthful, which usually I’m not, I would admit that I
still admire him for it to this day. He looked through the open door,
(as did I) and he saw Granger on the bed, no longer crying, but
silent, broken and despondent. Then Scarboy pulled back his fist, and
in good old Muggle style, (making his Mudblood mummy proud, I'm sure)
he hit the ginger-haired man square on the nose. It broke it
instantly. It was bloody brilliant!
Weasley held his nose;
blood pouring all over the ugly red jumper he had on, picked up his
bag, and left immediately. The rest of the guests, the poor clueless
bastards, stood there in total shock until Potter and the girl
Weasley made everyone leave.
That was when I took my chance
and slithered, the way snakes sometimes do, into her room, which
was lit by a single lamp by her bed. I stood against the far wall,
next to the window, so that I was cast mostly in shadow.
Potter
didn’t notice me when he came back in the room to sit by
her side. He held her, patted her hand, and told her that it
would be okay. I wondered why he felt the need to lie to her?
Everything
wasn't going to be okay.
She
only said one thing to him, the whole time we were in there with her.
She said, “He left me on Christmas Eve, Harry. I would never,
ever, have done that to him.”
To which Potter responded,
“I know, I know.”
He
looked toward the corner of the room, saw me, and gave his head a
small nod. I didn’t know what that nod meant, but I took it as
an invitation to stay. I sunk down to a sitting position, and after
an hour, with her still in a catatonic state, Potter and his little
woman finally left her alone.
To my surprise, that was
when Granger started to cry. I almost ran out of the room to
pull Potter back in the flat. What was I supposed to do for a weeping
woman? I knew she was in pain, but how could I help her? I figured
that I had snuck in the room, so I could just sneak my arse back out,
but as I approached the door, quietly as I could, she said, without
raising her head from her pillow, “Please stay.”
Well
if she said 'please'...so
I did. I stayed right where I was.
Then she said, “Come
hold me.”
I held her. I put my body on the bed beside
her and I held her. That was so out of character for me. I don’t
think I’ve ever been on a bed with a woman before and not had
sex with them. It was a humbling experience. That’s the only
way I can explain it. And as much as it embarrassed me to admit it, I
was glad that he left her. I was overjoyed, actually. Not at her
pain. I wasn’t that much of git anymore. I mean, I’m
still a slimy git, sure, but I’m not an outright bastard. I
knew she had feelings, and I knew she was sad. I wasn't happy for her
pain. The reason I was happy was because she was finally free, and I
was holding her.
Because damn it all to hell, I loved her
madly. You see, I know that one statement makes me sound pitiful.
While we’re on the subject, I might as well go all out and tell
the complete truth. I’ve loved her for over a year now, and I
was going to tell her I loved her last Christmas Eve, but couldn't
because she was in too much pain, and then I was going to tell her as
much tonight, but she’s hiding in her bedroom right now, so
what can I do?
My feelings for her probably started as
admiration when we started working together for the Ministry of
Magic, but in different departments. One day, our departments were
having a joint meeting, and I was late, as I was apt to be. Much to
my painful chagrin, when I entered the conference room there were
only three seats available around the large rectangular table. One
next to my boss, who hated my guts anyway, and who would not be
pleased that I was late, one was next to Harry Potter, and hello, we
all know our history, and the third was next to her.
She
smiled at me, and pulled out the chair next to her, sensing my
dilemma. I sat next to her, and from that moment on, I thought of her
in a different way.
I didn’t fall in love immediately,
because that sort of thing only happened in paperback romance novels.
I didn’t love her from afar. I hadn’t loved her since we
were kids, though she looked pretty that one time at the Yule ball
fourth year at school. No, I didn't love her in school. I spent years
of my childhood hating her guts and plotting the demise of her and
her friends, so I could definitely say that I hadn’t loved her
for years.
My love for her came gradually. It started at that
meeting, which was on November 15th last year, and as I stated, it
started as admiration. It became stronger on December 1 the same
year, when she saw me in the lifts in our building, (I live in the
flat above hers) and she invited me to her Christmas party. Then, on
that December 12th, she came upstairs, knocked on my door, and gave
me some awful biscuits, which she stated were supposed to be
reindeers, but I swear they looked like a map of the United Kingdom,
and they tasted even worse, but the point was, I was hooked.
I
denied my feeling at first, even though I was the only one who knew
about them. I chastised myself, raked myself over the coals, and
called myself stupid. Seriously, how could I even entertain thoughts
about liking her, let alone feeling something more?
Right
before her disastrous Christmas party last year, I saw her out
shopping. She was in a Muggle department store, in the men’s
department, looking down at two different jumpers. One was nice,
cashmere, silver, quite expensive, and one was ghastly, red, man-made
cotton knit, I’m sure, with a silly little candy cane emblem on
the front.
I stood behind her, she still didn’t know I
was there, and finally I said, right in her ear, but quietly, “If
you’re buying one of those for me, I suggest the silver one.
It’ll bring out my eyes.” She turned slight, and her gaze
held amusement. “However,” I continued, “if one is
for Weasley, then I think the red one would look smashing with his
hair.”
She smiled at that point.
She turned
toward me and placed the silver one up to my chest. She held it by
the shoulders, propped it there by itself, and smoothed it out with
her hands. I had to swallow hard and blink, or I might have done
something embarrassing, like shudder or pull her into my arms and
kissed her until her knees buckled.
The gentle caress of her
hands across my chest, even through the material of the sweater, and
the suit jacket I had on, sent all kinds of visions through my head,
and none of them were of sugarplums.
She said, “The
silver does match your eyes.” Then she removed the jumper from
my chest, and she folded it and put it back on the table. She placed
the ugly jumper right beside it. She turned back around and said,
“How about this one?” She pointed to a royal blue
jumper.
I said, “Granger, I think that’s a woman’s
jumper. Someone put it on this table by mistake.”
“I
put it there, while I was looking at these two. I like it. I was
going to buy it for myself, but then I had to remember that it’s
Christmas, and I should buy for others, instead of for myself,
because apparently it’s better to give than to receive.”
I
picked up the blue sweater and said, “Yes, I’ve heard
that rubbish before, but I have to say, I’ve always been twice
as happy to get presents as to give them.” I was only being
honest with her, but she must have thought I was joking, because she
laughed, and I fell just a tad bit more in love with her that day.
I
picked up the blue jumper and mimicking her actions toward me from
before, I held it up to her shoulders. I let it rest there. She
looked down at the blue jumper, and back up to my eyes. I realized
that I still had my hands on her shoulders, and though I was only
looking at her, directly at her, right in her eyes, and not at the
sweater, I said, “Beautiful.”
She blushed. I fell
in love a bit more.
What sent me totally over the moon was two
days before her party from hell, when she knocked on my door and
said, “Malfoy, I bought too many ornaments, shall I put some on
your tree?”
I let her in my flat, and said, jokingly,
“No tree, Granger. I’m a pagan and I don’t hold
such holiday rituals in high regard.”
She frowned at me.
I fell a bit deeper for her with that frown. Then I smiled at her and
she smiled back. I was almost all the way there.
She
said, “You really don’t have a tree?”
“I
didn’t see the reason to bother with it.” That much was
the truth. I was invited to the Manor for Christmas day, well, no,
that’s not the truth. My attendance was expected at the Manor,
and I had two invites from beautiful women who both wanted to share
my Yule log, to put it bluntly, for later Christmas day, so I didn’t
see the need for a tree. Moreover, I was spending Christmas Eve at
her party, didn’t she recall? Why would I need a tree?
I
soon discovered I needed a tree because Hermione Granger wanted me to
have a tree. She shook her head in dismay, ordered me to stay put,
and came back a moment later with a small tree in her hand. She
decorated it, and even allowed me to place two ornaments on it,
though she moved one of them to a different spot. That was when it
happened. I was completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with the
witch. The next day when I saw that she had placed a present under
the tree, I was even more enraptured. Especially when I saw that it
was the silver jumper. I smiled. I had already wrapped the blue one
for her, and it was on her kitchen table at that precise moment.
And
I swear…the moment I realized it was all out, full-blown love,
was when I knocked on her door for her Christmas party, wearing my
silver sweater, and I saw her in the pretty, blue one, and she smiled
again. And that’s not even the cherry on top. The pivotal
moment was a few minutes later when Weasley walked through the room
in the stupid, red, Christmas jumper with the candy cane on front. I
almost laughed aloud! More importantly, I fell completely in love
with her.
A few hours later, I was on the bed holding her, the
pretty, blue jumper wrinkled and mussed, the silver one she got me
soaked with her tears, and my heart broke for her… what little
heart I had.
Now, a year later, my heart was still breaking
for her and still full of love as well, and her heart still hadn’t
healed. Just as Weasley justified telling her a year ago that he was
leaving her on Christmas Eve (because after all, if he couldn’t
be truthful to her on Christmas, when could he, the stupid, rotten
bugger), then the same held true for me. It was Christmas Eve. I
think I’ve waited long enough, and if her heart isn’t
receptive to my love, then I guess I’ll be disappointed. I've
been disappointed before, remember?
But I had to tell
her.
Mind you, I’m not some lovesick fool. I’ve
never daydreamed about the day I’d whisk her off her feet and
make her mine. I’m not some sick stalker. I don’t go
through her rubbish, and I don’t have a lock of her hair under
my pillow. I’m in love, but I’m not sick. I haven’t
loved her from afar. Over the past year, I’m sure she’s
known how I felt. I almost told her a few times. I’ve held her
hand when she’s been sad, I kissed her finger once when she
burned it, and put lotion on her sunburned back for goodness sakes,
and I didn’t even try to cop a feel!
I’ve been a
perfect gentleman, but more than a friend, and she’s a smart
woman. She has to know. That has to be why she’s refusing to
speak to me. She will not hinder me. I’ll tell her tonight or
perhaps be hexed trying, but she’ll hear me out!
It’s
something I can’t deny any longer. I love her. I really do. I
have for over a year, and knowing that Christmas Eve has come again,
and that she’s still in pain, a year later no less, still
breaks my aforementioned little, tiny heart.
I’ve wanted
to tell her all day. I was going to wait until tomorrow, Christmas
day, but when she knocked on my flat door this evening, and
announced, “Get your bum down to my flat in an hour! I've
decided that I’m having my annual Christmas party!”
Well,
it threw me for a loop! It also messed up my plan. Nevertheless, I
would do anything for her. I dressed in my nicest suit, and I waited
until it was time, and then I knocked on her door. And now here I
was, the party was well over, and I was waiting to tell her how I
felt, and she wouldn’t even come out of the bloody bedroom.
I
sat through four hours of her stupid friends, playing stupid games,
singing stupid carols, opening stupid gag-gifts, (I received a tie
that lit up), and waiting for everyone to leave so I could finally
tell her, and now she’s hiding from me.
I kicked at her
coffee table, planted my feet on the floor, determined to throw open
the doors, so that I could tell her to her face that she was in
bloody poor form, and oh yes, I loved her, when she opened the doors
instead.
“Draco?” she asked.
I should
ignore her. I really should. On the other hand, perhaps I should
start picking up the trash that was still strewn around the
room…boxes, ribbons, paper and tags. She hadn’t cleared
up all the dirty dishes yet, either. I could do that. Why should I
talk to her just because she suddenly wanted to talk to me? Why
should I do her any favours?
“Yes,” I answered. I
was a sucker in love, what could I say?
She walked toward me
and with her eyes downcast, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“For
what?” I asked my voice cracking. Was she going to say
something horrible, like, “I’m sorry, but I know you love
me, and I don’t love you?” It never dawned on me until
this moment that something like that might be a possibility, I mean,
seriously people, I’m freaking awesome.
She crept closer
and for some reason, I felt the need to put up my guard. She reached
out for my hand, pulled her own hand back for a second, and then
reached out again and took my hand in hers. “I’m sorry
I’ve waited this long to tell you something.”
My
heart was officially in my throat. I wondered if I could choke on my
own heart. What was she going to tell me? Why couldn’t I tell
her that I loved her before she told me her bad news? If I told her
that I loved her first, and then she wanted to tell me something
awful, she would at least be the one in the wrong, for making me have
a bad holiday experience.
She took one more step toward me,
and I swear, I froze, and not because her bloody flat had a draft,
which it did. When she reached for my other hand, and was holding
both of mine in hers, I turned my head slightly and said, “You’re
scaring me, Granger.”
Then the world famous, ‘fall
in love with her smile’, graced her face and she said, “I
love you, Draco. I have since last Christmas, but I didn’t know
how to tell you. I was going to wait until after the holidays last
year, and then tell Ron that it wasn’t working out with us
first, tell him that I no longer loved him, and then I was going to
tell you that I was having feelings for you after that. I was going
to take my time and do it right, but Ron had to ruin it all.”
“Then,
I was afraid to tell you for the longest time, because it was just
too soon, don’t you see? Everyone would have thought I was on
the rebound. You would have questioned my sincerity.”
I
was totally gobsmacked, I must say. I stood there in shock! Imagine
what I felt as she continued. “I probably fell in love with you
truly, or at least I started to fall in love with you, right before
Christmas last year. Oh Malfoy, please, don’t look so shocked!”
She let go of my hands and crossed to the other side of the room.
“I
know this is not welcomed, and I know you only think of me as a
friend, but I can’t deny it any longer. I know you’ve
wanted to talk to me all night, and I figured it was to tell me that
my blatant feelings were unwarranted, unwelcome, and repulsive to
you. I know you have to know how I feel, I mean, all the little
touches, the excuses to see you, the way I look at you sometimes. I
know you don’t reciprocate my feelings, I mean, why would
you?”
She walked through the pocket doors and sat on her
bed. I felt compelled to follow her, just as I did last Christmas.
She said, “I’ve been a basket case, and my feelings a
muddled mess, and I mean, who in their right mind would want to take
me on, right?”
I wanted to scream her an answer…ME!
I wanted to take her on! I didn’t even know what that euphemism
meant, but if it meant take her by the shoulders and kiss her for
days on end, then I wanted to take her on right here and now.
How
could two intelligent people, in fact, the two most intelligent
people I’ve ever known, me being the first, and her being the
second, be so incredibly dense, and let’s call a spade a
spade…stupid?
She loved me!
Well, bully for her,
because I loved her, too. You’ve all spent the last ten
minutes, (fifteen if you’re a slow reader) reading about how
much I loved her, but did any of you out there imagine that she might
have loved me in return?
I said, “Are you sane?”
Granted, not the most romantic thing I could have said to her, but I
had to be certain before I proceeded.
She looked confused. I
shook my head, pulled her to stand and said, “Never mind.
Granger, you’re so stupid, but don’t fear, because
apparently it’s something that’s catching, because I’m
stupid, too.”
She caught her breath, and waited for me
to continue. “I wanted to tell you all night, no, all year,
that I love you and here you are, you stupid ninny, and you’ve
wanted to tell me the very same thing! How could we both be so
stupid?”
“Well, in your case…” she
started. I put my hand over her mouth.
“Don’t ruin
my moment,” I scolded. “Gads, Granger, we’re a
hopeless pair.”
“I guess so,” she said
humbly. She sat on the bed and I sat beside her. I took her hand and
my thumb rubbed the top. Then I did something, which I had done
several times in the last year, but which meant so much more now. I
kissed her hand. I closed my eyes, kissed the top of her hand, and
then placed both our hands over my heart, which I no longer doubted
existed, because Hermione Granger could never have loved someone
without a heart. It just wasn’t possible.
“Happy
Christmas, I guess,” she said with grin, and then she bit her
bottom lip.
“Allow me,” I said. I leaned over, and
touched her top lip with my finger, which caused her to release the
bottom lip from her teeth. I rounded her lips twice with my finger
before I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to hers.
All I
can say was that it was worth the wait. I felt happiness and
lightness in my soul, as well as heaviness in my chest, although to
feel lightness and heaviness at the same time was an oxymoron, but
who am I to question the ways of love?
I pressed my lips a bit
harder, and opened hers with minimal pressure. I still had one of her
hands in one of mine, and I reach for her neck with the other, before
I rested it in her hair.
She tilted her head slightly to the
left, and her other hand came to my cheek. It was the most intense
kiss I’d ever felt, and possibly the most profound. She
suddenly seemed timid as she drew away from me, and she said, “What
now?”
“Well now, we get to have a very Happy
Christmas, Hermione.”
“I’d like that,”
she said.
I'd
liked that, too.
I
leaned forward to kiss her again, but she leaned away, so I frowned.
She said, “By and by, you really should have told me sooner
that you loved me.”
“I would say the same to you,
but what’s the use? I have a feeling that I should probably
keep silent right about now, if I want the kissing to continue,”
I said plainly. And after that moment, it really was a silent night.
Maybe even a holy night.
The
End
|
