timing is everything.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Hermione chants the two words to herself mentally, shaking slightly from the premarital nerves. She is thankful her face is covered from sight by the overly lacy veil that fortunately, covers her chocolate brown orbs very well. If anything were to give her away now, her eyes would be the first to betray her.
There, she cannot hide the real reason for her nervous state.
Because even now, just minutes away from walking down the aisle and throwing herself into the ultimate commitment with Ron, it is not the redhead that plagues her thoughts. Instead, in his place, blonde hair and gray eyes like the sky before a storm fills her consciousness, and despite the situation, she couldn’t force herself to push the traitorous thoughts away.
Pushing them away would mean that everything - the separation, the i don’t love you’s, were real.
And she still wasn’t ready for that, even though she was almost an official Weasley by law. Despite her better judgement and conscious telling her that this is wrong, you’re betraying Ron. You love him, don’t you? This is wrong. Forget him. Forget Draco Malfoy, she still couldn’t force herself to rid her mind of his snazzy comebacks and smug smirk.
In truth, she is lost. She doesn’t know if this is what she wants. Unquestionably, it’s what Ron, Harry and everyone else wants - and, like any other dazed, heartbroken girl, she was swept up in the moment, and before she could realize her situation, she’d been tossed into this, still dazed.
And now, as Molly gently pushes her forward, whispering quietly yet with uncontained excitement that it’s time, she finally wakes up.
In a flash of bright lights and too many flowers, Hermmione finds herself at the end of the long red carpet, her beaming fiancée waiting at the end, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil. Forcing her legs to move forward one by one, she is struggling with herself as reality slaps her in the face.
She is about to become Mrs. Ron Weasley.
She is about to marry Ron.
Ron, who is not Draco.
Draco, who doesn’t want her.
Draco, who doesn’t love her.
Draco, who never wanted take their relationship public.
Draco, the reason she is in this situation to begin with.
Too soon, the red carpet comes to an end, and she finds herself next to her soon to be husband, who is still beaming from ear to ear. She offers him an unsteady smile in return - the best she can do in such a state of mind - and is relieved when he doesn’t seem to notice.
The priest clears his throat and begins his ceremonial reading, and Hermione tunes him out, instead focusing all her attention of removing the betrayal from her eyes. Soon, they’ll exchange ‘I do’s, and he’ll remove her veil, and even he, in his euphoric state, will see.
And even Ron, who is not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, will find out the secret she and Draco have worked so hard to keep - the fact that they once loved each other.
She drifts back in when she hears the Priest say the words, she sentence right before the one that will condemn her to this fate forever.
“Does anyone have any objections as to why these two should not be united?”
The silence is deafening for the thirty seconds it lasts, and the Priest clears his throat once more, intent on moving on. “D-”
He pauses in his speech as a loud boom echoes through the cathedral, and nearly a hundred heads swivel around to the entrance, where the sound originated from. As if on cue, the door is blasted open, and Draco Malfoy charges in, hair and eyes wild as he skids to a stop, his wand held defensively before him. Directly behind him, Molly and Percy Weasley, looking more angry than Hermione had ever seen.
For a second, all is silent and Hermione can only watch the scene unfold before her with wide eyes.
“I do,” he speaks, not quietly, but not a yell. It is simply a statement, and several gasps are heard throughout the room. “I object.”
“Er..” the Priest stammers, not quite sure of the situation. “...May I ask why?”
“Because I love her.” he states in the most matter of fact way, as if a love affair between him and Hermione is the most natural thing in the world.
As everyone in the room strings together what has just been said, the silence is thick, and Hermione watches, her mouth hanging open. Draco takes advantage of the surprise, and in ten quick steps, he is at the altar, standing next to the would-be-married couple. “I love you, Hermione,” he stares straight into her eyes, past the thick veil, and the room disappears around them. “I never stopped. I’m sorry - I should’ve never let you go.”
He can see the tears forming around her eyes, and he has to fight to ignore the urge to hurt someone, namely himself, for making her cry.
“Why...?” she whispers back, her voice hollow. “Why?”
“Because I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand that feeling. Couldn’t understand why I loved you so much.” he explains, feeling stupid and selfish. “So I ran.”
“So you ra-”
“Sorry to interrupt this little love fest here, but” Harry’s annoyed voice cuts in, and the two are snapped out of their trance. “There’s a ceremony going on here. Remember, ‘mione? You were about to marr-”
“S’okay, mate.”
All eyes in the room turn to the redhead as he utters these words. Harry gasps from his side, aghast. “What? What are you saying?”
“Yeah, what-“ Hermione starts, but is interrupted by Ron.
“I knew. From the very beginning, I knew.” he explains, folding his arms behind his head in a relaxed, almost relieved manner. “I knew you loved him, and that I was your rebound man. But I was hoping, hoping that one day, this day, actually, you’d be able to forget him and move on.”
“But, with that expression on your face, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you haven’t forgotten.”
“...what are you saying...?”
“I’m...” he trails off, and for a second his facade crumbles, and she sees that he is hurting. “I’m letting you go.”
There is another round of gasps as he says these four words, and the room becomes deathly silent, no one daring to move an inch. “Be happy, ‘mione.”
Draco, seeing this as acknowledgement and consent, proceeds to hook his arm under her knee, and sweeps her into bridal position. Hermione screams when the earth is lifted from beneath her, and without so much as another glance around the room, Draco waves his wand, and the two disappear.
-x-x-x-x-
Two years later
“You know,” she smiles up at her husband, her tone teasing. “That was a terrible time for a confession.”
“I hardly had another choice, did I?” he shoots back, taking a bite out of the chocolate cake they were sharing. “If I didn’t, you’d be married to the Weasel right now.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Draco rolls his eyes at his wife, and she laughs, loving every moment of their every day banter.
It is never acknowledged out loud between them, but that day at the altar, with his less than conventional way of confessing to her at the most inappropriate time, will always be their most cherished memory.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Hermione chants the two words to herself mentally, shaking slightly from the premarital nerves. She is thankful her face is covered from sight by the overly lacy veil that fortunately, covers her chocolate brown orbs very well. If anything were to give her away now, her eyes would be the first to betray her.
There, she cannot hide the real reason for her nervous state.
Because even now, just minutes away from walking down the aisle and throwing herself into the ultimate commitment with Ron, it is not the redhead that plagues her thoughts. Instead, in his place, blonde hair and gray eyes like the sky before a storm fills her consciousness, and despite the situation, she couldn’t force herself to push the traitorous thoughts away.
Pushing them away would mean that everything - the separation, the i don’t love you’s, were real.
And she still wasn’t ready for that, even though she was almost an official Weasley by law. Despite her better judgement and conscious telling her that this is wrong, you’re betraying Ron. You love him, don’t you? This is wrong. Forget him. Forget Draco Malfoy, she still couldn’t force herself to rid her mind of his snazzy comebacks and smug smirk.
In truth, she is lost. She doesn’t know if this is what she wants. Unquestionably, it’s what Ron, Harry and everyone else wants - and, like any other dazed, heartbroken girl, she was swept up in the moment, and before she could realize her situation, she’d been tossed into this, still dazed.
And now, as Molly gently pushes her forward, whispering quietly yet with uncontained excitement that it’s time, she finally wakes up.
In a flash of bright lights and too many flowers, Hermmione finds herself at the end of the long red carpet, her beaming fiancée waiting at the end, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil. Forcing her legs to move forward one by one, she is struggling with herself as reality slaps her in the face.
She is about to become Mrs. Ron Weasley.
She is about to marry Ron.
Ron, who is not Draco.
Draco, who doesn’t want her.
Draco, who doesn’t love her.
Draco, who never wanted take their relationship public.
Draco, the reason she is in this situation to begin with.
Too soon, the red carpet comes to an end, and she finds herself next to her soon to be husband, who is still beaming from ear to ear. She offers him an unsteady smile in return - the best she can do in such a state of mind - and is relieved when he doesn’t seem to notice.
The priest clears his throat and begins his ceremonial reading, and Hermione tunes him out, instead focusing all her attention of removing the betrayal from her eyes. Soon, they’ll exchange ‘I do’s, and he’ll remove her veil, and even he, in his euphoric state, will see.
And even Ron, who is not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, will find out the secret she and Draco have worked so hard to keep - the fact that they once loved each other.
She drifts back in when she hears the Priest say the words, she sentence right before the one that will condemn her to this fate forever.
“Does anyone have any objections as to why these two should not be united?”
The silence is deafening for the thirty seconds it lasts, and the Priest clears his throat once more, intent on moving on. “D-”
He pauses in his speech as a loud boom echoes through the cathedral, and nearly a hundred heads swivel around to the entrance, where the sound originated from. As if on cue, the door is blasted open, and Draco Malfoy charges in, hair and eyes wild as he skids to a stop, his wand held defensively before him. Directly behind him, Molly and Percy Weasley, looking more angry than Hermione had ever seen.
For a second, all is silent and Hermione can only watch the scene unfold before her with wide eyes.
“I do,” he speaks, not quietly, but not a yell. It is simply a statement, and several gasps are heard throughout the room. “I object.”
“Er..” the Priest stammers, not quite sure of the situation. “...May I ask why?”
“Because I love her.” he states in the most matter of fact way, as if a love affair between him and Hermione is the most natural thing in the world.
As everyone in the room strings together what has just been said, the silence is thick, and Hermione watches, her mouth hanging open. Draco takes advantage of the surprise, and in ten quick steps, he is at the altar, standing next to the would-be-married couple. “I love you, Hermione,” he stares straight into her eyes, past the thick veil, and the room disappears around them. “I never stopped. I’m sorry - I should’ve never let you go.”
He can see the tears forming around her eyes, and he has to fight to ignore the urge to hurt someone, namely himself, for making her cry.
“Why...?” she whispers back, her voice hollow. “Why?”
“Because I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand that feeling. Couldn’t understand why I loved you so much.” he explains, feeling stupid and selfish. “So I ran.”
“So you ra-”
“Sorry to interrupt this little love fest here, but” Harry’s annoyed voice cuts in, and the two are snapped out of their trance. “There’s a ceremony going on here. Remember, ‘mione? You were about to marr-”
“S’okay, mate.”
All eyes in the room turn to the redhead as he utters these words. Harry gasps from his side, aghast. “What? What are you saying?”
“Yeah, what-“ Hermione starts, but is interrupted by Ron.
“I knew. From the very beginning, I knew.” he explains, folding his arms behind his head in a relaxed, almost relieved manner. “I knew you loved him, and that I was your rebound man. But I was hoping, hoping that one day, this day, actually, you’d be able to forget him and move on.”
“But, with that expression on your face, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you haven’t forgotten.”
“...what are you saying...?”
“I’m...” he trails off, and for a second his facade crumbles, and she sees that he is hurting. “I’m letting you go.”
There is another round of gasps as he says these four words, and the room becomes deathly silent, no one daring to move an inch. “Be happy, ‘mione.”
Draco, seeing this as acknowledgement and consent, proceeds to hook his arm under her knee, and sweeps her into bridal position. Hermione screams when the earth is lifted from beneath her, and without so much as another glance around the room, Draco waves his wand, and the two disappear.
-x-x-x-x-
Two years later
“You know,” she smiles up at her husband, her tone teasing. “That was a terrible time for a confession.”
“I hardly had another choice, did I?” he shoots back, taking a bite out of the chocolate cake they were sharing. “If I didn’t, you’d be married to the Weasel right now.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Draco rolls his eyes at his wife, and she laughs, loving every moment of their every day banter.
It is never acknowledged out loud between them, but that day at the altar, with his less than conventional way of confessing to her at the most inappropriate time, will always be their most cherished memory.