The silence was deafening in the dark, emptiness, of Ron's and Hermione's bedroom. Hermione turned on her side to look at the empty space that was usually filled. An indent of Ron's body still remained, she traced an index finger along the curvature. Her hand rested and laid flat on the bed, a deep exhale escaped her lips as she admitted defeat.
Where is he?
Darting thoughts were disrupted by the sound of a key opening their front door. Her body tingled with excitement mixed with anger. She quickly sat up, throwing the blankets off, to make way to their living room.
Ron's laugh filled the room as he entered, Harry close behind him. They stumbled in, Ron making eye contact immediately.
"'Mione! You are still awake," Ron moved to her, placing a hand to the small of her back to pull her in close—she could smell the perfume again. Her heart dropped, inhaling the scent of this other woman who was becoming more and more frequent. "I told you, you didn't have to wait up for me," he gave one of his sly smiles—the one where he believed he could get away with anything.
I love that smile.
"Yes, but you see, Ron, it is 4 in the morning and you hadn't answered your phone, again. I was really worried for you," Hermione placed a hand on his chest, pressing ever so slightly to get out of his grip.
"Ah, the mobile phone. We are on this again. Why can I not just go out with my best mate here without having to check in with you?" Ron had let go and walked toward the kitchen. Harry had found a seat in our dining room, taking in the scene that was unfolding in front of him.
Harry avoided anyone's gaze and murmured, "Sorry, I tried to get us home earlier, Hermione."
She took a deep breath. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, her heart was sinking further and further, her throat closing. She could feel herself becoming undone.
"I think I deserve some kind of update when you aren't coming home till almost morning every other night, but fine. I am sorry, I am just being slightly concerning. I will leave you to it then," she motioned to them as Ron handed a glass filled with whiskey to Harry. She controlled her voice desperately to give no sign of how she truly felt.
Ron raised his glass, "Thank you," he smiled.
Quickly she retreated to the bedroom and shut the door swiftly behind. The tears refused to stop and burned as they trailed down her cheeks.
Her mind began to race once more with the many thoughts she had gone over countless times these past months: What did I not have that this other woman have? Why couldn't he just come home to me and love me like he used to? Did I not do enough? Am I not enough? Is it how I look? How do I act? I did everything he asked, rushed into everything to make him happy, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough.
Hermione gathered herself in the best way she could and took a deep breath.
Immediately she knew she could not keep waiting every night for him to come back home. She could not bear the emptiness growing inside any longer. The past four months had been tearing her up inside and if she continued to stay she would be trapped forever in this continuous cycle.
Tonight had revealed the ugly truth she had so desperately tried to ignore; she loved Ron but was no longer in love with Ron.
Hermione made her way to an end table, opening the drawer to pull out a piece of paper, and a pen. Quickly she wrote a small letter:
Dear mum,
I miss you and dad very much. I think it is time for a visit. I am leaving tonight so I should be there by tomorrow afternoon. I will be taking the train—I love the scenery of it.
I realize you may be receiving this right before I arrive. I apologize for the short notice.
Your loving daughter,
Hermione
YOU ARE READING
Dangerously
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