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Beneath Your Window by Crookshanks.x
 Books » Harry Potter Rated: T, English, Romance & Humor, Draco M., Hermione G., Words: 89k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 432, Published: Jun 10, 2007 Updated: Jun 6, 2008
 1,044 Chapter 8: The Talk
Disclaimer: duduuudurutu. Latest news: The author of Beneath Your Window turns out to be JK Rowling, and is pulling in tons of cash from the piece posted on fanfiction . net. And it is truly... oh wait. My bad.
Chapter 8 / The Talk
Why did he always have to be right? He was an infuriating, arrogant moron; Someone she would rather have been dropped in a crate of blastended skrewts than befriend. Yet here she was, finding herself in a position where his friendship seemed to matter more than most other things in her life. And he was right. That's what infuriated her more than anything.
It was only a few hours ago that they entered their respective houses after their drink at the Wizard's Pub, and the conversation they had endured was still driving her crazy. It was driving her mad that she couldn't even make herself believe her own argument. And she knew he was absolutely right. If he was her friend, she should trust him. She should be able to tell him why she had come here in the first place, why her life was such a mess.
But the problem was that she didn't want to. Their competitiveness and their urge to always be better than each other still clung to her mind like a damp cloth. If she admitted this to him, it was some sort of defeat. She had failed. She had failed in her relationship, and it was a victory to him. It was always a victory for him to see her go down. At least that's how it had been, and she couldn't quite shake the thought.
She supposed it was yet another one of those things in change. Another one of those things she didn't quite want to acknowledge, just because she clung to what was normal and what she felt was right. Why weren't things clean cut anymore? It was so much easier when she wasn't supposed to care. And it was definitely easier when she wasn't supposed to trust him.
Hermione watched the rain fall outside. It trickled down the windows and blurred the view of the outside, of his house. She sighed, not knowing what to do anymore. A sudden tap on the window woke her from the consuming thoughts and she rose from the chair she resided in. She could see the faint outline of an owl perched outside her window and she hurried over to let the soaked animal inside. Confused at the foreign owl, she reached out and took the roll it had attached to its leg.
Before she could unroll it herself, it did so on its own and she recognised the logo of the Daily Prophet. The pages of the newspaper suddenly began flipping on their own, and eventually came to a halt in the entertainment section. Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion until her eyes suddenly stopped on a picture at the top right of the page. Ron smiled charmingly at her from the newspaper resting on her dresser, before he turned back towards a stunning blonde wearing a tight, red dress. She waved at the camera before saying something to Ron, who laughed appreciatively.
Hermione wanted to scream. This was the woman she had been traded for. This magnificent creature of blonde hair and legs going on forever. Who had sent her this? Who had wanted for her to suffer knowing she could never in a million years measure up to Ron's new girlfriend? Tears threatened to spill as she took in the brilliant smile and gorgeous, clear blue eyes the beauty fixed lovingly on Ron.
A small sob escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms protectively around her own less-than-perfect frame. She wasn't tall, she wasn't slender and she didn't have a face worthy a cosmetics ad. In fact, she was on the short side, and rather more curvy than she liked to admit. But she had never really doubted herself, she had never felt inadequate or uncomfortable in her own skin... until now.
The large ornamental clock above the fireplace told her it was almost midnight, but she couldn't care less. Grabbing the newspaper in her fisted hand she bolted towards the door and flung it open, not bothering to throw her cloak on. The rain whipped mercilessly against her face mixing with her tears, but she just ran down the pathway and threw the gate open. Once on the road she turned right immediately and entered onto his lawn. She had never been on his premises. He had always been the one to come to her, but it was time for the connection to work both ways.
