Dirty Laundry

4

“You know?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean by, ‘you know’?”

“I mean…I know.”

“You know?”

“I know.”

“Oh.”

Hermione stared at Harry with mingled surprise and confusion, and realized she was possibly off the hook. If Harry knew what she’d been dreading telling him, then she certainly didn’t have to dread any longer! She nearly smiled and sighed at mere the thought. Then, though, a new thought occurred to her, one that muddled her thoughts even more.

“Hang on,” she said. “I don’t think you know, Harry. If you did, you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

“Hermione, trust me. I know.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m completely sorry about it then!” Hermione exclaimed tearfully. She crossed the length of the room in two quick strides, and threw herself into Harry’s arms with enough force to knock him back a step or two, right into the dryer. He didn’t pull away nevertheless, keeping his arms around her as she squeezed him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. When she pulled away she was blushing deeply, for knocking him into the dryer. “Sorry,” she said, intensely embarrassed. “I know I get a bit carried away sometimes.”

Harry continued to stare at her, remaining silent.

“I suppose you’ve accepted it then?” Hermione asked uncertainly. She wasn’t sure if she was so relieved after all; perhaps an angered, tempered Harry would’ve done the situation better justice. Rather, though, he was incredibly unresponsive about the whole ordeal. She plunged on in a cautious, quiet tone, “I was so afraid to tell you.”

Harry turned away, toward the dryer and the wall, and placed his hands onto the warm top of the dryer, as if waiting for the clothes to finish. Hermione stood with her arms hanging at her sides, staring frowningly at his back.

“Harry,” she said quietly. She collected all of the scraps and pieces of bravery that she could find within herself, and then outstretched her hand, placing it gently on his shoulder. “Harry, are you all right?” she asked uneasily.

The sound of a shutting door echoed throughout the house, filling the length of the laundry room, momentarily drowning out the humming of the dryer. Harry spun around in an instant, so abrupt and unexpected that Hermione jumped in alarm, and without a word to her, he walked past her, out of the room. She remained there, allowing her heartbeat to slow after such a fright. Sighing, she followed him out of the room.

She knew who was there. Really, it was common sense. She wasn’t following in Harry’s footsteps to be nosy or curious, but because she was worried for her friends, and the sinking, dropping feeling she was experiencing in her stomach certainly wasn’t a good sign; much like falling off the bed in the middle of night, in the midst of sleep, so suddenly unexpected and scary.

She entered the family room, memories of the previous night nearly capturing her once again, to find she was right—Ginny was in fact home. And, there stood Harry a few feet away, still appearing jarringly impassive.

“Harry,” Ginny said, smiling from ear-to-ear. “I knew you were home—what’s she doing here?” Ginny had spotted Hermione the second she’d stepped into the room, and the smile vanished from her face, her features quickly rearranging themselves to cold and foreboding.

“I was about to leave,” Hermione fibbed, in hopes of keeping the peace.

Ginny gave Harry a short glance, and then looked glaringly in Hermione’s direction. “Right, much like you were going to make breakfast this morning.”

Hermione exhaled, asking herself why she bothered trying to be civil. Because, she answered herself, she was, by nature, a civil person, especially to those she cared about; although it was becoming increasingly harder to be civil to Ginny due to recent events.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgiven her,” Ginny said to Harry, once silence had washed over the room for more than a good five seconds. She looked disbelievingly at Harry. “She tried to ruin our engagement party, Harry! She’s jealous—she has to go if this is going to work.”

Hermione restrained herself from snorting in incredulity; Ginny had the nerve to imply she had ruined their engagement party? Maybe so, had Ginny not been stupid enough to ruin her own engagement party long before that. Suddenly, last night’s events were fresh in Hermione’s mind, so vivid she thought she was somehow physically being taken back by Time Turner…

“…I’m telling you,” said Parvati Patil, grinning ardently, “she has no shame—none whatsoever. I heard she doesn’t even wear knickers. She’s such a slag.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Lavender agreed with a sharp nod. “I’ve heard some things about her. She thinks she’s so high and mighty too, damn arrogant wench.”

“Err, excuse me,” said Hermione, quite meekly. She hadn’t meant to intrude on their conversation, but they were standing in the doorway to the family room, and she really wanted to go in.

Lavender and Parvati stepped aside, eyeing Hermione in silence. Pretending as if their gossiping eyes weren’t on her, she skirted past them, into the biggest room of the house—it was full dozens of guests, the majority with glasses of wine, as they mingled amongst themselves. Hermione didn’t know half of the party attendants very well, and so she had decided, for tonight, to stick with people she did know. Unfortunately, that list was very limited.

“Luna’s not here yet,” Ron said the moment Hermione walked up to him.

She scowled. She liked Luna very much; she was a very good friend, but it didn’t help boost her ego that Ron couldn’t shut up about her these days. Ron, who had always focused more on her—Hermione—was almost completely oblivious to her these days. And with Harry and Ginny getting married, she was alone.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up,” Hermione said reassuringly. “The party’s a bit drab, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but it’ll get better,” Ron said confidently. He took a sip from his own glass, and Hermione noticed his blue eyes set on the doorway, waiting for a certain blonde with orb-eyes to walk through. “It’s also because we’re all old these days, and not nearly as interesting as we were back in the days of Hogwarts.”

Hermione smiled reminiscently. “Somehow, I don’t much miss those parties either.”

“I already apologized a thousand and two times for snogging Lavender to get you jealous, Hermione,” Ron said seriously.

“I know,” she said. “Arrogant bloke you are, Ron, thinking that’s what I was talking about.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling a bit, mysteriously. “I need to take a pee,” she said.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed after her, watching her as she walked away, once again having to pass the chattering Parvati and Lavender.

The entrance hall was much quieter, littered here and there with other party guests talking quietly to themselves. She didn’t recognize many people but Angelina Johnson and Fred Weasley talking very closely and privately, and Neville looking like he was very tempted to go home. She reached the wide staircase that led to the second floor. She went up with slow steps, keeping her hand on the cold, curving banister. She ascended the staircase and Cho Chang descended the staircase, giving her a significant glance as she passed her. Hermione ignored her and continued on her way up.

The second floor was dark and quiet, with an eerie, distant feel to it. Knowing Harry’s home almost as well as she knew her own, Hermione stopped in front of the door she was sure was the bathroom. She placed her hand onto the doorknob, turning it and then opening the door. She quickly flicked on the light, so not to be in the dark. She jumped in shock at the sight.

“Oh my,” she said. She nodded her head and clucked her tongue in shame. “Look at you—disgusting.”

She shut the door, locked it, and gave the filthy bathroom one last appraising look, before walking over to the toilet. She couldn’t help but wonder which guest had dirtied the bathroom. Being the compulsively neat person she was, it utterly disgusted her. Moments later, when she washed her hands, and put her hand to the doorknob to pull the door open, a blank, beige envelope was slid underneath the door.

Hermione glanced down, spotting the envelope resting on the bathroom rug. She knelt down and took the envelope in her hands. She could hear the distinct sound of two pairs of feet creeping away from the door, down the hall. She stood quickly and pulled the door open, but no one was to be seen. The mysterious two people had escaped.

She looked down at the envelope in her hands, turning it over to discover the opposite side was also blank. Shivers coursed down her spine, as her shaking hands delicately tore the side of the envelope to an open. Out spilled a number of photographs, falling weightlessly and landing onto the bathroom rug. She knelt down to collect them, freezing in mid-action at the sight. The sight was more than she ever wanted, ever hoped, ever wished to see.

The sight was so shocking and surprising that she felt the wind knocked out of her. The moving, wizarding photos were of the same two people, two secret lovers caught in the act, though not aware of being caught in the act. One, the woman, was unmistakably none other than Ginny, and the other—the other was Draco Malfoy…

Hermione stared at the pictures for longer than she would’ve liked, finding herself unable to move or even think. The raw intensity of the pictures made her ashamed just for looking, for thinking of how Ginny could possibly shag any other man than her fiancé, than Harry; how she could possibly do that to him, with Malfoy of all people? Malfoy.

She barely remembered leaving the bathroom, and walking down the hall or the stairs, but she did remember reaching the bottom of the staircase, standing on the very last step, as Cho appeared.

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” she asked Hermione.

Hermione gaped at her, too stunned for speech.

“I was just up in the toilet, minding my own business, when—” She held up a similar envelope to Hermione’s. “I can’t believe it. They’re supposed to be getting married.”

“I…who was upstairs, just now? Who was it?” Hermione asked. She had meant to say, ‘who was it, if not you and someone else?’, but had trailed off there, due to her lingering inability to speak properly.

“I’m not sure, Hermione,” Cho said, “no one’s been up since you, which makes me think the person’s that left those photos are still upstairs. What if Harry’s the next one to go up to the bathroom?”

Hermione didn’t answer.

“I don’t know about you,” Cho said with a deep sigh, “but I need to step out of here for a bit. I need to clear my head; I don’t know what I’m going to do now that I know the bitch has been cheating on Harry all long; she’s probably been opening those legs for any bloke that’s paid her the slightest attention; that’s what she’s always done, for years. Imagine how Harry’ll feel? And with Malfoy too.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, unable to control the panic that was spreading inside of her, like some contagious virus. She didn’t know why Cho was so perturbed about it, when she was the one that was Harry’s best friend, not Cho. Cho was just Cho, Harry’s long ago ex-crush and current acquaintance.

“Coming with?” Cho asked, as she started in the direction of the front door.

With a hesitant nod, Hermione followed…

…the rest swirled away in her mind, going as quickly as it had come. Hermione stood there, her eyes dazed as Ginny glared at her, and Harry stood still, his back to her and his face not visible.

“Well, Harry?” Ginny demanded finally, her hands on her hips. “What’s it going to be?”

And still, he said nothing. He turned away from Ginny and walked the opposite way. Hermione, for a moment, thought he was walking toward her, maybe to see her out? But he wasn’t. He stopped instead at the large cabinet near the biggest window of the room; the one Cho had referred to as the ‘big, big window’ last night. Like with the dryer, he placed both hands on top of it, hanging his head, his back turned to both girls. Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances.

“Ginny,” he said quietly, “get out.”

“Excuse me?” Ginny yelped in disbelief.

“Get out,” he repeated, his voice brusque and shaky. Suddenly, irately, with a savage growl, he swung his arms, sending every item on the cabinet crashing down to the floor—the antique, very expensive glass vase, the frames full of adorable pictures of himself and Ginny, pictures taken months and months ago. The things shattered into hundreds of pieces onto the floor, startling both Hermione and Ginny. He let out another furious growl, overturning the large cabinet, causing it to land with a rumble on the floor. He spun around, breathless, and said to Ginny in the harshest tone Hermione had ever heard him use, “Get the hell out of my house!”

Ginny couldn’t think of anything to do but scoff, and so she did—she scoffed.

“Fine,” she said. “I figured she’d tell you; she probably loved every second of it.” Ginny rounded on Hermione. “Didn’t you?” she shouted angrily, “you loved having something over my head—you loved and relished every fucking minute of it! Didn’t you?!”

Hermione forced herself to say nothing. She simply met Harry’s eyes. She didn’t want to make matters worse. Despite being their friends, it really didn’t involve her.

“I don’t need you, anyway!” Ginny said, now turning back to look at Harry. Her voice was hoarse and her breathing strangled. “I don’t need you!” she screamed to him, tears now falling from her eyes. “In fact, I’m glad this has happened! I’m glad you caught me! Do you know how good it was? How exciting he is compared to you? Sometimes, you’re so dull I want to scream! I’m glad this has happened! It was worth it.”

“I said, get the hell out,” Harry repeated. He had nothing else to say to her. Everything he had thought he’d seen in her had been nothing but a clouded haze of an image, not of a person, of Ginny. “Get the hell out of my house, you slag, and never think of crawling back when he leaves you cold and abandoned and used. OUT!”

“Oh, so now I’m a slag, am I?” Ginny asked, laughing shakily. She was trembling with emotion. With the tears, her make up had smudged and ruined, making her look a complete, messed wreck. “Well, I’d rather be a whore and live life than be a boring shell of someone that once was thrilling, exciting!!”

She spun on her heel, nearly bumping right into Hermione. “Get out of the way,” she snarled warningly to her, as she started for the door. Hermione couldn’t hold in her own rage for Ginny any longer; she snapped.

“The Harry you thought was thrilling and exciting was nothing but your delusional view of a hero—the ‘Chosen One’!” Hermione growled angrily. “If you knew the real Harry, you’d know he found nothing thrilling or exciting about that chapter of his life! But you don’t know a bloody thing about him; you never did! You were never in love with Harry, you were in love with the image you and the press associated with him! You’re pathetic.”

Ginny had stopped in her tracks, trembling more than ever, to listen to Hermione’s rant. Surprisingly, she had nothing to say afterward, as if she was wordlessly admitting Hermione was right. She left quietly after that, closing the door with barely a sound to be heard.

As soon as she was gone, Harry slumped down onto the sofa, as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. His anger seemed to have disappeared as quickly as it’d come, and now he had apparently fallen into his unresponsive state from earlier on. Hermione watched him from across the room, the sight breaking her heart. She swallowed with difficulty, barely controlling the tears in her eyes that were threatening to fall. She hurried across the room to him.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, dropping onto her knees. She threw her arms around him, hugging him securely; eventually her head came to a rest on his knee. “I’m so sorry,” she said over and over, truly meaning it. “It shouldn’t have happened this way.”

He said nothing.

###

Thank you for every single review of last chapter!

And, yes, I know…not all of the questions have been answered yet, but the story’s obviously not over. With that said, please review this one! Like usual, another installment coming very soon.