A/N:
Finally! I put this chapter up just so you know I'm still alive and very much willing to continue this fic. So terribly sorry that it took me six months. It's just been really hard and hectic for me. I moved to Canada last October 18, 2008, and since then, I've been on my feet, working to pay bills and everything. So, yeah...I've never had the energy to write until now, so please bear with whatever I came up with. It's been quite some time and I left my draft notebook back in the Philippines, so I'm trying to recall everything that I had so far.
I don't think I did a good job with this chapter, but I hope you'll still continue to read.
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True to his word, Harry did exactly go to his townhouse, the one he'd purchased impulsively more than three months ago, to mee up with Cho. NOT to do what he had let Hermione believe, but to do exactly as he had declared earlier that evening.
"I knew you would change your mind, Harry," Cho said with a delighted smile, meeting him halfway down the steps, her robe billowing behind her as she ran.
Beneath that, he caught a glimpse of her black nightgown, the silk shimmering against the faint light the street lamps provided. He remembered buying it, just to ease a broken engagement many fortnights ago.
"You have known me for years, madam," he replied curtly, removing the hands that had all too swiftly wound themselves around his neck. "Indeciveness never agrees with me."
Truthfully speaking, as he gazed down at Cho's indignant face, he could not quite understand her persistence.
Of the number of mistresses he'd kept in three months, she was the last one he had expected to act as if her world would fall apart if he were not in it. He had originally thought that after their affair was over, it would be a clean break, and they would remain friends.
Checking both sides of the street for any passer-by or gossip mongers, for the lack of a better term, he firmly pushed Cho inside and prepared himself for another bout of seduction --- the prospect making him flinch.
He did not linger long, for he had only but a few possessions within. So, half an hour later, he was tipping his hat to a woman who was absolutely raving mad, cursing him to oblivion, while standing at the wide open doorstep, well her doorstep to be exact --- considering that though she had been none-too-friendly about it, she still accepted the deed to his, er --- her, townhouse.
"Let's go, Emmett," Harry called out to his coachman the minute his foot landed on the step of his carriage.
Without another glance at the woman who had once been part of his life, Harry closed his eyes and let the gentle swaying of the carriage lull him to sleep.
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It was not long before Harry was awakened by the abrupt stop of his ride.
Lifting the curtain aside, Harry peered out the window. With a sigh of relieved anticipation, he jumped out of his carriage as soon as the fresh night air swamped him through the open carriage way.
The blast of the late evening merriment from within greeted him as the doors were thrown wide open. Accompanying the noise was the long and narrow entrance leading to The Leaky Cauldron's reception area, which reeked with its usual scent of beer, faint cigarette ash, and good-natured profanities.
The Leaky Cauldron was not the most conventional of places for the duke to be visiting. He belonged, according to social hierarchy, to Gentlemen clubs like White's, where cheap booze and brawls were as frequent as warm weather in England.
Yet, despite his personal history with the place, Harry had never found a bar quite like this one.
Here, he felt at home.
"Pleasant evening there, Harry." The resident innkeeper, Tom, greeted with a toothless grin, his grey hair, with white streaks from age, sticking out in all directions.
Harry tipped his head to acknowledge the greeting.
Tom was never the one to mince words. With a conspiratorial wink, he leaned in. "Heard you got yerself a new missus out o'town."
For the first time tonight, even as it seemed quite misplaced, the memory of his marriage and Hermione had him chuckling, albeit with a little less enthusiasm than expected. "That's just about right." He answered without looking up from the registry he was signing.
"Quite sudden, wasn't it?"
The squeaks of glass against cloth defeated the silence that ensued. Harry was not too sure what to tell people why he and Hermione had to get married in haste.
"What can I say," he muttered. "It was love at first sight."
Tom scoffed in disbelief, throwing away his rag and leaning against the counter. "And I am the newly-crowned king."
It took another long time before Harry had a response to that one. "Never you mind."
Tom threw back his head and gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Grapevine is not as reliable as it was."
"Was it ever?"
"No, I reckon it never was."
"I would not listen to gossip at all, if I were you?"
"It comes with me life's work, your grace." Tom shrugged. "You cannot last in this position and NOT listen to what folks come in here to say."
Harry snorted and decided to leave it at that.
He started for the bar room's entrance.
"Say hello to your bride for me."
Harry glanced back and gave a curt nod.
Upon entering the crowded room, Harry exhaled an exhausted sigh of relief as he immediately saw Ron among them.
His flaming red-hair had been known to stand out amidst a crowd of brunettes and blondes, and Malfoy's shockingly flaxen head next to his, he noted in disbelief, added to the ease. The contrast not only between their hairs but personalities, as well, was so amusing that it was really quite vexing just thinking how on earth they'd ever become comrades.
"Ron," Harry greeted, coming up to them. He saw surprised pleasure light his friend's eyes as he stood, seeing him approach.
Taking his outstretched hand, Ron chuckled. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight."
"Me neither." Harry sat down at the chair immediately procured for him by one of the attendants. As he did so, he acknowledged the other gentleman whom he'd unbelievably and unexpectedly become quite good friends with over some time. "Draco."
Draco raised his hand for a drink.
"Thank you, my lord, but since I arrived late and unexpected, I shall take care of my own drink."
Draco shook his head with a smile. "Oh, but I insist."
"Let him, Harry." Ron interrupted the protest that was about to come once more.
Harry eyed both of them suspicously. "You seem festive tonight. What are we celebrating?"
Malfoy casually leaned back, the subtle arrogance catching Harry's interest.
"Ginny..." he began.
"That's Lady Ginevra to you, git." Ron interrupted with a raised brow.
Malfoy reciprocated the gesture with a smug smile, not taking much offense. "Lady Ginevra Weasley," he emphasized with great feelnig. "...has given her consent to marry me."
"You mean, my father gave you his consent, Malfoy." Ron interjected again, this time, though without much bitterness, and was actually good-natured.
Amidst their banter, Harry blinked in surprise, his recognition delayed.
In the recent events, he had forgotten that Malfoy had been courting Ron's younger sister, the youngest and only female in the Weasley clan. He had not been overly aware the feeling was returned quite seriously.
He wondered what Ron's initial reactions was. A few years back, he had carried the hope that Harry would become his brother-in-law.
The idea had been reciprocated.
In secret, however.
He'd considered offering, but he'd soon realized that it would not have worked. His penchant for guilt outweighed his fondness for the young Weasley. He had regretted his decision a few times in the past, she was too spirited, gently bred away from the realities of life, to fully understand the pains he'd gone through.
Back then, and until now....he needed somebody who'd been through something similar, if not the same...
Somebody who knew more than the life that was expected of her...
Somebody like Hermione...
"My felicitations," he offered belatedly, taking a sip of his drink.
And blanched.
Too strong for his taste.
Lifting it to eye level, he studied the drink and swirled it in his glass, sniffing.
"Vile stuff," Malfoy commented. "Tried it once, t'was the last time I ever did."
"I understand your desire for a happy cup, Malfoy," Hary ignored Malfoy's comment, and then looked at Ron with speculative eyes. "What I do not get is why you are here."
"Offering company." Ron wiggled his eyebrows at him.
"And in the process, caught yourself a free drink." Malfoy chided.
Ron scoffed. "I may be titled, but I do not turn down treats. Besides, you are not a pauper."
"Indeed."
"I hear congratulations are in order." Dean Thomas, Count of Norville, suddenly came up behind Harry and Ron's chair, clasping the backs of it with his hands. Trailing behind him was another friend of theirs, Seamus Finnegan.
Seeing the somber look on Harry's face, Dean concluded otherwise and blanched. "Beg pardon, perhaps I should offer condolences instead."
Harry tossed him a sideway glance. "Who are you congratulating? Me or Malfoy?"
"Malfoy, of course." Seamus Finnegan clapped Malfoy's shoulders good-naturedly. "For his good fortune and upcoming nuptials."
"I appreciate it, gentlemen." Malfoy acknowledged with barely controlled enthusiasm. "Have a seat, the both of you."
As they sat down, peculiarity dawned on Seamus. "Why did you think we were congratulating you, Harry?"
Harry picked up his glass and swirled the contents inside. "Grapevine," he murmured to no one in particular, remembering and quoting Tom's words, "...not as reliable as it was."
"I was out of town," Dean responded, uncertain on what to make of Harry's statement.
"I'd just learned from my wife that Malfoy got himself engaged, when he literally dragged me out of my house. I reckon there was something else my wife wanted to tell me..." Seamus trailed off. Then he tapped his hand on the table. "So why should we congratulate you again?"
Harry chose not to reply, not wanting anybody to make any more deal out of the topic. He was not exactly repulsed at the idea, just that he did not want people gawking at him every time they learned of it.
Ron shook his head in disbelief at Harry's unnecessary secrecy. "The bloke's got himself married, that's why."
For a brief moment, none from those who'd just arrived could speak or do anything, except breathe and stare.
Harry crossed his arms. This was the very reaction he had been hoping to avoid. "Frankly speaking, I am quite exhausted from those reactions." He looked from one face to the other. "People marry. Why is it that my marriage seems bigger than that of others?"
Malfoy was clearly enjoying Harry's bewilderment. "For one, you married Lady Hermione Granger."
The sounds of jaws dropping couldn't have been more pronounced had everybody in the room actually fell silent.
"You are joking, right?"
Harry turned a sarcastic face towards Dean. "Right, because this is a face of a man who is bloody well joking." He splayed his hands in irritation. "Have I ever, with something this serious?"
Dean threw up his hands in mock defeat. "Well, I'll be! It's bloody well true!" Then he rubbed his forehead and shifted in his seat. "But Christ, married to Hermione Granger?"
"The Countess of Ravenclaw?"
"Is there any other Hermione Granger or Countess of Ravenclaw?"
"You married her?" Seamus breathed out again. "When did she return?"
"More importantly, where did you even meet?" Dean countered.
"How, my good friend, how?"
Harry shook his head at the typical, yet sensible questions. "It is quite a long story."
Seamus and Dean turned to look at each other, Draco and Ron looked on with interest.
"Lucky bastard." Seamus whistled. His eyes were fixed on Harry, the shimmer of admiration clear in them. "You must have had quite a courtship. She is beautiful and rich. Saw her before --- a long time ago, mind you --- and though to hell with propriety."
Harry abruptly fixed his gaze upon Seamus, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire . "And what exactly are you insinuating?
Unbothered by the cold tone, Seamus explained. "I almost offered for her, even when she had not come out yet."
He tapped his finger on the table. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? He did not even know Hermione then. In fact, he had not known any of these men existed at all.
"Feisty, isn't she?"
"Quite so." Harry agreed wholeheartedly.
Everybody heard the longing in his expasperated response. It seemed that it was he who only thought it sounded aloof.
"If you are newly married, why is it that you are here and not with your wife, your grace?"
Why was that again?
Oh, yes...
Because he had a useless fight with his wife, who was probably cursing him for leaving her, thinking that he went to his mistress house to have fun, when in truth just ended their affair, and in the process, lost a perfectly good townhouse, and did not want to go home just yet, into the reality that never would there be real marriage between them, not when even simple trust turned out to be something difficult for them to have.
Harry blinked, even the long thought caused him to lose his breath. His audience was expecting his reply, but was saved from doing so by an eruption of good-natured cheers from the other side of the room.
Turning to look, he saw a small group gathered at the farthest corner. The object of their merriment was obviously the big, burly guy, smiling sheepishly while running his hand through his short hair and crinkling his crooked nose.
There was a subtle arrogance in the man that Harry didn't like. He seemed too sure of himself, and the three women oggling him, glued to his arm, was not helping at all in deflating his misplaced confidence.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered suddenly, his voice full of disbelief, but awe and excitement as well.
Harry didn't miss the tone.
"What?"
"It's Viktor Krum," he breathed out as if in a trance.
"Who?"
"Viktor Krum," Ron repeated as if doing so would actually clarify who the person was. "It's really him."
Harry turned to the others, who were equally looking, but were not as dumbstruck as Ron .
"A famous horseman from Bulgaria." Dean informed. "Has won races, is worth more than my money and Dean's put together, probably not as much as yours, though, and travels quite a lot."
"Quite the adventurer, eh?"
"The last place he went to visit was Scotland, I believe, and took up residence there for three years."
"Where do you get all this information?" Harry asked.
"My wife," Dean said. "A big fan of men who can seat a horse well."
As he said this, Dean gave a helpless look at Harry, clearly meaning that he was also included in those men. Years as a dueler required him to have a fast getaway, and so, Harry had learned to ride well.
Amidst their explanation, Harry had turned back towards the apparently rich and famous Viktor Krum, observing his friends, who were surrounding him, and again, at the women who were clinging on him like monkeys.
For the first time, he took note of Krum's appearance, wondering. As he would not describe the man as someone pretty enough to attract attention solely on looks, Harry believed it could be bcause of his money and repuation.
His perusal was taking so long to support his theories that Harry failed to see straight away that the object of his scrutiny was actually scrutinizing him back!
Krum must have recognized him somewhere, because he bent down to whisper something in his companion's ear, who in return, gave a fleeting glance at Harry's direction.
Much more to his surprise, with exactly five long and purposeful strides, Viktor Krum was already standing in front of him, bearing down with menacing eyes. Despite his aknowledgment for the other occupants at the table, it was quite obvious Harry was the only person the stranger was intent on paying attention to.
"You are Harry Potter?" Krum finally asked. His voice rang with a hard accent. It was almost as hard as his piercing eyes .
Almost.
Harry gave a curt nod. "How may I be of assistance?"
When the man continued to look at him without so much as a single word, Harry lifted his cup and took a hearty sip of his port, no matter how repulsive he knew it was.
He was about to ascertain the size of Krum's nostrils, as it was directy down at him, when he grunted, his words almost unclear.
"Where is Herm-own-ninny?"
Harry snorted out his port.
Embarrassing for an esteemed duke but...
Who in bloody hell was Hermn-own-ninny?
"Begging your pardon?"
"Where is Herm-own-ninny?"
"Are you foxed, sir?" Dean interrupted before anybody could say anything..
Not to everybody's surprise, the most certainly rude gentleman, an irony if there ever was one, ignored Dean's comment.
"Where is Herm-own-ninny?" He repeated, without looking at anyone else.
Oh, big surprise there!
"Hiding, I assume," Harry murmured, "...if that's actually the poor fellow's name."
"Herm-own-ninny," Viktor said again his brows crinkling, "...you are her husband, are you not?"
Herm-own-ninny...
Hermione?
Harry's confusion was supplanted by the suddent urge to laugh, and then the more abrupt trickle of annoyance as he realized that his man, this insanely rich, powerful and God-knows-why appealing man, knew his wife enough to be on a first name basis with her, even though it was not really how he should pronounce it!
"My wife, Hermione," Harry emphasized both with great feeling, something that bought out a guffaw from Seamus and Dean, and a chortle from Draco and Ron, "...is currently at home, in our townhouse, waiting for my arrival."
Krum crossed his arms across his chest. "You leave her alone?" With disbelief, he leaned closer to Harry's face. "Is she safe there?"
"My lord," he inclined his head. "I reckon I know how to take care of my own wife."
Indignant, Viktor scratched his chin. Harry wondered why he was looking down at him that way. It was as if the man was seeing him for the very first time and was just deciding what to think of him. Harry fought the urge to lean away.
"I do not like you."
Superior breeding, however late it had been, dictated him to leave the matter to rest. Yet, could he simply let it pass? He lifted one brow, which was all he could seem to do lately, and then shrugged.
"I missed the part where that is my concern." He stated with a smirk. Oh, what would he give to find out whether Viktor Krum's nose could get any more crooked! His fists were actually shaking to do the deed. "Now if you do not have any other business to conclude with me, may I suggest you leave? I am not at all sorry to admit that your being here has cut our merriment in half."
The others sniggered, even Ron, who had been admiring the man earlier.
"Hmph," Viktor Krum grunted in disgust. Robbed of anything else to say, he turned around, but then stopped to look at Harry over his shoulder.
Harry inclined his head but said nothing more.
The volume in the room, which had been lowered to a non-existent level, escalated again the moment the two were poles apart. Soon, the patrons were back to their own little worlds, wallowing in their own pitiful sorrows, and drinking to their hearts' delight. Even Viktor Krum seemed unfazed by their exchange.
Harry wished he could say the same for himself. He turned to his friends, inwardly fighting the urge to bombard them with questions.
"Odd sort of fellow, isn't he?" He remarked casually, taking another sip of his drink, looking at them behind the rim of his glass.
Draco rubbed his jaw, hiding his smirk, but no one else showed any reaction. In fact, he might have just imagined the entire conversation, if it weren't for Krum's short but piercing glances thrown like daggers his way.
Uneasiness, mixed with annoyance, forced him to swallow his intention for nonchalance.
"Would somebody please care to explain what that man's connection with my wife is?"
Out of the four, it was pretty obvious that Ron's knowledge mattered most.
His friend held up his hands in helplessness. "I honestly do not have that much valuable information. However, I do know that your wife, Herm-own-ninny," Ron couldn't help but add, and then sobered when Harry glared at him. "What? It was funny, you have to admit!."
Harry shook his head.
Ron sighed. "Well, she was introduced to Viktor Krum at a party---"
"Scotland does not have parties. She told me so herself."
"The Scots are not savages, Harry," Ron exaspearated. "They're quite civilized, and apparently, have a penchant for entertaining as well. Besides, if you could recall, Hermione did not seem keen on having a conversation with you during that dinner. It was so obvious that negating everything you asked was her way of losing your interest."
"So now they're great friends?"
God!
First William...
Now, Viktor Krum?
What was it with his wife and her male companions?
"Viktor Krum, according to Luna, called on Hermione often until the day of her departure."
"But did Hermione return his affections at all, to make him believe that he could just waltz up here and accuse me of being an inept husband?"
"You are the only one who knows, or who can find out, the answer to that." Draco murmured.
Having been provided the obvious advice, Harry slumped back on his chair. "I do not like you," Harry mimicked in a low voice, imitating the accent he'd come to hate. "Who in bloody hell does he think he is waltzing here just to say he dislikes me? And how dare he accuse me of being an inept husband? And how dare that dimwit ask me whether my wife is safe?"
He shook his head and continued to rant on.
"Honestly! If he even cared for my wife as much as that big head of his thinks, one would think he'd have the decency to find out that her name isn't bloody well Herm-own-ninny!"
"Do you realize," Draco drawled. "...that you've said 'my wife' about three times already?"
"And he has not flinched yet." Ron added, amused and clearly enjoying Harry's outrage.
"I fail to see anything wrong or even vital with that."
"Barely a month ago, you scorned the idea of marriage." Ron pointed out. "Now, you cannot even sprout one sentence that has no connection with it."
"Can we not talk about my marriage like this? It is quite insulting, I'll have you know."
"Can you hear yourself at all? If I did not know you any better, I'd say you've come to care for Hermione, Harry."
Harry stared at him as if he'd sprouted two noses. "Why else would I have married her if I had not cared for her at all?" Harry huffed out, each word dawning on him as brightly as the rare sunshine that grazed the vast plains his estates entailed.
It was the first time he had ever said it out loud, though he'd already admitted to himself as much. Yet oddly enough, the vulnerability it brought did not bother him as he had expected it would.
Deep in his mind and heart, he wanted to protest, to revolt against this growing attachment to her. This should not be happening. His vow never to take into his hands the responsibility of loving, even just simply caring, for another woman had kept him safe for numbers of years. He'd been above the clouds, perhaps not exactly happy with life, but doing just fine, when the next moment, he had come crashing down without warning.
The events that passed beforehand were too much to foist on him all in one night.
It was quite difficult to take in that just last night, he was riding peacefully in his carriage, with Hermione sleeping trustingly beside him. The smell of her hair lingered with him still. It was hard not to, as her head had comfortably rested on his shoulder, close enough for him to take in the cinnamon scent.
He sighed.
He never thought it possible that one day could change everything.
His deliberate abandonment of Hermione tonight, with nothing more than a cruel insinuation of where he`d be, was an impulse he`d given in to because of a pride that should not have been, but was in fact, battered.
Yet, as the night progress and his port settled uncomfortably in his empty stomach, his contemplation provided nothing useful, nor did his mood improve at all. His friends, having gotten over the quite serious discussion earlier, were clearly deep in their cups and enjoying themselves, cracking each other up with anecdotes of their own. Try as he might, Harry could not even bear to pretend to listen. His thoughts were louder than any of their voices.
Another topic had taken place as he'd been thinking, a topic that did not incite his interest. It gave him more time to brood things over and calm his nerves over the unsolved mystery of his wife --- there were those bloody words again! --- and her suitor.
Yet, even as he debated on whether or not to pound Viktor Krum's head, his words had a certain volume of truth in it, enough to make him think.
Was Hermione safer with him?
That had been his intention, wasn't it, when he'd agreed to involve himself with her?
But, so far, all he'd managed to do was give her reason to think she'd been better off unmarried.
Call it his instinct to protect or whatever, but he wanted --- no, needed --- her to feel that she made the right choice, despite their current situation.
His distracting thoughts would have taken him deeper into his troubles, had there not been an interruption, when he heard a chair being scraped back, rather loudly, from the direction of Viktor Krum and his friends.
Involuntarily, Harry looked, and unsurprisingly caught Viktor Krum's eyes. In a move that was obviously deliberate, Viktor touched the brim of his hat and tipped it to acknowledge Harry's glance.
Something about the cockiness told Harry of a message he'd been expecting all night.
A silent challenge...
What was at stake was undoubtedly a certain chestnut-haired chit who both drove him insane yet incited in him a passion unlike any he'd ever heard or felt before.
He'll be damned if he let this one guy intimidate him!
But the issuance did dampen his already surly mood. And if he did not reach rock bottom this time, the next thing he realized just managed to sink him under.
Viktor Krum had left with the look of a man on a mission.
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"Eloise! Eloise!"
Harry could barely contain the worry in his voice as he yanked on the bell pull.
He was not in the brightest of moods, nor was he in a state of perfect clarity. He'd arrived a few minutes earlier and gone straight into the master bedroom, with every intention of hauling Hermione from their bed and apologizing until she begged him to stop. Yet to his utmost surprise, his wife was not there!
Where could she have gone?!
He kicked the nearest piece of furniture, and encountered the hard and sturdy legs of his bed. Not only did it do nothing to alleviate his frustration, it also caused him pain. Cursing, he sat down in helpless exhaustion, burying his face in his hands.
Where was that bloody maid?!
"Eloise!"
It was not reasonable to be making a racket so late in the night, but be damned!
His wife was missing, while her kidnapper was on the loose, her long-lost best friend was potentially hanging about with that vow to take her away from him, and her big oaf of an admirer had just issued a warning against him!
So no, he did not care to be silent at all!
Harry shook his head.
My God!
Could have something happened?!
He should have not left her alone!
Perhaps she was just out for a stroll?
No, that was ridiculous, he wasn't thinking straight, or at all for that matter!
Stroll indeed!
Maybe somebody forced her out of the house?
Was she with somebody?
What the hell?!
Harry stilled.
Why was he worrying?
She could just be having a tryst with her lover, for all he knew.
"You rang, your grace?" Eloise came in suddenly, her face flushed, her breathing heavy.
"Where is your mistress?!" He demanded straight away.
Eloise looked confused for a moment.
"My mistress?"
Harry refused to wipe his face with his hands in frustration even though every ounce of him wanted to shake some bloody sense into the girl. "Yes, your mistress," he said venomously, "Lady Potter...my wife. Where is she?"
"In the duchess' suite, your grace." Eloise answered, looking at him as if he'd gone mad.
Harry wouldn't be surprised if he really had.
"In the duchess' suite?" He repeated lamely, all the energy drained from him.
Why didn't he think of that?
"Er---yes, thank you." Harry nodded. "Pardon me for intruding on your rest."
Eloise gave him a bewildered loko, curtsied and hurried out of the room.
Harry glanced towards the door that connected his room to Hermione's.
She was just on the other side.
It was weird, this...
He'd spent all his life sleeping by himself, but after a couple of nights of sleeping with somebody, he had gotten used to it that his initial reaction over her absence was to conclude that she was having an affair.
The boys had been right.
Something had changed in him.
Taking a deep breath, Harry went to the other room to finally do what he'd been planning on the way home.
But he was too late.
He found her in the middle of the bed, buried under mounds of blanket, asleep.
Careful not to wake her with his footsteps, although perhaps it wouldn't matter since she'd managed to sleep through his racket earlier, he crossed the spacious suite and sank onto the mattress space beside her.
He ached to touch her, to feel that smooth skin beneath his fingers, and to kiss the stubbornness away from those soft lips. Once, in the many minutes he just stared at her, he almost reached out to do everything he'd been craving, but pulled back when he realized he had no right.
He didn't know how long he sat there, just that he didn't want to leave.
His anger over what happened had quite dissipated. He no longer felt humiliated by her rejection, and was now convinced that nothing could go any further between tthem. He was already resigned into simply being friends with her, if they could not be husband and wife in any other sense.
Yet, somehow, his heart revolted against his mind.
It just wouldn't settle for less.
For another second he took in her face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered helplessly, bending down to kiss her forehead.
He stood up and left the bed.
Nearly across the darkened room, her voice floated to him.
"Are you really?"
Harry did a quick turnabout and saw her slowly sit up, her silhoutte outlined by the moonlight barely passing through the curtains.
Shoving his hand in his pockets, he asked. "Did I wake you?"
She shook her head and then looked down at her hands. "No."
Harry frowned. "You were pretending to sleep?"
"I was not." Hermione got up from the bed, moving the covers aside. She could feel Harry watching her as she put on her robe. "But I heard you."
"That seems a little doubtful, my dear."
"I---I haven't been asleep that long," she explained in a soft voice. Harry did not need to ask why, for he had little wonder regarding her sleepless night. It made his guilt greater.
"I apologize for the inconvenience." He muttered, not really knowing what to say. "I was not aware you would be worried."
Little did he know, his words were the last thing Hermione wanted to hear. He was belittling her concerns, dismissing them as simple inconveniences on her part, when in fact, they seemed to take a lot of her energy, physically and emotionally.
Was it really hard for him to accept that somebody actually cared for him?
Even though she knew she shouldn't, she couldn't stop her insides from curling with bitterness.
"Do not insult me, Harry," she whispered. "I am not a fool."
"Insult you?"
"And if you please, stop this hypocrisy."
"Now I'm a hypocrite?"
She could hear the disbelief in his voice.
"You knew very well when you disposed of me earlier me without so much thought that I would be thinking something after you left. And now you're apologizing because you didn't think I would be wondering where you were?"
Harry took a deep breath, knowing full well the last thing both of them needed was another argument to end the night. He took a hesitant step forward, closer to her. "All right, I knew you would be. But I truly am sorry."
"People apologize for mistakes they unknowingly did, not for deliberate ones. I can not fathom whatever for you are sorry."
"For making you believe something else."
Hermione defiantly crossed her arms. But her eyes, if he could see them at all, were dark with pain. "Did you really?"
It seemed to Harry that it was his night of confessions. And as much as he hated opening up to somebody, surrendering vulnerability, he fet she needed an answer. A sound answer, one that didn't require any room for doubt.
Yet, he found none.
"Did I really what?"
"Just make me believe something else?"
Harry began to understand what she meant and as much as half of it was his fault, he couldn't help but be annoyed by her question.
Did she really think of him as a man without principles?
A man who would deliberately tell his wife he was going off to his mistress?
He might have been an unscrupulous lad before, but he respected women. That was a lesson Polly Smith had ingrained in his head while growing up.
"Where did you go, Harry?" Hermione asked in a whisper.
It might have been less insulting had she thrown her question in anger. He'd have appreciated the passion, and would have seen it as an excuse of Hermione's irrationality. But she was asking calmly, almost emotionless, as if she had already judged him as an adulterer and was just waiting for his admission.
"The Leaky Cauldron..." He couldn't help but think that his effort in answering without giving much emotion should be commended. "I went to The Leaky Cauldron."
How could she accept that when it was so easy to make up a story, to ask people for alibis? Hermione couldn't bear to accept this now, only to later be convinced otherwise.
"Are you certain?"
She had to step back when Harry suddenly bore down at her, the gleam of anger in his eyes startling the defiance out of her mind.
"What in bloody hell is this, Hermione?" He asked, his voice raising. "An interrogation? Of course I am certain. And I do not see the reason to explain any further!"
"Damn you." Hermione hissed back, her curse catching him by surprise. "Do not play games with me."
"I am not in the mood for bloody games!" Harry said, raking his hand through his hair. "Where do you think I went?
Hermione lifted up her chin and defiantly looked at him with fierce brown eyes. "You know very well what I think!"
"It wouldn't hurt to say it, would it?"
Hermione bit her lip, but stubbornly kept her stance.
"To Cho Chang."
If he was taken aback by her bluntness, he didn't show it. He just kept looking at her, wondering how on earth she could look so beautiful to him, despite the words that were coming out of her mouth, a mouth that right now, was so luscious he just wanted to swoop down and kiss it into silence.
Hermione took his silence as a yes and had to turn away to keep herself from seeing the truth in her husband's eyes. She had never imagine pain greater than the loss of a loved one, yet the pang she was feeling in her heart seemed more, now that what she lost was somebody she never even had.
"Hermione," Harry whispered softly behind her.
She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently stirring her towards him. But she didn't know whether to let him or keep herself away. Either way, he would not be able to make things better.
She'd not only lost sleep that night, but tears as well. She didn't think she could shed any more tears after her father died, but Harry had reduced her into a crybaby. What was more frustrating about it was, it seemed right he was able to.
"Why do we have to be like this?" she asked him.
"Sweetheart," he whispered beseechingly. Harry felt like an emotional wreck. He had no idea what was it about her that made him feel so much anger one moment, and then so much desire to please her in the next. "What can I do to make you believe me?"
Hermione ignored him. "Did you go to Cho Chang?"
Harry sighed, lifted his hands in helplessness then dropped them on his sides. Truth be told, he had no idea why Hermione was behaving this way. But it pleased him absurdly, deep beneath his annoyance. "Yes, I did."
"I see." Hermione nodded.
Harry spun her around, impatient. "No, you do not!" He nearly growled when she refused to look him in the eye. "Would you just listen to me?! I went there to give her the deed to my townhouse."
"What townhouse?"
"The---" Well, he couldn't say that. He tried to think of other explanations but ended with a lame one. "I own other townhouses."
"For your mistresses, you mean?"
Damn! Damn! Damn!
"My point is, I went there to give her the deed as a solace." He explained. "I ended our affair, and gave it to her as a gift. She and I were friends before, I believe it was necessary to make up for this sudden change. Now stop this tirade! You are acting like a crazed, jealous wife!"
Hermione locked eyes with him in a split second. "That's because I am!"
Harry looked so shock that Hermione had enough time to recover. When she realized what she'd just admitted, her face turned red.
"You're jealous?"
"I---"
"Is that why you can't stop lashing out on me? Because you're jealous?"
Hermione threw him a scathing look to cover her embarrassment. "Of course I would be! I am your wife, and she is another woman. But that does not mean anything more."
Harry looked at her for the longest time, trying to gauge her honesty. She didn't give him time to come with a verdict. "Go away, Harry. Leave me alone."
He wanted to grip her arms and shake some sense into her. "I did not sleep with Cho, Hermione." He said solemnly. Somehow, he knew she needed him to say it, almost as much as he needed her to believe it.
It was her turn to judge his sincerity.
She took the damnest time and then..."I'm sorry..."
He started to smile...
"...I don't believe you."
Harry narrowed his eyes at her, his lips thinning, turning down into a frown. This conversation was getting nowhere, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to be able to make himself leave despite the fact that he should have a long time ago. "I didn't go to bed with her."
"All right." Hermione nodded, accepting his claim, But she wasn't finished. "Why?"
Harry looked almost about ready to laugh.
"Why?" Harry repeated, then did it again, this time sarcastically. "Why?"
"Yes, why?"
Harry shook his head. "What do you want me to say? You don't even believe I didn't take her to bed."
"I just want the truth."
Hermione's fists were clenched at her sides. She was half afraid he'd give in and admit that he had indeed done what he'd insinuated. Half of her was afraid he was telling the truth.
"I was not in the mood for it." He whispered lamely.
It was as if the wind was knocked out of her, as everything swayed and all she could see was him. Did that mean, had he been in the mood, he would have gone through his threat?
Harry took one look at her and knew he made a mistake, but that didn't stop him from venting out his frustation. Suddenly, he turned around, leaving her standing still. Hermione didn't know they'd been so close until he'd left, and a sudden chill had passed, causing her to shiver.
But as abruptly as he had walked away, there he was again standing so close she could see the slight flaring of his nose as he tried to even his heavy breathing.
"Do you really want to know the truth?"
"Yes."
"Then ask me again."
"What?"
"Ask me again, Hermione, and I'll tell you the truth."
Hermione couldn't see the reason for it, but she gave in.
"Why did you not take Cho to bed, Harry?"
Harry pulled her to him, kissed her hard, and then released her.
"Because I'd rather make love with you instead."
Hermione was too stunned to speak, he could tell. And by the look on her face, she had not expected this revelation. Harry waited, but his anger and pent up desire stubbornly refused to wait any further. With a resigned sigh of indignation and desperation, he turned around.
He was halfway across the room when her voice stilled him.
"Then why don't you?"
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A/N:
I have no idea what I just wrote. Hehe...rusty chapter, if i may say...it's been six months...please bear with the lameness...
I hope I haven't lost any of my wonderful readers...and hopefully, I've gained new ones even though I was absent for half a year.
Thanks for reading, and until next time. I promise the wait won't be as long as this one!
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