Tales of Tragic Ends

Warning: Emotional abuse, unhealthy relationship, alcohol abuse.

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Some Night

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For weeks before a coworker’s wedding, I talked about wanting to dance. It had been so long since Draco and I had been able to go out and I was beyond excited at the prospect of cutting loose with him on the dance floor. I was especially looking forward to a slow dance. It’d literally been years since we’d had a proper one.

I told him I was looking forward to it. He promised me that we’d dance. He also promised he wouldn’t drink. I was looking forward to that even more.

The wedding finally came. The reception came after. When dinner had finished and the music came to life, Draco excused himself. He said he just needed some air and stepped out. So, I waited.

I watched the joyous people dancing freely on the dance floor. A slow song came…and went. Then another. I continued to wait. Alone.

When a dozen songs had passed and I still sat stationary, I got up and searched the hall for Draco. When I couldn’t find him, I figured he’d gone for a walk. He does that sometimes. So, I decided I’d try and have some fun by myself. He’d surely be back soon. 

I joined the other guests in their frivolity as best I could with the heavy feeling in my chest. I wanted Draco with me. When another slow song came on and I found myself alone when the others paired off, the feeling worsened.

I went to the DJ and requested the song that Draco and I had danced to at our own wedding reception and then went in search of him again. We would dance to our song. And the night could still be salvaged. That’s what I told myself.

I went outside to search again for my husband to try and discover what had kept him from coming back to claim me and fulfill his promise.

When I found him, he was talking with a group of young, single girls I didn’t know. They were all laughing loudly. He was smiling.

He was drunk.

I went to them and asked why he’d never come back in. I reminded him that he promised me he wouldn’t drink. I reminded him he promised me a dance.

He got angry. I was ruining his good time. He was just talking. He was just having fun. Why was I being such a bitch? 

“You’re always such a nag, Hermione.”

I went back inside and sat at the table again. Alone. Watching the others dance.

Our song came on. He never came in.

An hour later, he was helped into our car by another guest who gave me a pitying look. I thanked the man and then got into the car myself. Draco was already passed out. I drove the two hours back to our home in the dark on unfamiliar, desolate country roads while he snored. He woke only once during the trip to complain that I was ‘driving too loudly’ before passing out again.

I helped him stumble inside our house when we arrived back. He told me he loved me as I hefted him into our bed. I merely nodded and then went back outside when he promptly fell back asleep.

I sat on our front porch in my expensive dress and watched the moon as I cried. She stayed up with me as I poured the pain of my broken heart into the chilly air. She bathed me in blue light and gave me the hope of another night. 

Some night he’ll stay sober. Some night I’ll get my dance.

Some night I’ll find the strength to leave him.

All these years later, I still keep telling myself that.

Some night.