"Have you?" She cried, her scarf flying over her shoulder, her arms wrapped around herself tightly, trying to keep warm. The snow came up over her knees, soaking through her leggings and sinking into her boots. The snowflakes were harsh against her exposed face, not at all gentle, they bit and stung. The tears that ran down her face were freezing before they even hit the ground. Her hat was clutched in her hand hard, her fingers squeezing the material as if it were him, and she was crushing him.

His face was contorted in pain as he tried to reach for her but she wrenched herself back, nearly falling into the ice in the process. "Have you?" She asked again, softer, her whisky eyes begging, pleading. His blue eyes bored into hers, his gaze full of guilt and regret. Snowflakes speckled his red hair. He tried reaching for her again and this time she allowed him to wrap his arms around her. She sobbed into his sweater, balling it with her free hand. "T-tell me the rumors are wrong." She glanced up at him, and his heart shattered even more at her expression. "T-tell me y-you didn't."

He clutched her harder.

"I-I…" He muttered desperately. "Mistake."

She tensed beneath him completely, ridged, like a plank of wood and she pushed his chest hard. He let his arms fall to his sides limply as she glared at him, angry tears brimming and spilling.

"I can't believe you." She whispered, hugging herself tightly.

"I…"

"I CAN'T BELIVE YOU!" She screamed. He winced as if she had just slapped him.

"Wait! I…" He tried; stepping forwards to grab her again but she took another step back. Her eyes were full of anger and this time they were tears of utter anger that streamed down her rosy cheeks. Her eyes were ablaze as she glared at him.

"Don't." She spat. "Spare your breath for the whores you so clearly enjoy making out with." He flushed red.

"She is not a whore!"

"You're despicable!" She cried, pointing at him. "You know what? SCREW THIS!"

"NO!" He roared, surging forwards and gripping her shoulders so tightly that she gasped. "No! I refuse to let you leave me! It was just a stupid mistake! A MISTAKE! She was nothing! It was a mistake!"

And she slapped him. Hard. So hard that her fingers stung afterwards and his cheek went even redder than it already was. He gaped at her, his eyes wide, hurt lacing his features. She felt no sympathy whatsoever.

"No." She hissed, fire burning in her gaze. "YOU were a mistake. This was a mistake."

And she marched away as proudly as she could muster, stumbling but keeping her head held high, even though her inner being was huddled up, weeping and she wanted nothing more than to collapse and curl into a ball. But she didn't. She kept on walking, not looking back and never even turning her head as she left him standing there.

He had hurt her. He had ripped her heart into pieces and torn her trust like parchment. He had lied to her and as she stumbled through the snow, her mind reeling and her chest aching, she promised herself one thing.

Hermione Granger would never let herself fall in love ever again.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

Three years later…

The tiny apartment was stuffed with newspaper clippings, rolls of parchment and stacks of books and books and books.

The space was cozy but cramped. It was a one bedroomed flat, the kitchen and living room combined into one. Every single room had bookshelves. Even the bathroom had books stored on the windowsill. A two people sofa sat in one corner with a coffee table in front of it, and a kitchen table stood in the other free corner.

Quills and parchment were scattered all over it, and a messy head of chestnut curls fanned over an open book. Her chest rose and fell softly with each breath, her tired lids closed in slumber.

The sunlight was peeking through her semi-closed curtains, beams of light landing on her slumped figure.

Tap, tap, tap.

She groaned, shifting slightly in her sleep, her mouth hanging open.

Tap, tap, tap.

The tapping grew more persistent, until a particularly loud one made her sit up straight, leaving a trail of slobber attaching from her lips to the pages of the book. She winced wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Smooth Hermione. She thought as she stumbled to the window. She yawned before her opened the curtains and allowed the annoyed owl inside. It nipped her on the tip of her nose as it showed her how much it hated being left outside the window. She stroked its head in apology before she untied the letter that the owl had strapped to its leg.

"What does Harry want, eh?" She murmured, and it ruffled its feathers, looking at the letter with its wide yellow eyes as if telling her to find out for herself. She ran a hand through her tussled hair and sighed when her fingers got caught in her tangles. She tugged her hand free and unrolled the letter, sitting down on the windowsill as the black owl fluttered over to the table, where Hermione's leftover sandwich sat from last nights dinner and helped itself to some of the bread, not seeming to care that it was slightly stale.

Hermione scanned over the scrawled writing with a tired eye as she tried to rub the sleep out of the other. It was about how Harry missed her company, and how they should meet up for lunch sometime soon. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she read how Harry spoke about James, his first-born son.

The letter finished with the simple words: He is ever so depressed Mione, even with Lavender. He is just not into it any more.

She clenched her eyes shut. It still hurt to think about the redhead. A hoot made her whisky orbs reopen, as she managed a weak smile at the owl, whom had its head cocked to one side, as if it realized she was upset.

She lifted herself off the windowsill with a grunt and returned to the desk, quickly scrawling a reply, not caring that her reply was not neat like they usually were. She scanned it when she was finished.

Harry,

I know, I'm sorry. Of course we can meet up for lunch. I am free today, in fact, as the bookstore is closed today. Perhaps we can meet at the Happy cat at 12. I hope to see you then!

Xox, Hermione.

She bit her lip. She had left out any mentions of Ronald completely, still unable to even write his name down. She quickly tied the letter to the outstretched leg and sighed again as the owl affectionately nibbled her ear, as if telling her that every thing was going to be all right. She watched it fly away until it was a speck in the sky before turning into the kitchen and making herself a steaming mug of tea, enjoying the scalding liquid as it slipped over her tongue and down her throat.

She never got a reply, but she had left her flat at 11:40 anyways, enjoying the ten-minute walk to her favorite café where she was due to meet Harry for lunch. If he showed up that was. The Happy cat had simple food choices, and Hermione came there a lot, especially after she lost her heart for cooking a year ago. The fresh air and sweet smells form candy shops calmed her as she walked down the busy street. She sank into a chair at a free table and ordered a Vanilla bean latte as she waited for her raven friend. She sipped her drink slowly, savoring the smooth texture and delicious flavors. She retrieved a book from her bag and buried her nose into it, eagerly reading about a little girl who had just found out that there was a whole magically world that awaited her. She had just reached for her mug again when a voice she hadn't heard in years floated into her ears.

"Hullo Granger. Still as into books as you where three years ago I see."

She peaked over the top of the book, her eyes blinking at the blonde who stood before her.

The sunlight reflected off his hair, making it shine and look almost transparent. His skin was still pale as ever, but he looked extremely healthy, unlike he had looked during the war. His hands where shoved into his coat and a grey scarf was wrapped around his neck. His steely eyes looked into hers and she suddenly felt extremely aware of her over sized sweater and leggings with boots and her hair messily thrown into a bun atop of her head as if she could care less what it looked like. Which she hadn't, until now. She realized that she must have large bags beneath her eyes, and Malfoy must have noticed it too, for a small frown graced his features as he took her in.

"Err. Care to join me Malfoy?" She squeaked, surprising herself as well as the blonde, who cocked an eyebrow at her. She nervously fiddled with her hands, which where rested atop of the now closed book, which sat in her lap. She expected him to make some snide remark and then march away, so when she heard the scrape of a chair against the pebbled ground she looked up in surprise.

Malfoy sat down gingerly, as if his muscles where sore. He avoided her gaze as he ordered a cappuccino. Both of them sat in silence, drinking their beverages and occasionally sneaking glances at each other. It was slightly awkward, and Hermione gazed at her watch almost desperately. It was 12:13. Where in the world was Harry?

"Whom are you waiting for?" Malfoy broke the silence, causing Hermione to jump.

"What gave you the impression I was waiting for somebody?" She asked, wiping a bit of foam of her top lips. His eyes followed her movements.

"You kept checking the time." He informed her, and she blushed slightly. He chuckled as he wrapped his hands around his cup. "You waiting for Weasley?"

Hermione's heart clenched painfully and she bit her lip, shaking her head and looking down quickly. "Oh. My apologies." She could tell from his voice that he was frowning again. "Then…"

"Well, I was waiting for Harry." She said, her voice coming out rushed, desperate to avoid any conversation about her ex. "But I might have been ditched." She attempted to joke, but her voice cracked, her eyes rimming with tears. Malfoy looked slightly alarmed at her sudden change of mood. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her wearily, not quite sure on how to proceed with the current situation.

STUPID! Hermione hissed at herself. Crying in front of Malfoy. She rubbed her eyes furiously and dug in her bag for change, dropping the coins down onto the table besides the half finished mug of latte.

"Bye Malfoy." She muttered, stuffing her book away before she hurriedly left the square, leaving a slightly stunned pureblood sitting alone.

God she was an idiot, crying over such a stupid thing that happened years ago. She wanted to slap herself for being so weak; it was stupid. She reached home in record time, fumbling with her keys as she entered her shop. The sight of books and the welcoming smell of pages and ink welcomed her, and she immediately calmed. She loved the smell of books.

Her flat sat above her books store, so she climbed the stairs and unlocked her flat, collapsing onto the worn sofa and curled up, resting her head on the armrest, staring up at her ceiling.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, and comfortable silence swallowed her. She turned her head and stared at the photo clippings that were hung all over the walls, pinned up in black and white groups, forming quite the master piece.

She pulled herself up and grabbed her muggle scissors, eyeing the uncut photos that sat on the desk, untouched. She sorted through them, smiling at memories of her with her family. Then her eyes landed on one of her, Ron and Harry. Harry and Ron stood on either side of her, both of their arms slung over her shoulders as they held her close. She picked it up and gently turned it in her hands before she stood up and pinned it to her wall with the countless other photos.

"I'm over you." She murmured at the laughing ginger. "You can't hurt me anymore."

She knew she would be all right. As long as she didn't fall in love again, nothing could hurt her.

A/N: Was it all right? It sounds like the beginning of most stories, but it will be different as it goes on. Please REVIEW! And no flames please, no one likes flames.