Chapter 1; Arms of The Dragon

The car shook with so much fervor, Hermione couldn't even form a coherent thought. Try as she might, Gryffindor's Golden Princess just could not overcome the situation, and it was starting to get on her nerves.

"Stop here, thank you!" She finally said, feeling a bit guilty to have snapped at the unknowing taxi driver. As she exited the vehicle, she silently thanked God that she was able to be on solid ground, and thought of her recent predicament. Harry and Ron, while she loved them dearly, were giving her the tightest figurative chokehold she had ever had. She knew what Andrew did was horrible; she'd had many tear-filled, wineglass-emptied nights filled with romantic-comedies to acknowledge that the man she had given her heart to had turned out to be a right git.

Brought back from the world in her head, she looked at her reflection in the glass window of whatever store she was currently perched in front of and smiled to herself. She knew she resembled Winnie the Pooh right now, with her metaphorical jar of honey and her own "think think think" mantra. But, as she had already known, things in real life weren't as easy as Milne's books liked to portray.

She sighed, adjusting her favorite coat to fight off the November breeze. Realizing that she hadn't a clue where she was, she looked around. Squinting her eyes to make out the shapes behind the glass window, she noticed a statue; one of her favorite Greek goddesses, Athena. As a child, Hermione had all but worshipped her. Using Athena as a source of comfort on the days where she felt more than stigmatized from the world she was supposed to feel a part of, Hermione would envision herself as the goddess in the past. She was everything little Hermione wanted to be, her immortalized self-concept.

The corners of her mouth pulled up when she thought of herself as a child, innocent, without the branding of war and what it does to people. Her train of thought, however, was interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. She hastily fished for her phone in her pockets, finally finding it and answering without having bothered to look at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hermione! Oh, I'm so glad you finally answered. I know that you're thinking about the whole ordeal and I just wanted you to know that—"

"Andrew? Listen, I am asking you very nicely, please stop calling me. This is the last time I'm going to answer you. Goodbye."
"No, Hermione listen—"

She hung up and breathed out, pinching the bridge of her nose. What an idiot. She looked up at Athena's statue, at the stoic and aloof expression that all figures such as this don. She could almost sense the mockery, the disappointment, the I-taught-you-better look. Hermione couldn't help but resort to extremely childish methods, and she proceeded to stick her tongue out.

"Oh, shut it, Athena."

She chuckled out loud, I've truly lost my marbles. She almost understood the reason why the goddess pledged for maidenhood. It made so much sense; men were tossers. Drew was the perfect piece of evidence to that statement. For goodness sake, he hadn't even locked the door when he brought that thin blonde and had his way with her in THEIR bed.

She shook her head. She would not allow thoughts such as these to ruin her day. The weather was perfect, just the way Hermione loved. As she walked, she looked up to appreciate it all. It was one of those gloomy days where the proper way to describe the general atmosphere would be grey. Just grey. She absolutely adored grey. Weather like this reminded her so much of Hogwarts, of home. She breathed in the air, willing it with every bit of her person to rain soon.

It was time for some positive reinforcement. She felt like she deserved to treat herself to whatever she wanted. Glancing to the right, she noticed a small café. It huddled, despondent among the tall buildings in Muggle London. People rushed by it outside on the street, and had Hermione not fixated on it, she would've missed it too. It looked ancient; you could pick the whole thing up, send it back fifty years and it wouldn't look out of place. The frontage was tattered layered brick, and the sign hung from above— Amaranthine. The windows, however, revealed round tables covered with white embroidered cloth that mostly seated two people on vintage teal chairs. The lighting was a subtle yellow that cast a soft glow, and if one were to focus, jazz could be heard from inside.

It had taken Hermione but a split second to decide that she would go in. The half a dozen customers glanced up as the door swung open, and she smiled sheepishly, realizing she had caused a blast of cold wind to enter with her. She scanned the cafe and her eyes settled on the right corner; a small table for two close to a bookshelf. She walked to the table and sat down at the chair facing the windows. Hermione unwrapped her scarf and took off her coat, signaling to the waitress.
"Hello, welcome to Amaranthine," said the waitress.
"Hello Anne," replied Hermione, focusing on the woman's name tag, "Thank you."
"How about a steaming mug of hot chocolate then Miss?"
"That sounds lovely, thank you, Anne. Please call me Hermione."
"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman," complimented Anne as she walked off.
Hermione blushed and looked down, noticing the ring that was still on her finger. Cringing, she took it off hastily and all but threw it in her bag. Asshole. She took her second deep breath of the day and looked around once more. As she slowly turned her head, she couldn't help but feel like she was being watched, very intently. In an instant, her brown eyes met with what she could only describe as grey thunderstorms caged in the eyes of a man with platinum blond hair. Oh, how she loved grey.

Hermione had her suspicions and she was hoping they wouldn't be true. She sincerely couldn't handle another disastrous situation in her life right now. She really needed this one day to feel better, feel like her world wasn't somehow rocked back and forth in the most unsettling of ways. Alas, the gods had other plans for her, and she knew those quite well. Focusing on the face of who those eyes belonged to, the slight smirk pulling up pink lips obviously gone red by a sip of wine, Hermione cursed her luck. Of course, where else would I wander off to other than right into the arms of the dragon himself?

His lips pulled up into a smile so innocent Hermione was about to roll her eyes. Predictable, the ferret. He raised his head, using his chin as if to signal her to sit in the chair across of him. She scoffed, raised her own chin back in defiance. He raised an eyebrow, so perfectly angled it seemed like he practiced this look in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Hermione laughed to herself. His answering look was quizzical, and just as Hermione was about to look away, he signaled to Anne with his arm and got up. heading straight towards her table. Could this day get any worse?

He stopped right behind the chair, his fingers gripping it's back, black coat hung around his other arm.
"Tsk tsk tsk," he clicked his tongue. "Hermione Granger. Almost wouldn't have recognized you if not for the hair."
Yes. Yes, it could get a whole lot worse.