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I just knew that this gig was going to be crap. They usually are, but despite this I still had a weird fluttering, half excited, have shit scared feeling in my stomach. Like some pretty songbirds were trying to break free from my ribcage.

I had another shower, than shaved, exfoliated, moisturized, generally beautified and eventually turned to trying to figure out exactly what to do with my face. The rest of my body was slightly easier; just wear clothes. But an orange face is just a little bit harder to camouflage.

The other day I'd had a bit of a bright idea to give my usually pasty complexion a golden glow. Needless to say it hadn't gone exactly to plan.

If I hadn't just shaved, I probably would've resembled an orang-utan of some form or other.

All the exfoliating products in the world wouldn't have scrubbed the bastard off. Maybe some white face powder from the Halloween before last might pale it up a bit. I covered my face and neck in the cheep white powder and gently patted the gunk off. Wow. It worked. I was nearly a normal shade. In the right light. I'll just have to make sure no-one touches my face or that I get wet. Anyway. Now there was the even more gruelling task of personality tonight.

To other people that roughly translates as "what should I wear?" I flipped open my new laptop logged onto my music bit and told the machine to select a playlist at random.

Silence. Then …

"Hey dainty girl flailing on the side of the road,

With you're great thumb in the air,

I hope you don't mind me asking

But what happened to your underwear?"

I hit the 'next' button and listened to the opening bars of "Touch Me Again And I'll Stab A Screwdriver Into Your Face". Knowing full well that this particular playlist consisted of what Tomi calls my 'emo stuff' I pulled out the first of everything I could find. Old, once black, drainpipes; long sleeved black vest, courtesy of Primark; my baby pink t-shirt with the skeleton on the front; the black Levi belt, with the Batman buckle and a pair of faded, white, black and pink Baby Sham slip on pump type things.

I slip on the items I've pulled out, and give myself the once over in the full-length mirror. I look fit. With a P and an H and 2 T's. Phitt as. Hair. Straightened? Or a mess? What about nearly straight mess? Aren't I the genius?

Now. We're ready to rock.

And roll.

Money. Easy. The father's in the study. As I enter he doesn't even stir. It's a Friday night, and my darling, beloved father is asleep in the study, clutching a bottle of larger. As always his wallet is perched on the desk in front of him. Waiting for my freshly manicured hands to pick it up and take 30quid out.

I'm down the stairs and on the bus by half seven.

I'd just managed to plug in the iPod and had settled down for the half hour ride to town when the gobbiest group of kids you'll ever meet, pushed their way up the stairs to sit with me.

Dan, Ash, Tomi, Tobes and Em. All over 5'6", all amazingly thin and gorgeous. And all my best friends in the universe, yes, that does mean I prefer them to Harry and that lot. Tom hadn't got on with them, which meant he'd be waiting for us there. Either that or he was still at home doing his hair.

Just watching them crowding round to give their favourite witch kisses was enough for me to regret ever going to Hogwarts.

'Don't smile, miserable sod,' said Dan with a mock swoon as tears welled up in my eyes, 'you're perfectly applied eyeliner will run!'

'Nice to see you too sweetie,' accompanied by cheesy smile number 2 in the Mione smile collection, not a full blown "I hate you" cheesy smile, but just enough to make him shut the hell up, 'Now, does anyone know where the hell to go once we get to town?'

Bewildered looks were exchanged before, 'Lighten up. Does it even matter if we make it there or not?'

Everyone but Dan and Ash raised their eyebrows, 'Meaning tonight's going to be interesting no matter what happens, non?'

An hour later, and the 7 of us, Tom had been waiting at the station, were skipping, quite literally, through Leeds city centre, in search of some backstreet bar we'd be ordered to attend.

'Got something to tell you later,' Tom wrapped his strong arms around my quickly shrinking waist (that Slim Fast stuff actually works) and whispered in my ear. Nearing 6foot, he was practically bent double trying to reach me at a mere 5".

'Intrigued,' I laughed, pulling him next to me and entwining my fingers with his. God I was going to miss this lad, with his easy, confident smile; his reasonably long for a guy, slightly curling hair; piercing blue eyes and the best personality in the world, when I returned. Which was like the day after tomorrow. Shit.

I told him just that. Not the bit about missing, the bit about me loving him more than anything, ever. He didn't even reply, didn't have to, he merely pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head.

It took 2 hours to find that bar. Three hours in the most amazing city ever, with my best friends looking for one of the best bands ever, apparently. And what a let down. I mean, it was identical to every other wannabe 'trendy' bar in the entire of West Yorkshire. Full of the same, mopey, whiney students, I even heard one girl complaining to her friend as we entered, 'and I was like, "omg you just don't understand me"'. What a bunch of gimps.

The music playing was a mix of techno-hardcore screamo and to be fair it wasn't all that bad, aside from the students trying to 'mosh' to it.

'Cool kids yeah?'

Tom had disappeared, and in his place was a willowy, Asian girl wearing a patchwork knee length skirt, each patch printed with the face of one of "us lot", turquoise footless tights, and pink tank top and the largest amount of liquid eyeliner physically possible. Em stood there scrutinising the same crowd of "scenesters" I'd been glaring at.

'Obv. And when I grow up I want to be just like that.'

'Don't wish you're life away. S'not healthy. And anyways, why would you want to be like that when you could be what I want to be?'

'And what would that be?'

'A 'frigerator.'

'When you grow up, you want to be a refrigerator?'

'Uh huh.'

'And why would that be dear?'

''Cos I'm cool like that.' I didn't say anything, one, because she seemed genuinely proud of herself, and two, because I was more interested in steering her by the elbow to the corner of the room our friends seemed to have occupied.

The night passed in a blur. One drink after another kept being bought by anyone and everyone, everyone ending up dancing like noobs in the very centre of the mosh pit and managing not to get knocked out. Punching some random guy who continually tried to come onto me and seemed unable to understand the phrase "fuck off".

All in all, the night didn't suck as much as I'd originally expected.

That was until about one-ish, when some gangly, ginger freckle made a tit out of himself by clambering up onto the main stage. Once up there, he paused, looked around the crowd before him, and began scrambling on all fours, seemingly searching for something.

That something became apparent as he suddenly stopped his antics and jumped up. Clutching, like a first prize trophy, a microphone. There was one next to him on a stand.

'I think I love her

I know I love her

I want to tell her

Just ho-ow much

I do-oo-oo…

I may be blind

But I'm blind in love

With a girl I know

Know loves me back

In my mind at least…

I love you Hermione!'

That's my name. And a giant freckle is stood on stage singing my name. And about his love for me. I looked up from my drink. Looking over his stance, his bizarre dress sense – cords, velvet shirt, waist coat, slippers, bonnet – moving up to the square jaw, the long nose, the vast amount of freckles, the mop of ginger curls, something dawns on me.

That guy, that guy standing on stage I know.

'Fucking hell Ronald Weasley, I hate you so much,' I whisper into my drink.

'What? What'd I do now?'

Just for general information, at this point I had hold of one of his large, beetroot ears, and was dragging him through the virtually silent crowd, who were parting before us like waves for Moses. I move toward a door, any door, which opens of its own accord when I approach nearer.

In the dimly lit alley we find ourselves in, I lean against the damp wall, greedily gulping in lungfuls of cool fresh air, while Ronald is bent over, massaging his throbbing ear.

Finding myself marginally more relaxed, I round on him, pushing his thin frame against the wall and attempting to tower over him.

'What the hell were you thinking of, pulling a stunt like that? What? That'll I'll just jump up from my seat into your outstretched arms and return the love? I thought not.' I pause, partly for effect, mainly to take a breath, 'my god. You really are the most idiotic imbecile I've ever had the misfortune to meet. Ok. Maybe I didn't fully mean that last bit,' I add as he physically deflates before me.

'But. But it seemed like a good idea. And. Well. Everyone at school thinks you like me too…'

'Everyone at school obviously doesn't know me then.'

'Can we still be like best friends?'

'It would help if we'd been best friends to begin with.'

'God. I just proclaimed my love to you, and you're being such a bitch.'

'Sweetie, I'm always a bitch. You'd have realised and gotten over it if you really knew me by now.'

And then I just turn and walk off. A tad harsh I know, but what else was I supposed to do? He was being really pathetic, and to be fair I could've been a lot meaner, but he seemed upset enough.

The blood's pounding in my ears and all I want more in the world is to get the bus back to Tom's and fall asleep next to him, forgetting about having to leave him tomorrow.

5