Inspired by the wonderful creativity I have enjoyed reading here these past months, I have decided to sit down and trust my-self enough to borrow J.K. Rowling's wonderful characters and play with them for a while for the very first time. I am forever grateful to her for giving me those friends of paper, and to this community to keep them alive. I am excited to try and share with you my take on it and this particular plot bunny that was haunting me for a while.

Unfortunately, to be honest with you, I already know I won't be able to update regularly. Moreover, I really have no idea where this will take me, nor how long it will be. But I do promise that if you find this story compelling enough to follow it and maybe cheer me up on the way, I'll see it through eventually!

Be warned though : I am a first-timer, English is not my native language, and to top it all I am dyslexic. So please be indulgent, but all corrections are welcome as well as benevolent critics!

Enough said, go on reading!

Hermione Granger was not anymore the girl her friends used to know. She had been the brightest witch of her age – she supposed she still could be, or could she? – but the darkest side of her personality had taken the best of her lately. She was a now a broken woman.

Or more accurately, she thought watching cheap whisky twirl at the bottom of her tumbler, a drown woman. Up until a point, she had been able to keep up the appearances. She had gotten very good at lying to her-self after the war. It had been easier than facing the feeling of uselessness and futility once they had buried their dead.

The kids had helped for a moment, she had felt purposeful again as a mum. Now she was past deceiving anyone, she could admit the only reason she ended up marrying Ron at all was here desire to get kids. But then she had failed them. She siphoned the last of her glass and set it back down the brass counter with an audible clunk.

— Alright there Miss? Asked the pretty young Muggle behind the bar.

The concern in his voice rang true. She struggled to adjust her focus on his face as she tried to remember if it was the same waiter as earlier or if there had been a shift at some point. Over the past few weeks, maybe more, she lost track of the time at some point, she had grown accustomed to the automatic shiny smile and the learned solicitude of the service folks in the US. But it was rare to encounter genuine empathy in the buzzing city of New York. The anonymity had served her purpose well so far, but she felt a ridiculous wave of gratitude overcome her looking upon the genuine smile of the young man. A boy really. He couldn't be much older than Teddy.

She felt the need to thank and reassure him at the same time. She hoped Hugo would turn into a kind young man too one day. Despite growing up without his mother.

Her attempted smile faltered and tears trickled down her cheeks.

— You'll get yourself a bigger tip if you keep on calling me miss, young flatterer, she joked bravely, gesturing for another round.

She wasn't young anymore. Had she ever been? She could not remember more than a few glimpses of being carefree, but there was a war brewing at the time. And then she'd felt responsible for it. Harry had been her Frodo, and she had carried him all the way up. They had been so hopeful. This young hope for a brighter future, that was it. That was the tale-tell of how young they were at the time. Blind hope and foolishness had brought them realise the impossible and defeated a crazily powerful terrorist. They had won a battle and thought they'd won a war. They had survived and buried their dead, still hopeful for a brighter future. But there was non to be had, not really. Not if you cared to look at the bigger picture.

They were so bloody young, younger than brown young man pouring her a new glass with a sad reproving look on his face. She was rambling again she noticed. Looping back and again on the same considerations. A few more glasses would take care of that. If only she could get her hands on a vial of Draught of the Living Death… but she was not so addled yet as to bring the attention of the MACUSA upon her. She had successfully been staying clear of the magical world so far, and intended to do so up until she ran out of No-Maj dollars. Which wouldn't be long at this rate. NYC was a very expensive city and Hermione Granger was an avid drinker.

She chuckled ironically to her-self. What would people think if they could see her now… The successful scholar, war-hero, mother of two and charismatic Minister was now a powerless mess of a witch. A mess of a human being, really. She had failed. Failed to do her job. To save the bloody world from itself. She had failed her government, her country. And she had lost her family in the process. Failed her own kids. All for nothing. The world would carry on being a darker and darker place and foster more terrorists and dictators, wether dark wizard or muggles lunatics. In the meantime, her kids had chosen to stay with their dad.

She was not aware she was sobbing before a brown hand with a white tissue materialized it-self between her nose and the counter. The Kind-Young-Waiter no doubt. She took the profered hankie with shaking fingers and turned toward the nearly empty room to blow her nose gracelessly. Apparently the lunch people who were there when she arrived had left during her self-pity party. Or had it been the breakfast crowd? It didn't really matter now. She knew perfectly well it was way to early to be wasted.

As it was too early in her life to feel so old. Ancient.

— I don't know, I'll ask her… What's your name, love?

It took her a moment to register the sensation of the young guy's gentle touch on her elbow.

— I am Andy, would you care to tell me your name… Miss? He asked again with a cheeky smile, he hold his smartphone against his shoulder.

— Her, heu, Je, Jean. She stammered.

She had almost let her real name slipped. Not that it would have mattered terribly in the fancy No-Maj Nolita, but some safety reflexes hadn't drown in whisky yet.

Andy smiled encouragingly and repeated her name in his phone, thank whoever he was speaking too before hanging up.

— Alright Jean, how would you like to meet one of my friends?

The shrill sound and flashing light of a red alarm broke the mist in her head. That meant trouble. She should have known. When would she eventually learned? People aren't nice without an agenda. The human race was among the most despicable species, and Young Kind Andy was no exception. But who was she to judge?

— Sure, she smiled. But, serve me another one before, though.

She would gulp a last one down to give her some semblance of strength and do her usual vanishing act before the « friend » had time to arrive, whatever his purpose was. No-one was going to con, rob or rape her today. Hermione Granger was a broken drunken mess, but she was certainly no fool.