CHAPTER 1
Apparate. Look around to check. Walk quickly. Don't look around. Don't Think.
Hermione Granger took off her wet coat once she entered the apartment. She slammed the door behind her, leaving it to scream and tremble, and walked straight to the shower. It had been a long day, running into many curious yet not exactly benign inquiries about her well-being after the breakup, and her boss was apparently not in a good mood, either. Clean this up, clean that up. The last thing we need here is a whining girl. She thought about him with overwhelming distaste. Since she began working in the Auror department four years ago, her respect for female Aurors, such as Nymphadora Tonks, began to grow on her mind like mosses. Her boss regarded her as a twenty-three-year-old woman who would get knocked up every other day, and refused to let her handle the more important businesses, despite her reputation as a war heroine and her identity as the Summa Cum Laude of Hogwarts Class of 1998. He would not leave her alone, though, and kept her busy by ordering her left and right to clean up after the scenes.
It is an important job, too, he said, disregarding her protest.
Of course, she would never let a job impede in her way of having fun. She herself was a real workaholic, and she knew it better than anyone. It was a pain to see Harry Potter, who graduated the same year with her with less Os and more of everything else, climbing higher up on the ladder. It's not fair, she often thought, but later came back and laughed at this very thought she held. No, there was nothing unfair about the situation at all. Harry was born in a wizard family and definitely had gifts, which she, Hermione The Muggleborn Granger, could never obtain from books or lectures. Why did I work so damn hard? She could have had some fun during those years of youth, not caring about anything, and still would turn out to be in the same ditch. The war had truly changed everything.
The breakup was nowhere near a surprise, either, as Ron and her had been fighting for months over every little glitch in their lives. Ron Weasley was not living the perfect life, either; actually, they were pretty much in the same leaking boat. After going through the war and becoming "the right hand man of the famous Harry Potter," he had, once again, become the talk of the streets one year ago through the headlines of Daily Prophecies, which reads "Third Time's the Charm: War Hero Failing the Auror's Test Again." This had turned him into a drunken alcoholic, and when he was not drinking, he was whining and throwing blames on everyone he knew or cared about.
She did not regret dumping him, not even in the slightest way. But she sure did not like being single. She got none of Ginny's beauty, Lavender's flirt-ability nor Pavarti Patil's money. What she had in abundance was her work ethic, she laughed with irony, and the stupid loyalty that was so useless now in the world filled with all that peace. She could literally no longer walk with her head pointing straight up like she had done before, as she had heard all kinds of comments on her personality. Those comments took two polar opposite sides, too: one side claimed that she had flirted around with both Weasley and Potter, and she deserved to end up all by herself; the other side was taken by the people who sincerely believed that she was completely unattractive.
"You don't look happy today, dear," her mirror said as she stepped into the bathroom.
She ignored it. Am I supposed to? Name one thing that I should be happy about.
The mirror looked perplexed; the image twisted a little bit, just enough for her to realize her puffy eyes and pimples popping out on her forehead as the cosmetic spell was wearing out. Perfect.
"Well, you'll have to figure that out on your own," the mirror said, with frustration, "I can't help you with that. I sincerely wish you will be happy again very soon."
"If you can't even find something I should feel happy for," she responded as pulling her wet tank top off, "I must live a pretty pathetic life, then."
"That is not true, dear."
"Then what is true?" Hermione asked as she stepped into the shower. It's not like you know any better.
"I can hear you, honey," the mirror said softly. "Being rude to be sure doesn't do any good to your situation. You just have to open you heart and let the sunlight in. Perhaps you will find someone stellar very soon."
"Yeah, right," she said with the utmost depression, rubbing the soap over her dirty knees.
"You're still young, not like me," the mirror said. "I was a real pessimist when I was young, and now I lost my opportunity."
"But I can't ever be happy in this situation," she stepped out of the shower with a sad face. "And I absolutely hate how I look."
She looked tired like an eighty-year-old. Her tummy was hanging out at the bottom of her tank top pajamas. She could clearly see the cellulite on the back of her thigh, even though she had only lit one candle.
The mirror went into a silence. "Well," it finally responded, "that is one thing we both agree on."
Hermione decided that she could no longer stand it when her boss asked her to remove the permanent ink stain on his white shirt while trying to get her to leak some information about the supposedly devastating breakup. Maybe he was simply doing it for his gossiping secretary girlfriend, who was thirty years younger than him and thirty times more good-looking. Hannah Elliot did not pass the Auror's test, she giggled while feeling disgusted about herself for having such fun picking on other's inabilities. And then she fell into the cycle of depression again, as she found out that her boss's three-week-long girlfriend was moving into the same office as herself, and was assigned a much bigger task than just doing laundry.
I am going to quit. She walked out of the room, thinking, feeling self-conscious about her tight shirt and the bulging stomach due to her unhealthy habit of binging on chocolate. I'm going to say it... right after I come back from the fat bastard's apartment.
When she came back from her boss's house-it was the most untidy place she had ever been to, by the way-and walked into the office, she ran into Harry. Great. Harry. She cheered with sadness, as she watched him running towards herself.
"Hey, Hermione," he said cheerfully, as always, throwing her an unnecessary grin, "I haven't seen you for weeks! Are you okay? You seem quite tired. Your eyes are all puffed up."
Tell me something I don't already know. "I'm good. What's going on in your life?" she said, and regretted it as soon as the second half slipped out of her mouth: the last thing she needed at the moment was the glorious life story of The Boy Who Does Everything Right.
"You know, same old stuff," he shrugged, "except now that Ginny's pregnant, and I gotta stay home more often. I just talked to Smith about not being able to get a couple of prisoners out of Azkaban next week. Ginny wants to go to Saint Mungo to get some things checked out, you know, the babies are growing a tad bit too fast. I get the feeling that she's got a triplet in her womb, who knows."
Triplet. Triple that madness. "I wish you're right, Harry," she said, trying to force out a smile. "That would be absolutely lovely. I can't stop thinking about how cute they would be!" And how annoying. Ugh.
"I'm not sure, Hermione," Harry was clearly excited about the whole triplet thing. "I've gotta go now. Smith said I have to find some substitute to check out and escort the prisoners, so I'm thinking about MacMillan."
"He's out of town."
"Really?" He paused his steps.
"Yeah. His cousin is getting married in Scotland, so his whole family left town."
"That's too bad," Harry looked frustrated, trotting his shoes on the ground.
"I'm sorry," Hermione felt less angry and more sympathetic, "can I help with anything?"
She was thinking about taking Ginny to Saint Mungo.
"Hermione," Harry's eyes lit up, "could you please do this favor for me-to pick up those prisoners from Azkaban next Monday?"
Isn't this just perfect.
"No problem, Harry," Hermione said dryly. "I have, um, absolutely nothing to do." Well, that's true. "Thanks for spicing things a little bit up for me."
He looked relieved. "Just trying to keep you busy," he, once again, threw out that innocent smile which Hermione could never get angry with, "and try not to think about the past too much. You're already doing a lot better than Ron."
"How's Ron?"
"Still pretty upset," he grimaced and shrugged, "you did break his heart, Hermione."
"Oh, that's my fault." Her anger just rushed back.
"I'm not saying that it is..." he said quickly, "and you know what, never mind. It takes two people to wreck a relationship. I really have to go now, so see you around? Maybe we'll all go out together some time for a healthy portion of drink."
No, it doesn't. She waved goodbye and thought angrily. It only takes one.
And Thank you very much for wrecking my plan to end this misery.