The first snow of the season fell fluffy and soft outside the café window. The forest, still red-gold in full autumn bloom, was now traced with lines of silver and white. A few kilometres beyond, the forest rose with the dark silhouette of a steeply curved mountain, its majestic peak reaching into the clouds and disappearing in the snowy haze. She mused that, on a clearer day, she might have seen the outline of a grand Bavarian castle on its peak. Indeed, on a clearer day, the café would probably have been buzzing with tourists. But today it was relaxingly quiet, with only a handful of patrons and the occasional cackle coming from the nearby fireplace. Hermione had taken a relatively secluded corner of the café for herself and curled up in an old armchair by a window, cupping a mug of sweetly spiced, mulled wine in both her hands. She took a sip of her warm drink and replaced the book she had on the nearby table with it.

Yes, she smiled to herself. This was a most perfect moment. As if on cue, a café employee came to her table and placed a generous slice of marzipan cake beside her mulled wine. Hermione thanked him, opened the book in her lap, and began to read.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

All her meticulous planning and hard work completely shot because of one ridiculous oversight. Ridiculous because it had seemed, for the longest time, so impossible. They were the invincible three, after all. Harry the hero, she the brains, and Ron…

Ron…

She wasn't there when he fell. Their bond had been strong- shouldn't she have felt it snap? When her eyes found him amongst the still and broken figures being gathered in the Hogwarts courtyard, she'd only felt a sudden emptiness. Like a black hole had suddenly sucked her heart from her chest and left a single thought in its place: this wasn't part of the plan.

See, she'd had it all sorted out for years- ever since she'd attached herself to the boys in their first weeks in Hogwarts. She'd seen how brilliant they were together and decided it should always be that way: the three of them, inseparable, undefeatable, and unstoppable against anything that chose to oppose them. The Three Musketeers, she'd romanticized, loyal to the end to Dumbledore and to each other. Together, they would raise the army to defeat Voldemort. Together, they would save everyone. And afterwards, she would continue to fight the good fight, helping to shape a newer and brighter wizarding world from within the Ministry. The boys would do the same, of course, probably as Aurors. One day, even, she might get married and have children of her own to take to the Platform of 9 and 3/4.

That was the plan, anyway, and Ron had fit so perfectly into it. How else would she ensure the three of them would always be together? The boys, she knew, would always be best mates. It was just how boys were, and she envied the simplicity. As they grew up, however, it became increasingly apparent that she couldn't pass as 'just one of the boys'. Those ridiculous grade-school rules! Perhaps, then, her crush on Ron had evolved from a zealous desire to hold on to him. Ensure their relationship, whatever it ended up being, never drifted apart with time. His wandering eye in the latter half of their Hogwarts years certainly gave her many restless nights of worry. But he came around eventually. Ron was a bit dense when it came to relationships, but Hermione liked to believe he understood that they were better together than they were apart. And for a few brilliant moments, her wonderful plan was realized perfectly.

That is, until he mucked it up. Not even a proper goodbye. That bright and brilliant future she'd planned so carefully for them gone… forever.

She must've run to his side because the next thing she knew, she was kneeling over his motionless form and screaming.

Git! You complete git!

Tears streamed down her face. You useless PRAT! Insensitive wart!

Angrily, Hermione had punched him hard in the chest. The gasps and stunned faces around her were drowned by her anguished wail when he did not respond.

Get up! You're ruining EVERYTHING. GET UP!

She made to hit him again but several arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her up and away, kicking and screaming.

Why had she even tried so hard with him? Had she love loved him, or loved that he fit so well into her plans? Maybe there shouldn't have been so many tries; so many tears and forgiveness because she hadn't wanted to lose him. Maybe she only did what she did because, deep down, she'd always known he could be lost. His insecurities had always made him their weakest link- there was no reason to deny that now.

Maybe she could've helped him in time, inspire him to be the man she knew he could be.

Maybe it was all just some hopeful wish fulfilment.

Either way, her mother was right: it had been a girl's fanciful dream. A little, know-it-all girl who thought she had Life figured out by the age of 18, and whom Life decided to let know the hard way that she totally did NOT.

Either way, the beautiful fairytale had come to its end. The beast was vanquished; the kingdom restored. And the Great Trio was no more. But every end holds a new beginning, her mother had told her when they were reunited and she held the quietly weeping Hermione in her arms.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had slept and cried miserably for a week. A memorial was soon held for all who had fallen in the war. Hermione was rigid and silent throughout the ceremony, her eyes too red and too raw by that time to shed any more tears. She watched from a distance as Harry and the remaining Weasley family comforted each other. Ginny had seen her and detached herself from her mother's side to talk to her, but Hermione slipped away before she could reach her.

She had set off almost immediately after, knowing only that she needed her own mother, and flew to Australia to find her parents and restore their memories. They never asked her about what happened. It was enough simply to know their daughter needed them. Every night for the next few weeks, one of them would come to her room and hold her in their arms - sometimes reading one of her childhood storybooks - until she fell asleep.

It was a few months before Hermione could wake up without a painful ache in her heart. Shortly after, just before her 19th birthday, a falcon (which was more common in Australia) delivered her a letter from Professor McGonagall inviting her to return and complete her N.E.W.T.s.

After inquiring if Harry would attend (he would not), Hermione acquiesced. It wasn't like she had any other plans. Not anymore.

Her parents insisted on accompanying her. Hermione was secretly relieved that they did, and arranged for them a room at nearby Hogsmeade. The trip back to Hogwarts seemed strangely foreign to her. It wasn't until the familiar towers of the castle came into view that she realized the bit of time and distance in Australia had given her a shocking new perspective— the world she knew was very, very small. Hogwarts, completely restored from the final battle in all its splendid glory, was actually very, very small.

She was so swept up with these new thoughts that she didn't realize until it was too late that she had used the wrong entrance to the castle. She froze at the front of the courtyard, staring at the point where she had last seen Ron's still figure. Students began to gather curiously around her, wondering if she'd been hexed. It was a few minutes before Professor McGonagall appeared and ushered her inside.

It was thus determined that Hermione did not need to stay in Hogwarts to complete her N.E.W.T.s. She studied from the rooms she shared with her parents and only came to Hogwarts to write the exams. On her way out from the last one, a magical pamphlet tore itself from the school's announcement board and lodged itself like an arrow in Hermione's hair. It read:

Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure, and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad.

It was very, very different from her original (and in hindsight, very mundane) plan to join the Ministry. It also, as it turned out, suited her skills perfectly. Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes and Defence Against the Dark Arts… Bill and Fleur Weasley arranged all the necessary paperwork for her and had greeted her with sweeping, congratulatory hugs when she was promptly offered the position at Gringotts.

Something new sparked inside Hermione when she signed her name on the contract. Her world—so small and manageable until this point – was about to get so much bigger! She didn't hold back her excitement when she described the career to her parents as 'Indiana Jones if he was a wizard'. She would be apprenticed around the world for a year, learning about international magic and everything there was to being a Curse-Breaker.

But there was a symbolic finality that came with signing the contract, too. To Hermione, it marked the official end of her life as part of The Legendary Three, and the official beginning of the rest of her life.

As Hermione turned a page of her book, a card slipped out and fell to the floor. She leaned forward and picked it up. Not for the first time today, she chuckled at the cover of the card. She had received it a few days ago by owl, on her birthday. The cover was a photo of her parents, both hanging by little more than a few hooks and nylon straps to a cliff side, birthday hats strapped on their heads and ridiculous smiles spread across their faces. Inside was another photo of her mother holding a koala, and her father's hasty scribbling. Happy birthday, darling! Your 20s is a time of great exploration, not certainty. So live well, enjoy fully, and experience as much as you can! We love you!

Hermione pocketed the card and the book, stretched her legs out in front of her and yawned. The snow was still falling gently outside, but darkness had settled over the landscape. It was about time for her to head back to the hotel. She finished the remaining bites of her cake, gathered her things, and made her way towards the café exit. Hermione stopped to exchange a few polite words to the employee behind the counter when the café doors jingled, signalling the entrance of a new customer.

The first thing she noticed was a head of shockingly red hair dusted with snow. Piercing blue eyes immediately locked onto her from a rough, weather-beaten face. Hermione's eyes widened and her lips formed a startled "O" as her heart lurched unexpectedly. The man who had walked in was, unmistakably, a Weasley. And for a split second, she had thought she'd seen a ghost.

"Ch-charlie?"

The man shook the snow out of his hair and – even though he was a full head taller than her - grinned almost shyly at her. To Hermione, he was the most mysterious of the Weasley siblings. Of all the time she'd spent at The Burrows, she'd barely exchanged more than a few words in passing with him. What she'd completely forgotten, though, was that his rugged appearance and slightly sharper features made him look a lot like an older version of Ron, if Ron had lived.

"Wotcher," he greeted Hermione cautiously, not sure how to interpret the expression that crossed briefly but unmistakably across her face. "Come to see the fireballs, have you?"

Hermione blinked. "Fire what?"

"Aye," Charlie glanced around the café hesitantly, took a step towards her and whispered, "dragons."