Hermione Granger, often lauded as the brightest of the age, stood staring at her reflection wondering how she could've been so stupid!
She sighed in despair as she splashed some water on her pale face, patting at hair that looked as distraught as she felt. Hermione looked at herself in the spotty mirror again, straightened her shoulders and prepared to give herself an enthusiastic pep talk.
"Alright, Granger. You are better than this. You are the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, now the most factual and best written newspaper in the wizarding world. You WILL stop crying; you WILL go back out to the office party. You WILL look him in his face and NOT embarrass yourself!"
Hermione stood tall, all five feet, two inches, and tried to give herself a daring look. Instead her bottom lip wobbled and her hazel eyes filled with fat tears.
"Oh, dash it all!"
The bathroom door was wrenched open, tinny Christmas music jangling out of the wireless, and Ginny Weasley marched in and up to Hermione.
"Hermione, what on earth are you doing in here? Are you crying?" Ginny looked worriedly at her friend, pressing a goblet of wine into her hand. "I hope this isn't about that prick in Sports, because if it is, you really need to get a life, my girl. Come along, 'Mione."
Hermione was bustled out of the bathroom into the annual staff Christmas party, clutching her wine like a life line. She gulped a fortifying mouthful, while she allowed Ginny to frog march her over to the little table designated as the bar.
"Ginny, you really need to remember that I'm rather pathetic; and that prick you're referring to is your brother."
"He's still a prick, brother or not. I'd know, wouldn't I?" Ginny winked back at her, her waist length flamed coloured hair falling like rain behind her. She stepped over to the make-shift bar, and poured out a generous helping of vodka into her cup.
Hermione shrugged and took another sip of wine. She glanced around at her staff and smiled a little at the fact that everyone was clearly enjoying themselves.
After the war, Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts to finish her seventh year, while her two best friends, Harry Potter and – sob – Ronald Weasley, had made plans to go into Auror training. That heat-of-the-moment kiss when she and Ron had gone down into the Chamber of Secrets had been defining for Hermione. She had known that she had finally gotten her man; the love of her life.
Wait, Hermione thought with another lip wobble; the unrequited love her life. Hermione took another gulp of wine, and her eyes widened as she saw the "prick from Sports", Ronald B. Weasley, coming straight towards her. She looked frantically around for Ginny, but she had gone off to flirt with Dean Thomas. She sighed, thinking that it was times like this that she missed Harry the most.
Just a few weeks into Auror training, Harry had said that he couldn't deal with the media, the attention, the pressure. He had sold Grimmauld Place, making a hefty sum to add to both his Potter and Black inheritances, and left a note for all his friends saying that he was heading to live his life somewhere that nobody would bother him. The Weasleys had been livid for a time, but Hermione had understood. She always understood her best friend, the enigma that was Harry Potter.
His constant battle with media attention was one of the reasons that she had turned her ambitious eyes on the steaming pile of dragon shit that had been the Daily Prophet. Through determination, hard work and a little pressure from her image as the "Golden Girl of the Golden Trio", the previous editor handed her the reigns.
She had turned the Prophet around, making the paper much more reputable. When Ron had dropped out of Auror training, and he had begged Hermione for a job, she had caved giving him the flagging Sports section. To their mutual surprise, he was rather good at keeping the Sports section entertaining while sneaking in the boring Quidditch trivia that he was so fond of.
Ron drew closer to Hermione, his red hair darkening a bit over the eight years since she had graduated from Hogwarts. Where he was all arms and legs before, he had packed on muscle to his tall frame, and she couldn't help that her heart beat a little faster as he smiled down at her.
"Hey, 'Mione," Ron said smoothly, giving his boyish, lopsided grin. "Great party, yeah?"
"Hey, uh, Ron. Yeah, it's grand."
It's grand? God, shoot me.
She smiled up nervously, pushing her wayward hair behind an ear. "'Mi, I have something for your Christmas," Ron said, peering down at her with his light blue eyes.
"Do you?" Hermione was stunned. Blushing, she reached into the pocket of her bulky trousers, taking out a little box before tapping it with her wand. "So do I; last time we exchanged presents in March. This is good!" She peeked up at him; however, at the shifty way his eyes looked around the room, she bit back a disappointed sigh.
"Wow, thanks Hermione. I don't actually have yours on me right now; or wrapped…" Ron said, tearing into the enlarged box. "Hermione. You stinker! Where did you find this?" Ron looked at the first edition Canon Call: Chudley Canons Through the Ages and held it up reverently.
"In that little shop we found in Peterborough; do you remember?" Hermione asked shyly, but felt her spirits plummet at who slid her smooth arms around Ron.
She and Ron had been in a tumultuous relationship when she had gone into the Copy Room to find him buried deep in the Prophet's gossip columnist, Lavender Browne. While she could not stop her love for Ron, Hermione had been hurt beyond words that she had caught him in such a manner. With Lavender Bloody Bubble Boobs Browne.
"Have you told Hermione our great news, Ronnie?" Lavender asked, her daringly low sweater exposing an eyeful. "She could make an announcement for the Prophet so that the Society section can have first crack, puddums!"
Puddums? Merlin and Morgana…
"Tell me what?" Hermione asked, dread creeping up in the pit of her stomach to claw at her throat. She gave a puzzled smile before a glint caught her eye…
"We're engaged!" Lavender stuck her left hand in front of Hermione's widened eyes, and Hermione faintly heard Ginny utter a quick, "Fuck."
Hermione heard herself mumble an excuse and escaped to her office with her fingers clutching at her glass of wine. She faintly heard Ron calling her name, but she ignored him and locked the door behind her.
Bloody MARRIED! Bloody, buggering hell!
She frantically searched for parchment and her rather battered quill; taking one last huge gulp of wine, she scribbled out a message to the only person who has ever come to her rescue. Hoping that he didn't magically block owls from finding him, she tied her note to her owl Persephone's leg with a shaking hand.
Hermione opened the window for Persephone to wing away then put up a silencing charm around her office, put her head on her desk and proceeded to wail.
MARRIED?!
A/N: My first story.