Hermione has done one of the worst things a witch in her position could do: She's left Ron just days before the wedding. Now she's all alone in a strange country with a broken heart she'd forgotten she had and wondering where to go now.
Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs fully to J.K. Rowling. The only thing that belongs to me is this story and the Canadian characters/settings.
Prologue
Hermione stared down at the blank parchment in front of her. Scattered around her desk were the crumpled remains of previously started letters that she had abandoned for various reasons. She just couldn't seem to put into words exactly what she meant to say and make it sound right. She placed the tip of her quill on the parchment, hesitated, and lifted it again. Nothing she wanted to say made any sense except in her head, and that which did make sense wasn't what she wanted to say. Sighing she rested her forehead on the cold desk and closed her eyes.
How had life become so complicated? When did everything change from the way it was years ago when innocence permeated life and fun was found in even the worst events? Lifting her eyes she looked at the photograph of herself when she was just twelve years old. Her two best friends at the time were on either side of her; the one on the left with messy black hair and glasses, the other grinned broadly from under a curtain of red hair and a mass of freckles. All three figures were dirty and scratched; no doubt it was taken just after one of their adventures, perhaps Grawp.
Those years had been her favourite. The years before she had to grow up and make choices, before Harry had changed: before so many people she knew had changed. Before Voldemort – but that was over and she needed not to dwell on it. She twirled her quill absently in her fingers trying to find the right words, but still coming up blank. How could she possibly explain what she had done anyway? Hermione, always the rational one, always the clever one, always the one to think things through carefully had done the most foolish, most impulsive thing she could even think of.
She knew Harry wouldn't question her. He hardly did anything anymore anyway. He'd been locked in a shell and hadn't even noticed his relationship with Ginny slowly dissipating until it was suddenly over and he was being kicked out to temporarily live on Ron's couch. No, he was going to be the easy one to tell. Ron would be a different story. How do you tell someone you were so frightened that you had leave? How do you tell your fiancée that you can't go through with it? How do you tell him that you've moved half way around the world two days before the wedding? How could she tell him?
He'd always been so stable. It was he who pulled Harry back from the brink of metal collapse. Ron had rarely showed any ill effects of all that had happened, and it was only now, as Hermione contemplated her actions, did she realized Ron was the only one of the trio who had escaped unharmed.
Her hand trembling and unnoticed tears rolling down her cheeks, Hermione placed the tip of her quill to the parchment and, hesitating momentarily, began writing the most difficult letter that would ever be required of her.