I work a dismal job, doing something I hate. Every day I unlock the doors, fold clothes and smile at customers that I do not care about. I smile when they talk to me, thinking about how desperately I want to go home, and act as if I care about their lives. I nod politely when they ask me if this shirt looks flattering and shake my head vigorously when they ask me if these pants make them look fat. Occasionally I meet people that I like, and tell them my honest opinion if they ask me. I will share small details of my life, like my age, my name, stories about my daughter, and then I will keep to myself, longing for the day to be over. These are my days.

Today is no different. I unlock the doors at 7:55 am, put my nametag on my blouse and get ready for the day. As I fold some jeans into neat rectangles, I find my brain wandering the way it always does in the morning. I think about how hard it is, even after three years, to leave Delila with the sitter Emma Lee. I remember the look on Delila's face as I handed her to Emma. "Emma! Emma can we play magic island today?" she asked, a large grin on her face as she refers to the game where Emma uses Delila's amazing imagination to create an island of fun and games. I find it ironic that Delila's favorite game involves something that I used to love. Magic used to be my passion. I was top of my class at Hogwarts, destined to be the next big thing.

I am part of the reason that Lord Voldemort fell. My wand, my skills, I was amazing. I was great. Fantastic actually. We all were. Then, in the moment that it took for me to decipher the small little plus sign on the stick, my life changed. Suddenly, my friends were gone. My life had changed. I spent the next three years rebelling against everything that had gotten me to that point. I refused to continue my education, I found a job at a fast food restaurant and I gave up magic, but I never got rid of my wand. It's still in my sock drawer, pushed towards the back in a small, but very well hidden compartment that hasn't been touched in two and a half years.

Eventually I gave up at the fast food place, it was too disgusting for me to stay. So, I went to work for an middle aged woman, Hilda, who welcomed with me with open arms. I was getting big when I went to see her in November, which was my 6th month. Hilda became my rock. She gave me a four-month maternity leave, with pay, and helped me to find an apartment on Shady Pines Place, which is coincidentally just a few blocks from where my friend Harry grew up. I walk by his old house on Privet Drive occasionally just to see where he grew up. When I do, I feel like I can see him again, even though it's been three and a half years since he left my life.

Maybe he tried to find me after I left, but I can never be certain. I left Diagon Alley in the middle of the night, leaving just a note for the few people I had left in my life. I fled and never looked back. By the time I was due, it had been seven months since I had talked to anyone in my old life. I had made pseudo-friends who could never fill the void of the life I left behind. I spent my days living in agony over how I was going to pay for this new baby, along with myself. I was so consumed in my thoughts one night that I barely noticed when my water broke. I called Hilda who drove me to the hospital and was there was Delila was born. She gave me the idea to take out the "h" on Delilah to make her unique. So, that's how I named my baby girl. That was the night that I became a strong person. I left my fears at the hospital and vowed to do whatever it took to take care of my baby girl.

Hilda was there for me when others weren't and soon she retired, giving me sole ownership of the boutique when she left. Now I was the owner of Studio 220, where women of all shapes and sizes came to try on designer jeans they couldn't afford or fit into just so they could say they had tried on "the best pair of jeans, but I decided against them. Damn I regret it!" I had heard it all. The girl that wanted to fit in but couldn't afford to, so she pretended she had forgotten her wallet in the car, the girl that couldn't quite squeeze into those seven's so she said she was too tired to try things on, and the girls that had neither problem and bought ten pairs just to feel better about themselves. I dealt with all of them, and learned how to turn my brain off to pretend I cared about each of their problems.

Really, all I had to do when listening to them was nod while thinking about my baby girl. Today is no different. A customer starts to rant about how much she wants to impress a boy in her college class and I shut down. My mind wanders to my most precious belonging. Delila has grown up so much in the past year or so, and she really looks like me now. She has just a trace of her dad in her, but her eyes and her hair are mine. Her lips are where I see her father, and my heart breaks every time she smiles.

The day winds to a close and I shut down the register, emptying my tills and depositing the money into a safe in the back room. I tug on the blinds to pull the shut, feeling my arms ache from exhaustion. I use a key to lock the doors and smile at the memory of spells that could have done the work in half the time in the olden days; that's what I called the days when magic was involved in my life. The days before Delila.

I catch the 5 o'clock trolley to get home and put the coins in the meter when the driver drops me off in front of Emma Lee's house, which is a just minute from my own. I press the doorbell, and give my girl a big hug when she runs to the door to greet me. "Hey baby," I smile, pressing my face into her soft brown curls, smelling her sweetness. "Did you play magic island today?" I give her a big kiss and she laughs a soft, Tinkerbelle laugh. "Yes, Mommy! I went to Fuji today!" she grabs my hand and I smile, ignoring her slight mistake.

"What do I owe you, Emma Lee?" I ask, pulling out my checkbook, but she shakes her head.

"I'll bill you at the end of the week, Hermione. Don't worry about it now." She smiles and I feel a pang of sadness when I hear my name, it brings me back to my golden days. My days of brilliance and fame.

"Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow." I tell her, turning to walk down her entrance to the sidewalk.

Delila and I walk home and I listen to her telling me about her day. How Fuji was beautiful and full of oranges that smelled like pears. She chattered on the entire walk home and I enjoyed every moment of it. We reached the front door of our one story house and I slid the key into the lock, which turned easily. We walked in and Delila stopped talking as the door opened.

There, sitting on my newly upholstered couch is the first person I've seen from my past in three and a half years. There, sitting on my couch is a man with jet black hair, eyes as green as there were the last time I saw them, and a smile as warm as honey on a hot summer's day. Next to him sat the man that made my heart break every time Delila smiled. Next to my old friend Harry sat Ron, my baby's father.

A/N: Hello all! This is just the beginning. What happens next? Please let me know what you think! I have a few ideas rolling around in my head. I thought of this one day while I was at work, and I'm really excited for the direction this story is headed. Thanks all!

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, but JK Rowlings. The plot is mine though!