"Oh, James!"
Part I – "Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,"
-1-
Where an aspiring writer goes out for a drink.
Hermione looked at the whitish pile in front of her and had to suppress the urge to kick something. It was pure and simple rubbish. She's always thought she had it in her but now she was starting to doubt herself. Professor McGonagall was so enthusiastic with her idea only three months ago, telling her what a great idea she had: "Write Harry Potter's life as historical fiction! That's a great idea! We can make it part of the school curriculum and I'm sure everyone will want to buy it. It's bound to be a smashing success and you are the perfect person to write it." Now, whenever Hermione gave her one of her drafts, her poor professor had to hide her yawns as she valiantly tried to keep looking at the parchment and her eyes unglazed at the same time. She didn't want to see it. She really didn't. But she couldn't stop herself from sitting by her teacher while she was reading her creation. It was Professor McGonagall, the teacher whose opinion she valued most.
Hermione tried to hold back the tears but it was no use. She knew now how utterly boring she truly was. She could memorize spell-books and enchantments (so she could drone and regurgitate them to everyone at hearing range) all she liked, but could she manage to create something all her own? Of course not. Professor Snape saw the truth of her all those years ago. What she really was, was a good parrot, one that only knew how to prattle on and on and on and on meaninglessly time without end. All she could be was a reflection of other people's greatness and she was quite obviously a dull and flat one at that.
She remembered how at school after her third year's exam in D.A.D.A., all her classmates and friends looked at her like she lost a screw when she confessed that the Boggart that made her fail the exam revealed her worst fear to be... failing the exam. She was an utter bore. Even her worst fear was boring. Was that the reason why he was never interested in her as more then a friend? Was– No, she wouldn't go there.
Getting up from the desk, Hermione went downstairs for a late-night snack. Looking in the fridge she found only a bottle of diet soda and some left-overs from last night. Living at her parent's house definitely had its disadvantages. Some things just didn't go into a pair of dentists' fridge.
She needed a release and she had been cooped up at her parents' house too long. Taking her coat, she Apparated to the Three Broomsticks and started gulping down glass after glass of mind numbing Fire-Whiskey.
"Hermi!" she suddenly heard someone squeal just before she was swept off the bar-stool by a blurry smiling red streak. Great, she thought, it was another cheering meeting with Ron's little sister and Harry's Great Love, Ginny.
"How have you been? I haven't seen you in ages. You still working on Harry's book? I can't wait to see it. It must be wonderful being a writer, a novelist! I'll probably end up a Seeker on some third-league team and be noticed, if at all, just as Harry's girl, or wife, I guess, but I'm not worrying because I'll just say 'maybe I'm not a great Seeker like Victor Krum but I've got my name written all over Hermione Granger's book, yes siree!' You won't forget to give me a chapter or two in your book, will you, Hermione?"
Hermione smiled grittily and opened her mouth, desperately searching for something cheerful and meaningless to say. It never got any easier being with Ginny ever since she opened her big, stupid mouth to tell her of her wonderful new idea, not that it was such a joy before. What was so great about Ginny? What? She tried to tell her things weren't that perfect but between Ginny's glassy eyes, filled with unrequited hopes and her trembling mouth, filled with silent accusations, Hermione just couldn't bring herself to shatter her friend's expectations in her. Her feelings towards the youngest Weasley sprog had long since soured but that was no reason to be nasty.
"Of course I won't forget you. The story won't be the same without you." Hermione muttered into her cup before hurriedly filling it once more to the brim. "Salud!" she cried. She's read that all the great writers got their inspiration getting piss drunk in shady bars and surely she could do no less.
Getting drunk with Ginny was a mixed cup. On the one hand Ginny could hold her booze much better than her, shouting to the bartender for more rounds and chatting animatedly with her about friends, family, Harry, of course, and more while she, Hermione Granger, had problems holding her head straight and her stomach steady for the duration. On the other hand it gave her an excuse not to think up any cleverly wise things to say to her companion that would prove her oh so vaunted super intelligence and avoid her recurring impatient requests to see her manuscripts already. She just knew that when Ginny saw them it would all be over. She would tattle on her and everyone will know what a pathetic fake she was all those years. It was far better to just sit, gulp and hear Ginny's gossip while nodding sagely and mumbling incoherent replies.
Suddenly, a supercilious voice cut through Ginny's latest tale about the wonderful new broomstick Harry bought her for her birthday. Dislodging her cheek from the counter and blinking away the moisture Hermione saw her former classmate Draco Malfoy looking down on them and wrinkling his nose as if smelling something a bit rotten. Hermione never liked the arrogant prick. The Wizarding World may think he was some sort of Romantic-War-Hero that opposed Lord Voldemort for the sake of what was right and refused to join his lines even in the face of his family disapproval and the threats on his life but she knew he was just a whiny coward that couldn't cope with hard decisions and tough situations. She knew the truth of him. He was an arrogant school bully when they were both at school who used to enjoy tormenting her for her low birth and high achievements in his spare time.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Sure looks like the 'brightest witch of her age' sitting here too drunk to remember her own name, listening to the prattling of, what was it again? Potter's broom? Whatever has our world come to?"
"You take that back, you—" Ginny was on her feet, face red as a beet but Draco was apparently ready for her antics. Before Hermione could blink he was standing behind her chair calling out to Ginny "Now there's no need to be angry at me. I'm just repeating what I heard."
Ginny's ground her teeth audibly but sat down. "Go away and leave us in peace, Weasel. Me and Hermione have important things to talk about."
"What, like a certain book of historic fiction about the War?"
"Yes, that! Bet you're shaking in your boots thinking what Hermione is going to write about you. Nobody will respect you after that. Your money and family connections wouldn't save you then."
"Is that right? That would be terrible, but from what I heard, Ms. Granger's book is a tad ever so dreadfully boring. I heard even old McGonagall couldn't keep her eyes open for more than two sentences and if McGonagall couldn't…" here Draco let his eyes dance around the half empty bar trying to judge the audience reaction. Hermione thanked all the gods that the bar was half empty. But she could feel her lip trembling. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't! She hid her face in her cup and gulped like there was no tomorrow.
"You take that back!" Ginny was shouting, nose to nose with Draco. "Hermione is a fabulous writer. Too fabulous for the likes of you. Tell him Hermione."
"She's rotten," Draco managed to shriek through Ginny impassioned speech. "Rotten I tell you. Everyone who read her drivel thinks so."
"You're rotten, you ass! Hermione is the best and when her book comes out everyone here will laugh at you. Laugh at you so hard. And… I'll, I'll make her write about how your mad aunt Bella used you as her wet-hankie to get her laugh back."
Draco's chin trembled. "That's a lie!" he stuttered looking everywhere but at Ginny. "That, that never happened, and anyway, Hermione can't write, so there." he practically stumbled over himself in his haste to leave.
Ginny patted her enthusiastically on her back. "Don't listen to that fool. He's just jealous, that's what he is. Now listen, did I ever tell about the time me and Harry got locked in the broom cupboard..." Hermione tuned her out. He knew. Malfoy knew, and if he knew, soon everyone will know. It was over. It was all over.
She glared at Ginny balefully. She was still going on about her 'romantic' encounter with Harry. She never stopped. No more, Hermione growled. At least there was one good thing in this situation. She could finally stop Ginny from bragging about Harry to her. She'll stop acting like a sodding doormat. "Ginny!" she yelled shrilly, spittle flying and grabbed her by the neck with all her might.
