Hey Guys! Long time no hear from eh? Yeah well the beginning of August anyway. So this is my present to you. Back to school present if you want. Or a hurry up and give me something to do other than homework present, that works too.

So basically this is one of my many first chapter instalments (even though some of my other first chapter instalments already have more than one. i.e. Capella. Whatever.) Anyway I'm super serious this time okay. Once all of my stories are put up you guys have a week to vote on my pole! It will tell me which story you guys want me to continue with the most!

So do it. Vote for me please. And yourselves too, otherwise you might not get the story you want. But hopefully you like all the stories I present to you.

So this is the list of stories that SHOULD be up. One Chapter Instalments:

She's the One

Capella

Before the Worst

I Just Want My Life Back!

The Bucket List

Possibly my side project which you will probably here about later during each of my updates, I've got a name picked out already. It won't be a story that has a plot line that you follow chapter after chapter. It'll be a bunch of one shots that relate in one specific way but hopefully you'll enjoy it none the less.

*Side Note. SOOO! I re-wrote this first chapter. Not a lot has changed from the original, its just as I was writing the second I thought of some things that really should be included in this chapter, so I re-read it, edited it, touched it up, and now you guys have a sort of brand new chapter. Except not really, more like a fixed up and good as new chapter. Anyway! By the time this chapter replaces the old 1rst chapter, I'm hoping the second chapter will be up and running :D

So enough of my talking, enjoy!

Alcohol, because no good story started with a salad- Author Unknown

Life works in mysterious ways. Change is a close friend of Life and Misery loves company. Which means it's only natural that they make their appearance known every so often, more often than some would like.

Life's a funny thing, when it's not happening to you.

Just looking around the bar she was sitting in now could show you how much things had changed in the last few weeks. She was currently seated in a small pub that looked on the verge of bankruptcy. The rustic red paint was peeling off the walls, leaving the original wall paper beneath; a robin's egg floral pattern. The tiles that covered the floors were cracked; some were even slanted as if they were just waiting to trip the next person who was already a little unstable on their feet. Dim lights were flickering above her head at a very unsteady rate, which resulted in her current headache. Actually, she shouldn't blame her unfortunate headache on the indecisive lights above, since this headache seemed ever present since she'd left her lovely home back in London.

Tables were scattered around the room with different types of chairs in various colors, and the bar had only a handful of customers other than herself. An old man was seated off in the corner by himself, and a couple who'd pushed their chairs tight together, obviously busy with each other, was seated close to a large window near the door.

She was the only one occupying a stool at the bar. And the solitary movement in the room was a bartender who was whipping off the bar top with what she presumed was at one point a white rag. The silence was deafening. It wasn't completely silent, little sounds here and there filled the room. But that only seemed to increase the eeriness that accompanied the silence. Soft music played over head, static cutting in and out often effectively covering up the unpleasant sounds coming from the couple behind her every so often. The sound of her drink splashing against the side of its glass was accompanied by a similar sound coming from the old man in the corner, though he held a bottle, not a glass.

If you could look past the peeling paint and broken tiles, and imagine the place less vacant, you could really see the charm it held. It was probably a top establishment for the little bar that it was back in its day. She could see the walls looking newly painted, the tiles brand new as well. Music played from a top of the line stereo system, and bodies filled the room. It was a time when more than one man was needed to run the small business. It held life and promise. But for as of right now, Hermione was entirely convinced that it was highly unlikely this bar had seen anyone of great importance, or a citizen belonging to a higher class, walk through its green door in a very long time. Probably one of the reasons she enjoyed it so much. That and the bar tender was really nice. Treating everyone that walked through his door all the same, with politeness and compassion.

She didn't know which was worse though considering her position. A, that at the age of 20 she chose this of all places to spend her night, or B, that she often chose to spend her nights here.

Perhaps it was worse that not only was she sitting alone, in a rundown bar, in some foreign country with a slightly alcoholic beverage in her hand, but that she couldn't help herself from strolling down memory lane.

The world was now, and has been Voldemort free for a little more than two years, and everyone was finally getting on with their lives. This was supposed to be the happiest time of her life. She was young, with little to no responsibility, and Harry had been going on and on about finally getting to act their age since the war had finished. No one needed them to save the world, they had no obligations, out on their own, they could party all night long if they wanted to. Something Harry and Ron took far too literally at first for her liking. They could celebrate and do whatever it was that twenty year olds did. She was supposed to be happy.

A few months after they'd graduated and the aftershock of the war had settled, her friends had begun preparing for their futures. And for the longest time, she thought she was right along with them doing the same thing.

Harry had bucked up the courage to ask Ginny out. He and Ron had begun their training to become highly imperative Aurors, and Ginny decided to pursue a career as a professional Quidditch player. Neville had become an intern for Professor Sprout in order to eventually take over her position as Herbology professor, and had recently started dating Hannah Abbott. Turns out he had much more in common with Hannah than he thought he did with Luna. George was dating Angelina, who all but denied that things were becoming quite serious; well as serious as things can get with a Weasley twin. Seamus was working with George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes inventing and producing explosive pranks to sell to the future 'Hell Raisers' of Hogwarts. Dean was broadcasting for professional Quidditch cups, and Luna was publisher of the Quibbler.

So in all these plans where was Hermione Granger?

She should have been having the time of her life too. She began working part time at Flourish and Bolts and started dating Ron right after the war. But things never felt right. She was in her dream job, yet going to work held no thrill. And she was with the man she'd been pining after for as long as she could remember, and still there was no thrill.

She had begun to feel pressured into doing what she was doing and being with who she was with. She grew up in love with books, so everyone thought that Flourish and Bolts was just the perfect place for her. But after a month or so she wasn't so sure. And she grew up in love with Ron. Until she started dating him, and realised she'd never been in love with him. People say love is just friendship on fire, but what she felt was friendship beside a match. There was potential, but then there really wasn't. She was just infatuated with the idea of Ron, that she and Ron could have the perfect love story. Friends first at a young age, then best friends, and eventually lovers. She could marry her best friend and the person that knew her best, and everything else could just fall into place. She could have her little farm house and her picket fence and the perfect fairy tale she'd imagined a hundred different ways.

She loved Ron. With all her heart, just as she loved Harry with all her heart. And there lies the problem. She loves Ron, the way she loves Harry, as a best friend, and nothing more. That's what their whole relationship had been. The only thing that changed when they started their relationship compared to how they were as friends, was that occasionally they went on dates and held hands, and every once in a while shared a kiss or two.

That wasn't what a relationship was supposed to feel like. And she was convinced Ron knew that too. That's why after almost two years of dating he proposed to her. In front of all their friends and family. In hopes that by adding marriage to the equation they could actually have something. But that wasn't the right thing to do. They both knew it, she could see it in his eyes when he was knelt before her. Worry, nervousness, stress, and yet still hopeful. He wanted it to work, and she did too. But it wasn't fair to either of them to condemn them to that kind of fate. That's how bad it was, she could use the word condemn to describe their relationship.

She hesitated when he'd asked. Not one, two, three seconds of hesitation caused by shock, or surprise, but a minute or two of thoughts scrambling to make themselves heard in the appropriate hesitation time she had after something like that. She used up her time, all of it, she had begun thinking on borrowed time. Everything she'd wanted in her sixth year could be hers if she uttered one word.

But it wasn't that simple. She knew she wouldn't get everything she wanted with Ron if she accepted his proposal. She wasn't getting the Ron she'd dreamed of, the love, desire, and passion she'd dreamed of. She would however get the friendship with him she adored so much, but did she need to marry him to keep that friendship.

No her mind had whispered. Why had she stayed with Ron for so long when they were obviously so wrong together? Why had she not broken it off when she had started noticing her friends changing due to the after effects the war had brought on? Just off the top of her head Ron had changed a lot. The publicity had started going to his head, inflating his already large ego. She'd often found herself wondering if Ron had simply remained in their 'relationship' because the media loved to write stories about the 'blossoming romance between two parties of the Golden Trio'. And she hated herself for it. Ron was her friend, he stayed because they were friends, and they would always be friends. He didn't want to hurt her, she had successfully convinced herself of that now. At least, she had almost successfully convinced herself of that. She tried to reason with herself that the only explanation of Dennis Creevey's, future aspiration: Daily Prophet Editor, presence at the Burrow when he proposed was because they knew him in school and though they were never overly close with Dennis, they had known Colin quite well.

Money became a big thing for him, never having had much of it when he grew up. But that was understandable. At least, she told herself it was. The money hadn't taken over Harry's life even though he came from a home that offered him much less than Ron. But Harry had never been taunted for not having enough unlike Ron had, at least, she didn't think he had. The last few months before her departure she had spent more and more time convincing herself she was where she wanted to be. Except, she shouldn't have to convince herself she was where she needed to be. It should come naturally, it should feel right for Merlin's sake. She spent hours telling herself she was being unreasonable, that she was where she was meant to be. Until she just couldn't take it anymore. All of these emotions and thoughts that had been building up inside of her for months on end were becoming too much for her to handle.

In a moment reality came crashing down on her. She couldn't do it. She wasn't ready for it, not ready to condemn herself to such a life when something told her she could have more. She knew then, and probably had for a long time, that she was missing something. Some part of her life was absent; like a jig saw puzzle that's missing the last piece.

That's how she ended up here, in her current position. She left. She apologized, quietly, barley above a whisper. First to Ron, then to her friends and family, then to Ron again. She repeatedly apologized, shaking her head as if trying to clear her thoughts that were getting oh so tangled and loud. She packed her bags, grabbing everything she couldn't leave behind and took the next train out of there. Literally. But what seemed like a good idea at the time had gotten her nowhere. Leaving had gotten her absolutely nowhere in life.

Well, almost nowhere. It had led her here, which was pretty close to nowhere. She'd taken dozens of trains, and boats, and ferries, and taxis, until she reached this little town in Sydney Australia. She could have apparated, but she needed the time to think. All those hours spent traveling gave her ample time to think.

To think about why she and Ron had stayed together so long, and what she was searching for. What she would do when she got where she was going. What she wanted, why she wanted it, why she thought getting away from everything familiar to her was a good way to figure out any of these questions.

In the end, she got her answer to one of them, maybe even two. Staying with Ron, being with Ron was safe. She knew Ron like she knew the books in Hogwarts' library. She knew what he liked and what he disliked. She knew how to handle him when he became impossible or impulsive, or when he was acting childish. She knew where to find him when he ran off, and when to leave him alone. She knew all his signs and signals, and she knew his secrets and his past. She didn't need to impress Ron, she didn't need to be afraid of humiliating herself in front of Ron. She didn't need to worry that Ron might not like what he saw, or care for her opinions, or whether or not they could get along. Because she knew his opinions and she knew his thoughts, and she knew they got along just fine.

Maybe that was the problem. She knew him, too well. Too well for anything more to happen between them. Ginny was constantly worried what Harry thought of her when he saw her, or if Harry would like her dress. Hermione never worried about those things with Ron. Lavender worried about whether or not her flavour of the week would like her, or ask her out again, or if he liked her smile or her personality. Most of that was inevitable for Hermione, of course Ron liked her, they were best friends, and of course she would see him again, they were after all best friends. Maybe if she'd actually felt something romantic for him she would have worried about all those things. Not worrying took the spark out of things, there was no risk in being with Ron. And if there was one thing she'd learned from all their adventures, life needed a little risk. The greater the risk, the greater the reward.

That's also when she realised why she needed to get away. Her whole life was safe, there was no challenge, no adventure, no risk, no thrill. She was twenty and she knew what she was going to do the next day and the day after that and a month from then and five years down the road. As much as she was for planning ahead, twenty year olds should not know their daily routine in five years for Merlin's sake! They should have something to look forward to in their life, a mystery to their future, and the opportunities to take as many risks as they could.

It had been a long time since she'd been content with a decision she'd made. Finally, she was content with a decision; this decision.

The first thing she did when she reached her new destination was write to Harry, Ginny, George, Luna, Neville, and eventually Ron apologizing profusely and explaining hastily that she just couldn't do it. She needed something, and what she needed wasn't there, and marrying Ron most definitely wasn't it. It was short, to the point, and probably not what they wanted to hear. She didn't worry about them and their wants or their feelings at that point in time. She didn't give them a return address. She didn't want to be found. Not until her she'd figured things out a little bit. Her letters to Harry and Ginny were longer and offered more explanation than any of the other letters. Ron's letter was the shortest, and consisted of only one word. Sorry, she'd written, hastily hoping she could leave without confrontation. Never in her life had she felt so un-Gryffindor like than she did in that moment. But she could worry about her sudden cowardice at a later point in time.

Three and a half weeks ago a small town a mile outside of Sydney Australia had become her temporary home. Renting a small apartment three blocks down the street and making it into her new home she began living her new life. She worked at a coffee shop when she could; picking up shifts whenever, and started to really focus on sorting out the tangle of strings that made up her life. She was trying to tie up some loss ends without even knowing where the rope started. Which she found proved to be rather problematic.

A week ago she'd decided she knew what she was missing. She had no home, lost touch with her friends, broke off a mildly serious relationship and had no career. She was aware of what she was missing. The question was what would fill those voids that could satisfy her. She'd crossed of friends and relationships, she didn't want any replacements for those slots. Maybe the later, eventually, because Merlin knew she couldn't go back to Ron and pick things up where they'd left off. So that left her in need of a new home, and finding a career that made working exciting again. This was at least a start, not the fresh start she was looking for, but it was as close as she was ever going to get to her 'fresh start'.

How a fresh start landed her in a rundown bar on a Tuesday late at night over a week later, she hadn't a clue. Probably the same way it had landed her in this exact stool two or three nights a week starting three weeks ago.

A deep sigh left her lips as she continued twirling the purple drink she'd ordered half an hour ago. Where had the good life gone? Where had her plans gone? How had she gone from a bushy haired, first year student keen on her studies, to an adult and a war heroine with responsibilities, and then to a woman in an empty bar in what seemed like only a handful of moments?

Most would agree that she missed out on her childhood, because of Voldemort and all that. Having to save the world numerous times could put a bit of a damper on your childhood. But right now, if she didn't get her life together and back on track, and soon, she'd say she was going to miss out on the most important years of her adulthood as well.

"You know, you can tell when a lass is doing a great deal of thinkin' when there's very little drinkin'." She nearly jumped from her seat as a voice from across the bar startled her from her thoughts. Looking up the vibrant blue eyes belonging to the bartender were looking down upon her with a hint of concern.

"You can tell?" She glanced back down to the half empty purple drink in her hand still swirling from her earlier glass twirling. Even though she'd been here probably half a dozen nights before, and talked to the bartender on a few occasions, not once had she felt like she was actually talking to a bartender. She rarely used him as an ear to listen to her troubles, or asked for advice on what to do. Unlike many of the few customers she'd seen walk through that door looking for a way to drown their sorrows. It was a weird feeling. The two of them usually discussed current events, or passing thoughts.

"Years in the business lass." He spoke with the Irish accent she adored listening to. "Now what has such a pretty face like yours troubled?" She always wondered what it was that made someone want to confess their sorrows to a bartender. She never actually thought she'd be partaking in that classic exchange thought. She guessed it was loneliness that drove someone to confess their deepest regrets to a complete stranger. Or a charming smile. Or maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just the small fact that someone was willing to listen when no one else was. Maybe it was because they were indeed a complete stranger that you would never see again, and therefore you could not be judged later on.

"You already know bits and parts of the story." She smiled at him before looking back down at her drink.

"Knowing bits and parts of a story is like only reading a few pages of a book and being expected to write a summarizing review on the whole novel. You can't possibly know how a lassie's feeling or what's on 'er mind by a few words exchanged." He smiled his friendly smile that kept her coming back to this bar every few nights. "Plenty o' times you cannot tell what's on a woman's mind until she right out tells ya 'er problem. Sometimes not even then." She laughed at his obvious opinion on the difficulty of interpreting a women's words.

"It's a long story." She warned him

"Aren't they all though?" He winked. "Besides, I've got plenty of time." He motioned towards the practically empty bar and she felt another laugh bubble in her throat. She found she rarely laughed anymore. Only here, talking to him, sometimes the customers at work. But nothing like she used to do when she was in London, surrounded by her friends. Quickly she shook her head to rid her mind of that depressing thought.

Whatever the reason after only a brief moment of hesitation she began retelling her previous thoughts aloud to the bartender. Even the thoughts he'd already heard in bits and pieces over the previous nights. He did not rush her along when she repeated those parts. He smiled knowingly just like he had the first time she'd told him a few of the thoughts that kept her mind occupied when nothing else did.

He did not talk as she spoke. He nodded and agreed when necessary, and smiled encouragingly when she felt she was becoming a bore. She hadn't talked to him for any period of time as lengthy as she found herself talking with him tonight. And as she spoke she found herself analyzing his features. His sandy blonde hair fell just above his eyes in an even mixture of curls and waves. His eyes changed colours often. They were bluest when he smiled and paler when he seemed intent on listening. They held gray and green flecks around the irises that seemed to disappear every now and then. When he smiled she noticed his smile was gentle and full of life; cheeks slightly chubby, eyes ever so crinkled.

Leaning against the bar, forearms resting on the counter top, she couldn't tell just how tall he was, but he seemed to be of average height. Possibly an inch or two taller than average. He looked as if he was in his mid-thirties, but the childlike features that hadn't yet been removed from his face with age combined with his smile, so kind and full of life, made him look years younger. The name tag on his green striped shirt read: Sam. The short, friendly name suited him in her opinion.

All in all she decided he was handsome. He wasn't stunning like the male characters in the unrealistic romance novels that her mother read during her free time. He was the kind of handsome that instead of attracting attention left, right, and centre from by passers, his kind features could be appreciated by anyone glancing his way. His appearance was warm and welcoming, and his charming and friendly persona only enhanced his good looks.

Soon her story was finished, and she hadn't an idea of what to say next. Sam however seemed to know exactly what questions to ask. Years in the business lass, his voice repeated in her head.

"So what's do you think is next for ya?" The crooked smile on his face made him look like a teenager. His boyish grin full of excitement as if he was the one going on an adventure.

"I don't know." She still didn't. She still had no clue. After weeks of thinking, she still couldn't put her finger on what was missing.

"You took trains, and boats, and every other mode of transportation all the way from England to this little place, hardly any money, hardly any possessions, and you don't know what you're going to do next? Perhaps it's time to start doing instead of thinking. Go out on your whim, and jump without putting on a parachute." She smiled. He was so optimistic, but he didn't know she simply couldn't do that. She wished she could, but it was going to take much more than a simple suggestion before she took any major risks without back up plans.

And that right there was her problem. She couldn't take one step forward without looking three steps in every direction. Preparing for any possibility, so focused on the future that she couldn't embrace the here and now. And yet, none of that worrying and preparation had proven helpful thus far.

"I can't." She shook her head, avoiding his eyes.

"You won't find anything worth searchin' for if you don't take a few risks along the way lass." She couldn't help but smile. That sounded like something you'd find in a fortune cookie. Were all bartenders like Sam full of corny advice?

Before she could add to their previous conversation the bell chimed behind her and Sam's eyes lifted to the door. Not paying any attention to the person who just walked in, she gulped down the last of her fruity purple drink. Before she could even set down her glass another had been set in front of her.

"This one's on the house dearie. You've got a lot of thinking to do." With that Sam winked and walked back to the center of the bar.

She looked over and found a brunette had taken a place at the last stool. Shaking water out of her jacket Hermione realized it must have been raining out. The girl was pretty, very pretty. In a manner similar to Sam's. Her dark brown hair ended at the small of her back in wet curls and her straight bangs clung to her forehead. Her brown eyes twinkled with laughter, so full of life. Her nose was small yet proportionate to her face, and her smile light up the room better than the flickering lights above them. She seemed far too happy to be drenched and sitting in a rundown bar. Much to Hermione's surprise, she didn't order a drink like the rest of the customers she'd seen during her many visits. Instead she got some sort of burger and chips combo.

Something about the way that brunette seemed so care free made her think she'd found what it was in life she needed. She seemed to know where she was going in life, and yet she looked as if she knew there was still some mystery to her future. She wanted that. She wanted to feel secure in her life like she felt this girl beside her did so much that she felt jealousy burning in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to be able to walk in the rain, be drenched to the core, then find shelter in some roach motel or some other rundown place and still be able to smile like it was the first day of summer.

She threw back her glass swallowing half her drink in one go. Her throat burned intensely enough to rival the burning sensation still coursing around in the pit of her stomach.

She sat there, fore how long she didn't know. At first minutes dragged on slowly, then faster till everything around her became nothing but a blur. Too focused on her own thoughts to pay attention to the girl that sat beside her anymore. Was she still there? Had she ordered a drink yet?

The sound of a chiming bell became frequent enough that she didn't feel the need to turn over her shoulder and take in the appearance of the new stranger. Each person that stepped foot into the bar seemed to be wetter than the previous. Hardly any of the new visitors in the bar had ordered anything since they'd walked in. Each waiting for the storm to pass, or a ride to take them through it.

Breaking free of her thoughts she snuck a glance in the Brunette's previous direction. She was still there. Sam was still talking to her a few stools down from where Hermione sat, getting a drink now and then for occupants of the bar that wanted to pass time, most of them free of charge. Soon the chatter that filled the bar diminished into silence as people filled out. The storm must have finally calmed.

When she heard the last chime of a bell she figured the last of the new comers had departed. The idea that it might be someone else, walking into a bar late at night was immediately waved off.

There were five bar stools in total, two of which were already taken. She took up one end stool and the other end stool was hosting the young brunette. She'd bet five galleons that the brunette at the end of the bar looked far more friendly than she.

So when the stool next to her became occupied she couldn't resist glancing at the body that had occupied the stool.

She wished she hadn't. A patch of overly white blonde hair caught her eyes immediately before she looked away. Based on the fairness of the man's skin and hair along with his aristocratic facial features and the drawl in which he spoke, he reminded her of someone she'd rather not see anytime soon. Oh how she hoped she was wrong.

She really didn't want a confrontation with said man, if she did indeed guess correctly who he was. But she couldn't necessarily jump up and bolt for the door either. She was trapped. If she stood and left he'd surely get a glimpse of her and though she liked to think she's grown up in the past few years, she was still very recognizable. Her best chance was that if she did leave he'd let her go without making a scene. If he was still the same man she once knew, that possibility was very unlikely. Her next best option would be to sit and wait for him to leave.

With that decided she let her hair fall over her shoulders acting as a curtain, shielding her face from the fair haired man's view. She began counting in her head trying to occupy her thoughts. The man beside her finished his drink, a muggle beer, within a few minutes. Slowly, as minutes passed she began to relax. If he hadn't called on her within the first ten minutes, it was unlikely that he would indeed mention her presence later in the night. Right? Maybe he didn't even recognize her. Maybe it wasn't even him. She was wrong.

She remained silent, fiddling with her drink, hoping she could obtain the power to turn invisible. Normally she wouldn't be shrinking away from Malfoy, but she hadn't the energy to fight with him today. She hoped it was the same for him. Unfortunately she was wrong again.

"I can see you Granger." Malfoy drawled, taking a drink from what she figured was his third beer.

Cursing under her breath she turned her head to face him giving him her best glare under the circumstances. "I know."

"Then why were you hiding?" His tone amused by her previous, obviously obvious actions.

"I was not hiding." Tonight would be a long night indeed.

So there you guys have it. First instalment of my Bucket List/ Dramione rendition. So, let me know if you guys like it. I'm not going to lie when I feel like writing I usually look over my reviews for my stories and try and pin point which stories I have the most eager readers with. I really love getting reviews, they make me want to publish chapter after chapter at a lightning speed. I do love hearing what you guys have to say, and what you guys want to have happen.

On another note, I do apologize in advance for any slow updates, hopefully these chapters will be long enough to tide you over. Maybe between updates you guys will predict how you think this story is going to go, or you might think of an idea you'd like to read about and you could PM it to me.

Now that being said, if you guys have any ideas where you want this to go, any plot ideas LET ME KNOW! I'd be super excited to hear your ideas. This story is supposed to be as exciting for you as it is for me so don't be afraid to tell me.

Maybe you'd like to tell me what's on your bucket list, I don't know. But don't be afraid to share, and I love love love reviews.

Thanks so much for reading guys, hope you enjoyed it, enjoy the rest of your day/week/month whatever. Maybe I'll hear from a few of you soon ;)

-Dini 3