Just One of Those Days… Weeks… Months…

She was harassed. She had tried deep breathing, slowing her pace, even sitting down on a park bench, but nothing was working. It wasn't really her fault – it just so happened that today was simply one of those days where nothing went right. But (and Hermione had never really considered herself a pessimist) things hadn't exactly been going right for a while now. She was twenty-one, officially an adult, and yet she felt like a lost child, dazed and bewildered in a sea of mature and fiercely ambitious people, with no plans or clear path ahead of her. When had everything gone so haywire?

Sighing, Hermione pushed the strap of her bag back up onto her shoulder and continued the tedious journey towards her one bedroom flat. It was a muggle house, something the rest of her friends found both amusing and confusing, but she had always been used to both worlds, and had for some time now been rather content with reverting back to old, muggle ways. She would never say that she disliked magic, but after everything that had happened, 'magic' just didn't conjure up the same awe and inspiration that it once had for her. Now the word tasted bitter in her mouth, like something nasty or dirty. Magic had been the cause of so much pain and bloodshed, and for a few years at least, she was happier being without it.

That being said, she could really have used a broom to get her safely within her own four walls again. She had been on her feet all day, her back ached from the weight of her bag, and she could feel her eyelids sagging from exhaustion. Twenty-one years old, and she felt more like eighty.

Rounding another corner, her heart gave a little leap at the sight of the tree-lined lane in front of her. No matter the season, this lane always looked beautiful to her. Just now, in late September, the trees blazed crimson and amber, fiery leaves coating the pavement and cobbled road like a flaming carpet. This was real magic, she thought as she shuffled through the dense cover of leaves, her leather boots creating a symphony of rustling as she made her way towards the final bend.

The sky had turned a slate grey since she had begun her long walk home, and Hermione knew instinctively that tonight was going to bring a ferocious storm. It was at times like this that she missed the company of another, warm body curled next to her, even if it was just to offer a strong arm to tuck herself under or a soft hand to tightly grasp. But there was no use dwelling on such romantic nonsense. Who would she even want, in any case? Ron? The thought was both laughable and uncomfortable, and Hermione actually cringed from thinking about it. She loved him, she really did, but he was a brother and a friend to her. Whatever relationship they may or may not have had was extinguished well and truly when Ron started his new job with Harry. Things had changed so much already, and they had both come to a mutual understanding that the one thing they never wanted to change was their friendship. It was odd, because while both Hermione and Ron had felt so much more relieved after this revelation, everyone else was devastated.

"But what about the children!" Mrs Weasley had cried out when they were first told, looking to a rather disappointed Ginny who simply shrugged and shook her head.

"What children?" Ron had replied incredulously, standing a little closer to Hermione for support rather than anything else.

Harry had hid a smile and leaned in closer to Ron. "Yours and Hermione's, of course. Your entire family have been planning the first new arrival for quite a while now. George even had a bet on whether it would be a boy or a girl."

That had come as a shock to them both, realising that everyone they cared about had been planning their future for years, even down to which gender their baby would be. It had made their friendship rather awkward, and for a time Ron and Hermione had kept their distance for fear someone would think they were getting close again. But now all that had passed, and there was no danger of anyone assuming they would become an item. Ron had found someone, a lovely girl named Winifred (or Winnie as everyone had nicknamed her), and they had recently got engaged. Hermione was happy for them both, she really was, and she only occasionally had to swallow her resentment, knowing she could very well have been in Winnie's place not that long ago. It wasn't even really Ron that she wanted, but that sense of true belonging; being a part of such a close circle of family and friends… she missed that. It was hard staying so close with everyone when you lived in the muggle world and worked in a muggle shop. But of course, it had been her decision to sever so many ties with her past, and she could hardly blame everyone else for the consequences of her actions.

Hermione blinked suddenly, having only just realised she had walked right past her flat. Hurrying back along the pavement, she fished around in her deep coat pocket for her keys and trudged up the steps and inside. The hallway was dark and cold, something she had grown rather used to what with autumn having been approaching since the middle of August this year. Unlocking her door, she half fell inside before closing it firmly behind her. She took a moment to take in her familiar surroundings before switching on lights, turning on the radiators, and going to make herself a nice cup of tea. While the kettle boiled, she checked her post and then her voicemail, not expecting to hear anything remotely interesting or exciting. It had been a long time since anything unexpected had happened to her.

"You have one new message. Message one: 'Okay, so I know you're going to hate me, and believe me, I did everything I could to try and get you out of it, but Mum is insistent. And so is Winnie. And you know what they're like when they gang up on me. They're like a pack of wolves, I tell you! Anyway, sorry… rambling... em… where was I? Oh yes! We're having a big get together, and I mean a proper get together – as in, a proper, Weasley get together. And Mum wants you to come. Well, everyone does, including me, actually. But I know you'll be tired, and I know you probably wanted a quiet night in. I bet you've just sat down, right? About to watch some stupid, horrible muggle show with a cup of tea and a Jaffa cake. I know you, Hermione Granger, you have become very set in your ways since leaving us magical people behind. Anyway, not the point. Look, if you can come, then please do, but I understand if you don't want to. Though be prepared to get an earful when you next come to see us. Anyway, I think my time is about to run out. Come if you can – eight o' clock at ours – and if you can't then good luck! Bye!'"

Hermione let out an audible groan before burying her head in a cushion. Ron had hit the nail on the head – a quiet night in was exactly what she had been planning, and now he had practically guilt tripped her into going to a massive, Weasley reunion. That meant everyone would be going, no excuses. And that meant questions. Awkward, horrible, uncomfortable questions. So how have you been, Hermione? Still living in that flat? Still working at that shop? When are you going to start doing magic again? Why did you stop, anyway? How's your love life? No boyfriend? What, a pretty thing like you? And on and on it would go, for the entire night. There would be plenty of people, which meant the same questions being asked over and over again. And she would have to smile politely at them all, answering each as if she had never heard it before. She would have to make an effort, when all she really wanted to do was curl up under the covers and sleep.

Kicking the side of the sofa, she pushed herself upright and kicked off her boots before making her way through to her bedroom, already trying to force her mind into action long enough for her to pick an outfit. Not too extravagant, but not too casual either. It was at times like these that she hated being a girl. She used to envy Harry and Ron, the way they put on anything that looked semi-clean and end up looking fine, but anything she wore was judged by every other girl. She had to make the right impression tonight – that she was in control, professional, happy with her life. How the hell could clothes say that?

Opening her wardrobe and assessing the rather depressing situation, Hermione took one deep breath before braving the terrifying mess of clothes before her, already dreading the evening to come.