Chapter Two

Sirmione has a club called Pandemonium, situated on the edge of Lake Garda, surrounded by a plethora of similar clubs. It opens at 11 o' clock and unless one has a VIP pass, they are bound to wait in line for hours before being granted entry. There is also a strict dress code, the emphasis being on casual elegance. Not everyone who waits for hours in the line gets to enter the club despite the purgatory of waiting if their attire or their appearance isn't top-notch.

Hermione, luckily, managed to sign themselves on to some VIP list online and were let in without having to stand in line. The security guards put up a little bit of a fight because Hermione's and Luna's shoes were open-toed and he said he couldn't let them in because they could be stepped on accidentally and he couldn't run the risk of that. Hermione was convinced he just didn't like their faces and was giving them a hard time needlessly. But he didn't know who he was messing with.

Hermione was determined to enter, and when she had put her mind to something, even as inconsequential as entering a certain club she had read rave reviews about online, she went ahead tirelessly until she got what she wanted (an approach that to her knowledge had, unfortunately, never been successful with men, but proved all the more fruitful in all other aspects of life, like work or school).

She puffed her chest out in uncontrollable anger, and began pointing out all the other women who were by the looks of it friends with the other security guard, charged with overseeing the non-VIP line, and eventually he just let them in. Luna, impressed, grabbed Hermione's hand and ran into the club excitedly. The atmosphere of the club, of being on the lakeside, of being in a different country and feeling free had affected her too. She no longer wanted to stay home, but live it up. How stupid she had been, Luna thought, to ever want to stay home! She knew she was going to enjoy herself even if she wasn't going to hook up with anybody. She just enjoyed looking pretty and feeling great about herself because of it.

In fact, the pair of them looked quite impressive, Luna with her shimmery white skin, her white blonde hair cascading down her back, wearing a loose but flattering blue dress. Hermione was really quite the opposite; that night she went all out, her unruly, wavy hair straightened to perfection, her eyeliner sharper than a male model's jawline and her lips redder than the blood of her enemies. At least, that is how she had described her get up. Admittedly, she was quite drunk and enjoying herself.

The awkward thing, Luna thought, about not being single at the same time your friends are make you feel kind of sad for them when they are out and about trying to find a piece of meat to satisfy their carnal cravings. But she supported Hermione, because they were friends after all, and everything was probably better than being with Ronald. No one knew how Hermione had managed life with him for so long or why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. Literally no one. Hermione was accomplished and had the whole package: beauty and brains. Ron was, in Luna's opinion, a freeloader who had taken out his insecurity issues on Hermione, who had lost a ton of the confidence that had previously characterized her. By association, Luna thought she was bound by an unwritten contract to loathe him with a passion for doing her friend dirty. However, she did not need forcing; the hatred came all naturally.

In the club, Hermione quickly found herself new beaus. By midnight, she had splattered her red lipstick on the faces of four lucky candidates who were all vying to take her home for the night. Luna knew that no matter how drunk Hermione got, she would never go home with anyone. It simply wasn't her style. She did not see the point. She considered sex something that didn't work instantaneously, and said that to truly achieve perfection one has to try it several times with the same person, otherwise it just doesn't work quite that well. Being a perfectionist, and a softie beneath a hard shell, she thought one-night-stands to be of no interest at all. Luna didn't personally agree, but that was her and Hermione was Hermione.

Then, after a night of crazy fun, Hermione had a mini breakdown in the bathroom. She began to cry about Ronald and how she would never find anyone quite like him again.

"That's the point, honey," Luna said gently, "He made your life miserable."

"At least he loved me! At least he was there! At least I had someone!" she ranted on, sniffling, tears trickling down her pink cheeks.

People were beginning to give them weird looks, but Hermione's eyesight was too blurred by the tears to notice. In any case, Luna didn't think she would have cared; she just wanted to get a burden she had never before shared with anyone off her chest. Hermione was quite private. She was obsessed with achieving perfection and rarely liked to admit she was wrong or vulnerable. All things in her mind amounted to weakness, and therefore to failure. Luna, again, didn't agree, but no one had the power to alter other people's personalities. No one. Not even if this was in their best interests, sadly.

"Not all type of love is good, Hermione," she said. "Some rot the mind, some are evil, and blacken the soul." She was quoting a favorite piece of online fiction that she had read in a book as an adolescent. She was 15 no longer but she was a sucker for the same old stupid tropes that simply never happened in real life. A girl could dream, right? Her boyfriend Rolf was a sweetheart, and he loved her and she loved him, but somehow that was never adequate. For a girl who had grown up solely on fiction, reality would always be lacking… something. Even if she couldn't quite define what it was.

Hermione snickered. "And where did you get that from?" she was beginning to get testy, which was a sign she was feeling really awkward and vulnerable. At least tears momentarily stopped trickling down from her eyes.

Stifling a wave of irritation, Luna grabbed Hermione by the hand and led her out of the bathroom and onto the shores of Lake Garda. They didn't need more gawking, judgey spectators to assist to her breakdown.

"Now, talk," she ordered as they sat down on the beach. She had bought herself a coke and Hermione a large bottle of water. The girl severely needed it. Luna needed it to stay awake, and Hermione needed it to calm down. The latter had had too much to drink, and she not enough.

Hermione burst out crying. Her sobs became more and more heart-wrenching with each word she uttered. "I can't… I can't… I can't…" she wailed miserably. Luna put an arm around her, but Hermione snapped it away. "I'm sorry…" she said, "I just can't take being touched."

Luna swallowed down her irritation and sat and listened.

"Look, Hermione," she said, "I sat with you every time you cried about him. You really don't miss him. You just miss having someone."

Hermione shook her head. Then she shrugged. "Maybe. I just feel like I miss him."

Luna stifled a sigh. She recalled how many times Hermione had lectured other women for being weak post-break up, but now that the shoe was on the other foot… And still she couldn't help but feel bad for her. She stopped swimming, however, in the sea of self-pity just before she drowned in her own tears.

"Fine, you're right. He's made me suffer enough already," she said at last, with newfound strength and determination in her voice. She sniffled one last time and wiped the sides of her eyes with her hand. She looked at Luna with fire burning in her brown eyes. "No more of this," she added, referring to her previous comportment. "I am done with him. This is the night I am officially done with him."

Luna nodded happily, inwardly very worried for her friend. She wondered how long this phase would last. Hermione kept fluctuating between two extremes. "Do you want to go back in?"

"Do you mind just staying on the beach with me?" the brunette asked. She didn't feel like re-entering the den of hedonism, she didn't feel like having to push away groping hands or all too insistent boys. She just wanted to be left alone, at peace. Kissing someone else, she thought, had helped her. It helped her forget him momentarily. And now, with Luna's help, she had managed to pull the last thorn from her side. Feeling thankful but not wanting to be sappy, she just smiled at Luna, who then went to buy them some more drinks from the open bar. Afterwards, they descended to the beach and dipped their feet into the lake.

Naturally, all the guys who had left the club or had never managed to get in were aimlessly hanging out on the beach. In Luna's opinion, too many guys thought it would be a good idea to accost them, try to flirt and then some more. Hermione also had way too much fun turning them away meanly and then laughing gleefully once they were gone. It wasn't the most sympathetic of comportments, but Luna decided she would leave her to heal in the best way she knew how.

Then, noticing it was three in the morning, the two girls decided it was time to go home. They turned away what they thought would be the last pair of unlucky would-be suitors, before gathering their affairs and dusting themselves off.

"God, I hate sand," Luna moaned, making Hermione giggle, as she tried to rid herself of all sand particles that had gotten stuck to her dress.

"Next time, can I borrow that dress?" Hermione asked, eyes wide like a crow's who had just seen something shiny.

"Uh, sure," Luna said, taken aback. There was going to be a next time? Truthfully, she hadn't particularly enjoyed having to ward off jackasses the entire night, but she would have done anything for her friend.

"Hey, girls," a voice said.

Hermione barely hard it. She had already gathered all her belongings and began to walk away. Only when she realized Luna wasn't following in her footsteps did she turn back and realize that she was talking to two tall and particularly handsome men. She was deeply engrossed in a conversation with a man with curly brown hair and tan skin, whose friend seemed to uncomfortably shift from one foot to the other, visibly feeling out of place. When Hermione turned back, her eyes focused on him immediately. He lifted his head to meet her gaze and burst into a toothy smile that illuminated his face. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. What a handsome man, she thought, her normally overactive mind blank except for this one thought.

"Hey," he said with a rather strong accent that Hermione couldn't immediately place. She burst into a wide smile despite herself. Who was this man? Why did he have such a strong effect on her? She had never felt this before, but she supposed this must have been love – or more accurately, lust – at first sight. She swallowed hard. She had never before felt the ardent need to hop in bed with someone before. She made a mental note to never judge a woman again for wanting to sleep with a man on the first night; she had, for the first time in her overly organized and planned life, felt the call of the flesh, which was stronger than rationale and overpowered all that she had ever been taught about propriety.

"Hey," she said. "Where are you from?" She asked, because that was the question she was most used to asking from all those who had come up to her on the beach that night.

"France,"

Hermione squealed in excitement. "Oh my God, Luna, we're staying, he's French!" she cried, turning to her blonde best friend, who rolled her eyes and stifled a weary sigh. She had been so looking forward to going home. Clubbing was not much fun when one was in a relationship and their significant other was not present.

"Alright," she said, her irritation thinly veiled, making the rest of the newly formed group laugh.

"Yay," Hermione squealed again. "You probably don't get my excitement. I have been studying French for ages, but I don't think I've ever had a conversation in French with anyone I've met."

"Oh, I see," he replied, intrigued.

Hermione was actually relieved to switch to French because his English accent was atrocious.

They began talking about everything and nothing. Hermione could barely concentrate on his words; he was surely engrossing, he supposed, but all he could concentrate on where his green eyes and his luscious dark hair. He was slightly scruffy, but the unshaven look gave him a debonair flair and made him look manlier and more desirable. She normally absolutely detested unshaven men, but he was the exception.

Hermione did not understand herself or the situation, but it was so wonderfully easy she decided not to push against it but just perhaps enjoy it for once.

After a few minutes, sparks were flying. Sirius shamelessly asked whether or not she wanted to go up to his home, which was just a few minutes away, saying he could make something to eat for her. Hermione laughed out loud. "I am not going to sleep with you!" she said. "So if that's all that you're looking for, you might as well leave, because it is not going to happen."

"No," Sirius said with a smile. "That is not all that I want."

Hermione just laughed, and allowed him to put a hand on her thigh as he looked deeply into her eyes, blue-green eyes staring, penetrative, into her doe eyes.

They talked about politics, world hunger and the migrant crisis. They were the last things one imagined a pair who had just gotten out of a club would talk about. Hermione enjoyed this exchange all the more for this precise reason. A guy who was handsome and had opinions and a job? Finally, she thought, she'd found her male counterpart. Her heart was beginning to beat faster. She had never before understood the expression 'love at first sight.' She barely knew him but she couldn't imagine a man more perfect.

They were hugging and she was kissing and caressing every part of him that she could reach as they sat. His head lay on her chest and his warm arms were around her waist. The lake, the moon, the breeze and he existed to her, nothing else. It was a most beautiful of moments even if it ultimately meant nothing and he would be gone tomorrow. He had tried on numerous occasions to kiss her, and she ducked each and every time. She wasn't much when it came to processing her emotions, but she had only very recently broken up with someone and mere moments ago she had been crying about a lover of yore. Was this truly the best time to engage someone else? She was afraid her current situation would only mess with her head. She was afraid so afraid of heartbreak a mere kiss with a stranger had the power to frighten her.

When he leaned towards her, she quickly got out her phone from her purse, saying she wanted to check the time. As she did, she unlocked it to see her Instagram, wondering if Ron had seen her stories or liked her picture with Luna – then suddenly, Sirius took it from her and added his number to her contacts. She blushed scarlet, as though she just been caught red-handed. But then again, what did she owe this stranger she had met just moments ago?

Sirius Black, his name said. He began to talk about his job, but Hermione couldn't concentrate anymore.

"Let's go into the lake," she suggested at once, to get away from one of his many attempts to kiss her. She wondered why he even stuck around.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her. "Into the lake?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. She turned to her friend and Sirius's friend Remus, both of whom looked like they were bored out of their right minds. Luna rushed up to her and began to whisper furiously to her, "Oh, my God. We were so bored, let's get out of here. All we did was watch you two interact. This guy cannot hold a conversation for more than ten seconds, I swear!"

Hermione burst out laughing. "That is so awful!"

"I know, right!" Luna said. "Please, it's three in the morning. Let's get out of here! You want nothing from that guy anyway, I could see it. Please don't make me endure his stupid friend for any longer!" She was practically pleading. If it weren't for the alcohol, the tears, the relived heartbreak, the promise of something new, she wouldn't have laughed – but she wasn't herself, she was floating thirty meters above the clouds.

"No," she said, glancing over at the two boys who were also talking.

She only caught the last tidbit of conversation.

"So then why don't we go?" Remus asked with an air of poetic pensiveness.

"Have you seen how pretty she is?" Sirius replied with a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Yes, I did," Remus replied with an air of serenity.

Hermione's heart began to beat again after a long winter. The two boys finally noticed her staring at them and turned to face her.

"Come on, let's go into the lake," she urged, looking pointedly at Sirius.

"I'm not going," he said, approaching her, looking at her as though he had just fished out the biggest and best fish from the lake.

"Well, I am," Hermione announced. She wanted to be free, to really feel what it was like to be one's own boss. She didn't need anyone. The lake breeze had gotten to her head. Without a second thought, she slipped out of her slippers and was about to run into lake when Sirius grabbed her by the wrist.

"Fine," he said. "I am going in with you if you promise to kiss me."

"I don't," she said.

"Alright then," Sirius said.

"Fine, then I promise," she said, giggling, and they both knew she was lying.

"You're not going to kiss me," he surmised.

Hermione giggled and shrugged, rushing into the water. "Why don't you come and find out?" But it was such a glaringly obvious lie Sirius hesitated. As Hermione ran into the water and he stood there, mesmerized as he watched the silvery light of the moon dance on her tan skin, Luna approached him and said, snapping him out of his reverie, "Isn't she beautiful?"

Sirius swallowed hard. "Yes, she is," he said, pretending to be off-hand. But she really was strikingly beautiful, and he wouldn't stop until he had her.

"Come on," Luna said. "Go into the lake! With her! You know you want to!"

Sirius didn't need more urging to do what he had been seriously contemplating. He followed Hermione into the water, who was playing with it as a child. Her laughter was enchanting, and she looked like a fairy of the lake. He had tried to kiss her again, but this time, Hermione was getting the hang of the game. She was beginning to enjoy have a boy run after her. When she said, once more, that she would kiss him once they were out of the water, and grabbed his hand and still laughing, pulled him to the shore. There, their friends were waiting in silence, watching them, their eyes dull. They both sat up with the hopes that this time, they would finally be returning.

"So, where's my kiss?" Sirius asked jokingly, but he knew the answer, and truth be told, half of him was enjoying the chase.

Hermione giggled. "I'm not sure,"

Sirius tried not to look too irritated.

"Fine," he said, still in French, "Let me just give you a kiss on your cou, then."

"My what?" she asked, perplexed.

"Oh," he said, grinning. He leaned forward and cupped her face gently with his warm hands. "This is your front," he said, and kissed her on her forehead, "this is your joue," he said, kissing her on the cheek, "This is your cou," he said, kissing her on the neck, and Hermione's eyes rolled into their sockets as a wave of pleasure washed over her, "And these are your…"

But then Hermione abruptly pushed him away. "No," she said. "I can't."

Sirius sighed.

"Alright," he said, looking disappointed. "Just give me your number then. I'll call you tomorrow."

"No," she said with a grin, "I have your number. I'll text you."

"Sure you will," Sirius said. "I'd like to have your number, in my phone, so I could call you tomorrow."

"No," Hermione said. "Trust me!"

It was clear that he didn't, but after asking two more times, he finally gave up. "Fine," he said. "But then call me. Really, call me."

"I will," Hermione said, but she had no intention of doing so. He was a player and she knew it. The only reason she even liked him, she thought, was because she was emotionally vulnerable and the premier venu, as they said in France, 'the first one to come into her life.' It was really quite sad. But it had been a fun night. She could have kissed him there and then. But she had decided that instead of hopping from one man to another, she would decide to rekindle her relationship with Ronald. She told herself it was love, but anyone else would have told her it was just a desperate desire to not be alone.

The four of them parted ways, with Luna and Remus not even saying as much as bye to each other, and Hermione was floating above the sky. Sirius was an incredibly handsome man, and he had made her feel so beautiful! He made her feel all the things that Ronald had neglected to do. But Sirius was just a player, and Ronald, at least, wanted her. She was nearing twenty-four and wanted to get married soon.

"Women spend all their life looking for Prince Charming only to settle down with the guy next door," her father's words resounded in her head, especially after her parents' divorce. She swallowed hard. But at least women like that didn't get their hearts broken.

But she didn't delete his number. And she would ruminate over ecstatic heartbreak and slow but certain death in a relationship that had only ever appeared good on the outside, if that.

.

.

.

"You should call him," Luna said the following morning at breakfast. Hermione had found a way to bring him up again; him meaning Sirius. His handsome face kept swimming in and out of her consciousness. She should have kissed him, she surmised. The unconsummated desire was devouring her, burning her up on the inside. But could she separate sex from emotion? She had never tried, and she had enough on her plate already on the emotional plane. She didn't need to add to her already Herculean troubles.

"I shouldn't," Hermione said. "He's probably a player."

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe he just wants a hook up for the duration of his stay." She shrugged. "But I swear to God everyone's better than Ronald. Don't you dare tell me you're going to go back to that swine!" she said, raising a finger like an overprotective, stern mother. "He hurt you, Hermione, and he's hanging out with Parvati!"

"If I reached out to him," Hermione said. "We could rekindle our relationship."

"And it'd be just as shit as the last time around," Luna insisted wearily.

Hermione refused to listen. "Wait! Let me text him right now!" It was as though the lake breeze had really gotten to her head, Luna thought. But she supposed there was no saving someone as headstrong as Hermione from herself. But she quickly leafed through the viewers on her Instagram profile. Ronald had seen all of them, and his name appeared first on the list. She had read that it meant that he viewed her profile the most. She wanted to text him, and decided she was going to, but she needed to gather some courage, for the potential for rejection was still present (she knew, despite her bravado), she decided to scroll through the recently uploaded photos of her friends. Everyone seemed to be on vacation and having the time of their lives. She supposed she was the only one stupid enough to mope about a guy that was history during what otherwise could have been an awesome vacation in Italy. But she decided not to. There were two people stupid enough to mope past lovers: her and Ronald, surely. Then she found Parvati's photo.

She looked stunning with her hair up in a chignon in a loose beach dress with a Grecian plunge. The man on her arm looked just as stunning; he was muscular, had a serious expression on his face, and looked quite handsome! Then her world shattered. It was Ronald. It was Ronald, the first and only man that had ever been in her life, clearly enjoying life and moving on with the beautiful Parvati Patil!

She could not believe it. Her heart skipped several beats and she thought she might choke. And here she was, in love with him, still moping around about him, while he clearly didn't give a rat's ass about her! Then suddenly, as though she had cried her very last tear yesterday night, her sadness transformed into anger, and anger, unlike sadness, pushed her to take action. She was not going to leave this without a response. She was not going to be the stupid lovelorn girl everyone pitied for not being able to move on. She would stop faking having an interesting life and finally move on.

She dialed Sirius's number, and waited with bated breath as it began to ring.