Hi. This is not a good chapter but I think it's a bit necessary for the story. So, sorry. And, if ever there are French people reading this I would like to say sorry beforehand for the improper use of the language though it's kind of not a big deal really and I guess Google should also be partially blamed for this. Sorry for the observable error in grammar and the like (I didn't do a thorough editing. Do I need to get a beta? How? Where?). Lol, did a lot of apologizing, didn't I?

And I would like to extend my deepest thanks to notsing and JeanAndBilius for all the nice reviews (and to the other reviewers as well). You two should seriously try considering doing/forming an exclusive Romione group, if such thing is possible. I see you on various Romione stories, extending your support and honest reviews and it feels really nice especially to those who were just new on writing. And, I think it encourages others to write as well. 'Cause seriously, Romione fics are starting to lessen and it's kind of bothering me. LOL

Disclaimer : Everything is JK Rowling's.

...

"Hi, I'm Katherine."

What is she doing here? I rolled my eyes, tried to stifle a groan of annoyance, then fixed my face before looking up from the parchment I'm scribbling important notes on and looked up at Katherine, offering her a big, fake smile.

"Oh, hello, I'm Hermione."

"Oh, I know who you are. Friend of Harry Potter; Brain of the Operation: defeat Voldemort and blah blah blah," Katherine informed playfully.

I reddened at this, embarrassed and pleased. "Oh."

Katherine smiled that annoying charming smile of hers. "I see you're pretty busy. I guess it'd be pretty tiring –the Wizengamot Public Presentation, I mean."

"Yes, I believe you're right," I agreed.

I offered her a seat, which she took appreciatively.

"I guess you'd do it with flying colours, though. I, on the other hand, have to double up my effort to actually endure the public's scrutiny and be deemed a worthy candidate," Katherine sighed anxiously.

Why is she suddenly talking to me as if we're friends? I tried my best not to unleash the green-eyed monster seething within me and acted like the civil, refine woman I was thought to be. I remembered about the gossips I've read in the Daily Prophet and decided to pry and find out whether those were true or not without being obvious.

"So, I've read in the Prophet that you're a fan of Quidditch –more specifically the Chudley Cannons –is it true?" I've asked curiously, choosing a safe topic first.

"Uh, I think not. Ron just introduced me to them. Not really a fan of Quidditch, you see. But, I find it rather interesting. And, the look on Ron's face when he talk about it with such fervour –", she sighed, redolent, and a bit too fondly for my liking, "–so adorable, that man."

"I think the term you are looking for is fanatic. He's extremely obsessed with them, that if obsession could be equivalent to a miracle, the Cannons could've won by now," I said shrewdly.

"Well, that he is," said Katherine. "It almost made me regret not trying to learn about the sport more. Almost."

"Oh, so you're not into sports then, I take it," I said, arching a brow quizzically.

"No, not really, but, I'm into chess. In Beuxbatons, we've got this 'minor sport' called Échecs: Vraie Vie. It's like a real life game of chess. Teams, consisting of 16 students, would need to assign each member to be a chess piece. Traditionally, the team's captain, who's the main tactician and strategy-planner, would take the role as the Roi –that's the King. So he or she can continue on firing off instructions to the team and on figuring out how to win the game till the end, since those who we're already out of the board can no longer participate and would then be put in the sideline, just watching the game."

"Oh, that's interesting," I said in an uninterested tone. Frankly, I've never been into chess or any sports at that. But, I somehow felt obliged to keep on asking as Katherine clearly looks so eager to talk about the subject and for the sake of having some knowledge about it. "How does it work, then? I mean, is there any changes in the mechanics of the game?"

"Oh, no, none at all, It's pretty much the same, except it's a real life experience of sorts and is pretty gory," Katherine said, chuckling almost to herself.

"Gory? How do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity being piqued.

"During the game you are to wear a special uniform of what chess piece you're going to be. Then, an especially charmed metal rod would be given to each member that they are allowed to transfigure into any kinds of blade. You also need to wear a charmed, fleshy gear in your throat, which the opponent will slash if you're about to be taken off the board."

"Your school allows such violence?" I exclaimed in outrage.

Katherine laughed at this, as if I was being silly, which made my face contort into utter indignation. "Relax, Hermione. It just aims to spice up the game. That's what makes the game more exciting, 'sides it's as if you weren't acquainted to Wizard Chess at all. When you know your team mates –though technically it's not really going to happen –going to be slashed in the throat, plus you have to consider the time limit for each turn to move, and the aim to win the game. You have to be wise and a good tactician under pressure. That's why I never get to be a captain."

"Oh."

"Yeah, told Ron about it once. You should've seen his face." Katherine informed fondly.

"That, I can imagine. He's really good at chess," I said truthfully.

"Shame the game isn't played at Hogwarts."

"Oh, no, no, I think the regular Wizard Chess is barbaric enough, thank you very much." I objected.

"I guess, what I've heard from the other Ministry employees are true then," Katherine said meaningfully.

"What is that, may I ask?" I demanded.

"That you're uptight and a no-fun," answered Katherine in a matter-of-fact tone, her demeanour changing, and was now eying me with an arched brow, as if inspecting something. "I know this may sound mean, but, I really don't get what Ron saw in you. Yes, you are clever and you are pretty. But, I don't understand why he has to take a dangerous mission just to be able to move on. You clearly doesn't love him enough. But, well, as one of my new muggle friend said, one man's trash is another man's treasure."

"How dare you!" I snapped, standing up brusquely; ready to unleash my wrath, "Are you saying that I've treated Ron like a trash? Well, guess what? You know nothing!"

"Oh, come on. You can deny all you want. Think about it, if you haven't treated him like a trash, would you, with all your cleverness, ever throw away a treasure?"

I don't know why I've got speechless. It's as if my mind got suddenly useless, which is a rather rare thing to happen. I'm sure I haven't, in no way or form, treated Ron like a trash. Yes, we fought and hurt each other in the process. But it was our way of venting out our bottled up feeling for each other. Funny how people judge a relationship, our relationship for that matter, by nitpicking our bad traits, our differences, our shortcomings and mistakes and then draw their rather biased conclusion of who did wrong, who's bad and who doesn't deserve who. It's as if a patch of grass could fully describe the magnificent view offered by a meadow.

"Shut up!" I shouted, "Get out of here!"

"Gladly," said Katherine with a ferocious tone.

I watched –glared more like –her get up and turned to leave. But, Katherine halted midway and faced me again with a smug smirk plastered on her lips.

"You know what? I actually came here to thank you. Thank you for breaking his heart. Now other women, more deserving women at that, will have the opportunity to nurse it and make him feel the love he most definitely deserves."

"And are you insinuating that you'd be that woman? You're just friends!"

"Oh, we're just friends, alright. Just friends –" she said then walked towards the door then faced me again with a victorious smirk on her lips, "–for now."

I stood there as she exited out of my office, feeling like all the happiness in the world has been drained out by dementors. I am afraid. I'm afraid that Katherine would win, that she'll get Ron eventually. That Ron would actually move on with her. Then what would happen to me?

I don't know why I am feeling this way though. Isn't it I who thought that it would be better for us to separate? That we should try to meet other people? Why is it that now Ron's finally trying to do the very thing does I found myself resenting him for doing so? I thought he said he love me or is it more appropriate to say he loved me? I certainly hope not.

When it's time to go home, I walked from the ministry to our –my –flat. I refuse to apparate or floo for now I find it rather dreading to go home in a lonely house. It's as if Ron brought with him the warmth and comfort that our flat used to offer.

It seems like fate is taunting me as I started my trek. It seems like everyone is walking by pairs or by group, laughing and obviously having the time of their lives, as if mocking me that they are with someone and are happy while I'm not. That I am alone and unloved. That I'm stupid to let go a treasure I should've tried my best to keep.

I saw a pair of birds along the way, just a few blocks away from my flat. I decided to look at them for a while and as I saw them chirping and looking like they don't care about the world that their world is with each other. I felt a sudden pang of envy and found myself shouting at the innocent creatures. Telling them that one of them would be doubtful, then that doubt will soon tore them apart, that there's no such thing as forever, that they'll end up like me, alone and miserable.

After the irrational scene, I found myself entering my flat in an embittered state.

As I was eating, I found myself talking to a photograph of Ron I've put in the middle of the table. It was a photograph I took during our second anniversary. Ron was scowling –disliking the idea of me taking a photo of him, I pleaded and used my charm on him to convince him that it would be nice to have a photo of us together and individually as remembrance of that rather romantic day on the beach –then shook his head and then flashed me an amused and mischievous grin.

"What does she see in you anyway? Does she know how loud you snore? How bad your eating habits are?" I asked bitterly, pointing my fork threateningly on Ron's photograph, which was now shaking his head.

"Does she know you're afraid of spiders? Does she know about your scars and the story behind them? Does she know about your insecurities? Your likes and dislikes? Would she love you like I do?"

I don't know why I started sobbing. This is getting ridiculous. When will the pain stop? Or will it ever stop? I looked at Ron's photograph and saw him scowling at me.

"I know!" I shouted at the photograph, "It's my fault, alright."

Then that night, still in a bitter state, I've decided that if Ron is trying to move on, so should I.