A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update. I've been trying to work on several stories at once, and then ended up starting a completely new story! Shame on me! Aside from that, since I've joined the world of facebook the applications there are keeping me distracted. Plus, my work in real life, which is really draining me of physical and mental energy. But thanks for your PM's and reviews that urged me to update faster. *coughs*

By the way, you will hate me for making Ginny's character like this: so indecisive, immature, petulant. When I first wrote this story, I must admit I wasn't a big fan of her.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Potterverse.


Chapter 9 – Make This Heartache Stop

Her head hurt. Hermione didn't know whether she was angry or disappointed when she entered her flat and slammed the door shut. She didn't know whether she should cry or laugh, so she did both—a pained kind of stuttering laugh because she didn't want to scream. She wiped the tears from her eyes and threw her purse and robe in her wardrobe, then walked to her kitchen and poured herself a generous amount of red wine into a glass.

Great, Hermione thought, sipping at her wine. The consumption of alcohol had led her to believe that sleeping with Harry's fiancée was all right in the first place.

Ginny…she'd gone to see Harry.

"Threading the fine line between me and Harry, huh?" she asked into her glass, half expecting it to answer. The wine made her head feel instantly light-headed, woozy. God, she wasn't used to consuming alcohol anymore, but still, it was serving its purpose of numbing her mind. It was easier to block the images that came flooding back with another big gulp of her wine. Still, there was this tingling prickle that lingered on her lips, in her belly, like running across the field of sunflowers.

She couldn't believe she'd let Ginny go. Ginny had been ready to leave everything behind for her—and she'd let her go.

As though Mrs. Weasley was still standing in front of her, throwing that look at her that could cut raw flesh as if it was her fault that Ginny ran away, as if Mrs. Weasley had known all the time that both, Ginny and Hermione, had been fooling around behind everyone's back. Mrs. Weasley just knew it, she wasn't easy to fool. There was disappointment in the older witch's eyes, as if her suspicion had been confirmed when Hermione had fallen silent, mentally paralysed.

Hermione knew that something was wrong even before she looked at Ron's distressed face, knew that Ginny was gone even before Ron announced his sister's sudden departure to his mother, knew what was written on the note, which Ginny had left to her family, even before Mrs. Weasley read it aloud.

'I need to talk to Harry.'

"What's so urgent that Ginny couldn't wait until he comes back home tomorrow night?" Ron had asked in the room, confusion on his face.

"She got cold feet," Lavender had said from the kitchen table. Even she didn't dare to twitch a muscle and smile or giggle.

It was Mrs. Weasley's sad, or reproachful, or disappointed look that had made Hermione gasping for air, and wanting to leave. Next thing Hermione knew, she'd stormed out of the door—the first time she didn't care about getting Splinched—and Disapparated from the Burrow.

*.*.*.*

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," the long faced receptionist drawled in her French accent as she eyed Ginny sceptically. "You say you are monsieur Potter's fiancée, mademoiselle?"

"Last time I checked, yes," Ginny said impatiently, her annoyance growing. The receptionist had scanned her with the wand for Identification, asked Ginny for her Wizarding ID, and even signed the registration form for visitors, and still there were doubts about her identity. It was worse than in Gringott's, Ginny thought. These people were acting like Harry Potter was some valuable object. "I am Ginevra Weasley and I want to see Harry right now. So would you just please give me his bloody suite number?" She slammed her palms on the desk, causing a loud noise to echo through the lobby.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped behind the receptionist, intervening in the disaster taking place at the counter. "Mademoiselle, may I 'elp you?" Ginny stared at him for a moment, her eyes flickering from his pointed chin to a gold badge pinned neatly on his chest which read 'André Gerard—Manager.' He picked up Ginny's Wizarding ID card from the counter, reading it carefully before flicking his wand over it, checking for forgery just like the receptionist a short moment ago. Once sure it was not a fake, he returned it to her.

"Thank you. I need to know which room Harry Potter is checked in," Ginny repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time since she had entered L'Hotel Magnifique. The lobby was full of tourists decked out in brightly coloured robes and sunglasses, and behind her there were people—wizards and muggles—queuing, an impatient frown on their faces.

"I am Ginny—Ginevra Weasley," she started once again, but had managed to compose herself this time. "I want to pay Harry Potter an urgent visit. We are getting married in two days, you see, and I won't be able to see him after tomorrow night because of this stupid tradition my mother insist should be followed. And this is an emergency. I need to talk to him. Right. Now."

The hotel manager and the receptionist exchanged a hesitant look before the manager nodded curtly and signed Ginny's registration form. Ginny's hopes that people would always recognise her as being the famous Harry Potter's fiancée were probably too high. Even though she had appeared in Quidditch magazines with Harry, people seemed to have eyes just on the star and not on the insignificant little dot by his side. Had he been with so many women already that people could no longer tell who 'the woman in his life' was and who was 'just a girl he hung out with'?

The thought about Harry being surrounded by other women made Ginny swallow hard. After all these years she had only just gotten used to the thought.

"Pardon, mademoiselle Weasley," the manager apologised, breaking into Ginny's thoughts. "Zer was probably just a little confusion and we thought that monsieur Potter was already wiz you in his suite. Zat was our fault, not zat of yours. Uh, monsieur's suite iz twenty-one fifteen, in building A. We are only being careful about les admirateurs 'oo pretend to be someone else just to invade his rooms. Would you follow me zen, mademoiselle? Zis way."

Ginny swung her bulky rucksack over her right shoulder and followed the manager along the corridor, watching as his copper hair caught the light.

"For ze lifts just go down zis way," Monsieur Gerard said, indicating a small, well-lit hallway.

"Thank you, Monsieur Gerard." Ginny smiled, a little too forced maybe. "Er—could I please, erm—if it's possible, get the key to his suite? This is going to be a surprise visit."

"Ah oui, no problem," he answered, "just un second." He went back to the lobby and returned quickly, handing the key over to Ginny. "'ave a nice stay, mademoiselle. And bon chance wiz ze wedding."

"Well, um, je vous remercie beaucoup, monsieur." Ginny remembered the phrase how to say 'thank you very much' from Fleur, though inwardly frowning; she beamed and walked towards the lift that only the 'crème de la crème' could use, which led to the largest suites of this luxurious hotel.

The lift closed just as Ginny walked around the corner, so she waited for the next one to arrive. Becoming agitated, she pressed the button several times, heaving one last sigh when the next lift arrived. Ginny walked through the intricate doors and pressed the button for the twenty-first floor, her bag pressed tightly against her chest as she attempted to quell the feeling of nausea overcoming her.

*.*.*.*

Hermione walked to her living room and allowed her eyes to wander over it, feeling like a stranger in her own little flat. She looked from the windows to the chimney over to the black leather couch as a memory washed over her; one that only happened less than two weeks ago. She closed her eyes while in her mind she watched a woman with bushy brown hair sitting on her couch, a glass of pumpkin juice in her hand and a cookie in the other. She appeared to be quite nervous as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

There was another woman in the room, a yard away from the other, standing in front of the picture frames that were resting on the chimney sill. She was nibbling on a cookie, too. The nervous-looking woman was staring at the other woman's back, where wavy, red hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her attention was focused on the picture frames, scrutinising each one of them. There was one that particularly caught her attention, and she looked at it longer than at the others. There was something in her eyes that lit up her entire face all of a sudden, as though a wonderful realisation had hit her. She turned suddenly around to face the woman on the couch.

I was wondering if you could imagine baking these cookies—she held up her cookie and nodded towards the plate on the table—just for me, for the rest of your life?

Hermione heard Ginny's words echo in her ears, and her heart throbbed faster in her chest, like little fists pounding against her ribcage. The emphasis was on for the rest of your life. Yes, Hermione knew what Ginny meant; she understood the hidden meaning in the question, and she knew why she had nodded eagerly at Ginny.

Hermione reopened her eyes as she moved to the place where memory-Ginny had stood, walking towards the picture frames. She picked up the frame her friend had examined. Maybe, Hermione thought, she would find the answer there, too. The answer to the question she had been asking herself for a long time now: when have these feelings started?

Then she saw what Ginny had seen, what Hermione had never noticed before, or rather something she never had paid attention to:

There, just a millisecond on the moving snapshot, Ginny's and Hermione's eyes locked secretly, to Harry's unawareness, before he tugged the redhead back to the safety of his arms. A look only the two girls understood, before it was interrupted by Harry playfully pulling on Ginny's waist. His arms wrapped Ginny from behind, hugging her tightly. Ginny, never letting go of Hermione's hand, her chocolate brown eyes never leaving Hermione's.

Why had Hermione never noticed this before? That Muggle saying…actions speak louder than words, wasn't it? Everything she had ever felt was right there, captured on that photo taken almost over a year ago. Ron and Hermione had just broken up then, during the Christmas when Hermione had refused to visit the Burrow, simply to avoid seeing her ex boyfriend and Lavender together every time he brought her over to his home.

She felt the picture frame in her hand shaking slightly, holding it tighter, the other hand covering her mouth, she tried to steady her breathing. The look in Ginny's eyes—was it possible that it could be just a look of compassion, of sympathy or even pity over her cheating brother? The look in Hermione's eyes on the picture, which she had always interpreted as a nonverbal expression of gratitude towards Ginny, who had been there for her from the beginning and never left. Their entwined hands—was that the symbolic meaning of Ginny never letting go of Hermione? No matter whom she married, no matter with whom she lived? No! It meant more than the silent promise between two friends. It was an unspoken vow to love each other and never let go.

But both of them did let go.

Hermione laughed with tears in her eyes and pushed away the memories of the person she should not have fallen in love with; Ginny Weasley—her voice, her smile, her eyes, her touch, her scent…Hermione heard Ginny's plea in her mind over and over again, saw that dejected freckled and beautiful, young face in front of her, as Hermione felt once again the same reaction in her chest. She regretted her own decision when she had left Ginny. A vengeful part of her that she had developed from her first hurtful experience with Ron, that wanted to repay Ginny the same pain she had caused Hermione for leaving her in the first place.

Let's run away together, Hermione.

*.*.*.*

Francine pulled the blanket over her head and turned on her side, she mumbled, "Yes, I know. Just a minute."

Harry heard a small sob coming from under the blanket, tried to pull it off, but she kept it stubbornly over her head. "Please don't do this to me," he begged, stroking her shoulder through the thick blanket. "I'm taking the next International Portkey to England in an hour. We can have lunch together before I leave."

"'Don't do that to me?' To you, Harry?" Francine repeated in exasperation and pulled down the blanket, her eyes puffy and red, revealing to Harry that she had cried all night. Her lips quavered, but she pressed them together to avoid crying again. She disappeared under the blanket again and muffled, "I'm sorry for being so petulant. You know how I feel, Harry, don't you? But I've accepted it. I agreed to this, didn't I?"

"Please don't cry," Harry said. He tried to pull again on the blanket. "Look at me."

"I can't." Came her sobbing voice.

"We won't stop seeing each other, love." Harry couldn't believe what he had just said. Was he really planning to continue his unfaithfulness towards his soon-to-be wife? He shook his head and corrected himself quickly, "We are playing in the same Quidditch team and I can't afford to lose such an amazing Beater like you."

"That's who I am to you? Just a Quidditch player in your team?"

"We've discussed this already," Harry said patiently, dodging each accusation with a simple statement. He leaned his head down to whisper into her ear through the blanket. At least Francine wasn't shoving him away from her like Ginny always did when she was angry. Ginny would have given him several small punches on his chest and cried like a little sulking girl that didn't get what she wanted. "You mean so much more to me."

"But it's nothing to make you stay with me, isn't it?" she asked back, her voice soft. Her hand poked out of the blanket, searching for his face to rest on his stubby cheek without exposing her tear-soaked face. "I'm sorry for starting my whining again, Harry. Ginny is a wonderful woman and you deserve each other so much."

Harry kissed her palm. "I never meant this to happen, to hurt you and see you like this. But I knew it'd happen someday and it was my fault. I'm sorry."

Francine pulled down the blanket, but Harry didn't see her face; he saw Ginny lying in front of him, smiling at him sympathetically. Her face was in a pool of shiny auburn hair, her eyes brown and glassy from crying, looking at him with so much passion. But when she spoke, Harry heard Francine's voice evading his mind, she smiled sincerely. "It was never your fault, Harry."

A small part of him deep inside wished it was Ginny who said this. Smiling back, he kissed her before walking to the bathroom. He stopped at the threshold, and looked back one last time to Francine on the master bed. A cold shiver ran down his spine as his gaze shifted from Francine's still body now again under the blanket to the picture frame of Ginny on the bedside table. With a shake of his head, he disregarded the unwelcome feeling, closed the bathroom door and stepped under the shower.

*.*.*.*

The door that led to Harry's suite was painted off-white and adorned with golden numbers: 2115. Ginny hesitated a moment before she turned the key. The suite was vast; it must have had two bedrooms, as well as a collection of others and was probably bigger than the ground floor of the Burrow.

"Harry?" Ginny called as she walked through the first door, but no answer came. The living room was enormous, and Harry's belongings were sprawled out everywhere. His broom was leaning against his sports bag, his Quidditch equipment hovering in midair, dripping mud onto the cream carpet.

Ginny stepped inside the largest bedroom; her eyes caught the movement of the red-haired woman in the picture on the bedside table. Smiling, Ginny felt her heart swell with love when she remembered that Harry once told her that he would always carry it with him so that he would never have to feel alone, so that he had something to remember that special someone— his beloved girlfriend and future wife—was waiting for him at home.

Someone stirred on the bed, and Ginny crept closer to it, climbing on top of the layers of blankets to move on the bed towards the mound under the blanket. Harry? she thought, feeling her heart pounding against her chest. A sad smile on her face, happy to see him, but tears formed in her eyes instantly when she remembered why she got there. I'm so sorry, Harry.

She placed a trembling hand on his shoulder, before kissing the spot. He stirred a bit, but didn't get up. When she ran her hand down his shoulder, he finally moved and changed his position. Ginny noticed something strange about his shape. It was so… curvy, so…feminine. And that unusual small frame… Before anything clicked in Ginny's head, the person had already pulled off the blanket.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," the woman cried. In a blink of an eye, Ginny saw long, wavy red hair flashing in front of her, a naked chest, arms wrapping around her neck, and felt soft and warm lips pressed against hers.

In a split second, Ginny remembered Hermione: the feel of her body, that pleasurable feeling when her bare body was pressed against her own. She remembered the sensation of Hermione kissing her, touching her, relishing in every moment together.

*.*.*.*

Harry turned off the shower when he thought he heard a loud scream emanating from the bedroom. Fear and worry overcame him as he tried not to think that Francine had done something bad to herself.

"Francine?" he called in panic, stepping out of the shower cubicle. And then there was another scream. He took a towel and wrapped it around his waist, running out of the bathroom.

His jaw dropped when the first thing his vision caught was that of two red-haired women on his bed who both were not supposed to meet each other ever in this world, staring at each other in shock, while the much younger one hastily tried to cover up her bare chest with the blanket.

*.*.*.*

"Gin—Ginny, what are you d—doing here?"

It was Harry's strangled voice from somewhere. Ginny didn't pay attention to him at first, her eyes still on the woman she had just kissed—or rather; who had kissed her—who she immediately recognised. She was the reason why Ginny and Harry had been fighting about in the past few months. The reason that Ginny herself had created, simply so she could fight with Harry and get his attention: Francine.

She didn't realise that tears were running down her cheeks. Her jaw still slackened in shock, attempting to form a sentence yet no words would ever suffice to express what she was feeling inside. Betrayal.

Harry walked towards her, he muttered something that sounded like a poor attempt of an apology, "Ginny, listen, I—I can explain this." And he tried to reach out for her. But before he could touch her arm, Ginny's palm had already slapped him across the face. She withdrew her arm to her side quickly, the same hand balling to angry, shaking fist. Ginny stopped when she realised what she had done.

Deep inside Ginny knew the slap was meant for her, too. She had cheated on him, too.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny whispered, unclenching her fist and looking down on it.

"No, I am sorry, Ginny," Harry said, once he found his voice, his courage to finally speak.

"How long had this been going on?" asked Ginny, her voice quavering, breaking. She avoided looking at him.

There was a movement from the angle of Ginny's eyes, then she looked at the young woman who looked very frightened on the bed. Her head dropped on her lap when Ginny tried to catch her eyes. She was clenching and unclenching the bed cover, not knowing what to do or say, on her face an expression of, maybe dread, that she was facing the woman Harry Potter was going to marry.

Harry coughed in his hand, causing Francine to look up at him in hesitation. Her eyes shifted from Harry to Ginny and back at Harry again. He nodded slightly at her, nonverbally telling her that he was doing fine and can handle the situation. The blanket was wrapped around her body tightly when she got up from the bed. Ginny watched her, with her mind racing wildly, as the woman her fiancé had been sleeping with for how many months she couldn't tell, walked towards the bathroom door and disappeared behind it.

Was this the feeling Hermione had felt when she had found out about Ron and Lavender? Would this have been the feeling when Harry had found out in the same way that Ginny had been sleeping with Hermione, too? She didn't know what was worse: being caught cheating or admitting you have been cheating, too.

Ginny couldn't help herself as she blurted out in uncontrolled anger, in order to ease her own pain and guilt, "I did it too, you know."

Harry stared at her without saying a word, his lips opened to say something, but Ginny didn't let him speak.

"I didn't mean it to happen," she explained lamely. "It just happened and I knew from the beginning it would. I never felt that way before." She smiled at the thought of Hermione, and more tears ran down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away, didn't care if she let down her defences though she knew Harry hated it if she cried.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, leaning closer, the last bits of colour draining from his face. "Ginny, look at me." He grabbed her arms to make her look at him. "Tell me…"

"We've been living a big, sodding lie, Harry! We've been cheating on each other!" She pushed him away from her, regretting and wishing she had done the opposite; she wished she had taken him into her arms and told him they were quits now, they were even, and the wedding could, indeed, go on. Both made a mistake, like a crazy, engaged couple deeply in love doing the unexpected and unusual the night before their wedding.

Harry ran his hand through his wet, dripping hair. Taking a deep breath, he asked the evitable question, "Who is he?"

"That doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" he asked in exasperation. "Who, the bloody hell, is he, Ginny? Who?"

"It's not important anymore." Ginny shook her head and made a defensive step backwards. "You never cared, so why now?"

He threw his hands in the air. "I just want to know WHO the hell you've been with when I was away."

"You mean when you were shagging somebody else, too?" She shot him a blazing look of anger.

"Ginny…"

"Now don't bloody tell me that while you were shagging her brains out you've been thinking about me," she yelled, while pointing a threatening finger at his chest. "Don't tell me anymore how paranoid I am for my suspicions regarding your 'friendship' with her."

She pushed him aside before he could respond, and ran towards the door.

"Ginny!" he yelled after her.

She reached the front door, took the lift down and ran out of the hotel lobby. She Apparated away to the next Portkey platform, and purchased one to get her home. The person that appeared up in Ginny's mind before she felt the world vanishing around her and felt the familiar pull of her body through the air, was Hermione.

*.*.*.*

It was already dark outside when Hermione stirred in her sofa in the living room, rubbing the wariness off her eyes away, feeling the stiff grasp of exhaustion take over her, even after sleeping. Every muscle of her body was aching, and she realised that she had been sitting in the same position hours ago, and hadn't moved since.

She rubbed her neck and eyed the third glass of wine still on her coffee table, unfinished. Standing up and moving to the bathroom, she splashed her face with cold water and stared at the mirror. Frowning, she noticed the bags beneath her eyes and suddenly felt very old and unattractive. It was no surprise everyone left her.

There was a loud knock on the front door, and, with a sense of curiosity, Hermione went to see who it was. She looked through the peephole and was surprised to see the person she least expected standing on her doormat.

"Oh," she said when she opened the door. She stepped aside and tried to smile. "Come in."

"I thought I'd come over and see how you were doing," he smiled, shrugging off his robe. Hermione looked at him, feeling suddenly uncomfortable around him. He acted like it was his home as he hung his robe in the wardrobe and beamed down at Hermione. "So, are you all right?" He stepped forward and traced his hand carefully over her face. "I missed you."

"Matthew," Hermione said, closing her eyes as if it would make this man vanish from her sight, and out of her life, "this is not the time. I have to pack my belongings and get back to the Burrow before—we leave." Just the thought of leaving with Matthew caused this immense burning in her chest again, making her feel incredibly ill. She would leave her parents, her friends, the Weasleys, and the person that meant the world to her—Ginny. Was running away with a man she didn't even love—yet, she reminded herself—really the solution to her problems?

It was her fault Ginny was unhappy. It was her fault that Ginny was mad at her. Why did she decide not to attend her best friend's wedding? If she couldn't go because of Ginny then, at the very least, she owed it to Harry.

"I can help you pack up your stuff," Matthew grinned. He took her small hand and kissed each of her knuckles gently. "This is like making a wish come true. I never thought I'd live to see the day that you and I would leave together and just…be together. Work together. Live together…" He trailed off, leaning closer to kiss her. But Hermione backed away with tears in her eyes.

"Please, don't," she pleaded.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked.

"Don't do that," she sobbed, withdrawing her hand from his.

"Hermione. I—"

"Stop being so nice to me!" Hermione said louder than was intended. She wiped away the tears from her eyes. "Just stop it!"

He looked at her, full of confusion, waiting for her to explain.

"I can't—I can't love you, Matthew;" she said in a whisper, as if that was explanation enough, wishing he'd understand. Her voice was husky and she swallowed down the knot in her throat. "You're the only one I have right now, yes. And you're so nice; you're here—with me. And I can tell you that right now it means the world to me, but—I just can't…" Hermione shook her head as more droplets ran from her eyes. "Do you understand?"

He smiled at her sadly. "I know," he said, still stepping closer. "I've been waiting so long already to be with you, Hermione. Even when you were dating your ex boyfriend. I'm still waiting. I will always wait for you, Hermione," he reassured her, his blue eyes shimmering with all hopes and dreams. Damn. He wasn't making it easy for her to break his heart

"You don't understand," Hermione repeated, clutching her hand to her chest. "I can't. I can't love you—"

"I know—"

Hermione shook her head, to make clear that he didn't understand. "No you don't! You're a lovely guy, you're so nice and have been really compassionate."

"Well, those are definitely reasons to break it up with me," he teased, overplaying his sadness, but Hermione just dropped her head.

She inhaled deeply, once, twice, to gather all her inner strength. With one breath, she said, taking the bull by the horns, "I—I don't like men, Matthew."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Gods, you heard me," Hermione said, chuckling uncomfortably, pulling up her shoulders. Then she released her breath, as though it was the first time she had breathed after many years of holding her breath, after many years of living in denial. But now, she had finally spoken the truth.

Matthew blushed and stared on his shoes. "Was I so mediocre in bed?"

Hermione giggled, for the first time this day she was smiling. Again, why couldn't she love this man? He could make her laugh when she felt like crying. He was there when she needed comfort. But hadn't she just said the answer? She didn't like men.

"It has nothing to do with you. Really, you were… a great lover, but it's just not me." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for Matthew to say something. She was expecting him to burst out in anger for dashing his hopes, for breaking his heart. She was expecting him to leave and slam the door, but what he did next was something she didn't expect. He chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"You're the third girl since Durmstrang who ditched me after she was hit by the realisation that she was gay." He wiped a tear away from his eye, but Hermione knew it was not a tear of laughter, but because he was hurt and humiliated. "Coincidence or it's just me?"

Hermione tightened her arms around her chest and felt suddenly more uncomfortable: her head felt hot in embarrassment. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Are you still coming with me?" he asked, still enthusiastic and hopeful, composing himself now.

"Well, yes, but more for the sake of my job," Hermione replied. "I changed my mind, I'll attend my friends' wedding. I owe it to Harry—and Ginny." She realised that it was the first time she had said Ginny's name out loud. It made her feel warm inside, and the sudden urge to see her again grew with every second. "She did so much for me before." She thought of the many times Ginny had been there for her, saved her from becoming completely insane, cheered her up in moments when she needed someone the most.

Hermione opened the door for Matthew, who grabbed his robe first before he turned back to her again. "Is the other woman Ginny?" he asked, hesitating, one hand on the doorknob.

No words were necessary to convey her answer, it was clear when Hermione's face lit up from the sound of Ginny's name. More tears streamed down her cheeks like a broken dam, and, pressing her lips together to stop them from trembling. When she finally managed to find her voice, she quavered, "She's getting married this Sunday, you know?"

Matthew opened his arms for her, and this time Hermione didn't back away. Instead she broke down crying into his arms. It wasn't the meagre weeping when Ron had left her—this crying was a throat-aching, heart-wrenching sobbing she had never experienced before. Her knees went weak forcing Matthew to support her body.

"Shh," he soothed her. "It'll be alright."

"Please, just make it stop," Hermione pleaded.

*.*.*.*

Ginny Apparated just in front of Hermione's flat door, which to her surprise, was a crack open. She heard someone's soft moaning and sobbing, and soon she realised to whom that voice belonged to. Ginny's heart broke in two, and all she wanted was to take Hermione into her arms and console her, after all it was her fault Hermione was in pain.

"It's all right, Hermione." Ginny's blood froze when she heard a male's voice speaking softly. "Don't cry, please, my love. Shh…"

Ginny pressed her shaking hand to her chest. She couldn't breathe evenly. Peeking through the crack door, Ginny then saw someone she would never have expected to see right now: there was a tall, dark blond haired man, in his arms Hermione's shaking body. She had her arms around his neck, clinging on him like her life depended on him.

"Look, if Ginny loved you too, don't you think she would have already left Harry, apologise for hurting you, and would want to get back with you?" the man asked, and finally Ginny recognised him from the side as Matthew, Hermione's co-worker.

Hermione pulled back slightly to look at the man in front of her, her hands now leaning against his chest, she nodded at him. "Yes, you're right."

Ginny made a step backward from the door.

"Shall we go out for dinner? It'll distract you and…" Matthew said from inside, and in the next moment he opened the door.