One Day Before Ron
Hermione was a glamorous postgraduate, with perfect grades, amazing (magically-tamed hair), and an exceptional arse.
And she was crying large crocodile-sized tears in the shower. In England.
He promised to visit her. He, in those perfect blue, white, and silver robes of his, and that oh-so-predictable pretentious bad-boy smirk that she found so irritatingly seductive. This October he'd written (and that was in early August, whilst she was completing a prestigious philosophy-based internship in the city). She'd been so happy that she knocked over her filled coffee cup over in her haste to check her weekly diary. She uttered a quick cleaning spell, not before checking the coast was clear (as she worked with a series of paralegals and muggle accountants at the time).
That would have been five weeks at the earliest, to perhaps ten weeks at the latest. Plenty of time for this young chap to visit her, and to hug her to her heart's content.
And soon, September passed. She left that special internship to voyage on to England for her studies; she knew (or thought or hoped—all of the above actually), that he would be waiting in a separate but not-too-distant-country to welcome her with open arms.
November he'd scribbled. A day after…the last week in September. Tears blurred her angry visage, threatening to spill over onto the policy parchment she was transcribing for class. Fucking bastard. I went to England for you—and now you're too busy? She went through his online public calendar, to see that he'd filled every October day—and weekend!—with Tiesto events and celebrity meet-ups.
Apparently, meeting the Manchester United team, Tiesto, Norwegian singers, and Romanian soccer players mattered more than having a fun-filled night in with his girl, and a beautiful tour of the outlying cities. He chose fame and fortune over love. She realised this, and it hurt excruciatingly, so much more than she'd ever thought possible. Her heart physically hurt, and she'd ducked into the showers to avoid being heard by her many flatmates. How does one recover from a broken heart, shattered promises, and countless lies?
She mulled it over whilst lathering her silken locks with strawberry-banana scented Herbal Essences shampoo, and soaping her impeccable body with aromatherapeutic essences of almond and tea tree oil. Hermione topped this all with a couple of sun salutations. And suddenly, she was 'right as rain.'
The next day, she'd come to a holiday party with ten or so mutual friends, for a bout of pre-final exam merry-making and a bit of football-watching with a couple of beers and mulled wine amongst the group. She entered the front door, and adjoining kitchen, stopping to look into the living room—where she spotted a lovely, tall, red-haired young man sitting on the couch…Of course, they began talking, as if they'd never parted ways previously….
And that is how, that evening, she found herself back in her flat, pressed up against her crimson-flower-printed wall, kissing passionately with a delectably-hard red-headed man, who was about to remove her low-cut silken blouse for what was underneath.
She didn't mind in the slightest.