Author's Note: This was written for The Common Room's May 2022 Quibbler Challenge on AO3. It's pretty mild, but there are adult situations, public intoxication, and adult language. Inspired by Mama's Broken Heart by Miranda Lambert
Only Matters How You Look
"Don't matter how you feel, it only matters how you look." - Mama's Broken Heart by Miranda Lambert
Frustration and anger of a magnitude Hermione had never experienced in her entire life bubbled and simmered under her skin. Like the proverbial volcano always feared to be on the verge of eruption, she was sure she was only moments away from complete and total devastation. Perhaps she should warn the villagers, give them time to make their escape before she blew up and took all of Hogsmeade down with her into the flames.
Why was it taking him so long to pack up and get the fuck out of their… no, her house? He was a wizard after all. Even a bad one should've been able to pack with just a couple of spells. Despite so many people, herself included once upon a time, who thought her newest ex-boyfriend was a gormless pillock, she learned he was smarter than he was usually given credit for. He could utter a couple of packing charms. It wasn't like he had all that much stuff in her house either.
Two years together and he never fully committed to a life with her. At least that's what it felt like. Yes, she agreed with all of the outsiders who couldn't keep themselves from peering into other people's private lives that they were an odd couple from the start, but somehow they worked. She thought they were happy, damn everyone else's worthless opinions.
Up until the moment he came home to tell her his horrible mother had given him an ultimatum that was. Either he chose his family or his filthy Mudblood girlfriend. Choosing both was not an option. He chose his family, too bloody weak and cowardly to do anything else. His mother tolerated their relationship at first because she assumed he was just sowing his wild oats until he was ready to settle down with a Pureblood witch she approved of.
"Gregory Goyle, why are you still fucking here?"
Screaming at the top of her lungs, Hermione startled a family of birds nesting in a tree outside her kitchen window. Embarrassed at first for only half a second to realize it was wide open, she quickly decided she didn't gave a single fuck if the entire world heard her scream and reveal what a wretched shrew she could be. Hogsmeade was a small village. It wasn't as if any of her neighbors should be surprised.
No one could keep a secret for long there. No doubt Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks was regaling all of her interested patrons of the horrific row they had late the night before when he returned from dinner with his mother. Or the retired Professor Pomona Sprout who lived in the cottage on the other side was gossiping with her network of Hogwarts professors, both current and retired, about how Hermione threw a potted plant at Gregory's head that went smashing through the front window when he ducked.
When he didn't answer and indeed she heard no sound at all coming from the bedroom where they once shared so many happy memories, she chose to storm inside. Not disturbed at all by the door abruptly opening and crashing hard enough into the wall that the doorknob made a permanent mark, Greg remained sitting on the edge of what had only just recently been their bed holding one of his old Quidditch jerseys in his hand. It was faded and worn and far too big on Hermione, but she liked to sleep in it sometimes. He stared at it seeming to be on the verge of tears. The whole tableau only made her even angrier.
"What are you doing? Why haven't you left yet?"
He looked up at the sound of her voice. Pain was evident in his sad, tired eyes. How was it possible she could still feel even more anger than she already did? She feared she was on the verge of spontaneously combusting into a pillar of actual fire. How dare he be upset with their break-up? He was the one who made the choice to end their relationship. She certainly didn't want to. Despite everything, she still loved the fucking bastard so much she could hardly breathe.
Their relationship was great until his hateful cow of a mother got involved. Hermione never expected her romance with Greg would end because of another woman. He was far too shy and seemed utterly devoted to her. But she supposed it did all the same. No way she could compete with his mummy. It made her seethe with rage just to imagine how that conversation must've gone. Lots of mothers-in-law hated their son's chosen partner. It was so common it was cliche. Why did their relationship have to end just because of her?
They still loved each other. Very much. That's what made it hurt so much. She thought she'd be less hurt by an affair. He could've fucked the entire starting line-up of the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny Weasley included, and it wouldn't have made her as angry and heartbroken as she was. Why was she never good enough?
"You made your choice. Get out of my house!"
Greg was far too used to her volatile moods, especially when she was really riled up, to even flinch at the tone of her voice. Or maybe he too felt broken. As soon as she had that thought she pushed it away. No, she would not feel the least bit of sympathy for the weak, pathetic man. He was the one who hurt her, not the other way around.
"I wasn't sure what to do with this. Did you… did you want to keep it?"
He held out the jersey. Part of her wanted to rip it out of his hands and hold it tight. Of course she wanted to keep it. She loved wearing it even though it long ago stopped smelling like him because she was the clear owner. But it was a reminder of him. Would she still want to look at it weeks from now, years after she moved on? Probably not.
"No. It's yours. I don't want anything that belonged to you."
"My, come on."
"No, and stop calling me that. Go back to calling me Granger like you did in school. Or just call me Mudblood. That would make your mummy happy."
No longer able to look her in the eye, he stared down at the floor with a heavy sigh. To be fair to him, she couldn't recall him ever calling her that hateful slur even when he was following around Draco Malfoy who never had a problem saying it. And each time he got a look at the nasty scar the crazy Lestrange bitch carved into her arm in the beginning of their relationship, he looked sick. He would've never been able to fall in love with her if there was the irrational hatred inside his heart that so many other Purebloods had. Why wasn't that enough to have him defy his mother?
"Do we… do we have to be so ugly to each other?"
His voice was hardly above a whisper, a distinct contrast to the near-shrieking she couldn't seem to stop. How could he ask such a question? She wanted to cram the jersey down his throat until he choked. He was the one who started it all. Left entirely up to her, they would be enjoying a big breakfast like usual on Sunday mornings or they would still be having a lie-in. Lazy Sundays with him in bed had always been her favorite. Some of her best memories were conversations they shared lying next to each other between sessions of lovemaking she never would've imagined could be so pleasurable. Why did their life have to change? It had been wonderful. She would've married him in a heartbeat if he'd ever had enough courage to get down on one knee and pledge his heart. But he never could. Not with the shadow of his mother's hatred hanging over them like a dark rain cloud.
"Fine. Want me to have the jersey? I'll take it."
Later she knew she would probably regret her petulance. Grabbing the garment and roughly pulling it out of his hands nearly ripped it. His startled and pained expression pushed her over the edge. No longer able to contain all of her rage, Hermione tossed the once-loved jersey into the air and set it on fire with an incendio spell. Only ashes remained by the time it hit the floor. Finally showing a little bit of the passion she knew existed inside of him, Greg jumped up to his feet, his face red with fury.
"Hermione! Why would you do that?"
"Get out of my house, Gregory. Now. Anything that gets left behind will end just like that."
She spun on her heel, no longer able to look at him in the face. Fury trembled through her limbs. If she stayed in his presence for even another second, she wasn't sure what she would do. Distance needed to be put between them immediately. Not trusting he would get out of there fast enough, Hermione rushed for her front door. When she opened it, she stood in the doorway to shout back inside.
"If you're still here when I get back, you'll wish I set you on fire instead of that tacky rag."
With all of her strength she slammed the door behind her, relishing in the loud bang it made. She thought she heard the window panes close by rattle with the force. It was a satisfying sound and helped to dispel some of the energy coursing through her veins.
One step away from her front door she saw Pomona Sprout staring at her with a slightly open jaw. Of course the retired professor would be outside tending her roses at that exact moment. Rarely had the two neighbors had a problem since Hermione moved in four years earlier, but it was awkward to see the woman she liked very much stare at her like she was half-mad. Maybe she was.
"Good morning, Pomona."
She didn't even give her neighbor the opportunity to respond before she was rushing off for another part of the village. Spending another second within the vicinity of her home while Greg was still there would push her over the edge. She wasn't sure what she would do next, but she knew it wouldn't be pretty. Likely she would even feel shame for it later.
To her great relief, Hermione wasn't the only poor soul seeking comfort at the bottom of a dusty bottle when she stepped inside the notoriously filthy pub The Hog's Head. Aberforth Dumbledore's establishment hadn't improved its conditions since long before she held her first meeting of Dumbledore's Army inside its walls her fifth year. Nor did it appear he would be changing his decor or cleaning habits any time soon. Three other patrons were already seated at their own tables with a glass or two sitting in front of them. At least she knew she wouldn't have to worry about being alone in her misery. Somehow it seemed even more depressing drinking hard liquor before noon when she was the only patron.
Dumbledore didn't even change his stoic expression when she sat at the bar and ordered an entire bottle of fire whiskey. She knew it wasn't entirely legal to sell one person that much alcohol at once, but he wasn't the sort of barkeep to care much for rules or regulations or hygienic standards. He did, however, set a relatively clean glass next to the bottle so she wasn't reduced to drinking like a complete savage. Not that most of his regulars would've batted an eye if she just drank straight from the neck of the bottle.
It was easy to lose count the number of times she refilled the glass. Fire whiskey was disgusting and she never could understand why it had become the standard in the wizarding world when there was very easy access to delicious alternatives in the Muggle world. In her state of mind that morning and well into the afternoon, she didn't give a damn how much it burned going down her throat or how much the harsh taste made her shudder. All that mattered was that it offered her the mind numbing she desired.
No one dared to bother her at the bar to her relief. It was why she chose the Hog's Head. Usually someone went there when they simply wanted to drink too much and wallow in their emotions. Or conduct an illegal trade. She'd witnessed that a few times. If she'd gone to the Three Broomsticks she would've had to listen to her other neighbor Rosmerta tell her she shouldn't be drinking so much or screaming so loudly at home. Plus, she might have to worry about some disgusting cretin trying to take advantage of her in a vulnerable moment there.
Unsure how much she had to drink after she'd been on her barstool a long time, Hermione knew it was a lot. Enough that some of the pain of her broken, rejected heart could be ignored for the present. She looked up from her glass to catch Aberforth trying not to make it obvious he was staring. He didn't look amused. Was he curious what had her so upset or just anxious to get her to leave? Maybe she would come to regret it when she sobered up, but she wanted to talk to him. Weren't barkeeps supposed to be sympathetic listeners?
"Are you curious to know why I'm here drinking so much?"
"No, not really."
Or maybe she was wrong about the sympathetic part. No matter. She didn't want to stop.
"My boyfriend of two years whom I love very much, the fucking arsehole, just dumped me."
"If this is how much you normally drink, can't say I blame the bloke."
"Oh, no. He ended it because of his horrible, nasty mummy. She made him choose between us. She thinks I'm worthless Mudblood scum who isn't good enough for her son. Didn't we fight a war to put an end to hatred and ignorance like that, Abby? You were there. You know. You fought… you…"
Unable to continue her thought, Hermione knocked back the rest of the liquor in her glass. After awhile it really wasn't that bad. Maybe wizards had better taste than she thought. Aberforth stalked closer to lower his voice enough so only she could hear.
"You need to pull yourself together, girl. All you're doing is embarrassing yourself behaving like this."
Insulted, Hermione wanted to say something mean in return. Only trouble was she couldn't get her tongue to work properly. Heavy exhaustion suddenly fell on her further hindering her ability to tell the awful wizard just what she thought about him. She laid her head down on top of the bar. If she could just think a little bit, she could find a really mean name to call him later. That would show him.
Someone tried to shake her awake with their hand. Thoroughly annoyed with their audacity, Hermione kept her eyes closed and slapped their hand away. She wasn't ready to get up yet.
"Sorry I had to owl you, Potter, but she's been asleep for over an hour. The snoring was disturbing everyone, especially me."
"No, that's fine. I'm glad you did."
"Would've sent the owl to that boyfriend of hers, but he's the reason she's in this state. She said he had to choose between her or his mum and this wasn't a celebratory binge."
Harry sighed.
"Fuck, Greg."
Once again he tried to wake Hermione up fully, but she kept slapping his hand away.
"Stop it, Greg. I'm too tired."
"Hermione, love, it's me."
She slapped him away again.
"Okay, fine, Greg. Do what you want. Just try not to wake me up."
Hermione nearly fell off the barstool attempting to roll over, but thanks to Harry's seeker reflexes he was able to catch her in his arms. The near fall made her open her eyes. Surprised to see Harry, she smiled.
"Oh, hello, Harry. I thought you were Greg."
"No, I'm not."
"Were you wanting to recreate that awful night in the tent? Because I already told you 'no' five years ago. It was too awkward and weird. I don't want to do it again."
He cleared his throat, embarrassed she would bring up two separate nights in their shared past that they both agreed to never speak about.
"That's not why I'm here. Hermione, let's get you home."
"Okay, but I'm not having sex with you again, Harry Potter. It was terrible the first time and I'm not sure it would be much better the second."
There were a number of amused chuckles around the pub. None of them came from Harry. Regardless of his own mortification, he felt an obligation to get his friend home safely. After settling her bill with Aberforth, he put his arm around her waist to help her walk home.
What should've been a short walk across a small village seemed to take an eternity. Hermione's feet only worked correctly some of the time. More than once Harry was only just able to keep her from tumbling onto the pavement. Halfway to their destination his curiosity could be held back no longer.
"Hermione, love, what happened? Why are you so drunk? Aberforth said something about Greg."
"The arsehole chose his mummy over me. She threatened to disown him if he kept dating me and he's never been able to defy the evil bitch."
He sighed again. At least he wasn't lecturing her about her poor choice in wizards or gleefully telling her he told her so. Maybe he was saving that for when she wasn't so sad or drunk.
"I know you thought I was mad to date him, but I really loved him."
"I know you did. And I liked him a little after I got to know him."
"He could be so sweet. There was this kitten once that…"
Overcome suddenly by emotions thinking about happier times in the past, Hermione burst out in loud, choking sobs not caring that they were out in public. Some of the other villagers were outside their homes staring at the unexpected scene. Harry offered them uncomfortable smiles as he tried to speed them up to get back to her house.
Unfortunately, when they finally reached her home, Pomona and Rosmerta were both outside. Rosmerta often liked to gossip with Pomona over her garden fence. Each woman stared with wide, horrified eyes as Harry practically dragged Hermione inside.
There was no sign of Greg anywhere. Able to stand on her own through sheer willpower, she moved around her house looking. Inside her bedroom she opened the drawer where he kept his clothes to find it empty. She looked in the bathroom to see his shelf was cleared off. He was really gone, almost as if he'd never been there in the first place.
Back in her bedroom she saw the small pile of ashes that had once been his Quidditch jersey. Why did she destroy it? What was wrong with her? She collapsed on her knees to another fit of uncontrollable tears. Harry tried his best to comfort her, but it was no use. She was far too distraught.
After a few minutes, he gave up trying. Harry exited her house in a rush that she barely noticed. Hermione thought she'd seen the last of him for awhile until he returned with Rosmerta. Clearly he thought he needed an expert. If there was one person in that village who knew how to handle drunks, it was her next-door neighbor.
Rosmerta forced a vial of Sober-Up potion down Hermione's throat with Harry's assistance. Within a matter of seconds she was no longer intoxicated. Mortified to see Rosmerta and Harry in her room after she'd been in such a state, she felt even worse when she realized Pomona was standing in the doorway. Her old Herbology professor stepped inside to hand her another potion. It was Dreamless Sleep.
"I don't recommend making it a habit to drink those, but I think you could use a good long rest."
If it was possible for Hermione to be even more humiliated, she didn't know how. Maybe if she was inexplicably naked or she threw up all over someone. She was relieved when all three of her unwanted visitors felt she was safe enough to be on her own. After a hot shower she took the sleeping potion and crawled into bed. She hoped it would help.
It didn't. When she woke up the next morning she was angry all over again. How could she hope to get through an entire day at work acting as if she was fine? She was tempted to send an owl to her supervisor that she was sick, but didn't. Every second she was at the Ministry she was in a miserable mood and hated being there.
Back at home she didn't feel any better. Sure, Greg was a big man physically, but the lack of his presence felt like an even larger hole. She was torn between crying again, getting even drunker than the day before, or going to the Goyle house to make a big scene. Thinking about punching his mother right in her ugly face brought the only true smile she'd had all day. The bitch was no delicate flower. She could handle it. Instead, Hermione ended up just going to bed extra early. Sleep was her escape.
Rarely had she experienced a more awful week in her life. She didn't know how she made it through. When Friday arrived and she knew she had two whole days to herself, she was glad. After working late into the evening, she decided to treat herself with a drink, or several, at the Leaky Cauldron. There was usually some excitement in the tavern that she hoped could distract her from her melancholy.
No tables were free in the busy establishment. She didn't really care. As long as there was an empty barstool she would be fine. Hermione pushed through the crowd to head straight up to the bar. To her annoyance, she ran into a displeased Draco Malfoy.
"No, Granger. You need to go."
"Excuse me?"
"Greg's in the toilet. If he comes out and sees you…"
Knowing her ex-boyfriend was nearby made her feel sick, but she wouldn't run away or hide. They were bound to see each other again eventually. Maybe it was best to just get it over with.
"Not really my problem, Draco. Greg broke up with me. If he's upset seeing me, it's his own fault."
As if she conjured him by saying his name, Greg appeared. Clearly he'd been enjoying his evening out with his mates. Once he saw Hermione speaking to Draco, he stopped smiling and looked very sad. She had something horribly nasty on her tongue to say but couldn't bring herself to actually say it. Rushing off to the ladies' lavatory seemed a much better idea. In one of the stalls she allowed herself to cry a little. Only a little. She cleaned up her face to make it look as if she wasn't upset.
Greg was waiting for her outside the door. She wanted to scream at him and cry and kiss him all at the same time. Would she ever stop loving him? It didn't seem like it.
"How are you?"
She scoffed at his timid question.
"How do you think I am?"
It was easy to feel her anger rising. Maybe that was her defense mechanism to try to shield her broken heart.
"I just… I'm sorry."
Unwilling to stand there to listen to another apology, Hermione started for the exit. Azkaban would be better than there. Greg stopped her by grabbing her arm. It was a gentle hold she could've easily gotten out of if she really wanted to. Despite his past and reputation, he had never physically hurt her before. Not once had she ever been afraid of him because she knew the kindness he had in his heart. She felt her eyes fill up with tears.
Greg was upset too. After letting go of her arm, he carefully pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. He'd always loved touching her hair, once even confessing he longed to do it when they were at Hogwarts. She didn't usually like her hair being touched, but he had a tender, soft touch that never once snagged a curl.
"I'm so sorry, My. I wish it was different."
She shrugged out of his touch.
"It could be. You chose this."
"But my mum's all alone. I'm all she has."
"She could have more. She could've had a daughter-in-law who loved her son with her entire heart and a house full of happy grandchildren to love if she really wanted. But she doesn't care if you're happy, only that you don't embarrass the family."
With nothing more to say, she started to walk away again.
"I'm her only child and with Dad in Azkaban…"
Hermione raised her voice to respond but kept walking.
"It's not my fault your mother married a Death Eater. That's all on her."
Seeing how many people around the pub stared at their exchange, Hermione stormed out of the Leaky Cauldron. Her plans for the night were ruined. All she wanted was to Apparate straight home. She carried a bottle of wine with her into the bathtub instead to have a good long cry. How did she stop loving him? She felt so angry and sad and confused.
When she finally climbed out of the cold bath water, she stared at her reflection in the mirror while she pulled her hair out of the knot it was in. Remembering how Greg touched her hair made her furious all over again. She found a pair of scissors and with no one to stop her rash act, she cut until most of it was on the floor. Dreadful was the only possible word she could use to describe how it looked. She cried herself to sleep again, desperately hoping her magic would make it grow back overnight.
It didn't. Her hair looked every bit as awful in the morning. She was nervous about casting any sort of spell on herself in such emotional turmoil. That seemed like too large a risk. What if she accidentally gave herself antlers or set her head on fire? Knowing she needed help whether she liked it or not, Hermione wrapped a scarf around her head and went searching.
Rosmerta had been awake for over an hour when she opened her front door to Hermione's hesitant knock. Still dressed in her nightgown and dressing gown, the kind witch didn't hesitate to invite her neighbor inside. Witches had to stick together, she'd often said. As they sat down at her kitchen table with a cup of tea, Rosmerta gestured to the scarf.
"Please tell me you didn't try to give yourself fringe."
"Worse, I'm afraid."
Knowing Rosmerta wasn't the sort to judge out loud, Hermione pulled the scarf off her head to reveal the damage. Rosmerta's eyes widened in shock for half a second before she had better control over her facial expressions.
"Well, you're hardly the first woman to give herself a drastic, terrible haircut when she was upset. Been there myself sadly."
"What do I do?"
"You don't do anything. You've already done enough damage. Come with me."
Rosmerta led Hermione down a narrow corridor to her private bathroom. She pointed to the edge of her large bathtub for her guest to take a seat. Confident that there was no possible way the witch could make it worse, she did as she was told.
"Now maybe it's not my place to tell you this because I'm not your mother, but I care a great deal about you, Hermione, and I've been very worried about you."
Hermione sighed. Of course she knew that a lecture of some sort was coming when she sought out help. Honestly, she was surprised Rosmerta hadn't come to seek her out at some point in the previous week following her embarrassing meltdown. Small villages certainly had their positive aspects, but she didn't think she would ever care for the neighborly insistence to push in on private matters. Her old neighbors in London would've never dreamed of getting involved in her struggle.
"I'm okay."
"Really? Then what happened to your hair?"
Unable to offer a suitable response, Hermione chose to sit there quietly while Rosmerta used her wand to charm her hair to grow rapidly. It was a relief to know she made the right choice even if she had to endure listening to some well-meant advice.
"I understand heartbreak, you know. Far more than I wish I did."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you, but that's not necessary. I've gotten over it each and every time and so will you, dearie. It just takes time."
She hated hearing that same truth over and over again. Why would it take time? They had magic! Someone should've been able to invent a spell or potion that would take care of a broken heart in seconds. Why was no one working on that?
"Screaming at Greg in the Leaky Cauldron about his father being a Death Eater isn't going to help."
"How did you..?"
"Word travels fast in this world. You know that. Someone, it doesn't matter who, saw you make a scene in London last night and came into the Three Broomsticks later to tell me."
"I didn't make a scene."
Except she sort of did. Not as big of one as she would've liked. It wouldn't have been difficult to throw a drink in his face. All of the tables were full. She could've just grabbed one and apologized later.
"Alison Goyle has been a nasty, hateful woman all her miserable life. I knew her at Hogwarts and she hasn't changed. You can be certain she will use any tiny little thing she hears against you. I'm sure she's been made aware of what happened last night and what happened on Sunday. She will use those moments to poison Greg against you if she can."
Sadly, Rosmerta was correct. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that Greg's mother had been pointing out all of her failures and weaknesses as proof that she wasn't a suitable partner. It was infuriating.
"It's not what you want to hear, I'm sure, but Hermione, you need to pull yourself together. Fall apart when you're at home behind a locked door, preferably away from any scissors, but don't do it where anyone can see."
Maybe it was solid advice she should take. Hermione still couldn't help being furious that she was in a position where she needed to take it. Rosmerta was easily old enough to be her mother, possibly even her grandmother. She came from a simpler time. Life was different. How breakups were handled were not the same.
"We will get your hair back to normal because it doesn't matter how you feel. It only matters how you look. You have to look like you're over Greg and perfectly happy even if you're not because otherwise, she wins."
That was a surprising way to look at the situation. Hermione was annoyed she hadn't considered it herself. Greg's mother was probably rejoicing that she had her son back under her full control and confident that Hermione's actions would only make her less attractive to Greg than before. Thinking about that woman being happy with her misery was unbearable. It would not happen.
Hermione stood a little straighter at Rosmerta's mirror as she examined her regrown hair. If it took her pretending to be fine and hiding her less than sane or rational impulses to make herself appear over her ex-boyfriend enough to give his mother nothing new to use against her, she would. She would not let that hateful bitch win.
The End?
