"no other sadness in the world would do. - hoax"
her ring glinted slightly on her finger, her sharp, blood-red nails accenting the sheer paleness of the diamond nestled on the band. a frown slightly marring her usually immaculate appearance, hermione knew that the style was unlike her. granted, she grew away from her old image at hogwarts.
as if that would help the nightmares that followed the war.
tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she barely stifled the soft sigh that left her slightly chapped lips. it had been a difficult winter by herself; her only company was the simple fireplace's crackle and her cup of cooling cocoa. she should have felt settled, she thought, staring at the idle book on her lap. she was engaged to a well-off muggle in an attempt to stabilize her steadily growing post-traumatic stress.
(in attempt not to feel so solitary.)
he was a doctor who had taken an interest in her while she pursued helping muggles recover from the war that had affected them just as much as the wizarding community, specializing in orphans. it need not be said that she grew fond of them over her years (as she had with defenseless, pitiful things). she was not eighteen anymore, her youthful innocence long gone ever since they were violently considered as fugitives for a time - it had been five years since the fall of the dark lord, and two years since she last saw harry's green eyes and ron's ginger mane and never returned.
hermione knew she needed to be away from her kin so she can heal.
what a hoax.
it took longer to get used to not being able to see her family than to adapt to lessening her use of her wand around common muggle areas. it took even longer than that to get accustomed to not seeing him all the time.
it was hard to believe it. everyone knew the real reason why hermione granger left as one of the prominent aurors for the ministry of magic. the truth crossed her mind once in a while (perhaps, time does help fade some things); in moments that she least expected. she shed a tear, perhaps two, and goes on with her day.
some things were better left unsaid.
she takes a new name (it was another attempt), and still writes to her parents from where they were in australia. it was a mundane day-to-day life. the workaholic in her missed the ruckus, the crackling of magic in the air, the boisterous laughter, fully occupied dining table chairs, and meals packed on huge plates.
alas, it was all in the past.
she doesn't know why she said yes to him. maybe she thought it was too late. maybe she thought she would end up alone.
she was a coward.
wiping a stray tear – how did it even get there? – from her delicate cheek, she tipped the last few contents of her wine glass on her lips. it was yet another snowy night in surrey, england, in her small cottage on the outskirts of town.
she dimly thought about her friends – him – stepping out of the fireplace in a burst of the all-familiar green fire, but it never happens. not in the last two years.