She appeared on the door step of that familiar tavern, warm gold light spilling from the window. The late autumn night raged behind. The wind whipped her hair and tore at her dress; threatening to rip her into the street, to leave her as exposed and raw like so much shame. Her fingers ran the length of the door, one hand paused on the handle. The grain beneath her fingers was soft and smooth, familiar bumps and crevices polished by the weather and a thousand students eager hands. She wept then, forehead pressed against the wood, slipping down. She slumped, graceless in her grief. Her hand raised impotently, scratching without strength or conviction. Her sobs were silent, mouth wide and eyes rolled back. Her face burned with every tear, the cold indifferent to her pain.
She drew her knees into her chest, elbows tucked and hands clutching at her hair. She shook with the violence of her weeping, loud now and jarring like a drunks laugh. The light which had illuminated her from above now vanished. It made little difference. What shook her at last was the blistering cold setting in her bones. She sniffed, groaning and wiping at her face with her sleeve. A cough rose from her throat, jerking her shoulders forward. The wind made short work of the damp clinging to her skin, but did little for the soaked collar and hair. She groaned again, the sound reminiscent of the sick, and breathed deeply through her mouth. Her ached and chattered and she felt weak as she stood. Clearing her throat noisily, creaking open the door and shuffling inside.
Madam Rosmerta had long since gone to bed. A small set of candles was left burning for a house elf, who stood with its back to her, sweeping dutifully. It was dressed in a neatly pressed wool pillow case, with holes cut for arms and head. The nubby material was once white, now yellowed with age. An old tea towel was knotted round its waist.
"Could I get a room for the night, please?" She remembered the days when she had campaigned for the equal rights treatment of house elves. She thought of Dobby, who'd loved his freedom and Winky, who'd been destroyed by it. The house elf who had been sweeping before her squeaked something obsequious and scrambled behind the counter, hauling the massive guest book from beneath. It was filled with names and dates, flourishing signatures and pages well worn with the passage of time. She added her name. Gold exchanged hands. Her bag was taken from her as the elf led the way up the stairs. It seemed like a long time ago that she would have argued, insisted on carrying it herself. Now she was numb and indifferent.
She shuffled through, noticing nothing. Her eyes focused on the air in front of her, movements automated. The seconds seemed imperceivable, jerked suddenly from her empty reverie by the sudden halt. The elf unlocked the door and placed her case just beyond. She took the key and slipped inside, murmuring empty pleasantries.
Her mind focused vaguely on the laundry list that needed immediate attention. She thought back to her still sleeping lover, wishing things were different. A leave of absence, informing family and friends. Her eyes clouded over, glazed by more tears. Failure, failure, failure. An admission of inadequacy, inviting judgment, questions, looks. Hermione Granger was incapable of creating a solution. Hermione Granger had failed at something that mattered. Her first love had died in her arms without ever making a sound, but it was no excuse.
She dropped her coat, letting it tumble with a shrug. She crawled on the bed, curling up in its centre and sinking in. The mattress was soft, stuffed with feathers and clothed with sheets creamy soft. She hoped it would swallow her, hiding her away. Her unshed tears bled from the corner of her eye, spreading on the sheet. Her hand covered the spot as it cooled, tracing the edges with her nail. Outside the wind screamed, rattling the shutters, desperate to come in.
She swallowed and closed her eyes, sliding her hands beneath her chin, cocooning the band on her finger. The band with the polished stone, uncut but flawless in its sparkle, just like her. The ring that said he'd keep her forever, protected and loved. It was a beautiful lie, it sounded so true when he'd said it. Finally she slipped beneath the surface of sleep, welcoming its dark embrace.
A/N: I was overwhelmed by the response! 15 reviews? HOLY COW! Shucks, I'm all pleased with myself. I tried to make this a little chapter longer, I hope you liked it. They'll get longer and more natural as the story progresses. I'd like to hear your opinion, so if you have any suggestions, or notice mistakes that I might have passed over, please let me know!