Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter". All credits go to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.
Author's Note: Like I said, first chapters are always the hardest to write and share. Please review!
Part 1
Hermione Granger used to think that her life would end with love—lots of love. She used to think that, no matter what problem tried to split her pathway through life, she and Ron would find their way back to each other. And, just maybe, the two of them would be able to still be just as madly in love as before. She used to think that she and Ron were invincible; that nothing in the world could stop them. She used to think that, having defeated the Dark Lord, nothing could come between them.
Hermione Granger believed that her selfishness, her narrow-minded arrogance, was the reason why Ron Weasley decided to leave her standing in humiliation at the alter on their wedding day.
Their lives had always been one with multiple bumps in the road, whether together or separated. They had never had a consistency in their relationship, especially not the way Harry and Ginny had. Where Harry had patience with Ginny's sudden outbursts and random accusations, Ron would get up and leave a sobbing Hermione. He would be gone for days and, no, Hermione never questioned where he was … or who he was with.
But, at twenty-eight years old, still believing in Muggle fairytales, she hardly hesitated before he slipped on the engagement ring. She had envisioned their wedding day; a day for a king and queen. And, just like Harry and Ginny's unforgettable day, Witch Weekly proclaimed this the "wedding of the century".
The wedding had been planned with expertise precision; every little detail possible was immediately mastered to majestic perfection to make Hermione and Ron feel like the Muggle "Cinderella and Prince Charming". In total, they spent around 30,000 Galleons—money neither Hermione nor Ron had. Though their pride was squashed, several family members agreed to meet the accommodations. And of course, Hermione was riveting with glory.
Obviously, Hermione was a bit one-dimensional during the wedding preparations. It was about what she wanted, what she wanted to eat, wanted to wear, wanted to invite … Ron hardly had a say except for the best man (without a doubt, Harry) of his choice. The entire time, he mumbled "Sure" and "Whatever helps you sleep at night". Hermione ignored him; "cold feet" is what she assumed Ron had.
It wasn't that Ron never loved her. At one point, he was so irrevocably in love with her that the passion between them felt like burning fires. At one point, she was the light to his eyes; she was his all, his only … his heart. And Hermione had willingly given him everything she could ever give a man: her love, her innocence, and her life. She was willing to give him her life.
And so, they were engaged for about a year. The wedding details were plucked to redefined perfection, a true fantasy for all naïve women, and after their twenty-ninth birthdays, one warm April morning, Ron decided not to show up to his wedding.
Hermione was already nervous, waking up with cold sweats and hyperventilating as Fleur trilled about all 1,043 guests that would be attending the ceremony and reception. She had hardly heard the French woman and, when Ginny soothed her while tying the corset top of her tulle skirt and crystallized bodice, she shot Fleur a look. But then, Ginny said the smartest thing:
"This isn't about the fucking guests. This is about you and Ron. No one else but the two of you."
But it didn't end up going as planned, per se.
For starters, the cake was a layer short. Instead of the fourteen-tiered chocolate mousse cake, there were thirteen layers. Hermione hated odd numbers; she liked well-rounded, even digits. And thirteen was an unlucky number. Go fucking figure.
Next, James—Harry and Ginny's eldest son and ring bearer—had fallen ill. Meaning, he was vomiting three hours straight while Teddy and Victoire, instead of caring to the sickly boy, snogged in the corridors.
It, however, did not rain. But the burdens weighing on Harry's shoulders—as well as the other Aurors who had been welcomed to the bridal party (Blaise Zabini, Dean Thomas, and, to Hermione's surprise, Cormac McLaggen)—could have well passed as the worst storm of the century. And Witch Weekly: you can print that!
With her father's arm looped around hers, she hardly felt the tense friction building between the 1,043 guests. Hermione had taken five steps down the gold carpet in the enlarged backyard of the Burrow before she realized someone was missing.
Ron.
She dropped her dad's arm when Harry nervously fixed his glasses. She had hardly realized that everyone was looking anxiously at her paling expression. It only took Hermione a few seconds to know she had misinterpreted everything Ron wanted from her; and, when she read his ridiculous farewell note, wondered if she led him onto this.
He was in love with Astoria Greengrass. Not her.
He had left her for Astoria; they were currently residing in Wizarding Australia.
He had apologized for not loving Hermione anymore. He never intended to hurt her.
But everyone, including the Weasleys, knew his intentions were exactly where he left them to be. And although 1,043 had come to see the "wedding of the century", they watched sympathetically as Hermione sobbed until her lungs shriveled, until her eyes grew sore, until she finally vomited from the sickness of his pathetic infidelity with the sexiest witch of the United Kingdom.
No one knew what to say, and so no one spoke. The guests had remained silent and respectful to Hermione's downfall. It wasn't until midnight, when the innermost family remained for a quaint and depressed midnight snack at the Burrow when the oddest of guests had approached her with a shot of firewhiskey.
The shot was for him; Hermione was in no state for alcohol. With a runny nose and a splotchy face, she asked no questions. He was, forcefully speaking, her colleague at the Auror Office. A foe turned "friend". So Draco Malfoy downed the shot and shrugged indifferently, a malicious sneer on his face.
"Life sucks, Granger. Then you die." He walked away, leaving Hermione to just fall into another round of tears while mentally thinking to herself, You're damn fucking right.
oOo
For six months, Lily Potter watched Hermione Granger mourn the loss of her uncle, Ron. It was as if he was dead, but he was perfectly healthy and perfectly in love … with the wrong woman, of course.
Lily Potter was seven years old and she had no clue as to why blokes fell into and out of love. What was the point? They could either end up madly in love or they could end up hurt, broken … lost. Just like Hermione.
She was only seven, but she saw it all. She saw Hermione move out of Uncle Ron's apartment and into her house, a door down from her all-pink bedroom. She saw her quit her job as an Auror, a shock to the entire Wizarding community, and she saw Hermione fall vulnerably apart through the seams in the strangest moments.
Like two weeks ago, for example. Lily was fluffing pillow, without magic, and chewed her lip from hiding a smirk at Hermione. Her aunt had smiled faintly, muttering about how oddly similar Lily was to Ron. The next thing she knew, Hermione was sobbing on the floor.
It happened like this multiple times; James and Albus were never around to witness it, but Mum and Dad knew. Her mum had too much patience with this healing process; and Lily was bloody positive that her father just zoned it all out. But Lily watched and Lily listened to the conversations. It wasn't hard to miss.
It may be a selfish thing to say, but Lily just wanted to stop hearing Hermione cry at night.
When would the madness end?
oOo
Love was a complex thing, Lily knew. There were multiple layers, circles in which the deeper you fell the harder in love you were. Lily knew this much and that was it. She didn't know why Mum sighed dreamily while explaining why she loved watching Harry smile. Apparently, her father's eyes lit up and Mum swooned at the thought.
Anyway, it wasn't about Mum and Dad. It wasn't about Lily either. It was about the complexity of the latest wedding her mother had to plan: Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson's royal wedding.
She knew Blaise through the Auror Office; she had scrunched her nose with distaste to hear him be called a Slytherin, but he was genuinely a nice man who gave her sugar quills if she didn't repeat the cuss words from the office to her mother.
And Pansy was, shockingly so, a close friend to her mother. The two worked as colleagues in different departments at the same building; Ginny as a wedding planner and Pansy as a matchmaker. From what she heard from outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Pansy was making her the flower girl.
Lily had tagged along with her mother and a begrudgingly bedridden Hermione, who had lost so much weight that the collagen in her cheeks sagged, to a private pub in Diagon Alley to meet with the engaged purebloods. Ginny had instructed Lily to "stay close to your auntie and out of my work for an hour".
The pub was near empty, much to Lily's dislike. She liked a loud scene; probably because she grew up with Uncle George and his eccentricity rubbed down a generation. She took a seat by Hermione, who whipped out a book from her bead bag that held everything, and swung her lungs.
After a few minutes, Pansy and Blaise emerged … with an oddly familiar blonde git her father had joked to once be a ferret during the Auror Office Christmas party. His name was Draco Malfoy and, bloody hell, was he beautiful.
He had not caught sight of Lily or Hermione; but Blaise greeted her mum with, "We thought we'd do much of the planning with our best mate, and the best man, Draco."
Lily felt Hermione's body tense beside her. Amusedly, she grinned at the nervous older witch. Lately, she looked just as old as Grandma Molly. She snorted silently at the comparison before she came to realizing something:
Maybe that's what Hermione needed: a best mate. Not Harry, not Ginny … No, someone who she could confide in; someone who could turn the brightest witch of the century out of the darkness surrounding her life. She needed someone who needed her just as badly and, recognizing the emptiness of Draco Malfoy's gray eyes, she came to one conclusion.
She needed Draco's assistance, his "partnership", to pull Hermione Granger from the dust.
Lily Potter was on a mission. And "Operation: Ask Malfoy For Help" was underway!