Hermione sat on the couch of her apartment staring beyond the steaming tea kettle and two letters on the small table before her.

The mug in her hand jostled every now and then as she shifted absent mindedly, releasing notes of the supposedly calming scent of chamomile.

Like a strike of lightning in a storm, her laughter echoed in the air. It was not exactly filled with joy, but a sort of sad irony: The irony of life. For many, bad things came in threes, but it seemed two was her magic number. A year and a half ago, two kisses completely altered her reality and now she was faced by two letters. One letter spoke of eager acceptance in a country far from haunting blue eyes, and another spoke of regret, forgiveness, adoration, and…reconciliation. Both threatened to upend her life, and truthfully both offered her inner most desires. One made her blush, while the other made her scream in confused joy.

She shouldn't be happy about this. Should she? And why was the other so open in their desire? She was quite unaccustomed to it. Exasperated and agitated, she huffed into the silent room, and inhaled the steam rising from her mug.

She should call someone. She knew that. Ginny probably. Or her mother. But then they might ask her the hard questions like: What do you want to do? Or: Which would you most regret turning down?

And she knew the answer. Maybe. But she also believed it would be the wrong answer. Ultimately, however, she was aware that there was no wrong answer. That being said, she was certain that her answer was the wrong answer. There was probably, definitely a right answer. Maybe she could combine the two?

"Dear god!" she shouted in frustration, and nearly spilled everything in her mug. She sipped at it to lower the chances of a mess and picked up her phone. Instead of dialing though, she stared at it in contemplation, still grimacing at the taste of now lukewarm tea. What if she made a decision here and now without anyone knowing? She could just…disappear. New job, new life.

Oh no.

"No, no, no." Why did she feel this way? It's fucking unreasonable. Why should her heart sink at the thought of disappearing. Why should she feel like she would lose something if she could never see…

"Oh no." She said again, resigned. She was still in love…

"I can't be." She whispered. "After everything, no, I can't be." But she was. It wasn't lust. It wasn't some warped desire for closure. It wasn't any other emotion that could be folded, boxed, and packed as anything other than itself. The sad, maybe even disappointing fact of the matter was that she never wanted this torture to end. She debated ignoring the letter and despite her intentions, she grew hopeful that there would be a second, and a third. She hoped that the letters would stop and the knocking would start. She hoped for flowers and gifts, and delivery men showing up at the door to recite Shakespeare or blow into a weird flute to stay in tune so they could sing a song. She wanted maybe even some weird magically formed cupid to shoot an arrow with a letter attached. She wanted a puppy and jewelry until, she'd receive one final knock at the door and open it to find blue eyes. Because despite the nuisance of receiving gifts weekly, daily, hourly, never once would Hermione send a letter saying,

Stop.

She couldn't find it in her to discourage the attention, to shoot down the proposition or to deter her admirer. She knew that if she dared tried to stem such a messy, bleeding emotion, it would spill out over the edges and stain everything she touched. It already had.

Was she a fool? Did the woman really warrant such affection from her? Was Hermione really prepared to give it? To roll over and forgive everything?

She quit a job that she really, really liked. She lost interest in so many things because of the pain they brought. She slept with woman after woman only to realize the blue of their eyes was never quite right or their hair was never the right texture. Their perfume perhaps was too light or too heavy. Their laughter was wrong. The tone of their voice, the twinkle in their eye, the curve of their hips.

Her heart raced and she groaned as she sunk into the couch.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There was only one way to end this. Maybe she just needed to get her fill of the woman and she could indulge in payback. Maybe she'd realize that she was just holding on to a fantasy and she'd return to some sense of normality. Forever changed, but grateful for the experience. No matter the outcome, she couldn't continue living like this. It was unbearable. She came across as heartless everytime she had to turn down or break up with someone. Distantly, she wondered if that's how McGonagall became McGonagall. There was no way she'd let herself go down that path! Alone for the rest of her life and teaching…children?

Yuck.

If there had been a wall, she'd have banged her head against it. As it was, she merely poured water from the kettle into her mug and took a fortifying gulp.

Fine.

If this is the way things were, if the rest of her life was at stake, then she would go through with it. She'd respond, she'd fuck, she'd let herself go and when it all came crashing down in a fiery rage, she would cry in joy at being released from love's clutches. She would be proud of herself for staring down her worst fears and surviving them. No regrets, no problem.

She hummed against the rim of the mug, and let her mind mull a newer, simpler problem.

All that was left to do was figure out her next step.

She was contacted by letter, so she'd respond in kind. Reasonable enough, she thought as she grabbed a small notepad and a pen. She could write something long winded, that would serve to sum her feelings: betrayal, disgust, distaste, relief, joy, happiness, hope, lust. Or, she could write something coy that would leave the other woman confused, but optimistic.

The task ahead of her required patience, privacy, and worst of all, honesty. For the first, it was the other party who would bring it to her. For the second and third, she would need a place that was familiar.

She sighed, and contemplated the crux of their relationship. Where was the best place for it to either fall apart or take wing?

Truthfully, there was only one place where she consitently found herself facing the reality of her situation.

It seemed like the perfect idea and so she penned her responses.