Chapter 1: Invitation and Hesitation

The room was cloaked in a heavy silence, save for the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath Hermione's feet as she shifted in her chair. The dim light from a single desk lamp cast long shadows against the walls, making the room feel smaller, more suffocating than it should have. The city of London buzzed just outside her window, but inside, everything felt still, as though time had paused—held captive by the weight of her thoughts. Hermione Granger had grown accustomed to the quiet, but tonight it felt more oppressive than usual.

She was seated at her desk, the faded oak surface scattered with open books, parchments, and half-written notes. Her fingers, slightly trembling, hovered over a piece of parchment. The letter she had just received from Bella sat neatly folded in front of her, its elegant envelope untouched. The handwriting was immediately recognizable, bringing with it a wave of nostalgia and something else—a quiet ache in her chest. Bella's writing, so familiar, now seemed like a ghost of a life Hermione had long since outgrown.

Dear Hermione,

Hi! I hope this letter finds you well... or at least in some good spirits. It's been a while, hasn't it? I know things got a little weird after everything, and we both got lost in our own worlds... I've been thinking a lot lately and realized I miss having you in my life. I would love for you to come to my wedding. It would mean so much to me, and it's been such a long time since we've seen each other.

I'm not sure if you've heard from anyone else, but it's going to be small. I know that probably sounds boring, but I think it's best this way. You know, with everything that happened... But I'd really love to have you there. I'm marrying Edward Cullen, and I think you'd like him. I'll send more details soon, but I wanted to get this invitation out before I chicken out.

Please say yes, if you can. It would make me so happy to see you again.

Love, Bella

The words felt like a foreign language to Hermione, as if they belonged to someone else—someone she no longer recognized. She had spent so many months lost in her work, buried under stacks of legal papers and the never-ending barrage of cases at the Ministry, that she had almost forgotten what it was like to receive an invitation that wasn't tied to her duty. Bella had been her cousin, once an inseparable part of her life, but over the years, they had drifted apart. The silence between them had grown long and awkward, and Hermione had no idea how to bridge the distance that had crept between them.

She ran her fingers along the edges of the letter, feeling the weight of its paper. The softness of the words was at odds with the hard, jagged edges of Hermione's own heart. She remembered the laughter they had shared in childhood, the late nights spent talking about everything and nothing. But that was before. Before the war, before the irreparable changes in their lives.

Now, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if she had any right to even attend. Would Bella see her as the same person? Would she see Hermione as the girl who once ran through the halls of Hogwarts with a book in one hand and an impossible-to-do list in the other? Or had the war, with its scars and its loss, irrevocably changed her too?

Hermione's gaze drifted toward the window, her eyes unfocused as they looked out into the dim-lit streets below. The sky had begun to shift into a deep purple, the first stars beginning to twinkle faintly in the twilight. The night air outside smelled faintly of rain, the kind of soft, unrelenting drizzle that London was known for. Yet it felt colder than usual, as if the weather itself was mirroring the chill that had settled in her chest.

The memories of the war were impossible to escape. Even now, in the supposed comfort of her own home, they crept in, uninvited, filling the empty spaces of her mind. She thought of Fred, of Remus and Tonks—each face a ghost that never seemed to fade. Even after all this time, the grief of losing them, of surviving when so many had not, still gnawed at her like a ravenous beast. Hermione felt herself sinking beneath the weight of it, a weight that no amount of work, no new cases, no distractions could seem to lift.

Her fingers tightened around the letter as her thoughts spiraled. Ron and Harry had noticed her state—how she buried herself in work, how she kept the world at arm's length. They had both tried to encourage her to take a break, to find something—anything—that might offer her relief. Harry had said it gently, his words careful, as if testing the waters.

"You need to get away, Hermione," he had insisted, his eyes filled with concern. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. Maybe this wedding is exactly what you need."

Ron, ever the practical one, had offered his own less-than-gracious support. "It's not like you'll have to do much. Just show up, eat the cake, and smile. It's a distraction, Hermione. A good one."

But Hermione wasn't sure if she even wanted to be distracted. She wasn't sure if she could afford it. She had grown so used to the quiet hum of her life after the war—the books, the letters, the constant influx of magical cases that needed attention. But the stillness of her life was no longer comforting. It was suffocating.

The thought of Forks, Washington—a small, remote town that seemed to be as far removed from her world as possible—didn't help. Forks wasn't part of her world, and she wasn't sure she was ready to step back into a life she had left behind. A life where normalcy still existed, where people attended weddings, laughed over cake, and didn't carry the weight of the world in their hearts.

But the letter, Bella's invitation, tugged at her in a way that no rational thought could explain. It had been so long since Hermione had seen her cousin, so long since she had stepped outside of her own head and allowed herself to live for a brief moment in the world of the living. The letter had come at the right moment—just when the quiet of her own flat had begun to feel like too much, when the silence had started to swallow her whole.

With a soft sigh, Hermione looked back at the letter, her fingers resting on its edges. She had been so used to moving forward, to pushing past everything. But this invitation felt like a moment to pause, to step back, if only for a while.

Her fingers slid over the smooth surface of the parchment again, the weight of the decision pulling at her chest. Could she really do this? Could she leave behind the life she had built around her grief and loss, even if only for a few days? The idea of it was both comforting and terrifying.

Without thinking, she reached for her phone, quickly searching for flights to Seattle. A part of her still didn't fully believe she was doing this, but the process of booking the flight—of making a choice that wasn't tied to the weight of war or loss—felt like a small victory. A chance to breathe, to see something else, to be somewhere else. Forks was as far removed from her reality as it could get, and maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what she needed.

Once the flight was booked, the weight in her chest seemed to lift, if only a little. The decision had been made. She would go. She would go to Forks and see Bella, and for a short time, she would step away from the shadows of her past.

But as the night stretched on and the rain tapped against her window, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if she was making the right choice. She wasn't sure what she would find in Forks—what she would find in herself. But for now, she would go. Maybe, in the quiet of that small town, she would find something that would ease the burden she carried. Maybe she would find something worth living for again.