The Flame Still Burns

Beatrix85

Rating: G
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 11/02/2005
Last Updated: 08/06/2005
Status: in_progress

It’s strange how you can come to despise one single name. I didn’t think it could happen to me, but it did.

Chapters

1. untitled

2. Chapter Two

1. untitled

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in the HP world, Ms J.K Rowling does.

Authors note: Hi everyone, this is my first HP fan fiction I have ever written, so be kind if you review, which I hope someone may. I have no beta for this, so please excuse any grammatical mistakes, it’s been a long time since I left school, and since then I think my brain has become stagnant. So uh, enjoy I guess!

P.S. There will be no spoken dialogue in this chapter. But there will be in the next (if I continue).

..............................

It’s strange how you can come to despise one single name.

I didn’t think it could happen to me, but it did.

The mere thought of this name makes me want to cry, scream, rage, and even vomit (on some occasions). I see the word form on someone’s lips and I want to run from the room in despair. I hear it being talked about in conversation, and it takes all my energy not to grind my teeth, and fist my hands so tight that they go white from the blood flow restriction.

This name and its owner are my enemy.

They have managed in a single, graceful, dramatic swoop to decimate my hopes and dreams, and break my already bruised heart in the process. They have taken what was rightfully mine, something that I have loved, cared for, and wanted to be with more then anything else in this world.

I hate this name. I hate its owner even more.

The owner, now that’s another story.

With their perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect body, bloody perfection personified, not a single bloody flaw.

But oh no, it’s not enough they have the perfect exterior, the interior has to be bloody outstanding as well. Smart, funny, witty, kind, moral, loving, giving, modest, graceful... well, you can see where I’m going with this.

But even though the name of this person can fill me with a hatred that even surpasses my feelings on Voldemort, it also fills me with sadness. A great well of sadness, that’s just too deep for me to climb out of.

And until this name and its owner are out of my life forever. I don’t think I ever will.

What is this dreadful name that can stir up all those emotions I was telling you about?

Anne

Yes, Anne.

Such a simple, plain name isn’t it?

Well, the chaos that ensured after its arrival into my life is anything but plain and simple.

But maybe I should go back further, back to the first days of realisation.

Back to when things were simple for me in a time when it was anything but for everyone else.

..............................

After the defeat of Voldemort in our seventh year, Harry was exhausted. The sheer magnitude of the events that led to the downfall of the world’s most evil wizard was astronomical. Heavy casualties on both sides of the front, many of our fellow classmates and friends were lost.

I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember with perfect clarity Harry’s face after it was over.

His eyes were vacant, detached, as if there was no one living inside them anymore. His skin was so white, that I could see the veins on his face. He walked so slowly that it seemed he was barely moving at all. As he neared me from his long trek from the Forbidden Forest, where he had duelled and finally vanquished Lord Voldemort, I could see tears falling down his face.

I don’t think he even noticed them.

And when he finally reached me, he fell to his knees and just hugged me, as if I were the last person on earth, he just hugged me.

That was the first time I truly felt the depth of my devotion and love for him I think. I stopped thinking about all the death and destruction around me. Stopped thinking about the grief and many sacrifices that had occurred in that single afternoon.

All of my attention and focus was on him. I hugged him back.

Hard.

..............................

I don’t know how we made it to the castle, or I should say what was left of the castle, but we found ourselves sharing a bed in the remains of what was the infirmary.

He still hadn’t let go of me. Or I him.

Madam Pomfrey was one of the surviving teachers, and she tended to us; gave Harry a sleeping potion, one of her more potent ones, and told us to get some rest. Well suffice it to say she didn’t need to tell Harry twice (for a change). He just keeled over on the bed, dragging me with him and fell asleep.

As I said before, Harry was exhausted.

Hours went by before I could fall asleep myself, I just watched him. Breathing in, breathing out, the occasional twitch and flicker of his eyes. I just watched and waited, being there for him when, and if, he needed me to be.

Through the hours that passed I heard many conversations that went on around me. Heard the names of the ones who didn’t survive. Dumbledore, Hagrid, Professor Sinistra, even that crazy old bat Professor Trelawney came down from her tower and joined the fight. I never did like her, but I am sad she died.

Sad all of them had to die.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning, when I could see the beginning’s of a colourful sunrise that the complete physical and emotional turmoil of the day took it’s toll on me, and I joined Harry in sleep.

..............................

Professor Lupin woke us up a few hours later, well it looked like a few hours had past, judging from the light that shone through the nearby window.

It felt like only minutes ago that I was watching the sun come up.

Harry was sitting up on the bed, holding on to my hand, and I gladly let him. I watched Professor Lupin try to converse with Harry.

He wasn’t responding. He seemed catatonic. His face held no expression, and his eyes were blank and devoid of life.

Just like they had been before.

I could see in the Professor’s face that he was distressed by Harry’s state, but was calm enough to reach into his pocket, and pull out a pale grey glove. It was a portkey to Grimmauld Place, Lupin said. He told me to take Harry and myself there to rest and relax; some members of the Order were going to be waiting for us, and that he would be along shortly.

To say I was slightly relieved to hear this news would have been an understatement, I don’t think I could have managed Harry all by myself at the moment.

Suddenly I remembered about Ron.

Oh god, Ron!

Where the hell was he? Was he all right? Was he even alive?

I rattled these questions off to Lupin in a panicky and breathless voice, as fast as my brain could process them. He assured me Ron was quite well, and waiting for the both of us at Grimmauld Place.

My heart slowed from it’s frantic pace, and I took a deep calming breath.

Ron was okay. He was fine. Out of danger. Good news, that was very good news.

The brief thought of Ron dead, or hurt, was something almost too much to bear at this moment; it was going to take everything I had to look after Harry, see him through this. To have Ron not there, or worse, one of the many who perished in the fight was unimaginable to me.

But he was okay. He was fine.

After being told about Ron’s well being and whereabouts, I looked over to Harry, to see if he had had any reaction to the news.

Nothing...

Not even a flicker of recognition, or visible thought for his best friend.

This was going to be harder then I thought.

I took the glove from Professor Lupin’s hand and thanked him.

I don’t think I will ever forget the look he gave me at that moment. It was one of admiration; sympathy and respect, all rolled into one. Well at least that was my interpretation of it.

There wasn’t much time to deliberate before I felt that familiar pull at my navel, and the dizziness and disorientation that accompanies the joys of portkey transportation.

I remembered to hold on to Harry’s hand tightly.

..............................

Grimmauld Place was as I remembered it, only cleaner. We were portkeyed to the main living room, where as Lupin said, there were several Order members waiting for us, plus Ron.

It was a few mere seconds I was allotted to take in my surroundings, before I was engulfed in an enormous (if not slightly stifling) hug from Ron. I returned the hug in equal measure, though it was somewhat difficult with my hand still encased in Harry's. I stepped back from Ron, to see the other occupants in the room.

Tonks was there, with bright, purple, cropped hair, and her right arm in a sling. She looked happy to see us, yet her eyes quickly darted to the person next to me. Her expression dropped into a worried one, obviously about Harry’s lack of reaction, to well...anything.

Next to her was Mr Weasley, with a relieved smile on his face at our arrival, but the beginnings of a similar confused and worried expression as he too, took in Harry’s state. I noticed he had a slight graze on his forehead, but other then that, all in one piece.

I looked to my right and saw Moody sitting in one of the numerous armchairs dotted around the room. He looked incredibly old. Older then I ever remember seeing him, this battle must have taken near everything out of him. But he still had that damn unnatural eye of his roaming over us. He also, seemed unscathed, no noticeable injury aside from his obvious tiredness, (something I would ask about later).

I greeted them in turn, and said how pleased I was they were alive and well. I could feel Ron’s concern over Harry and obvious intent on saying something to him, but before he could get a word out, I interrupted and suggested that I take Harry upstairs to his old room, for some more sleep.

No one had a said a word against it, so I led Harry to the stairs, feeling their concerned stares penetrating our backs.

Even though Harry was acting like an empty shell at the moment, he followed my gentle lead without hesitation, and was completely compliant when we entered his room and I told him to get in bed.

This was disconcerting to say the least.

I released my hand from his and told him to sleep; his eyes shut on command, and I left, closing the door quietly behind me.

..............................

What greeted me downstairs was as I expected. Barrages of questions were thrown at me simultaneously from three of them. Moody stayed silent. I held one hand up to try and quiet them down, to allow me to actually answer their damn queries, and rubbed another across my tired and aching eyes. I tried to explain, to the best of my ability and knowledge, what happened.

No, Harry hasn’t talked since yesterday.

No, I didn’t know why.

He didn’t say anything to me at all, just hugged me.

Yes Ron, he hugged me.

I have no idea how to help him at the moment, just be there for him I guess.

Yes I heard about Dumbledore and the others, I don’t think it’s sunk in yet that they’re gone.

Professor Lupin said he would be arriving shortly after we did.

Yes Ron, he really hugged me, didn’t let me go until sometime this morning actually! Honestly!

I have no idea what happened with Voldemort, or how Harry defeated him. Obviously it was an extremely traumatic experience for Harry to have ended up this way.

As the questions abated, the group seemingly satisfied for the moment with my responses, I said I desperately needed my rest too, and headed upstairs to a bed of my own.

As before, no one said a word against it, or even tried to stop me. I silently thanked them for that.

..............................

To this day, I still don’t understand my abrupt and instinctual awakening from my deep sleep. I just knew I had to be up. I had to be somewhere else. As I rose from the bed and opened my bedroom door, I could hear unusual sound’s echoing down the hallway landing. As I neared the area I had a feeling they were coming from, my suspicions were confirmed.

Harry’s room.

As quietly and stealthily as I could, I opened the door and entered. Harry was thrashing wildly on the bed, moaning unintelligible words, while rocking his head side to side. His hair was matted to his head, drenched with sweat, his T-shirt in a similar state, stuck to his body.

I rushed towards the bed and tried to wake him from his nightmare. I had to hold both his arms down to his side, to keep from being walloped round the face. Whatever the dream was, it was a violent one. I shouted his name to wake him, and somehow it did the trick.

His eyes were wide and fearful; I watched them dart around the room at a frantic pace. His normal shade of emerald green had darkened significantly. I called his name again, trying to gain his attention; his eyes focused on me.

I suddenly found myself in a familiar and not entirely unwelcome state, as his arms circled around me, and held on tight.

He took deep shuddering breaths against my neck, and I heard the faint whispering of my name being repeated over and over again just below my ear.

I pulled him even closer in reassurance that I was there, and I wasn’t leaving him anytime soon. I could feel his body calm after a few more minutes, and his weight became heavier in my arms as he drifted off to sleep again.

I was reluctant to leave him, in case he had another one of these terrible dreams. So I leaned back against the headboard and pulled his body down next to mine.

Like I had done in the infirmary, I watched him sleep. Breathing in, breathing out. I pushed the damp hair that had fallen across his forehead, and traced my finger lightly over his scar.

Even amidst the work and stress that I knew was going to follow this evening (and the previous few days), I could see some light at the end of the tunnel.

He spoke. He said my name. And this filled me with some hope.

..............................

It would be two weeks before his nightmares started to become less frequent. Three weeks before he actually spoke to anyone else but me.

That’s not to say we had a conversation with one another or a constructive whole sentence even.

His vocal interaction with me stayed on the same monosyllabic level as the first time he spoke. Me comforting him after a night terror (as I now dubbed them, dream was too docile for what these were), him whispering (sometimes shouting) my name, after experiencing one.

Ron was the first person he spoke to, as I expected. It consisted of them being their usual chatty selves.

"Hey Ron".

"Hey Harry".

And that was that, the spell seemingly broken.

I must say Ron was a true friend during those weeks. After his initial disgruntlement about Harry hugging me, he swiftly got over it, and turned to helping his ‘best mate’ through the ordeal he was presented with.

And he rose to the challenge admirably.

It occurred to me during those weeks how wrong I was when I said he had ‘the emotional depth of a teaspoon’. Granted that during the first years I had known him, he didn’t give me much evidence to the contrary. But I think this battle changed him.

Made him grow up, accept responsibility.

He really earned my respect for his efforts.

Also I was just so bloody, incredibly, grateful when he volunteered to take over ‘Harry watch’, just so I could get a few minutes alone, some peace. That’s not to say I wanted to be away from Harry, quite the contrary, it was just every now and then, the oppressing silence and negative energy that surrounded him stifled me.

And I had to get away for a few moments.

So after Harry’s breakthrough moment, things were heading up. The celebrations of the wizarding world were dying down (only slightly). Hogwarts was back together in one piece, the deaths not forgotten, and for some the grief still fresh.

We all had attended the funerals of Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid. That was the only time Harry had left Grimmauld Place since arriving the day after ‘the battle’. He was still pretty much in his catatonic state, but at some point during the service, I noticed a tear manage to trickle its way down his cheek. Many more were flowing down mine, as were quite a few of the patron’s faces.

That was one day, with absolute certainty, I will never forget.

..............................

It would come up near two months, before Harry was ‘almost’ back to his old self. He was talking, eating, interacting with others, his sleeping patterns had quietened down (thank god), and everything was somewhat normal again.

So much so that one night, Professor Lupin requested for all three of us to join him in the living room for a ‘discussion’. So me, Harry and Ron found ourselves sitting on a sofa together, staring opposite at Lupin.

He gave us the ‘what are you going to do with your lives now?’ speech. Frankly this was quite surprising, and was somewhat out of the blue. I watched Harry and Ron do a quick double take at one another, confusion marring both their faces.

For quite a while now, my whole attention had been devoted to the recovery of Harry, making him better, back to normal.

Now that I no longer had to worry about him so much, I was presented with the opportunity, to once again think about myself.

My needs and wants, my future career prosperity’s.

It was a lot to think about and take in at that precise moment in time. I repeated this to Lupin, and he nodded his head in understanding. I looked over to the boys; they hadn’t spoken a word yet.

After waiting a little while longer, for either one of them to reply, it was Ron who spoke first. He admitted he might ‘like to try professional Quidditch’, then looked around to see if any of us would question his decision on it. Lupin and I each gave reassuring grins, and I said I thought that would be fantastic idea.

Harry turned to Ron and said he agreed with me, it would be a fantastic idea.

Professor Lupin asked Harry again, if there were any job he would like to do? Harry shook his head and said he didn’t have a clue at the moment, and that could he have a little more time to think about it? Professor Lupin agreed, bid us good night, and left through the living room fireplace.

All three of us fell back against the sofa and silently contemplated on what was just asked of us.

Five, ten minutes went by before someone spoke. It was Harry. He said that no matter what happened or what job’s we might have, he had one request.

That we live together.

Ron’s face and mine must have shown some puzzlement or confusion, for Harry elaborated that he couldn’t stand the thought of his two best friends living away from him. I knew I couldn’t be far away from him now, he was too important to me. Ron must have had the same thought, as he voiced that it would be a ‘great idea’.

So we unanimously agreed that we would live together.

And we did.

..............................

Five years have gone by since that day, and we kept true to our agreement. Our house is a Victorian terrace, right in the heart of London. With four bedrooms, and located very near to Diagon Alley, so that when we desired to visit, it was no more then five minutes walk away.

Ron had succeeded in his goal to play professional Quidditch; he was now Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. A fact he never lets us forget, what with his comings and continual goings from our home. Touring with the team for months on end throughout the year, sometimes it feels like we hardly get to see him at all.

I became a Healer; a decision I think, that was mainly influenced by my time with Harry all those years ago. Making him better was my target, and with help, we succeeded. It was wonderful to help someone like that, so I decided to do it as a career, and so far, I love it.

Harry’s decision in a career took longer to evolve. It was almost a full year after Professor Lupin’s speech that he decided.

He wanted to become an Auror.

An idea he had had during our fifth year, and it must have stuck with him.

Now he was one of the ‘top’ Auror’s in the business. Even though Voldemort was killed five years ago, many of his death eaters also slain that night, it was surprising how many ‘dark’ wizards and witches there still were in the world.

So Harry and his fellow colleagues fought them; made the world a little safer.

For four years, six months, and two days, this was the life for me. I was happy, almost content with my existence.

I hadn’t received Harry’s complete declaration of love I was hoping (and dreamed for), but I waiting. Waiting for him to maybe acknowledge any romantic feelings he had towards me.

I was truly, madly, deeply in love with him. Had been since the night of the battle.

But I didn’t let him know.

I couldn’t.

Not until he had the same feelings for me.

So for four years, six months, and two days, I waited.

But one evening, Harry dropped a tragic bomb that could have rivalled Hiroshima.

He announced to both Ron and me that he was in love, and was getting married.

And it wasn’t to me.

My heart literally broke at the news. I didn’t know I could feel such intense pain over one simple sentence. There was only one thing for me to do.

I did the obligatory friend thing, smiled, and congratulated him.

But inside I could feel the unbearable urge to just turn around and hit something, then afterwards cry my eyes out for about a hundred years.

But I didn’t, I suffered through it.

He told us everything about this ‘love’ of his, and I do mean everything. When he introduced us, it took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to grab her around the throat, and choke the life out of her.

Ron had noticed in the months that proceeded the ‘blessed event’ how absolutely desolate I was. One evening, after a few butterbeers, I poured my heart out, told him everything. He was sympathetic and told me he knew. Had known for years how I felt about Harry. The news surprised me, but didn’t shock me. It must have been obvious for him. Especially during the time I was with Harry through his ‘traumatic state’ phase.

Ron saw it all, and he was never angry with me for it. In fact he admitted that his ‘silly crush’ ended after fifth year. I was glad to hear this, even gladder that I had him as a friend. I think it was safe to say, after that night, our friendship escalated on to a whole new platonic level.

..............................

The wedding was pure torture. Only the ninth circle of hell could be worse...possibly.

I watched as the newlyweds left the reception room; off to their wonderful, sex filled honeymoon no doubt.

I had to get out of here.

So I said my farewells to some friends, and told Ron I would see him later. He gave me one of his patented sympathetic faces, one I had grown far to accustom to, and said good night.

When I arrived home, I slid my aching feet out of the ‘torture’ of high-heeled shoes, and made my way towards my bedroom. As I entered, I reached for the light switch to my left and threw my purse on the bed.

A white piece of card fell out of it.

I instantly recognised it.

A death certificate to my hopes and dreams.

It was a wedding invitation I had recieved months ago, but could never throw away. I had memorised every word magically engraved on it by heart.

Mr Harry Potter and Miss Anne Corbin, request the honour of your

presence on the day of their matrimonial union.

The service is to be held on Saturday the 3rd of May at Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Anne Corbin...

Anne...

Harry Potter’s bloody wife.

2. Chapter Two

Author’s Notes: Hello everyone, I know it’s been over 4 months since I updated, but I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write. Someone else had already written a story very similar to the direction I initially intended to go, so I had to come up with something different. I still don’t know where this is going to go either, but I feel more confident about writing now, and I hope it’s slightly better written then my first chapter. Thank you to those who reviewed, it meant the world and a special thanks to hogwarts-hottie, who really seemed to love it. Disclaimer is in the first chapter. P.S. I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

Chapter Two

This was it, the moment I’d been waiting for.

The dress was perfect. Stunning, elegant, ethereal, exactly the dress I always imagined I would wear on this day.

The flowers were beyond beautiful, white tulips were littered and blossoming throughout the hall. Ivy tresses were hanging on the stone walls; white ribbons were sashayed across the ceiling.

The guests were seated, all accounted for, and eager for the ceremony to commence. Happy, shiny, faces stared back at me as I took in my surroundings, a blissful sigh escaping my lips.

But all of it paled in comparison as I looked upon the man standing next to me.

The One.

The man I was about to marry; the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

He must have felt me staring at him, as he turned is head and gave me his I-love-you smiles.

I lived for those smiles.

I had no choice but to return the gesture, and I did it gladly. His gorgeous green eyes took on a shiny hue that indicated he was holding back some tears, so he returned his gaze to the vicar.

Mine followed suit as I took in the vicar before me, trying to listen and understand the words he was saying.

Everything he said sounded as if he were speaking underwater. Not one sentence made sense to me. I watched as he directed his speech towards my fiancé. He must have understood as him, as he answered with an ‘I do’, accompanied by a small head nod.

The vicar turned his attention towards me. Again, I couldn’t decipher his words, but when he stopped speaking, an expectant look upon his face, the feel of dozens of anxious eyes staring at me, my darling husband-to-be included, I also answered with an ‘I do’.

That was obviously the right thing to say as I could hear a few expelled breaths from behind me, my fiancé’s grip on my hand tightened in what must have been relief.

My own relief dimmed as I could hear, in perfect, clear, English, what the vicar was saying next.

"If any of you can show just cause why they may not be lawfully married, speak now or forever hold your peace".

Silence filled the room. Tense seconds went by, anxious eyes glancing around for any possible sign of disruption.

Seemingly satisfied, the vicar once again began his speech.

"Then by..."

BANG!!!

BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG!!!

Oh god, who was that? Why were they ruining my wedding day? Didn’t they understand this was the most special, important day of my life?

BANG!!!

"GO AWAY!!!" I hollered as loud as I could to the now empty hall.

What the hell, where did everybody go?

"Harry?" I called to my now disappeared fiancé.

"Harry, where are you?" my fretful voice echoed throughout the vacant room.

BANG!

*******************************

It was the last bang that did it, as I now find myself half-awake with an empty bottle in my hand, and a good chunk of pillow in my mouth. And drool; let’s not forget the lovely drool that had left a wet patch on said pillow.

Oh good grief, my head felt like somebody had taken a sledgehammer to it, then a drill, and for good measure a wrecking ball. I swear, when I find the inconsiderate bastard who was making that noise, I was going to kill him. Ruin that wonderful dream of mine will you? Oh yes...you will pay!

Untangling and flinging back the twisted covers that had me in its grasp, I blearily stumbled out of bed, and promptly fell on the floor.

Okay, not good.

Using techniques almost worthy of a senior citizen with a hip replacement problem, I managed to crawl my way back up on the bed.

Round two.

My second attempt went much better then my first, and I made it in one piece (and no minor injuries) to my bedroom door. Upon opening it, I noticed a mouth-watering smell wafting from the direction of the kitchen. Unable to resist, I followed the scent and discovered Ron at the kitchen table serving up fresh ground coffee in a cafetiere, and to my stomach and taste buds delight, fresh Danish cinnamon rolls...with icing.

Now, I don’t know about you, but my opinion is, a Danish cinnamon roll just isn’t the same without icing. Sure it still tastes wonderful, but without the icing, it just doesn’t have the same affect in the taste factor.

Ron had noticed my arrival, and as his expression switched from greeting to abject horror and shock in a span of two seconds, I figured my appearance wasn’t up to it’s usual standard.

"What the hell happened to you?" he cried at me, the initial shock fading from his face.

"I spent the evening with a new friend, Jack Daniels" I replied in a dry tone. I meandered my way to the table, and swiped one of the Danishes from its plate and stuffed half of it into my mouth. Bliss.

Ron settled into the chair opposite me, and took a cinnamon roll for himself.

"Jack Daniels? That’s unexpected, I always thought you were ‘just a butterbeer for me thanks’ girl" he said in a slightly amused tone, the corner of his mouth turned up a touch. I reached for the coffee, and poured some into the available mug Ron had placed, remembering my manners I tipped some into his mug as well.

"Yes, well...desperate times call for desperate measures," I said in a deprecating tone. Suddenly remembering why I was sitting here in the first place, I asked quite angrily "What was that bloody banging I heard earlier, was it you?"

Ron, taken aback slightly from my switch in behaviour answered quickly "It wasn’t me. I noticed that next door are moving out, they’ve been making loads of noise all day. I don’t know what the bloody hell they’re doing over there, but one would have thought they would give some consideration to their neighbours".

Well, that took the angry wind out of my sails. I reached for my mug and took a sip of the steaming hot liquid. The bitterness melts some of the earlier disorientation from the night before. Taking another roll from the plate I bit into it.

"What time is it?" I asked with my mouth full of pastry.

"About half one, I didn’t know when you would be up and around, so I took the liberty of owling your work and telling them you wouldn’t be coming in today," he informed me, taking a gentle sip of his own coffee.

"Thank you", I replied gratefully and with some relief. I knew I couldn’t work today, my mind would not have been co-operative.

"So what happened after I left?" I asked in regards to Harry’s reception I had fled from the night before.

Harry. He was married now. Some part of me still refused to believe it, but the absence of his presence in the house soon put to rest that small spark of hope.

"Not much", Ron answered, shrugging his shoulders. "People drank themselves into a stupor, there was some snogging on the dance floor, the bridesmaids were twittering about how beautiful the bride looked for a good few hours. I thought maybe one of them might be interested in me, seeing as I was the best man and everything, but not a bloody glimmer of interest. Too bad, they were really fit".

Normally the feminist in me would rear its ugly head at that remark, but I really couldn’t be buggered this morning, so I let it pass.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, concern seeping into his voice. I looked up from the table and answered truthfully.

"No, not really. Apart from the hangover from hell, and the pounding jackhammer right behind my eyes, yesterday I saw the love of my life marry another woman. So, no Ron, I’m not okay, right at this precise moment in time I don’t think I ever will be again".

He gave a small sigh, but said nothing.

We finished off the rest of coffee and rolls in silence. That suited me fine.

*******************************

When three o’clock rolled around, I was still in pyjamas and munching my way through a bag of Doritos, the television blaring out whiny, high-pitched, happy voices.

Children’s shows should be banned I mused.

They’re hardly educational anymore, I mean, what could a child learn by watching four, giant, brightly coloured puppets prancing around saying things like "la-la"?

Digging the remote out from underneath all the empty packets of crisps and sweets, I changed the channel. Something worse came on...daytime talk shows.

And what was today’s story?

‘My Husband/Boyfriend/Partner left me for another woman’.

Perfect.

Just what I needed to see, a thought that was laced with sarcasm.

"At least you had them to begin with!" I yelled at the screen; as this was a normal everyday muggle television, I didn’t recieve an answer back.

Grabbing the remote again, I violently pushed the off button, and the room was silent once more. A little too silent for my liking.

Ron had left half an hour earlier; he had Quidditch practice with his team, but was reluctant to leave me. I convinced him that I was okay on my own, and that he should leave for his meet. On his way out he gave me a hard hug and told me he loved me.

And also to get out of the pyjamas and put some clothes on for ‘Merlin’s sake’.

Needless to say, I didn’t.

Glancing around the living room, I took in the mess I was making. Empty glasses were littered on the coffee table, along with empty packets of ‘really bad things I shouldn’t be eating’ that were starting to smother me. With a wave of my wand that I ‘accioed’ from my bedroom, a simple ‘scourgify’ had the place looking spick and span again.

No evidence was left of my desperate comfort food munchies. Well... except for the gluttonous and slothly slug I was becoming still in my pj’s at three o’clock in the afternoon.

I pushed myself off the sofa and headed towards my room, my goal; to shower, get dressed in some proper attire...and after that I had no clue.

As I reached my door I took a glance at the cork notice board we had hung in the hallway.

Brochures of tropical paradises were pinned to it. These were Harry’s. He wanted to take Anne somewhere she had never been before and I suggested the tropics.

Yes, me.

He had come home late one night, I was still up reading some paperwork on new healing medicines and procedures, when he came bounding into the kitchen, a smile blossoming on his face when he saw me.

God I love his smile, I had thought.

"Hermione you’re up, good, I was hoping I could have a word", he asked me, sitting himself down on a chair.

"You can have as many as you like", I jokingly replied.

He smiled again, and I swear something inside me melted, probably something vital.

"If you could choose to go anywhere in the world that you haven’t been to, where would you go?" he asked, his eyes were glimmering with excitement.

I had pondered for a few moments, and searched my brain for some of the places I would have liked to visit, given the chance.

"Mmm, I don’t know, probably somewhere tropical, Barbados or somewhere else in the Caribbean maybe. Get away from the grey and rainy weather we’ve been having for a while. Of course that’s for relaxation purposes. If I were to go on holiday for something a little more intellectually stimulating...Rome maybe? Look at the art and ruins, visit Pompeii, and have a wonder around. Does that answer your question?" I answered, giving him a small smile.

It must have, as he nodded his head and thanked me.

We said goodnight to one another, and I went back to my reading, silently wondering why he wanted to know where I would like to go on holiday?

Was he going to ask me to go with him somewhere? Maybe he thought we both needed a break from work, and decided we should go somewhere, get away for a while?

As I finished reading a paragraph about herbology, and the new medicinal plants that had been discovered, my mind raced with possibilities.

Little did I know what his real intentions were.

That was the day before he had proposed to Anne. He wanted to take her on honeymoon to somewhere she had never been.

And I had given him the suggestion of the tropics.

That’s where they are now, no doubt sipping cocktails out of coconuts through bendy straws, and swinging deliriously in hammocks, basking in each others presence, I thought bitterly.

To hell with them, to hell with them both!

Enough is enough; I can’t keep doing this. Harry is gone, married, in love with another woman, and here I am moping that he’s with her on their honeymoon in a country I wanted to see with him.

Looking over the brochures and remembering the conversation we had, I made a decision. A rash decision I admit, but a decision nonetheless.

I was going to leave for a while. Clear my head, have a holiday of my own. I had enough savings (true, they were for a house I had planned on buying one day when Harry and I were married) but that dream is over now. Gone.

With determination I marched into my room and dragged my suitcase from under my bed. Blowing off the thick layer of dust that had accumulated on it, I flung it open and headed towards the wardrobe.

But as I reached for some hangers, I suddenly stopped short.

I had no bloody idea where I was going to go.