It's painfully obvious that I didn't update when I promised to. I think it's been a couple of weeks. Maybe three. Whoops. Blame personal drama, manic depression, a lack of inspiration, late-night phone calls. All of the above were reasons for my flakiness. Really, though, it was that I was trying to rush my story. I added in this lovely chapter, to make the next chapter make more sense. Originally, you would also have gotten the next chapter stuck inside this one, but it was just too much. This is a nice little interlude that I hope was worth the wait. Please review, I really do pay attention to each and every one.
And now on to the good stuff: heartbreak, angst, and unrequited love…
Seventeen years. Seventeen years ago her best friend had walked out of her life. She hadn't spoken to him since. She hadn't even seen him. A fit of anger had broken them. And the funny thing was…the extremely ironic thing was that it had all come out of the blue. It was almost as if Ginny had slipped him a love potion or something. He had just…yelled at her.
She hated him. Hermione had decided that after two months of not talking. She told everyone that it was his fault and his problem. They all nodded silently, and then remarked that they had always assumed she and Harry would…but never mind. To be honest, she agreed with them. And what she told herself at night, when there was no one around to fool, was that she still cared. She did, but she wouldn't show it.
That was the way things had gone for the last sixteen years and eight months. Every morning, her Daily Prophet was delivered to her door. Almost every morning, for the first four years, it was littered with references to "England's most eligible bachelor" and sightings of him and his "lasted beauty, Ginerva Weasley." This only occurred until one intrepid reporter discovered that the two had been secretly married for over three years, and that they even had a daughter named Lily who had been alive for the majority of that time.
For the next eight years, page six of the Daily Prophet had been covered with pictures of the young Potter family, as photographed while going about their lives. Hermione would have found deplorable, but…it was hard not to look, and not to watch Harry's daughter grow up. She couldn't help but think it should have been her in the paper with the two of them.
And then the girl turned eleven. She was, of course, a witch, and was sent to Hogwarts. Hermione dreaded the day. As the defense against the dark arts professor and head of Gryffindor, it was obvious that she would have to see the girl and know her. And no doubt she would love her. The students arrived on a balmy day, more indian summer than autumn. The lake was clear blue, and the first two to trip inside the castle were whispering about their (almost) sighting of the giant squid.
The girl, Lily Virginia *gulp* Potter, was one of the last inside. She was unmistakable, with the vibrant Weasley hair. It was long and thick, luxurious and wild. It curled gently everywhere where it should have. (It was what Hermione's hair could have been, if only she'd spent a little time on it or had it done right.) The girl's eyes were a perfect shade of green: she'd gotten them from Harry, and her namesake. They were huge and stared at everything around her with awe, very child-like.
At first, Hermione dared to hope that everything would be alright. The girl looked more like a Weasley than anything. She could, possibly, forget she was Harry's. She didn't even wear glasses. But then she heard her laugh. Suddenly seven years of memories were crushing her, just as eleven years of pent-up emotions decided to become an unstoppable deluge. Hermione's lower lip quivered. And then the girl spoke (even her voice was like Harry's: sweet like honeysuckle with a smooth, rhythmic, low tone. It made her shiver):
"Aren't you Hermione Granger?"
"Yes, I am. And who, may I ask, are you?"
"You went to school with my Daddy. Uncle Ron says the three of you were best friends when you went here. And you're in all the books. So why have I never met you?"
"Oh so you'd be Miss Potter. Well you're up first for the sorting hat. Go on."
Hermione caught her breath and thanked God for the break. When the sorting was finally finished, she sat down at the staff table and was about to take a sip from her goblet (they did get something a little stronger than pumpkin juice as teachers) when Lily got up out of her seat at the Gryffindor table and walked right up to her. "We're going to be friends," she said.
***
They were friends. It killed Hermione to like the girl, but she couldn't help it. Lilly was smart, almost rivaling her. The girl was clever and popular and beautiful. She was good at quidditch (a chaser, and voted captain in sixth year). She had kept her boldness and stubbornness. There was no helping it: Hermione adored her.
As she grew older, Lily began to visit Hermione in her office more and more. They acted like sisters and talked about everything and everyone. Well, everything except Harry. Lily never talked about her parents; when she started to, she always cut off quickly. Hermione never talked about her school days. Lily probed, but Hermione couldn't.
But one day in seventh year, Lily went farther than just asking what Hogwarts was like "in the old days."
"But why did you and Daddy stop being friends?"
"What gives you that idea, Lily, what makes you so sure it was sudden?"
"Hermione, you simply dropped out of our photo album. I know you used to be friends with both Mom and Daddy. But what happened to make you stop?"
"Nothing happened. We just, didn't see eye to eye on something and, well, we fought. He stormed off and we haven't talked since."
Lily's eyes widened, a habit that had stuck with her. It suited her.
"What was your fight about?"
"It was about….I still don't understand where it came from. It was so sudden…for such a long time I thought that…it just didn't make sense, any of it…" Hermione's voice trailed off.
"I understand," Whispered Lily.
The funny thing was, she did.
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