Chapter 1

May 2003

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Hermione debated, for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. She anxiously stared at her open suitcases and chewed on her bottom lip. She had already unpacked them, only to repack them, three separate times in the week leading up to her trip.

"You're going and you know it," Lizzie scolded, from the armchair. She gently stroked Crookshanks' head, while firmly nodding hers. The ginger cat swished his tail towards Hermione, as if to say 'Get on with it already'.

"But what if-"

"Enough with the what ifs Hermione!" Lizzie cried, making Crookshanks jump. The cat shot Hermione's friend, and co-worker, an annoyed look before retreating to his bed in the corner. "You are going to this wedding. You're going to smile, have fun, and make your ex husband go out of his mind with jealousy over how gorgeous you are and how amazing your life is without him."

Hermione choked out a sarcastic laugh. Gorgeous and amazing were not the first words that came to mind, to describe her post married life. Anxious, lonely, scarred- those were more apt words for her condition. But, she hid it well. The beauty of New York City was that everyone knew how to shut up and stay out of each other's business. For the most part, it was live and let live, and Hermione appreciated that in more ways than one.

"I definitely think you need to get laid, too," Lizzie added, her eyes evilly gleaming. "Find a nice no-maj that'll fuck your brains out and make you forget all about Roy."

"Ron," Hermione corrected, shaking her head. "And I think sex is the last thing I need at the moment."

"Au contraire mon ami! A night of meaningless sex is the first thing you need!" Lizzie protested. "When was the last time a male hand has touched you?"

Hermione dropped a pair of knickers into her suitcase and contemplated the question. "David, two years ago," Hermione answered defeatedly.

"And what happened there?"

Hermione exhaled loudly and exclaimed, "He copped a feel and the next day told me he was gay!"

"I rest my case," Lizzie concluded, resting back into the chair. "Those dresses we picked out the other day will with help with your quest for sex. Especially that slinky little black number."

Hermione answered with silence. She tossed the last few pairs of shorts and tank tops into the second suitcase. Not wanting to overestimate the fickle English weather, she added an extra pair of jeans and two sweaters to the mix. With a wave of her wand, the suitcase lids snapped shut with a sharp finality. Hermione pursed her lips and tentatively reached out to them.

"If you unpack them again, I swear to Merlin that I will hex you into the next century," Lizzie threatened. "They're your best friends and they're finally getting married. You're their maid of honor, and they're counting on you!"

"You're right," Hermione sighed. She sent her suitcases flying over to the front door. "Of course you're right. I can do this. I mean, I was married to the man for almost three years. What's one month and one last trip down the aisle going to hurt?" Hermione tried to keep her voice light and airy, but ended on a grimace.

"That's the spirit!" Lizzie clapped, springing to her feet. "Now, I've got your key, and will be here tomorrow, around lunchtime. Don't worry about a thing, Crookshanks and I will get along great. Right pretty kitty?" she cooed, clicking her tongue at the sleeping heap of fur. "Drop me a line if you get a chance and dish all the dirt!"

Hermione thanked and hugged her friend. Lizzie kissed her cheek and scurried out the door. Hermione clicked the two locks into place and secured the deadbolt, adding a security charm for good measure. Her building wasn't in the worst part of the city, but one could never be too safe.

Climbing into her queen size bed, that took up the majority of space in her one tiny bedroom, Hermione stared at the faded water stains on the ceiling and contemplated the days that lie ahead of her.

Her best friends, Harry and Ginny, were finally tying the knot and Hermione had been asked to be the maid of honor. She knew when she accepted the position, one year prior, that Ron had been asked to be Harry's best man. At the time, the date seemed so far off that Hermione had been sure she'd be able to put the past behind her and play nice for that small drop in time. Now, staring down the barrel of the gun, one month seemed like an awful lot of time to be around a man that made her blood pressure rise to dangerous levels.

She fought back the anxiety, though, and steeled her nerves, reminding herself that she had gone through much worse and lived to tell the tale. Harry and Ginny had worked so hard to keep her a part of their lives after her divorce, and the subsequent nervous breakdown that drove her to a whole other country. She hadn't been back to England since the ink had dried on her divorce parchments, but her friends made the trek to America, several times, every year, to see her.

On their last visit, Ginny had broached the idea of Hermione coming for an extended stay, before the wedding, to help out with the final details. Knowing that Ginny would be busy fulfilling her Chaser duties with the Holyhead Harpies, and Harry keeping odd hours with the Aurors, Hermione had accepted, saying she would be happy to help in whatever facet she could. And so she hoarded her vacation time in order to clear one month from her schedule at the Magical Congress of the United States of America.

During the period leading up to her divorce, Hermione had fought to be transferred to the states, to work MACUSA. She was desperate to put as much distance as possible between her and Ron. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, finally caved and was able to secure her a position as Junior Secretary for the United Kingdom's Head Liaison. Jumping at the chance, she accepted right away and was in New York City the day after her divorce from Ron Weasley was finalized.

Since then, she had done a pretty good job at separating the lives of the former Mrs. Hermione Weasley and the now single Hermione Granger. She only divulged bits of her past to certain friends, and even then kept much of herself closely guarded. But, Harry and Ginny knew her better than anyone else and wouldn't let Hermione let go of every aspect of her past. To their credit, they kept talk of Ron to a rarity and never once tried to talk her into moving back to England.

In a way she was excited to go back. Harry and Ginny had been trying to get a wedding planned for years now. He had proposed in 2000, but various obstacles kept popping up. Apparently at one point, Ginny made a comment about just running off to Greece, to elope, and Molly Weasley nearly had a stroke. She all but forbade her only daughter to run off into the night, like some harpy, even if it was with a man she had been with since she was sixteen. Hermione had laughed at the image when Harry retold it.

No, Hermione conceded. Lizzie was right in that she needed to go back, have fun, and just try to forget about things for a while. She could be civil with her ex-husband for a month, for the sake of her friends. Though, as much as Lizzie would be disappointed to hear, sex was not on the top of her to-do list. Laughing at her own pun, Hermione fell into a fitful sleep.

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Hermione's portkey was scheduled for seven the following morning. She hated this method of travel and couldn't imagine how some wizards did it weekly for business trips. She much preferred apparating, but wasn't able to do that as much in New York City. Unless you knew exactly where you wanted to end up, it was safer to walk or take muggle transportation. Muggles (or No-Maj, as the Americans called them) didn't take too kindly to people just appearing in front of them, seemingly out of nowhere. And there were always so many people coming and going from the MACUSA offices that in order to apparate there, you needed to secure a much sought after apparition appointment. For this reason, Hermione had bought herself a bicycle in order to navigate the city. That morning though, lumbered with two suitcase, she opted for hailing a Muggle Taxi to take her downtown.

Hermione had dressed light for traveling that morning. She donned a pair of worn cut off shorts, and a powder pink, spaghetti strap tank under a white, sleeveless button up shirt. Stepping out of her apartment building, she was smacked with a wave of humidity. Knowing there was slim chance of her cab having working air conditioning, she unbuttoned the top half of the buttons and knotted the bottom hem around her waist.

After feeling like she had been shoved through a meat grinder, she was spit out into the Great Britain Ministry of Magic. The local time was just after noon and she desperately hoped Harry and Ginny had lunch planned because her nerves had forced her to forego breakfast. The rumble in her stomach made Hermione regret that decision. Making her way out of the ministry, she found an approved apparition spot, drew her wand, and quickly spun.

With in seconds, she found herself in front of a statue, depicting a happy couple, holding onto a smiling baby boy. Hermione smiled, sadly, at the statue, remembering the last time she had stood in front of it. It was one of those moments she constantly tried to keep pushed away, into a dark corner of her mind.

Just before Hermione moved abroad, Harry decided to move into Godric's Hollow. He sold Number 12 Grimmauld Place and used to the money to rebuild his childhood home. A short walk up the cobbled street, proved to Hermione that he had done a fantastic job on the remodeling.

The cottage was two stories and Harry had kept the same tan color brick, though he added rust red shutters to the windows, and a large front porch. The front porch played host to a bench style swing and several cushy, wicker chairs, with a matching wicker table. Hermione knew that the back garden held a large pool that Harry had put in last spring, despite Ginny's claims of it being frivolous.

With her wand out, Hermione was able to pass through the security charms on the gate and make her way up the stone path, lined with vibrant magenta azaleas. The large oak door was open, so she let herself through the screen door. She left her sandals and suitcases in the foyer, and padded through to the sitting room. It was decorated in earth tones, with two large, brown leather sofas, and two matching armchairs arranged around a grand hearth on the far wall. A mantle over the fireplace held an assortment of pictures. Hermione's gaze lingered on a faded photo of her, Harry, and Ron, from the summer before their third year. How was it possible that that moment felt like so long ago, yet she remembered it like it was yesterday?

Hearing a clatter and swearing in the kitchen, Hermione pulled herself from the pictures and went to investigate. She found her best friend, of over a decade, standing in front of an open cupboard, amidst a pile of pots and pans.

"Every damn time," Harry muttered.

"She's never been the most organized witch, has she?" Hermione asked, nonchalantly.

"No, but I love her anyway," Harry answered. He picked up a pot and put it on the stove, before a flicker of recognition crossed his eyes and he quickly turned to Hermione. "You came!" he shouted, jumping the mess of metal and pulling Hermione in for a hug. "What are you doing sneaking about?"

"Didn't mean to sneak," Hermione laughed, hugging Harry tight. "Your front door was open and I figured I'd let myself in."

"Ugh, it's just unseasonably hot at the moment and we've been trying to open up every airway possible," Harry explained as he released Hermione. He flicked his wand and nested the pots and pans neatly within each other, before sending them back into the cupboard. "Cooling charms just aren't doing the trick."

"You wouldn't happen to be making lunch?" Hermione hinted, peering at the vegetables on the kitchen island.

"Just about to give it a try," Harry said warily. "Ginny has it in her head to make a dish called Gazpacho. She tried it on one of her trips to Spain and gave me this recipe," he said, waving a piece of parchment. "Apparently, it will be nice for a hot day like today. I've been tasked with starting the prep work until she gets here."

"You don't seem too confident?"

"Merlin, no! You've had my cooking. My culinary skills begin and end with toast."

"Go sit down," Hermione ordered, picking up the knife and pulling a tomato onto the cutting board.

"I forgot, you've turned into an amateur chef," Harry teased, starting to peel a cucumber.

Hermione had taken a liking to cooking in the past couple of years. It started out with helping her mother-in-law prepare holiday meals. After she moved to America, TV dinners quickly grew old, and she worked to further improve her cooking and baking skills. She was quite proud of being able to pull of quick gourmet meals, even if she was usually the only one that ever enjoyed them.

Together, Hermione and Harry prepped all the vegetables and soon had the soup nicely chilled. They were just putting the finishing touches on sandwiches and cutting up a cantaloupe, when the sound of the fireplace springing to life made them pause. A few seconds later, Ginny ambled into the kitchen, carrying her broomstick and bag of quidditch gear.

"Hermione! You came!" Ginny squealed. She dropped her gear and ran to give Hermione a hug.

"You all seem so surprised that I'm actually here," Hermione scoffed, squeezing her friend. "I told you I wouldn't miss this for the world. It's been how many years in the making now?"

"Three," Harry muttered, picking up Ginny's gear and setting in their mudroom.

"Everything smells so yummy," Ginny commented, peering into the pot of soup. "This looks perfect, Hermione."

"Hey, why do you just assume it was her?" Harry cried, feigning a look of offense. "You did set me with the task, after all."

"Yes, but it's actually complete and it's not toast," Ginny said, simply.

"Fair enough," Harry chuckled, kissing his fiancé.

Hermione watched her friends' happy reunion. She vaguely remembered moments like that. Hearing her husband's boots stomping off soot, anxiously awaiting his tender caress and a kiss. It wasn't long before that anticipation had turned to anxiety, upon his return, and she would pretend to have fallen asleep on the couch, with her books.

"Earth to Hermione," Harry called, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts.

"Sorry, spaced out there for a moment," Hermione smiled.

"We were just saying we have had a small change of plans," Ginny said, ladling soup into large cream colored bowls. Harry set the four bowls of soup on a tray and carried it to the long, red oak table. Hermione followed, carrying the plate of sandwiches and melon slices.

"Don't tell me you've pushed this shindig back again?" Hermione groaned, sliding onto a chair.

"No," Ginny laughed, passing Hermione a stack of parchments. "There's just been a bit of a change to the wedding party," she said, hesitantly.

Hermione pulled black framed glasses from her purse and perched them on her face. Years of reading by wand light had taken its toll on her eyesight and she finally had to give in and get reading glasses.

"Ron has declined to be my best man," Harry murmured, a note of resentment tinging his voice.

Hermione looked from Ginny, to Harry, in disbelief. "He didn't!" Hermione cried. The couple nodded. "Because of me?" They nodded again. "What a selfish prick!" Hermione fumed. She knew Ron blamed her for the rift that grew between them, but she never thought he would take it out on his sister and his best mate.

"I was mad at first, but I understand why he did," Harry said, waving his hand like it wasn't a big deal to not have his best friend at his side, on the biggest day of his life. "I think his reasons are stupid, but I can't force him. He's still in the wedding party, just not the best man."

"If it's that big of a deal for Ronald, I can step down. He is your brother after all-" Hermione started.

"And your my sister," Ginny insisted, squeezing Hermione's hand. "I don't care what some rubbish piece of parchment says. You'll always be my sister."

Hermione's eyes flooded with tears and she grabbed a napkin to keep them from spilling over. Just when she thought she couldn't love the stubborn red head anymore than she already did….

"So, then who's taking his place?" Hermione inquired, fixing her glasses and looking at Harry.

Harry cringed and started to answer, but was interrupted by the screen door opening and slamming shut.

"Something smells good Potter," a cool, familiar voice called.

Hermione's stomach dropped and she glared at Harry.

"Him? Really?" she hissed, as a tall, pale blonde figure lingered in the doorway.