Chapter Text
Harry Potter walked into the London flat. Hermione Granger's normally impeccable home was in total disarray, and he looked around at the boxes piled around the space.
"Um…'Mi?" he called out tentatively.
A familiar head of curly brown hair poked around a doorframe down the hall, and Harry sighed heavily at the sight of his best friend. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt and black leggings that were so old they were nearly threadbare in the knees, but it wasn't her clothing that caught his attention.
Her face was red and splotchy, and he could see the tear tracks that had streaked through the makeup she had worn earlier that day to Sunday lunch at the Burrow. She had black smudges under both eyes from where her mascara had run along with her tears.
She didn't look sad right now, though. No, if Harry had to describe her in a word, he would say she looked…pissed.
"What happened, 'Mi? I was still at the Burrow when Ron came charging through the Floo yelling about a fight."
"What happened?" she scoffed bitterly. "What didn't happen, Harry?"
She walked into the room and flopped down gracelessly on the sofa. Her arms were crossed defensively over her chest as she slumped into the comfortable cushions at her back. Harry sat down beside her; one knee propped sideways on the couch so he could look at her while they talked.
"He cheated on me," she said softly, picking absently at her fingernails. "Again."
Harry saw red at her words. While Ron had been his first true friend, not just even in the wizarding world but in his whole life, the man could be an absolute idiot at times. He'd always been an idiot about Hermione, really, only ever admitting to wanting her when she was taken by someone else. He had thought, though, that Ron had grown up a bit over the past four years since the war had ended.
Fame had gone straight to Ron's head in the aftermath of the war, and it had taken Harry and Hermione at least a year and a half of interventions and hard conversations to bring the man back to reality. Ron had finally settled down, pursuing more seriously a career with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and joining Harry as an Auror.
In the time that he had spent soaking up his new-found glory, Hermione had not waited for him. She had dated several other wizards, men who had treated her better than Ron ever had. She had been dating Roger Davies at the time that Ron had finally pulled his head out of his arse and decided that he and Hermione should give it a go. While Harry knew she had enjoyed spending time with Davies, who was only two years older than her and had been intelligent and caring and exactly what she had needed at the time, his best friend had always held a torch for Ron and had broken things off with the older wizard to give a relationship between her and Ron a chance.
Over the past two and a half years, Harry had closely observed his friends' roller coaster relationship. The high points were wonderful, but the lows had always left her devastated. Ron had been caught on several occasions indulging in the company of other witches, but Hermione had always forgiven Ron. Tonight, though…
"Who?"
He watched as Hermione continued to pick at the polish on her fingernails - a green so dark it looked almost black - and she wouldn't meet his eyes when she mumbled out a name:
"Lavender."
Harry nearly choked.
"Lavender Brown?!"
She merely nodded, and Harry rose from the sofa with a curse.
"Merlin, could he be any more of a dunce? Seriously? He can't even stand the witch!"
Hermione listened absently to Harry as her best friend railed. Of course, she knew that Ron didn't like Lavender. That was what made this particular betrayal so hard to stomach. The other instances had been explained away as drunken incidents that Ron had regretted tremendously and so every time he had come crawling back and asking for her forgiveness she had forgiven him for those indiscretions, against her better judgement. But this one…
Hermione felt the angry tears rising up once again but ruthlessly beat them back. She was done. She refused to waste another tear on Ronald Weasley. He had been trampling all over her heart since she had been sixteen years old and now, at twenty-two, she was finished.
She had told him as much that afternoon, when Lavender had shown up at the door of their shared loft looking for another go with him. After giving the vindictive witch a thorough berating and slamming the door closed in her face, she had turned on Ron.
"I swear to Merlin, Ronald Weasley, if you don't tell me what is going on right now…" her voice trailed off, the threat unfinished, but her wand had been clenched tightly in her fist and had been more frightening to her adulterous boyfriend than any words could have been.
She had listened as Ron had stumbled over the explanation: he had been at the Leaky Cauldron and had drunk a few too many glasses of firewhisky when Lavender had come over and started talking to him.
"And she actually listened to me when I talked, 'Mi," Ron had said in a wheedling voice that had grated on her nerves. "It's just…you're always so busy at St Mungo's lately, and I feel like we never really talk anymore, and…"
On and on he had droned, but the pit in Hermione had grown with every excuse he had made. Because of course it was all her fault. Never mind that Ron spent the majority of his time - when he wasn't at work - pissed out of his mind, never mind that he never bothered to show up at anything with her anymore…no, it was her fault, because she didn't listen to him anymore.
"Just get out, Ron," she had finally said, interrupting what she was certain would have been a very well-rehearsed apology. "I deserve better from a partner than someone who sleeps around with another witch every other week. I'll send your stuff to the Burrow, just get out."
Her voice had been soft, tinged with weariness, but as an indignant snarl spread over his face, she felt her temper explode.
"I swear on my magic, Ronald Weasley, that if you don't GET OUT right now, I will not be responsible for what I do to you!"
He had scoffed at her words but had turned on his heel and stormed over to the Floo. With a flash of green, he was gone.
Hermione had shed more tears than she cared to admit as she had walked through first their sitting room, then the kitchen, then the dining room. With a flick of her wand in each room she had packed up her ex's belongings into conjured boxes. By the time she had reached their bedroom, however, the brokenhearted tears had turned to angry ones instead. When she had heard Harry call out to her, she'd been fully immersed in her rage.
The sight of her best friend railing against Ron, though, had cooled her temper considerably and now she was just…tired.
"I just feel like," she said, interrupting Harry's tirade without warning, "I've wasted so many years of my life on him – with him. I don't know if I know who I am anymore."
Harry peered at her intently from behind the round frames of his glasses.
"I'm sorry, 'Mi, but that is absolute Hippogriff dung."
Shocked at his words, Hermione couldn't think of a retort.
"You are Hermione Granger. You are the only reason that I survived that year on the run, and without you I never would have succeeded in beating Tom. Not only that, but you are the smartest witch that has come through Hogwarts since probably Ravenclaw herself and you are one of the most accomplished healers at St Mungo's. And you know that Kingsley would give every Galleon to his name to have you join the Ministry, too."
He walked back over to the sofa and dropped down at her side before taking her small hand in between his two larger ones.
"You do not need a man to tell you who you are. I know you know that; you just need a bit of time to remind yourself of that fact. And you certainly don't need Ronald bloody Weasley to give your life meaning."
Hermione felt a lone tear slip from her lashes before she angrily swiped it away.
"Thank you, Harry."
"Of course, sister mine. That's my job."
She chuckled; the sound watery from the tears that still clogged her throat.
"Now, you know what you do need?" Harry said as he jumped to his feet, a mischievous smirk on his face.
Hermione shook her head warily.
"You need to come out with some of our friends and get good and plastered!"
At Hermione's groan, he nodded emphatically.
"I insist, Hermione! I promise it'll make you feel better!"
With much grumbling and bad grace, Hermione finally acquiesced. She went to the bathroom to freshen up her smeared makeup while Harry pulled out the muggle cellphone that all of their friends now carried. They had all agreed that waiting hours for an owl to get from one side of London to the other was absolutely silly when they could just call and text one another. The muggle phones weren't always helpful, as the constant magics performed in their homes tended to make the devices go a bit haywire, but they were typically able to at least text with reliability, and Harry got to work sending out messages to their friends.
Hermione was hurting and needed a good reminder of just how many people cared about her, and Harry was going to make sure that happened. He knew that they would all show up in force to support their friend.