Hermione looked around her small room. Her eyes fell on an old photograph of the “Golden Trio” in their first year. Life had been so simple back then. The only thing they had to worry about was Norbert setting Hagrid’s Hut on fire. She felt the tears welling up and she scolded herself, while she missed the “old” times, but she also knew she was deceiving herself. Life wasn’t all that easier back then. It was in their first year that Voldermort tried to steal the Sorcerer’s stone.
“Why can’t I get out of this?” she thought to herself. The remaining members of the Order had been worried about her so much that they forced her to take cheering potions, but Hermione seemed to be quite immune to them. Some people blamed Ron when he ended their relationship, however, Hermione knew it wasn’t that. She and Ron really never had much in common and she was relieved when he broke it off since she would no longer be attacked with Qudditch (what did she care if a Golden Snidget was caught in a 1269 game, even if it changed Qudditch?). No-Hermione knew she was having a problem “taking it all in” as her mother would after say.
Hermione’s mother always knew what to do when she was down. She had the Three Terrific Tips for Turbulent Times. Hermione found herself chuckling at the preposterous alliteration, but supposed that her mother had named it that way to make her laugh. After rummaging through a drawer, she pulled out a spare bit of paper her mother had written the useful pick-me-ups. She began turning over the advice in her head.
With a mischievous smile on her face Hermione went to her closet and pulled out a black muggle dress with a white-laced hem. She pulled out her wand and with a quick flick shortened the length of the dress. “Her mother did say she should look her best,” Hermione reasoned, “And why not show off a little while she was at it?” She slipped the slinky dress on and admired herself in the mirror. She never had been much for makeup so she decided to forgo that aspect of getting ready. She found herself wondering what she was getting ready for, but decided that she didn’t care- she needed a change of pace. Her eyes were drawn back to the parchment with her mother’s words of wisdom. Chocolate. Hermione did love chocolate, but had stayed away from the delectable substance. She decided it was time to do away with the diet when she popped the first Hershey’s Kiss in her mouth…. Mmmmm. After finishing what remained of the chocolate, she thought of the last bit of advice. A night on the town. She knew she could call Ginny, who would be all too excited for a girls night out, but she didn’t feel like dealing with Ginny’s apologies every time she mistakenly mentioned her brother’s name, nor did she particularly want to hear about how much Ginny snogged with Harry.
It was then that Hermione made the decision that would change everything. She summoned her purse to her and she walked out of her flat. Upon her leaving, her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Brinker, called out to her.
“Dearie, who’s the lucky man you’re out to impress,” she said in a motherly tone, “You haven’t told me about any new beaus.”
“That’s because I’m not seeing anyone right now Mrs. Brinker,” Hermione said with a smile. If she had been, Mrs. Brinker would have been the first to know. She told that old woman everything. “And I’m just going out for a few hours, maybe catch up with a friend or two.”
“That’s good dear,” she said with a smile, and then added, “You know I’ve been hoping you’d get out more. You’ve been so down lately. I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to see you in anything other than those dreadful sweats- not so say that you aren’t beautiful no matter wha-“
“I know Mrs. Brinker,” Hermione cut in, “And I am feeling better.”
“That’s good dear,” Mrs. Brinker, said, “I really must be getting back to Margaret now. She can get so jealous when it’s near dinner time.” Margaret was Mrs. Brinker’s ancient calico cat and true to her word Margaret had been glaring at Hermione ever since the conversation had begun.
Hermione bade her and Margaret goodbye and began walking. She lived in the heart of London, so it was only a few blocks from anywhere. But where did she want to go? She walked a few past a few stores until she came to a street sign that read: Vauxhall Road. She sensed some sort of foreboding, but quickly pushed it away when she saw a small pub.
As she walked into the Humble Hovel, she felt a wave of sadness hit her. She silently rebuked herself for attempting to drink herself out of depression when the bartender called out to her.
“Hey li’le miss. Ferst one’s on the house, so Whad’ll it be?” he asked with a heavy accent.
She couldn’t just leave now. So she found herself a stool and met the bartender’s enquiring gaze. “One firewhisky please.”