A Get Away Not Too Far (( Hermione ))

[leland]

After over a month of traveling, Leland found himself stepping off of a train in the heart of Scotland. He had forgotten where he was going, and what he was to do on his planned trip. Already reaching several pubs, nigh clubs, and concerts on the eastern shore, Leland found himself inward surrounded by land for the first time in weeks. Pulling his leather travel book bag strap over his shoulders, he popped his tailored navy jacket as he stepped onto the landing. It was Scotland, and he was caught in the rain. The month was December; however, the rain still persisted. Most muggle's would blame the change in weather on something called global warming, but Leland just saw it as normal. In the UK, rain was persistent and something which was regularly dealt with. He didn't find it as much as a bother compared to the dreadful draft of a column he would have to write in the next few days and send to his boss about his trip. Leland was a writer for an entrainment log. Most of his reviews were found in magazines, papers, and the internet on where to go in which ever city you choose. The holidays were just around the corner and for traveling families on holiday, he needed to make it eventful for all ages.

Leland's specialty was bars, clubs, and underground concerts that were ideal finds for a sure fire get-away from your daily lives. It was a pot of gold find, without the leprechaun hording it all to himself. Leland was the key, and he was copying it by the thousands and distributing it throughout England, Scotland, Ireland, and Whales. Not specializing in family affairs, Leland found himself in a hole. He needed to figure out where he could go in the next few days that would create a good 'wholesome' family piece to publish for this column. Walking to the street side, he hailed a taxi cab as he searched through this flooded mind for an idea.

In the confides of the backseat of the yellow cab, Leland's eyes scanned the buildings and street ways of Scotland. He used to live here with his father, before he moved away to his own place in London. He missed roaming the area and knowing it as if it was the back of his hand. Also, with Hogwarts not too far, but surely hidden from the muggle world he was currently in- he knew this place was more home than he first remembered. It had been a fear years since he returned to the area of his own personal hell-hold that confided him for seven years. It wasn't that he loathed school, it was more of the fact that who he was then, was not who he was now. Growing into his bearings, sitting in the back seat was a comfortable, mature, tailored man than he was in his teen years. He believed he was mature and tailored as a student enrolled in the school, however the real world had a lot to do with knocking sense into him.

"Here is good. Thank you." Leland stopped the driver as he pulled over to the side of the road. Digging in his pocket, He pulled out a few bills to suffice for the ride. Opening the door beside him, Leland nodded as the cabbie drove away and left Leland at the bottom of a cobble stone road. Knowing a sideways way, he found a safe haven of a destination in his mind that might be able to lighten his mood and help the creative juices to flow.

As a half an hour passed, Leland arrived at two large gates that noted the beginning of Hogsmeade, a place for families, businesses, and students a like to congregate and commune in one area. This was often an getaway link in Leland's life and Hogwarts. Hanging out in this side town was an acute destination not too far from his designated bed in the dungeons of the school. With a sideways smirk, Leland processed into the town as he exhaled into the cold air. The rain had ended now, but the seasonal breeze flew in with no delay. The afternoon was ended as the evening settled in and all of the regular Hogsmeade shoppers escaped from the cobble stone streets and found warmth and contentment indoors.

After only a few steps, Leland found himself at the doorstep of a familiar pub, The Three Broomsticks. This singular pub was always warm and joyous as he made his continuous trips there through the years. Watching, Learning, and even starting a few pub fights was where he found his entertainment when he was a teen. Shaking his head at the fleeting memories in his mind, he turned the doorknob in front of him and stepped into the pub. As he door closed behind him, he could instantly feel the warmth from the fire pulling him into the gut of the pub. Full of people from wall to wall, conversations flooded the air as Leland pushed his was through a crowd of people standing and sitting on stools around tall tables. "Pardon me." Leland said several times to passing occupants he spotted himself a table where a couple was stepping down from. Grabbing the vacant stool, so it couldn't he pulled to another table, Leland stepped up to the table and sat down. The couple's half empty mugs of butterbeer still sat in front of him as he pulled his bag off of his shoulders and put it on the floor under the table. A waitress came up to his table and with a quick swoop, stole the mugs out of his way and mumbled a few words of recognition that he was new to the table and she would be right back. Raising his eye browns with a grin, Leland watched as she stumbled away. Biting his lower lip, he laughed to himself as he remembered how at the end of the nights most waitresses would be drunk by being forced to down several shots of fire whiskey that was bought for them at the bar. "If only women these days had more class.'' Leland thought to himself as he un buttoned his coat and allowed the warmth from the fire touch his cotton shirt underneath.

[Hermione Granger]

Maybe it had just been a lie. False. A rumour – because that was what it was, wasn’t it? It was merely another hearsay Hermione had heard along the grapevine of gossip. It bled from the papers like stained blood. She shouldn’t have listened to them, but she’d wanted to, she was so desperate to see Ron again. Well, a small part of her continued to stubbornly fend off his constant presence in her mind, but it was growing weak and tired. The last few months working at Hogwarts had given Hermione fresh strength to tackle her inner demons and now, more than anything, she wanted to speak to her childhood friend; she wanted to apologise, to ask for forgiveness. Only, she didn’t know if Ron wanted to speak to her. She wouldn’t blame him, if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She had abandoned him; left him and shut herself up, becoming a recluse and reject of society. She may be a war hero, but Hermione had not felt overjoyed and glorified. Instead, she had felt like a huge chunk of herself had been ripped away, leaving her empty and lost.

Yet, although she wanted to see Ron again, her pride continued to get in her way of taking the final step to redemption. She couldn’t visit the Burrow; firstly because she couldn’t go straight to Ron and face him head on, and secondly because she was scared. More than anything, Hermione feared rejection from the Weasleys; from Mrs Weasley, who had treated her, despite their history, like a daughter, to Mr Weasley, who had always been so kind; from the twins, Fred and George, who so loved to make fun of her, to Ginny, who had been her only best female friend, and whom she had also neglected to contact since Harry’s death. No doubt it had been painful for her too, but Hermione couldn’t face the woman who Harry would almost definitely had married had he lived. She couldn’t look into the eyes of the ginger-haired girl who could have been his future.

Hermione was ashamed of her cowardice, but she would also do nothing about it. She was still scared, still frightened of the concept of visiting the Burrow, alone, to see people who she hadn’t spoken to for over a year, who she had left high and dry, who had once been like family to her. They had been through it all together. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. So, Hermione had been searching desperately for the easy way out – for Ron to come to her. She wanted it to be unexpected, abrupt, unplanned. She wanted him, to see him, to hold him; talk to him about Harry, about Voldemort, about the war. Oh, Hermione wanted so much, but she couldn’t reach it. Her hand was only half stretched. She couldn’t reach.

And that was why she sat in The Three Broomsticks, drinking her woes away with their favourite – butterbeer. She had been here an hour already; had attracted a lot of attention, but had expertly ignored it. It was the same wherever Hermione went – she was always the centre of attention, too infamous for her own good. She hated it. She sipped her beverage and latched onto her own silence again, fading the other penetrating, sharp voices out of her conscious. She had so wanted to see Ron here, but he hadn’t showed. There had been rumours in magazines and the like that he had been seen here, in The Three Broomsticks, with a blonde-haired bombshell, drinking and laughing and making merry. Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes as she read it. She knew it was nonsense. That person they described – ginger hair, smiling brown eyes – wasn’t her Ron. And yet, she had come. On the days the youngest male Weasley supposedly visited The Three Broomsticks, she had appeared too.

Hermione was often mentioned in those rubbish and false articles about Ron. It was inevitable; they had been so close… Rumours were bound to arise. And to an extent, they had been true. Hermione had never told anyone, though. What was between Ron and her was no one else’s business, not even her parents’. Harry was the only one… He had always been the only one. Harry, Ron and Hermione: they were best friends. They knew everything about each other. They shared Harry’s past, Ron’s lack of confidence and Hermione’s insecurities – shared it all. Harry’s money was Ron’s, Ron’s frustrations was Hermione’s, Hermione’s loyalty was Harry’s. They were a circle of three – and they had been broken.

The articles sickened Hermione to the core. She had thrown them straight into the bin; had refrained from burning them out of pure hatred and anger. But nevertheless, she had been a fool enough to find herself, on this day, at The Three Broomsticks, waiting desperately for Ron. Hermione was almost close to tears, but she swallowed it painfully. Her heart hurt, her will was eroding fast. Right now, she felt awful. She chugged down some more butterbeer. This was stupid; ridiculous. She had been doing so well, these last few months, and a few fake writings by some unknowledgeable amateur had completely undone her. Hermione hadn’t felt so useless in a few weeks. She thought she was getting better. She was wrong. When it came to facing it all – Harry, Ron, Voldemort – Hermione was weak again.

Hermione’s sorrowful reverie was split in half when a man sat down on the stool beside her. She looked up and saw a stranger. She felt like recoiling – she didn’t want to see anyone right now. She was in no state. Her childhood insecurities surfaced: peers mocking her for her intelligence, her pride, her bushy hair and front teeth – mocking it all. She couldn’t stand people, sometimes. She hadn’t been able to talk to them properly until Harry and Ron. Then she had changed. She had become really happy. Hermione stared at the man beside her, then turned away quickly when he caught her, their eyes locking. The silence was uncomfortable and Hermione found herself talking anyway. “…Sorry,” she said shortly, avoiding eye contact. She was back to her eleven-year-old self: friendless, awkward and universally disliked.

((Sorry for the uber delay! ><))