Author’s Note: I very much appreciate the reviews I received for the prologue! To writingismypower: I’ve never read Hopeless, though I think I’ve seen the summary. Any similarity to Vio’s story is complete coincidence, as I actually wrote the prologue for this story and thought of the whole idea sometime last year. Hope everyone likes chapter one! Please be patient with the chapters before you make too great a judgment on the story!

Chapter One
Smile Like You Mean It

It’s not as if intelligent people can’t find themselves in these situations. I mean, I’ve always prided myself on just how clever I can be. But quick-witted, efficient, brainy, smart, what have you, they don’t prepare you for things like this, and they certainly don’t mean you’re immune to them. I can think about my problems all I want, I could try to work my way out and around them, but I’ll still be left guessing. Who cares if I helped The-Boy-Who-Lived-and-Conquered defeat Voldemort? What does it matter if I was in the thick of the biggest battle of the magical world, helping the victors to victory? I’ll tell you one thing, Fate certainly doesn’t care, and it seems as if she’s not very much on my side either.

I’m smart, yes, but I wasn’t smart enough to see this coming.

“You are to be vearing that tonight?”

With one glance down at my simple black cocktail dress, I say, “Yes.”

Viktor scoffs.

After contemplating my few choices of formal evening wear this afternoon, I had chosen my black dress because I thought it was pretty and conservative enough. And it’s the only thing that doesn’t swallow me in the fabric. I’ve lost nearly twenty-pounds since I married Viktor, he can’t expect me to look amazing all the time. A tired sigh escapes my lips and I turn to him.

I say, “What did you think I should wear then?”

“Vhy are you asking me?” he rolls his eyes a little and shuffles around the room. “Vhere are my sleeve-links?”

I glance at him, pulling the hem of my skirt as I gaze at myself in the mirror, “Your cufflinks are in the bottom drawer in your closet.”

He disappears into his closet across the room and I frown at myself in the mirror. I was so sure I looked okay. The dress hides the bruise on my hip, and I had concealed the dark circles under my eyes with make-up. My hair was so limp when I had gotten dressed that I had given up and put it in a chignon, but it looked nice when I finished it. But Viktor’s disapproving looks and unimpressed tone make me feel as if all my attempts have been dashed.

Feeling my shoulders sag with despair and fatigue, I feel myself resign and go back into my closet. I thumb through my clothes, passing over sweaters and trousers that no longer fit me properly. Compared to my size now, everything seems entirely too large to even wear without looking ridiculous. Lucky for me I don’t go out much, or at all, really, but what am I supposed to do now? I have to attend this party with Viktor and I don’t have any proper dresses to wear.

After stomping angrily around the room, cursing under his breath, Viktor appears in the doorway of my closet, “Vhat are you doing?” he makes it sound as if I’m cleaning a baby elephant for a ballet class.

“I’m looking for something else to wear-”

“Ve are not having the time for this!” he shouts. “Vhat are you thinking?”

Despite all of the things Viktor has put me through, I still can’t tolerate him scolding me as if I’m a child, “You told me you didn’t like what I was wearing!”

“I said no such thing.”

I shake my head incredulously, “You made a comment.”

“Am I not allowed to be speaking now or to be making comments to you?” he shoots at me sarcastically.

I groan and stomp out of the closet but he grabs my wrist, “Don’t be throwing fits like a child, Herm-own-ninny,” he says sternly, his voice low and hot in my face. “You are needing self-control.”

An acidic laugh escapes my throat, “I need some self-control?” I narrow my eyes at him and scoff. “Look who’s talking-”

He jerks my wrist and pulls my arm painfully, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Yes, God forbid I defend myself.

With one last cold look I yank my wrist out of his grip and walk out of the closet, slipping into my shoes. I grab my black clutch off my dressing table and stuff a lipstick, some concealer, and a bunch of tissues into it. Viktor moves from the closet, his suit rustling softly as he moves. In the mirror I watch him move into his closet and shift through the clothes hanging up. His low set brown eyes aren’t angry right now, they’re just set on the task of moving through clothes. A snarl isn’t covering his lips right now and violent words aren’t spewing from his mouth. I want to sigh. He looks so unassuming over there in his closet.... Because right at this moment, I’m not doing something to anger him- But I almost want to cry. Looking at him like this, right now, with no hatred or fury lighting his eyes ablaze, he seems like he could be the loving, caring husband I thought I was marrying. It seems like he could actually still be the Viktor I fell in love with.

He slips into his dress robes and turns off the light in his closet, closing the door as he steps back into the bedroom. I quickly turn off my own closet light and close the door, quickly shrugging into my own dress robes while Viktor leaves the room and shuts the light off, leaving me in darkness. Practically jogging after him, I catch up on the stairs and we meet Viktor’s butler, Penko, in the vast front hall.

Penko says something in a rush of Bulgarian, and gestures to the portkey, giving me a slight scathing look as he steps aside. On the oak table in the center of the marble foyer is a tattered old newsboy hat; our way of transportation to the business party in London.

Viktor says thank you to Penko in their native tongue and steps toward the portkey.

“Where is the portkey taking us exactly?” I ask.

Giving me a slightly annoyed glance, Viktor checks his watch and says, “An empty flat in London- Ve vill be taking a cab to the party from there.”

After staring at his watch for another minute he makes a reach for the portkey. He’s obviously not going to wait for me so I hurry and grab on when he does. Within nanoseconds I feel myself being pulled and pushed, with air pounding against me, knocking the wind out of my lungs. The light is swirling and flashing, and finally it grows darker and darker, until everything slows down and we end up in a pitch-black flat. I had landed on my feet but stumbled, so now I lay clumsily on the floor. Viktor, is standing over me, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. I heave myself up and dust myself off, smoothing out my hair and dress.

“You might vant to be freshening up vhen ve arrive at the party,” he says condescendingly, and strides to the front door of the dark, empty flat.

I follow him out the door, down two flights of stairs and finally out of the building all together. The late spring night is cool and still as we make our way onto the sidewalk. Viktor looks around, ignoring the strange looks we’re getting from passersby. As far as he’s concerned, everyone else is weird and his magic-based attire is perfectly normal. I try to ignore the people as well, but some snicker and point, as if they haven’t seen anything more bizarre in the heart of London.

Viktor says, “Vell, find us a cab,” as if I should have known.

Peering down the street, I see a cab coming and it looks to be empty. I walk into the street, near the curb and put my arm out. Thankfully, the car stops and Viktor and I get in.

“Where to?” the cabbie asks.

Remembering the invite, and where the party is being held, I tell the driver the address. When we start to move down the street I allow myself to lean back against the seat and relax for a minute. A sigh is waiting to escape my body, but I don’t feel like hearing Viktor berate me for being lazy, selfish, stupid, ignorant, inconsiderate, etc. This party, a kickoff celebration for the new season of professional quidditch for several big-name teams, is not something I’ve been looking forward to. Every party I’m forced to attend is several hours of fake smiling, fake small talk, fake laughing, fake appearances. I talk to people who don’t really want to talk to me, pretend Viktor is the husband I’ve always wanted, fake like I understand and love quidditch, turn a blind eye to Viktor’s flirting with the mascot veelas that are usually in attendance, and just put on a big act the whole time.

And I’m sure tonight will be no exception.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I disappear into the loo after saying hello to the host and hostess Mr. and Mrs. Fitzer, huge financial supporters of Puddlemore United. Their home is a lavish townhouse in one of the nicest parts of London, and by the decor and dress you can tell Mrs. Fitzer is a muggle-born. Viktor drags me around for a few minutes after saying hello to them, and then tells me I ought to have gone to the bathroom when we arrived to make myself look presentable. Maybe if I hadn’t been pulled about for small talk I would have been able to go to the loo sooner.

The mirror is in the shape of a seashell, and I peer into it closely. A groan audibly escapes my throat and I cringe. My eyes are ringed with shadows, and the whites look irritated and red. I know I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a long while, and it shows. The fact that I hardly eat anymore is present in my appearance too. I run a hand along the fabric of my dress to smooth it out and I feel the individual bones of my ribcage through my skin. Moving away from my sides, as if I’ve been burned, I take my hair out of its hold and shake my hair around my shoulders. Because it was up for quite some time, it’s curling slightly at the ends, looking presentable enough. I rake my fingers through it, put a little more concealer under my eyes, and wash my hands.

Before leaving the bathroom I pick up one of the rose-scented soaps near the sink and press it to my nose. Taking a deep breath, the sweet, relaxing smell fills my head and I feel comforted for a moment. I place the soap back in the dish and leave the bathroom, feeling a little better about myself. For now, anyway.

I search for Viktor for a few minutes without spotting him once, so I grab a glass of champagne and stand beside a large picture window, observing the party before me, trying to have fun by myself.

I notice a man walk passed me, slowing his step and staring at me intently. What? I almost want to ask, but I don’t say anything. I feel as if I know him, but I’m sure I don’t. He’s got light brown hair, light, focused eyes, a little stubble on his pale face, and he’s dressed in dark dress robes. Because he’s staring at me so intently I give him a sort of friendly, uncomfortable smile and he comes over to me, a drink in his hand.

Damn.

If Viktor sees this he’s sure to think I’m flirting with the man.

“Pardon me,” the man says. “But, are you Hermione Granger?”

“Hermione Krum,” I correct him. “Yes?”

A look of astonishment comes over him and his mouth falls open in a disbelieving half-smile, “Of course, Mrs. Krum,” he smiles a little. “Is that really you Hermione?” he gives me a good looking over and his eyes sort of fall. “Well- Well, I hardly recognized you!”

His voice is familiar, only maybe deeper. But I know this face too, I know those eyes and that smile.... That look of astonishment and sort of disappointment-

“Wood?” I finally realize. “Oliver Wood?”

He nods enthusiastically, “What a surprise to see you! Of course you’re here with Viktor.”

“Yes,” I say, genuinely pleased to see someone from Hogwarts after all this time. “I should have known you’d still be involved with quidditch after all these years.”

He laughs a little, and then a look of realization comes over his face again, “You have to say hello to Harry.”

“Excuse me?” I’m nearly knocked off of my feet.

“Harry!” Oliver chuckles. “He’s here with Ginny, I think.”

I swallow hard. Harry and Ginny? I can’t possibly see them. Not now- Not when I look and feel like this. Besides why would I say hello to Harry. We haven’t exactly been on good terms- I mean- Well, I haven’t spoken to him since my wedding day nearly six years ago.

Before I can object, Oliver says, “I’ll go find him. Don’t move,” and he disappears into the crowd.

I press my back against the wall behind me and look around, as if an extreme panic is descending upon me. Gripping my glass in my shaking hands, I take a long gulp of champagne until I’ve finished it all. What will I say to Harry? What will he say to me? Oh God- Oh God- I can’t do this. I was such a bitch to him all those years ago- And he was right, he tried to help me from getting into this awful marriage. I put a hand to my face and clothes my eyes. Maybe I can sit in the loo until dinner, it’s not as if Viktor will miss me-

“Here she is!”

My eyes snap open and the wind is knocked out of me completely.

Striding over, is Oliver, a bright, proud smile on his face. He’s so pleased that he’s reuniting old friends, but I’m so petrified. Behind him is Harry, looking smart in a clean suit, but also looking incredibly confused and incredulous. Attached to Harry by the hand, is Ginny, looking just as muddled, but radiant in a pretty green dress that goes off the shoulder, black pumps, expert make-up, carefully chosen jewelry, and a sheet of shimmering deep-red hair. They spot me and both look extremely surprised, if not happy.

I try to smile brightly, but I’m afraid my lips are wobbling, “Hello!”

“Hermione,” Harry finally manages to say, and comes up to me slowly, giving me a gentle hug. “How are you?” he steps away and looks me over, and I can see the confusion and despair in how he feels about my appearance now.

The last time I saw him I was a normal weight, my hair was bouncy, and I was glowing with happiness over my new marriage.

No more.

I smile as Ginny leans in and hugs me too, “I’m good. How are you both?”

Upon standing together again, Harry puts a hand on Ginny’s waist, “We’re great.”

“You’re here with Viktor?” Ginny asks.

Now I feel pathetic because I’m standing here stupidly, all by myself, while my husband’s probably tickling a veela or laughing with his teammates, “Yes.”

“How is Viktor?” Harry wonders, and it seems that his question holds a heavy meaning.

Was I right about him? is what he’s really asking.

I nod, “He’s very good- Traveling a lot for quidditch, you know,” I trail off. “What are you two doing here? Are you two in quidditch now?”

“No,” Ginny laughs. “I’m a journalist for the Prophet, and Harry’s still an auror,” she says proudly. “Mr. Fitzer works at Gringott’s and I did an interview with him once so he invited us.”

Taking this all in, I say, “Oh.”

“What about you?” Harry begins. “What are you doing these days?”

I swallow, feeling even more like a dejected loser as the conversation goes on, “I’m- uh- I’m just living in Bulgaria and taking care of the house- You know.”

“You?” Ginny says, as if I’m joking. “Hermione Granger? A housewife?”

My smile falls. Viktor won’t let me be anything else but a puppet who stays at home, watching servants clean and cook. I meet Harry’s eyes and notice that’s he staring at me, not smiling. I almost think he understands, like he knows why I am the way I am and why I’m not laughing at the insane idea that I’ve chosen to be a housewife. I feel like he’s going to say ‘I told you so’ within moments.

Instead, he says, “That sounds nice.... Bulgaria’s beautiful.”

I nod sadly, trying to smile again.

We fall into a lull of silence.

I can’t bear to continue this conversation or be near these people right now. My stomach is churning and anxiety is itching under my skin. A tightness spreads across my chest and I feel my breathing is growing difficult and long. I need to escape. I need to get away. My head feels as if a pressure is building around it and everything just seems to be too much. I feel sick- Oh God I feel so sick with anxiety.

“If you’ll excuse me, I better go and find Viktor,” I try to smile, as if I need to find him because I can’t bear to be away from my wonderful husband for too long.

I don’t even care if they’re watching me as I deposit my empty glass on a table, weave through the crowd, and make my way out of the living room and into a dark hallway.

I need privacy and space and time and- I just need to be alone right now.

Without thinking about invading anyone else’s privacy, I go upstairs and find a bathroom that is probably off-limits to the guests and go inside, locking the door behind me. The pressure around my head feels as if it’s increasing and I press the heels of my hands against the sides of my forehead, taking deep, slow breaths. The skin against my chest won’t loosen, and the violent tossing of my stomach is getting worse every time I think of Harry and Ginny. Harry and Ginny looking at me with pity. Harry and Ginny asking me questions. Harry and Ginny being happy with their lives, with their jobs, with each other, feeling bad for me. Harry and Ginny being together at all.

This panic attack reaches its climax and I fall to my knees on the floor, lean over the toilet, throwing up what little I’ve managed to eat today.

Hermione, what on earth has become of you?

Author’s Note: Now, I know you can probably guess what’s going to happen now, if you couldn’t guess before, but don’t judge the story just yet. I want to keep the characters true to the books, but I also want to show how people can change with certain situations, how certain things can change a person or happen to anyone. Just because Hermione’s so smart and brilliant doesn’t mean she couldn’t be in a situation where she doesn’t know what to do. I want to bring integrity and truth to this story instead of making it a piece of pathetic fluff. Please, keep that in mind when thinking about how this story will turn out. Thanks for reading, reviewing is always appreciated!