To claim that Hermione was lonely would be a profound understatement. Her endless days were often spent working, with a lack of anything else to do, while her nights seemed to contain nothing but quiet reading and bored phone calls home. Ron was never around. Harry was always gone. The pair seemed to have left the woman huffing in their (finally) ambitious dust…
She was proud of them, undoubtedly. At last, they had managed to find their place in the world, hunting down darkness and evil-doers. It was what she had always hoped for them. Hermione, on the other hand, had moved in a direction which she had never expected. A different form of law enforcement, one more directly concerning the justice system in charge of putting the criminals Ronald and Harry captured into prison. A lawyer. A magical lawyer. That wasn’t necessarily her entire profession, though. Hermione also found herself advocating for those who didn’t have a voice. She had become the speaker for those magical creatures who were suffering from mistreatment, House Elves namely. It was a passion that had began while at Hogwarts, but now the woman had finally managed to find a platform upon which she could be properly heard.
And yet there was a certain sadness that lingered. Once upon a time, Hermione was surrounded by people and constant excitement. For eight years, she had grown accustomed to the danger and adventure that lurked around every corner. Coming down from an adrenalin rush that high was quite difficult, and although she was more then happy to see the wizarding world finally at peace, Hermione couldn’t help but long for some form of thrill to return.
Sighing heavily, the woman brushed some of her brunette hair away from her line of sight. If she sat for one more moment inside the confines of her London flat, Hermione would surely lose her mind. So she walked, wrapped lightly in a lavender-coloured sweater, past Diagon Ally’s many shops and cafés, entirely unsure of what she was looking for. The reflection that stared back at her through the windows never changed, but it appeared lost. Hermione had found herself in a rut. One that she desperately wished to come out of.
Stepping into one of the many cafés, the woman walked towards the marble counter and looked at the blackboard behind the barista.
“Coffee, please? Black,” Hermione instructed, forcing a smile onto her face before handing over 2 sickles, 11 knuts and collecting the cup. At very least, some fresh air would be welcomed. June was, after all, one of her favourite months. She selected a chair by the front window, an area that would allow her to people watch and get her mind far away from the loneliness that awaited her at home. With any luck at all, someone would stop by and say hi…
