Ten out of Ten by Morriganmercy

The Wedding

- NOT MY STORY! All credit goes to @morriganmercy on a03!

TW: overindulgence in alcohol

Hermione spent her last night of freedom mourning with a mockery of a hen night. Though entertaining was the last thing she wanted to do, she refused to leave the house and Harry, Ron, and Ginny refused to leave her to drown her sorrows alone. They arrived through the Floo, fortified with a bottle of firewhiskey each, and when added to the one Hermione had already started on, the evening proceeded with double the alcohol and none of the partying one would normally expect from such an event.

She was sandwiched between Harry and Ron on the sofa, Ginny in an armchair nearby, and all Hermione could think about was how strange they looked in her sitting room. She'd been living alone in the house for three years now, and she couldn't remember a single time they'd been there. Weasley red hair clashed horribly with the khaki leather of the furniture, and she was sure she would have noticed it before. It wasn't as though it was an unusual scene in general—neither Grimmauld Place nor the Burrow lacked sofas—but compared to those inherently magical places, Hermione's childhood home felt Muggle in a way it never had to her before. She didn't blame Harry for how strongly he'd renounced all reminders of his early life, but with her wizarding friends out of their element to be in her space, it seemed to emphasise rather harshly the ways in which she was still an outsider.

Her eyes roved around the room as she considered its contents, and they snagged on the set of lettered blocks perched on the mantle. Three wooden rectangles stacked atop each other, boldly proclaiming the key to life in a variety of whimsical fonts.

Live
Laugh
Love

Her stomach twisted as the words mocked her. She had lived—survived a war waged specifically to exterminate her kind. She didn't exactly laugh much anymore—none of them really did—but she had healed enough that occasionally the spectre of all she had lost faded to the point where she could feel levity again. Surely it would come back eventually. Or it would have. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears as she lamented the loss of a love she hadn't even wanted until the chance at it was taken away. It would have been nice someday, she thought, to fall in love. To have a little piece of what had saved them all for herself.

Instead, she would have a constant reminder of the past and all the ways her adopted world considered her inferior. She couldn't for the life of her think what she'd done to deserve it.

The grandfather clock in the corner struck three, and the tears spilled onto her cheeks at the sound. "God," she muttered. "I'm running out of time."

"We'll stay with you," Ron offered, turning on the sofa and taking her hand. "Through the night."

Hermione shook her head, feeling as though her brain was sloshing around inside it. They had each offered condolences in their own ways; nothing truly comforting, but appreciated all the same. She supposed she would be doing the same for them someday, though any of them having it nearly as bad as she did was hard to imagine. She supposed one of the boys could get Pansy. That would be bad. Not Malfoy bad, but nearly.

Unable to oversee more than several dozen arranged marriages at a time, the Ministry would be announcing the matches in waves. Hermione had made the first round. Ron would be in the third, Ginny the fifth, and Harry the tenth. They all tried not to speculate on whether that meant Harry and Ginny had already been deemed a less than ideal match.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not having the energy to cry over anyone else's misfortunes at the moment. "No," she murmured quietly. "I should... try to sleep."

"We'll come back tomorrow, then," Harry said. "Be with you for the ceremony."

"No!" Hermione nearly shouted. "I don't want—" Her voice broke. "I'd rather go through it alone."