Perfect Storm

Chapter 1

May 2003

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Hermione debated, for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. She anxiously stared at her open suitcases and chewed on her bottom lip. She had already unpacked them, only to repack them, three separate times in the week leading up to her trip.

"You're going and you know it," Lizzie scolded, from the armchair. She gently stroked Crookshanks' head, while firmly nodding hers. The ginger cat swished his tail towards Hermione, as if to say 'Get on with it already'.

"But what if-"

"Enough with the what ifs Hermione!" Lizzie cried, making Crookshanks jump. The cat shot Hermione's friend, and co-worker, an annoyed look before retreating to his bed in the corner. "You are going to this wedding. You're going to smile, have fun, and make your ex husband go out of his mind with jealousy over how gorgeous you are and how amazing your life is without him."

Hermione choked out a sarcastic laugh. Gorgeous and amazing were not the first words that came to mind, to describe her post married life. Anxious, lonely, scarred- those were more apt words for her condition. But, she hid it well. The beauty of New York City was that everyone knew how to shut up and stay out of each other's business. For the most part, it was live and let live, and Hermione appreciated that in more ways than one.

"I definitely think you need to get laid, too," Lizzie added, her eyes evilly gleaming. "Find a nice no-maj that'll fuck your brains out and make you forget all about Roy."

"Ron," Hermione corrected, shaking her head. "And I think sex is the last thing I need at the moment."

"Au contraire mon ami! A night of meaningless sex is the first thing you need!" Lizzie protested. "When was the last time a male hand has touched you?"

Hermione dropped a pair of knickers into her suitcase and contemplated the question. "David, two years ago," Hermione answered defeatedly.

"And what happened there?"

Hermione exhaled loudly and exclaimed, "He copped a feel and the next day told me he was gay!"

"I rest my case," Lizzie concluded, resting back into the chair. "Those dresses we picked out the other day will with help with your quest for sex. Especially that slinky little black number."

Hermione answered with silence. She tossed the last few pairs of shorts and tank tops into the second suitcase. Not wanting to overestimate the fickle English weather, she added an extra pair of jeans and two sweaters to the mix. With a wave of her wand, the suitcase lids snapped shut with a sharp finality. Hermione pursed her lips and tentatively reached out to them.

"If you unpack them again, I swear to Merlin that I will hex you into the next century," Lizzie threatened. "They're your best friends and they're finally getting married. You're their maid of honor, and they're counting on you!"

"You're right," Hermione sighed. She sent her suitcases flying over to the front door. "Of course you're right. I can do this. I mean, I was married to the man for almost three years. What's one month and one last trip down the aisle going to hurt?" Hermione tried to keep her voice light and airy, but ended on a grimace.

"That's the spirit!" Lizzie clapped, springing to her feet. "Now, I've got your key, and will be here tomorrow, around lunchtime. Don't worry about a thing, Crookshanks and I will get along great. Right pretty kitty?" she cooed, clicking her tongue at the sleeping heap of fur. "Drop me a line if you get a chance and dish all the dirt!"

Hermione thanked and hugged her friend. Lizzie kissed her cheek and scurried out the door. Hermione clicked the two locks into place and secured the deadbolt, adding a security charm for good measure. Her building wasn't in the worst part of the city, but one could never be too safe.