Disclaimer: All works belong to J.K Rowling…however appallingly she portrays Draco to be…receding hairline, my ass.
A/N: Hello people. I must apologise for the total lack of update for so long, but I'm afraid that my life has been a little on the hectic side for the past few weeks. Plus you know what writers block is like…
Anyway, my point being that, thank you all again for reviewing and hence…
This Chapter is lovingly devoted to my reviewers…cheers darlings.
The lemonade was bitter on her tongue as Ron's girlfriend giggled hysterically over one of his overused jokes.
Triska was dark haired and leggy, almost taller than Ron with a figure which made even Ginny a little green with envy and what's more, she seemed to have more than two brain cells to rub together. If the girl weren't so ridiculously smitten with Ronald Bilius Weasley, Hermione might actually have liked her.
The beautiful model offered her a sincere, toothy smile, the white of her teeth almost glittering in the sunlight and Hermione found she had reacted instantly, returning the friendly smile with a soft one of her own. She couldn't resent a girl who seemed so genuinely pleasant and light-hearted.
Mrs. Weasley, too, it seemed, was taken by the sheer brunt of this beauty and she laughingly asked how they couple had met. Triska gave a tinkling laugh; her eyes conveying her humour and delight at the recollection.
"At a quidditch match of course." Triska's voice was as musical as her laughter. "I'm a huge Cannons fan and Ronald here was just so sweet." She ruffled his hair playfully, offering him a playful wink. Ron seemed to enjoy the attention as he threw a self-satisfied smirk Hermione's way.
She could only grimace, making her weak excuses as she moved away from the happy couple to refill her cool glass of lemonade. Her eyes fixated against the floating cubes of unmeltable ice floating in the glass jug, the bright lemon slices resting on top, their cheerful colour setting her nerves on edge.
Hermione knew she was being petulant. Sure, she hadn't expected Mrs. Weasley to be against her son forever, but surely…no, how could anyone begrudge Triska a thing? She was every bit as perfect as Ronald Weasley had ever wanted Hermione to be, something she could never become because she simply was never that sort of woman.
She preferred sensible heels to stilettos, she preferred muted pastels to bright reds and yellows and she rather liked her raucous riot of curls compared to Triska's slick, hip-length locks. No, she was no exotic beauty but Hermione always prided herself on being something more than just appearances.
Another wave of laughter washed over her and Hermione felt her resentment rise. It had only been weeks ago that she and Ronald had parted ways and the Weasley family had stood firmly by her side, but now there was Triska, and little, plain old Hermione was once more pushed to the side. She was whining, she knew, but even Pansy seemed to like the new member of the Weasley family, their flow of conversation centred on all things fashion and style.
From the moment Triska had stepped into The Burrow, every inch of her had exuded affluence and confidence, instantly drawing every eye in the room. Hermione had seen the pale, freckled arm wrapped around that firm gym-acquired waist and knew Ron had brought his latest mistress. What she hadn't expected was the true and joyous nature that Triska seemed to possess.
Triska Benedict was from a well-to-do family of pureblood wizards and witches, her family had remained wisely neutral in the Great War while she had attended Beauxbatons and stayed safely away from the bloody war fields in England. She was a philanthropic ambassador for her family and spent her days traversing between the poverty stricken third world nations and her home in central muggle London. She was, by every sense of the word, perfect.
