Here it is, the second chapter. Not nearly as long as the prologue (can you even call it that?), but much longer than I anticipated. It's a slightly depressing chapter, in my opinion, but I'm really fond of it, and I've redone it several times. I hope you enjoy it, and please take the time to review, if you can!

---

Dear Mum,

I know that you’re worried sick about me, but please, don’t. I’m sure you’d say that I’m running away from everything, and maybe you’re right. But I’m afraid that this is the only thing that I can do, at least at this moment. I can’t handle everything that’s going on, and perhaps I will regret it in the future, but for now, I’m happy.

Alan and I eloped last week. I know you and Dad always wanted to see your little girl get married, but I just didn’t want to have a huge wedding. Even inviting both of you would’ve been too much…too complicated. It was short, simple, and sweet, and I’m very happy.

---

“Alan!” Hermione cried, laughing as Alan led Hermione to god knows where, seeing as his hands were covering her eyes. “Alan, would you just let me see where we are already?”

“Just...one...more...second...” Alan said, and true to his word, a moment later, Hermione was blinking rapidly, adjusting to the bright sunlight. When she could finally see again, she gasped.

“Oh Alan...” she sighed. “It’s beautiful.” She spun around slowly, looking at the gorgeous stain glassed windows and the mural on the ceiling. Must churches overdid such things, but in this one, it seemed to be proportioned just right.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think it’s amazing, obviously,” Hermione breathed, her eyes still attached to the ceiling.

“No,” Alan chuckled. “I mean, for our wedding.”

Hermione froze. “W-wedding?” she stuttered.

“Yes, our wedding,” Alan repeated, slightly impatiently. “We need to find somewhere to hold it before we send out the invitations. Speaking of which, I know that you’ll want to invite your family, the Weasleys, and Harry, but there are going to be other people, right? I don’t want my guests overwhelming yours.”

Hermione felt as if she was choking on air. “Alan,” she said slowly once she felt that she could breathe again. “Why don’t we…why don’t we just…elope?”

Alan looked at her, startled. “Elope?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes,” Hermione said, nodding. “I think that would be best.”

“Hermione...did something happen?” Alan asked, clearly concerned.

Hermione closed her eyes and bit her lip. “I don’t think anyone I know, other than my parents, will want to come to this wedding, Alan.”

“Why not?” Alan asked, rushing towards her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“I abandoned them, Alan,” Hermione whispered. “I abandoned them. I haven’t spoken to anyone in the past six months.”

“Even Harry?” Alan asked in a hushed voice, knowing how serious the situation could be if she answered yes.

“Especially Harry,” Hermione answered tonelessly, her eyes glazing over.

Alan sucked air through his teeth. “My God, Hermione, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione replied, turning her head away from him. “I just...why can’t we just elope?”

“Is that what you really want?” Alan asked, turning her around so that she looked him in the eye.

For a brief second, Hermione could’ve swore she was staring into Harry’s face as the words, “Is that what you really want?” echoed throughout her brain.

---

“Is that what you really want?” Harry demanded.

“Yes!” Hermione cried. “It’s what I want! I want to stay with Alan, Harry.”

“You kissed me, Hermione,” Harry exclaimed. “Obviously something’s going on inside of that head of yours!”

“It was a mistake!” Hermione screamed. “I was mental that day. Something was clearly wrong with me. It was a mistake!” It wasn’t a mistake, you idiot, a voice whispered in the back of her head, but she quickly pushed it away.

“Which time?” Harry countered, eyes blazing.

Hermione turned around, her back facing Harry. “All of them,” she whispered.

“Hermione, I would believe you if it had only happen once,” Harry said quietly. “Maybe even twice. But this was the third time.”

“I got caught up in the moment,” Hermione huffed. “You had fallen on top of me, we were covered in mud, soaked to the bone...”

“There’s no moment to be caught up in if your feelings for me are completely platonic!” Harry said, his voice rising. “You can’t honestly tell me that you love him! Not after everything we- “

“Just stop it!” Hermione said fiercely, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Just stop it, already!”

“Don’t go meet him today,” Harry begged her quietly. “Just...just don’t. Stay here.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “Harry, please, just forget all of this. For me. Just...I don’t know. I care about you, I do. In a way I probably shouldn’t. But...I’m with Alan.” As the words slipped past her lips, she felt as if her throat was on fire. “Just please. Forget about it. Forever.”

“Is that what you really want?” Harry asked, his eyes slowly losing all of the life they had once held.

Hermione swallowed.

No! the voice cried. No, it’s not what you want! Tell him the truth! What are you doing?

“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s what I want.”

---

“Yes, it’s what I want,” Hermione answered.

“Then we’ll do it,” Alan shrugged. “I don’t care how we get married, so long as we do. I love you Hermione,” he smiled.

“You, too,” Hermione answered. Her reply lacked any emotion, but Alan didn’t seem to notice as he swept her into his arms and kissed her. And as he did so, all Hermione could do was think about how Harry had kissed her; how different it had been; how right it had felt; and how much she wished it was his arms encircled around her waist, not Alan’s.

---

You truly are an idiot, a voice whispered in Hermione’s mind. I know, Hermione replied.

I know you always were fond of Harry, and you always felt that he was the one I should have ended up with , but I promise you, I am very happy with Alan. Please don’t worry about me. I won’t be contacting you for a while. I guess I am escaping everything. Yes, I know, that isn’t like me at all, but right now...I don’t think I can be me.

Don’t bother replying to this owl. I won’t receive it.

Please forgive me. I do love you. With all of my heart.

Love always from your daughter,

Hermione

---

Hermione Granger slammed the mop to the ground, glaring as the wooden stick hit the hard floor with a bang.

“Where on earth did he get the idea that it would be a good idea for me to stay at home and clean?” she growled, flinging yellow gloves into the sink. “I mean, of all people, me! I shouldn’t be here!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. She flopped down on the floor, feeling absolutely helpless. She really did have no clue why she was keeping house. Shouldn’t she be at her job? Well, considering you don’t have a job, that may be a little hard, a voice reminded her.

---

“Hermione,” Alan whispered into Hermione’s ear as he snaked his arms around her waist.

“Hmm?” Hermione answered absentmindedly, as she flipped through pamphlets that she had picked up at the Ministry of Magic.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Alan asked, settling his head onto Hermione’s shoulder.

“Trying to decide if I want to apply for a job at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes or at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures…” Hermione trailed off as she dog-eared one of the pages in the “So You Think You Can Handle Magical Creatures?” pamphlet.

Alan gave a small chuckle. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing that for?”

Hermione answered the question with her own laugh. But moments later, she realized that Alan wasn’t joking, and she placed the informational packets onto the counter and turned around, gently pushing Alan away from her.

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

“I mean, why are you looking for a job?”

“Well,” Hermione said slowly, as if she were speaking to a toddler, “since I gave up my career as an auror, I figured that I needed to find a job that I was passionate about.”

Alan furrowed his brows. “I thought you were going to take care of the house?”

“Where on earth did you get such a ridiculous idea?” Hermione asked.

“I thought it was a given,” Alan shrugged.

Hermione blinked, and then gawked at him. “Are you joking?” she asked. “I would die of boredom if I were stuck in here all day! It’d feel like a prison.”

“Well, you have to give up some things once in a while,” Alan told her.

Hermione stared in disbelief. “Oh really?” she said. “So what exactly are you giving up?”

Alan gave Hermione a look that clearly said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well?” Hermione asked once more.

“Hermione, I’m working ten hours a day so that we can continue living the way we are, so that I can have a chance at that promotion, and so that you don’t have to get a job,” Alan told her. “I think it’s clear what I’m giving up.”

“But I want a job!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing up her arms in frustration. “If you don’t like working, why don’t you take care of the house, and I’ll go work fifty hours a week!”

“Can you imagine what our friends would think?” Alan asked, as if Hermione was suggesting that she was having an affair rather than wanting to get a job. “It would be a scandal. The woman should stay at home, and the man should work. That’s how it’s supposed to go, at least in the higher end of society.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What century are you living in, Alan? Both of my parents worked as dentists, and nobody cared. And I’ll have you know that we lived in a fairly high-class part of England.”

“I’m working and you’re staying home, and that’s that,” Alan told her in a no-nonsense tone.

“Alan, listen to me,” Hermione said, almost pleading. “I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a house. The only thing I ever made growing up was toast, and it always came out burnt. I mean, Merlin, I hate to admit this, but my spells for cleaning up the house and cooking are the ones that never work!”

“Well, perhaps you should put your reading skills to some use and learn,” Alan informed her. “Because we live in a muggle neighborhood, so I’m afraid you’ll have to do it all the normal way.”

“There is no way I’m doing such a thing,” Hermione growled.

“Well then,” Alan countered, eyes glinting maliciously, “perhaps you should return to your old life and see how that works out for you.” With that, Alan left the kitchen, leaving a shocked and horrified Hermione with a bunch of useless pamphlets.

An hour later, after Hermione had worked herself into a very sullen state, Alan returned to the kitchen and presented Hermione with a bouquet of roses.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he apologized. “It came out completely wrong. I just don’t want you worrying about the stress that comes with having a job. Just let me worry about all of that.” His angelic blue eyes glanced up at her as he added, “Please?”

All Hermione could do was nod, as if she were a mindless robot. She knew what her choices were: stay with Alan and become a housewife, or leave him and return to a world where she, along with Alan, knew that she was no longer welcome. It didn’t take much of a brain to realize that, in essence, Hermione had no choice at all.

---

A knock on the door woke Hermione from her thoughts. Dusting off her pants, Hermione opened the door, to find a frowning Alan.

“Alan!” Hermione said. “Why didn’t you use your key?”

“Left it on the counter,” Alan replied quickly as he swept past Hermione and ran upstairs. A moment later he returned, having changed out of his work outfit and into a suit.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, clearly confused.

“I have a gala to attend for work,” Alan said distractedly as he looked around the kitchen for a set of keys. “It starts in about an hour.”

“A gala?” Hermione repeated, folding her arms across her chest and looking expectantly at Alan.

“That’s what I said,” Alan said, giving a small sigh that indicated he didn’t have time to chitchat.

“Kind of you to invite your wife,” Hermione said sarcastically, containing the urge to strangle him for being such an idiot at times.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Alan told her, smiling gently. “It’s all about politics, work, and such…you know, those types of things.”

Hermione snorted. “And since when do ‘politics, work, and such,’ not concern me?”

Alan gave Hermione a pitying look, as if she were a deluded child. “Hermione, dear, you don’t exactly get out much.”

Hermione grit her teeth together in order to prevent herself from bursting out, “Of course I don’t get out much! You keep me in here like a prisoner!” Instead she replied, “I do read the news, you know. And I happen to have strong opinions about our minister, both magical and muggle. And for Merlin’s sake, Alan! You’re American! What do you know about English politics?”

Alan, having found his keys, turned on Hermione. “Hermione, don’t be unreasonable,” he sighed at her.

“I’m being unreasonable,” Hermione muttered under her breath, but Alan didn’t hear her, and so Hermione simply looked away, afraid that her anger would get the better of her.

“Hermione…” Alan said, walking towards her. “You know it’s useless to argue with me. I always win.” He gave her a winning smile that made Hermione want to carve her eyes out with a pen.

The truth was, Alan was right. He always did win. And Hermione had no clue why. She felt as if she had just given up. Sure, she would argue at times, but in the end, she just let it go.

“Hermione?” Alan asked, tapping his foot anxiously. “Are we okay? Because I really need to get to this gala.”

“Yes, we’re fine,” Hermione said shortly, not meeting his eyes.

“Great,” Alan said, glancing at his watch. “I’ll be back around nine. Oh, and I forgot toell you!" Alan added as an afterthought. "My parents are coming to visit for a late dessert, so have something ready. And if I'm not back by the time they're here, be sure to entertain them. You know how my mother gets.”

Hermione swallowed, tears prickling at her eyes. She wanted to fight, she really did. There was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to scream that she knew more about politics than he ever would; that she would have been Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the time it took him to get that one promotion; that if he wanted tea, he could go out to a local café; that, for Merlin's sake, he wanted her to prepare something that his overly critical mother would approve of for dessert, he shouldn't have told her these plans at the last minute; that if he wanted the house to stay clean, and without magic at that, he could hire a housekeeper or stay in the bloody house himself while she went out and made a living. But after years of experience, Hermione had discovered that it was easier to just let him win, and so she did just that.

“I’ll see to that,” she whispered, turning her back on him.

“Lovely,” Alan beamed. “See, I knew you would get the hang of this stuff.” He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek and then walked out the door.

Hermione clenched her fingers into a fist. “Right,” she replied. And as the door closed, tears spilled out of her eyes, streaking along her cheeks. She fell to the ground, sobs wracking her body. She didn’t understand how she had ended up like this. How Alan had changed into a man who knew nothing about her; how she had turned into a woman that just let him walk over her. She knew that had this been five years ago, she would’ve slapped Alan and walked out on him the moment he so much as suggested that she do nothing but turn into a mindless housewife straight out of the 1950s. But so much had happened since she was twenty. And unlike five years ago, she had nowhere else to go.

A moment later, however, an urgent banging on the door interrupted Hermione’s thoughts for the second time in fifteen minutes. Startled, Hermione looked up from the ground. She hastily wiped away her tears, worried that it was Alan coming back for God knows what, knowing that her bloodshot eyes would give her away anyway.

“Alan, the door is open. Just come in,” Hermione called hoarsely, and watched as the doorknob slowly turned. She heard a click, and a moment later the door swung open to reveal the last person on earth she expected to see in her entire lifetime.

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth as she felt a second wave of tears, although she wasn’t sure if they were tears of relief or tears of horror.

The man stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. Hermione felt her throat close up as his emerald eyes bore into her brown ones. Memories from her seventh year flashed in her brain. Arms wrapped around her, keeping her safe; lips pressed up against hers as her fingers threaded through black locks of hair; rain pouring down, soaking them to the bone, as they forgot about Voldemort, every one around them, and above all, Alan.

“Dear God,” she whispered, before she felt herself slipping out of consciousness. The last thing she remembered before her head hit the cold floor was a voice she hadn’t heard for four years cry out, “Hermione!”

And then all was black.