Disclaimer: totally would have offed Harry.




Summary: the long-awaited sequel to Kismet: the reason why a girl should never pick a ginger as her bridesmaid


I don't understand… I just don't get how it can be like this. It baffles me how the mere sight of him and her makes me want to throw a temper tantrum—which, admittedly, I do at times, a fact that he remains totally oblivious to, as I tend to do it in the confines of my room—but he doesn't so much as bat an eyelash upon seeing me with all those other blokes.

I just don't understand!

It was supposed to be us, the fates promised me as much, yet he seems absolutely adamant in avoiding the inevitable by staying with her. Doesn't he see that I love him, that I need him? He's Harry Potter—my Harry Potter, so why does he go off gallivanting with that bloody, manipulative tart?!

"Wotcher, Gin," he suddenly greets me, taking a seat by my side and effectively pulling me out of my reverie.

As he puts and arm around the back of my seat I find myself almost incapable of biting back the sigh at the feel of him being so close to me—innocently trying to come into contact with me without being obvious about it, but I see past the façade, I always do with him. I see it all because I know that he needs me just as much as I do him.

It's fate—kismet.

"Where's the little, old wifey?" I ask him, unable to let it go without a jibe at her, but I do cover it with a teasing tone so he'll be none the wiser as to the insult. I say it so artlessly and innocently, even though my intentions are anything but, as I inch closer to him—subtly nearing him, reveling in the feel of him.

He chuckles well naturedly—cor, I love that laugh. "In the kitchen helping Molly with a cake, I'm afraid she's yet to realize that no matter how hard she may try she'll always be utter rot at cooking."

Figures that she'd be a terrible wife.

"Some people just aren't meant for it," I wistfully tell him as I lean my head on his taut, firm chest. God, I love that feeling—so masculine, so Harry.

He, however, tenses for a second, as if he's unsure what to do, and I realize that it's probably because he's afraid that that slag of his might actually, finally, realize what is so plainly evident. But, ultimately, I win and he gives into his carnal desires by relaxing.

"Ye—yeah, that's exactly what I said," he stumbles—poor boy has missed me so much he's left speechless by the contact. Merlin, he's so sweet, so mine.

"Sometimes, no matter how hard we try and want it to be, things just aren't meant to be," I continue.

He shrugs. "I guess," he says, his voice wavering slightly as he utters the word.

I tentatively raise a hand and place it on his leg, chancing a look into his eyes as I do so. They widen, creating this indescribable and amazingly sexy look that could only be due to lust. I feel myself getting hotter by the second at the sight of it.

He starts to shift awkwardly. "Gin-"

"Harry," a voice interrupts him and I see her walk into the sitting room. I revel in the sense of pride that I feel at rendering the 'brightest witch of our age' speechless as she stands there, jaw slack, staring at me as I begin to rub his leg. He flinches though, and at first I'm a bit off put by the fact but, my God, the boy is just too sweet for his own good I realize, he just doesn't want to hurt her feelings.

She merely shakes her head and turns around, walking away—bint didn't deserve him anyway if that's all her reactions is. I would have fought for him, as I have in the past too—silly girl doesn't even really love him, bitch.

"Love!" Harry yells after her, detangling himself from me and quickly jumping of f the couch, stumbling as he leaps over it and runs after her.

I sit there, slightly bewildered for a second, wondering what to do. Choices, choices—so many to choose from, I could just stay here and wait or him to come back after he finishes it off with her or I could watch it. I do have to admit, however, that the fact that I've been tortured by having had to watch them play the role of a happily married couple to a "t" for the past four years has made me more than a little spiteful.

And so, finally, I choose to follow them as I really don't want to see my Harry hexed by that hag. I go after them, hiding in the shadows as I follow them—watching Harry catch up to her and finally manage to force her to face him and talk to him in mum's garden.

"Hermione, love, it wasn't what it looked like, I promise!"

I gasp upon hearing that. What? This was supposed to be out chance, an easy way out. Why does he insist on always being the nice guy, so unwilling to break someone else's heart when it's clearly hurting him?

"Then what was it, Harry?" she spits out, her voice practically trembling with unadulterated hatred.

Yes—just a little more and the fates will deliver, I can practically see it now.

"It was all her, Hermione, I promise. Ginny was just pushing herself on me and I was so shocked that-"


"Stop!" she interrupts, wincing slightly, a look of pain crossing her face as she listened to him. "I'm going to ask you this once and you better be honest with me Harry: did you want her? In that time did you ever have a moment where you actually considered it?" she asks him through gritted teeth, her fist clenching by her sides as she speaks, the grip tightening with each word.

"No," he tells her, his voice so earnest that I almost die right then and there. How can he lie like that? How can he ignore it all—or, better yet, why is he so insistent upon deluding himself and everyone around him?

"Are you sure, Harry? I mean, you know me, I'm not the most self-assured of sort and I need to know the truth because you did want her—love her once, that much I know… and—and I need to know. I just—I can't help but wonder after seeing what I did, I need to put my mind at ease," she rambls on self-consciously. "And, honestly, I'd much rather you be honest with me by saying yes than stay with me out of some misconstrued pity or because you think you love your wife—I deserve better than that Harry. I won't hold it against you if you say yes, I promise."

I can't help but smile upon hearing that. The knowledge that she sees the truth as well just tickles me pink. We truly are meant for one another if even the naïve and blissfully ignorant wife begins to see it.

"No, Hermione," he promises her, pulling her flush against him. I almost don't hear what he says as he buries his face in her hair, but I'm just close enough to make out the jist of his words as he says "it's you, it's always been you—I may not have realized that as soon a is should have but I know it now and I'm not going to let you go, not now not ever. I finally got you, you're stuck with me now," he promises her with a radiant grin as he pulls away slightly, allowing himself just enough distance to be able to look into her eyes. As he begins wiping away the tears from her eyes I actually feel my heart break.

She sniffs lightly and I can't help but roll my eyes at the immaturity of the slag—honestly, there are people much worse off than her, like myself, so why is she off pitying herself? Bitch.

"I hope you know that you're going to be sleeping on the chesterfield for the next week."


"You should have pushed her away if you really didn't want her to do that, Harry. You say you were shocked and I trust you so I'm going to let it go, but you're still going to be punished for it."

"Wha—well—can I at least sleep in one of the guest bedrooms then? I mean, why the chesterfield?" he sputters.

"Sure, if you never want to shag again, go right ahead," is her immediate response, no hesitation and executed with a perfect poker face. Lord, she's amazing at manipulation.

"Right," he nods, "so the chesterfield then."

"Good boy," she smiles. "Now come on, I needed your help in opening a jar."


I watch him walk after her like a lost puppy and I just don't understand. What is that hold that she has over him—it's unnatural and cruel, the way that she treats him. It can't last, it's not real, that much I know, but what I don't know is how much longer I can go on like this.

As I let myself fall to the ground, shaking with tears and trepidation, over the fates possibly letting me down, I ask myself how long I can do this. I have no doubt that we belong together, but the problem is that I don't know how long I can wait without losing myself. I can't watch them together like that, all sickeningly lovey-dovey, without losing my mind.

I need him to see that I'm nothing without him—that I'm breaking, wilting right before his eyes.

I need him—we're kismet, perfection and I won't let that go.



author's note: I really wasn't planning on writing this piece, but I found myself hit with a sudden bout of inspiration today so I decided why not, might be fun, lol. And here we are now, hope you enjoyed it!