“We thought she'd be back in no time”, Ron said into the silence, more to himself than to either of them. They looked up regardless, and he glared at the pair of them as though that might help, as though that could force someone – anyone – to explain. “She told us she'd be back.”
A story about the past, the future, and the present – a story about estrangement and loss and mistakes and love and choice.
(In the end, it's always about choosing.)
hello!
the bride on the train is here at last! it's taken quite a while to get here, my procrastinating self be blessed, and i am both terrified and excited to be releasing the story that has become a bit of a baby of mine into the voids of the internet. i don't have very much to say at the minute, so for now: fetch yourselves a cup of tea, and i hope you enjoy. x
- jessie
Hermione's mother was an exceptionally smart woman.
"The first is never the last, dear", she told her, after Viktor Krum had asked Hermione's fifteen-year-old self to come spend the summer with him. The word needed not be spoken, the assumption, because her mother, Hermione thought years later, had always known – first crush. First love.
Hermione thought of freckles like stars and eyes the colour of the morning sky.
She smiled.
"He's not my first."
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