Teach Me How to Forget

by scullymurphy

Summary:

Hermione Granger is 27 years old when her life falls apart. Cheated-on, flatless, fed up with her job, she decides to change one thing she can--take a class and try for some career advancement. But change is never easy, especially when an old enemy is the catalyst.

And the class instructor.

"Just as the minute hand clicked over to the hour, the doorknob twisted and a figure slipped into the room. He was tall, a bit windblown. Hermione had a general impression of crisp cuffs and polished leather, and then a more specific one of the most beautiful grey coat—highlighting his shoulders and eyes, skimming to just the right place on his knife creased trousers.
His movements were precise and confident.
He was wearing the softest-looking gloves.
He was not Professor Belinda Rowle.
He was Draco bloody Malfoy."

Notes:

• Translation into Italiano available: Teach me how to forget _ Traduzione Italiana by Gaby92
• Translation into Français available: Teach Me How to Forget TRADUCTION FR by ArdenUmbra

Huge thanks to my alpha-betas on this one, Lunamionny and DagnyDecided. All the air kisses to you and my amazing readers!
Oh and FYI, this story is set in the same universe as my Charlie/Theo oneshot Of Full Moons & Mongolian Mole Dragons (which comes first in time), so you may enjoy reading that at some point as well!
xoxo ~SM

Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - Prologue

PROLOGUE

 

January, 2006

"You fucking CUNT! You are no longer my brother!"

A fury of red hair hurtling through the floo. A fist. A burst of blood.

"Fuck, Ginny! My nose!" Ron crouched over. Red drops hitting the floor.

"Gin, for fuck's sake. Calm down!" Another voice. A pair of arms, reaching past Ron to Hermione, who burrowed into them and let herself be held.

"Harry," she said brokenly, more a whisper than a word.

"Can you go and pack her bag?" Harry spoke over her head to Ginny, who had started ranting.

"An eighteen-year-old from the secretarial pool? Could you be any more predictable and vile? Although, I don't know why I'm bloody surprised! Does she adore you? Does she look up at you with big, cow eyes and agree with every bloody word you say?"

Ron was yelling back. "Fuck, OFF, Ginny! You have no idea! No clue how it's been."

"Oh boo-hoo. Poor Wonikins, so hard to ride everyone's coattails that he had to find his own number one fan to suck his stupid, tiny, limp COCK!"

"FUCK! YOU!"

Hermione turned her face to Harry's shoulder and put her hands over her ears.

"Gin! The bag! Now!" Harry, urgent.

"OK, OK." Hermione heard Ginny move off, a fist hit the wall. But Ron was still bloody there. Hermione could feel the current between him and Harry, raw and electric as a severed powerline.

"We were unhappy, you know this!" It burst out of Ron thickly, through blood and snot. Hermione glanced over—he hadn't even spelled his nose, blood was still flowing down his shirt.

"Mate, you couldn't have just talked? To her? Or even to me?" Harry was vibrating with rage.

"How? You know how she is! I never had a chance!" Ron was crying now. Big, messy sobs.

Hermione turned in Harry's embrace to face him, disgust rolling over her in a warm wave.

Fucking cunt. Ginny was right.

"You've always been so bloody selfish, Ron." Harry's hands tightened on her arms and he sounded cold now. Matter of fact. "And it's finally ruined everything."

"I had no choice! She— she—!"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not fucking here!" Hermione hurled it, spitting, at Ron's head. "You're the one who cheated!"

"Exactly." Ginny had joined them again. "I have the bag. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Hermione began crying, feeling like she would never stop. "Crookshanks," she managed to say.

"We've got him," Harry murmured. "Let's go."