Separate Worlds

Chapter Four

Hermione stared out of the window of the room, watching the dying sun emit its last spurt of sunlight, the orange rays setting a warm tint over everything. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and, putting her reading glasses back on, turned her attention back to the enormous textbook in front of her, flipping to a page flagged with a blue tag sticking out from the pages. She had been here for...oh, maybe two, three hours. The library was always open and consequently became one of Hermione's favourite haunts. She had made friends during her years at the Boston Wizarding School of Medicine, but none had the same ardour concerning their studies as she did, and so she was here again - alone.

She sighed and buried her head in the book as another student flounced in, holding a thin notebook, what looked like a Muggle Calculator, and some textbooks. Business? She thought, scanning the cover of the book, perplexed. She shrugged and scribbled a heading on top of a fresh sheet of parchment, twirling the quill between her fingers as she thought of an introductory paragraph that wasn't too short, yet showed a prior knowledge of the topic.

The door flew open again and more students came in, some still in their blue trainee scrubs, all intent on doing some last-minute cramming before finals. Her eyes were caught by one of them. He was very obviously a Freshman, the bright-eyed, naive look in his eyes still shining through. But that wasn't what caught her. It was the lopsided, teasing grin he gave his study partner, a curly-haired, slender little blonde. She glared at him and pointed to some sentence in her notes, obviously telling him off. He just laughed at her and removed his wizard's hat, which hid his (Hermione gasped in surprise) carroty-red hair. He ran a hand through it and began sneaking furtive glances at his friend's notes. Hermione forced her eyes away from the pair reluctantly. He's just too distracted for his own good, she thought. But that's what's so endearing about people like him...like Ron. She hadn't thought about Ron in a long time, too drained by her studies to think of anything before falling into bed exhausted at night. She thought of him now, wandering through the catalogue of memories that she had shoved into the furthermost reaches of her mind as soon as she had arrived in Massachusetts.

After the first two years, she had debated on whether or not to return to England and try to salvage what she could of her marriage, sending Ron a somewhat standoffish letter. His stilted reply stated that yes, he was fine and so was his family, and no, he wasn't planning to divorce her anytime soon. If she wanted a divorce, she could go and file the papers herself. She had flung the letter down in a rage. If she had to, she could cite Fleur. And it would be over. But, seeing as no one she had dated at the University was enough to warrant a divorce, she just left things as they were.

After the second two years, the mental picture of Ron she carried around with her began to get blurry; after the fifth year, it had faded almost to nothing. Hermione was now on the verge of graduating. The two years she had spent studying Medicine in England were more than enough to qualify her for medical school, and she was now on the verge of becoming a fully-fledged MediWitch at the tender age of twenty-five. It was the first time someone had graduated that young in the University's history. Shaking herself out of the contemplative mood she had been in, she regarded her half-done essay with a sigh. She'd finish it tomorrow. After all, it was due next month. As she gathered up all of her things, Hermione couldn't help but notice the two freshmen getting up to leave as well. She was so engrossed in their all-too-familiar row that she didn't notice the other student on the way out.

"Ouch!" As she tripped over his feet, he dropped his calculator and books. The Muggle machine split in half, microchips springing out. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" He stooped to pick up his ruined calculator and books, his sandy hair falling over his eyes. There was something so familiar about him...

"It's fine, Hermione." The (she couldn't help but notice) handsome young man in front of her smiled. Her eyes widened in surprise. How...

"How do you know my name?" He gestured to the winter scarf tied around his neck. Red and gold. "You..." She cocked her head to the side quizzically. The hair, it was something about his hair, and the accent. "You're..."

"Seamus. Seamus Finnigan."