The Twenty Year Itch

Part 1: A Few Words

"Unbelievable." I say quietly to myself.

"Sorry for breaking...whatever this was." Confused as she picks up a ceramic shard off the floor- she apologetically smiles before continuing to clean.

"It was something a fan made me...what are you doing sneaking in my window? You've failed to say." Going to her, I kneel and help pick up the pieces of artwork and she just simply smiles at me before looking back at the mess. Something's wrong for sure. She never usually dodges my questions...more importantly- she never breaks into my home in the middle of the night.

"I just thought I'd drop in." Casually saying, she smiles before taking the mess in the pan to the trash.

"Seriously, Duck...what's going on?" Stopping on her way back to put the broom away, her shoulders drop and she seems so small. Her jean overall shorts seem slightly looser than most of her other clothes usually are and her camisole hangs low as well.

"Is there something wrong with me?" I can't help but laugh when she asks this. I mean- she just crawled through my patio window for some odd reason.

"There's a lot of things wrong with you, haha." She turns around and now my smile dissipates. Her eyes are filled with ready to drop tears and her lip quivers.

"Tom..." She sniffs and I feel like an arsehole. Padding across the floor in my pajama pants, I cup her cheek and wipe a few tears away.

"No- Em. There's nothing wrong with you. Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm going to be thirty next year and I have nothing to show for it...." She cries and all I can do is pull her to my bare chest. Her arms get trapped between us and I feel horrible for the joke earlier.

"What are you talking about? You're Hermione Granger. You're a beautiful, successful and very talented young woman and nothing in this world could prove otherwise." As her tears hit my chest and slide down towards my navel, I can't stop the twisting in my chest.

"I'm a loser though...I have no home...no husband...no babies...and I'm going to be 30!" Her sobs are muffled by my chest and it hits me.

"Fuck- I'm a loser too then...I'm well passed my prime and I don't even have a decent body to make up for it."

"I'm being serious, Tom." Forcing her away from my chest, I look her over and wipe more tears away.

"Lord help me- when you turn serious."

"Stop mocking me!"

"I'm not. Haha, I'm serious. When you get serious- I end up getting hurt. Like that day on set during Azkaban. You got serious and you actually punched me hard in the face. Or that time at the award show when you got serious and threw your brick of a clutch at my face." I say and smirk widely. "Point of the story is- when you get serious- I end up getting beat up for it."

Managing to get her to laugh a bit, she pushes her body back into me and faces towards the living room wall- her hair sticking to my right shoulder due to the amount of tears she's cried.

"Darling- listen. Thirty is nothing more than a number. You are a strong, independent woman, and though you need no man- you always have me. You have a whole year before then anyway. I'm sure some lucky git will scoop you up- knock you up outta wedlock and be handsomely rich so you needn't worry about buying some home in fair Verona." Hands gliding up and down her back, I feel her thin frame relax against me and a smile grows upon my stubbled face.

"Thank you...you always know what to say to make me feel better."

"Anytime, my little Duckling."