New Begining
"Why won't you use a portkey?"
"Because Ronald," Hermione started while holding her baggage and rushing to her indicated platform. "It would ruin the whole experience! And you get more time to be with me until I leave."
While Ron was trying his best to avoid bumping into any muggle, Harry was rather annoyed.
"It won't change anything," said Harry. "We'll use a portkey, so we'll be able to see you quite often."
Hermione scoffed, still rushing to the platform with her two best friends following her steps breathlessly. "It's not that easy to get a portkey to Paris. It's always full; I had to book three months ago. You won't be able to have one so quickly."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'm pretty sure we could get one right now if we wanted to," said Ron.
"And why is that?" asked Hermione, rolling her eyes while slowing her path.
"Because," he paused dramatically. "He's Harry Potter."
Harry snorted, and Hermione stopped, glaring at both of them. Their amused looks quickly faded off their face. "We talked about that. Don't use your name for a portkey. I don't want you to break wizarding laws to see me," she warned them seriously.
"Come on, 'Mione!" pleaded Ron. "We'll all visit you! Me, Harry, Luna, Ginny, Malfoy, Dean, Seamus and Neville. All of us! And don't even think we'll miss our chance to go to Paris."
Harry turned towards Ron, confused. "Are you still calling him Malfoy?
"I wanted to emphasise his name."
8.45 am, platform 7.
The three friends were now in a warm embrace. Tears running down their face—realising that after years of school together—five years of living together in a Londonian flat—after years of doing everything together, Hermione was about to pursue a different path away from them and their past.
She loved them more than anything. Nothing could change that in the slightest.
Hermione shook her head, "Boys..."
She smiled softly. Their friendship was all she had, but she needed to go somewhere else for a while. She needed change. "I will miss you so much."
They both kissed her on the cheeks and let her climb on the train. Her last sight of them was when she watched them by the window, running after the train and blowing her kisses like silly little kids.
Once sat comfortably, she dug out a brown notebook and her favourite pen from her bag. The seat before her was empty so she put herself at ease and opened the thick notebook on the small table.
A drop of black ink fell on the yellowish paper.
"Chapter 1: Paris."