The afternoon had been set up perfectly. 5pm, Hogsmeade, Black Couldron. You wearing your beautiful red dress, and him in his usual attire— you had been excited.

You had been preparing yourself all morning— putting effort into makeup, and making sure you looked good for him. After all, he was going through all this effort to take you out. The least you could do to repay him was look pretty.

The time had come, and you were nervous as hell. You waited anxiously outside of the Black Cauldron, the crooked sign swinging back and forth as the wind and snow in Hogsmeade picked up significantly. You hadn’t brought a jacket.

Ten minutes went by, and he still didn’t come. Your heart raced a little bit more, but not enough to put that sick feeling into your stomach. Then half an hour, still no show. Then an hour. It was only when it was nearing the point of two hours that you realised— he wasn’t coming.

He had stood you up, the bloody moron.

The trek back to Hogwarts was painful— both emotionally and physically. You were freezing, your teeth chattering, and all the while there were tears streaming down your cheeks and an occasional sob slipping out from your cold, blue lips.

When you walked back into the castle and made your way through the portrait— you saw him. He was sat on the couch by the warm fire, a box of chocolate frogs, half eaten by both him and the girl sat next to him. Hermione bloody Granger.

Of course it was her.

There you stood— cold, shivering, and heartbroken— while he sat there comfortably with another girl on his arm. You’d never felt so stupid in your life. You were a fool.