First Year Hermione Granger Novels & Stories

Everyone in Ieplad knows Leopoldo Vece, the Don of the Vece family, loves guns but not women—until me. Ten years into our marriage, my adoptive father, Raffaello Conti, lies dying of kidney failure. Leopoldo launches a global hunt for a donor, sparing no expense to save him. He finds her—a young, fragile woman—and spends millions solving her every problem to ensure she is ready for the transplant. On the day of the surgery, she vanishes. I rush to her home in a panic, only to find my husband holding her gently in his arms, soothing her in a soft voice. "If you're afraid of the pain, don't donate then. I'll find another donor." "Is there time?" she asks quietly. "I heard Lucia's adoptive father is at death's door." Leopoldo brushes his hand over her hair, his voice indulgent. "I'll search the world again if I have to. You're still young; this burden isn't yours to carry." As my heart shatters, my phone rings. I answer numbly. The person on the other end of the line says, "Signora Conti, we regret to inform you that Raffaello Conti just passed away. We waited as long as we could for the donor, but his body gave out five minutes ago." I return to the hospital and handle the funeral arrangements alone. After that, I call Marianna D'Andrea, the Don's mother, and say, "I agree to divorce Leopoldo. Please help me disappear."

On the day a dispute broke out between my students, I saw Samantha again—the girl I had broken up with ten years ago; the girl who had been fighting wiped away her tears and cried out for her mother. Samantha froze when she saw me. After a long moment, she seemed to remember herself and quickly apologized. "Mr. Brooke, I'm sorry for causing you trouble." I handled the compensation matter strictly by the book. When everything was settled, she lingered behind the others, clearly wanting to speak but hesitating. "I remember you didn't want to be a teacher back then," she said. I smiled faintly and walked her to the office door. "People change. So do their thoughts." Just like my feelings for her—those had been turned over long ago.

At my best friend's wedding, a girl lunged forward and caught the bouquet—only for it to slip from her hands and land squarely in my arms. My best friend, Lauren Walker, beamed at me. "Madison, looks like you're the next bride." The guests exchanged knowing glances and turned toward my boyfriend of eight years—Mason Ryder, the CEO of the Ryder Group. But he calmly plucked the bouquet from my hands and casually passed it to the girl standing beside me—his secretary, Natalie Carter. "She caught it first." He ruffled my hair, his voice gentle. "Be good. Give it back to Natalie for now. We'll wait for the next time." The spotlight—and the guests' attention—shifted with the bouquet, settling on Natalie. I looked at her startled yet shy expression, then rested a hand on my stomach and forced a bitter smile. Mason didn't know there wouldn't be a next time. Our eight-year promise had already come to an end, and we still hadn't taken the step into marriage. And I had already promised my parents, who were royalty, that next week, I would leave and return to Montelvia to inherit the family legacy.

When I first caught Miles cheating on me, I pinned him down at the entrance whenever he came home every day. I would pull down his pants and spray high-concentration alcohol all over his nether regions. He always went along with it with teary eyes because he knew he had been in the wrong. He would only look at me with a pitiful gaze and coax me to stop. One day, he came home two hours late. I became mad when I smelled the perfume on him. I started taking off his belt forcefully and yelled, “Last time, when you had your fun with one woman, you came home half an hour late. “Now you’re two hours late. Talk! Did you sleep with four?” Even though he apologized to me for the twenty-ninth time, I pushed him away repeatedly. He finally raised his hand to show me the IV mark on the back of it. He snapped and screamed at me, “Enough! I was dying with a high fever, yet you haven’t even asked how I’m doing. You just fly off the handle every single day. When are you going to stop? “Fine, I got drunk and slept with someone once. Big deal. You’re not so innocent yourself. “It’s no wonder you got dragged into an alley at sixteen, stripped, and assaulted. Jenna, you’re a paranoid wreck. You may have even deserved it.” The spray bottle shattered at my feet, and the smell of alcohol caught in my throat. I was speechless. I felt exhausted when I saw his disgusted expression. I did not want this broken relationship any longer.

How would it feel when someone from the past, with whom you shared a good part of your life, with whom you had created cherishable memories come in front of you, again? What if the one person you were trying to run from blocks all your path, such that there would only be one way left, at the end of which, would be standing the one you are running from?

After my eight-year-old twin sister was kidnapped, my dad became the person who wished for my death more than anyone else in the world. He would always say, "Zachary is an ungrateful brat! A good-for-nothing!" So, when the news of my disappearance reached the school, my dad leads everyone in cheers. He even spreads word of my misdeeds everywhere. "Zachary stole a poor student's tuition fees and even made a false police report accusing the teacher of hitting him!" "That's right! He even helped traffickers kidnap children—his own sister was almost sold by him! I hope he dies soon!" Five years later, my memories are extracted and projected onto a large display screen. And yet my dad, who hates me to the core and wishes for my death, falls to his knees and begs for my forgiveness the moment he learns of my death.

I was Callum's secret mate for twelve years. I managed his internal affairs, placated the elders, guarded the borders, fought off rogues, and handled every mess he didn't want to deal with. But he never looked me in the eye in public. Even when I was pregnant and attacked by rogue wolves, he was having sex with the daughter of an Alpha from the neighboring wolf pack. I didn't hesitate to sever my mate bond and leave. Five years later, I met him again at a Multi-Pack Council banquet. He looked at my logo-free clothes, his eyes filled with arrogant disdain: "Sera, I'm marrying Vivienne next month. She's an Alpha's daughter; only she deserves to be Luna. But I can send you back to the wolf pack to be my mistress." I scoffed: "Save it." The next second, my daughter called: "Mommy! Mommy, when are you coming home? Maisie misses you!" Hearing my daughter's voice, Callum regained his arrogant confidence: "Sera. That's my pup, isn't it? You still love me. Even after you left, you kept our baby." I stared at him for a second. Then I slapped him across the face. He didn't know that our child had been miscarried during the rogue wolf attack, and Maisie was my and Alpha King's pup.

This is my 18th time coming to City Hall, yet Tessa's still nowhere to be seen. Right as I'm about to call and ask her how much longer she'll be, her childhood friend's post popped up on my screen. "Celebrating 1000 days of marriage with my wife. May we always be this happy." The photo highlights a marriage certificate, and Tessa Cross' name is right there under "wife". As for the license date, it shows February 14th, three years ago. So this is why she hasn't shown up the last eighteen times. It turns out that she's already somebody else's wife.

On the day Moon Spencer received the Medal of Honor, she made a public declaration of love on live television to her accompanying military medic, Xavier Quinn. “If it weren’t for Xavier, I’d have died in that storm at sea. He is the most important person in my life.” At the same time, her husband, Nathan Johnson, was lying on his deathbed at home. For years, he had taken care of Moon’s parents and raised their child alone. The strain destroyed his health, and he had little time left. He never expected that after twenty years of sacrifice, he would not even hear a word of thanks from her. What truly broke him was their daughter’s comment. “Dad, don’t you think Dr. Quinn and Mom are perfect together? You should leave sooner and make room for him.” Nathan collapsed in fury and regret. He died that night. When he opened his eyes again, he was back to the night before Moon left for her coastal deployment. This time, he refused to stay behind as the forgotten man who kept everything running. In this life, he would pursue his own dream.

Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses. Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother." Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had. "Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury." But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room. In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars. "It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?" What she never knew was this— On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.