Some day, this will be a "Last.fm/NetFlix/Amazon for web fiction" (both original and fanfiction) where you can search across many different hosting sites or rate what you've read and get recommendations. However, life keeps throwing more urgent projects my way, so I don't know when it'll be ready.
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7201305/1/Brightest Witch of Her Age …. Bollocks. Member of the Golden Trio … Friend of The-Boy-Who-Lived … Hero of Hogwarts …. *Snort!* Watching your friends die makes you a hero? Really? Holder of the Order of Merlin, first class …. Given away like candy afterwards … might as well be a chocolate frog. Youngest Unspeakable Ever Unspoken Of ….
She had to pause and smile at that one. I'll get you for that one Tyrone, you wanker. He would have laughed at that one. He would have …. She shook her head, her thoughts once more turning sour.
Don't forget 'Loving Wife'… add that one to the que. Maybe 'Betrayer of Friends'? No, no. Just 'Betrayer' sounds about right. It's more encompassing and covers a lot more sins. 'Accessory to Murder'? Don't downplay your role, girl! If you aren't proud of the honorific 'Murderer,' then why were you a party to it?
The bushy-haired woman sitting at her dining room table took another sip from the glass tumbler in her hands. She grimaced as the amber coloured liquid burned its way down her throat.
'Drunkard'? She paused and swirled the ice in the tumbler. That would at least be a new one. Glancing at the bottle of Odgen's on the table, her mind slipped back into what her coworkers called her analytical mode. After running through numerous calculations, she shrugged. Nope. Not quite yet. But I'm young. I have prospects!
Hermione found herself giggling for a moment and allowed a look of confusion to cross her face. What? That's not right. This is my Personal Periodic Pity Party! No giggling allowed, damnit!
But it's not a proper P-4, is it? How could it be? I've yet to even mention 'Failed Mother' on the list of never-ending honorifics.
With a snarl, she blindly hurled the tumbler away from her. Firewhiskey splashed against the wall as the impact shattered a picture of three young children hugging each other and smiling for the camera.
Her anger disappeared as quickly as it had flared, leaving her feeling washed out and drained. Sighing, she pointed her wand at the remains of the frame. "Reparro," she muttered.
"So young and innocent. So stupid and oblivious. If there were any way …."
She shook herself. None of that, dearie. The past is past. Water under the bridge and all that rot. Reap what you have sown. There are no take-backs, no second chances!
Grabbing a tissue from the box she had ready and waiting on the table for a point usually much later in her pity party, she dabbed at the three smiling children as she carefully placed the picture back on the stand. So much for random targets. Once again, her mind switched gears and entered what Ron called her "scary place." How many times can magic repair something? Given the law of the conservation of magical energy, is there a point of diminishing returns? Will I eventually cast Reparro on the bloody same bloody photo and nothing will happen? Has anyone done a study? Would the volume of the object being repaired influence the ….
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
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