The ground was muddy and soaked by the heavy rain. Thick raindrops hit her face, wetting her clothes, but she didn’t feel it. Numbness was all she felt. She saw it happening, disbelieving. She saw how the light emerged from the tip of her wand and formed a mist around the sixteen year-old boy who stood a few steps from her. The dark trees around them made this night even darker than it already was.

With a sudden jolt Hermione woke up. Slowly she opened her eyelids. She was still in the dark common room. The fireplace had finally burned out and the thunderstorm could only be heard from far away. Somebody had put a warm blanket over her. She groaned lightly as she started to think about what she should do now.

Harry wasn't the same -- he was so distant. How hard had he fought? How long had he fought to break Cho out of her sadness? It didn't matter anymore; she was dead, killed by someone who he thought wasn’t a part of his life anymore. It wasn't Harry who told Hermione that she was to blame; he didn't need to tell her.

Through the darkness and shadows of this old house only faintly creaking of wood could be heard. It was just barely alive. Even after two years it was still dark, so dark that it reminded one of a house of a dark wizard. Indeed once it had belonged to a family full of dark wizards. Slightly warm sun rays fought through the clouds and illuminated the house that nobody could see.

Silently her thoughts went back to the horrible night that Cho Chang had died. She had been the first person in Hermione’s young life she had seen die

He must been seen otherwise he could not rescue her, could not save her life. He chuckled slightly that even now he couldn’t help his “saving people thing.” Nothing in this world could hold him back, nothing.