What if no one knew the truth

Just over 2 pages

What if no one knew the truth?

Running, that's the only truth in this world…It's funny, I thought, that here I should be, Running, running for my life, when all around me the world seems at peace…but then when is anything as I thought it seems?...I never realized that people had hid behind facades…I thought I had been alone, in my crazy world of What Ifs, What Coulds, and Maybe Sos, but in my closed off world somehow, someone had slipped through, that if I'd be on the run, running till I couldn't, then making it ten miles further, that I'd be on

the run with him. But then of course, if the world is not as it seems, then why would he?

After a while, a long while, the running became okay. I'd used to love running, back before Hogwarts, and after the "Final Battle" I'd started again. But after seven long years of not really running so much as living it was hard. Now, it was ordinary. To stay ahead we ran about twelve miles a day on alternating days; on the off days we slept in the trees, shift sleeping, so as to stay rested. Sometimes we talk while we run, and he usually slows to keep pace with me, but normally it's just easy silence. We don't talk a lot, because it tends to be about memories, and too many memories bring all their old pain with them. Silence is better. Silence is safer. Silence is golden.

Today is our second day of the second month we've been running. It's an on day. When he wakes me up from my slumber, he looks tired, and upset. When I try and ask what's wrong he just shakes his head so I move to climb out of his arms, be he holds firm and when I look at him he's shaking his head and searching the ground frantically.

"What's going-"

I was muted by a cold, calloused hand clamped over my mouth, inebriating any further speech.

"Over there," he breather into my ear, barely audible.

And then I saw them ten, maybe fifteen, cloaked figures investigation out camp site, fifty feet or so off.

I felt the first vestiges of moisture breach my tightly closed eyelids then, and silently snake their way into my hairline as I lay face up at the sky to keep my eyes off the sight below.

First the war, then Harry and Ron gone. Then Professor McGonagall being killed and the MOM being over turned by the "new wave activists", all the surviving Death Eaters hell bent on revenge, and now after finally escaping that hell-hole where we'd been forced to run for our lives. I had thought, naively so, that we were safe. I'd thought that it wasn't possible for anything else to happen.

The crying didn't last long, because I was after all still in my heart, and we were brave even in the face of insurmountable odds. I wiped away my silent tears and clenched my jaw, ready to fight, not ready to give up my freedom yet

A/N—hey!! I know this is a little choppy, and incomplete, but that's the feeling it's supposed to give, because she's not complete anymore, and well, no one ever really is, just like the story is never over, no matter what the last word says. I got the idea, if anyone cares, when I passed an old rusted fence with strips of rust stained cloth hooked in the tops…t way he rust looked on the cloth just seemed so ominous to me, and I had this feeling of incompleteness when I saw it, and of running from all the things that try to keep you in…

I might try to add more to this(after all the chapters I have already, which btw, there are only 3 more of after this one), because even though it's supposed to feel like this, it feels like I should show more of Hermione's….incompleteness…becoming…complete? Am I making any sense?

Okay, RHYME TIME!!

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