"Mom? Dad?" Hermione's voice rang out softly, filling her house with the mournful sound. She knew she wouldn't get an answer.
"No, they're wrong. THEY'RE WRONG!" She slid herself down the wall she was leaning on, and slumped down into a ball. Tears wet the floor as she looked up, looked at the empty space before her.
"This isn't my house. They'd be here if this was my house." Her eyes took on a dazed look, and an image of what had been flashed before them. It transformed the blank place before her into the glory it once was, when the furniture was still in place and when life had still pulsated within its walls.
Their death wasn't her fault, yet this brought more pain than it would if she had killed them with her own hands. She had no one to blame, no one to curse and hate, leaving her only to cry, cry until she could cry no more.
Her hands put themselves into the pocket of her jeans, the ones she had worn for over a week now while all her belongings were sent to her aunt and uncle's house. Inside she found a crumpled piece of paper, one that gave her a glint of hope. It was her Hogwarts letter, the one that announced her sixth year in the magical school.
"I will find a way, death will not defeat me."
The sound of the familiar train roared in the distance as she stepped through the barrier. Her aunt and uncle had wished her good luck, and she kissed them in gratitude. She already had her robes on, and entered an empty compartment.
She stared at the seat opposite of her, focusing in on the patterns of its making. She was going back to Hogwarts, a second home. There she would find a way.
The door to her compartment slid open, and one of her best friends sat before her.
"Hi Harry." Her voice wasn't very jubilant, and when he answered she could tell that neither was his.
"Hey Hermione. Long time no see." He had grown taller, and his features had sharpened into those of a person nearing adulthood. No longer did he possess the childlike laughter that he used to carry, though tragedy had befallen him at an unfortunately young age.
"How does he still smile, after everything that has happened to him?" Hermione played with the hem of her robes, letting them sit in silence. Minutes slowly passed, and still the two sat without speaking.
With a loud clatter, a now tanner Ron entered. He stared from one face to another, and listened as nothing was said.
"Wow, who died?"
His joke was not taken lightly.