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Hermione worked.
She had never understood why other people found it so difficult to work. She'd watch as Lavender and Parvati threw their quills down with sighs and moans and decide to finish their work later before heading off to the common room. Hermione had always looked at the half-finished work strewn across their beds and side tables and wondered why on earth they couldn't just finish it then.
She herself found it impossible to stop once she'd already started. She'd find a flow, a rhythm, and once she got going, she'd have to finish. That was one of the reasons she'd often seek refuge in the library to do her work. The silence stretched through the long, dusty shelves, providing a support for her pouring of thoughts that moved down her arm, through her hand, into the quill and onto the page. The only pauses she'd take would be to check something in a book or to grab a drink, because once she started, she couldn't stop.
She'd never understood the moaning either. Like when the others always complained about having so much work to do, but then never doing if you had work to do, you'd do it and get it done? Hermione had always had a work first, play later attitude. It was something she firmly believed in and it always seemed to work. The problem was that most other people seemed to do it the other way round (or just left the work part out completely).
So it was with great annoyance that she walked down to the library. Once again she was alone, and it still felt as lonely as usual. She couldn't comprehend how Harry and Ron could not want (or need, for that matter) to do their work. They had their N.E.W.T exams approaching, and nobody seemed to give a dam.
She'd sighed at their protests of why they had to study, seeing as it was over a year to the exams, but Hermione knew that they'd all be complaining about their work load once the exams approached and they had two years worth of revision to catch up on. The way Hermione saw it, was if she did it now, then when the exams did roll around, she'd just need to refresh everything in her memory.
The library was as empty as it always was. There were a few lonesome studiers in the corners, but aside from that, Hermione found herself with a choice of a dozen tables. She picked one at the back, and lowered her heavy bag to the floor before pulling out a parchment and quill, as well as her Transfiguration text book. She'd go over it all until she could recite it from memory. Then she'd test herself on her Charms, and redo any of that she'd forgotten.
She started without difficulty, dropping into her usual rhythm easily, only stopping to tie her hair back so that it didn't drop all over her work.
It felt natural, it felt normal. It was something she could escape into, something to distract her from the horror that was the world now.
She couldn't even escape back at home with her parents. The wizarding world didn't let you turn a blind eye, and even if Hermione tried to ignore the papers and letters that were sent her way, her parents never did. They were getting increasingly more worried for their daughter's safety, and were literally ripping the Daily Prophet off the poor owl for several weeks before Hermione had left.
It hadn't gotten any better at Hogwarts, and no matter where you were, people were discussing Voldemort and the war. There was no escape.
It wasn't as if Hermione didn't care. She really did. The honest truth was that it scared her. It downright frightened her knowing what could happen to the world she'd grown to love so much. The world that had opened up so many fabulous opportunities to her could be about to be blown to tiny smithereens, herself included.
She knew she was supposed to be Gryffindor, and be brave. But she didn't think that this was the usual kind of fear. It wasn't the horrible, sick feeling of 'Oh my Gosh, I'm going to die.' It was the plain fact that everything around her could disappear. The most amazing thing in the world – magic – could be gone, or changed beyond something that could ever be enjoyed again.
When Hermione found out she was a witch, it had been the greatest feeling in the world. Now all that could be gone. So she sat down, and did her work. She liked to kid herself that it was to get it done on time, to get the best grades. But working offered Hermione that familiar escape that she craved so much these days. When she was working, she could go back to the times when she was eleven and twelve years old, when all there was to worry about was handing your homework in on time, because she loved that world.
So Hermione worked.
A/N: This oneshot was written for the 'Flying Solo' Challenge on the HPFC forum. It was also written for one of my friends, who's favourite character is Hermione :). Plus, I want to say a big thanks to my beta, Spinky, who managed to knock this into something at least half decent from the mess I had origionally. Please try to take the time to review!
Elle xx