"The Dark Side of the Heart"

By: Tlaltzin

CHAPTER ONE

Memories

The sky shone with a deep crimson colours; it was as if a painter had spread all reddish tones from his palette over it, spread it so carelessly that it seemed like no one could ever make an exact copy of it. A sky like this was very unusual even at Hogwarts. Hermione was so used to grey colour and rain that the simple sight of this master piece made her feel overwhelmed and hypnotised. She could not stop staring at its beauty even when she knew she had a trunk left to fill with all her belongings and so little time to do it.

She had found quite amusing how many things can be accumulated over the years and how many things were waiting for her to be packed. But how can a person put seven years of her life into a suitcase? She had even acquired a second trunk to put all her books and parchments with her notes and had decided to use the old one for her clothes and other stuff. Even though, she felt as if, by doing it, she would put an end to a phase she wasn't too sure she wanted to. Even if she knew there was no way back.

When the sky became purple and stars started to show up welcoming the night, Hermione turned on her heels and determinedly went on arranging the things she had left. It was unavoidable when placing the eldest tomes of charms to remember what she had learnt from them. Memories, after all, were kept in the bank of time, the most valuable treasure one can ever have. She remembered how she had bought those books even a month before classes started and had memorized them all long before knowing which house she would be sorted in.

She opened the charms book and watched smiling with love the chapter about levitation. Staring at nothing in particular and with the lips still curling up, she remembered the gigantic troll and the two boys who had become her friends ever since. Short ahead, there was the unlocking spell, which had become very handy all seven years.

Carefully, she closed the book and store it away in the bottom of the trunk. After a few minutes, she had filled it with transfigurations, potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts books; Every book speaking to her with the voice of every teacher who had taught her about the matter; each of them reminding her that she would never place a foot over a Hogwarts classroom again.

It is deceptive the way in which things can seem alive in your hands, even when they're nothing more than just things, she thought when taking the last Defence Against the Dark Arts book; so many faces running through her head; From deceiving professor Quirrel to professor Dumbledore. Each and every one of them had been important in some way. Professor Lockhart, how could she forget him? Hermione laughed shortly before saying "childish". Professor Lockhart had been the object of her affections over a whole year, but had been nothing more than a childish fool thinking. Where had all that love gone to? Who else could find it useful? Professor Lupin, on the other hand, had taught her a lot and owed him her great NEWT's notes. Then there was Barty Crouch, professor Umbridge… no, Harry, she corrected and her expression changed completely. Harry's voice was speaking on her ears as if a century had passed since the first time she had hear it.

"Harry Potter" had said the little boy with glasses and she was so nervous that all she could do was speaking non-stop like a parrot.

She threw herself on her bed and still smiling, closed her eyes and allowed memories to drawn her. There were so many that a new one replaced the one before in less than a second. She remembered third year when she was freezing to death and a feeling of sadness was taking over her, somebody had been there to help her and never let her down. Harry's voice had been screaming a spell that didn't seem to be working until she had fainted. Hermione cared for him by then but could not remember exactly when her feelings had started to change. Truth to be told, she had been hurt when he didn't ask her to the Yule Ball in forth grade, but she had to accept that she had felt the same way when Ron didn't neither. It was also truth that seeing Harry getting lost inside the labyrinth had been hell for her but she had been sure it had been the same if Ron had taken Harry's place. Hadn't it?

All she had suffered over the last three years; attempting Harry to do things right; keeping him away from danger and trouble; helping him learn spells that could save his life. And then knowing the terrible fate he had to face sooner or later and that he could die on Voldemort's hands… she had dried her eyes crying all nights; how she had taken the courage to follow him till the end and make herself sure that his friend could get away from that horrible destiny. Now that things had gone fine… she'd still feel miserable.

Hermione sat up in the edge of the bed "What did you expect? You expected him to become your charm price?" she thought and stood up distressingly to finish the task she was already late from. Dinner had surely already started and she had still some clothes to arrange. Rapidly, she placed all the ones that were previously folded. She tucked in her robes and shoes but could not find a place for the laughter in the common room and the afternoons under the tree by the lake: her socks, underwear and scarves fitted perfectly but there was no space left for the butterflies she had felt on her stomach when she was near Harry. Finally, she closed the trunk and regretted letting behind her first Christmas in the castle or her first love tears. She took a deep breath and tried to keep inside her lungs a little of melancholy and another little of laughs from the ones she could find stock on the walls.

It was time to go downstairs.

She advanced slowly, as if she was saying goodbye to all the things that were no longer things; there were part of an all, of a life's experience. It was as if her sadness had been born everywhere she placed her eyes on. She was extremely concerned for it to become just a memory later on, like a dream of which she wasn't too sure she wanted to wake up from. But she was sadder to think this could happen too with the people she had developed feelings for; to all people she was sentimentally dependant, more deeply than she wanted to admit: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, there was nobody else. She had to admit she had made many other friends at Howarts, but none was compared, not even closely to her very best friends; not Ron and even less Harry.

However, Hermione had let her feeling towards Harry die a long time ago. Many things had happened and she'd never stopped being her best friend. How could she tell him one fine day "I'm in love with you"? Hermione wasn't that kind of a girl. She was more into logistics, and as logic as she was, she had sorted her possibilities out. Harry's first great love had been Cho Chang; and compared to her, Hermione had no chance at all. She could had bought herself a Quidditch book and learn all moves and plays and talk to Harry about them, but could not possibly guess the sensation of catching a snitch in front of hundreds of people; or the feeling of riding a broomstick with a storm going on outside. And even with this, Cho was way much prettier than she was.

Hermione would always be on the platforms supporting him whether he asked her to or not. She'd show him practice and would become his number one fan. She'd be worried when he'd become sick and would make sure to smile over his success and cry over his failures. She'd done all that as his friend, why wasting it all by saying I love you? People usually say that "I love you" is the most beautiful and comforting thing a person can say, for Hermione it was a torture, like a ball of fire trapped inside her stomach and eager to come out. But she'd keep it inside willing the day it would extinguish or desisted from coming out; conformed with its destiny of living inside where it would die someday along with her wishes of hugging him, kissing him and being with him forever.

And then a second love had arrived to Harry's life and that made Hermione let herself fall down every day. She had started to die slowly; she was like a dead three, she seemed fine and standing but there was nothing left inside. There were days she doubted her existence, as if death had taken over her long time ago; following her steps, every day, every hour, every minute with every tic tac of the clock. But she remained there; standing beside him although she was less than a ghost. And she'd remain there because we're never where we die definitely, but where we die day by day. Hermione had stopped irradiating to start absorbing. She lived from his leftovers; his smiles (even when they were not precisely for her). She lived because she could not do differently, because that's what people usually do and not precisely because that's what she liked to do; because she was no longer herself and because, as hard as it was to admit it, she wasn't that happy with his happiness. Even when Ginny Weasley was the one who generated the smiles she'd feed with.

Soon and without realizing it, Hermione had reached the dinning room where her friends had saved her a seat at the Gryffindor's table. She sat on Harry's right, as usual, and watched Ginny sitting on his left and Ron in front of them. Harry was smiling widely; he had been happy ever since Voldemort had been defeated and all wizards and witches were no longer afraid of him. As hard as it was, Hermione shared a smile and celebrated along; her gestures were more like Harry's reflection. Nobody would ever understand how much she suffered in that moment because she had lost her personality; she had become a living mirror.