Hermione traced the edges of the picture with her shaking fingers, squeezing her eyes shut as they welled up. She couldn't hold it together - and she hated herself. He'd want her to be strong. He'd want- hell, she didn't - couldn't - really know anymore. Choking back a sob, she picked up the photograph - their photograph - and held it close to her chest. He'd never been hugged enough when he was around. She blamed herself a little for this. Maybe that's why left? Who knows. Hermione used to think that she'd know everything one day - how magic worked, why there were exceptions to Gamp's Laws, why people die- she can't think about anything else anymore. She doesn't want to. She'd lied to herself for too long. Knowledge wasn't power. He was - for her, anyway. But now she doesn't have anything. Bringing the photo to her face, she breathes shakily onto his grinning face, and wonders whether he's happier where he is than with her. She wanted to dismiss the idea of a logical 'probably' - he was with his family, many of his friends, and away from those he'd be glad to have left behind, but without her. Hermione listened to the patter of teardrops as she wonders if she'd be included in that latter category. The 'probably' on her mind is bittersweet - he'd be happy, which makes her happy, but she's not. She gave the photo a small kiss before placing it back on the table with a - a noise, a sob and a sigh. Ginny, she remembered, had told her to try and forget - Hermione had gotten so angry at her, she'd still not spoken to her long-time confidant. How could Hermione forget him, her one, her only- he who saved her life, he who said he'd never leave- Hermione broke into a fresh bout of tears, her head falling into her hands on the table, her shoulders shaking. She'd wish for him to come back - but she doesn't think he would even if he could chose.
Just yesterday, Hermione had spent hours calling his mobile, listening to the answering recording over, and over, and over - she'd fallen asleep on the floor, wondering whether the pain in her head, her heart, would go away. But he wasn't even there to give her an answer, to comfort her. It still echoed in her head as she caught his eyes in the photo - 'Hey, I'm not here right now, I'm probably out with Hermione or something. Leave a message and I promise I'll call back.'
His voice; so smooth happy and yet she can hear the uncertainty - as if he himself doesn't believe he's got everything in the world with her, his Hermione- she wipes her eyes harshly, telling herself not to kid herself. He left. 'Hey, I'm not here right now, I'm probably out with Hermione or something. Leave a message and I promise I'll call back.' Hermione stares at the phone angrily, fuming at herself for making his voice sound once again. She knew how much pain she'd be in, and did it anyway. Hermione felt so stupid. He wasn't stupid - but he'd always pretended to blend in - and he made sure to work hard when he needed to - which, Hermione thought sadly, had become his entire life. She got up and walked to the mirror, his voice breaking her silence once more, echoing behind her as she goes. She could have summoned it but didn't - Hermione couldn't will herself to use magic anymore- the magic was gone from everything. She stared at her reflection. She bit her lip at the bags under her eyes, and the redness of her eyes, and the deadness of her hair. Her face was just pale, and her lip- now bleeding - was dry and cracked. Knowing he'd never stay for that, she cried again. She wanted him to stay. He'd said- promised, that he would.
But Harry left, and that's all that matters.
