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She watched as a single drop of water landed on her index finger. It was so perfect, shaped just as a teardrop should look. Teardrops like the ones you see in kindergarten coloring books, the ones that you color light blue and sometimes, if you were a really good colorer, there would be a little square of white near the top to make it look like it was glistening And as she thought this, more droplets gathered until they started sliding down her bare arm, a tiny rivulet seeping through her vest, cooling her already saturated body. But did she notice? Did she even care? Nothing mattered right now, nothing except the fact that she was alive and her best friend wasn't, and everything around her seemed so fardling cold.
Beside her seated form, a blade of grass toppled over, the weight of collecting drops of precipitation finally overbalancing it. Her eyes finally fell back onto the letter in her lap, pristine with its chalky whiteness, a rudimentary charm repelling the water that attempted to fall on it. The result was that even more rain would rebound toward the girl, but of course that wasn't the thing on her mind right now. The tiny, elaborate lettering that glimmered on the paper was what held her attention, the elegant cursive that informed her that the former Headmaster Karkaroff had gone missing, that a professor Kaliope had taken his place, and that she had been selected for the highly prestigious candidate class of Transcendents.
It was the one aspiration that was nearly unattainable. She had been informed of its existence when she'd been announced Head Girl over the summer. What good would it do to inform the general public of its existence when they had no hopes of reaching it? Only the groups that mattered, the highest order in all the schools, the most powerful of societies knew of it. Even Gringotts bank had not been conscious of its existence until the sorceror's stone had been placed in its keeping. And now the idiots decided it would be best to combine the Transcendents of the three schools, and what with a new Headmaster, what school could be better than Durmstrang? Right. So she was stuck. Her seventh and final year at Hogwarts, supposibly the highlight of one's school career and finally crowned Head Girl, and she was ordered to throw herself into the jaws of death itself in a school that hated muggle-borns on the off-chance that the powers-that-be might find her fit to carry the title of Transcendent, a title she wouldn't be able to show 97% of the wizarding population, and absolutely forbidden to explain to muggles at all. No self-respecting person would do that to herself.
And yet, she wasn't totally repulsed by the idea, though she was given no choice in the matter. Life without Ron simply hurt. It hurt to get up in the morning knowing she wouldn't see a redhead stumbling down the stairs in an effort not to be late to class, it hurt to look into the common room fire because it matched the color of his hair. Yes, she had Harry, but he wasn't the same. He was charming, enigmatic, proud, everything Boy Wonder should be. But he was no longer a good best friend. And that was simply because of the rift between them. As if losing Ronald Weasley wasn't already enough, that.conflict had to happen. It prevented them from being as close-knit as they used to be.
"It is possible to pass up the offer, you know." It was Headmaster Dumbledore, his soft voice reverberating richly as he stood under the eaves watching her. The day before everyone else would get back from winter vacation.
Dark, turbulent umber eyes gazed blankly up at him, as if she didn't comprehend his question. Yes, they had given her that option in the letter, but of course no one had turned down the offer before, and though in words she was given the choice, the magic that permeated through her body every time she touched the letter warned her there really was no second option. Finally, "Do you think I should go?"
A wrinkled hand reached up to twirl his snow-white beard. "That's entirely your decision." But even the Headmaster could not hide the sense of urgency, the unwritten demand that she accept the offer.
Water was pooling around her now, and she heaved a deep sigh, ignoring the stinging of her eyes that indicated true teardrops would soon fall. Hermione's shoulders lifted slowly into a half-shrug, not even excited enough to look up when she spoke. "So when do I leave?"
She watched as a single drop of water landed on her index finger. It was so perfect, shaped just as a teardrop should look. Teardrops like the ones you see in kindergarten coloring books, the ones that you color light blue and sometimes, if you were a really good colorer, there would be a little square of white near the top to make it look like it was glistening And as she thought this, more droplets gathered until they started sliding down her bare arm, a tiny rivulet seeping through her vest, cooling her already saturated body. But did she notice? Did she even care? Nothing mattered right now, nothing except the fact that she was alive and her best friend wasn't, and everything around her seemed so fardling cold.
Beside her seated form, a blade of grass toppled over, the weight of collecting drops of precipitation finally overbalancing it. Her eyes finally fell back onto the letter in her lap, pristine with its chalky whiteness, a rudimentary charm repelling the water that attempted to fall on it. The result was that even more rain would rebound toward the girl, but of course that wasn't the thing on her mind right now. The tiny, elaborate lettering that glimmered on the paper was what held her attention, the elegant cursive that informed her that the former Headmaster Karkaroff had gone missing, that a professor Kaliope had taken his place, and that she had been selected for the highly prestigious candidate class of Transcendents.
It was the one aspiration that was nearly unattainable. She had been informed of its existence when she'd been announced Head Girl over the summer. What good would it do to inform the general public of its existence when they had no hopes of reaching it? Only the groups that mattered, the highest order in all the schools, the most powerful of societies knew of it. Even Gringotts bank had not been conscious of its existence until the sorceror's stone had been placed in its keeping. And now the idiots decided it would be best to combine the Transcendents of the three schools, and what with a new Headmaster, what school could be better than Durmstrang? Right. So she was stuck. Her seventh and final year at Hogwarts, supposibly the highlight of one's school career and finally crowned Head Girl, and she was ordered to throw herself into the jaws of death itself in a school that hated muggle-borns on the off-chance that the powers-that-be might find her fit to carry the title of Transcendent, a title she wouldn't be able to show 97% of the wizarding population, and absolutely forbidden to explain to muggles at all. No self-respecting person would do that to herself.
And yet, she wasn't totally repulsed by the idea, though she was given no choice in the matter. Life without Ron simply hurt. It hurt to get up in the morning knowing she wouldn't see a redhead stumbling down the stairs in an effort not to be late to class, it hurt to look into the common room fire because it matched the color of his hair. Yes, she had Harry, but he wasn't the same. He was charming, enigmatic, proud, everything Boy Wonder should be. But he was no longer a good best friend. And that was simply because of the rift between them. As if losing Ronald Weasley wasn't already enough, that.conflict had to happen. It prevented them from being as close-knit as they used to be.
"It is possible to pass up the offer, you know." It was Headmaster Dumbledore, his soft voice reverberating richly as he stood under the eaves watching her. The day before everyone else would get back from winter vacation.
Dark, turbulent umber eyes gazed blankly up at him, as if she didn't comprehend his question. Yes, they had given her that option in the letter, but of course no one had turned down the offer before, and though in words she was given the choice, the magic that permeated through her body every time she touched the letter warned her there really was no second option. Finally, "Do you think I should go?"
A wrinkled hand reached up to twirl his snow-white beard. "That's entirely your decision." But even the Headmaster could not hide the sense of urgency, the unwritten demand that she accept the offer.
Water was pooling around her now, and she heaved a deep sigh, ignoring the stinging of her eyes that indicated true teardrops would soon fall. Hermione's shoulders lifted slowly into a half-shrug, not even excited enough to look up when she spoke. "So when do I leave?"