Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and never will, sadly. : (

Summary: Hermione is in a whirlpool, slowing dragging herself down through her stress and selflessness. An unexpected person emerges, somewhat reluctantly, into her life; through him, she will learn how to laugh, live, and love again.

Learning How to Live

Prologue: Life Through My Eyes

It seems the older I get, the more of myself I give away. It isn't often that I get to be alone, or even just get time to sit and think. Instead I am stretched, almost to a breaking point.

Other students, unfortunately including Harry and Ron, are always petitioning me for help, either for the answer to a homework question, the correct pronunciation of a spell, or the right wave of a wand. And I am always willing to help.

That's not a bad thing, but it is life-consuming. I can't even recall the last time I read a novel that wasn't related to school, or had a bubble bath, or slept in another hour simply because I wanted to. Still, I am forever standing by, ready to jump to anyone's aid. That's just how I am.

Sometimes, I feel used and underappreciated, as though no one cares about helping me. Because of this situation, I have become a master at creating a façade of happiness in the presence of other people. It's become my first instinct to plaster a smile to my tired face anytime someone approaches me, attempting to look welcoming and interested. The only problem is that I'm not happy at all on the inside.

I am pulled in a hundred different directions every day. My incredible amount of personal homework doesn't help ease my load, and I am finally starting to feel the insufferable weight of all my responsibilities as they come crashing down upon my already strained shoulders.

I have even noticed a change in myself. It's like I've almost given up, at least on any thoughts of myself. I am not really depressed, I'm just incredibly tired. But people need me, so I doggedly wake up every morning and prepare myself for an onslaught of requests, pleas, and demands.

I know there is a difference in my appearance as well. It's not enough for anyone else to notice, but I can tell. In the morning when I look in the mirror, I see a girl staring back at me. I don't know her though. I only recognize this shell of a person because I see her everyday in my own reflection.

Her eyes are slightly sunken, her cheeks are hollowed a little, and her skin is pale and lacking of any glow or vitality. Her thin frame looks breakable, like she could is made out of porcelain that is shattered at the slightest touch, and she is a few pounds underweight. Her dark eyes, once warm and full of life, are now faded and listless.

Her long brown hair is the only familiar feature. Curly, thick, and slightly frizzy, it falls down my back the same way it always has. I would never have though that I, of all people, would find comfort in my hair. But its normalness and unchanging nature are the only things I can seem to hold onto and keep real. My chocolate locks are the only thing I like about myself anymore.

If I ever let the world see me, the real me that is lonely and broken inside, they would be appalled, and maybe a little scared. They would see someone completely different from the youthful, exuberant child I used to be. I think people missed the change in me as I grew into a wiser, more cynical, and more realistic woman.

I have low expectations of the world now. Nothing surprises me anymore, and I hardly ever laugh. When I do, it's usually forced or insincere. Life has failed to make me full and satisfied.

I don't care anymore about the things I used to love. Reading and studying is a chore, and even spending time with my friends has become tedious. I don't even raise my hand in class to offer information so much anymore. I still do more often than anyone else, but not to the same extent.

I have accepted that I may never find complete happiness for myself. My only solace now is the hope that I can give enough of what is left of me to keep others from traveling down my own solemn path. Sometimes I can still feel a tiny spark in my heart when Harry or Ron smile at me in gratitude, or Neville whispers a hurried thanks, or a teacher congratulates me on a well-done essay.

But for now, I am just a fraction of what I used to be. I walk about doing everything that needs doing just to get it done. And I am so tired. Tired of working, tired of helping, and tired of feeling.

My deepest fear is that one day when I look in the mirror, I won't see anyone at all. I will eventually have destroyed myself from the inside out. I will fade into a mere shadow, for I have forgotten how to live.

A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you liked this first part, I know it was short. I have some more written and I know where the story is going to go, so keep checking back. I would absolutely love reviews, and I might not continue this story if I don't get any support, so please please please review! Also, I'd like to know if it would be better if the rest of the story continues to be in Hermione's personal point of view, or if it should be in the third person. I'd love your ideas. Thanks.