DISCLAIMER: All content is derived from J.K. Rowling! Harry Potter Universe belongs to her, I just try to embellish what I can. :-)
EXCERPT:
"You're annoying," he continued quietly, not even bothering with adopting his famous Malfoy sneer. "You don't know when to shut up sometimes and your voice can be quite... grating. You're smart, but you've lost your drive. If you weren't so broken in here-" he pointed to his heart, "You could be brilliant up here." He pointed to his temple. A Post-War short story dealing with shattered morality and psyche following the war at Hogwarts. Slightly AU, DM/HG, Current rating of T (for language, suggestive themes) with the eventual rating of M (for sex, language) in mind.
A story where romance, friendship, psychology, folklore, magic, and (pseudo-) science combine.
Please kindly R&R! :D
The thing about war, Hermione decided, just as a piece of burnt rubble floated down the billows of grey and down onto her soot-covered trainers, the thing about war is that it is. She shifts her feet, swirling a pattern of ashes, wide and circular, and then a triangle around it, and then a line, slashed suddenly, down the center, like a stab of a wand or of a knife- same thing really. That it is never as simple as its cause.
"Idiots, really," she mused aloud. She watched as a group of young boys squabbled over the belongings of a corpse laying not ten feet away.
"What's that, Hermione?" asked the young man standing at her side. He was always standing at her side.
"Nothing," she muttered, not wanting to explain to him her thoughts. She has had enough of that, really. "Just thinking about the Order. Voldemort. The whole lot of us."
She was lucky he didn't press her for more.
He was lucky she hadn't killed him.