Disclaimer:
Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fan-fiction is only written for fun!
No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary:
If my Mom taught me anything during the years I grew up, it's this. "When you are scared, be brave. When you're brave, you fight back.. But always remember, that when in doubt.. you run".
She passed away, following her rules.
There's only a few left to fight back, the war is far from over, it seems to have just begun, even though years have passed. My name's Hermione Granger, and I am still alive.
I was back, back at the place where this war started. Where my memories were just that, memories. It was the place where I could have graduated, and sealed my happy memories with that. But reality takes a turn on all of us. When we first stepped on to the Hogwarts Express, no wait..
The first time we got our Hogwarts Acceptance letter, then our fate was decided.
In my first year I would be all alone, waiting for people to notice me, and start hanging out, after that I would be one third of the Golden Trio, as they called it back then. We would try to save the world from Voldemort, in first and second year, and then in third saving an innocent man convicted to a murder he didn't commit. In fourth year Voldemort would come back into our lives and we would lose a friend. In fifth and second we would lose even more friends and have fate take us to even more dangerous times.
Seventh year was never there, the three of us would go hunting and desperately try to stay out of trouble, while having none contacts whatsoever.
In the end, if I tried to go back in time, all of what happened couldn't and wouldn't be changed, because it was all written, it all had to happen like that. Even if the end wouldn't be like we wanted it to be. Voldemort defeated once and for all, our best friends alive, and not dead.
Because that's what's exactly the opposite of what happened after all.
Three thirds of the Golden Trio, only one left behind to stop the War. And even though we were all older now, the pain of being left behind, the sorrow would still be there at the end of the day. It was something that sneaked up on you on the most desperate times.
The grief would never stop, it would get worse by the time you grieved enough for the people that already died and would have to start over for the new deaths.