Hermione sat at Ginny's desk with a quill in hand, looking at the parchment in determination. Usually she avoided solitude, but these past few days they seemed vital to her survival. Harry and Ron thought she was preparing for their journey; and in truth she was. She tried to focus on learning useful spells and privacy charms, but her thoughts wandered into dangerous territory. The War.
For the first time she didn't know the answer. There wasn't a question. She knew that when her mother is stressed, she writes lists. Sort of like To-Do-Lists, but instead she would write what could happen- followed by optimistic words of encouragements. In moments of anxiety, her mother would ask her, "What's the worst that could happen?" Hermione peered at her parchment, pointing the quill at the paper. Determined, in an attempt to translate profound emotion into logic, Hermione listed outcomes of the present situation:
1. Death
At the last scribble of the word, she dropped her quill. She cradled her head in her hands, commanding herself to slow down. She got up from the desk-chair and wandered over to the window. Harry, Ron, Ginny, George and Fred were engrossed in a game of Qudditch. Hermione's heart tugged at the sight of Ron, smiling victoriously as he hit George with a bludger. Ron. She couldn't go from thinking about the war to thinking about Ron- she would put the two together, resulting in even more confusion and strife. She forced herself to push Ron out of her head. CHARMS. DITTANY. HORCRUX.
RON.