Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure that if you find Harry Potter stories on a fanfiction website, it's not JK Rowling- therefore no one writing on this website owns it, including myself. It's a shame actually- if I could switch with JK Rowling I'd do it in a second. She's blonde, she's British, she's a fantastic writer, and she's richer than the Queen. Compared with me, who is a middle class Canadian brunette teenager with a not-quite-as-good writing ability, it wouldn't be a bad trade.

July 27th, 1997

I don't know what I'm feeling these days.

I don't feel sad, even though I should be- Dumbledore was one of the greatest wizards I'll ever know, and obviously Harry's devastated.

I don't feel scared, even though Voldemort managed to have one of his followers kill the only man who's ever come close to stopping him, besides Harry.

I don't even feel confused about why I'm feeling distanced from Ron and Harry, who are probably the best friends I'll ever have.

I don't feel. All I have is this dull numbness. I don't cry. I don't laugh. I don't leave my room except for dinner.

I recognize the feeling- after my grandfather died when I was ten I holed myself up in my room for days, devouring every book I could find in an attempt to put off having to deal with the loss.

I'm doing the same thing now, except I don't know what I'm having problems dealing with. Maybe everything that's happened to Ron, Harry and I in the past four years is finally sinking in. Wormtail getting away from us, the Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort's return, the DA, Sirius dying, learning that Harry has to kill or be killed, and finally Snape showing his true colors when he blatantly murdered Dumbledore a month ago- I've been holding all my frustration over these events inside since third year, and I guess I just can't take it anymore.

My cat, Crookshanks, jumps onto my lap and I look up from my journal, slightly startled from the sudden weight. I glance at the digital clock on my night table- 4:45 PM. My parents should be home by seven tonight. They are usually home by 5:30, but dad has a nasty root canal to fix and mom has to replace a filling. What a fabulous job; not.

I'm sitting on my bed at home for the fortieth night this summer. I'm keeping count. Counting down the days before I can finally go back to the wizarding world is just another thing to do that kept my mind off of the things that I don't want to think about.

I look around my room again. I used to love it. The cream colored walls, the white canopy bed, the wardrobe, the desk, my bookshelves- it all used to scream "Hermione's room". These days I'm not so sure. The last time it was remodeled I was eleven, right before I got my letter from Hogwarts. God knows I'd changed a lot since then.

Some of my maturing has been because of Harry and Ron, and some of it is just plain getting older and growing up. Now, as I stare around the place that used to be my haven, I can't help thinking that a little bit of color would be nice. Actually, a lot of color would be nice. I should remodel it.

I turn my attention back to my journal. I've been writing down my thoughts since forth year- I was so worried that something was going to happen to Harry in that tournament that if I hadn't started unloading it all into my notebook I probably would have lost it on the first poor unfortunate soul to tick me off.

It's not a diary. A diary is the pink fluffy thing Lavender Brown has where she writes about her latest crush or the newest beauty spell she found in Witch Weekly. No, my book is more serious than that. I actually write my emotions, my worries, and my life story in it. Since forth year was really stressful, I'd run out of room in the original book by Christmas, when I'd written about ten pages about how much I seriously couldn't stand Ron and five pages listing every reason I didn't like being his friend anymore and never wanted to see him again.

It's funny how things change.

Anyways, by now I have six and a half notebooks filled. Some of it is stories and a couple of songs I wrote, but most of it is my own words about my life- uncensored and as honest as it gets.

Nobody knows about the journal. At Hogwarts I enchanted it to look like an extra copy of "Hogwarts: A History". No matter how many times I tell them to read it, I know that Harry, Ron, and my dorm mates will never pick up that book. They avoid it like it's the plague.

Speaking of Ron and Harry….

I open my desk drawer and glance at the pile of letters lying at the bottom of it. I've been avoiding opening them. I scoop them all up and drop them on the bed next to me.

I have to take a deep breath to try to escape the sinking feeling in my stomach. I sort the letters according to who sent them. In the past month I've gotten four letters from Harry, one each week; one from Hagrid; one each from Lavender and Parvati (probably trying to find out if I'm dating Ron); two from Ginny; and six-count them, SIX- letters from Ron. In one month during the summer I'll get two from him if I'm lucky. One is usually five sentences long about Quidditch or something else trivial, and the other is an invitation to visit his family at the Burrow.

Never in the history of anything has Ron written more letters to me than Harry. That's part of the reason I haven't opened his. The other ones I haven't opened because I'm trying to forget all the pain from the past year. It's not that I don't want to keep in touch with them, because I do-with the exception of Lavender because she just plain doesn't like me. It's just that I'm not ready to read them yet... however, it couldn't hurt to read Harry's letters. It's just Harry, that's all.

I look for the earliest dated letter and finding one dated June 28th, open it and start to read.

Author's Note: This chapter is Hermione's point of view, but the next will be Harry's, then Ron's, then it starts over again (I might do a few of Ginny as well). I figured it would be interesting to see their last summer of childhood from all of their standpoints. It is, after all, possibly the last one they all share together. This is my second fan fiction and the first one with chapters. Anyways, I know you read this, so REVIEW! I honestly love hearing what you liked and didn't like about what I'm writing- as long as it's not hateful, I live to read criticism because it gives me a chance to improve. So pleeeeease press the little grey-ish purple-ish button? Pleeeease??? (As much as I try to maintain my dignity, I'm reduced to begging in this capacity.)