"Why do you doubt my cooking skills so much? You are the one who taught me how to cook," Hermione said to me with a wide smile that shined through the dimly lighted kitchen.
"Why don't you get off your lazy bum and help me your mother get the table set instead, before your father comes home? Or you could go pack for tomorrow since you will be going back to school. I would much prefer you help with the table though," I said with a smile of her magnitude.
As she leaps off from the chair, I notice how her face suddenly seems to be pale and her eyes glass over. My eyes grow wide as I know she is having another…… 'it' is happening again. I drop everything in my now cold hands as I instantly rush to her side for support; fully knowing that she was always left dizzy when 'it' was gone. Hermione quickly grabs the kitchen chair and my grip on her tightens on her so she could steady herself so she will not fall after all the pain cleared. After a minuet or so everything cleared and everything was restored but I could tell she was a bit dizzy.
"Hermione are you alright, love? Did it happen again?" I asked as my voice fills with concern and worry that I try to mask in vain.
"Yes mummy…….but don't worry I'm completely fine now," Hermione reassures me with a less than convincing smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"I know your just saying so that I wouldn't worry so much," I said with a small gloomy smile face. I'm sure that my sad smile told Hermione that I am worried and that I felt powerless to help my daughter with this reoccurring problem. Hermione is always able to read my emotions and thoughts which she got from her father since he could do the same thing. She is always so lively but with each …….thing….that she has, her glowing, luminous sweet sugar brown honey eyes that bring the energy and liveliness to my life and the dim ever so slightly.
I try so hard to stay hopeful and upbeat for my daughter who is slowly deteriorating before me. But when you grow up on reasons, when you grow up on facts, when you live in reality………when you see the hope from your daughter's vivid sparkling eyes evaporate into and leaves a pool of muck that make you fear that she will drown herself in….. Hope, becomes a figment of reality and the truth of the demon strait from hell, sent by the devil himself, consumes and controls your life, leaving you groping in the dark for any small ounce of light that you wish on your very life you could find. Hope. Hope becomes an unknown word. Hope becomes nothing. Hope is nothing.
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"Hermione, love, we will not make the train if you don't hurry up!" Mr. Granger bellowed from the downstairs sitting room. A muffled yell responded right before a winded Hermione emerged next to him loaded down with all her luggage. Hermione huffed as she looked at her dad with pleading eyes to help her. Mr. Granger, taking the hint, relieved his daughter of her luggage and headed for the door as Hermione took the keys to the car. With a renewed bounce in her step, Hermione opened the trunk so her dad could get everything loaded and waited in the passenger seat. With a loud thud, insuring that trunk was closed, Hermione's dad took his seat, started the car, and drove her to the station. Once there, her dad apologized for her mum's absence due to work and that he was sorry for not seeing her off because he had to hurry back to the office the help his wife. Hermione understood but was ever so grateful for her dad loading her thing on a trolley so she would have no trouble navigating the station. After biding her father good bye she made her way platform 9 ¾.
After putting her baggage away, Hermione strolled into an empty compartment and gently laid herself down on the seat while slowly drifting off to sleep.
Please Review and Tell me that it sux, tell me I can't spell, tell me it was awesome, tell me what you think.....please
Love,
Missy
