No, I do not own any characters, only the plot of this story is mine! Also, the inspiration came from The Cranberries' song Daffodil Lament, if you happen to have the song I recommend you to listen of it while reading... oh and by the way, if you didn't get it yet, I don't own Cranberries either....

DAFFODIL LAMENT

My name is Hermione Granger. I want to tell you something. Maybe you won't believe me saying this. Maybe you won't understand. Maybe you'll even get disgusted. It's a secret!

I had a lover. Oh yes, I did. You believed I hadn't any life other than work, didn't you? But I had a lover, and she was the most beautiful thing in this world. Yes, SHE. And no, I'm not gay. Or at least I don't consider myself as one, but of course you can think whatever you want of me. I want you to listen to me, I want you to LISTEN to me. Don't shake your head! For once in my life, I want somebody to LISTEN to me and not just presuming that probably I know what I'm talking about and that's why I'm right and don't need to be listened. Focus! I want you to listen to every word that I say. Listen to me, then you're free to draw any kind of mindless conclusions out of me. Focus!

My lover was a woman anyone would've desired. Hair of pure white silk, a pile of gold I wanted so much to touch and caress. I remember this one morning, after an exhausting night of lovemaking, I watched the sun rise from East. Her hair was on my face, it was covering me, protecting me from the burning rays. I saw the world through a vanilla scented cobweb, I saw how the red glistered in her hair, making it shine like crystal before my eyes. I remember thinking to myself.... if this world would end now I wouldn't care. As long as she's here. What I felt was... I think it was love. It was something so pure and beautiful that my heart almost burst. A moment of total perfection. The sun rose to midsky and turned her hair and my world into a blurred silver. And then there were her eyes. Two pair of blue pools of heaven that drowned me time after another. And gods, how I wanted to drown! They were the kind of eyes that make you lose control over your body. She used to look at me with those eyes, so cold and yet so warm, and whisper to my ear that she wanted me... that she wanted to bring me pleasure. I never had any chance to say anything back, she touched me so intensely I forgot the art of thought, the art I most valued. The art of speech. Back then, I think I should've said: "I love you" in response. But I was so afraid I'd break my wings with her. I was so afraid she'd withdraw her warmt, turn into stone in my hands and leave me with nothing. I just wanted to stay close to her body, to be able to hear her heartbeats through the feeble barrier called skin and bone, to be able to melt into her completely. I forgot everything the moment she touched me.

I once brought her daffodils. Tall, graceful and delicate, just like her. She laughed when I gave them to her. Her laughter jingled in the air, making me frown just by sounding so tempting. She wore a light green tank top and black straight trousers that impressed her curves. I wanted everything of her on that moment, even her pink- painted toe nails felt intriguing to me. She said to me, that I had brought the daffodils on a wrong day. I just stared at her, dumpfounded. On a wrong day? She explained to me that in some countries daffodils symbolized Easter and were given on that day to friends. I felt ashamed for my lask of knowledge, but faked a smile to her. The next time I saw the daffodils, they were dead. They were inside a light blue vase in the center of the kitchen table and the sun had dried them mercilessly. I threw them away, not interested in what she would say, but she didn't say a thing. Maybe she didn't even notice.

She was my lover for 361 days. I've lived 29 years and 312 days, and she has lived 33 years and 289 days. What is 361 days? It's such a short period of time! On those days to outsiders it seemed that I did everything like I usually did. I went to work. I sat in my office among ignorant people who thought they knew a lot about world, about life, but probably would end up dying thinking about how meaningless their life had been. I sat in my office among old, dusty books from old, dusty and dead witches and wizards who spent their whole life writing those books, without really experiencing any of those miraculous things they were writing about. I would sit and stare out of the window, think about all this meaninglessness surrounding me, all this that I had worked so hard achieving and now I had it didn't mean a thing to me. Then I'd stand up, take my jacket, pack my bag and go home. The only difference was that I didn't crawl up in to a ball on the sofa, start reading a new book and sip hot black coffee on small sips, like I used to do. When I didn't have any meaning in my life yet. Instead, I went home, changed clothes, opened living room's window (the one on the left with a glass cat ornament on the windorsill), reached my upped body almost all way out to knock the dirty window of the girl on the other side of the street, pull myself back in, close the window and wait. Sometimes it felt like an eternity, sometimes just a few seconds before I heard the doorbell ringing. I opened the door to let her in and the rest of the night I spent with the most desirable company one could ever have. This is something I could never tell anyone of course. She's on a very high and respected economical position nowadays, that's why I can't tell her name either. Her past would just ruin her brilliant future. I would ruin her future.

The final time I talked to her was on telephone. It seemed so wrong to part with her that way! After the call I sat down on the floor for hours just staring at the door, waiting for her to ring the bell and come at least to say proper goodbyes. I wonder if she did the same, on the other side of the street. Waiting for me to rush in and demand a good explanation. Probably not. Probably she just started to pack her belongings the moment she had placed the phone down and was out of her department before night. She didn't have that much stuff in her house anyway. The apartment she had was just a temporarily place to stay before she could move in with her husband- to-be. She had just forgotten to tell me that... I was very hurt for a long time afterwards. My whole world felt colorless and painful. "Misérable" as she would've said with a rolling French accent, accompanied with a plain laugh. Sometimes, I think her laugh sounded so bitter. I guess she had very much secrets. But when I still had the chance to ask, I didn't. And I highly doubt she'd have told me even if I'd have asked. She just wasn't a person to spread her inner thoughts to other people, even if she did trust them. After all, I lived in an intimate relationship with her for almost a year but I didn't even know she was engaged...

I guess that on some level she killed me when she left. But I didn't realize it at first, it was just a feeling of longing that grew stronger every day. It burns me. I wish I'd still have the ability to enjoy the little pleasurable things in this world. I sit in my office, stare out of the window and hope, hope that one day I could walk out of this gray, narrow and old city of London to a beach somewhere. I wish I'd be able to cover my eyes with my hand and see her standing in the sand, and the sun would shine from her behind so I could only see her silhouette against the scarlet light. I hope I'd be able to see the sky get darker, mixing its glowing bright colors with deep blue and black. I dream how the stars would lit the sky, the air would get chillier and make me alive again. I wish she would be there to make me alive again. I hope that someday, I can see the beautiness of this world again. Not alone, but with someone who will always live in my past, present and future.

Aren't the daffodils looking lovely today?