I remember the day you fell (jumped; but let's not say that) out of the Astronomy tower. You yelled those three words that made my lips quiver and my heart beat ten times as fast and my knees go weak and my cheeks go red (red like blood, beautiful blood that spilled upon the ground). Why did you have to speak them at such a horrible time? Why couldn't you tell me?! This frustrates me to no end! I wish you were still alive just so I could smack the Malfoy out of you and kiss you and love you and hold you and never let you do what you already did ( but it's too late now)!
I slip into a coal black sweater and storm downstairs into the common room, avoiding all the awkward glances from my housemates. It's February and I'm missing you more than I care to believe. Ever since the accident (suicide; but that's such an awful word...) my grades have slipped. I've lost interest in classes (not that I had much interest in them anyway) and interest in practically everything. Nothing at all fancies me except thinking of you, but then I just remember you're not alive to tell all these feelings to. And I just get so angry. So angry and so fucking sad.
Professor-- I mean Headmistress-- McGonagall talked to and told me that I needed to focus in my classes or else I'd fail my final exams (what's the purpose in having an education when you're not even alive to use it?). I had a reputation to hold, whether I liked it or not. I had to keep my grades up whilst saving the entire wizarding world. No matter how much it hurt to breathe. No matter how much it hurt to try and smile. No matter how much it hurt to just exist. Everything seemed so pointless without you...
But I would leave suicide to you and you alone, my beautifully broken angel. I had to be here for Harry and Ron. I had to be here for everyone. I, Hermione Granger, would have to bear the heartbreak and keep living. No matter how utterly meaningless it seemed to be.