A/N (Please read!)- Okay, guys, thanks for taking the time to read this! Just letting you know, that this first chapter is very descriptive. There's literally no dialogue in it, because I wanted to set the scene for you. So, I know it's a pain to read, but it's kind of necessary for what I have planned in the story. Hope that's okay! I'm 16, so I've just finished High School and have a 3 month break before I start college- so I'll be able to do tons of writing and I'll stick up Chapter Two VERY soon! Please review this chapter if you like it; it would really encourage me to carry on Anyway, don't be a stranger! –Beth

Before the war, Hermione Jean Granger had been brilliant.

To her, everything had seemed possible- changeable. Her mind was always on the look out for things to change, things to help, things to improve. If she saw something that wasn't right, she'd say so. One of her most brilliant qualities was her ability to express her thoughts and feelings; she told the story in a different way, so that people could understand and empathise. She was the one who had faith in each lost cause, and saw the light in the darkest of places. Even when changing the world deemed difficult; when S.P.E.W never kicked off or when people let her down, she marched on. She was determined that someway; somehow, she could make the world a better place.

She had a fire inside of her that refused to be extinguished. Prejudiced comments and insults that were thrown at her by fellow students (namely Slytherin's) were simply acknowledged and then forgotten, buried somewhere underneath all the courage and warmth. On her worst days, she would remember the name-calling and doubt her own strengths and abilities. But she would always make excuses for the bullies ('it's just the way they were brought up', 'maybe they're just having a bad day') and try to make herself feel pity towards them, rather than anger.

And of course, there were always her friends, ever faithful by her side. Harry and Ron could offer her support ('want us to beat Malfoy up for you, 'Mione?'), Fred and George shared their wisdom ('we could slip a few Puking Pastels in his brew if you'd like! We reckon he's got it coming') and Ginny was always happy to give advice ('Boys are dicks; he'll get over himself one day.). No matter how sad she sometimes felt; she was never alone.

Despite her own modest opinion, she truly was the brightest witch of her age. Her intelligence was partly inherited from her parents; both of who had graduated from Oxford University with degree's in Dentistry. But most of her intelligence she had built up herself- through taking out twelve books at a time from the library, and spending most of her evenings in the Restricted Zone, where her inquisitive mind would eagerly search for answers to her questions. Ron often told her that she worked too hard, but to her, it wasn't work. It was fun, loosing herself in answers and information, soaking up every ounce of detail. She needed books, because with them, not only was there right and wrong- but all the things in between. When she was reading, she wasn't Hermione Jean Granger any more, but someone completely different.

Before the war, she could be everything she wanted to be. To her parents, she was the daughter they had always longed for. She made them proud and happy and she was just as perfect as they hoped she would be.

To her friends, she was a Bookworm, an endless fountain of knowledge, but someone that they could rely on, no matter what. When you were friends with Hermione, you knew that she would do anything for you. Friendship was the thing in her life that she valued the most, and for that they held on to her. They needed her just as much as she needed them- if not more.

To everyone, she was a brilliant mind, and a brilliant soul. She could achieve everything; she could be anything.

Before the war, Hermione Jean Granger had been brilliant.

Then, everything changed.

Wherever she went, Hermione was haunted with memories. They flooded her mind, pushing at her sanity so that it wobbled from side to side, uncertain of which direction to fall. The memories clawed away at the rest of her thoughts, until the only thing she could concentrate on, were them. They ate away inside of her, threatening her very existence. The war had morphed everything inside her brain, until the only things she could feel were pain and loss and guilt and regret.

On a good day, she could manage to lift herself out of bed- maybe utter a few words to Harry when he came in with her breakfast. On her best days, she might even be able to take a shower in the little en suite Harry had built into her bedroom. Sometimes, she might take a couple of bites of the breakfast that he'd made, and he'd smile and tell her how well she was doing and how proud he was of her.

On her worst days, she didn't want to live any more. She would wake up to the sound of her own screams, drenched in sweat and consumed by memories. She heard Bellatrix's 'crucio!' and she felt a pain even worse than she remembered. She couldn't remember anything but agony, and it didn't matter how hard she tried to pull herself into reality- she was dragged backwards into the memories, into their never ending torture, into a land where death would have been comforting.

Harry would have to watch, helpless and devastated, as the girl he once knew deteriorated in front of his eyes. He'd tear her hands away when they scratched at her skin until they drew blood, and he would hold them in his own until they stopped fighting him. He would hold her in his arms and rock her while she screamed, whispering words that he hoped might help, singing songs that he knew she used to love. He liked to think the songs helped, because usually, by the time he got to the second verse of "Isn't she lovely", the screams had turned to sobs, which after a while, turned to silence.

It was hard for Harry to remember the Hermione that he met on the Hogwarts Express in his first year. Was the girl who hadn't smiled in nine months really the girl that he used to laugh with every day? Could it be that the third member of the Golden Trio was still inside that girl, somewhere? Or was she gone forever, dead with Alistair Moody, and Fred and Dumbledore and all the others that they had lost? In the midst of his mourning, he had been so utterly thankful that Ron and Hermione still survived with him; but perhaps they didn't, not really. Ron did- he knew that. The redhead was alive with determination to avenge the deaths of his friends and family. He was alive with love for those who had passed and those who still remained. But Hermione was different. She'd been through so much more than they could imagine, and he wished with everything he had that he could take all her hurt away.

Harry was pounded with guilt about his best friend. He'd promised her, promised them all, that this was the Final Battle. He promised that everything would end that day at Hogwarts; that he was going to kill Voldemort and that everything was going to be okay again. And he almost did it, as well. With the help of all the people who believed in him, he almost defeated The Dark Lord once and for all on that day. But at the very last second, the coward had fled into the night, and the war continued on.

A/N- Wahoo, first chapter over and done with! Hope you enjoyed it, I'll be sticking Chapter Two up shortly. If you did like it, PLEASE REVIEW. Screw it, even if you didn't like it- review anyway. Have a nice day guys! –Beth