Hermione stood shaking in the doorway to the empty classroom; whether from the December draft or from her most recent encounter with her best friend.
All her life she'd been the sensible and diligent one –never complaining without due and always scrambling to put the pieces back together since life was so much easier when it wasn't in shambles.
When she'd been eight her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer and the doctors had given her a year to live. One year to live her entire life.
At first her parents had kept the news from her, saying nothing more than her mother was sick. Then she'd been hospitalized and her hair had begun to fall out. Her skin looked more and more like a thin layer of aged plastic that had been stretched over a skeleton. Sometimes she would sleep for hours in the middle of the day –looking anything but alive. Hermione's mind had wandered to dark places in those dark days. She'd often wondered why her mother of all people had to go through this. Her kind, accepting mother who wouldn't harm a fly, her mother who would rather spend a day buying winter clothes for the needy than shop for herself. Where was the justice in the world? Who deserved justice when her own mother didn't?
At first she had cried. At first she'd thought that the tears that ameliorated scrapes, burns and cuts could alleviate her pain; but no matter how many tears she shed, her situation did not change. So she stopped crying. She put away childish things and focused on healing her mother. She read countless medical texts, scouring the complicated essays and articles for a cure. She tried to appear calm and even happy around her mother and father; she found that throwing herself into other people's thoughts and experiences made it easier to ignore her own. No matter how hard she tried, there wasn't a single thing that she could do however, but it never stopped her from trying.
Finally, two weeks from the anniversary of the horrendous news, the Grangers received the best of news. Mrs. Granger's latest surgery had been a success, and she could now live out the rest of her life. Hermione had never been happier. Her family was back together the way it should have been –how could it have turned out any other way? She knew in her heart of hearts that it had been the books that had saved her, if not directly then indirectly –knowledge was clearly king. She had never again gone into anything unprepared; not school, France, Italy, Spain, Bermuda, Australia, adolescence, clothing stores, Hogwarts, or love.
Hermione was the type of person who couldn't enter a convenience store without having a lengthy mental debate over the pros and cons of buying a bottle of water –and she never went anywhere without a backup plan.
So how could she have been so rash? How could she have let someone so completely possess her heart and soul? The answer didn't come to her immediately, so she decided to look into it further. Picking herself up off of the flagstones onto which she had crumpled, she moved stiffly to the window and slowly dragged a pale finger across glass, creating a dark welt on the otherwise foggy surface. How long had she and Ron known each other? At least seven years now, surely they could get through this she thought distractedly, as her mind strayed towards the thought of pale pink lips slowly approaching her own. She wasn't stupid, in fact, she was said to be the smartest witch in her year –or even in the school. She'd known instantly when their childish arguments had heightened to mildly flirtatious banter. Had it been anyone else, she would have dismissed it as puppy love, but she knew that he didn't do anything half-heartedly, and if it was any type of love, it was too serious an issue to ignore. But she had done just that. The more she ignored it, the more pressing it became, to the point where she could hardly concentrate on anything more than his soft skin, his sly grin, his secretive glances, and his breathtakingly silver eyes. Hermione allowed herself a small grin as she remembered the feel of his silk robes and smooth skin on her own. She sighed slightly, her breath obscuring her view of the icy lake and silvery trees.
Shaking her head of her thoughts, she bravely turned back towards the matter at hand. Ron knew. How had he suspected her? Normally he was so oblivious to the world around him, but when it came to Hermione, he tended to pay a bit more attention. She'd known that he'd had a thing for her when she'd been younger, in fact she had been infatuated with him for a while as well (not that she had realized it at the time) but when she'd finally discovered her feelings, she'd realized that there was no way that they could be happy together –she was much too independent and he was much too controlling. So she had decided to forgo romance, at least until she had established herself in the world. She would live out her life to the fullest, this had been her promise to herself since her mother's frightening ordeal –and she meant to see it through. No matter how many hearts were broken; hers included.
She had thought the same thing when she had realized Draco's significance in her life. At some mysterious point, he had ceased to be the junior Deatheater in training, or the "blond ferret," or even the insecure prat who insisted on insulting her at every chance he got; instead he became more of pest and a nuisance, and then just a bother, and eventually she became aware of the murky blush that would settle itself upon her cheeks when she got into heated arguments with him, and occasionally the heart stopping eye contact that would restrict her vocal cords for moments at a time. She hadn't even noticed when he'd stopped calling her a muggle, or a mudblood, or even worthless filth because the words had become meaningless to her after hearing them parlayed between the two of them as more of a joke than active insults. His constant presence in almost all of her classes had at first been an abhorred distraction, but had eventually become the highlight of her day.
It had all changed when she'd caught him sneaking about the castle on her rounds. He'd been drinking somehow, and though he had no liquor on him, the liquor in him was incriminating enough to have him expelled. He'd done a great deal of threatening at first, and even tried a good bit of bribery, but alas nothing had worked –so he'd done something that most drunk people would do in such a situation; he'd kissed her. Not just any kiss of course –one full of years upon years of suppressed passions. It had been full of hate, remorse, fury, and most of all, curiosity. Hermione had high-tailed it out of there of course, and upon doing so, relinquished her opportunity to expel the infamous 'Slytherin Prince.' Weeks had gone by before they had met again, and then the discoveries had begun –there was so much that they had in common that she never would have guessed about; her zeal for learning was almost equaled by his, and her lust for independence and her need to cut her own path were mirrored by his ambitions as well. The minutes and hours flew from the clock like excited Pixies and their secret meetings in musty corners of the library went uninterrupted. She had never before been an advocate for using the library as a place for romantic rendezvous' but she wouldn't have traded her memories there for the world.
However Ron had begun to suspect her of something (if not everything) and had decided to make use the Marauder's Map. He'd spied on them for a grand total of thirty seconds, until he could take no more, and forcibly tore Hermione away from Draco. Now, neither of the two were dainty boys, and the last thing Hermione wanted was an all out brawl in the library (of all places!) so she'd followed Ron to an old Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and instructed Draco to go to bed. Ron had ranted for a good ten minutes before she could get a word in, and when she finally had he broke down and told her how much she meant to him, and how he couldn't bear to lose her to Malfoy, and how he loved her –and not at all like a sister. He'd tried kissing her, but she'd been firm and pushed him (gently she hoped) away. How could she be expected to handle his affection at a time like this? Draco was everything she wanted, but she couldn't help the guilt.
"Oh well…", she sighed to the empty classroom, as she moved back towards the dimly-lit hallway –only time would tell what sort of decisions she had made, but she planned on living now.