Utopia
Utopia, what is utopia? Peace? Violence? Love? Hate? Perfection? Whose idea of perfection?
Hermione sighed and lent her head back against the decaying stone that was, of late, her home. She was perched upon the large window sill, and her window was thrown open in an attempt to lure in a nonexistent breeze, to cleanse the stale summer air.
Closing her eyes she tried imagined a cool breeze playing across her face, but her imagination failed to stretch that far, she smiled wryly at her folly and abandoned the task.
Swinging down from the windowsill she turned to close the window, shutting out the noise of the city, she stood for a minute watching the morbid streets which had suddenly become silent. Perhaps this was utopia she concluded, not her utopia, but some one must revel in this atmosphere in order for it to exist, some one must be responsible for the creation of such a place, after all bricks and mortar alone surely couldn't be accountable for such a squalid situation.
Her distopia, their utopia, her utopia, their distopia? Perhaps. Hermione for once didn't know the answers, maybe there were none to be found, maybe there wasn't an absolute utopia, surely not one to fit all. She shrugged and turned away from the window attempting to empty her mind of such complexities; she lay on her bed waiting for sleep to envelope her.
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just a short piece on Hermione's thoughts kinda sprang from the thought that some ppl (in relation to HP death eaters,) but in real world too want bad to happen to achieve their good… yeah anyway there u have it.