I have a very large knack for remembering things; small, insignificant details. It would come as a shock to everyone, and when I say everyone I mean EVERYONE, if, let's say, I told them that I'd forgotten six whole years of my life. The very six years that hold all of my memories of Hogwarts. The same six years where I discovered and practiced magic instead of learning science and literature as a muggle. The six years where an adventure or controversy was bound to happen at least once each year. If I told them I'd forgotten the Sorcerer's Stone, Fluffy, Quirrel, giant chess, the basilisk, being petrified, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Buckbeak, slapping Malfoy, the Shrieking Shack, the Triwizard Tournament, Malfoy the amazing bouncing ferret, the World Cup, Victor Krum, Dolores Umbridge, O.W.L.s, the D.A., the Ministry, and Albus Dumbledore; anything that reminded me of him. I think that they would faint, regain consciousness, ask me to repeat my statement, and then either (1) have a heart attack and die or (2) die of shock. Well, I suppose I'd better start digging their graves for them. I mean if I'm going to kill them I might as well save some poor grave digger the trouble, common courtesy, there's no need to add rude on top of my long list of offenses.
Truthfully, I'd like to forget. It would make my life so much easier, just never remembering the things that are always guaranteed to make you cry. Even the mention of Hogwarts makes me start bawling because it was the start of this whole problem. But I want my story known, my pain and sorrow shared with others because even a tale of death and despair can be a story of comlete and utter true love.
It was our seventh year when this whole thing started. N.E.W.T.s were coming up, the prophecy was known, Voldemort was active, and everyone looked to Harry to save them like a hero- without a sidekick, just him vs. Voldemort and his army. He was stressed out all year long, opening the D.A. to all students, trying to teach them to stay safe, be able to defend themselves. What I don't think he understands even today is that there is a quality that makes Harry attract loyalty like flypaper does flies. Those people would follow him until they die, which most of them did. During the summer we trained with McGonnagal, Mad-Eye, Kingsly, and Tonks. We improved to the point where all four of them were hard pressed to beat us, which they hardly ever did. During that time Harry and I got together. We were inseparable, always together, hand in hand, snogging in abandoned bedrooms, and hallways. You could tell that Dumbledore thought it was true love, that infernal twinkle in his eyes told us as good as words ever could. We slept together in the same room, I don't think Molly ever got used to it ("The indecency, Albus!"), and slowly grew more intimate with each other. It was hard to keep self control, and even so, I lost my virginity to him not three months after we had been together. I can still feel myself going red when I think about that night.
We went back to Hogwarts and as Voldemort's attacks became more centered on the homes and families of friends he became more and more distant. One night he proposed and I accepted but despite this new bond, he still pushed me away. I confronted him time and time again but he put me off, saying he was trying to keep me safe so he didn't have to worry and that if I died he would kill himself after he avenged my death. Once he yelled at me wanting to know why I was so goddamned stubborn. I was in tears when I did it, throwing off my ring and saying for the whole world to hear that it must have never occurred to him I might be worried about him, if I stayed close I could help keep him safe, and that he must really hate me to push his fiancé away like that, either that or he was a lying bastard, deceiving me in this great charade. I threw the ring at his head and flew up the stairs to sob and wail on my bed. A few minutes later Ginny and the rest of the girls in my year came up to comfort me, later trying to make me see truth, that he cares so much that he's blind, that I should take him back. It never worked. Every time I saw Dumbledore I would look at him, shake my head at the fact that I had thought he knew everything and that he was always right.
Voldemort attacked at the end of term, and Harry rose to fight him, bringing D.A. with him, loyal to the end. I stayed with Harry, it was him that could end this war, it wouldn't do any good for him to die before he could kill Voldemort. Even looking at him hurt, I wanted him back so badly; my heart ached every time he was mentioned. I wanted him, but I guess he didn't want me. I kept him safe, stayed near him, and saw him kill Voldemort. We finished off the rest of the troops and trooped back to the castle, exhausted. A few short weeks later, Harry was dead.
The world saw it as a great injustice, the Protector of the Realm taking the easy way out of his duties, leaving the realm to fend for itself in the future. His close friends mourned but they knew why he died. They had found him at the base of the Whomping Willow, wrists slit. A note lay next to him, 'I'll love her until I die and even after that', written with his own blood. It wasn't released to the press, only his friends knew what it meant, and I cried even harder knowing it was my fault. We buried him there, under the Willow. Rumors flew, why had he done it?
After the funeral I started drinking, firewhisky by the gallon. I finally drank away my pain, a little at a time. I never could get drunk enough to forget. I staggered back to Hogwarts and sat under the Willow. I sat and cried, summoning a knife and my favorite picture of us. I couldn't express my pain adequately so I just wrote 'At least now I can be with him'. I stared at him, so happy in the picture, and slit my wrists, crying my heart out. As my strength started failing I picked up his picture, and clung to it as I collapsed onto his grave next to me, blood pouring onto the very ground that kept me from him. My lifeline, my Harry.
I can imagine that I had a great funeral. I can only hope that someone, somewhere still cared for me. I can imagine the words on my tombstone, next to his under the willow, and I'm sure I'm right, I'm always right.
"Hermione Granger: student, friend, daughter, and bookworm with a heart of gold, a heart given completely to one person; her love, Harry Potter