Let the fire smother our love
In the fireplace were burning the branches of the Forbidden Wood, and the smell, that came out, was accustoming the head.
Hermione was sitting on the floor, wishing Ron would return from the night patrol. Spread everywhere, just like her thoughts, were lying banners, scarves and red-gold ribbons. In front of the door, stood the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup.
She was taking by a cruel practice: was slowly leafing through all the roses that Harry had gathered for Ginny.
Hermione was smiling in the midst of petals' destruction and let the barbed stems impress the palms of her clenched fists. Then, she threw them into the fire, while tracing the coils of smoke in the air. They looked like bodies dressed in white, ghosts of a love that she didn't have anymore.