Disclaimer: I only own the storyline; the rest are of J.K. Rowling's creations.
I lost everything. Everything I ever cared for. Everything I ever loved. Everything I had—they were gone. Just some time ago, I was laughing. My life was at its peak. Nothing could've brought me down.
I was energized and full of zeal. Sunshine was all around. In class, my hand rose for every question and to no surprise, I always had the right answer. Outside, my two best friends would urge me to join them in their silly games. All I could hear were laughs, giggles, laughs, screams of joy and laughs, laughs, laughs. Nothing could've brought me down.
Gradually, however, my blissful life started to fall apart, began to crush and fall to pieces; broken like glass. A letter was given to me through Dumbledore from the Ministry of Magic, disclosing that my all my family members and kin had died. By who, you may ask? One word—deatheaters. What did the muggle newspaper happen to say was the cause of death? A car crash. Like one stupid car crash could kill that many people. I hid in the Head's room all week and on the last day- I punched my mirror. It was cracked, but it still held.
A week later, I received news through Dumbledore again. But this time, the casualty wasn't related by blood to me. It was a student at this school. A redheaded one by the name of Ron Weasley. Another victim of a "car accident". Everyone came up to me and just started to comfort me, although I just felt like being alone by myself or with Harry. The war was coming and I knew it. Everyone did. We felt the rush of wicked anticipation pass by us each day. My sanity was on its edge. Several times, I felt it teeter over and then totter back. I couldn't sleep that night. At the first crack of dawn the next day, I punched my mirror again, yet, it still held.
My predictions of the war were dead center. The war raged on for hours on Hogwarts grounds, in spite of the fact that Voldemort had already lost. I fought and I fought hard. I fought for my parents and I fought for my friends, especially Ron and Harry. I fought for revenge, and I sought it satisfyingly. Dead bodies laid wherever I went. It had lasted about ten hours. I visited the infirmary afterwards to heal my wounds. There were hundreds of students and teachers there, but I paid attention to none of them—I only saw Harry. His side was cut wide open and he was flinching from the pain. I walked over, limping, and brushed his soft face. His raven hair was messier than usual and his glasses were taken off. I lightly traced his lightning scar for the last time. He held his hand out to me and I took a hold of it. I held tightly onto his hand, yearning for him to stay alive, even after it went cold. The healers had to pry me away from him and I finally let go. When I did, I found his glasses in my hand and took a mental picture of him before I left. I headed for the Head's Tower, still wounded and all. I punched the mirror; it was now on the verge of falling apart.
Seamus. Lavender. Neville. Ginny. Padma. Hannah. Those were only a few. Dumbledore. Snape. Flitwick. Lupin. Mad-Eye Moody. Hagrid. Professors who tried to save others. Harry was buried next to his parents, Ron nearby. I didn't cry at their funeral, I couldn't. They took a part of me with them and they left a part of themselves. That part of me died. You don't cry at your own funeral. It's too late to cry. With no headmaster and so few staff members, the Ministry had to close the school. The surviving students had to be sent home, whether they liked it or not. I packed my things into my suitcase and toured around the school for the last time.
Even though it wasn't formally announced, in a sense, I had graduated. Harry and Ron also. Just participating in the war proved that I was capable of defending and casting spells using magic, with and without a wand. I went back to my room and made my bed, though I knew it wasn't necessary. I felt like doing one last thing—I punched the mirror. It finally all fell apart. The shards of glass shattered down to the ground, resonating a tragically beautiful sound off the walls. I walked out the Hogwarts door and boarded the train home. Except, I didn't know where home was. Parvati returned to her parents. Pansy's parents adopted Blaise. They were on the light side. Draco to his mother. Dean to his awaiting family. They all had a destination. Where was mine? I was lost; like an explorer without a map.
Now, here I am today, still sober, but I've managed to move on. I don't want anything; I need something though- love. I haven't felt that since I held Harry's hand in the hospital. That was ten years ago. I own a comfy flat and small business now, helping the victims of deatheaters and to eliminate those from the dark side. I may have tasted the sweet taste of revenge, but there are those out there who haven't learnt their lesson, still trying to raise another Voldemort. And I'm the one to teach them. I'm Hermione Granger.