Author's Note: This one shot was kinda done in a spur of a moment thing...suddenly had the inspiration to write:) hope this turns out okay...Comments please!
Anyone looking at her could tell that worries were a constant burden in her mind; unpaid bills, her parents having to sell their dental clinic, the constant lack of money. Where was the break she needed? Where was the love she needed? Didn't anyone care about her?
Hermione ran her fingers through her unkempt bushy hair and sighed in frustration. Two years after Voldemort's downfall, and the smartest witch of her time, have decided to drop everything related to magic.
You can just imagine what everyone was saying about her, about how crazy or even stupid of her to lead a muggle life when she could have almost any job she wanted in the wizarding world, from being a Professor at Hogwarts or even an Auror. But no, she had to live as a muggle.
As those sorrowful hazel eyes of hers focused on the dancing flames at the fireplace, I can just imagine what her thoughts were…
"It's not as though being a witch was going to be all that great either…" Hermione would think, in spitefulness.
"But restraining to use magic is not that great either…" the voice in her head would grumble. And this would cause her to let out an even bigger sigh.
It was pretty interesting to guess what's going on in that head of hers, which was still covered in that big bushy hair of hers…
Anyways, the reason I think that she decided to drop magic from her life was because…the final battle had left an impact on her. Left her traumatized. Left her feeling scared and alone. Of course, she had scar-faced Potter and Weasley but she was always seen as a strong-willed person, always there to support those who fall. But what about when she falls? No one was really there for her… especially when she had to do the hardest thing in her life: modifying her parents' memory.
As the memory of that scene seemed to unravel in Hermione's mind, her small frame rocked back and forth, like a swinging pendulum. With her face buried in her hands, her sobbing was heartbreaking. It felt as though the very insides of your body are being painfully torn apart, bit-by-bit. It was too excruciating to listen to her. Even the person with a rock-hard heart would have felt the urge to comfort her, to help her overcome whatever nightmare that was haunting her. And as I watched her through the eyes of a ferret, a dagger was as though stabbed into my heart and twisted, over and over again…
The process repeats, as I, a coward in my eyes, an enemy in her eyes, can only silently watch and cry with her.