What's wrong, Hermione?
A/N: Well! Five reviews in two days... That's more than I expected! I'm so happy you like this story, really... I hope it continues to be like that. Here's the second chapter!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately.
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Was it night or day? Early or late? Where there other people around in the house? It didn't matter, really. After all, it was all the same. An hour had the same length as seconds; or was it the other way around? Yes, time has lost its meaning... As had night, day, sun and moon... And life. It just felt like whole ages stringing together to form an endlessly long... nothing... that stretched on and on, and never ended.
No... It never ended, did it?
There was only exhaustion, a mind numbing exhaustion, and pain. A sharp pain that didn't fade. In fact, it only grew stronger instead of faltering. Did she look tired, and haggard, and ill? Did she look as she felt? Hermione softly smirked at herself. This morning she had examined her face on the mirror, and it was not pretty: wide, purplish rings under her eyes; and over the rings, bags that were big enough to could wrap Crookshanks in; and that passiveness her eyes expressed.
No matter how much time she had rehearsed in front of the mirror, she just wasn't able to smile convincingly anymore, as if the muscles in her face had forgotten how to. "What's wrong with you, Hermione?" She asked herself, sighing. Honestly? She didn't know how she had reached the state she was in now. Was it because of the War? Not a likely chance. Though she had suffered a great deal and had sustained injuries, Harry had won. How could she not be happy? It was all over now. Her brow furrowed sadly at that thought. It was over. She had left Hogwarts nearly a year ago; she still didn't have a proper job, and there was nothing else she could do to make herself feel useful.
And... And... There was- well... Hermione closed her eyes tightly at this. "Not again." But she couldn't stop the flow of memories and feelings. Actually, she was wondering if there was a Dementor cooped up somewhere in Grimmauld Place. There had to be. Was there any other logical explanation? When she first moved in with Harry, she had truly been very happy. But a week later, the house just seemed to drain her from every happy thought and memory. Ghosts apparently haunted her whenever she walked into a room or walked down the hallways... The walls and the windows seemed so absorb her energy and wit... Nightmares of Veils and inscrutable darkness.
Hermione didn't feel the need to sleep, or talk, or do anything for that matter. Not exactly because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't muster the strength to perform any activity other that lying on that couch, burning holes in the ceiling with her eyes. She was tired to the point of being almost always on the verge of tears, feeling frustrated, useless. It was funny how she could barely keep her eyes open during the day, but when her head hit a pillow, sleep would escape from her grip. No... No matter how tired she was, she wasn't able to sleep her grief away.
That's why she took that medicine her muggle doctor had recommended. What was the name...? Ah, yes. Rivotril. It helped, sometimes. Not always. Hermione felt as if she was blind, walking through a dark tunnel, with her arms stretched, but unable to touch anything.
She didn't belong to the world of the living, but she also didn't belong to the world of the dead. Where was she then? Nowhere... She had no place to go. Her friends could no longer bring her solace, or provide her with a friendly hand in these desperate times. She was lost. Lost among the greyness of the world.
You're lost without him.
It had all started with that stupid crush she had entertained for him when they first met. No. When they first "talked": Hermione could almost hear her small, frightened voice- "Mr. Black... Sirius?" The way he had looked at her, so shocked and, very slightly, pleased... That was the beginning of the end. During her fourth year, Hermione felt the same way every time someone even said his name- A quick jolt in her stomach, followed by a slight blushing- not to mention the few times she managed to see him.
But Hermione only thought of it a stupid crush; puppy love. It wasn't as if she constantly needed to know about how he was doing, and where he was, and if he was safe; and when she saw Sirius, why did she have the strange urge to pamper him until all the pain he had gone through and was going through, was gone?
It still remained a stupid crush. Right? Yes. An infatuation. Nothing more, nothing less.
Hermione chuckled at herself at this. Then, during fifth year, it all changed. It was like the tide slowly going up and down again, up and down, yes; those were her feelings for Sirius. They had fought so many times with him over Harry; and Hermione had had so many rows with Harry about Sirius- she would forever be shameful of that, especially after... Well... After what had happened. Not only his death, but... but... the- the other thing.
She sure knew when and why it ended, but she was nearly clueless when it came to why and when did it begin. Her dry lips parted as she sighed, recalling that cold Christmas morning.
Her parents had just dropped her off and Hermione just couldn't wait to see Harry and Ron- she had found out about what had happened to Ron's father, and she was sick with worry! Where they alright? Was father's Ron okay? And how was Harry handling everything? Hermione knew that he wasn't being easy on himself- How, she didn't know. She just... knew.
Hermione had climbed the worn steps and anxiously knocked on the door, starting to shiver because of the snow. And what about... Him? Would he be there too? Hermione had shaken her head, trying to push that question to the back of her mind, and harshly knocked again. She heard muffled exclamations from inside and she grinned, expecting to see Harry or any member of the Weasley's family, even Tonks, smiling at her in the doorway when the door opened. However, when the abovementioned door did open, and someone stood smiling widely at her, her voice got stuck in her throat, her cheeks turned to a bright shade of crimson, and butterflies started tap dancing inside her stomach.
An ex convict; an old Marauder; a womanizer (in his good old days); someone old enough to be her father; a member of the Order; her best friend's godfather...
And Hermione Granger had fallen in love with him.
A/N: Short chapter, I know. I hope you liked it! Oh, and one more thing: this story's been hit like 79 times, and I only have 5 reviews... Please take one minute of your time to leave one! (If you liked it, of course. If you didn't, then it's okay)
