Hermione ran her finger over the worn volumes of fantasy that she loved. She had spent many joyful nights with her mother or father sitting by her bedside and reading tall tales of princesses and magic, of witches and dreams. Her juvenile yet orderly mind had delighted that each one opened with the same Once upon a time. Her young wonder had caressed each fairy and fantastical event. Now she was an adult, aged by battling the very forces these books described. Weathered and jaded as she was, Hermione cried tears of joy when each book ended Happily ever after.