Luftmensch
(n.) an impractical dreamer with no business sense; one with their head in the clouds
Now, Hermione Granger was no Luftmensch. In fact, she was nowhere near a Luftmensch. It was a dainty sort of word, one that one might use to describe somebody like Luna Lovegood, whose fanciful thoughts were left untainted by the war. That was not to say, that Luna had not struggled. Locked in the Malfoy dungeons with nothing but your own feet for company, and nothing but warm stale air for dinner. and breakfast. and tea.
She almost envied Luna. Optimism was hard to find these days. The war was over, but the Wizarding World was left in tatters, the Ministry was barely coping. It had been fairly widely known that the Wizengamot had knocked on Hermione's door several times, offering her employment with increasingly high salaries each time. Hermione had refused, she meant what she had told Scrimgeour almost twelve months prior: she wanted to do something worthwhile with her time, and she had no need for galleons. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach as it turned. She remembered how it had felt when she'd given her testimony against the Death Eaters in the dark, dank courtroom. There were no more dementors, but she felt the cold spread across her spine as she recounted her story nonetheless.
Hermione shook herself out of her perambulatory thoughts. It would do no good to get lost in them now.
No, Hermione was certainly not a Luftmensch. She had a good heart, and a strong, clear head that rested with a certain air of heavy importance on her shoulders, as if to say: 'and what about it?' She was practical, logical, fair.
When Luna had said, in a faraway sort of dreamy voice: "I expect there will not be very many Eighth Years coming back this year, you know. You have all lost the most after all."
Hermione privately agreed with her. They had all lost so much in the war, but the dark immeasurable stain of grief had spread amongst her peers the most. It laid heavy on her stomach, and was almost certainly the catalyst towards her next sentence, which was quickly blurted out before she could stop herself.
"I'llbethere" She had said in a rush.
Luna smiled knowingly, and whatever she continued to say was lost on Hermione, who felt a slight twinge of regret in her belly. She realised now, that Ron and Harry would not be returning with her, as they had told her several weeks ago. It would be very strange not to have them with her, kind of like if she'd forgotten to take her arm or her leg with her on the Hogwarts Express. She had deliberately not thought about the decision for as long as she could put it off, but now it was presented to her, she felt herself unable to deny herself the hasty decision she had made. She had not the heart to turn back, nor the gumption to carry on forwards. It was two days until September 1st.
Oh Merlin, what had she gotten herself into?