All of the recognizable characters in the story most assuredly do not belong to me. They're JK Rowling's, I'm just using them for a little while. I'll return them pretty much intact when I'm done…besides, I'm not the only one using them. The story's rated R as a safety net for myself, as I'm not quite certain where I'm going with all of this.
Anyways, read and review, I really like reviews. It'll encourage me to continue a bit more if you must know.
Chapter I: Is it Getting Better?
"Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you,
Now you got someone to blame?"
- U2, "One"
Things still aren't better. Easier, yes, but not better. Each day brings memories, every one simultaneously painful and sacred. I miss those days when everything was so simple. I wish to hell that I was still in school, back when my biggest concern was whether or not I'd be a prefect, or eventually Head Girl. We won, yes, but the sacrifices made where nearly too much to bear. Life has a semblance of normalcy now, for that I'm unspeakably grateful.
I'm writing in hopes of excising the feelings in my soul. I'm tired, frustrated, and feel, for the first time, really and truly hopeless. It's strange that it would come now, in the aftermath but it has. I'm a professor now, Arithmaticy. I teach, something I've always wanted to do, and I'm living in the only place that I've ever felt truly at home, yet something is missing from it all.
The golden trio…I'm the only one that remains. As much as I love being here at Hogwarts, it's still painful. Every turn, each staircase, every hallway, the common rooms, the Great Hall…I could go on forever, but every inch is full of memories that come flooding into my mind unbidden. Memories that threaten to bring my whole world crashing down upon me. Memories that could kill me were I not stronger than I am. I ask myself if it will ever end, but I know the answer. It won't end. They say that time heals all wounds, but that's not entirely true. Time may dull the pain, but it's never really gone. One glimpse of a name on a plaque, a flash of red hair, or perhaps black, a girl sitting at a table, A History of Hogwarts, and it all comes back to me, the gates opened by that sight so hard to close again.
I bury myself in my lesson plans, the scrolls to be graded and the students to advise. It dulls everything to a low roar, a tolerable cry for help in the background. I try my best at staff meetings to smile, and offer helpful suggestions. I will not become a bitter shell, I tell myself. I won't allow myself to keep people out of my life. I will not become Severus Snape. He must have his reasons for acting the way he does, but I won't allow his to become my own.
It will be one year tomorrow, a year since it ended, a year since that chapter of my life closed forever, leaving me changed beyond words. Perhaps one day I should write a book. Not some gaudy obnoxious piece of tripe that Lockhart would have done, no, something more important, something that has some sort of impact. A fine book my life would make…perhaps a Daily Prophet bestseller.
I think this is going to be a fairly long introductory entry…I just have a feeling about it. Healing is a slow process and I need to come to terms with my losses.
I took them for granted, Harry and Ron. I assumed that they would always be there, a constant, my touchstone. I would miss them over summer holidays, but I knew that they would be back, that we would all be together at the end of the term. I took that for granted and I am regretting it now.
Harry, his eyes always sparkling, the sparkle never really belying anything but a sadness so deep that you wouldn't notice it if you were to pass him by. Those glasses that he insisted on wearing, they would always break and I was forever showing him how to fix them. Black hair a mess. That infamous scar cutting across his forehead. Harry, always ready with a kind word, always willing to be a shoulder to weep on. No one ever found a trace of him after the last battle. No one saw him die, so there's always that last bit of hope, but it's been so long, and even though it's safe, he's still gone.
Ron, it hurts so badly to think about him. I don't think he ever knew how much I cared. I wonder about what would have happened had he known. It would have hurt that much more for me. I hold hopes that it would make the tortured hell he was living in now more bearable. He's been in Saint Mungo's for most of this past year, babbling away in a private language, eyes wide open, but not seeing anything. I visit him, but I don't know if it makes any difference. I miss his startled expressions, that red Weasley hair, hell I even miss hearing him put his foot in his bloody mouth time and time again. That boy never knew what to say, never knew how to really carry himself. Always the clown, Fred and George would have been proud to have seen him that last year at school. As it was, they sent enough merchandise from their store to keep him well off, but if they could only have seen firsthand some of the things he had done.
It's late…I really should sleep. The potion that Snape made should help me along with that. I have a stack of scrolls to grade for my first class, a Hufflepuff/ Ravenclaw second year mix. I'll finish them and go to sleep. Wake up in the morning and drag myself through the motions again…
Until then,
Hermione