Hey Guys, a lone reviewer named Crystal refreshed my interest in my own story. Review, it will make my day.
Chapter 4, Hermione
I was home again. After my initial discovery of the wonders of photography had been
forgotten at school (stupid trunks don't fit anything), I was once again alone. My parents were so laid up by my tales of death and horror and Death Eaters, that they convinced
themselves that it wasn't at all true and I was telling stories and that I needed a
psychiatrist. Thankfully, I managed to convince them that it was simply a story I was
writing and they melted back into a peaceful and ignorant place in the world. I was
furious.
I spent my days studying—I was allowed to see my friends, but chose not to. In a million
years they could never understand, and I was afraid of lashing out, like Harry did. Harry
had been so distant. Ron was so utterly confusing and he seemed to be keeping
something from me. But I missed the both of them. So I studied. I would get through a
review of all my years. I owled Dumbledore and got my booklist early. I was a study
freak. And I didn't feel a bit better. Two weeks into my summer holidays and I had
finished all this.
I did not, in fact, reach equilibrium until I went to visit my cousin in Sussex. In reality it
was not so much as visit my cousin as to "Eat breakfast, take a bag lunch and stumble
across the Downs till dinner" as my aunt aptly put it. I took no book on these long
stumbles but my own thoughts and sort through them I did. To reach an understanding
with oneself however is much easier than trying to deal with a delusional, angry and grief
stricken teenage boy and I had two.
I was so immersed in my problem that I nearly fell of a cliff into the channel. As I
watched the waves smooth out the creases in the rock, a decision on what to do eluded
me. I stayed for five weeks here. I walked and ate and slept came home to pack for
school much refreshed.
I was ready. For anything.
