She had always been so calm. Reposed. She never lost herself in fancy, never lost her mind in love. Books were her best friends, since she picked up a collection of Shakespeare at the age of six. She understood it fully, even without the footnotes.
Acceptance to Hogwarts was proof of how special she truly was. And she finally believed herself capable of greatness.
And then, there was him.
Of course, she knew of him, but knowing him was entirely different. He was modest, humble even. Handsome, in an innocent way. And his green eyes betrayed every emotion he felt.
She was never sure when exactly, but at some point, Hermione Granger fell completely in love with Harry Potter.
Everyone noticed, of course. She studied less, joked more, and protected him with her life. Despite his great skills in magic, defending himself was something he rarely thought of.
And though Ron was clearly devastated at first, soon enough, everything fell into place. He found Luna, and she had Harry.
But how quickly they forget. Bliss had no place in times such as those.
She knew the day would come, when he would be called to fulfill his destiny. And, in true Harry fashion, he didn't hesitate for even a second. He was only too eager to avenge his losses and settle the score. These desires lay in a dark corner of his mind that even she couldn't touch. Couldn't comfort.
And contrary to long-set beliefs, she and Ron were not to be involved. Instead, they became the equivalent of military brides. Wait, and wait, and wait they did, for any news at all - good or bad.
But when news arrived, she wished she could shut her eyes and magic it away.
There were only ashes left. Both of them, the legendary figures of Good and Evil, reduced to a pile of dust.
To the surprise of herself and everyone around her, she shed not a tear. An icy cold swept over her body and all sensations were dulled. Her back straight and her movements unbearably slow, she walked through the corridors, lined with tear-stained faces, to the only place that made sense.
She sat down with a stack of books almost as tall as herself.
For hours upon hours, she read. Her stomach groaned in hunger and her eyes threatened to close. But she read until the library closed, put the books away, and walked her walk of pain back to the Tower, where she still half-expected him to be waiting.
But he wasn't there.
And the next day, and the next day, and all days after that, she went through this routine, and voices whispered like the buzzing of angry bees, wondering what on earth she was doing. Some even rumored that she was studying the Dark Arts, planning to avenge him.
But the truth was, she was simply looking for solace in the only place she knew.
And his name was written on every page.
fin
