The photograph lays idly on the palm of her hand, mocking her. It seems to have a purpose, but she can't seem to read it. It has a presence of it's own, all the while seeming unimportant, almost impalpable. His eyes stare up at her, but she refuses to make a connection as she shoves the slightly-worn picture into the zippered compartment of her suitcase. She smoothes out her button-up, sighing. She's used to being plain, she always has been. Even with the trappings of puberty, in which people began to see her a 'good-looking' rather than awkward. The attention has always made her nervous. She glares up at the clock, nervously. The time is coming. She can feel a strange taste in her mouth. It isn't bad or good, it's just there. Imprinted on the back of her tongue and the rise of her pallet, like a memory. She pulls her hair back into a low ponytail and slips on her flats, ready to finally leave behind all she has known for so long.
She's not sure why she's so nervous. As she walks down the long, presumptuous hallway, she can feel the comforting hand of her best friend, Harry, on the small of her back, and the warm grin of Ron on her face. They are loyal companions. For seven years they had stood by her, and even after all her mistakes. She rolls her shoulders back as they approach the Great Hall and she smoothes her shirt once again. Harry tells her to relax, but she doesn't hear it, save for the thumping blood in her brain.
Everyone's in lines now. Lines. She likes lines, so easy. Organized. But this time, the organization doesn't calm her. She hears her name. At least, she thinks she does. As she looks out into the crowd, everything seems to fade together, color-bleeding into one, big, meaningless blob. She feels a warm hand squeeze hers. She isn't sure if it's Ron or Harry. She takes her walk, her shoes clicking on the stone floor. The room seems silent. Ethereal. As she looks out into the crowd from the podium, she feels a numbness within her chest. Her eyes make a connection. Electric. Warm and hot all at the same time. It gives her the inclination to soar and fall. But most of all, it persuades her to speak.
"As I look at all of you today, I come to the realization, that I, myself, have never been more incredible than any of you. Each of you is an intelligent person, full of potential and a budding promise. I don't say this to be clichéd, I say it with all honesty. In my past years at Hogwarts, especially this last one, I have seen something special in all of my peers. The superiority I thought I had over many of you stumbled. I was humbled in so many aspects. And in all your grace, you forgave me. You taught me something. Grades aren't life."
A few chuckles sounded from the students, breaking the silence she had created over the room. She cleared her throat.
"Honestly. I lived each day for a grade. I lived to exceed, to, God forbid, beat you all. Because I never had anything else to show for myself. I promise you, I have watched from afar. I have seen the glow of love, the pride of exceeding, even if exceeding means a 'sub-standard' grade to you. I have heard youthful laughter, and gosh, have I longed for it. Hold on to these precious "in-between" moments. Don't linger for long on your failures. Remember your emotional triumphs, and even your downfalls. That is what truly matters, guys. Thank you all for choosing me to speak at your graduation. I am not the one who deserves the glory. You are."
Hermione grinned and let the air from her lungs. It seemed like it had been captive there since Dumbledore has asked her to give the graduation speech. She hurried from the stage, ponytail fanning out behind her as she rushes into Ron's arms, and then Harry's. "Impressive, 'Mione." Harry said warmly into her ear. "Thanks."
It's then that her eyes connect again. She is overwhelmed. Her chest tightens and she feels her heart starting to race. "Hermione? Are you all right?" The voices begin to ask her, but she doesn't respond. She'd become so prone to panic attacks since…everything. She doesn't break her gaze as tears collect in her eyes and students begin to swarm around her. "Can't I just go back?" She wonders aloud. No one seems to hear her as her breathing speeds up. Everything is moving too fast. The world is spinning, fuzzy, color-bleeding like a badly taken photograph. Only one thing is clear. And then it goes black.