A/N: I do not own any of the charecters or places that you recognize. I wish I did, but I don't. And I know it's not perfect, but I hope it's good. Reviews make me very very very happy. And I hope when school's done I can update more often, but for now, if you're reading this, thank you...and please review. I'll give you a cookie and a BIG hug.

Dear Diary,

Something happened today, something unexpected, something wonderful; a change from the norm. I don't remember the last time I was this happy. Not since Harry left to fulfill the prophecy. As you know, since then I have not been the same. Had I been a doctor, or a psychologist, I would have diagnosed myself as clinically depressed. But now I'm not so sure.

I have had a smile plastered on my face all day, ever since Jesse came up to me in the library. He asked me to go to the café for a drink, and we talked for hours about books. I have never met someone who has read nearly as much as me, but he does come close. Talking to him took my mind off of all that had been bothering me. I actually enjoyed my time with him.

Believe it or not, I think I was flirting. It was weird, and at times it bothered me, but as a whole, it was fun. He looked at me differently. I wasn't the genius, or Harry's sidekick. I was just the girl sitting in the library. I was just someone he could talk to. I am still just that girl. I am still someone he can talk to.

It feels good not to have a label put in front of my name. It feels good not to be thought of one way or another. Even the look in the other person's eye is different when they meet you with no thoughts of you already implanted in their mind. They don't know you, so their mind is opened, and filled with what you put in there. It feels amazing, like I am a whole new person, like I am let free.

But then our conversation turned personal, and he asked me to tell him something interesting about me. I couldn't think of anything. There is no proper answer to that question. So I said something stupid; that I have gone to boarding school since I was eleven. To some, that may be interesting, but in retrospect, it is quite normal.

He too said something stupid to cover up a secret. Maybe not one as impossible to comprehend as mine, but a secret is a secret. I called him on it, but he just said that I'd find out in time. And maybe I will. Knowing me, I will hold him to that statement; I will make sure that I find out eventually. That would mean that I see him regularly. Not that I mind. His company is relaxing and quite enjoyable. I just hope that he doesn't mind my company. I know some people, mainly Harry and Ron, are annoyed by me, and sometimes I have no idea why they continue to be friends with me.

Well, now it's only Ron since we don't know where Harry is. I have barely spoken to Ron all summer. Not that I expected anything more, but without Harry, I feel as if we're separating. Ron seems to be taking this worse than I am, and I'm worried. I'm not sure if he will be able to hold it together when he sees me. I know seeing him will bring back harsh memories for me, but I can deal with it better. I know I can. I'm stronger.

Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself. We'll see if I'm right. At least I'm seeing Jesse again. Tomorrow actually. We're meeting at the library. I think he's planning to introduce me to some of his friends and I'm quite excited. I don't remember ever having Muggle friends. I think I'm going to like them better. Muggles seem…different. But who knows. I could be wrong.

-Hermione-

She closed her blood red, fabric bound journal, tying the red satin strong around the two covers. Her small hands slid the book underneath her mattress, between it and the box spring bed frame. She couldn't wait until she was back at Hogwarts and able to use magic to keep prying eyes out of her diary. Until then, she would just have to hide it form the prying eyes of her mother. And with an exasperated sigh, she threw herself backwards, landing on her pillow which is covered in a gold silk pillow cover. Her auburn hair fanned around her head creating a harmony with her pillow cover, her waves creating designs on her pillow as her light played with the shadows.

Tears had stained many of the pages in her diary, making the ink run, making the words blend together to portray one thought, one emotion; sadness. Thoughts about Harry, about how he may not come back alive, sent her into fits of hysterics day after day. But today, a small smile lay on her lips as she stared dreamily at her white ceiling, replaying the day in her mind. She remembered her small gasp and she realized he was sitting across from her. She remembered him asking her to the café. She remembered talking for what seemed like hours about books. She remembered the look on his face when he told her that she would find out his secret if she stuck around long enough. And she remembered how she felt when he said that. She remembered the small smile which appeared on her face, the slight blush which crept onto her cheeks. She remembered the butterflies in her stomach at the thought that he was willing to spend more time with her. She remembered thinking that she wouldn't mind spending more time with him. Actually, she'd quite enjoy it. And she remembered the smile from ear to ear as they exchanged phone numbers. His voice over the phone was permanently engrained in her memory, and she recalled the conversation perfectly. Lying there, she kept reliving the conversation, replaying each utterance in her mind.

As Hermione's mother stirred the sauce that was to be put on pasta for dinner, she heard no sobs coming from Hermione's room, as they usually did when the door was closed and locked. Surprisingly, this worried her. In the Muggle world, suicide was prominent, especially with tormented teens such as Hermione. The sobs that used to float through the piping of the small house would scare her, but now the complete silence sent waves of panic crashing over her. If Hermione was silent, something could have happened. Her precious baby, her only child could be dead, could be lying in her bathtub, covered in her own blood, she could be strangled in her bed sheets. Without thinking twice, she darted upstairs, skipping steps, the white carpet dulling the sound of her feet thudding against them. She turned right sprinting around the corner. The landscape photographs, which were hung neatly on the white walls, blurred together as she passed by them quickly. Once she reached Hermione's room at the end of the hallway, she stopped short. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Fear enveloped her. She didn't want to open the door. She didn't want to see what was hidden behind the white wood of the barrier between her and what she may see. Suddenly though, she felt her arm dart out, her hand make contact with the cold gold-painted metal of the doorknob. Quickly, the doorknob turned clockwise and the door slammed opened.

Hermione had been replaying the phone conversation once again in her mind. She was lost in the slightly raspy yet perfectly clear tone of his voice. She was lost in the simple conversation they had. At the moment, even though she was lying on her purple satin bed covers, in her mind she was sitting on her black desk chair, twirling her hair idly, her phone squished between her ear and her chin.

"Of course I'd love to meet you at the library tomorrow," she said, trying not to sound as excited as she felt. She crossed one leg over the other, leaning back against her chair. Jesse then spoke and she inwardly melted. His voice was heaven to her ears.

"Great. I'll see you then," Jesse said, the smile on his face quite apparent in his ton of voice. He was glad to have met Hermione, glad to have connected with her. He was relieved that he had been completely sober when he met her, when he called. Being under the influence of nothing made sure that everything he said was completely genuine.

"Yeah. I'll see you---"

The door slammed opened, and Hermione found herself in her bed instead of on her chair. Her phone was nowhere near her, and it had been hours since she had last spoken to him. As the sound reverberated through the room, she jumped, coming inches off of the bed, landing back down in a sitting position.

"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, placing her small hand over her heart, over her black tank top. Her breath was shallow, her eyes wide with the remains of fear. She pulled her legs, clad in pink flannel pajama shorts, up to her chest, and curled into a ball. Her hair fell in front of her face as she glared at her mother. "Why didn't you knock before barging in like that?"

"Oh, thank the Lord, you're alright," Hermione's mother, who was a bit on the chubby side, looking very much like a housewife, with the same auburn hair as Hermione, though hers appeared to be burnt and out of control, said with evident relief.

"What?" Hermione said; her voice filled with curiosity and confusion, her anger suddenly dissipating. Why would her mother say such a thing? Of course she is fine. She is more than fine. Way more than fine. She is finally happy after weeks of being depressed. She can finally smile. Her honey brown eyes questioned her mother, curious as to what had been going through her mind. Waiting for an answer, she brushed her long, wavy hair behind her ear.

"Oh…Er…Well…I thought…You could have….oh, never mind," her mother stuttered, unsure of what to say. "It's not important." She stood at the door, shifting her weight nervously. Her flowered dress jostled with each movement sounding as loud as thunder in the quiet room. At least to her it did. She felt like an idiot, thinking that her daughter had killed herself. She should have trusted Hermione. She should have thought that Hermione was happy, had finally found a way to put that amazing smile back on her face. But at the moment, her mother's instincts had kicked in, and her rational thought was overridden by emotion.

An awkward silence fell over the pair. Hermione's mother continued to shuffle, her eyes darting everywhere but directly at Hermione. Hermione was still sitting, curled up on her bed. Her hair once again fell in front of her face. She was looking at her bed sheets, at the light reflecting off of the luster they possessed. And suddenly, she knew what her mother had been thinking. And she knew that she would never do that. She would never kill herself, or do anything to harm herself for that matter. Her body was too precious for her to ruin. Her mind was too precious for her to ruin. Her future was too precious for her to ruin. The ridiculousness of the thought of her doing something so absurd sent Hermione into a fit of giggles, which filled the yellow painted room. The giggles sounded inappropriate as they followed the awkward silence, but they were there. And soon enough they turned into full blown hysterics.

Her mother was baffled by the sudden hysterics her daughter had found herself in. Nothing even remotely funny had happened in the past few minutes. Befuddled, she turned to walk out of the room, leaving her daughter to laugh privately, over something obviously private.

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," she said before heading downstairs to finish cooking the meal for that night.

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