Prologue.

Cold

That was a cold night. The strong wind was filling in the whole room, bringing different horrifying roars of unknown beasts from the forest. It was icy cold, yet there was an advantage in it – it was fresh. The wind started blowing even harder, grabbing wonderful curtains of the room out from the open window. It was cold, fresh and silent. It was night. It was the last night for one character. A wonderful, clever and unique character. The character, who could reach millions of different peaks of the world. She was now sitting on the edge of the window, looking deep far at the forest. Her eyes were blank, but full of forbidden tears. She was tired to keep those tears of sorrow's inside. She was tired to be 'know-it-all-and-ready-for-everything-in-the-life'. She was tired to be thought not to have a 'girlish' heart. She was really tired of being misunderstood. Hermione shut her eyes at the idea she was too much weary, another crystal tear made its way from the corner of her beautiful eye. She shut her eyes to get forgotten, to walk away from the troubles in her life, though she had never done it, and she wasn't supposed to do it that time, but she was exhausted to observe all her 'shoulds and musts'. The wind started playing with her hair, creating the mixture of them and the curtains. But she simply did not notice it; she was too busy with reminiscing of all previous cases, which slipped her dip into such a state. A state of deep grief, a state of depression...