Trigger warning for gore, violence, and self mutilation. Harry Potter characters do not belong to me.
"There was a time
When there was no war.
Deep I look into that pool of memory
And see the things I thought of then, the dreams I dreamed,
Like strange corals at the bottom of the sea
Each, for being so far, so lost,
Shining with a beauty past its own."
War/Catherine Wells
Hermione did not know love until she was fourteen. She met love when she encountered a certain stranger who passed by her house's kitchen window. The stranger was riding a bicycle. A mint colored bicycle with red stripes around the wheels. White sneakers, yellow colored socks, blue denim shorts, and a tie dye Stevie Nicks t-shirt. Hermione was washing the dishes when this stranger passed by. Red haired like a caterpillar. The stranger had a smile as wide as the ones people had on toothpaste commercials, like the ones that were shown in her parents' dental office. The stranger was laughing while descending the street, and the sound was amplified in the emptiness of the road. Freckles could be seen in the stranger's cheeks. A dimple on the left side, and a moon-like scar near the knee.
Hermione did not know love until she was fourteen. She was washing dishes when a stranger passed by, as quick as the wind and the stranger was gone.
Love, Hermione thought, was a chemical reaction. A connection in the brain that compelled humans to be together. That's what she had read. That had been the logical explanation. The foolproof theory of scholars. But Hermione had not encountered love before, nor the stranger.
Hermione had not known love until she was fourteen. Hermione had been helping her mother with dinner, when a laugh echoed through the road. It was the stranger once again. Riding the bicycle like last time. At the same time, her father was just arriving from the supermarket. He was coming out of the car with groceries in hand, his face was obstructed from the shopping bags. He was walking towards the entrance, when a second later Hermione realized what would happen. She screamed at her dad. But a crash could be heard. The grocery bag went flying and all its contents were scattered. The bicycle was the author of the accident. The stranger fell and screamed. Everythings was silent for a moment. And then, her dad started laughing. He began helping the stranger to get up. Her mother had rushed out of the kitchen to help. Hermione had stood frozen on the spot of the kitchen window watching how the scene unfolded.
Her father had said in between laughs "Do not worry. It was purely comical sweetie"
Her mother had gone and fussed over, "Are you fine dear?"
"I'm fine darling. Nothing's broken. I am as strong as steel."
"And you, dear, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself in the crash?" Her mother was speaking to the stranger.
The moment the stranger talked, Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe. The voice was like a sweet lullaby that went on forever. A sweet, decadent sound like honey that sweetened Hermione's ears. "I am fine Madam. Nothing these knees can't handle. I've had worse. I am so sorry Sir. I was trying to stop but I couldn't"
"Don't trouble yourself sweetie I am sure my dear husband hasn't got one scratch" Her mother was smiling brightly at the stranger.
Her dad was picking up the things that were scattered on the floor. And the stranger was retrieving the bicycle. "Please stay for dinner dear. That's the least we can do for your scratched arms and legs" Then her mother called out "Hermione dear please come and help us with the groceries"
Hermione did not know love until she was fourteen. On that eventful evening Hermione had been crossed with cupid's arrow. The stranger had dinner at her house that evening. Much of what was said, Hermione forgot. But by the end of the day, Hermione knew she was in love. She couldn't describe it, but she was in love. She was charmed like the nutcracker dancing to a symphony that was forcefully played by the orchestra. Hermione was under a spell few men had come in contact with. Love was scattered in her system, a poison flowing freely in her veins.
The stranger's name was Willow. And for the rest of that summer, Willow and Hermione got to know each other. Under an oak they had their first kiss. Under a willow they had their first heartbreak. Under a sugar maple they used to meet every night to watch the stars. Willow used to bring library books to Hermione before every dinner. Some were of astrophysics, some were about history, some were old wise tales, some were even math books. Hermione used to ride in the back of Willow's bicycle, with their hair blowing furiously from the wind. They used to ride up the valley near their house and watch the little town from above. A paper town. Hermione had many times wanted to tell Willow about magic, but she couldn't. But sometimes Hermione felt like breaking all the rules for her. Instead, she would grace Willow with some unexpected glimpses of what Hermione could do. When they were in the valley, Hermione used to make dandelions grow out of nowhere, only to tug Willow and blow them up in her face. When they were in Hermione's bedroom, she used to make the piano at the end of the hall play on for hours, Willow used to love the music, and she would fall asleep in Hermione's arms. When they were in the neighborhood pool, Hermione used to create little waves that splash in Willow's red haired curls. Willow would laugh, and splash Hermione back. When they went to the ice cream parlor, Hermione always made the lady give Willow a little bit more, just to see Willow smile like it had been a funny and happy coincidence. When they were walking back home, Hermione used to make the leaves dance among each other. Willow would be mesmerized. Hermione felt like every time she was near Willow her magic would explode out of her chest. She felt herself glowing. Willow and Hermione had been inseparable for all the time that earth could make. They used to finish each other's sentences. They used to orbit towards each other in family reunions. They had been as happy as the luckiest in the universe.
But Willow began to feel ill. She would stop riding her mint colored bicycle, no more books, no more dinners, no more stars. Hermione had gone to Willow's house only to have the door shut on her face. A few days passed by and the hill above their town was mocking Hermione's heart. Willow came back one night, to their sugar maple. She had her eyes swollen, and her limbs were weak. Hermione had come rushing to her arms, and Willow broke. She had a disease in her blood. She would die. Hermione felt like she had been frozen on the spot. Like the world around them did not exist anymore. They came back to Hermione's house. Telling the news to the Grangers was a bitter moment. They had hugged Willow so hard, Hermione had felt they would tear her apart. The doctors said Willow had a couple of weeks. The disease was much in advance and there was no treatment yet. Hermione had wanted to use magic to spell away the death that was hanging around their backs. She began asking Ron if Molly knew any healing spells for blood disease. The reply was as disappointing as Hermione's attempt to learn healing magic. Healing magic requires patience. You cannot go on a path of curing a headache one day, and a disease tomorrow. Willow began to fade each week. Her freckles disappeared. Her red hair was burned. Her smile was nowhere to be seen. And the bicycle stood abandoned on her driveway. Willow was dying in front of Hermione's eyes, and no amount of magic could remediate the ailment. When autumn began, Willow died. It was after Hermione had come back to Hogwarts. The letter arrived much too late. And on that day it broke Hermione's soul. It was that day when Hermione had known she knew love, and she hated it.
After Willow's death, Hermione felt like breathing burned her lungs. She felt like days were grey and dark. She felt a pain so strong and unbearable.
My girl, where did you disappear to?
Hermione could not sleep, nor eat. Harry and Ron barely notice something was amiss with her. Hermione felt like killing herself. There was no point in being alive, if Willow was not here on earth with her. Willow had been her north, her south, her day and night, and the stars kept on shining as if nothing had happened, as if their brightest one had not come to an end. Hermione hated love, she hated the way it morphed your heart to attach. Hermione hated everything and everyone. Divination reminded her of Willow's favorite book of prophecies. Potions reminded Hermione of Willow's ability to turn the grossest into the most delicate confection. Transfiguration reminded Hermione of Willow's desire to be Mystique from the X-Men.
My girl, don't lie, tell me where you are?
Hermione couldn't take it any more. One day she waited until class was over, and she went to the girl's bathroom. She took out a knife and with shaking hands, she sunk it in her thigh. It hurt more than she would have expected but it also numbed the loss. She did it again and again. Unstoppable. Until her body was a canvas, and blood was her paint.
Author's Note: I know it is a short chapter but I want to see how much readers are interested in this story. The poems at the beginning will be my little signature. Always yours.