Disclaimer: I write fanfiction because it's fun and to improve my writing. If you have any constructive feedback, I'll very much appreciate it. By the way, English is not my native tongue.

This story was written for Round Three of the 11th season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Go Magpies!

Trigger warnings: for loss, for sadness, for talking about family members being gone, for talking about death, loneliness, depression, ghosts.

Sorrows End

The courtyard was empty except for some dead leaves that ruffled in the wind. Autumn reigned over Hogwarts, many trees bare already, and the fountain in the middle of the courtyard had been turned off due to frost. Most students were inside, avoiding the cold wind, yet a lone soul sat on a bench, a book in her hands, her eyes scanning the words on a page.

.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,

For all the day they view things unrespected;

But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,

And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.

Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,

How would thy shadow's form form happy show

To the clear day with thy much clearer light,

When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!

How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made

By looking on thee in the living day,

When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade

Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!

All days are nights to see till I see thee,

And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

.

Hermione Granger looked up from the book in her lap and wiped away a tear. Her mother had always loved Shakespeare's sonnets and even now Hermione still heard her mother's voice when she read the old verses. Oh, how she missed her and her father.

When Hermione had changed her parents' memories over a year ago, she had thought it would be a good idea. Her parents would be out of the country and safe so that Voldemort and his Death Eaters couldn't touch them. And they wouldn't have to worry about their daughter, no matter how many years the War would wage, how many years she might have to fight alongside Harry and Ron until Voldemort would finally be defeated.

When Voldemort did fall, sooner than anticipated, and the wounded were healed, the dead buried and Hermione slept for what felt like weeks, she worked to get her parents back. She had read many books on the topic before changing her parents' memories, sure she would be able to reverse the spell because she hadn't erased the memories, just suppressed them. But as she continued her research and discussed the matter with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, she realised how much more complicated the matter was.

"And you used Obliviate?" Professor Flitwick remarked, deep in thought. "If you had just used a Confundus that might have been easier to fix, but Obliviate..." He went on to explain how much the brain could get damaged from trying to resurface the suppressed memories.

McGonagall sighed. "It might make them forget everything they still know."

"But I should try, shouldn't I?" Hermione was eager to make everything alright again. "My parents would want to know they have a daughter and live in England, wouldn't they?"

The professors exchanged a glance. "This is your choice," Professor McGonagall finally said.

Hermione had travelled to Australia this summer and found her parents in their new house and dentist's office. They seemed happy and though it hurt Hermione to see that they didn't need her, she was glad they lived a good life in the country of their dreams. She raised her wand several times, but in the end, she couldn't perform the spell. It felt selfish to risk her parents' mental health so that she could have them back. Without having spoken to them, she had returned to England as an orphan.

Now Hermione sat in the courtyard and watched a dead leaf dance in the wind. The last time she had felt this lonely had been exactly seven years ago when Ronald Weasley had made fun of her, and she had hidden, crying, in the girl's bathroom. A troll had attacked her, but Harry and Ron had saved her and from that moment on they had been friends. She couldn't hope for such a miracle today.

Hermione looked up at the high stony walls of the castle. Hogwarts didn't feel like home anymore. Harry and Ron hadn't returned to finish their education (Harry was an Auror-in-training, and Ron helped George with the Weasley shop). Most of the other students from their year had managed to graduate before the summer despite the War. Hermione had been invited to sit the exams too, but her mind hadn't been in the right place, so she had rather opted for another year at Hogwarts. Ginny and Luna were in her year now, but they always stuck together, making Hermione feel unintentionally like a third wheel.

And then there was Draco Malfoy, who had returned to school too. These days he was quiet, always walking with his head down, being scorned by all Houses alike for his participation or the lack thereof in the War. Sometimes Hermione thought he might be the only one who felt like her, but every time she saw him, memories of her torture in Malfoy Manor arose in her, and she avoided him.

Hermione leafed through the collection of sonnets in her hands and found one of her mother's favourites. As she remembered her mother reading the poems out loud, because "poetry has to be lived", Hermione started to read the familiar lines and her voice carried over the empty courtyard.

.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

.

"That was wonderful."

She abruptly turned her head and saw the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas, floating towards her. His pale figure was even less visible in the daylight of this grey October day.

"Was that Shakespeare?" he wondered.

Hermione showed him her book. "His sonnets."

"Ah," Sir Nicholas made and smiled. "The Soul of the Age. Even though it has been almost four hundred years, I still remember the time when William Shakespeare's poetry came into being. He was a Muggle, of course, but even the wizarding community was not exempt to his ingenious plays and heartbreaking poems." He chuckled to himself. "I still remember a certain professor who forbade her students from reading these filthy verses of battle and tragic love, but later I found her in her empty classroom, enjoying Romeo and Juliet."

Hermione smiled at that. She had until now never realised what it truly meant to have a ghost in the castle who had died in the Middle Ages. She wondered why she hadn't spent more time with him; he must have so many stories to tell.

Sir Nicholas peered at her. "Pray tell me, Hermione, why are you sitting outside in what I presume is the cold and rather read Shakespeare than joining your fellow students in the Great Hall for the Halloween feast?"

Hermione sighed deeply. "I don't feel like being with so many people and celebrating. For me October 31st feels like the day it all started… when Voldemort killed Harry's parents. It just makes me... remember things."

Sir Nicholas nodded and sat down next to her on the bench even though as a ghost he didn't need to. "In all of my years at Hogwarts, I have experienced quite a share of conflicts. I was here when wizards went into hiding, when goblins rebelled, when Grindelwald started his madness, and when Tom Riddle became dangerous. But I must say that this last battle in May felt the most extreme because it was the first battle that took place here at Hogwarts. It felt strange to see my home go up in flames and not being able to do something. I did my share, of course, I stood in the way of Death Eaters, tried to scare them, and make them feel uncomfortable by moving through them, but it didn't feel like much. Even though I have lived with so many headmasters and headmistresses, it still feels strange that Dumbledore is gone."

Hermione nodded; her eyes fixed on a leaf of grass that had made its way through the stone pavement.

"But in all of my years, I have also seen how people went through these hardships. And even though everything might seem dark and forlorn now, I am certain that one day the sun will shine for you as well once more." His head wobbled a little on his ruff as he turned to Hermione.

She merely nodded again.

"One way I have seen to improve matters," Sir Nicholas continued, "is to be with the people you care about and share in the activities of life."

A beetle now sat on the leaf of grass.

"Hermione, you should go to your friends in the Great Hall."

She had a feeling he might be right, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Not today."

"Very well," Sir Nicholas said. "Will you then do me a favour? It is my birthday after all."

Hermione looked at him. "What is it?"

"Will you read to me? I do miss the sound of this what is considered these days archaic language."

That made Hermione smile. "Of course." She turned a few pages until she found a suitable sonnet and read.

.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,

And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

.

It was in this fashion that the two, the War heroine and the ghost of Gryffindor House, sat in an empty courtyard and listened to the Bard's marvellous words until the light became too dim for reading. As Hermione walked inside, Sir Nick next to her, she didn't feel so alone anymore.

finis