I hope our story has a happier ending

I just want you to know who I am

They've been doing excess research on werewolves for weeks, now; Hermione's fairly certain she could brew wolfsbane potion from memory alone, despite the intricacy of ingredients required.

(As if the research for Buckbeak wasn't already taking up all her free time.)

She's worried about Ginny—the younger girl has become more and more jumpy and closed off as the end of year has neared, her body remembering what happened this time last year.

(actions out of her control. Lost inside her own mind.)

The closer it gets, the more frazzled and unfocused Ginny becomes; Hermione can see the younger girl's cheek bones growing sharper and sharper.

(what she eats is the only thing in her control—the one thing Tom Riddle never took from her.)

(it's a sick satisfaction of knowing it's her choice. It's in her control.)

But Hermione's stretched thin—too thin. Draco and Blaise keep nagging at her, and Harry doesn't know why but is doing everything in his power to take care of her, bringing her meals wherever she's posted up with notes and textbooks and reminding her to shower on occasion.

It's not until Romeo calls her out on it that she realizes it's bad, though.

You're so far from okay, Juliet, I can feel it. Please take care of yourself.

(he knows her best, has known her longest, and if he's this worried—)

I'll do better, I promise. Sorry. She has to stop herself from tacking on a love you at the end—because she does, and she doesn't know how it's possible to be so wholly enamored with both Romeo and Draco; doesn't know how she can be dating someone when there's this guy she's never met that will always have a hold on her heart.

And the end of year approaching means she'll have to return home, soon; the dread builds and builds inside her, and no one else knows but it's eating her alive.

(She's closing herself off from them all in an attempt to brace herself for it all.)

It's the day of Buckbeak's execution, so Hermione and the boys head down to Hagrid's.

It's killing her—she and Draco tried so hard. Did everything in their power, destroyed their mental health and sleep schedule to try to save the hippogriff, and just—nothing. Everything in the ministry is corrupt, and it doesn't matter how much evidence they've compiled to the contrary. Lucius wins.

(as always.)

The first thing to go wrong is bumping into the Slytherins on their way down—and she's so emotionally volatile, so upset, and Draco is giving her a look.

Because for weeks now he's been telling her she needs to hex him when they fight around their housemates; saying it makes no sense for someone as adept at charms as her to not have cursed her bully by now when she's demonstrated a clear disregard for the rules.

(But she can't bring herself to lift her wand against him, knowing how regularly his own father does. She just—needshim to know, on a cellular, unconscious level, that she's not capable of hurting him the way Lucius does.)

(needs him to know she loves him.)

And so they're standing there, and he's raising his eyebrows at her because she needs to do something and it's all so out of character, and she's so frustrated with the ease with which he tells her to hurt him, so frustrated with Ron over her shoulder snarling, so frustrated with Harry who constantly shies away from the confrontation, and she just—the muggle part of her takes over.