|| h o m e l e s s ||
Normal POV
There was always something about that house that screamed love and family to Hermione. It was where she spent her first eleven years and remembered always the next eight years. She had spent more than her half life in this house. In the house she sometimes hated and always loved.
She traced her fingers in the dusty fireplace. She sat at the couch. The same couch that their parents were sitting while she casted Obliviate. Silent tears were tracing her face.
She could swear they were still there. That she would close her eyes and open them again and walk into the kitchen and find her mother smiling. Her father laughing.
But insted, the kitchen, like all the rooms, was cold and souless.
She suddenly stood up and went to her old bedroom- where she kept copies of photo albums, hidden under her matress.
Her bedroom was exactly as she remembered it; it was purple, with posters of bands. In one of the walls, a huge bookcase stood, that covered the whole wall, full of books.
She stood before her bed and drew her wand out of her pocket. She charmed the matress, and it flew several inches ahead. Underneath from whwre the mattress was supossed to be, five photo albums were laying.
She quickly threw them out, on the floor, without leaving her wand. Then, she slowly casted a charm and the mattress flew back to its position.
Hermione slid against the bookcase, and opened the first photo album.
She traced her fingers through the photographs, through the happy faces. Happy memories. She couldn't help but smile. Smile at the happy haunting memories.
She didn't seem to notice that she was scrathching the photos with her nails, when tears blured her view. Now teardrops were falling onto the pages.
She needed them like hell. She needed their advice. She needed their company. Their voices. How they would comfort her when she was upset.
She was homeless. Homeless. Homeless. Homeless.
No place or home.
Homeless . Homeless . Homeless.
No family blood.
Homeless . Homeless . Homeless.
Alone in a dark world.
Homeless. Homeless. Homeless.
No motherly of fatherly hug to embrace.
Homeless. Homeless. Homeless.
No place to belong.
Homeless. Homeless. Homeless.
No, I'm not.
HOMELESS. YOU ARE HOMELESS.
"I AM NOT HOMELESS." She suddenly shouted tou loud to the empty room, wanting to shut the shattering voice. To shut the truth.
"I am not homeless." She breathed. She run her fingers through her hair. She was alone in an emtpy room, an empty house, that used to be filled with joy and happiness. She couldn't believe they were gone.
She remembered what her Mother had said one day, when Hermione's grandfather passed away.
It was a hot summer noon,at the fifth year of Hermione's existance, when her mother stormed in the kitchen with tears in her eyes.
"What happened mum?Why are you sad?" Young Hermione asked her mother while she wiped of her tears with the back of her palm.
"Grandpa George is no longer with us,dear." She said, through the tears.
Hermione's eyes flooded with hot tears."But...but why?"
Then, her mother lifted Hwrmioned in the air and placed her in her lap. "If you are in a garden, which flowers do you pick up?"
Hermione rhought it for a little, while tears streamed down her rosy cheeks."The best; the most beautiful."
Her mother nodded."Exatcly. Now, God had picked Grandpa. He is in a better place- because he was the best."
Her mother's voice faded into the echoes of her mind.
They left, they are in a better place. Because the were the best.
But still, it couldn't calm down her. So, she sat there and looked at the photographs, ignoring the owl in the living room's window that tapped the window pane, having a note attached to its little foot.
YOU ARE READING
Jar of Hearts (EDITING)
FanficWARNING: IT IS INCREDIBLY CRINGE-Y AND HAS TONS OF MISTAKES. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. I WILL UPDATE SOON. Draco Lucius Malfoy had loved Hermione Jean Granger all along. But forced by his parents, he had made some bad choices. No. No choices. He never...
