Hermione Granger is scared. The nightmares are frequent and sleep is rare. Her relationship with Ron is not what she thought it was. Stuck in a circle of despair she is trying hard to regain the famed Gryffindor courage while maintaining appearance...
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~ Hermione Granger
In the light of the day is when secrets require a Herculean effort to be concealed. Her position on the precipice of warring cliffs of reason and instinct was starting to feel like a permanent residence.
Maybe this was what her life had come to be. The morning had found her in the Arithmancy classroom, right at the front, Draco Malfoy's written letter concealed within her cloak. She had found herself unable to leave it in her dormitory out of fear of being discovered or that's what her ego convinced itself off.
It was a stupid game fate played. Watching fragile humans pin their hopes onto unimportant objects. Right now, Hermione Granger was pinning hers on a piece of paper once warmed by her enemy's hand. Her mangled arm, still sore made it hard to forget the previous night's events, just like Malfoy's letter.
Why did he send it?
It couldn't really be him. This was some cruel trick. She was a lab rat stuck in endless traps set by time.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shuffling of feet. Hordes of students made their way into class, their chatter carefree unlike hers. Pulling out her large textbook, she slumped forward, effectively cutting out a direct vision of her face. Arithmancy always started late.
A wave of cool breeze caused goosebumps to prick up on her exposed neck. She stilled. She could feel his eyes on her.
Awareness.
Her hand made its way into her cloak reflexively, clutching the now crumpled letter again. She swallowed, forcing feeling down her passage as class commenced for the morning.
She would have to work at night to catch up. Her head just couldn't seem to listen anymore. Anxiety thrummed through her.
Was her body giving up on her? Tasks that were once easy now seemed like mountains. Her brilliant mind once so eager to soak in never-ending data and knowledge now felt heavy and useless, soaked wood that can't be used as kindling.
She needed control. It had slipped out of her reins, ice melting into cool liquid unable to be stored in between fingers.
No.
She wasn't weak. She could do this. She would.
One... two.... three.
Long hard breaths eased her as the steady small yet unwavering hope that refused to be cut flowed through her channels.
Hermione Granger was merely bent not broken.
Not paying attention to where her feet lead her, she carried herself out of class. Herbology was next. She was going to be late. Hurrying, she took a sharp turn at the corridor, barrelling into a body head first.
Strong arms gripped her sides and yanked her falling figure straight.
