Hermione

I first saw Hermione on the first day of the new school year. We were on the same university course, and I remember seeing her sat alone, isolated from the rest of the group who had already partially split off into cliques. I didn't speak to her then; it was another week before I saw her when I had the chance to talk to her.

She fascinated me. She read like a maniac, and was always eager to share knowledge and ideas; but she seemed unable to start up conversations with strangers. I never saw her on nights out, but she was often in the library, surrounded by great, dusty tombs, and looking more at home than she did in front of the computers in the IT suite. There were other quirks as well; her bushy hair that she never bothered to try and tame; she rarely used pens, only in lectures when she scribbled notes neatly, page after page, but in the library, and in her room, she used quills and ink. And many of her belongings remained packed in a trunk bearing a coat of arms. I saw her room on occasion, when I went round to work on projects with her, or simply to talk. Many of the objects in her room were obscure to me, but she never talked about them.

Another oddity about her was how she never spoke of her life before she came to university. She mentioned the odd family holiday, but never spoke of any friends. And this confused me more than many things. There was a photo album on the shelf, and a single picture in a frame beside her bed. It was a picture of her and two boys all aged about twelve. The three children grinned out at the room, one red head, and one dark brunette with startling green eyes, and between them, Hermione, her hair as big as it was now.

I asked her once, who the boys were, but she simply smiled sadly, gently fingering the image, before sighing and looking away. She never answered the question, and I never asked again; her reaction told me that something about her past had hurt her, and she was not yet ready to relive the memories.

I think I was her only friend, at that point; we rented a small house together in our second year, and she got on well with my cluster of acquaintances; but it was the two of us that became almost inseparable. The rare nights I managed to lure her away from her studies and down to the local pub, (she would never go near the nightclubs) she always bought a bottle of Absinthe, and proceeded to drink the entire emerald liquid. She never gasped at the taste, or any of the range of reactions I had seen from others, or experienced myself, when trying the green fairy. And every glass she poured, she would hold to the light and gaze, her eyes shining with unfallen tears. And always, at the end of the night, and the end of the bottle, her eyes would squeeze those regretful tears from her hazel, intelligent eyes and she would let them fall, unheeded to the floor.

She never dated, not as long as I have known her. She never flirted with men; and rarely looked in their direction. The few times she had given in and allowed me to play with her hair, her make-up, her clothes; she had seemed oblivious to the heavy interested stares in her direction. And part of me thinks that maybe she didn't feel them, but again, I had no idea why. I had the odd date with men I met on nights out with people I could no longer relate to; but nothing ever came of them, and I don't think I ever minded. A man would ruin what the two of us had, and I couldn't imagine myself without it anymore.

Living with her was one of the best times of my life. The house was always filled with music, melancholy or angry or peaceful; but always intense, and always there. She would sing to every song, having heard them so many times the words had become engraved on her mind and in her heart. I don't think there was ever anything she played that was popular or fashionable; it was the stuff from years gone by, or songs that seemed to mean more because they hadn't sold out and commercialised. And maybe that's why she meant more to me than my other friends; she hadn't sold out. She was true to herself, never following the things she saw no reason behind.

I remember nights spent in our living room, classical music playing quietly in the background; and the pair of us, reclining on the two sofas with glasses of wine, or anything else we could afford that took our fancy. We debated, on these evenings; discussing God and war and love; somehow we always got back to love.

After we graduated, we both found jobs; Hermione was a researcher, forever seeking the knowledge she had always wished to find. I found myself working at a television company; creating programs to entertain the masses, though I hadn't owned a TV since I lived with my parents. We still lived together, searched for a house outside of the city where the air was cleaner. I remember how we spent days decorating our new home, hours trailing round hardware stores looking at paint colours and kitchen cabinets. I remember how Hermione looked, hair tied back with a bandana, spatters of cream paint from the living room walls on her ratty jeans and too-small t-shirt. I remember laughter; always laughter and music and colour.

And somehow ten years passed us by. We had known each other for ten years, and still she was somehow a mystery to me. I still knew nothing of her past, of the two boys in the picture, of her parents; the only gifts she got each year were from me; and I think she finally knew she was ready to tell me.

She told me everything, Hogwarts, the War that had threatened our very existence, that had been so destructive, but we had no knowledge of. She told me about magic, and Harry and Ron, and quidditch. She told me about battle, about death, about facing your own mortality. She told me things I never imagined were possible, things I couldn't believe were true; she had killed people when she was seventeen. She had seen friends of seven years die before her eyes in such gruesome ways; her parents brutally tortured into insanity. She had watched a world put all its problems on the shoulders of an eleven year old boy with messy hair, too-big clothes and glasses. She told me about what the three of them had done, and I couldn't see how they had survived; how she had made it through and was still sane. And she told me about the final battle; the destruction of Hogwarts, Harry's victory over Voldemort, the death of Ron, just moments after he had finally kissed her and seen Voldemort fall; and how she had fled the world that had taken so much from her.

I held her as she cried. Smoothed her hair and whispered soothing murmurs in her ears. What else could I do for the one person who meant the most to me in the world? The one person who had been through so much and seen destruction; dealt it out with her own hands; seen the love of her life die in her arms; and survived. Moved forward because she couldn't bear to look back.

And I remember there was music, even then; even as I watched my best friend fall apart and known there was nothing I could do but help her pick up the pieces. The words of that song still haunt me, echoing through my mind, never fading with time.

There's no one in town I know
You gave us some place to go
I never said thank you for that
'thought I might get one more chance

What would you think of me now?
So lucky, so strong, so proud
I never said thank you for that
Now I'll never have a chance

May angels lead you in
Hear you me my friends
On sleepless roads, the sleepless go
May angels lead you in

So what would you think of me now?
So lucky, so strong, so proud
I never said thank you for that
Now I'll never have a chance

May angels lead you in
Hear you me my friends
On sleepless roads the sleepless go
May angels lead you in

(May angels lead you in)
May angels lead you in
(May angels lead you in)
May angels lead you in

And if you were with me tonight
I'd sing to you just one more time
A song for a heart so big
God wouldn't let it live

May angels lead you in
Hear you me my friends
On sleepless roads the sleepless go
May angels lead you in

May angels lead you in
Hear you me my friends
On sleepless roads the sleepless go
May angels lead you in

It feels like just days after she told me, though it may have been longer; that I saw Harry. It had been raining, and I ducked into a café to wait it out. Finding an empty table by a radiator that was, thankfully, on, I sat down and picked up the menu, scanning the hot snacks list. I remember with eerie clarity the moment I raised my eyes to look at the waiter come to take my order. My eyes raked up the lithe, black-clad body, taking in startling emerald eyes, messy black hair; and a lightning bolt scar.

"Harry?" I couldn't believe it was him. It couldn't be. There were two worlds that he could be in, and somehow he had ended up just minutes from where we lived?

"Do I know you?" His voice was puzzled, his eyes scanning my face for some sign of who I was, "how do you know my name?" I don't know why he asked it; from what Hermione had said, most of the Magic World knew his name. But this wasn't that world, and maybe that was why he asked.

"You don't know me; but you know my friend, Hermione; don't you?" His eyes widened with understanding and shock. He hadn't seen or heard anything of Hermione since the day she had run away. He had given up hope of finding her, finally stopped searching; and she was in this city?

"Where is she? Please tell me she's ok. What happened to her?" He was gabbling now, hundreds of questions rushing from his mouth at once, all trying to be heard. And I smiled at him, and waited for the flood of worries and fears to die down. I don't remember what I said or what he did, but next thing I knew we were walking side by side, towards home and Hermione. The rain had stopped, thank god, and the walk didn't take long.

I made him wait outside while I broke the news to Hermione. I had no idea how she would react to the news that her oldest friend had turned up. All I remember is how her face lit up, for the first time in years, and she threw her arms around my neck, mumbling thank you after thank you into my hair. And then she was gone, running down the stairs and through the front door, into the arms of the man with Absinthe eyes.

I knew I had lost part of her then, and though I could not see my life without things the way they were, I was happy for her, I truly was. I stood watching silently through the glass as they separated, and he was led by the hand into our home. I felt something shift, just slightly; and knew it would be the three of us from now on. And the thought that I was about to let someone else into my life when for years it had only been Hermione; it should have terrified me; but all I could do was smile and watch the clouds clear from the sky.

A/N: I don't own the lyrics, so all credit for them goes to Jimmy Eat World.

I wasn't sure whether or not to end it after the lyrics or add this lot in, so all comments are much appreciated. Thanks, Angelfall7