Magic

Hermione sat on a wooden, straight-backed chair. Minerva McGonagall sat her face ashen, in front of her. The hair on McGonagall's face seemed whiter than ever, but Hermione wasn't surprised. The news had surprised everyone.

Albus Dumbledore was dead. The war was over, but Albus Dumbledore was dead. It seemed so unreal.

McGonagall reached inside a drawer and pulled out a Hogwarts letter, like one Hermione had received nine years ago. She put it on the desk in front of Hermione. "From Albus," she said her voice hoarse.

Hermione nodded and thanked her briefly, before leaving. Dumbledore had left a letter for her? He didn't even leave one for Harry.

Hermione walked outside the school grounds, passing students enjoying their Saturday out by the lake. The air was warm, autumn had not spread its coolness yet. It was too much like old times that Hermione found herself walking faster to Hogsmeade village and apparating to her flat quickly.

"Hermione? Is that you?"

Hermione followed Ron's voice into the living room, where he was seated, cross legged on the floor, stacks of books and papers nearly obscuring him from view. "Busy day at the office?" she asked Ron, though the answer was obvious. Being an Auror was proving easier said than done. These days, Ron had to do more paperwork than anything else, since most of Voldemort's Death Eaters were already locked up in Azkaban.

Ron smiled warily at her. "What did McGonagall want?"

Hermione felt for Dumbledore's letter burn in her pocket. "Nothing."

Lying to her fiancée was not something Hermione did very often, but Dumbledore's letter seemed very private. Hermione wondered what it could be.

Ron eyed her suspiciously but decided to let it pass, going back to his papers.

"Need help?" Hermione asked.

Ron shook his head. "But a cup of coffee sounds good. Looks like I'm going to be up all night."

Hermione stood up and went into the kitchen, flicking her wrist and summoning a porcelain mug. She couldn't stand it any longer. She had to read the letter.

She took it out of her pocket, and opened the seal neatly. Inside it was a tiny note.

Hermione,

Find out what magic really is, and you'll rule the world. What if nothing exists?

-Albus

Hermione snorted. Dumbledore and his philosophical ways. She dismissed it with a short laugh, filled the mug with coffee and took it back to Ron. "Ron, I'm tired. I think I'm going to bed now." Ron nodded absentmindedly. "Don't stay up to late, alright?"

Ron looked up. Underneath his bright blue eyes were heavy bags. His hair was messy and disheveled, and he was still wearing his tie and work robes. But he nodded, and she kissed his forehead and exited.

As she lay in her room, she found sleep would not come to her. She rolled on her side and stared at the wall. Dumbledore's handwriting was painted in her mind. What if nothing exists? What if, alright. Hermione was pretty sure she existed. She was thinking, she had to exist. She believed she existed.

And what was magic? Magic was...imaginary. Before she got her Hogwarts letter, she didn't know magic existed. But how could it work? She didn't know. She never really cared until now.

But now she was on to something.

Maybe it had something to do with magnetism. Like maybe her wand was a magnet, and when she was summoning something, it would attract opposite poles. But...paper was not magnetic! And why didn't little nails and pins get pulled too? Magnetism wasn't it.

Maybe it really had to do with the imagination. Maybe if she believed she could do magic, she could...Muggles didn't believe magic existed, and to prove it, they couldn't do magic. Could that be what magic was about? Believing?

Believing. Such a powerful word. Hermione had once read a book titled that. It had belonged to her father; it was about belief as a way of life. That everything that is, was, and will be happens, happened or will happen because she thought it would. Because she believed it will, or would.

She was starting to confuse herself.

But that meant nothing was real. The table was there just because she believed it did. Because she thought it would feel solid. And pigs don't fly because she didn't believe pigs could fly.

In other words, her mind created everything.

But that could not be true. If that were true, how come her mind, Ron's, Harry's, Dumbledore's, Voldemort's, and everybody else's minds thought the same thing? Unless...nobody else existed. She had simply created everybody else too.

ith a tiny yelp, Hermione sat up straight and jumped off her bed.

Ron was real. He had to be.

Like a little child running to her parents' room after a nightmare, she fled into the living room, where Ron was still buried in his paperwork. She flung her arms around him, and started sobbing. Did he smell so sweet because she believed he would? Were his eyes that overtaking because she believed they would have power? Was he a figment of her heart? Was her heart a figment of her mind?

Ron was holding her. He was solid, he was there. "What's wrong, Hermione? Did you have a nightmare?"

She couldn't tell him he did not exist and so she gladly accepted the excuse.

He rocked her for a few minutes, until she had calmed down. He then kissed her, and Hermione wondered again whether or not he was real. Because if he was, she would need another explanation for magic.

"Look, Hermione, I need to get this done."

Was it her mind that made his voice that husky? Hermione nodded and he went back to his work, but she did not go back to bed. She walked to the porch and looked up. The air was cold that night. The sky was dark, illuminated with shining stars.

Were there that many stars in the sky because she believed there would be? Was that how Harry defeated Voldemort? By believing in himself? But neither existed! So it must be because Hermione believed in Harry.

The sky was beautiful, and Ron's breath was warm as he came up from behind and hugged her. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

Maybe I'm real because I want to be, Hermione thought as se felt Ron's arms wrap around her protectively.

Many people had said she was the brightest witch of her age, but Hermione just could not work it out. She wondered why she existed. Ahh, the classic question. But why her, why not Ron, or Harry?

Or was she wrong, and everybody did exist? Or maybe magic was just in one's imagination? Hermione was genuinely confused.

"I love you," Ron whispered in her ear, reminding her of his presence.

Hermione decided to bury her thoughts- every single one of them. Maybe if she kept her Ideas to herself, in her peripheral vision, maybe one day she would understand.

Maybe one day she would know.

Just not today.