An Ironic Title

Chapter 2: Bookworm

All I know is that I am beyond sad, nothing can equal this, not one definition. Believe me, I've tried.

I suppose grief was the closest because of the death thing, but can that definition describe the deluge of emotions that is flooding my body right now? Can that describe how it feels like your world is falling to pieces because one of your best friends in the world has died? Can that describe my feeling that I should have done something and maybe then it might not have happened? Can that describe the feeling that when you look on his dead body in that bejeweled casket, you're sure he's going to hop up again and say that he was only joking? Because that's what I felt like. I was sure that while I was holding his hand and placing a rose on his chest, he would hop up and say, "Hey, Hermione. Man, that was a nice rest," while running a hand through his raven-black hair. It is one of the first times that books have failed me and I find that there is a Harry-sized hole in my heart that I can't fill with a thick tome.

I go back to my seat after holding Harry's hand as Ron is coming up now. I've always loved Ron, his tall, gangly frame, his red hair, and his casual personality are only a few of his redeeming qualities. However, I've never told him, instead I've made up for my fluster around him with quarrels. Yet we'd always come back together (and some of the time it was Harry who helped us do so). But I can't talk to Ron right now, I can't talk to anyone right now, my heart is being ripped to shreds and no one can understand how it feels, for they each have their separate memories of him. For me it's Harry grabbing onto the troll in the bathroom and sticking his wand up its nose, Harry greeting me like a long-lost sister after I came back from being Petrified, Harry helping to rescue Buckbeak and Sirius with my Time-Turner (I wish I could turn back time for him), Harry out-flying the Hungarian Horntail, Harry leading all of us into the Department of Mysteries, and so many more.

But I can't think of that now, all I can think of is that Harry's dead and never again will the three of us sit under the beech tree near the lake and study (or rather I study, Harry and Ron only do the semblance of it). Never again will Harry taunt Snape or sneak around the grounds with his Invisibility Cloak (although he's given that to Ron now and I know that Ron will find good uses for it). All I can think of are the 'never agains,' if that is the proper term for it and I try to hide my deluge of emotions from all those present, their faces grim (well, except for the newspaper officials, their faces look gleeful, this will fill the headlines for weeks). I am glad to see that Rita Skeeter is not among them, but quickly stop myself from thinking that for that was when Harry was still alive, and, inadvertently, helped me figure out what that woman (if she deserves that title), really was.

My parents come up to me; Dumbledore gave them permission to come onto the school grounds so that we can go on a trip to the States after. Mum and Dad, they always think that any problem can be solved by first-class tickets and a fancy dinner.

"Are you alright, hon?" Dad asks.

All I can do is nod, that's all I can do without bursting into tears and flinging myself on my father like I did as a child.

"Do you want to leave now?" Mum asks. I can tell that she's uncomfortable among these people and is looking at Hogwarts as if it will become the rotting castle that Muggles see once again, though Dumbledore cast a Glamour Charm on it for them.

"No, I'll stay a bit longer," I whisper, going over to sit by myself. They know better than to follow me, if I need them, I'll call, they know that. I grab my bag that has been sewn over in several places from its rips from carrying so many books and dig out One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, the copy that Harry gave me. I have my own copy of course (two, actually), and they are in much better shape than Harry's, but I feel a need to read Harry's now, as if his absentminded scribbles in its pages will speak to me in a way that only Harry can. I flip through and see that is indeed true, Harry and Ron played Hangman in this book - I think that the phrase was 'Severus Snape is an ugly git.' Not even educational, I know, but since when has Harry cared about education? Further along, Harry and Ron obviously had a conversation in the margins.

"When is this going to end?" That was Harry.

"Um . . . half-an-hour." Ron.

"Half-an-hour, I can't wait that long!"

"Yeah, it's starting to stink in here."

"That's Snape."

"Or Malfoy."

"True."

"Hey, I think Malfoy has a booger coming out of his nose."

"Hah, he does!"

"Should we tell him?"

"Nah, too funny."

The conversation had stopped then and there was a big ink blotch on the paper. My guess was that Snape had swept over and put a stop to the conversation and Harry and Ron had had to stop suddenly. I imagine that I had been bent over my cauldron, stirring feverishly, desperate to get an O. I had missed out on that conversation and many others, I noticed, as I flipped through the pages. Harry and Ron had always had a funny take on everything - even things like Snape ("greasy-haired git") and Malfoy ("the bouncing ferret"). And here I was, Miss Know-It-All, Hermione Granger, the Muggle witch who mastered spells faster than anyone in the class and got twelve Outstandings on her OWL's. Wasn't that good enough? Of course it is, said a voice in my head. You're top of your class, that's much better than Harry and Ron.

That was true, but although Harry and Ron might not be top of the class, they knew how to laugh, how to take funny things out of anything. Harry had lived life and given everything he was worth, even in killing Voldemort. Kingsley and a bunch of other Aurors who had found him had reported that Voldemort was nothing but a bloody mess and it looked like Harry had managed to take some Death Eaters with him before he was killed by a Killing Curse right to the chest. He had died instantly, but they said that there was a look of triumph on his face; of course there was, he had achieved what he had set out to do.

I know that I would have never been able to achieve that, if I had had a future such as Harry's, I would have locked myself in my room (actually probably the library) and read until the end of time. But what type of life would that be? It wouldn't be a life, I answered myself and that's what I had been doing to myself, while Harry lived his heart out. Why, those memories I had of him, they were all of Harry living, putting his heart and soul and mind into everything he did. And I knew what I had to do. I had to live for Harry, do all the things he hadn't done, not just me, though, I knew Ron would. Ron had always been better at that type of stuff than me.

Closing the book with a snap, I walk over to Ron and sit down next to him, taking his hand in mine. He looks up at me and I smile at him, then, he reaches forward and kisses me - very lightly, of course, his lips just brush mine, but it is a kiss nonetheless. I draw back, surprised, yet happy-surprised and Ron smiles at me as well and as we hold each other's hands, I gaze up at the sky and think, 'I'm living for you, Harry.'