Hope for a Cure

'I’m not the type of person to write a journal. I’m not really interested in myself at all. But my doctor wanted me to keep it - my healer, I mean. Isn’t it funny how even after thirty-seven years in the magical world I still think like a muggle?' Twenty-eight years after Voldemort has been defeated, Hermione writes of her life as a professor at Hogwarts, her slow degradation by incurable disease, and her strange friendship with Draco.

I can't believe how senile I'm growing. I was supposed to write this journal to report on my condition but all I do is reminisce about the past like a silly old woman. Okay, so I have lost five more pounds in the last week, have felt dizzy five times today, and couldn't remember Slytherin's first name today when I was trying to insult Draco. And to top it all off, I forgot what the insult was, I was so shocked at my lapse!

Missed classes today again, and briefly considered that Draco might be my best friend. Why do the horrible things always happen to me? Not only am I suffering from some horrible illness the healers know nothing about but seems to only affect people who died in the war, but I've just realized that Draco actually cares about me. Whoa.