Chapter 1
Hermione stared at the family bookshelf, sorting through the books she would have to leave at home on account of them not fitting in her trunk. Moby Dick? That could be left at home, it had already been re-read until the spine was breaking. 1984 ? Well Animal Farm was just so good she had to read the rest of Orwell’s work now! She went down the shelf like this for a while, past Nietzsche, Salinger, Wollstonecraft, until eventually she stopped at Fitzgerald. She paused, inspecting the book. It had been there since she was a kid, the cover was worn down and the dark blue cover had lightened over the years, but the pages inside were still pristine. Well, they were until her tears started staining them.
Hermione crouched down, silently crying against her bookshelf as she hugged the book to her chest, despite how it had reminded her of the pain. How it had reminded her of Pansy. Through her tears she scoffed at the irony. How ironic it was that an interaction that once brought a blush to her cheeks was now drowning them. She still longed for the memory. The memory where she had been stuck writing a transfiguration essay with Pansy Parkinson when the slytherin suddenly weeded in an allusion to The Great Gatsby and Hermione’s head shot up in surprise.
“You know Gatsby?” She had asked, astonished. “I didn’t think you would know muggle literature!”
Pansy smiled smugly, “Well of course I do. I would be limiting myself terribly if I only indulged in wizarding culture.” The pair then spent the rest of the day talking about the book and then rushing their essay. Something that had caused Hermione a great amount of anxiety, but not enough to get her to regret the afternoon.
A few months later, under the Room of Requirement’s warm glow, after being bombarded with questions about what else she reads, Pansy would confess that unfortunately she did not know muggle literature and had only read Gatsby to impress Hermione. Hermione would blush at the gesture and try to fight back a lovestruck smile as she jokingly acted offended at being lied too. Pansy would so graciously offer to make up for it by decorating Hermione’s body with kisses. Hermione would accept.
And now, almost a year later, Hermione would cry next to her childhood bookshelf as she decided love was stupid and hurtful and useless, but she still wanted it back so desperately. She was snapped out of this revelation by the sound of her worried mother’s voice.
“Hermione? Oh sweetheart. What’s the matter?” Upon seeing the state of her only child, Monica Granger immediately sat down to hug her baby.
“Nothing mum, sorry to wake you. I was just, um, re-reading Myrtle’s death scene. You know how that always gets me.” Hermione stated weakly.
Monica knew her kid. She knew that Hermine had been acting off all summer and it was something else causing those tears. She also knew not to push the subject. She just pursed her lips and said, “Alright sweetheart. Well if there’s anything else, you know you could always talk to me about it right?”
Hermione leaned into her mum’s hug. “I know mum. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Monica said, kissing Hermione’s forehead. She desperately wished she could fix whatever was breaking her daughter. “You should get to sleep. We’ve got a train to catch in the morning.”
Hermione made her way to her room, cringing at how fast her mum had seen through her lie. She hadn’t thought it was a bad lie, Myrtle’s death always did make her tear up. She didn’t particularly like the character, but it was just so tragic the way that she had to have gotten involved with someone from such a different world than herself. How tragic it was that she would never be a part of his world, no matter how many costumes she put on. The only thing more idiotic was the fact that she had trusted him enough to choose her. How stupid did she have to be to ever believe that he would choose her instead of his perfect little life?
The idiocy had always enraged Hermione to the point of tears. Every single time.