Sorrow makes us all children again - destroys all differences of intellect.
The wisest know nothing.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Tuesday, November 28 ~ Afternoon
Glassy eyes stared out over the smooth black lake the undisturbed water having a calming affect upon the brunette sitting upon its banks. Her legs were drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them. She'd found herself coming out here more and more in the afternoons, watching the water, listening to the birds. There was something unexplainable about the way it soothed her. It was perhaps a bit unsettling to Hermione who organized the world with numbers, facts, theorems and probability. This was nothing like that, something intangible, unproven, but so very there in a way she couldn't explain with science or mathematics.
A gentle breeze pulled at her hair as she emitted a soft sigh, remembering another time she had sat upon these banks, not as a professor, but as a student. Tall, gangly Ron Weasley on one side, and dark-haired, green eyed Harry Potter on the other. Her two best friends, and now she couldn't even tell them what had happened, or rather she could, she just wasn't ready to say it outloud to them. And Ron was away on business with the canons anyway, and somehow it didn't seem appropriate to admit she'd been hiding this since the start of term in a letter. It had been three months. Shouldn't she be able to say it by now.
Father's dead. He's not coming back, and Mum's half-mental now. I may as well be an orphan.
She shook her head and chewed at her lip, watching as the surface broke by some sort of water-dwelling creature.