The Last Black (Hermione Granger x Male Reader) Vol.2

PROLOGUE: June 1995

(Hermione's POV)

I couldn't speak to anyone. I didn't want to speak to anyone. There was only two days left of term, but they passed by quickly. I didn't leave my dorm, instead I just lay in my bed and wept. Every so often I'd sit up and sip some water whilst flicking through the poetry book (Y/N) had gotten me for Christmas. I liked to stare at his delicate penmanship. It made me feel as though he was there with me. That he was safe.

On the last day of term there was a memorial service for him. It wasn't really a memorial, not really. Some people still believed he was alive. Everyone was overtaken with grief, apart from the few who were spreading around awful rumours. They'd say that (Y/N) had chosen to stay with You-Know-Who; that he had joined the Death Eaters. The majority of people knew this was a lie. (Y/N) Black was too good to do something so atrocious. Death Eaters were monsters, and (Y/N) Black was no monster.

Ron and Harry were sitting in the common room when I left my dormitory to go to the great hall. I'd gotten Parvati to apologise to him on my behalf. It wasn't Harry's fault, not really. If he had tried to bring (Y/N) back with him, then they both might have been killed. "How're you feeling?" Ron asked awkwardly.

"I miss him," was all I could say. Both of them hugged me tightly and I buried my head between theirs as small tears began to fall from my eyes for the fifth time that day.

"He's a fighter Hermione," Harry comforted me, "they won't kill him, the Blacks are too high profile." I'd thought that myself at first, but then it occurred to me that this might be even more of a reason to kill him. If Voldemort murdered (Y/N), then even the noble families would grow more afraid of him. I didn't have enough energy to tell Harry this though,

Everybody was walking down to the great hall with their heads down. No benches had been put out for us to sit on, so we just had to stand in lines. I looked towards the front where McGonagall stood between Flitwick and Sprout. Her head was down, and I could hear her sobbing whilst Professor Sprout rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. Dumbledore sat in his chair at the front looking lost within his own thoughts. I still had tears flowing down my cheeks steadily, as did Bridget Burke, who stood within a group of Slytherins, and Fleur Delacour, who was constantly wiping her eyes with her pale blue sleeve. "Today, we acknowledge a really terrible loss," Dumbledore spoke forlornly before getting to his feet and making his way to the podium and resting his wrinkled hands on its surface.

"(Y/N) Black is, as you all know, incredibly clever, hard-working, kind, open-minded, and most importantly a fierce, fierce friend," Dumbledore spoke sadly, as though he himself believed (Y/N) to be dead, "now I think, therefore you all have the right to know exactly how he has gone missing. You see, (Y/N) Black was taken by Lord Voldemort! The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this, but not to do this I think would be an insult to him."

I tried not to, but I couldn't help thinking about him.

If he was out there was he alright?

Was he safe?

Was he hurt?

"Now the pain we all feel at this dreadful incident reminds me, reminds us, that while we may come from different places and speak in different tongues, our hearts beat as one," he preached, "in light of recent events, the bonds of friendship we have made this year will be more important than ever. Remember that, and (Y/N) Black will not be struggling in vain. You remember that and we will continue to hope for the return of a boy who is kind and honest and brave and true."

Ron pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to me. I used it to wipe my damp cheeks as Dumbledore finished his speech.

Now it really felt as though I'd never see him again.

All Dumbledore's speech did was make the loss feel even more real.