Twenty Eight

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The window sill was cold, but she didn't want to move yet. The night mesmerized her somehow, and every evening Hermione sat there, watching the passers by. It had become a routine, staring out at the side street and eyeing her favourite book store which was in view, examining every lamp and window. Concentration made her sight seem hazy and her eyes grew tired. She shut them for a second, relaxing her cheek against the window, not noticing the hooded figure enter the store.

When her eyes fluttered open once more, it seemed like half a day had passed. But, she was still in the same position, and Hermione decided to leave her spot to go to bed. As she hopped off the sill, and ruffled her skirt, a moving shadow below caught her eye. Laying her gaze upon the dark, she made out a cloak, swishing in the breeze. Curiosity sparked in her gut, whispering that she should get a closer look.

It wasn't particularly interesting, the man or woman was rapidly moving forward, they would soon be out of sight.
It wouldn't have been anything to linger thoughts on, people walked by quite frequently, and Hermione would have broken her gaze from them if it wasn't for the gust of wind that ran among the darkness.
That one swift movement of nature, sending the breeze as if it were fate; revealing the identity of the figure for a millisecond, until it was concealed in a haste.

Her breath was cut off, time itself halted and she felt the world spinning. It couldn't be him, it couldn't. He was dead, he was definitely dead!
Hermione gripped the side of the window to prevent the motion sickness she was receiving. A high pitched scream rung in her ears, filling her entire mind, and in attempt to block the stinging sound, she clasped her palms across her ears. It was then she realise the screams weren't a figment of her imagination, they were flowing clearly out of her own vocal chords, pouring endlessly across her lips. Gripping her mouth to muffle the noise, Hermione started to cry. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she was sick of it. He - he couldn't be alive.

Had she become crazy? Hermione thought to herself.

Was everything driving her to a point of insanity?

Now shaking uncontrollably, the hot tears burned her cheeks and she needed to get away. Run from her thoughts.
Before she knew it, she had already slammed the door and flown down the old wooden stairs, out into the streets of the night.
She didn't dare look the way she had seen him, it terrified her.

Darting sideways to the narrow path that lead into the park, a figure tracked her steps unnoticeably.

Taking in the aroma of the cold atmoshpere and the rustling trees, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, and collapsed on a bench. The moon was barely visible from this angle, and her gaze dropped from the sky. It was completely quiet, yet she still felt uncomfortable, in the eerie silence. It was almost as if... someone was with her. Hermione shuddered and gripped her wand for reassurance. Only she couldn't, because in the state she had been in, she wasn't thinking and left it behind. A wave of panic ignited in her stomach, urging her to leave and warning her from potential danger.

She rose, not bothering to adjust her clothing, now paranoid of every shadow.

"Leaving so soon?"

Her heart halted once again before it went mayhem, every inch of her body visibly tensing up at each word. That voice - it was just like his, so clear as if it were real life, and for a moment she actually believed her own mind.

"Stop! Stop playing tricks on me! This isn't real! It can't be!"
Hermione screamed, bending down and digging her palms into her eyes to drain out the pain, the visions.

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