My life was never perfect, far from it in fact. But if there was ever a time where I felt like I was a normal boy, it was when I was with her. Her. Hermione. Her name is ever so sweet. My memories of her are peaceful and painful. I remember meeting her so long ago. I remember knowing that she was the one. The one to ease the suffering I endured.
She had walked into my train compartment the day we met. I was nervous, for this was my first encounter with wizards my age. It was one of the best moments of my life, leaving the Dursleys. An angel walked into my train compartment as I began my friendship with Ron. She looked at me as if I was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen. Our eyes met briefly. That's when I knew I could spend forever gazing into those honey eyes. I was so young, yet so troubled already. I wanted her to be my peace. I wanted her to be my heart. If only I knew what was to come . . .
School was hectic, always hectic. Hermione and I were very shy around each other at first. The first time I openly expressed my care for her was on Halloween. She was trapped in the bathroom with a troll. I gathered up the little courage I had and went into the bathroom with Ron. We defeated the troll with a stroke of pure luck. Hermione wrapped me in a warm embrace the moment she was safe. I clearly remember Ron eyeing us suspiciously, so she went over and half-heartedly hugged Ron. He looked enthralled; she looked bored. I dreamt of her that night. I dreamt of how good she smelled and how thankful she was that we rescued her. From that day on, I knew that I could be in her arms forever. True, I didn't know love. I never had an example of love. No one had ever loved me. But the way I felt in her arms . . . I knew that it was a foreign emotion. I hadn't recognized it then. If only I did . . . I would have stopped myself then.
We were so young and so naive then. I was so carefree. I knew that I had feelings for this girl . . . the girl. The girl I could spend forever with. I look back so longingly at the days our friendship was blossoming, the days when the love inside was about to burst. I had never loved before. The emotion was pouring out of my very soul. It was like I had taken my first breath. It was my first breath of the life I was destined for. But no one is meant for the pain my life turned into . . .
My memories are so clear, yet they are so faded. I hate thinking about them, yet I can't stop. She is like a drug to me. She always has been. I can't get enough. I'm addicted; I'm addicted to her memory. It kills me inside. She is still torturing me . . . if only I had known then that this would happen. That it would end that way, that painful way. Sometimes I wonder how it happened. Hell, I don't even really know what happened. I still sit and think about how it ended. It's a mystery . . . a mystery I live to solve. A mystery that I will unravel . . .
I spent the entire summer my first year thinking about her. I didn't receive a single letter from her, after all the times I wrote. I was depressed . . . the first major depression I fell into. Many more would come and I would never fully escape any of them. After I found out that Dobby held my letters from me, I could have died in frustration. She had been writing me and I hadn't known. I felt like she hated me. I loved her. I knew I did, even at the tender age of twelve. Oh now young and naive I was!
If I ever find her . . .
I won't. I don't know if she's even alive. I excluded myself from the world. I have become a shell of a human without her . . . I love her.
Her.