July 2019

When I was seventeen, I did the worst thing a daughter could do to her parents.

As dusk fell on the yard, I sat on my garden swing and pondered the decision for the hundredth time. The fading light cast shadows across the lawn, while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves and freesia flowers. Inside, my parents went about their evening routine, oblivious to my racing thoughts. I had been so certain of my decision before, but now doubts have crept in. Had I done the right thing? Could there have been a better option? I wish I could pat myself on the back and say, "Well done, Hermione!" But the easy confidence I once had dissolved into uncertainty as I questioned my actions beneath the darkening sky.

My story is too complex to summarise in a few sentences or package into a simple, neatly wrapped narrative that people can understand right away.

Most people, including Harry and Ron, would be surprised to learn what I did. But we were all going through a difficult time, and while my actions may have appeared drastic, I believed they were necessary. With hindsight, I stand by my decision, no matter how painful it was. The path I took was not easy, but it was the only way forward for me. While I no longer obsess over it, I did not avoid thinking about those memories.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Though I'm now forty, the same age as my parents when it happened, I remember every detail of that distant year vividly, often reliving each moment in my mind. Revisiting those memories brings back a bittersweet mix of joy and sadness, which I've come to accept as part of the experience. There are times when I wish I could unravel the sadness, but I also sense that the joy will unravel. So I welcome each memory as it emerges, both good and bad, and appreciate the complete story they tell.

During the darkening hours of the afternoon, I frequently reflect on my final moments with my parents, remembering how much they mean to me and how quickly my duty to protect them as a daughter can change the course of their lives.

I allow the memories to come, and with a weary sigh, it's as if time is rewinding—my hair darkens, my skin tightens, and my strength returns. When I open my eyes, I am no longer the person I have become, but the girl I once was—bright, eager, and confident. I'm transported back to that pivotal year, on the verge of adulthood.

And this, I recall, is what happened next.