I saw her lying on the ground, the wind which blew around us had started to cover her body with dirt and soil. A tear rolled down my cheeks.

A hundred years!

That's how much she lived. The girl who had come to be my bestest friend and...and probably a lot more. Only I could never realise it in time. I was too blind to take notice of her. I was too loyal to some people who had actually never wished any good to me. Those freaks...now I get it why my uncle always called my kind freaks. Though my aunt had a reason to blame the fame and wealth of my father, uncle Vernon had his own reasons.

The bigotry of a society the magical world was, I would hardly doubt them casting off a squib out of the society. Though I never actually got to learn from which pureblood family my uncle was, but it was clear that he was from a pureblood line of magical family. Poor aunt Petunia. She never came to know about her husband or rather she did. I never actually got to see them after I started for the horcrux hunt – a shit job which was completely unnecessary. Had I known better about it, had I used a little bit of my brain, had I listened to her. The situations would've been different right now. But looking at where it actually led me...I wouldn't blame anyone if they come to call me a paranoid person. I am a hundred and twelve years old. Paranoia tends to hit one that much older.

I sighed. The tears had stopped coming out and had dried upon my wrinkled cheeks. I had seen battles and after taking part in many of them after I defeated that bastard of a dark wizard I have come to realise one thing – morality would lead you to perish.

And that was what those control freaks wanted for me to happen. And I never realised it! How foolish was I? All that abuses the Durseleys gave me...all that...those lies I was told and I believed them to be nothing but true...all those people I trusted with my life who betrayed me...they should've died a horrible death.

But they didn't.

The condition of the magical world had worsened. I always wondered why it always stuck in the living styles of nineteenth century. Now I know. It was because of the hunger of power. The leader of light? He was the actual dark lord and not the one whom the world considered one. But even the later couldn't be blamed. He had been manipulated for so long that he could not turn back anymore from the point of paranoia he had reached. His end was the only thing which could bring him to stop.

I remember realising that my entire life had been a lie just a year ago and had come to know what actually happened to my REAL friends who were ACTUALLY loyal to me.

They had been murdered in cold blood and their wealth, political seats had been captured by those pureblood bigots. And my one best friend? her life had become a lot worse than I could ever imagine.

I looked at her still cold body once more and formed a scowl. This one year had given me enough sorrows that my last drops of tears had fallen out of my eyes. There were none left and I could already feel the dryness of my eyes.

I crouched down, leaned towards her. My paranoia taking the best of me. I kissed her, one last time. She had come to me just a month ago after that bastard found her out. I wasn't home and didn't know of his plans and that's when he attacked her, but not before taking away her dignity for one last time. A mudblood was shown her place in the magical world according to him.

I kept her body for a whole week after that incident and now I am sting beside her cold, lifeless body, wishing to cry for one last time. But I can't. They took away everything I had. And I just let them.

I leaned down, kept my head on her cold chest and tried to weep, hoping that now cold touch would help me shed some tears. But nothing happened. Crying helped. I had learnt it the moment I came to my senses in the house of the Durseleys. But I couldn't cry anymore. I was too sober, too betrayed to.

"I am sorry!" I said with a whimper and placed a hand on hers. And then I felt something in her palm. I looked up, my eyes a bit wide than before. I didn't need to see a bloody mirror to tell that they had gone red. I could almost feel the burns in my eyes. But I looked at that pale face. She looked so calm. Death had given her something she had longed for so long after 92 years.

She was resting in peace and I could tell that by looking at her calm face.

Then I descended down my sight and stopped it on her closed fist. Both her hands were. I reached with my hands and tried to open the cold, tight fist. It was too strong for my fragile old body to open but I finally did it.

It was a crumpled piece of parchment, folded in her hand for a whole week. And it reminded me of the incident which took place in my second year. I shivered recalling her past state of petrification. Looking at her now, she looked exactly like she'd been petrified.

I opened the parchment. It had gone soft over the week but the print was still readable. It was written in her writing after all. And a minute later I couldn't believe what she had come up with. I folded the parchment and looked at her face and a faint smile came upon my lips after a long time.

"Still won't give up on me, huh?" I said and chuckled. I knew she'd not want me now to sit beside her and weep the latter of which I couldn't do. So I got up with whatever my body could bear the strain of and using wandless magic, levitated her to the grave. No one would find her resting place; I had made sure of that. If not for her living period, she'd get the peace she was worthy of in the other world – away from those monster...away from me.

"That's right, Hermione," I said with a small smile, "I am blaming myself once again and guess what, I am missing your glares and scolding you gave me whenever I did it." And then a minute's pause. "I will see you again, Hermione and this time, we will be together for real and forever."

Saying rose words I rose from the ground and dusting my pants off the dirt, turned around and taking the support of my cane, walked towards the shabby flat which was my hiding place. I knew her plan was waiting there for me. I smiled. So Hermione.

Opening the gate with a creak which was clearly unpleasant for my ears, I stepped in and closed the doors behind me. The place was dark and dirty. But living in the magical world for this long had me get accustomed to living in dirty places. Except for Hogwarts, I hadn't seen a clean place. Well, the ministry could be an exception if I were to ignore the kind of people who worked there. I walked up the stairs which lead me to the closed room which was actually of the owners of the place whom that bastard red headed freak had killed a week ago when he had come looking for Hermione. That made me realised that even after that old bastard was gone, after those Weaselys had robbed me of my wealth and power, I was still being watched; my movements were being recorded and reported. And that had made me angry and now that I had an opportunity to relive them all once more, I would become that one thing Dumbledore truly feared of. I would show him that not everything happens according to the way of his plans.

Now standing on the drawn runes on the rickety wooden floor of the only room on the top floor of the house, I looked at the parchment for one last time, memorising the spell I needed to cast. It was a good thing I had learnt wandless magic because currently I didn't have a wand to cast a spell.

I let the paper fall on the floor and said the spell, my hand in an open position, pointing towards the master sign of the rune.

I closed my eyes due to the massive amount of light the runes generated and then the whole place started to shake. I smiled. How could she ever be wrong?

An explosion happened and I felt one last feeling of pain before my body, the floor and the whole house blasted inside out, leaving no signs of any life inside it.