Now, can you guess my hair “style”?

If I wrote, it would end up coming off like “Harry Potter and the Asset Valuation, with Deferred Liability of Taxable Income”

Hey, maybe I could help Harry, by distracting Voldemort with an audit!

Harry turned and walked away from Hermoine. There was really nothing left for them to say, was there? He briefly wondered, as he wandered the halls of Hogsworth one last time how he would address her when they met again, Lady Hermoine? Lady Voldermort? He would have never guessed when they first met, all those years ago, that she would fall in love and marry his arch enemy.
As Harry rounded a corner, near the cafeteria, he bumped into a first year student. Distracted by the events of the last few weeks, and angry over Hermoine’s decision, Harry pulled out his wand and zapped the little fellow. Ouch, that was going to leave a scar!

And another Harry-Potter-is-a-goner camper to boot!

Well done, Jay.

Hermione felt the cool earth on her hands as she propped herself up in the grass. She had dozed off a little bit, which was funny, seeing as she didn’t remember being tired. She was sitting on the hill overlooking the lake, with the majestic outline of Hogwarts Castle on the opposite shore. It was late evening now; the sky was ablaze with the gold and reds of sunset, yet there was a calmness there too.

Calmness. It was something she hadn’t experienced, not truly, for the past three years, ever since Lord Voldemort had returned that fateful night in June. But he was gone now, and she thought about at what price the calmness had come. She wondered if it was worth it. Then she remembered that Harry thought it had been, and that’s why he had made that sacrifice.

She was unsure if Ron had yet to come to terms with the loss of their friend. He was currently in Gryffindor tower, absentmindedly packing his things in preparation for the trip back to the Burrow. Hermione did not want to disturb him now. She knew he would deal with things in his own time. He was Ron, after all, and that was one of the many reasons why she loved him.

Love. It amazed her that love was still possible, and that it had been possible all along. As she looked at the castle, she realized how much she loved that place, how much she loved those seven years that had taken place within those walls. She also realized how painful it would be to leave it.

But it was the good kind of pain–the pain which holds within it promise for the future. It was strange, but the pain that she had felt at Harry’s death was somewhat similar. Yes, she knew that he was dead, but in some ways she knew he could never die. He was, after all, the Boy Who Lived, and through his death countless lives would have a second chance–including hers and Ron’s.

She decided to go in, back to the Castle for the very last time. But as she rose to get up, she saw the space where her hand had been. There in the dirt was a symbol that she had unknowingly traced during her moments of reflection. As a small tear rolled down her cheek, she recognized what the symbol was. It was the simple outline of Harry’s lightning-shaped scar.