July 2019
When I was seventeen, I did something no daughter ever wants to do.
Something that still haunts me.
It was evening, and I sat alone on the garden swing, watching as the sky darkened above the lawn. A soft breeze stirred the freesia blooms beside me. Inside the house, Mum and Dad went about their usual routine—completely unaware of what I had already done. Of what I had lost.
I'd been so sure of myself at first. I told myself I had no choice, that I was being brave. But now, as the light faded and shadows stretched long across the yard, doubt crept in. Was I right to do it? Was there another way? I wanted to feel proud of my decision, to say, Well done, Hermione, but the confidence I had felt earlier was gone. All I had now were questions.
There was no easy way to explain it. No tidy version of the truth. Just the steady rush of thoughts tumbling through my head as night slowly settled over everything.
It happened during one of the hardest times of my life. I made a choice that Harry and Ron wouldn't have believed. Not then. They would have been shocked, maybe even angry. But I believed it was necessary, even if it broke my heart. I still believe it, even now. The pain was worth it. I had to protect them—the people I loved most. And there was only one way to do it.
Looking back, I know I paid a price. The decision was like tearing something important out of myself. But it was the only road I could take. It's not something I think about every day anymore, but when I do, it's still hard.
I'm forty now—the same age my parents were back then. And yet I remember everything. Every sound, every glance, every word. It's all still there in my memory, as if it happened yesterday. The feelings come in waves: sadness, guilt, and also something warmer—something like pride. I used to wish I could separate the sorrow from the joy. But I've learnt that if you pull on one thread, the whole memory might come undone.
So I hold onto both—the good and the bad. They belong together. That year shaped me. It changed everything.
Sometimes, as the sun goes down and the world feels quiet again, I let myself return to that night. I think of my parents. Of how much I love them. And of how quickly things can change, just because I made a single choice.
And in those moments, it feels like I'm seventeen again. My hair darkens, my skin smooths, and I become that girl once more—clever, determined, scared.
And that's when the memories rush back.
I remember what I did.
And I remember what happened next