#op youre a treasure
post-war. just some bookworms hopelessly in love with each other, hopelessly denying they’re in love with each other.
Distracted, Hermione began to write, “The more time I spent with her, the more I realized that no, the world wasn’t split into good people and death eaters. And perhaps it was wishful thinking on my part but the way she would tenderly call my name, her eyes crinkling in the corners, made me believe that no, she didn’t see me, and everyone else like me, as mere mudbloods any longer. I liked to think that I found a friend in her. But on the days when the wistful, hopeful smiles on her face would linger, I found myself hoping that perhaps we were something more.”
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