Hermione thought that the grief would ease up, that the void would eventually fill back up as she moved through her life. It was a slow realisation, a glacial dawning, that grief wasn’t actually empty at all. It was heavy and full, and there was no space to fill or weight to be lifted. She was shackled to a boulder in a landslide, careening to the bottom of a never ending mountain with all of the futures she thought she’d have, and never would. 