Hermione grasped the mug tightly and felt her fingers tingle with its warmth. Breathing in the heavy scent of the butterbeer, Hermione took a small sip, feeling the soothing warmth run down her throat and chase away the remaining cold in her bones.  Looking up from her mug, she saw the very red head she had been waiting for.

Hermione’s heart jumped into her throat, and her hand subconsciously shot up to cover her mouth and hide her heavy panting. She moved from behind the door, and pressed herself flat against the stone wall directly next to the door. Without even blinking, the Gryffindor waited for the door to open. She waited to meet her doom. She waited for something, anything to happen.

She stood up to leave, but the door was blocked by two people. One of them was a very tall, bald man. He was staring down at Hermione with the brightest green eyes she had ever seen. They seemed to be taking an x-ray of her body as she stood there with her bag. She felt so very inferior to this man, yet she couldn’t explain why. Standing next to the man was an average sized woman with long, chestnut hair and rather full lips. Her hands were nervously gripping her robes. Hermione recognized these people, but didn’t know why.

For six plus years, she had hated the boy, or at least pretended to. He was Harry’s enemy, and treated her horribly, so it was only natural she hate him. But underneath it all, even though she hadn’t even admitted it to herself, she had had feelings for him. It had all become so clear in these past few months. And now that it was confirmed he felt the same, those butterflies in her stomach simply would not leave her alone. It was torture.

Hermione gave a small sob, and looked past Draco, to a place hundreds of yards past his shoulder. Anything to not look at his face… that face that was infused with determination far stronger than hers. It was that determination that stopped her from refusing the boy. Defeat rang in her ears, its shrill cry blocking out all other sound.

The two Death Eaters that had attacked her earlier entered the room. Their expressions were wild, eyes locked on Hermione’s frail body. They moved to the far side of the room, and their eyes shot towards the doorway. Both men fell into a deep bow just as a dark cloud came forth.

Hermione nodded and followed Mrs. Weasley out into the moon-lit night, relieved to leave the filthy, dust-covered pub. There was a warm wind blowing through Hogsmeade. It ruffled her hair and brought color to her cheeks. Hermione breathed in the fresh air, greedily filling her lungs again and again until she was satisfied. It was wonderful to be out in the open after weeks and weeks of confinement.

When Mr. Weasley had finished, a roar of applause broke out throughout the crowd. Mr. Weasley gave a short bow, his face flushed at the praise he had received. Several people stood up and walked over to him. He stepped down from the podium, and they shook his hand, one by one. Mrs. Weasley wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, her eyes red and puffy.