AN: Prompt 1 from the 30 breathtakes challenge - "wind in your hair".
It's over. It's finally, completely, over. Voldemort is dead, along with most of his followers. I should be thrilled, should be celebrating, but it seems somehow inappropriate when so many of our own have also fallen. Making my way off the battlefield that was once the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stepping over the corpses and trying not to remember them alive, not wanting to recognise them, is so incredibly difficult. I have no idea which of my relatives have survived, if any. Strangely, I don't want to know, not yet. I don't think I could handle the knowledge at the moment.
You're the first person I recognise, standing there on the path that leads (led? I have no idea if it's still standing) to Hagrid's hut, wand in hand. The wind blows your long, curly hair out behind you, making you look like an avenging angel. In a way, I guess that's what you are. The way you swept onto the battle ground, flinging curses in every direction, and making the decisive blow that killed Bellatrix Lestrange. It isn't until I get closer that I realise what you're doing; healing the Whomping Willow. For once, the Willow is co-operating, so it's either too damaged to fight back, or it knows you're trying to help it.
"Hermione?"
"Charlie." We've never been close, never really got to know each other, but that doesn't seem to mean a thing any more. I wasn't expecting you to fling your arms around me - as far as I could remember, you weren't the most physically demonstrative of people. Or maybe that was something to do with my little brother Ron, I don't know. The tears that soon follow, however, aren't surprising at all. I sit down on a charred tree stump, pulling you with me and holding you close, letting you bury your head in my chest and let it all out.
"I'm sorry, Charlie, I didn't mean to cry all over you."
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll be my turn to fall to pieces later." I say it to make you feel better, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's actually going to be true. Nevertheless, I smile, and you manage a weak grin in return.
"We'd better see who else is... who else is still alive, hadn't we?"
Standing up, we walk on, hand in hand, clinging to each other as though we're all that we have left. In a way, that is the case. It's not an easy task, checking the bodies for any signs of life, but it definitely helps to have company. Gradually, we come across people we know... people we knew, that is, friend and family members, acquaintances and adversaries alike. Some dead, some just about clinging to life. We do what we can for them, but neither of us are trained healers.
An hour or so later, we come across my father's body, and that's when my eyes begin to fill with tears. You don't need to ask what's wrong, you just see who it is and you understand, wrapping me in your arms the same way I held you, back by the Willow.
"I did tell you, didn't I?"
"It's ok, really." You push that curly hair back behind your ears, impatiently, and I can't stop myself reaching out and running my fingers through it. I know that what I'm doing is horribly inappropriate; you're my brother's ex-girlfriend, my mother sees you like another daughter, you're seven years younger than I am, and we're on a bloody battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of people we knew and loved. You lean down and kiss me on the cheek, then again, by the corner of my mouth, almost but not quite on my lips. A whispered word, "Later," and I realise there is still hope in the world. Yes, we've been through hell and made it out the other side, but we are here, still alive, and we must make of it what we can. We, at least, have that chance.