Survivors by Luvscharlie
The Great Hall still smouldered from the battle. Family members cried over bodies of loved ones. Faces you once knew well stared back at you with hollow eyes when people who had no right to do so lived on. You count yourself and your parents among those who should be dead, though you are thankful your family was spared. Your parents chose the wrong side upon which to fight, and yet, there they were, still whole, still alive, still breathing, when others were not. And you—you had been foolish enough to believe they knew best. What a fool you were.
The moments you spend searching for her bushy head seem interminable. The world seems to have stopped spinning, and you only wish the spinning of your head and churning of your stomach would stop as well. With each passing moment, you become more and more desperate to see that wild tangle of brown curls that would confirm that she had survived.
You feel your father's hand touch your shoulder in an attempt to lead you from the Hall unnoticed by those too overcome by grief to pay any mind. You shake him off and refuse to follow his lead. You have to see for yourself she is alive. You need to see with your own eyes that she did make it through the battle, if not unscathed, at least still breathing.
Your own breath seems to have stilled and if someone placed their hand over your heart, chances are they would find your heartbeat absent. Why should your heart beat on, if per chance hers no longer did? What would be the purpose?
Then, you see her.
Hermione's hair is a wild tangle, just as you remember. Her face is streaked with soot and a deep cut is bleeding freely on her forearm. She is wrapped tightly in Weasley's arms with his lips on hers, but she is alive, and that is all that matters.
Fin.