Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Oh, but they are fun to play with.
I had never felt such relief. When we saved Ginny from the horcrux, when my father survived the attack from Nagini, when Harry had all but risen from the dead; none of it compared to the feeling of holding her in my arms at the end of that devastating, triumphant day.
She was soft, and warm, and smelled like smoke and blood and the tang of the curses left over in the air, but she was everything that I needed in that moment.
A tether.
A light.
A reason to look past Fred and Tonks and Lupin's deaths, past the ache in my chest that I'm sure would heal but would undoubtedly leave a scar. She would help me heal.
The scent of her hair remained fresh despite its matted and sweaty state, a familiar, calming fragrance that I let wash over me, soothing the rough edges of my nerves. Her breaths on my neck changed the prickles running down my spine from shivers of fear to soft shivers of pleasure. I splayed one hand across the expanse of her back, the other going to her hip to bring her closer to me.
Making a sound of contentment, she leaned into my touch, fisting handfuls of my shirt and nuzzling her face into my chest.
Despite myself, I smiled. It was as if we were always meant to fit together. Her head came to rest right beneath by chin, soft curves filling in the hard planes of my body.
We were tucked into an alcove, away from the chaos as family members searched for their fallen and teachers cleared debris and hoisted ceilings. It was all a dark rumble in the background, my ears awash with the gentle rhythm of the rain pelting at the windows and the steady beat of Hermione's heart below mine.
I heard her breath hitch, and felt her stiffen in my arms as quiet sobs began to rack her tiny shoulders. My eyes burned in response, tears obscuring my vision as I dropped open-mouthed kisses across her forehead, nose, cheeks, muttering sweet nothings and soft assurances against her skin. She reached up to press her mouth against my neck, warm tears sliding down the collar of my shirt as blunt nails ran over my shoulder blades.
We stood like that for an indefinable moment, allowing ourselves to comfort each other as we released everything that had happened that day in soft touches and chaste kisses and the press of skin against skin that reminded us that something was still real, still tangible, still whole.
When her shaking had stopped and the only noise that came from her was a hiccupping that I found inappropriately adorable, I cradled her face in my hands and pulled her from my chest to wipe the tears from her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.
She smiled weakly at me, bringing a hand up to brush some of the hair away from my face. Closing my eyes at her touch, I reveled in the feel of her palm on my cheek, thumb running up and down the rough stubble on my jawline.
As her delicate fingers ghosted over my eyelids I looked up to meet her gaze, puffy and red but glittering with a newfound strength. I dropped my hands to tangle fingers with her between our bodies, warm and strong and connecting.
This was our beginning, and she was my bushy-haired, brown-eyed perfection.