And on the grass, she sat, the queen
remembered what a time its been.
And through the foggy, misty night,
she leaves and waits 'till morning light.
Sun be shining, sun be bright
stay until I'm out of sight.
Hello dear, care to dance?
She sits up, and remembers.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
The memory assaults her. Small, worn, and torn Hermione sits still in her bed. She remembers what it was to know it would not be alright. She remembers the flashing lights of battle.
In her nightgown, faerie feet tiptoe toward the window. She sits upon the ledge, a red-and-gold brocade throw pillow beneath her knees. Outside, she can see the battlements in their ghost-faded recollection. So vivid they are, in her nightmares.
Hermione draws a scarlet blanket from the floor, and covers her shoulders. She hears the fire, still alight downstairs.
When she had envisioned life after graduation from Hogwarts as a child, she had seen the most wonderful things. Not yet plagued by the festering thoughts of war and prejudice, her rainbow mind had wandered happily. Clouds upon which to dance.
What she had not seen in her minds eye had been the unrelenting pain of human loss. Little Hermione had not yet allotted time for pain. She hadn't seen it coming.
Now, when a Hermione of eighteen years thought to the future, she could only see gaping holes where her beloved should have been.
Fleur, sitting in the sunshine, a daisy in her hair.
Fleur, swimming beside brunette curls in the Mediterranean sea.
Fleur, picking apples from across the orchard beside which they had magically constructed their own, little home.
Fleur, dripping red on the edge of a battlefield.
Desperately shaking the horror from her mind again, Hermione began to cry in earnest.
Throwing the blanket from her shoulders, Hermione leapt off the window-ledge, and ran.
She flew out the seventh year girls room faster than she ought to.
She rushed down the stairs, and tumbled through the common room, passing only ghosts along the way.
Heat, as she passes the still-warm fire.
Hermione positively crashes through the halls, pitter pattering desperation echoing off the walls. Past the staircase, around the corner, down the stairs forever and ever.
Finally, when she reaches her destination, she halts.
I don't know what to do.
Staring up at the great, oaken doors, Hermione Granger suddenly felt so, very small.
And so, little Hermione sat.
The very smallest version of herself she could find, the very youngest, sat there, on the floor. The flagstones of the corridor outside the great hall of Hogwarts School.
In the room before her, the life of Hermione had unfolded. Here, she felt so quiet. No need to be loud, she thought. It's all here before me.
All the noise I need.