The lake was still, sun barely rising over the hills and ridges of the surrounding mountains. The haze of the moors had not yet lifted, however, she would prefer they wouldn't. They were so beautiful to gaze upon.
Hermione, as of recent, had heard rumor that there had been a solution to finally defeating Voldemort. She was skeptical, but at the moment she had to at least hope that there was such truth in war.
On this morning, a cool September morning, when pumpkins began to flourish and the waters would soon begin to frost, she awaited at the second tower to the right of the gates of Hogwarts. She could see the many young wounded Witches and Wizards, but had not yet seen the faces she had direly hoped would return.
Her cloak floated on the breeze, and she took account of every face, but they weren't there. He wasn't there.
"Ms. Granger," she heard. She glanced behind her to see McGonagle, standing in the stone arch of the entrance to the balcony. She gave a slight nod to the tall woman, and returned her watch to the faces.
Broom after broom, apparation after appartaion, no sight of them. Even a few of the chief Battle Griffin had flown in, but no sign of Ron, Harry, or...him.
"Ms. Granger, Master Dumbledore insists on having a word with you. I think it would be in your best interest to attend this time." she said, before her robes were swung around to trail her. Hermione had been meaning to see him, since she had been too busy to hear him out as of late. However, being Chief of Tactitioners, among other things, was strenuous.
She slowly made her way down the many stone steps of the tower's spiral stair case, and entered the main hall. A few people acknowledged her presence as she passed them by, but she remain focused on arriving at her intended destination.
She reached the large statue, which had been shattered on the last assassination attempt on Dumbledore's life. So, in conclusion, no one needed a password anymore, but only to step on the stairway, which automatically lifted when any weight had been suspended on its surface.
She slowly made her way into the dim office, which had become more of a retreat than anything. And there he was, lying in his death bed.
"You may leave us now, Minerva," he told her in between breaths. This was another, rather important, reason she had never answered his beckoning calls. It was more than her heart could bare to see the Headmaster in this state.
His voice worn, his face pale, his body thin, and his eyes were never focused anymore. "Ms. Granger," he began.
She strode to his side, taking the hand that had been reaching for her. He could not not look upon her, nor anyone anymore, but his head turned to face her.
"Mr. Weasley, do not hide in the shadows..." he called out. She turned around, and from behind the door, sheepishly, walked Ron. She was more than ecstatic to see him, and would have knocked him over there and then, but she remained by Dumbledore's side.
They exchanged nods, though he looked a little peeked. "Mr. Weasley has just returned last night, with new that I think you should hear from him before anyone else." Dumbledore said, his voice trailing off.
"Hey." Ron told her as she let go of the old man's hand, and walked up to him. She said nothing, but slowly took him in her arms, and held him. She had feared that she may not see him or any of her other friends again.
"Is Harry here with you?" she asked. He looked to the Headmaster, and then back down to her.
"He's..." he began. She tried to read his eyes - she usually could. However, this time he seemed withdrawn. "The war's over, Herm..." he told her. Her eyes lit up, and her chest swelled. She screamed as she hugged him tighter, making him cry out in agony.
She pulled away, and noticed him holding his side. "I-I'm sorry, had I known..." she said. He opened his robes, and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal bandages around his lower abdomen. "Yeah...took a few blows, but nothin' fatal - But for a while there I could have sworn I was gonna snuff it." he said.
"So they really did find a way to defeat him once and for all? He's not coming back?" She asked. He nodded, and she felt more alive at that moment than any other. Life could now go on. She smiled, and then noticed him holding a long, sleek cane to his side. Her heart sunk for the suffering that everyone had endured.
"So when's Harry coming back?" she asked, smiling brilliantly now. His face sulked once more, and she raised a questioning brow.
"Harry's..." he began. She waited for him to finish, wanting to know where he was so she could write him. She then heard Dumbledore make an odd noise, forcing her to turn.
She rushed up to him to see if he needed anything at the moment, and he lifted his other hand, containing a letter. She slid it slowly from his hand, and then turned to Ron, who avoided eye contact at the moment.
She broke the seal, and lifted the flap of parchment. There, inside, as she and anyone else would have expected, was a letter. She took the folded parchment out, and straightened it out. Ron must have known what it said, since he was with Harry at all times.
Hermione,
Since the moment we met on the train, eight short years ago, you've never ceased to amaze me. You and Ron have been more of a friend than anyone could ever hope to have. Unfortunately, these will be the last words you'll ever read, or hear from me.
I can't tell you anything you don't already know, because the way I feel for the both of you is beyond words. But it has to be this way, and I hope that you'll understand one day. Don't take this personally.
I've asked that this letter to be sent after we've gone through with the plan. That means that, as you're reading this, I'm already dead. I can't ask you to remember me, but I can't bear you to forget me.
I Love you very much,
She stood there, having nothing to say. The only reaction from her body where the tears that fell onto the parchment, making the ink run and the paper welt.
"I'm sorry," Ron said. She could think of nothing at the moment, for her mind had temporarily shut down. Ron watched as she remained still in the spot. Dumbledore shifted, and this time Ron walked to the side of the large death bed, while she remained frighteningly still.
"It was the only way, Hermione." Ron pleaded. Seeing her like this was scary, especially to Ron. It was as if she'd died, but her body remained alive.
"Mr. Weasley is correct. Voldemort could not be killed with previous attempts, because every time we killed him, he was resurrected once more. We had finally found that Harry was the source." Dumbledore told her. "Because Harry's scar, he carried some of Voldemort's essence, making it impossible for Voldemort to completely die."
"So," Ron piped in. "Harry had to die in order for...You kno..." Ron paused for a moment. He shut his eyes, and breathed. "Voldemort," he said. "He had to die in order for Voldemort to die as well...It was Harry that kept him alive..."
She couldn't believe them. - she wouldn't. This was all completely, and utterly, unfair. "Ms. Granger," she heard Dumbledore say. To this, she looked at his pitiful figure, wiping her tears on her sleeve.
"Young Malfoy has returned as well. He is in the hospital wing, if you wish to see him." he told her. Ron gave Dumbledore the oddest look. "Well what does that have to do with anyth-" he said, but before he was able to finish, she was already out the door, and down the stairs. She needed him more than anyone at this moment.
Once the stairs had finally reached the floor, she ran. She ran like had never run in her life, to see him. She bumped into, and knocked over, numerous people, but her mind was set. Her long locks of golden-brown hair drifted behind her as she made her way up the barely shifted stairs, and down another corridor.
Passing statue after statue, she raced, relentless, never stopping for breath once. She then turned into yet another corridor, but this time she could see it. The hospital wing. She saw madam Pomfrey attended to some of the wounded, and she glanced up.
"Hello Ms. Granger." She called after the flash of the girl. She then ran all the way to the end of the rather long stretch of beds, with had to be extended due to so many patients. She glanced, left, then right, looking for his face.
And as she reached the very last four beds, she stopped. Second to last, on the right side, he slept. She was breathing terribly, but she made her way to his side.
"Draco," she said as she slightly jabbed his side. He did not stir. She tried once more, but his face did not move, his body didn't even twitch. "He's in a comatose state..." she heard. She turned to the transparent, ghastly face of Nearly-Headless Nick.
"Hello Sir Nicholas." she said, looking down once more to his emotionless face. It portrayed no pain, no sorrow, no joy, not a single muscle stressed.
So this is what the Wizarding world had been reduced to. No Voldemort and no prosperity in the near future; only death and grievance. Of course, muggles weren't having it any easier either. Almost all of West Manchester had become Voldemort's throne, and muggles his pet-slaves. She had also heard word that his forces had conquered the western shores as well.
So, in a word, the world of modern men had come to an almost complete, and total, end. She didn't know what to feel at the moment. Hearing news of war's end was to be a joyous occasion, not a mournful damnation.
"I don't know what I'll do if I lose him as well..." she said. "Er, Morning young Ronald..." she heard Sir Nicholas say. She turned and glanced at him, but turned her attention back to her fallen love.
"How long's this been goin' on then?" he asked, rather angrily she might add. She waited a moment, and fell to her knees, taking in his cold hand. "Two years." she replied, not actually caring about how mad he was, or how red his ears probably were at the moment.
"How could you and him have - with all the - and his - You know!" he shouted. She couldn't care less what he thought right at that moment - she couldn't afford to. This war had taught her one thing, and one thing only; Life is too short not to do what others thought wrong, if you yourself knew in your heart that it was right.
"That snake almost got me killed. He's a right bastard - that's what he is...probably using you." Ron said, raising his voice more. At this last statement, and the fact that her life had been flipped in a twenty minute period, she slowly stood, and turned her head in his direction. Ron's hand, which had been raised, had now fallen abruptly.
Her eyes flashed warning, and her hand was now gripping her wand. He slowly backed away, feeling regret (for once) in what he had said. Nearly-Headless Nick had already fled, knowing full and well what Hermione Granger was capable of.
"H-Hermione," Ron began pleading. He hadn't thought of the fate she could put him in - what oblivion. "Think about what you're doing!" he told her, grinning in hopes that she would calm down.
He then turned around, and ran like a little girl - which was the wisest decision anyone could make when facing Hermione. Dueling Hermione was like a mouse trying to fight a tiger - it just wasn't going to happen. In all honesty, Hermione probably would have been the best weapon for the war, she had promised.
She promised him that she would fight, so she stayed behind instead, to comfort the sick, and heal the wounded. And to this promise he had proposed, she gave him only accredited Valor, and vigilant Virtue. So she was not about to let anyone, even Harry himself, to talk that way about him.
Leaving, as her heart could bear no more today, she wandered around the courtyards. She came across a rather large statue - one that Dumbledore had placed there this passing year, before he became terribly ill.
There, wings spread widely, dagger in one hand and weights in other, stood Nemesis: Goddess of Justice and Retribution. Hermione couldn't help but marvel at the 20 ft. statue. She'd never really looked upon it until now.
The goddess appeared to be blind folded, and Hermione couldn't help but relate. So much rested on the goddesses shoulders, and given the chance, she could more than qualify to solve such trivial things, but she was blind, and was helpless to see the truths before. Ironic, since she was the goddess of "Justice".
Hermione had never really "prayed" before - logic had kept her nicely occupied. She didn't even know what to pray to or believe in, so she chose the one person who might have understood her in her position.
She looked up into the goddess's face, and did not speak aloud, but asked for one thing. She asked only that Draco live - that the world go back to the way it was before all of this. Sure, it was noticeably feeble of Hermione to be this weak, but she knew not what else to do. She needed someone to depend on for once, instead of everyone leaning on her.
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A/N: Okay, so here it is. My first Harry Potter fic! It is a little cliche, with the war thing, but some of it hadn't been used before, eh? Eh? Well, I'll have the next chapter up soon, so PLEASE review! ; D