Author's Note: I am not, and nor will I ever be, J.K Rowling.
Hermione stood quietly, staring into the depths of the inky lake ahead of her. Her wand hung, limp and forgotten, in a blood-stained hand by her side as she watched the sickly reflection of Hogwarts shudder across the gentle waters.
"Hermione?" asked a soft voice from behind her. Without a word she turned to face the visitor, her brown eyes dull in the gentle moonlight.
"Merlin..." whispered George as he stepped forward.
"Hello George," murmured Hermione, her wand slipping from her fingers as a huge sob wracked her body. Tears slid down her grimy face, leaving soft silver trails on her skin as another sob shook her thin frame.
"Come here," muttered George softly, ignoring his own tears as he pulled her into a gentle hug. She smelt of blood and dirt and pain, but it was nothing compared to the faint stickiness of her tears against his chest.
After a long moment Hermione stepped back and dried her tears on her sleeve, sniffing quietly as George watched her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her lips quivering softly as she spoke. "I should go."
"Please don't..." George hung his head, dark lashes obscuring his shame-filled eyes. Who was he to beg, when she had been through just as much? No one, he thought bitterly as Hermione gave a jerky nod and sunk to her knees, unaware of the thick layer of ash coating the grass.
Morning found them sprawled untidily beneath the old willow tree, their limbs tangled in an awkward dance of warmth and comfort. A thin layer of dew coated their bodies, clinging to eyelashes and fingernails as the sun fought to rise beyond the layer of smog hanging just above the treeline.
George was the first to wake, his red hair tousled and adorned with a myriad of leaves and plaster-flakes. Yawning, he shifted Hermione into the crook of his arm and arched his back, trying and failing to relieve the tense muscles there. As he fell back into a lazy, one-sided stretch Hermione stirred, her eyes opening slowly, cautiously.
"I feel disgusting..." groaned Hermione as she attempted to run a grimy hand through her knotted hair. After a moment she gave up and fell backwards onto the grass, brown eyes staring up into the thick layer of grey above her.
"Do you think we could stay right here and pretend that everything is alright beyond the clouds?" asked Hermione quietly, lashes brushing her cheeks as she forced away tears.
"No," whispered George softly, cerulean eyes lifting to stare up into the seemingly infinite bank of grey to avoid just how much he wanted to lie and tell her yes.
"I know," sighed Hermione, tears running wild down her cheeks as her lashes gave way. George sat silently beside her, listening to the sound of her tears as her dreams of never-never land vanished into the air between them.
When her tears dried the sun was high in the sky, shining molten-brown through the cloud of impenetrable grey that danced above their heads. Her cheeks had swollen, creating dimples by her mouth where the salt pooled with promises to be there later, just in case.
"I'm sorry," said George softly, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.
"For what?"
"All of this," replied George, his voice falling to a whisper. And I am, he thought. So very, very sorry.
"It isn't your fault, this began long before we did. We were just here for the end," said Hermione with a sad smile, her hand coming to rest lightly on his with a flesh-whisper of: I don't blame you. Her fingers were cold with old tears and dew, but he slid his between them anyway, seeking the sort of comfort you can't get without brushing skin-on-skin.
"I know," he whispered, and in that moment, he did.