Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

Written as a gift fic for Nikki, BloodWings1992, one of the amazing Chasers for the Wasps. For her having one of the highest scores in round 5. Congrats, Katy :)

Truly Magical

Magic was a wondrous thing.

Wizards, in their arrogance, said that they understood Magic. They imposed rules, limitations, on something that had always been free. They measured the possibilities by their own accomplishments, and not by what actually was.

So, when a wizard said: 'it cannot be done', they were not speaking about the limitations of Magic, but of their own.

Of course, none of the wizards understood this.

Magic became restricted, bound by human boundaries and limitations. It was only truly free when, in their innocence, children willed something into being. Accidental magic they called it, when in reality they should have called it True Magic.

Magic was wish and intent and will and imagination.

It was almost sacrilege to restrain any of those things – but wizards were humans, no matter how magical they were, and humans needed rules, order. Even when they went around breaking the Laws of Nature, they needed rules and order to make sense of it.

That did not change the fact, however, that Magic had none of those things.

"Hermione."

A small smile graced her lips; she knew he would come.

"Harry." She grimaced at how weak she sounded. The last thing she wanted was to cause him pain. She felt him hold her hand, and she so wanted to grip it back, but she knew she couldn't. It was taking everything she had just to remain conscious and speak with him. Her time was running out, she knew.

"Hermione, what's happening? Why won't you go to St. Mungos?"

"There's no need, I know what's happening to me." She smiled at him, needing him to know that everything was alright.

"What's wrong?" The grip on her hand tightened.

"Nothing is wrong, Harry. I swear it."

"They say you're dying!" He leaned into her, his tears hitting her pale cheek.

"I'm not dying, Harry." The hope in those green eyes almost broke her. "I'm disappearing."

He sagged on his seat, his shoulders slumped. "I don't understand."

She knew that, so she told him a story.

She started by telling him of Magic, True Magic, not the limited form the Wizards preached. Then she told him about a boy. A little boy, with big, green eyes, messy, black hair, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. How that lonely, little boy wished for a friend. A best friend. Someone that would love him, support him, believe in him. Someone that he would hold close to his heart, someone that would chase away the loneliness.

And remember, she told him, magic is all about our desires, our will, our intent.

And this special, little boy was magical – even if he did not know it. The boy was a wizard; a wizard not yet restrained by rules and limitations.

So, when the little boy wanted nothing more than a best friend, Magic created one for him.

Of course, as untrained as the child was, he was not very specific – so, even though Magic created a best friend for the young wizard, they were far apart and would not meet for some years to come.

The child never knew that his dearest wish had been fulfilled, while the best friend knew it was merely a matter of time before they were to meet.

And then, when the child was eleven and the best friend was twelve, they met on a beautiful scarlet train.

Hermione never lost her smile while she was telling the story, her story, their story.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, his hand still holding hers. "That's not possible, Hermione."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Silly wizard," she murmured, lamenting that her voice was failing her. Her time was near, she was already feeling her heart slowing. "Haven't you heard a word I said? There are no limitations to magic."

"If that's true then why are you disappearing?"

"The magic you wrought was for a best friend."

"And I still need a best friend! I need you."

"I knew the moment you fell in love with me, because the magic sustaining me started waning." She wished to have the strength to hold onto his hand when she felt him pull away. "You started dating Ginny, and you were so happy for Ron and I. But after the battle, when everything settled, you realized your feelings, you acknowledged them – even though they had already been there for years. I was more than your best friend."

He was so very pale, and she wanted nothing more than to hold him.

"I'm killing you..."

"No!" How she wished she had more strength. How she wished to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. To make him understand. "You are not killing me. I exist only because of you. I would rather have five seconds of your love than a life-time without it."

"Hermione." He held her face between his warm palms, tears running down his cheeks and mingling with her own.

It was time, she knew. She could barely feel his touch. Even so, she needed him to know.

"I love you."

Magic was a terrible thing.