Back with another one shot, actually this is the first I wrote, in french, so I translated it. Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling, and blablabla. If there's any mistake, please let me know. Hope you'll enjoy it, and don't forget that reviews are always welcomed, really. x

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Lying in the dark, her gaze lost somewhere before her, her mind wanders far away, and she's almost unconscious. Her eyelids don't lift anymore, and maybe, if she's lucky, soon she will be asleep. She snorts - luck, she doesn't know that now.

Then, there's a sudden bunch of memories that slowly surrounds her. A number, a move, a music. A laugh. A place, a hug, a scent. She closes her eyes, sinking further in her blanket, she's there again. A smile roams on her lips as she lives that scene again, a scene that will stay engraved in her memory forever. It felt so right, everything was right where it had to be. Everything's fine.

A goodbye, a farewell. All the people surrounding her knew well that it may be the last time. Everything was going to change soon, and they knew it. Mrs Weasley just let her go, when she met his gaze, and as he almost run to her, she knew. Soon, he was right in front of her, and only look at her, saying no word. Talking was pointless, words would never have been powerful enough for them to express everything they didn't dare to say before. Eyes locked in the boy's, who was still in front of her and didn't move at all, she figured it out. He did too, because the distance between them suddenly decreased. He leaned his head while she tiptoed. They shared a last look so as to reassure themselves, ensure this was what the other really wanted and softly, their lips brushed against each other's, and they closed their eyes. Nothing but the two of them mattered at that moment, their moment, they needed to feel that the other was really here, that this was really happening, finally. When he couldn't take it anymore, he crushed his mouth against hers, nothing brutal though, it just seemed so natural. This was how it was supposed to be, and they moved against the other's lips as if this wasn't the first time. She gripped at his shirt, and soon after her hand was in his hair, as he brought her closer to him. There was no room for shyness, they did not have time for this, not anymore. They broke the kiss grudgingly a few minutes - seconds, or even hours, they really had no idea - later, remembering they were supposed to breathe.

She heard someone calling her, turned back. The reality came back in her face. That was the moment, the war which will determine their future. The battle between the Good and the Evil. Either they will be dead in the next few hours or days, or they will win this, finding no joy in the victory, crying over the lost people. She faced him again, whispered in his ear that they'll talk after this, when all will be over. He didn't add anything, but nodded his head anyway. She pressed chastely her lips on his, a simple squeeze - a farewell, she did not knew it right then - and left.

And then nothing, the thought vanishes as quickly as it came. She even wonders if she didn't dream but she bitterly remembers that she doesn't dream, not anymore.

She is alone.

Alone in her cold bed, lying in the dark, surrounded by the shadows. Nobody's here, she can't be reassured, told that everything will be alright - even if she knows this ain't true. He isn't here, actually. So she cowered, in a position she had when her mother and she were only one person, hoping that maybe she would find some warmness, some comfort. She just can't move, her limbs are frozen. Slowly, viciously, an unpleasant thrill takes possession of her body and runs through it. A huge blank seems to be lodged in the hollow of her belly, blank that is suddenly filled, so that it's like she was just hit, violently. The oxygen hardly finds its way to her lungs, her breathing fastens - or maybe it slows down, she doesn't really know anymore. Her eyes are lost in the obscurity again, and abruptly, this is all too much, the darkness is overwhelming, it crushes her, and it feels like she is drowning. She straighten hastily, and fumbles awkwardly to find the switch.

Clic.

The sudden brightness attacks her eyes that were used to the obscurity but she honestly doesn't care. She would rather go through that than to feel that feeling of loneliness again. The light rays reassure her and a glance to her alarm clock - 4:23 AM - informs her that she should already be asleep, but she knows that she'll not be able to sleep, she knows that if she closes her eyes, some pictures will appear in her mind, sorely taunting her, and she won't be able to stop it.

So she stands up - with no sigh, no grunt, she doesn't roll her eyes, she just stands up. She knows perfectly well that in a few hours or so, she'll have to act as if everything was fine.

As if every object, even the banal ones, did not remind her of him, so that she wanted to disappear from the surface of the earth, forever. As if a bunch of ideas - that would earn her to undergo the tantrum of her mother if she ever knew - did not often cross her mind. As if this damn feeling which never left her alone, which litteraly ate her up inwardly, which was so glued to her skin, as if it was tatooed on it, did not exist.

Pretend, basically.

But it doesn't really mattered, because, for a year, since Fred's death actually, Hermione finally accepted that her life will never be the same again.

Resigned.