A/N : it's a teeny tiny fic I very quickly wrote tonight because I wanted to write something for the anniversary of the battle. It hasn't been beta-read since I wanted to post it today, more than likely it's not my best work (I'm so good at promoting myself!), but I just needed to write a little something for today. I hope you'll enjoy regardless!

(edit: Thanks jesrod82 for the quick beta-read!)


Fifteen years.

She feels so different now. She probably is. So much has happened since then.

Most days the war is just a fuzzy distant memory. Another life.

But then she looks down at her scarred left forearm, a constant reminder of what happened. And suddenly her mind twirls with 'what if' and possibilities of different outcomes for that fateful day, fifteen years ago.

She takes a minute to silently remember everything that happened that day.

Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Snape and so many others who died. Her shivers in front of the imposing skeleton of the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. The dread that dropped into her core when she saw Harry's limp body in Hagrid's arms. Ron's dry lips against hers for the first time.

Hermione smiles.

She remembers the sunrise the next day. She had stood at the top of the astronomy tower, Ron by her side, clutching her hand and tears running down his cheeks. She had watched the sunrise with new eyes that day.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a loud crash in the kitchen and she hurries down the stairs.

"Ron, what is going on? We have to be at the remembrance ceremony in ten minutes!"

When she enters the room, Ron is holding his nose and Hugo is crying under the kitchen table.

There's blood everywhere.

And for a half second, she is horrified and she stops breathing.

"Hugo. Wild magic," is all he can mutter to reassure her before turning toward the sink to avoid spilling more blood.

She sighs deeply, adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

"Come on out and tell me what happened sweetie," she tells Hugo warmly, casting a sideway glance at Ron, now holding a towel under his nose.

She grabs her wand, performs a quick healing charm toward her husband and cleans the kitchen with a careless switch. She makes their son sit down and takes his hand.

As she looks at the four years old's brown eyes, tears still rolling rapidly on his flushed cheeks as he's trying to catch his breath, she decides they'll skip the memorial. They have attended enough of them over the years. And as much as she knows how important it is to remember the past and learn from it, she also knows that, sometimes, life gets in the way. Her family is her present.

And her future.