The chilly winds nipped at the exposed skin of Harry's neck. His zip up jumper did nothing for his hands and neck but if you were to ask if he felt the cold he would tell you no. He felt nothing, standing here at the memorial for those who fell in the war, a sea of floating flowers with the photographs of each victim, set alight with pink flame hovered around the clearing in the forbidden forest, was the most he'd felt since it ended.
The flower in front of him casting a mild glow on his facial features was that for Hermione Granger, the girl who'd stuck with him through everything, who knew him best, who literally gave everything to keep him safe but now all he wanted was to hold her.
He remembers finding her limp,cold body on the grounds but not much after that. Everything became a dizzy watery blur from the point when he picked her up and rested her head in his lap desperately cradling her, hoping she'd just breath.
A professor, he doesn't care to remember who or why, pulled him away leaving her steadily stiffening corpse to lay still and isolated in the growing dew covered grass. He remembers being hurried up to the hospital wing that though half destroyed, was somehow still functional and full to bursting with those injured in the battles.
He saw familiar faces, he saw faces never before seen but not the one he wanted, he never would again. From the window closest to his assigned bed he spotted the patch of land previously holding her lifeless body that seemed to have been moved. At the time he guessed it had been taken to the great hall with the others, after all. Her family didn't remember her anymore.
A week was allowed for students to recover, what a joke, before an assembly announcing the project to create a memorial. The bodies were reportedly returned to families but in Hermione's case it was taken to Grimauld place, new residence of the Weasley clan.
Harry couldn't set foot inside the place that he called home. There were so many memories in those dark halls but the last one that he could remember was being with Hermione, cuddling her in his four poster bed when she had fallen out with Ronald. The two of them had fallen asleep next to each other after a few hours of talking, singing and laughing. Harry would always treasure that memory as his favorite one and no matter how hard people tried, they would never tarnish Hermione Granger's good name.
The day Hermione was taken to Grimauld place, Harry had taken himself to the house that he had spent his childhood in. Seeing as it was empty of the Durselys, Harry knew he could be by his own as long as he needed. The second he stepped through the threshold of the front door he loudly made himself annouced that he was there just in case anyone was there with him, but thankfully no one was. He turned around slightly and looked at the door, the memory of him and Hermione hugging the day he left this place for the last time, came flooding back. A single tear fell from his left eye and splashed onto the carpet below.
He slowly made his way up the stairs, taking one step at a time and quitely crying to himself. When he reached the door to his bedroom, he slowly pushed it open. Another memory came flooding back but this time of another friend. The house elf which saved his life more then once. He smiled slightly as he remembered the first time he met the elf. He was jumping up and down on his bed with so much gleam in his eyes, those big green tennis ball eyes.
Harry quickly walked into the room and walked over to his bed, sitting down on it slowly. He pulled open the drawer of his bed side table and pulled out the photo album that Hagrid had given to him when he left Hogwarts for the first time. He opened the front cover and smiled down on his parents. They looked so happy, so in love. Harry wanted that with Hermione but alas he couldn't. The next picture was the worst to look at. There she was, standing there with so much happiness, so much joy that it broke Harry's heart once again. His fingers traced the picture, smiling slightly at it. "I wish you were here Hermione. I need you, now more then ever" He whispered to himself.
The lamp lays abandoned on the floor, broken still with a spiderweb crossing where broken glass had fallen. He picks it up with half a smile andf places it on the dusty worn bedside table which promptly falls on a corner knocking everything off and opening a secret compartment he doesn't remember making.
Kneeling he empties the mystery drawer of it's contents, letters,photos even some old momentos that would mean nothing to anyone that wasn't him.
The least aged letter stands out, the ink is the boldest, the caligraphy the neatest, the parchment obviously the most well cared for prior to arriving in his clumsy hands.
Dear Harry
There isn't much I could say without breaking promises or orders and even though I'd love for nothing more then to be able to tell you everything, I can't without consequence.
We miss you, you should know that but sometimes I question it. I miss you more than I feel I should, I only tell you in case you do as well.
I hope to see you soon, take care of yourself.
Love Hermione xo
P.S Crookshanks still has your shirt and judging by his mood you're not getting it back ever.
Harry let his tears fall. He remembered the day that this was sent, a few weeks before his fifth year at Hogwarts. He folded up the parchment and placed it in his pocket, wanting to keep a piece of Hermione with him at all times, no matter how little the peice was. He sat back on his bed and let his body fall backwards so he was now lying on his back, looking up at the small gold stars which were stuck to the ceiling.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a wand. But this wand wasn't just anyone's wand. It was hers. He had gotten it from her dead body just seconds before he was pulled away and he had kept it with him since. He pointed the wand up at the ceiling and hoped to god that it would work for him, just this once. Harry wanted to see something; he wanted to see the last spell that Hermione had cast. The one that didn't save her life.
"Prior Incantato" He whispered to himself and then was when everything changed.
It wasn't a spell that hadn't saved her life that she had cast. It was a spell that ended her life. Hermione had cast the killing curse on herself. When things were tough, the one that was the toughest fell.
