Hermione woke to the sound of crashing waves as the ocean water was pulled too and fro on the beach. Sitting up, she brushed the sand from her face and arms as she looked around. It was night. The little slip of beach, brightly lit by the full moon, was deserted. For a moment she relaxed and took a deep breath. She did not know how she ended up here but was intensely relieved when she realized her location. It was her favorite place besides Hogwarts, a quiet beach on a small island in the French Antilles. It was place full of warmth and childhood memories, a place of comfort and peace. Jumping to her feet, she pulled her wand from her wet pant's pocket and turned in a slow circle. She could have been followed.

It was possible, but who would know of this place, other than her parents?

Her parents, who no longer remembered they had a daughter, thanks to a well placed spell.

Bending to grab her beaded bag that lay on the sand next to her, she ran up the beach towards the line of palms where the beach met the forest. Thankful for the bright moon light, she quickly picked a spot with one arching palm and started to walk in a large circle around it, setting up wards for any unwanted visitors. Once satisfied no one could see her or enter through the barrier, she pulled the tent from her bag and set it on in the

middle of the circle in the sand. Memories of the past few months filled her mind as she ran her hand over the folded bundle as if it was precious silk.

The memories of months on the run from the Deatheathers.

The search for Voldemort's horcuxes.

Of Harry.

Of Ron.

Ron's face flashed in her mind and she choked at the thought of him. Not now! She couldn't do this now!

Setting the tent down, she flicked her wand and a simple pitch appeared before her. With a deep sigh, she took a tentative step toward the warm glow that was emitting from inside. Pausing at its entrance, she faltered. The last time she had been in the tent they had been all been together. It had not been a happy time for them. It was filled with fear, uncertainty and intense hunger. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she pulled the flap away and stepped inside.

It had not changed at all unlike the lives of its previous inhabitants. It remained in the same state as they had left it not a month or so ago. It was playfully colored with different floral tapestries of oranges and pinks, greens and purples. In the center of the room four over stuffed chairs with pillows and a single couch, which all surrounded a wood burning stove.

Immediately she was struck with its warmth. She was quite wet from lying in the surf for God knows how long. With another flick of her wand, she cast a quick spell to dry herself, yet she was chilled to the bone. Rushing to the heat, she grabbed a log that lay next to the stove on the floor, opened the small metal door and added it to the red glowing embers. It was then the smell hit her.

The smell of burnt wood and old canvas, the smell of wet moss and rainwater. The smell of Ron.

Pain rose up like a raging fire from somewhere deep inside her from a place she never knew existed. It ripped as it coursed through her, destroying every bit of her previous self along the way. And when the pain had finally consumed her, the world faded away as she collapsed to the ground on the spot.

For the second time, Hermione woke on the ground, but this time she was on a rug. Standing, she looked around at the familiar room then walked to the purple chair and sat in it. Though she had no idea of the time, she guessed it was midmorning by the position of the sun, outlined through the tent's canvas ceiling. Her mouth was dry and tasted like salt. She needed water desperately. Immediately she glanced over to the kitchen area, knowing full well it was empty. They never had many supplies when they were on the run, at times going for days with nothing more than a thin broth made from wild mushrooms. It was quite atrocious yet it had been the best she could do under the circumstances.

Laughter floated to her in the air, pulling her attention from her thoughts to the tent's floppy canvas doors.

Of course, she was on the beach.

The muggle's flocked to this spot in search of the oceans cool relief from the island's heat. Stepping out into the bright sunlight, she was met with screaming happy children running in and out of the dazzling water. Women, slicked and shiny from tanning, lotion lay on color towels, the scent of coconut thick in the air. Men. who made no attempt to cover their stares at the scantly clad women.

The scene repeated over and over, filling the entire beach, except of course, for her little spot that she had warded off the night before. The Muggle's could not see or hear her, and she was sure none of them even questioned why there was a large empty patch of beach unoccupied. The wards ensured they would not even realize its existence. Still, it was an uncomfortable feeling. The wards were invisible, thus leaving her feeling very exposed, as if anyone could glance her way and see her standing there.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in the salt air. Stretching out her arms she focused on the tingling of her skin from the warm rays and the slight breeze that gently whirled around her. The light of the sun shone bright through her closed lids almost painfully but she did not turn away, not until the bright light turned to a flash of green.

Dropping to the ground and she covered herself, immediately bracing for the impact. When none came, she slowly uncovered her head and looked around. Nothing had changed around her. There were no dark wizards looming, no ominous black ropes with masks covering their faces, no inherent danger, just muggle's going about their fun on the beach, and a single green Frisbee flying through the air just outside her ward.

Crossing her legs, she sat up ignoring the hot sand and wrapped her arms around her aching middle. She did not want to feel the pain, did not want to remember Ron falling at her feet, dead in that flash of green not minutes before Harry destroyed Voldemort. She had run not a moment after Harry's triumph. In all the jubilation at the Dark Lord's defeat, she could not bare to tell Harry of Ron's death. She did not want to believe it was true herself and telling Harry would make it all too real. She could not face the pain she would put upon Harry or the Weasley's, who were already grieving the loss of one son. It was, after all, all her fault Ron was dead and not herself. It should have been her. It should have been. How could she tell Harry that, and look him in the eyes again. She couldn't, so she ran. Ran straight out the grand doors of Hogwarts, across the body littered grounds and out the front gates. Once past Hogwart's stone barriers, she apparated without thought of a destination, only to escape that place and Harry and Ron.

Pushing the palms of her hands into her temples, she shook her head and screamed in anguish at the scene that was replaying over and over in her head.

Ron's blank eyes staring up at her.

She wanted to stop it all. Just stop the thoughts and the truth and just sit on the beach in a void of emotion. There was only one way for it. Pulling her wand from her pocket with tears rolling down her face, she pointed the wand to her forehead. Squeezing

her eyes closed, she focused on Ron.

His hazel eyes and flame red hair, his warm kind smile.

Their first and last kiss.

For a moment she lived in the memory, trying to recall the feel of his lips on hers and the way his body felt pressed against her own. She smiled briefly through her tears then in a shaky voice whispered "Obliviate."