Biting Suffocation

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling or any of her affiliates.

Cover Art from Pinterest!

Warning: shameful amounts of angst ahead - as usual :p

Written for Hogwarts Assignment #1, Muggle Arts #1: 'write about someone facing a loss.'

Feedback is always appreciated!

It's hard to know how to feel when your best friend has just told you he's about to die.

Hermione doesn't think even she can find the right word to put to it, but if she had to choose, she'd pick suffocating.

Because that's what it is, really.

The air slipping from her lungs, the barely audible intake of breath, the way her fingernails dig into her palms.

The way she can't breathe.

Hermione's never known what it's like to drown before but she thinks that this feeling must be a pretty accurate portrayal.

It's agony; it feels like Fred but worse, and Hermione's almost certain that if someone were to cut her open, they'd see her dying inside.

There's not many eighteen year olds who can say they've fought to protect something that's pure.

Hermione can and now it seems as though that was all in vain because she's staring at her best friend and seven years worth of study, preparation, Hogsmeade visits, and hastily made plans aren't enough to keep Harry alive tonight.

And maybe it's her fault, maybe they should've all tried harder, but looking at him now, Hermione wonders when their happy ending got snatched from them.

Teenagers aren't supposed to save the world, that Hermione knows for definite.

Teenagers are supposed to laze around, wearing odd clothes and staying up until ungodly hours of the morning chatting with their friends, their biggest worry wether they're going to pass that not-so-important test set for tomorrow.

Teenagers shouldn't have to fight until they bleed and watch their friends fade out of existence in front of them.

But here they all are, trying to be brave in a story that has forced them to be heroes and, really, Hermione isn't sure how this sick, twisted fairytale is ever supposed to end.

"I'll go with you." She whispers, choking on the rapidly rising emotion building in her throat. She steps forward, reaching out a tentative hand to Harry, because they're the Golden Trio, and if they're going down, they're going down together.

"No." He says and he's so stubborn and reckless - that stupid bloody Gryffindor - and Hermione wishes she was Gryffindor enough to ignore him.

"Kill the snake. Kill the snake and then it's just him."

And Harry's still being the hero, even after all these years, and he's only seventeen, the adults should be dealing with this- where are the grown ups in this bedtime tale gone wrong?

But the adults are too busy burying their children and the suffocation is back, biting Hermione's throat like barbed wire as she gives her best friend one final hug, trying to leave some part of her essence to walk with him to his death.

If he starts trying to say goodbye, she thinks she might weep.

When he goes, his footsteps leaving echoes on her pounding heart, she thinks the world might be ending.

They've been through so much together, the three of them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione always, that it seems unfathomable that The Boy Who Lived should have to take these finals steps alone.

Her hand finds Ron's and she squeezes and it's so hard knowing that you're going to loose your best friend tonight and there's not a single thing you can do to prevent this-

Seven years of friendship flash by her eyes; seven years of laughter and well meant hugs, smiles and cheers at Quidditch matches, invisibility cloaks and Marauders maps, Honeydukes sweets and foamy butterbeers, tedious lessons and fantastical escapades; seven years of Harry, Ron, and Hermione wiped out in an instant.

She wants to cry, then.

She wants to sink down to the floor and sob until she collapses and she wants to wake up in a world where she doesn't have to be constantly checking over her shoulder and asking herself if she'll be dead by morning.

But, she realises, that can only happen once Voldemort is dead, and the price of a safe world is one in which Harry Potter is not alive.

Hermione wonders dimly if it's worth it.

She looks at Ron and tries to smile; at least they have each other, they'll always have each other, even if the forfeit is loosing their best friend.

"I love you, you know." Ron says after a couple of minutes and when Hermione says it back, she means it, even through the tears bristling in her eyes and she knows now that they're both wishing they said it to Harry before he went and sacrificed himself for the ultimate Greater Good.

With a jolt, Hermione realises that now Harry will only ever be spoken of in past tense.

Is he dead yet, she wonders?

It must have been ten minutes since he left and Hermione hopes to whoever's out there that his death was painless.

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, an annoying habit from childhood she's never quite managed to shake, and fiddles with the wand in her hand, needing to fight or hex or do something, anything to take her mind off of the suffocation slowly crawling up her throat.

It's like being smothered, it's like the feeling of flying on a swing when you're a child, only to go too high and soar into the clouds with a vile dread pooling in your stomach, knowing you're going to fall and smash into a million different pieces-

And then there's cold, high pitched laughter and a voice which reverberates around the smouldering castle:

"Harry Potter is dead."

And Hermione crashes into the ground with an almighty crack as she splinters.

First of all, I am so sorry for the angst. But technically we all know what happens after this so it's not actually that sad? Whatever, I'm just trying to fool myself at this point.

Please note that this fic is based off of the movies because obviously this scene is not in the books.

Thank you for reading and I hope you all have a great day/night! Xx