It seemed to be mourning what people have done to the land. War has completely devastated the country. No place is safe anymore. The best one could have at this time was a night's rest in a cave before fighting erupted once more. The air smelled of blood every time, screams could be heard regularly, sometimes so loud and so awful it could be heard for miles. You couldn't recognize anybody; not friend, not foe. Everybody is tired, everybody is worn out. It's as if everyone ran through time and grew older, much older.
Not even Hermione Granger could stop herself from being run down by the war. Not even her great mind and infinite abilities could remove the dark circles around her eyes, deep wrinkles on her face, and the constant shaking of her hands. She is damaged goods, just like everyone else. Damaged such that she couldn't even shed tears for what had just taken place. All she could do was stare up in the sky, trying to recall how it looked like without the dirty grey clouds. Despite the sorry state of what was in front of her, all she did was look up.
And it was in such a sorry state indeed. The house that once stood firmly for years was nothing more than a pile of rubble and twisted metal. She was at the countryside, but she didn't know where exactly. She had been chasing somebody. She had been running after him for months--sometimes it felt like years--and her search led her here, deep within the hills. At first she was surprised. The grass was still green here. The air was still fresh, and she swore she saw a couple of birds flying overhead. This place was still alive when she got here. But now...now she could tell none have survived the night before. Everything was still. Not because it was calm or serene, but because everything was dead. There was no green spot left on the hill she stood on, no tree or shrub left standing.
Everything was black. Everything was smoking. The blaze was terrifying last night, even for a war-torn veteran like her. The fires just ate everything up. Everything. She suddenly wondered about the family that lived here. What were they like? What did they do? When she reached this hill the night before, she saw the family inside the house, having dinner. With him. She was looking for him for so long. When she finally found him, inside the house, eating, smiling, her heart thumped furiously. They invited him for dinner. They seemed to have treated him well, given him fresh clothes, and he looked like he was able to clean himself up--he looked ten years younger. They didn't know who he was. They didn't know that he was hiding something. They were muggles, isolated from the war. It was incredible how the fighting hasn't reached this place yet, considering the war was on its fifteenth year.
Fifteen years. Hermione had been fighting for fifteen long years. It was so long she couldn't remember what life was like more than fifteen years ago. Maybe back then the sky would be blue sometimes. She still can't recall how it looked it, but she was sure it was beautiful. Not like this hill. She realized she couldn't even remember the color blue anymore. All she saw for fifteen years were shades of crimson, black, grey. It was as if someone had placed colored lenses on everyone, so all everyone could see were those colors. Colors of war, of death, of despair. Maybe that's why she couldn't picture the sky blue anymore. She had completely forgotten about her life before the war. And it was unfortunate that not even that thought could bring her to cry, or extract any emotion from her. She was, after all, damaged. Her emotions no longer existed, for in war, they were useless. They wouldn't help her survive. And survival was important for anybody, good or bad, pureblood or muggleborn. Staying alive was all they could do.
"There you are. I've been looking for you."
Someone had interrupted her thoughts. Someone she knew. It had also been quite a while since she heard that voice.
"Draco...what are you doing here?" He walked slowly towards her. Like her, he suffered from the war. He lost the grace and poise he used to have as a young man, his confident demeanor replaced with complete exhaustion. He looked to her like he was about fifty, even though she knew that he was younger than that. Much, much younger.
"Is it done?" She was so tired...all she did was nod. "The family who lived here died trying to protect him."
He saw their bodies, nearly unrecognizable as human. He sighed. He was tired as well. "Foolish people. They didn't know, did they?"
She shook her head. "They knew nothing. So unfortunate..."
He held her hands. She was shivering again. She always seemed to shiver. It was too bad he couldn't offer any warmth. "Indeed it is. Shall we go? Everyone's waiting for your return. The fighting is over."
Hermione stared at him like he was an illusion. Was it really over? She didn't have to fight anymore?
"Is it true?" Draco smiled at her. It was an almost foreign, unnatural action. It had been years since he last smiled. But now that she was here with him, it felt oddly familiar. "It's true. We've won, Hermione."
"Then that means..." she looked at her target, his body lying still on the ground, his eyes gleaming from quiet acceptance. Acceptance of the inevitable. When he stood face to face with Hermione, he knew they had lost. He braced himself for defeat, no longer fearing death, after coming close to it so many times in the past. His only regret was that he had the nice family involved. And he couldn't protect them.
"Ron Weasley was the last one of them." Draco finished for her. "They're all gone. We've won."
"Even Harry?" she asked. She wanted to know. She wanted to know for sure that it was all over. He kissed her hands.
"Everyone of them is gone. Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Dean, everyone. War's over, Hermione. We've won."
She threw herself into his arms. They won. No more fighting. No more death. No more.
Hermione couldn't remember the last time the sky was blue.
Maybe it was because she chose to forget.