Hermione turned the pages, watching as they automatically fell open to the picture of the four of them. She smiled sadly to herself. So, she wasn't the only one who frequented this page. The once white page was smudged with dirt and Harry's messy handwriting, his little notes on producing a good potronus littering the margins. Taking a deep breath she shifted her eyes to the photograph. Tears pooled before she could stop them. She closed her eyes, shutting out the shabby tent, the sound of the forest around them and transported herself into the future. It was a indulgent daydream, a foolish one perhaps, but she couldn't stop herself and she didn't really want to. She pretended it was a year from now, the war was done and no one was lost. Harry was happy again, happy with Ginny. And Hermione was happy, too. Happy with Ron, who had returned to them. Hermione breathed deeply, imagining she could smell the sunshine in Ron's hair, and pretended.