A/N: Again, the only thing that belongs to me is the Plot. Everything else belongs to the wonderful JK Rowling
I watched him walk away, that proud gait he always possessed seemed somehow less intimidating. Well, I suppose seeing said person die in front of you has a way of changing a person's perspective. But what was all that about? I don't think I'll ever get another chance to speak with him again. He'll either end up locked up within the bowels of Azkaban, or he'll be lauded as a hero, which he'll no doubt despise. With my eyes closed tight I can smell the scent of sandalwood that always surrounded him, I suppose that obviously has something to do with the fact that his cloak is still draped around me. How odd. These signs of tenderness coming from a man whom I had only believed hated me with the utmost strength of his being. The only other person he hated more was Harry. Harry. The word brings a fire-hot pain shooting through my chest. I'll never see those bright green eyes ever again. He paid the ultimate sacrifice. And Ron…well, that's best left alone. He's never dealt with his jealousy and grief well. Especially not when they are combined.
A rush of sensation overwhelms me. The adrenaline is wearing off, and simultaneously, the exhaustion and pain are coming to take its place. It's an unfortunate state of being, this constant fighting. But luckily it's over now. Oh, Harry how I miss you.
I shake my head and reluctantly stand and begin to make my way towards the infirmary. The crumbling walls of Hogwarts shadow the grounds and leave me feeling bereft and exposed. Can a castle feel? I've always believed that she, Hogwarts, with magic flowing through every stone, must have some sentience. My hand rests against her broken walls, and I stumble in surprise. There's something pulsing beneath my hand. It's warm, and rhythmic. Similar to that of a heartbeat. How incredibly odd. I must have a concussion of sorts. There's no logical explanation for this. None. No, I'll keep my fantastical delusions to myself and move on.
I make my way towards the infirmary when suddenly Ron steps in my path. I really don't have the energy for his tantrums at the moment. But we did just lose a dear friend, and as much as it hurts, I need to be there for Ron.
"Hermione, there's a problem. Harry…he's..well.." Ron stutters. I really wish he'd just spit it out. I don't have time for his ignorance. I wince. The sound of his name hurts. And that was a very unnecessary thought. Ron isn't a complete dunce. He's been more useful than even I give him credit for.
"He's what, Ronald?" I respond exasperatedly. "Dead? He's dead. Yes. I know. I was there remember?" Before I can really get rolling he cuts me off. Circe, I hate it when he does that.
"No, Hermione! He's gone. Missing. No one knows where he is."
"Don't be ridiculous. We saw him fall. We saw him!" I shout. There's no way that what he is telling me can be true. It just doesn't make sense. Besides, Harry wouldn't fake this. Not without telling Ron and me about his plans.
I chew my lip and wonder if the Professor had any knowledge of this. He and Harry shared a rather interesting exchange of expressions just minutes before his "death". I shake my head.
"Look, Ronald. There's no way that what you're saying is making any sense. I don't understand how this is helping you, but I need to go get checked out by Madame Pomfrey. And so do you, so come along." I say with the air of someone who knows everything, which I'm quite accustomed to, but this time it's just a cover. I've been shaken, and I think Ron knows that and that's why he simply acquiesced. That doesn't usually happen.
Well, Madame Pomfrey will probably restrict me to bedrest for the rest of the day, but first thing tomorrow, I'm finding the Professor, and he's going to help me…whether he likes it or not.