Moonlight
Harry stroked his finger along the ridge of Hermione's cheekbone. Under the moonlight she appeared a goddess, untouched by worry or fear. With her face bathed in a silvery glow, it was like the last few years never happened; like Ron never happened.
…Like Harry never happened.
He felt guilt like a stone in his stomach. It was all his fault.
He just wished he could wash away her pain in moonshine, immerse her in luminescence, so she would emerge untouched by the cruelty all around them.
She looked so calm, and so beautiful, but Harry knew the innocent ignorance, the absence of blood-curdling terror, would be gone by the morning.
And it was all because of him.