She does not know how long their sail, but the beating heart of the girl is flushed against her own. She whimpered at first but now had closed her eyes and is softly snowing at her chest.
Her Rose all along. She runs her fingers down her hair. The same course texture at Ron's. And it brings tears to her eyes again. He'd never seen her, never tried to find her all of these eight years. And the only man who'd ever cared enough had cast away the peeling strips of blue in the distant past.
It was funny the way life worked. She'd only known Snape for three months. Three months. Ron, she'd known for nearly twenty-eight. And yet the wizard who had grasped her hand, who had walked the depths of the crumbling world, the one who had given his life was now far behind them. And just like that, she'd never see him again. She was not sure if what she felt was grief or gratitude, but likely a mixture of both. Regardless she sobbed quietly so the girl would not wake up.
The warm kiss still lingering on her lips. It felt colder without it and she wished he had not kissed her at all. Now she was shivering in the salty breeze, her throat shaking from the tears. She would never see him again. And she could take back all of her words, listen to all of his sarcastic quips, buy him every known sweet in the world had she known he would be waiting for them on the other shore.
Sometime later, the shore began to show through the distance. She had never come this far through the depths of the dream. She had imagined something grandiose. Like the final coming, the last triumph.
The boat rustled as its bottom grazes the wet sands. She gives the girl a vigorous rub awakening her. They step from the boat. Her hand grasping the freckles. As she walks forward, the waves drain away, the sand fizzles off. The heels of her feet feel emptiness like the footsteps fade into nothing. She continues looking forward, her steps more vigorous.
Now ahead are muted leaves. She'd never been here before. Now she sees they are rose bushes. Sharp thorns grip her hands and she pulls them away from her daughter's face. It doesn't matter how many scratches are on her own. Her sleeve now wrapped on the knuckle as it shields her face. She casts her spell and the thorns peel away ever so slowly.
On the other end, a deep clearing. An older woman rocks back and forth. In her hands, a navy fabric. As they approach, the fabric had velvet buttons clasped to the sleeve. It looked worn, but the woman carefully sews it together, button to the weaves.
"Grandmother?" she whispers.
The woman looks up. She notices her eyes are the same piercing dark as Sev's and that same crooked nose. She smiles.
"You've finally come home."
The girl releases Hermione's grasp and runs into the old woman's arms. She kisses the child's cheek and then beckons Hermione closer. The woman, she'd never met her before but she appears so familiar. A small cross hangs from her neck. She smells of lavender as Hermione buries her nose into the fabric of the velvet navy shirt. Where had she seen it before? She thinks of Snape one last time and realizes she has no more tears to cry. Only a dryness at the back of her throat that won't leave her alone.
And when she opens her eyes, she is lying on the floor of a large wooden church. It smells of apple strudel and candle wax. And high above, the church bells ring once. And her hand grips a little warm one. The head of red hair fast asleep on the sofa. And Hermione watches her until she too falls asleep.
Up on the windowsill, the soft patter of cat feet tiptoe along the shutters and down off the ledge into the black. The body hits the floor with a thud and its neck breaks.