Hermione traced a finger along the windowsill, gathering up the dust that had gradually come to rest there. She lifted her fingertip and touched it to her forehead absentmindedly, leaving a small smudge. Hermione let her hand fall to her side. Her entire body shook, wracked with sorrow. She let out a strangled cry of sorrow as another batch of tears made its way down her cheeks.

She saw him long before he saw her. His body prostrate on the ground, his eyes bleary, she lent over him. She bit back her own tears, and told him that everything was going to be alright, even though it clearly wasn't. At the sound of her voice, his eyes came back into focus and caught on her face. He smiled weakly.

Hermione pulled her legs to her chest and buried her head in her arms. How was she supposed to live now? She looked over at the inert body on the table, and it just seemed wrong somehow. She felt empty; hollow and barely human. All metaphors failed to describe her deep, aching sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She ignored his words. "Voldemort's gone."

"Yeah."

"You killed him."

"Yeah."

Reluctantly she rose from her spot and approached the table. There her beloved lay, eyes closed, mouth turned up in a soft, reassuring smile. A golden medal hung from his neck that read proudly: Order of Merlin, First Class. It didn't fit with him. The honor wasn't an appropriate mark on his death or his life.

All he'd wanted was to live a life with some sense of normalcy. And the award certainly didn't attribute to that.

There was a moment of intense, awkward silence. She brushed back a piece of his hair and let a single tear fall down her face.

"Shh, don't cry," he said.

"Why not?" she croaked.

"I don't want to make you unhappy."

"My love," Hermione whispered in his ear, "Why'd you have to leave?"

She embraced his body, the empty shell of what had once been the man she loved. It was cold to the touch and almost made her pull back in horror, but she held on.

"I don't think you can avoid that now," she said.

"That's the hardest part," he said. "The other pain means nothing."

She whimpered, moaned.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice suddenly strong, "Get on with your life. Fight evil. Do spells. Eat. Shower. Sleep," he paused, hesitating, "Fall in love."

Hermione walked away from his body and returned to the window, pondering what he'd said to her. She couldn't ignore his wishes. And yet it seemed so… rude, so disrespectful to move on. Hermione wondered if she could take that burden.

"I am in love."

"You can't love the past."

"You're not the past!" she said, anger bubbling in her voice.

"I will be soon."

Hermione wished she could stop thinking about it. She wished that for one moment she could be lifted of the burden of his memory, just for one moment.

And yet she didn't wish that. Not at all. She wouldn't give up the one shard she had left of him to hold onto in her mind.

She said nothing.

"We'll meet again. I promise. And next time, we'll work out."

She buried her face in his chest. He reached up feebly and ran his hands through her hand.

"I'm scared," she said.

"I'm not," he said, "How's that for irony?"

Her mind swam, her heart pounded, her head exploded, and her soul sighed. There was nothing she could do now. He wasn't coming back. He wasn't ever coming back.

"I don't want to live without you," she said.

"You won't ever have to," he said, "I'll always be with you."

"Always?"

"Always," he said, "It's the hardest thing, living. Staying still has such an appeal, staying where nothing can ever hurt you again. Promise me you won't? Promise me you won't stay still?"

"I promise."

Her world seemed to stand still, freezing her in time, forcing her to live amongst the pain. She knew that one day, it would jerk forward, and she would become alive once more.

But she couldn't imagine that happening without Harry.

She leaned back, his fingers interlaced with hers. Slowly and painfully, she watched the last drops of life drains from his body until he went limp. She wrapped her arms around him and lifted his form off the ground.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, "Why'd you have to go?"

And with that she turned and walked out the door. As she left the room, a slight breeze rippled through her hair, as if Harry was embracing her, comforting her, and reminding her that they'd meet again.

And they'd pick up where they left off.

And they'd learn how to love once more.