He didn't look for her face in the crowd. He didn't look for her on the train. He knew she wouldn't be there. It was the saddest day of his life.
His head boy badge was hidden in his pocket. Two years ago, this would've been the proudest moment of his life. He had been working towards this goal his entire schooling, and suddenly it didn't matter anymore.
He had a few moments to himself before Hermione Granger would come find him. It wasn't hard to find an empty compartment where he could collect his thoughts and reminisce. Most of the train was empty. Students didn't return to Hogwarts. Parents were shocked that it still remained open during a time of war. Professor McGonagall, however, had been intelligent enough to realize that Hogwarts was more symbolic than anything else, and allowed students to come home.
He sat in his empty compartment, he envisioned the blonde-haired girl that he longed for. After her mother's death, Hannah had become cold and distant, eventually leaving school. Her cheerfully immature pigtails were loosened. Her hair was now pulled back in a severe, tight bun.
He watched as her skin grew pale with exhaustion and creased with worry. He witnessed her slow decay into the heartbroken, defeated young woman. He wished there was some way to change her. He wanted to make her beautiful again. Now, though he still thought her beautiful, it was painful to watch her tears fall. It hurt too much to watch her and know he couldn't save her.
He had cried the night she left. He didn't cry because he sympathized with her, or because felt anything for her mother. He cried because he was afraid of what would become of him without her. She grounded him. Her endless teasing kept his ego at a reasonable level, and brightened the grim days. She was everything that mattered inside the cold castle walls.
He was afraid that he had lost his chance to tell her that he loved her. Even if she was there beside him, he wouldn't be able to tell her. She wasn't the type of girl you said you loved. She was the type of girl who would stand beside you in the rain and nurse you back to health, even though her own health was failing. You didn't just love her. You cherished every moment of time spent with her. She was your best friend first, and would always be your friend.
He remembered the last time they were in the train together. She teased him about being one year away from that ever crucial head boy title, and he said it didn't matter anymore.
She wasn't the type of girl who you could hold and tell her how much you loved her anymore. She didn't laugh, except to remark how pointless life and war was. She laughed at mortality, and accepted death with open arms. She was scared and let people know it. She wasn't Hannah anymore. Even though she wasn't the same girl and Ernie felt hollow when he was with her, he couldn't let her go. He needed to know that she still lived. Every breath she took, was another reason for him to live. Maybe, if she still breathed after the war, she would change. He needed her to.