Facing Him
by The Eighth Weasley
She only saw him a distance, of course - he'd been several feet away, and not looking at her. How could he see her, of course, hidden as she was in the crowd of watching students?
But she saw him, she saw him too clearly. Red eyes, slitted like a cat's, but without the friendliness. A flat face, thin nostrils, skin pale as death. And in the face was nothing but Death - Death subjugated and conquered, a blasphemy against the ever-circling path of Life.
And then she saw Harry running, running to fulfill his destiny, his wand out, his body glowing with the Unknown Power that Dumbledore's sacrifice had given him, and Hermione understood what friendship was.
Friendship was wanting to spend time with him. Friendship was being willing to stay up late to comfort him. Friendship was helping him out as needed. Friendship was standing beside him, ready to fight.
But love was wanting to save him from this. Love was seeing him run forward into danger and admiring him. Love was having your stomach do a funny flipflop and your brain freeze with anxiety.
Hermione wanted to take him into her arms and keep him from this. Hermione admired him, oh, how she admired him right now. Hermione's stomach had just done a funny flipflop and her brain was frozen with fear that he wouldn't come out of it alive.
Then, before she knew it, it was all over: Voldemort's body crashed into the earth, smouldering to ashes as it was consumed from the inside. Harry's wand fell from his hand, and then he fell sideways onto the singed grass, exhausted.
Hermione ran forward and took him into her arms.
--fin--