On the first Sunday after Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts School ends, she makes her annual pilgrimage to the graveyard at Godric's Hollow. She carries her usual bouquet: purple hyacinths, marigolds, and dark crimson roses. Wending her way past the ancient graves, she comes to one, newer than the rest, but starting to look settled now, not raw like it did last year.

She stands before the grave, holding her flowers, and breathes for a few minutes before beginning her usual monologue. "It's been a long year, this year," she says. "A lot of students left Hogwarts early. Dean Thomas's entire family was killed. Neville was murdered over the Christmas holidays. I don't think there's anyone left in Hufflepuff. And last week we heard that Charlie –" She takes a moment to steady her voice. "Charlie was found dead in Romania. We're pretty sure he was killed by Death Eaters.

"We're doing what we can to fight, but – oh, it's so hard. Voldemort has such a lead on us. Dumbledore's doing his best, but he looks so tired all the time anymore. Professor Lupin was nearly killed in a fight with eight Death Eaters, Sirius was going spare. Tonks – you don't know Tonks, she's this really nice Auror – she was killed in the same fight.

"Professor Snape is gone. He just disappeared from the school last fall. No one knows where he is, or what he's doing – Dumbledore says he knows and it's okay, so I guess we just have to take his word for it.

"Minister Fudge is dead. The Death Eaters took the Ministry in October – just stormed in and took it. Mr. Weasley got out alive, and Percy – Percy survived, but he's . . . he's working for them. Ron told me there was a huge row at Christmas . . ."

She looks down, scuffs one toe in the grass. "I'm okay, though. So are my parents. So is Ron. He's gotten tall – almost taller than Bill. We're still together, Ron and I – it'll be two years in September. He drives me mad sometimes, but I love him. I know," she says, laughing gently, "I know."

Hermione pauses, unsure really what to say next. A gust of wind ruffles her hair and her clothes, and she reaches up to brush a lock of hair away from her face. "I miss you, you know," she says after a few minutes. "It's just not right without you. We've tried – we've tried to make everything right, keep it right – but it's all gone wrong. I feel like – like if maybe I'd been just a little smarter, a little more clever, you'd be here – but nobody knew, nobody realized, not at first. Well, when you didn't come back, Dumbledore knew, but I didn't –"

She tries to wipe her tears away, but gives up and lets them come. "I was supposed to keep you safe," she says, voice constricted. "I'm so sorry."

She stands at the grave, tears steadily running down her cheeks, for a few minutes before she is able to get herself under control. She can't think of anything else to say, so she kneels, laying her bouquet on the headstone and running her fingers over the words engraved into the granite.

Harry James Potter
July 31, 1980 - June 24, 1995
Quiet consummation have, and renowned be thy grave

With a soft pop! she Apparates away.