The stars shone brightly in the sky above, ensconced in inky darkness, twinkling.

They were either mocking them, or calling them home. Hermione wasn't sure which was worse.

Her lungs burned and ached; she had most likely broken a rib or two, and every so often black spots danced at the corners of her eyes. Hermione found herself unable to stand, her stomach twisting and her legs buckling, and as she fell in her attempt to stand, she saw a prone figure lying in the grass a little ways up the hill.

Determined to find a survivor, a friend, Hermione stuck her wand into her jeans, a soft hiss escaping between her teeth as the pressure of the wood dug into a deep cut on her thighs.

Head spinning, Hermione gritted her teeth before rolling onto her stomach; she had to stop herself from crying out, her ribs groaning as she pushed herself up onto agonised elbows.

One elbow in front of the other, Hermione heaved herself up the hill, unable to move her legs and relying purely on her, frankly abysmal arm strength; the adrenaline carried her up to the figure's feet, and she tugged on their jeans to try and get a response.

None.

They were unconscious or dead.

"Fuck." Hermione whispered, and leant against the figure to pull herself up further, to try and identify the-decidedly male-figure, their face concealed in the lush grass.

To see if they were alive.

She got up to the hand when Hermione realised how familiar the form seemed, and she inspected the hand for a moment, noting familiar ridges and curves and nails caked in dirt.

And then-

I must not tell lies.

…

The universe came crashing down.

"No!" Hermione whimpered softly, ignoring the stone sinking in her stomach as she pulled herself up to the face-his face.

Harry.

"No no no no no," Hermione whimpered, saying the word over and over like a prayer as she searched Harry's prostrate figure for a pulse.

And there was none to be found.

She searched again. And again. And again.

Harry's b-body-it was growing colder every second, paler not just because of the moonlight.

A sharp wail pierced the silence, an unearthly howl, and somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Hermione realised the sound was her own.

"Harry." Hermione cried, tears falling even as she fell onto her back, her strength fading.

She could do naught but tilt her head to look at her best friend's profile.

At the distinct lack of steam rising from his lips.

And how, amongst the messy hair and cuts and grime, lay against Harry's nose the glasses that she had repaired countless times. The glass reflected the night sky; The only thing that had gone unbroken tonight, for Hermione's heart had shattered.

There would never be a pair of emerald eyes to gaze from behind them again. No piercing stare that cut through her very soul. No quirked eyebrow or soft smirk, no gentle warmth, no nothing.

The world was cold.

Hermione remembered how, not two weeks ago, they had sat in their tent, talking about their childhoods. Or, rather, Harry asked questions about hers. He hadn't really known anything of what it was like for Hermione growing up, and they had been closer than ever.

"When I was younger, Mum used to sing a lot to me."

"What did she sing?"

"All sorts of stuff, but her favourite was this tune from Les Miserables."

"Le-what now?"

"Honestly, Harry! Les Miserables. It's a musical about the French Revolution. Anyway, there's this song, One of the characters Eponine sings as she's dying in the arms of the man she loves, about how much she loved him and how she was dying. He never loved her back, you see. It was unrequited."

"Sounds morbid, that does."

"Harry!"

"Sorry, sorry! But why would your mum sing that to you as a kid?"

"It was bittersweet and heartbreaking! You'd understand if you'd heard it!"

"Well...can you sing it to me, then?"

"Harry James Potter I'm not singing for you!"

"Oh come on, please? It's not like you'll sound bad, you're never bad at anything. Except flying. And maybe cooking, too."

…

"Pleaase, Hermione?"

"Oh, fine then!"

Black spots danced at the edges of Hermione's eyes, and with a wince and cry of pain, she realised that her ribs had indeed broken; one of them had, it seems, punctured her lungs

"Don't you fret…I don't feel any pain" Hermione whispered brokenly, trying to take her mind off her pain, her lungs slowly drowning. She remembered that day, and how she sang, and Harry had started crying, and how they danced and held each other and wept together, two broken teenagers at the edge of the world, friends and soulmates at the precipice of something more, a promise of a future just out of reach. One they'd never get to see.

"A l-little fall of rain." Hermione sung softly. '"Can hardly hurt me now. You're here...that's all I-I need-t-to know." Tears streamed down her cheeks, coughing now, unable to stop herself crying but carrying on with her song. She laced her fingers in Harry's not feeling so cold now that she was closer to finding him again. "And you will keep me safe...And you will keep me close," The sky above bent towards the earth, The black spots growing thicker with each second, and somewhere far off, Hermione could feel the blood rising up her throat as she finished her song, preparing to come home.

"..And r-rain w-will make the flowers...gr-ow…"