Autumn
Hermione was autumn.
The crumbling leaves drifting in the wind blurred into the curls of her hair. The eyes on a butterfly's beating wings turned into the brown of her pupils. The thumping of a rabbit's back legs as it leapt through the air echoed her beating heart. She was somewhere in between living and dying; the perfect balance of burning and freezing.
She was a child leaping in a puddle and screeching with joy. She was curling up on a window seat beside an open window, the refreshing breeze brushing against skin. She was sitting around a barbecue, wrapped up warm as you laughed with those you loved.
Hermione was comforting and Hermione was autumn.