Author's note: Hi, it's been a couple of years. Please bear with me. I promise chapter 3 is better.
Hermione hadn't noticed. She had been cooped up in the renovated cottage since sunrise, preparing for the ritual. She hadn't noticed the storm that had apparently been brewing outside. The moment she opened the door, determined to chase after her friend, the wind knocked the breath out of her and the sand cut her skin like a million tiny needles. She couldn't see more than a foot ahead of her, and the sound of thunder and waves angrily crashing to the shore filled the air.
"Harry, stop!" She had found him standing on one of the cliffs. For a moment, the image made fear course through her veins. It felt like an ice-cold hand had grabbed her heart and squeezed it tightly. Swallowing down whatever horrible possibilities and outcomes the image of him standing there had conjured up, she resolutely came to stand by him. Her breathing was labored and she uncharacteristically cursed. What exactly she was cursing she didn't know: the night, her soulmates, or her hated heavy dress.
Harry was pacing, his breath coming out in short, angry puffs. He was pulling at his messy dark hair, a clear sign that he was distressed, and Hermione felt entirely helpless watching her best friend. "Harry, I'm so sorry." Her voice sounded small; heck, she felt small. She could feel her heart breaking as Harry turned around. His face was stained with tears, much like her own, and his eyes were red and angry as they stared down at her menacingly. She felt the hatred coming off him in waves, seeping through her pores and poisoning her bloodstream.
"How could you!" he spat, his finger probing painfully into her ribs. She stared at him disbelievingly, and something snapped. She couldn't have stopped the rage that had been building inside of her, even if she tried. "This isn't my fault! Do you think I wanted to have three dead soulmates?" she shrieked angrily and inwardly cringed at the high tone her voice always took on when she was really upset. At her outburst, she could see something close to regret flicker across Harry's face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Not for the first time after the war, Hermione realized that Harry still had so much anger inside of him. Too much anger to stay contained in such a small vessel, and she knew that one day it would either break him or consume him, and she didn't know which one was worse.
"It can't be right! There must have been some mistake." She began to shake her head sadly. As much as she shared his sentiment about wishing it was a mistake, something inside her refused to submit to denial. "My dad loved my mother!" Harry yelled, his face contorted in pure rage and hatred. For the first time in her entire life, Hermione felt afraid of her best friend. She tried to mask it, but it was too late; Harry had already seen the fear that had shown in her eyes.
For the first time since he saw that name, he felt something other than anger: just an indescribable sadness. Contrary to popular belief, even the closest people to him had at some point feared him, especially during the times when Voldemort would plague his mind. Hermione was the only one who had never, ever been afraid of him, and the thought that his anger had driven her to the point of being scared of him made him disgusted with himself. He quickly turned around to walk away in an attempt to cool down.
But luck wasn't on his side that night, and Hermione ran and grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to halt him. "Harry, wait!" Her voice was desperate. She just didn't understand why he couldn't see that she was hurting just as much as he was. Looking back, she knew the action was stupid and not thought through. "Leave me alone," Harry spat before shoving her and walking away without a glance back. If he did, he would have seen that the shove, although not hard, made her lose her footing. She reached out her hand and tried to shout for help as she stepped on her dress, causing her to fall backward.
She was only falling through the air for two seconds before her back hit the water. It felt like concrete. The pain was unbearable. It was freezing, and she couldn't see a thing. She couldn't think either. Saltwater invaded her eyes, nose, and lungs. Any time she managed to break to the surface, she could only take one breath before a wave came and mercilessly dragged her back under again. She tried to swim to the surface, but her dress was just so goddamn heavy, and she was just so goddamn tired. In fact, she couldn't remember a time since the war when she wasn't tired.
In the end, it felt almost peaceful, as if she finally had an excuse to give up and to stop fighting. When her consciousness was on the brink of giving up, she almost laughed at the thought that she had survived the wrath of Voldemort only to end up being killed by her best friend. But the last sight and the last thought she had were the three names written in blood: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter. It appeared over and over again, and for some reason, it lulled her into a false sense of security as she closed her eyes one final time and morbidly smiled as she welcomed the blackness that consumed her.