A/N - inspired by the song 'The Dance' by Garth Brooks.
For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Harry and Voldemort were locked in a deadly embrace, their fates intertwined in a dance of destruction and determination. Yet, with a blinding flash of light, two spells collided on the battlefield, the force of the magical collision sending shockwaves rippling through the air.
Hermione felt her heart stop as both wizards were consumed by the power of their spells, bodies convulsing as magic surged through them. Time seemed to come to a complete standstill as they hung suspended in the air, locked in a deadly embrace.
And then, with a deafening roar, they crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, their cries of pain echoing across Hogwarts' vast grounds.
"Harry!"
A scream left Hermione as she watched her brother fall, his body crumpling to the ground, and without thinking, she was moving; sprinting across the battlefield, dodging curses and hexes as she went - not stopping until she had reached Harry's side just as he struggled to sit up; his green eyes filled with pain and regret as they met her darker brown.
"H-Hermione," Harry gasped, desperately reaching out to her. "I'm s-sorry."
"Don't talk like that, Harry," she scolded with no heat, her voice instead thick with heartbreak and tears. "You're going to be okay. I'll get you help, I'll-"
But even as she spoke, Hermione knew the truth - and it seemed as though Harry did too. He was beyond help, his wounds too severe, his strength and magic all but depleted. He was dying, and there was nothing she could do to save him.
Harry shook his head weakly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Hermione," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've always b-been a terrible liar."
A hiccupped laugh escaped Hermione - even as tears welled in her eyes. And she reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her brother's forehead as she all but pleaded, "I'm not Harry," her voice cracking with emotion. "You're going to be fine. You're strong, the strongest wiz-"
Though she was cut off again, Harry interrupting her with a gentle touch of his hand as his green eyes locked with her whisky-brown. "Terrible, Hermione," he repeated, his voice shadowed with a smile. But it was quick to disappear, that sorrow and regret returning with a vengeance as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I wish... I wish things could have been different. We did everything we could, fought as hard as we could. But now... now it's time for you to let go, Hermione. You've done all you could."
Hermione shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as she pulled her hand from his, reaching out to cup his face with both of hers instead. She refused to let go, clinging desperately to the hope that somehow, someway, her brother would pull through. But the look in Harry's eyes told Hermione everything she didn't want to know; he was slipping away from her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
"Don't say that, Harry," she begged him - demanded; her voice trembling with emotion as she cupped his face in her hands. "Please..."
But Harry's gaze remained steady, his expression filled with a sad resignation that tore at her heart. "I-I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered, his own voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle still raging around them, and a sob caught in the witch's throat; Hermione shaking her head, unable to accept what he was saying. She had spent so long fighting by his side, facing countless dangers and obstacles together, and now, in their darkest hour, she just couldn't bear to let him go.
The witch startled as Harry reached up to gently brushed away her tears, his touch tender and comforting - and her heart only tore further; unwilling to accept that this was the end, the end of their journey.
"Hey," Harry murmured, his soft voice filled with an underlying strength. "Do you remember the dance?"
Hermione's heart skipped a beat at his words, her breath catching as the memory of their dance in the Forest of Dean flooded back in a rush of emotion; a bittersweet moment that had sustained them through some of their darkest days.
It had been but a brief tick of respite; a chance to forget about the war, of Ron leaving, the Horcruxes, Voldemort, and just... live - even if for but a moment.
Hermione nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek as she recalled the warmth of Harry's hands in hers, the awkward yet wonderful way they had just lost themselves to the moment. "How could I forget?" she whispered, "It was- it was one of the happiest moments of my life."
Harry's smile was filled with nostalgia, his eyes shining with their own tears despite their corners crinkling with affection. "Mine too," he admitted softly. "I'll never forget the way you looked that night, Hermione. You were so beautiful, so full of life, so... free."
Hermione's heart swelled at his words, the memory of their dance filling her with a sense of warmth and longing. In that moment, even as the battle continued around them, it felt as though like they were back in that damnable forest, surrounded by naught but the whispering trees and radio as their worries and fears were forgotten in the embrace of the music.
"I'll always cherish that dance, Harry," the witch said softly, her voice trembling with the love of her best friend - her brother in all but blood. She reached out to squeeze his hand, her fingers intertwining with his in a silent gesture of solidarity. "Just as I will always cherish you."
"We've been through so much together, Hermione," Harry continued, his own voice growing weaker with each passing second. "And I want you to know... I want you to know how much you mean to me."
Tears blurred Hermione's vision, her hand tightening around her brother's, unwilling to let go yet realising that time was - unfortunately - running out. "I love you too, Harry," she whispered. And with one final, agonising sob, she leaned closer, pressing her lips to her brother's forehead.
It was a goodbye, a farewell to the life they had once shared, and the witch clung to it desperately, unwilling to let it slip away.
"You'll always be my brother, no matter what happens."
But eventually, the moment passed, and Harry's grip on her hand began to loosen. His breathing grew shallow, his emerald eyes fading - growing distant as he shifted them to the sky above.
"It's time," he whispered, his voice barely audible now. "Time to let go, Hermione."
And as the last light faded from his eyes, Hermione closed her own, the weight of his loss settling over her like a heavy shroud.
"...let go, Hermione."
As Harry Sirius Severus Potter, the one and only infant son of the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Died, celebrated his first birthday, the Great Hall of Hogwarts was adorned with colourful decorations and filled with laughter and joy.
But amidst the festivities, Hermione Granger found herself lost within her memories, her thoughts having dragged her back to a time long gone as she stared into the familiar emerald-green eyes of her very best friend and brother.
"...Hermione?"
So lost in the past, the witch barely registered a voice calling her name until it managed to break through the haze of her memories; succeeding in startling Hermione back into the present. And rapidly blinking away the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, the image of Harry James Potter's final moments fading into the background, she found herself once again in the present; barely managing to tear her gaze away from those familiar green orbs and up to see Ginny Weasley staring at her, the young mother's features etched with concern.
"Are you okay, Hermione?" Ginny repeated, her eyes concerned yet searching as they darted between her friend and son.
Caught off guard by the unexpected and sudden influx of memories and emotions, Hermione tightened her grip on her cardigan, her eyes dropping - if but for a second - back to the one-year-old in Ginny's arms who bore an uncanny resemblance to his father and namesake: Harry. Her mind continued to swirl with memories and emotions, momentarily lost in the bittersweet ache of what could have been.
It was a cruel twist of fate, the witch did thing; that Harry wasn't there to witness his son's first birthday; to see the joy and laughter that filled the Great Hall of Hogwarts. But even in his absence, as she stared into those familiar green eyes, Hermione felt that her brother's presence lingered; naught but a haunting reminder of the sacrifices that had been made and the love that had endured through it all.
Blinking away the tears that threatened to ruin her makeup, she looked back up to her friend, lips curving into a faint smile despite the heaviness in her heart. "I'm fine, Ginny," she reassured. "J-just lost in thought, I suppose."
Ginny's expression softened, her eyes filling with a sad understanding as they met Hermione's; a meeting of shared sorrow, of silent acknowledgement of the absence that hung heavy in the air passing between them.
"I know," she admitted quietly, her arms tightening around her son - clutching him tightly as she whispered, "I miss him too."
Her bushy-haired friend could only nod her hear, Hermione's throat tightening with emotion as she reached out to hesitantly touch young Harry's cheek.
"He looks just like him, doesn't he?" she questioned softly after a moment, her voice becoming barely audibly over the sounds of laughter and chatter that filled the hall.
"He does," Ginny was quick to agree, a wistful smile beginning to pull at the corners of her lips despite the sadness that tinged her words. "Sometimes... it's like looking at his father all over again."
"It must be hard," Hermione murmured, heart swelling with a mixture of pain and longing as her fingers delicately traced the curve of Harry's tiny cheek; a bittersweet feeling filling her - reminding her of everything that had been lost, and everything they had also yet to gain. "To see him every day and know... know that he-"
Ginny's smile faltered slightly at Hermione's unfinished words, her gaze drifting down to her son as she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "Sometimes," she whispered, barely wanting the admittance to escape yet allowing it to do so anyway. "But-" the mother cleared her throat, adjusting Harry in her arms as she looked back to her friend; the smile upon her lips gaining strength as she added, "I like to think he's also a reminder, a reminder of everything his father fought for, everything Harry *believed* in."
Despite how her heart felt heavy with the weight of their shared grief, Hermione nodded in silent agreement; feeling, even as the sadness of her best friend and brother's loss threatened to once again overwhelm her, a sense of gratitude for the life Harry had given them - for the legacy he had left behind in the form of his very own son.
"He's beautiful, Ginny," she said softly. "Just like his father."
Ginny's eyes shimmered, unshed tears clouding her vision as she looked down to her son. And brushing away a stray lock from Harry's forehead with a gentle and loving touch, she whispered, "Thank you. For being here. Fo-for remembering Harry."
"Of course," Hermione managed to say around the lump that had appeared in her own throat, her hand reaching out to grasp her friend's shoulder. She had always admired Ginny's strength, her resilience in the face of adversity. And now, as she looked into Ginny's eyes, Hermione saw a shared pain reflected back at her, the very bond they shared that had only grown and strengthened through the trials of grief and loss.
"He could never be forgotten, Ginny," the bushy-haired witch continued, swallowing back her own tears as she squeezed the young mother's shoulder in a silent gesture of solidarity.
*"Hey, Hermione! Ginny! Are you two gonna join in the festivities?"*
Yet, their moment of shared sorrow was interrupted by a cheerful voice from across the Great Hall. And turning, the two friends saw Neville approaching with a warm smile and eyes that were bright with excitement; the chance to celebrate - more specifically that of a new life reaching such a momentous milestone - all but radiating from his form. Behind him, Luna floated along, her dreamy expression fixed upon something unseen.
"Of course, Neville," Ginny replied as she wiped away her tears with a quick motion of her hand; her smile widening as she greeted the pair. "We were just... reminiscing."
Neville's smile faltered slightly as he caught the sombre tone in Ginny's voice, but he quickly recovered; his enthusiasm seemingly undimmed by the reminder of who *wasn't* there to celebrate young Harry's first birthday.
"Well, there's no better time to make new memories than at Harry Sirius' first birthday party!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the bustling room around them, and Hermione and Ginny could only chuckle at his words; Neville's enthusiasm seemingly infection as Ginny glanced down to her son with a fond expression.
Luna drifted closer, her eyes alight with curiosity as she studied the young mother and year-old son. Though, as she twirled a lock of her long, silvery-blonde hair around a finger, she said, "I heard there's going to be dancing. I do love a good dance," rather dreamily.
Ginny felt her breath catch in her throat, and she turned sharply towards Luna, about to gently yet firmly snap at the witch; wondering who the hell decided to include dancing into the celebrations. She knew all too well that the last time Hermione had dance with anyone had been with Harry in the Forest of Dean, a bittersweet moment that had been revealed to the then-pregnant witch on the very night of Harry's funeral. The mere thought of reminding Hermione of that dance, especially in front of everyone, seemed almost cruel.
But before the young mother could speak up, she was stopped by a soft gasp from Hermione.
Turning back to her friend, Ginny just managed to catch brown eyes widening with surprise and a hint of something else - wonder, perhaps - as her son reached out from her arms, Harry's tiny fingers managing to wrap themselves around one of Hermione's and caused the witch to freeze.
Ginny, without thinking, went to remove Harry's fingers from her friend's. Yet she paused, a spark of an idea forming in the depths of her mind. She had seen the haunted look in Hermione's eyes, the way they had stared into her son's emerald gaze; a reflection of the very brother she had lost. The redhead herself could understand the pain that her friend had be feeling as she looked upon young Harry, having had the unfortunate pleasure of falling completely and irrevocably in love with his father that looking upon her own son was sometimes painful at the best of times.
The redhead watched as Hermione remained frozen, utterly transfixed by Harry's small yet strong grasp, Ginny's breath catching in her throat at the sight and caused her to hesitate; debating whether to intervene. But the look in Hermione's eyes - a mixture of surprise, wonder, and a touch of longing - gave Ginny pause, and it was then that her idea took root; one that might just bring a moment of solace to her friend's still-wounded heart.
With a soft, encouraging smile, Ginny asked, "Hermione, wou-would you like to Harry for a dance?"
Hermione blinked, and it was as if life returned to the witch as her gaze shifted from those piercing green eyes and back to Ginny. "Wha-?! Oh, Ginny, I-"
The young mother interrupted her stuttering denial with a gentle voice, one that was laced with sincerity - and possibly a hint of mischief. "I'm feeling a bit tired, and I think young Harry here would love a dance with his favourite aunt. It would mean so much to me, Hermione. Please?"
Brown eyes flickered with uncertainty, Hermione's brow furrowing slightly. "I-I don't know if-"
Neville, seeming to have caught on to Ginny's plan, stepped forward with a broad, encouraging smile. "It's a wonderful idea, Hermione. You've always been a fantastic dancer, and I'm sure Harry would love it. Besides, it's a party! What better way to celebrate?"
Hermione still hestiated, looking down at the baby who still grasped her finger with a surprising strength. Harry's green eyes, so much like his father's, seemed to peer into her soul, stirring memories and emotions she'd long kept buried. The thought of dancing, of reliving that cherished moment with Harry in the Forest of Dean, tugged at her heartstrings.
Luna, still twirling a lock of her hair, chimed in with her usual dreamy tone. "Daddy says that dancing is a way to connect with the spirits of those we love. It's like feeling their presence in every step, their laughter in every twirl."
Taking a deep breath, Hermione finally raised her eyes; meeting Ginny's hopeful yet reassuring gaze. "Alright, Ginny. I'll dance with him," she revealed, something of which had her friend's face lighting up with both happiness and gratitude. And as Ginny carefully handed young Harry over to her, Hermione barely managed to keep her breath steady; watching as he settled easily in her arms, his small fingers still clutching at her, as if he could sense the bond between them - the bond that had been shared between Hermione and his father.
Hermione cradled Harry close, feeling the comforting warmth of his smaller body against hers. She took another deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and then slowly made her way to the centre of the room. The other guests, as if sensing the significance of the moment, began to quiet down, their eyes following the birthday boy and his aunt with a mix of curiosity and respect.
As if on cue, a gentle, melodic tune began to play, filling the room with its soft, soothing notes. Hermione looked down at the child in her arms, Harry's young yet vibrant green eyes wide and curious - so much like his father's. She felt a pang of sorrow, but also a flicker of hope. As she slowly began to move, swaying gently to the rhythm of the music, the witch realised that this dance, it was not just for her and baby Harry.
It was for the memory of the boy who had given everything, the young man who had been her brother in all but blood.
Hermione's steps were tentitive at first, but as she felt the comforting presence of the child in her arms, she began to relax; allowing herself to be carried away by the melody. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them - Hermione and young Harry - dancing in a moment suspended in time.
She held Harry close, feeling the warmth of his tiny body against hers as she was transported back to that night in the Forest; to when she and her best friend had lost themselves to the music and found solace in the embrace of each other amidst the chaos of war. Harry cooed softly in response, his tiny head resting against her shoulder whilst his continued to clutch at his aunty's hand, and Hermione closed her eyes.
As the music played on, the witch found herself smiling through her tears. She twirled across the hall slowly, holding her nephew close as she whispered softly, "You're going to grow up to be so strong, just like your father. And I'll be here for you, always."
She could almost feel her brother's presence beside her as she danced, guiding her through the steps, his hand in hers, his laughter in her ears. The child in her arms gabbled on softly, reminding her of the life and love that continued on even in the face of loss, and Hermione felt a sense of peace wash over her; a bittersweet acceptance of the past and a tentative hope for the future.
In that moment, she knew that while the pain of her best friend's loss would never fully fade. Yet neither, however, would the love and memories they had shared.
As the music faded into the night, the bushy-haired witch allowed herself to be carried away by the moment, gratefull for her friends - for the love that surrounded her and the memories that would always keep her brother alive in her heart. And as she held Harry's son close, she felt the memory of his memory wash over her, filling her with a sense of warmth and longing.
She could still invision the dance they shared in the Forest of Dean, the way they had stumbled within the confines of that godforsaken tent, yet completely lost in a world all their own. And now, as she danced with his son, her steps far more coordinated, she couldn't help but feel Harry there, guiding her through each one as if he were there in the flesh.
For a moment, just a fleeting moment, Hermione allowed herself to believe that he was. That Harry was watching over them, smiling down from wherever he was, his love shining bright as ever. And as she let herself be swept away by the music, Hermione whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens above, grateful for the precious gift of his memory - one that she would carry with her always.