June 1998
Where are you?
Listen to the calls of the birds as they chatter to each other in their twittering music as they rouse the peaceful town from the depths of slumber.
Little by little, students rise with the sun, preparing themselves for another day. The fading growls of the creatures lurking in the Forbidden Forest are replaced by the barking of Hagrid's dog, Fang, and the splashing of the Giant Squid in the Black Lake. The area is otherwise quiet, a light breeze meandering across the grounds and making the trees shiver cheerfully. It's late spring now. School's almost out for the year, and the students are getting anxious. They see the sun and the warm glow it casts on the grounds and all they want to do is bask in it forever.
Smell the crisp, fresh air that comes with the early dawn and drifts through the empty sky, blue as the waters of the Mediterranean, clouds few and far between, floating on the horizon.
There's nothing quite like the smell of an impending thunderstorm. There's also nothing quite like the smell of an early morning. Both are refreshing and invigorating, and Hermione is willing to sacrifice sleeping in just to sit out by the Black Lake to watch the sunrise or wait as the clouds roll in, heavy with raindrops and petrichor. Early mornings are Hermione's favourite time of day; she relishes the crisp breeze as it rustles her hair during a run and the subtle nip of leftover evening temperatures during the wee hours of the day.
Taste the cold, wispy swirls of the mist as it slides through the air, dampening everything it touches.
When she runs, Hermione likes to take her time. Sometimes she runs a few kilometres and walks another few, soaking in the morning rays. She likes the early morning temperatures summer brings. They're cool, but not so chilly that she can't be outside without a cloak. Sometimes she'll run the full loop around the Black Lake, especially when it's clear and cloudy, and the early temperatures just aren't quite cutting it. Occasionally, the sun will rise and reflect off heavy swirls of fog, casting its light throughout the area and creating a painting out of the landscape. Those days, Hermione walks until the fog dissipates and melts into the dew twinkling like stars in the grass.
Feel the moisture from the soft, spongy dirt as it soaks in the dew, until the children spending their mornings outside feel their shoes sink ever so slightly and they have to spell away the remnants of soil still clinging to them.
If she's feeling down, Hermione lays in the grass in Muggle shorts and a T-shirt, no matter how cold it is. If it's cold, it'll be a couple of minutes, tops. If it's warm, sometimes it'll be an hour. It's always early, when the ground is still wet and dewy, and her feet are always free of shoes, letting the moisture seep into her skin. Draco doesn't really understand, especially when it's freezing, but it's something Hermione's always done, and it's always helped, so she keeps doing it.
Watch as the sun's brilliant rays break the horizon and paint the sky with beautiful colours and fill the grounds with their golden light, as the girl wonders. The sparkling dew soaks through her robe and uniform as she lays there, waiting.
When she was thirteen, Hermione's family flew to Colorado in the States and went camping for a few days during the summer holidays. She thrived in the high altitudes as they ventured higher and higher with each hour, until they discovered a cliff edge with a perfect viewing spot for the sunrise. It's one of her favourite memories, sitting out there, absorbing the lyrical blend of the sounds of nature and watching the Earth's closest star bathe the mountain range in light.
Please come.
She thinks of Draco and how he reminds her of the cold, of the snow, of winter. His hair is platinum blond—almost white, even—falling over his eyes and constantly having to be brushed away. His eyes are a startling slate grey, reminding her of the clouds on a stormy day.
They're so similar to each other, yet so different at the same time. Books and school, that's what they're known for. But he is a Slytherin, a pureblood, and essentially royalty in the Wizarding World. She is muggle-born, coined "The Brightest Witch of Her Age", and the best friend of the Chosen One. She is never brushed off as just another student.
The dew glistens around her, dampening her honey-brown curls, as she ponders.
June 1997
"Hear me out. We play tomorrow. We win and get the victory against Slytherin. You're there, Neville's there, Dean's there, everyone. And then, we get the elves to make the best spread known to man to celebrate in the common room, yeah?" It was the day leading up to one of their last Quidditch matches of their Sixth Year. Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice and the newly-elected Gryffindor Quidditch captain, was nearly vibrating with excitement as he ate his breakfast. If he bounced any higher with anticipation, he might have transcended gravity and floated away.
"All that buildup for a party that might not even happen, Harry?" Hermione laughed. She buttered some toast and helped herself to some eggs and bacon, frowning when Ron Weasley, her other best friend, tried to sneak a piece off her plate. "Who's to say that I won't be doing homework and can't make it?"
"No! You can't miss the biggest match of the year to do homework!" Harry protested. "I know for a fact you're as far ahead as you can get in all your classes. And there are only two weeks left. And NEWTs aren't until next year! You need a break at some point."
Hermione pretended to think about it but then grinned at her best friend. "Alright, you've convinced me. Can't miss the biggest match of the year and all, you know?"
"You got it!"
"...and we gotta see you ask out Ginny, don't we?" Hermione teased.
"Oh yeah…" Harry lost his smile for a moment. "What if she says no?" he asked nervously.
"Don't worry, Harry, she'll definitely say yes," Hermione assured. "Just trust us on this, yeah?" Ginny had asked her about this before. Are you sure he even likes me? Do you think he's forgiven me for that Valentine's Day card? Of course, Hermione, being somewhat of a middleman, had had the privilege of hearing both sides for the past two years—even through the War—so she was 100 percent certain it would all turn out alright.
"If you say so," Harry said. "But if she doesn't, I'll never let you live it down."
"Hey, you'll be fine. Who can say no to the Quidditch team's top player, after all?"
"Hermione!"
When the day came and what seemed like the entire school piled into the stands, Hermione sat next to Neville Longbottom, a bundle of nerves as she watched the players of both teams swoop and dive, passing the Quaffle and dodging Bludgers left and right.
"I wish this wasn't so dangerous, I get so worried," Hermione fretted, hands in an iron grip around the railing. She watched Ginny Weasley do a Sloth Grip Roll to avoid a Bludger and gritted her teeth as Ginny scrambled back onto her broom, just in time to intercept the Quaffle before it could reach her brother Ron, who was the Gryffindor Keeper. "At least in football, they're all on the ground."
Neville patted her on the back sympathetically. "Can't be any worse than having Voldemort breathing down your neck all the time, right?" He opened his mouth to say something else but was effectively distracted when a flash of gold whizzed by, followed by the Seekers not far behind. "WOOO! LET'S GO, HARRY!"
Hermione's ears wanted to curl up and die, but she stood up with Neville and cheered on her best friends as the match got underway.
Throughout the match, Neville spouted off chants with the other students and yelled indignantly at the sky, spending half the time trying to predict what strategy was going to be played next or analysing whether a play should've been called a foul, while Hermione felt like she was physically ageing from the stress.
The match was close for the most part; the teams were tied several times as each team alternated making goals. But as Harry made a massive dive that ended up with the Snitch in his sleeve, students and professors alike were cheering and screaming as the Gryffindor team landed in the centre of the pitch to celebrate the victory. Hermione's anxiety was forgotten as she and Neville jumped around with the rest of the stands, celebrating.
"Come on! They're going on the field!" Neville yelled in her ear. He grabbed Hermione's hand and nearly dragged her to the stairs, where people were bottlenecking, trying to get onto the field as fast as possible.
"WOOO!" Harry ran over to them, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. "Party or what!?" he yelled, pulling them in for a group hug.
Hermione laughed loudly. "Yeah, Harry, sure thing. But you gotta do something first, yeah?"
"Oh, yeah!" He grabbed Ginny, who had also approached the group, and pulled her close, deviating from the original plan, and kissed her. Immediately he pulled back, searching her face nervously. "Sorry, I—"
Ginny's look of surprise morphed into the biggest smile Hermione had ever seen on her and she brought Harry back in. Hermione looked over their shoulders, happy to witness the moment but wanting to give them at least a little bit of privacy. As she looked out over the pitch, her eyes travelled over another group of boys. She shifted her gaze slightly and was suddenly met with the eyes of one of the three without a uniform. Draco Malfoy inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, hair falling into his eyes. He shook his head to move it out of the way and Hermione laughed, despite herself. He smirked, though it didn't feel mean, and turned to his friends again, but Hermione suspected she might be seeing more of him in the future.
Spring 1998
I'm still waiting.
Summer is fun and warm and inviting, pleasant and dewy in the light of the rising sun. In primary school, Hermione would stay outside from sunrise to sunset, with seemingly endless hours to play at the park, see her friends, and ride her bicycle all around town. Now, almost ready to graduate Hogwarts after years of Voldemort-related conflicts, she still makes time to have some of those mellow, carefree days during the late spring, but they have to be lower on the list, after her homework, after career planning with Professor McGonagall, after making sure all her friends are doing alright. When she has the chance to get away from her responsibilities for a day, Hermione likes to do a variety of activities. She does library runs for a book or three. She tries to play chess with Ron or Exploding Snap with Harry, and even makes an honest effort to learn how to fly with Ginny. She and Draco go on walks around the Black Lake after their Head duties, occasionally with a blanket and a basket of food from the kitchens, occasionally with a camera to capture the memories. To Hermione, summer is an open gate for endless adventures and opportunities.
Unfortunately, the sun is sometimes harsh and unforgiving, the burning heat rippling through the air and scorching everything it touches and making the days nearly unbearable. Those days, Hermione languishes in the dungeons with Draco and sits in the Slytherin common room despite it technically being against the rules (and they have their own space anyway as Heads) because it's too hot to be in either the Gryffindor common room or their own for longer than five minutes, despite the myriad of Cooling Charms present. When she does this, she feels like a rabbit, but the heat makes her exhausted and lazy, and she longs for the rain to wash the heatwave away.
She hates wondering about the season, but she contemplates it anyway. Summer, like winter, is one of those subjects that she can't help but wonder about.
If she were to be honest, she would say she almost likes autumn better, though, because winter is too white and summer too green. And although spring has vibrant blossoms and new life sprouting everywhere, autumn contains a sort of magic to it that no other season has. The beautiful, brightly coloured leaves, dancing and twirling in the breeze, are entrancing in their own way, and the early morning frost sparkling like diamonds in the grass brings the perfect balance between the two extremes of summer and winter.
But she still loves and enjoys the summertime, just as she loves him.
June 1997
"Hurry!" Hermione grinned as Draco trailed behind her, nose in a thick book. "Come on, don't you want to feed the Squid?"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Draco said, though he made sure to carefully mark his page before he sped up to match Hermione's pace.
"Finally. The Squid was going to be on the other side of the lake by the time you got there!"
"Hey, the Squid will wait. He never says no to toast." Draco reached over and plucked some a piece out of Hermione's hands, but only managed to get half before it snapped. The crumbs fell to the ground and as the couple continued toward the Black Lake, laughing, a hungry sparrow picked at the bits left behind. At least they knew it wouldn't go to waste.
They sat underneath a large weeping willow, a welcome change from the unusually intense heat of early June. Hermione crushed a piece of stale toast in her hand. She tossed it into the grass near the lake edge and watched as the birds scrambled to peck at the crumbs. "When do you think they'll leave?"
Draco turned and looked down at her. "For the winter, you mean?" He drew his arm back and tossed his handful of toast directly into the lake and chuckled as a tentacle reached up out of the water, grasping the tiny piece of starch in its giant arm.
"Yeah. I just think it's so sad they're leaving, you know? Like, I know they need to be warm and all, but it's still sad to see them go." Hermione leaned her head against Draco's shoulder as she watched the birds snap at the toast crumbs floating on the glassy surface of the pond.
"I mean, it's June now, so not for a few months. Plenty of time, and they'll still be here next year for a bit."
"I guess, but even so, I'll miss the warm weather. I like all the colours from the leaves when they're falling. But then it's going to be winter and cold and gross outside."
"Winter isn't all that bad," Draco objected. He took back his arm, much to Hermione's disappointment, and started counting on his fingers as he talked. "One, snow. It makes everything look so fresh and clean, you know? Two, snowflakes. I mean, a unique pattern for every single one? That's awesome! Three, ice. It's not good on the roads, obviously, but you can't skate without ice, amiright?"
"Fine, fine, you're right," Hermione conceded. "Winter is okay, I guess. But you can't change my mind that autumn is the best season. Still warm enough for rain, all the coloured leaves, school starts back up…"
"Only you would think school is one of the best parts of autumn," Draco teased.
"Well, learning is what I mean, you know that," Hermione retorted. "But I also like that refreshing feeling of the start of a new school year."
"And school shopping," Draco added knowingly. "Your favourite birthday gift from me is your planner, for Salazar's sake."
"I'll have you know that that planner has saved my life a few times, so don't be all weird about that. It saved me from extra work when I was revising for exams last year." Despite her protesting, Hermione was smiling and she finally rested her case by relaxing back into Draco, watching the Squid splash in the water.
June 1998
Hurry.
Somewhere, a long way away, she imagines her friends on the pitch, Quidditch practice in progress—flying this way and that, scoring goals and avoiding Bludgers. She knows Draco would be holed up in the deepest corner of the library, putting the last touches on a Potions essay or revising for a Charms exam, or maybe he would be sitting in the common room with his friends, an open bottle of Firewhiskey passed between them. And she wishes she could be with all of them.
She flicks her eyes toward her left and sees the gleaming silver of the knife sprawled a couple of feet away. The dark crimson matches the colour soaking from her side, and it hurts. It hurts to feel the wound and it hurts to know that she's going to die alone and it hurts more because she knows that no one will be there with her, stay with her as she slips away…
She hadn't even seen it coming; she was sure there were no stray Death Eaters left on the outside. However, just because one doesn't fight in the war doesn't mean they don't sympathise with one side or the other. And that was their mistake: forgetting about the people in the shadows.
She doesn't know how it happened. No one can Apparate in or out of Hogwarts, so how the dark figure had arrived undetected is a mystery. They were there, and then they weren't. She was there, and now she was about to leave. One minute she's walking, the next she's on the ground, a sharp pain in her upper left side, gasping for air. A Muggle death for a Muggle girl, they'd snarled before vanishing as quickly as they'd come. She didn't think, just dragged herself as far as she could toward the castle before she finally collapsed, staring up at the rising sun, colours of dawn already faded into the morning air. There are clouds in the distance, still far away but sailing quickly like ships with billowing white sails, moving closer and closer through the sea of blue. But for now, the sun shines in all its glory, illuminating her face and reflecting off the nearby blade just so, so that it stings her eyes if she looks at it wrong.
She can't cry out for help; there's no one around to hear it and anyway, it's hard enough to breathe, let alone speak. She doesn't know where her wand is. Maybe if she had it, she'd be able to signal for help, contact someone, hear a voice that wasn't taunting and grating, the background noise of the nightmare she is living in now.
She remembers when she first met Harry and Ron. They'd been eleven years old and fresh off the adrenaline of a mountain troll attack at Halloween—how could anyone not be best friends after that? Hermione had even forgiven Ron for being the reason she had been crying in the bathroom in the first place. Since then, the three of them had been attached at the hip, through the good times and the bad times, from the incident with the Philosopher's Stone to defeating Lord Voldemort himself in the Great Hall at the end of their Sixth Year.
Now, the trio was free to enjoy their last year at Hogwarts without the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads. The Death Eaters were put away in Azkaban and appropriate punishments were handed out to those who might have been complicit, but not active, under Voldemort's rule.
Those who had been underage when they were Marked or otherwise following orders from Voldemort were given probation—they were mandated to finish their schooling, their families ordered to pay reparations, and regular wand checks were done by the Ministry for the next twelve months. In a show of house unity, Headmistress McGonagall chose Hermione (a no-brainer, really) and Draco Malfoy as Head Girl and Head Boy.
In a surprise move, Malfoy had personally apologised to Hermione soon after the school year had begun, and they found that they got on rather well in between rounds of arguing and bickering. When he wasn't insulting, Hermione found she quite liked him, and vice versa. They soon fell into a romance that certainly had its ups and downs, but never grew weak or stale. Hermione and Ginny often discussed their relationships with each other, though Hermione much preferred telling Ginny about Draco if it meant avoiding hearing about Harry, who was like her brother.
"How would you like it if Lavender started talking to you about her and Ron?" she pointed out once.
Ginny made a face and conceded. "Alright, alright, but I have to tell someone! You're my best girl friend, and I'm not telling Lavender."
Hermione snickered. "Fine, but spare me the details, please."
June 1998
She smiles, her eyes starting to glaze over and become glassy. At that moment, she wishes she could just stand up and run back to the castle where her friends are, making her way to her last few classes before the end of the year. They were supposed to be going to the Hogsmeade that evening as a special end-of-year treat; it was unheard of to be able to go to the wizarding town on a weekday, but the Headmistress had collaborated with the townspeople to make it a memorable experience. There were supposed to be lights, shopping sales, and even a carnival there for a few days. It was supposed to be Hermione and Malfoy's first public outing, the first time they showed off their relationship to the world.
But now she can't go, because she's stuck, laying here in the dew, waiting and waiting and waiting forever and ever and ever—
A lone tear slides down the side of Hermione's face, but she can't tell if it's from her or just a drop of moisture from the remnants of the night.
Make a wish, they say, on the stars you can see shooting across the sky. Someday, they'll come true. But really, those stars are just meteors and those countless wishes are just that—wishful thinking. Because she knows wishing will never get her anywhere. It just reminds her of the things she can't have, the things she will never do, never see, never achieve...
Something rustles in the Forest, disturbing the peace and causing some startled swallows to take off. Hermione tries to quiet her laboured breaths, but it only makes her side hurt more. She mourns the loss of their sweet melodies, a small, yet welcome distraction from her reality. The grey mass of clouds brings signs of an impending storm as it starts to block the cerulean sky; in the distance, thunder rumbles.
When the nights are clear and the weather is warm, Hermione goes stargazing. As much as she loves mornings, she'll always make time to sit at the top of the Astronomy Tower and stare up at the Milky Way every so often. She'll pull out a blanket and water and lay outside for hours, only retreating to her room when the midnight chill sets in and the dew has started to collect on the grass around her.
She cherishes it even more now since it was what her first date with Draco had been, however unofficial it might have been. Hermione had climbed the Astronomy Tower with a blanket and her telescope to spend some alone time, only to find Draco there as well. They'd talked about the War and their Houses and their childhoods until they could see the barest traces of golden light start to appear on the horizon, and despite the goosebumps on her arms, Hermione felt warmer than she'd ever felt before.
June 1998
Aren't you coming to save me?
There are soft footfalls near her, but she can't see who they belong to as she stares up, almost unblinkingly, at the sky, which reminds her of his eyes…
She's always liked his eyes. They're like windows into his soul and she feels she can read his thoughts just by looking into them. They're so different from her own, which are brown and only remind her of dirt. She'll never mention that thought to Draco, though—he's told her that they're one of his favourite features on her, and she's unwilling to ruin it.
Once, when Hermione was young, she set a drinking glass outside during a thunderstorm to see how much rain would fall. After the storm, she brought it in and measured it with a ruler. Just over a centimetre. Curious, she tipped the water into her mouth and let the fresh, clean liquid soak into her tongue. Her dad later told her that the glass had been too large to properly measure the rainfall, but Hermione was okay with that. At least it had tasted good.
She thinks about it now, her fingers dabbling in the wetness on her side, reminding her of the way she left several cups outside every time a storm brewed after that first time, consolidating all the water afterward into one refreshing glass of rain. She wonders how many glasses it would take to contain all the rain the looming clouds will bring.
October 1997
It was one of those days when the sky was greyer than usual. It was raining, but there was no accompanying thunder or lightning—only the gloom that left you feeling wet, cold, and dreary.
Draco looked up from his parchment, curious to know why Hermione wanted to go outside now, of all times.
"Autumn rains are the best! You should come with me." Hermione smiled. Even she was feeling the depressing heaviness the clouds brought, but she still wanted to appreciate the long-awaited showers that had evaded the area for over a month.
"Too cold, no thanks. But I'll be here when you get back," Draco said, not unkindly. "I have two essays due in three days."
Hermione frowned. "Fine, guess you should get those done. One day I'll get you out in the rain, though, mark my words." She walked over to Draco and hugged him around the shoulders as he leaned in distractedly, still writing. "See you later."
She'd always loved walking in the rain. It made her feel like she was being cleansed, like the hurt, anger, and sadness she'd built up was washing away. She'd never told Draco this—but maybe someday she would.
She won't cry but she starts to lose hope that someone—anyone—would be there. But she hangs onto that one tiny, hopeful thread, that someone will come to save her from this and make her better so she can run and laugh and be with everyone again.
She realises that no one is here, and no one probably ever will be.
She feels that people exaggerate when they tell about their lives flashing before their eyes when they're on their last breaths—because all she can see is flashes of black and glimpses of blue and the way Draco would shake his head to shift his hair out of his eyes, or the way Ginny's face would light up when they had their girl talks, or how Ron would offer her food when he could tell she was feeling down, or the way Harry would absentmindedly chew on the end of his quills until they couldn't be used anymore.
I'm slipping…
Slipping off the precarious cliff of life that she hangs onto by just one hand… Her heart still beats, her lungs still breathe, her mind still turns, but everything seems to get colder as the sun retreats behind the expanse of grey and the shadows become longer and deeper until the whole area is dimmed and muted. It reminds her of the fading sun during the cold months of the year when sunlight is brief and fleeting and the sky is almost always overcast.
Winter is complicated for Hermione. She hates the cold; that's for certain. And it often brings her back to the last day of December of her Sixth Year, the day Voldemort was brought down for good. She likes the idea of snow, the tiny, perfect shapes drifting gently towards the frozen ground, but she always remembers the friends they lost during that battle. She adores the holiday season, with the warmth of laughter and freshly baked cookies from the kitchens, and the thick snowfall brings about the urge to huddle under a thick mound of blankets with a scalding mug of hot cocoa and her giant book of fairy tales, but she'll never forget bringing in the new year with funerals and remembrance candles.
January 1998
When Hermione first told Ginny and Harry about her relationship, they were sceptical at first. After all, he was the one who'd bullied them for years, which had even resulted in a broken nose back in Third Year.
"How do you even know he's changed? What if he's just making it up to get through his probation?" Ginny asked over her bowl of greens.
"I talked to him, duh." Hermione took a large bite of her chicken salad. There were extra pickles in it. Delicious. "He even apologised to me way back at the start of the year."
"He apologised? Seems very un-Malfoy of him. How long ago did you start snogging him?"
Hermione's face turned red. "Three months."
"Three months!?" Ron, only half-listening until then, nearly choked on his potatoes. He turned her head and started coughing harshly into his elbow in an attempt to dislodge whatever was in his throat, be it food or his own saliva.
Harry thumped him on the back, pushing his water glass over to him and eyeing Hermione with a look that wasn't quite a glare, but was rife with scepticism, and confusion, and… was that concern? "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
"I guess I wanted to see if it would last past the first month," Hermione said. "You know about Cormac. I don't even count him in my dating history."
"I suppose that's true," Ginny conceded. "I'm still mad at you for it, though. I thought we talked about this kind of thing!" But she was smiling, so Hermione knew it would be okay.
"We're having that common room party next Saturday, you should bring him up," Harry suggested.
Hermione nodded. "He'll probably come for a bit. I'm not sure how long he'll stay, but I'll try to convince him to stay at least an hour."
"Great! I'll be honest, I'm kind of excited. And I'm happy for you," Harry said, smiling.
"Even though it's Malfoy," Ron grumbled, but his mutterings were largely ignored in favor of discussing the upcoming Potions essay, which Harry still wasn't done with and Hermione was chastising him about.
Thinking back on it, Hermione is so glad it worked out. But now, she wonders if it would have been better if it hadn't. One less person worrying about her, one less person missing her, one less person mourning her… maybe it would have been better for him in the long run. But she knows she's just a bit too selfish to actually wish that he hadn't stepped into her life.
June 1998
A rustle stirs the silence. Ever so faintly, a voice calls to her from beyond, desperately asking her to stay awake, don't die on me now, you have so much life left to live, the War is over, please—
Just the wind, she thinks, just the wind mocking her in her last moments. She's too exhausted and sleepy to be angry, though, so she just smiles. A lark sings its sweet melody in a nearby tree.
He's here and he's come to save me from this he's here he's here he's here—
And then Draco's face appears above her, looking just like summer, eyes wide and frantic, shining with fear and desperation. Though her own eyesight is blurry and everything blends together, he's really here and she can clearly see his eyes, those beautiful grey orbs gleaming like stars, and he's saying something about blood and pleading with her to look into them and say she's still alive, please, Granger—
Of course, she thinks, but doesn't say aloud. I always will be… As long as he wants her here, she'll be here, right?
Safe, now…
The pain has ebbed away and the cold has disappeared and all she feels is him. She feels his breath on her face as he leans over her, however briefly, and it reminds her of a warm breeze, the kind that warms your soul on a chilly evening, the kind that moves the stars and plays with the moon and rustles the tree leaves in the way a mother affectionately ruffles her child's hair.
Perhaps he isn't like winter at all, but like autumn. His arms feel cool but comforting. His body is warm as he holds her. His tears bring back memories of the late October rains, the kind that makes the ground soft and quiet, and of the dew she lays in now, the kind she loves to see in the early mornings when the sun is just peeking over the horizon.
She tries to concentrate on his voice, tries to ingrain it into her mind so she can remember it forever, so she couldn't possibly forget it if she tried, listening to him say it's okay, you'll be okay, come on, Granger—
But she realises she won't be okay, and she that the evil of the war never really left the Wizarding World, even though the biggest perpetrator was gone. She relaxes her body. Her eyes flutter closed, letting the water in them fall away, letting the salty droplets slip down her face and soak into the still-damp ground. She smiles, the corners of her lips turning up ever so slightly… She just wants to rest in his arms, close her eyes for just a moment…
Thunder rumbles, closer this time, threatening to crack the sky open.
She hears him sob, frantically casting whatever healing spells he knew, but it's far away and she can barely hear him pleading don't leave me, Hermione, please, I love you—
A crow caws in the distance, a light breeze whispers past her ears, a brown leaf crinkles by on its merry way. The clouds break open, filling the silence with the gentle, sorrowful thrumming of raindrops on soft earth.
Too late.