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It was hard to believe it, but the war was finally over.

Choking on the smoke that was wafting over the Hogwarts grounds, Hermione raised her hand to her face, covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve. It should have been just another Halloween at the school, where she and her seventh year friends visited Hogsmeade for mugs of hot butterbeer, and then returned to the castle for their last Halloween feast. Instead, the bodies of the dead littered the grounds, and the stench of death hung in the smoky air.

Hermione still remembered leaving the castle with Ron and Harry, joking and laughing about a particularly memorable visit to Hogsmeade in their third year, holding hands with Ron, who'd finally gotten up the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball in their sixth year, when all three of them had stopped, stock still. Pouring through the gates, several black hooded Death Eaters were advancing on them, wands at the ready, horrible masks covering their faces. Without a word, the trio had scattered, drawing their wands as they did so, shouting for the whole castle to hear that they were under attack.

She'd given a parting glance to Ron, and seen the grim determination that marred his young face. Swallowing her fear, the witch had quickly darted behind a tree in her path, as a burst of sizzling green light whipped past where she'd stood only moments before. Beating at the fear and panic that wanted to engulf her, she'd closed her eyes for a bare second, gathered all her wits about her, and rushed from behind the tree, firing spells and curses as she went. Dimly, out of the corner of her eye, she'd watched as the teachers came flooding out of the castle, Dumbledore at the head, McGonagall following closely at his heels, Snape only a hair's breath behind her.

Then she heard a multitude of students scream.

Cold, heart-numbing cold swept over her, and she nearly lost her grip on her wand. Forcing her fingers to tighten on the wooden shaft, brown eyes swept the grounds for the source of the coldness, and the screams. What she saw brought a scream to her own lips, which drowned out the echoing screams in her head. Voldemort had just come through the school's main gate, flanked on either side by Dementors, who were reaching out their scabbed hands for the closest students, sucking out their souls and leaving them to wander the grounds, shells of what they had been.

A shriek had sounded to her right, and Hermione had whipped around in time to see Ginny go down, screaming blue murder, a Death Eater bending over her prone form. Rage such as the Muggle-born witch had never known filled her heart, and she aimed her wand at the masked assailant, wanting nothing more than to help defend her friend.

"Expelliarmus!"



Now, hours later she realized, it was all over. She knew her face was singed, her robes torn and bloodied, but she didn't care. All Hermione wanted was to see if her friends were all right. Calm as could be, she stepped over the body of Bellatrix Lestrange, the Death Eater who'd taken down Ginny, and with whom Hermione had been dueling for the better part of the battle. Bellatrix was merely Stunned, but Hermione had confiscated her wand, so even if she woke up anytime soon, there was nothing she could do.

Reaching Ginny's body, Hermione reached out with shaking fingers to brush aside a lock of the younger girl's crimson hair. Placing a finger under the girl's nose, Hermione nearly fainted with relief when she realized Ginny was alive. Seeing no visible wounds on her, Hermione rose to her feet, nearly collapsing as her knees shook badly from fear and shock. Ron. She had to find Ron. Harry too, if she could. Please don't let them be dead. Don't let them be dead.

Winding her way across the battlefield -- for that's what Hogwarts' grounds had become -- Hermione tried to avert her eyes from the bodies of students, friends, teachers. She'd known these people, had eaten with them, celebrated victories, suffered defeats. It wasn't right for any of them to die this way, cut down before their prime. It wasn't right. Such is the way of the world/, she thought angrily. /Nothing's fair in war, I don't care what the old saying says.

"Hermione!"

Raising her brown eyes from the body of Parvati Patil, Hermione almost didn't recognize the figure stalking towards her. When she did, she raced to him and threw her arms around his shaking body, hugging him tightly for what seemed like ages before she finally let him go. Harry had lost his glasses in the fight with Voldemort, and blood was running into his eyes from a gash on his forehead, but he was alive. Alive. She shook her head, realizing there were tears on her cheeks, and tried to smile for Harry, who'd seen to much death and destruction even before this day had come. "Where's Ron?"

Suddenly Harry would look everywhere but into Hermione's eyes, and she felt cold fear creeping up her spine like ice. "Harry? Harry, look at me!" Green eyes were raised to hers, and what she saw felt like a punch to the stomach. Cursing her body for shaking so hard her teeth chattered, she met his eyes squarely, willing the words from her mouth. "Where's Ron? What happened to him?"

Only then did she notice the tears glistening in Harry's own green eyes. Fighting back a rising dread, she waited in silence to hear what her friend had to say. In her heart, she felt she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from his mouth. Hugging herself tightly, she ignored the cries and moans around her, able to see in the periphery of her vision that others were coming to their aid. Let them. She had other things to worry about. "What happened to him?"

Harry swallowed, and she could see it was a terrible effort for him to speak. Blood had dried on the side of his robe, leaving a horrid brown stain on the black fabric. Hermione ignored it. "Hermione . . . he . . . he saved my life." When she opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head slowly. "Please, don't. Ron . . . I was dueling with Voldemort, and Lucius Malfoy thought to sneak up on me, kill me while my guard was down. Ron, he -- he stepped in the way. He took the curse that was meant for me. He didn't even think! He just . . . he stepped in the way . . ."

There was a rushing in Hermione's ears that hadn't been there before. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she sank to her knees on the ground, her eyes wide and tearless, her entire body numb to the core. Harry watched her, not caring that tears were streaming from his eyes, not caring that seventeen year old boys shouldn't cry. He didn't care who saw him now, not after what he'd done, what he'd seen.

"I want to see him."

"What?"

Hermione rose slowly to her feet again, hands hanging at her sides, her wand clenched so tightly in her hand that Harry swore he could hear the wood creaking under her fingers. In her eyes was a look he'd never seen before, and it made him shiver. Wordlessly, he turned, leading her back to the field where he'd faced Voldemort . . . and where Ron had met his end.



She saw his hair before she saw anything else. It was a splotch on red on the burned and barren ground, and she mistook it for blood at first before she realized what it was. Still, she forced herself to walk with slow, measured steps as she approached his body, refusing to give into her foolish desire to run, to drop at his side and beg him to come back to life, not to leave her all alone. She knew it wouldn't do any good. That only happened in fairytales. This was real life.

When she reached him, she knelt slowly at his side, tilting his face to meet hers. Instead of the look of pain or fear she would have expected, eyes wide and staring, she saw a look of calmness, his brown eyes serene, even in death. She had to swallow hard against a rush of emotion, a howl that wanted to break it's way out of her throat. As she cradled his lifeless body in her arms, Hermione shut her eyes against the flood of memories her mind chose that moment to bring to the forefront.

Cozy nights in the Gryffindor common room, just sitting by the fire . . . dancing at the Yule Ball during their sixth year, and hearing Ron tell her in stuttering words that she was prettier than any other girl there . . . the moment he'd finally worked up the courage to ask her to the ball with him, and how his face had matched his hair . . . their first kiss, under the mistletoe, the day after the ball . . . that time in their second year that he'd defended her to Malfoy, and his curse had backfired, leaving him burping slugs everywhere . . . how brave he'd been during their first year, sacrificing himself during the chess game so she and Harry could advance to Voldemort . . .

Tears were running freely down her face now, and when she opened her eyes and stared down at Ron's lifeless face, she knew she couldn't live with her regrets hanging over her head. That was no way to live, and he wouldn't want her to live that way. Nor would he want her to live a life of grief, always shrouded in her misery. His eyes seemed to be saying, Move forward, and become the great witch I always knew you could be. You're the cleverest witch of your age, Hermione. I was proud to love and be loved by you.

A solitary kiss was placed on his brow, before she allowed Harry to raise her to her feet. Turning to face him, she saw the question burning in his eyes before he could ask it. "Ginny's alive. I don't know how badly she's hurt, but she's alive." Drawing a deep breath, Hermione cast one last look at Ron, feeling her heart aching inside her chest. "We should go take care of her . . . for Ron."