uzumakibrat
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FUNERALS—Hermione hated them.
A gripping cold surrounded her. For the middle of June that was extremely odd. Yet, it was so. The harsh wind whipped her hair every which way and she had not one care to fix it. It felt colder than any winter Hermione had ever experienced. It seeped past her clothes, into her skin and settled into her bones causing them to ache. Truthfully, Hermione had never minded the cold but she hated this. This felt different. This felt like death. This was death.
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DECEMBER nights brought teeth chattering cold and stomach twisting nightmares.
Hermione had always loved the holidays and even with all the loss, it was hard for her not to succumb to the cheery atmosphere. When night came around is when reality set in and she was haunted by the war even in her sleep.
One night it had become too much for her to bear alone.