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Had it been yesterday when they'd won the war?
Clearly, it had been a while — if the statue in front of him was anything to go by.
Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of The Age.
That's what it said at the bottom of the large figure, dressed in Gryffindor robes as she tightly held her wand, made of vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core.
Did they not know that it wasn't that wand that she'd held during the Final Battle? She'd fought against the Dark while holding the former weapon of the witch who'd tortured her, just a few days prior.
It wasn't vine wood anymore. No, it was supposed to be walnut. They'd gotten everything wrong — mentioning things as her being loved by everyone and appreciated her for a sharp mind.
She'd been anything but appreciated. He remembered several years of him and Ron just leaving their essays to be done by her, while running around and doing Merlin knows what. And loved? No, she'd still been downgraded by multiple people for doing something as simple as answering a question in class.
Never mind that. It wasn't as if anyone's behaviour had gotten her in the end. It was in their belief. They had their minds set to believe that her blood was nothing - just a pool of dirty mud.
Had Malfoy Manor been too dark for them to see the colour of the blood dripping down her arm?
It was crimson; intense red like the dress she'd worn the day of the wedding, before the beginning of it all.
—
He felt her presence before his eyes could even catch a glimpse of her. He hadn't realized he was walking, not until his hands immediately shot out to hold her waist and his surroundings were filled with the scent that never failed to bring him comfort — make him feel safe.
Coconut oil never sounded so simple, but so wonderful at the same time.
Her cherry tinted lips, looking oh, so delicious curved at his dream eyed look and she shook her head in amusement. "Really, Harry. You need to stop looking like you have a teenaged boy crush."
Her voice sounded like music to his ears; so soft and so sweet.
"Oh, but I do," he grinned wickedly, momentarily forgetting any weight his shoulders carried and instead cherishing the sight in front of him.
—
The soft autumn breeze ran around his form, surrounding him with nothing but a whoosh of air. It was cold, he realized. He hadn't shivered in a long time, almost often having her next to him, comforting him with the mere warmth of her body and presence and love.
She was — she was just everything.
He shuffled on his feet, moving a little closer to the graveyard, intent on finding his parents. He halted his steps once he found who he was looking for and a wobbly smile appeared on his face, just as he read their names.
His eyes flickered down to what both of their graves mentioned.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
He remembered a time that came, when he feared that everyone around him would drop dead at his presence. He wanted to do nothing more than leave at the moment, go on his mission alone and let everyone stay - alive.
He also remembered who brought him back on track, insisting that he wasn't killing anyone. If anyone was responsible for the deaths in his life, it was Voldemort and his followers.
She'd once engulfed him into a hug, letting his tears fall and be absorbed by the warmth of her shirt, just as he sat — wrapped in the arms of the one person who'd managed to remain there for him, no matter how many times he tried to push her away.
—
"I'm here, Harry. It's okay," she continued to whisper sweet nothings, but they were just that. Nothing. Dumbledore was dead and Voldemort—being inside of his head and knowing everything he knew about him—could easily kill her too.
It was too dangerous. He couldn't possibly risk her life, knowing especially how publicized her blood status had been in their fourth year. And to think that most people were also aware of just how much she meant to him. No, he wasn't going to let her come with him.
"You need to stay, Hermione," he ground out, his voice firm — nothing like what his heart felt like. It was crumbling to pieces, holding onto the love she felt for him.
How could he possibly sacrifice that?
Her hands pushed back his shoulders and his eyes glanced around her face; blotchy red with tears, but still so beautiful. Guilt settled inside his gut, knowing that she was mourning as well. He shouldn't be comforted at all times, yet here she was.
"Like hell I will. I'm coming with you two, and that's final," she said with a final tone that normally would've had him agreeing instantly. Though this time, hesitant was all he felt.
"Come on, mate," Ron clapped his back and joined to sit next to Hermione. "We wouldn't survive a day without her."
He did have a good point, Harry thought as he stared back at her, who was doing a good job at looking absolutely defiant at whatever he was about to say.
He sighed heavily, slumping his shoulders as he did so. Her eyes softened at that, and his heart skipped a beat at the look of adoration and love she wore for him.
"Fine."
—
He moved away a bright orange leaf that had fallen on top of his mother's last name.
Potter.
He thought back to the irrational dreams he used to have; with his parents and Hermione. His father would utter a cheeky dad joke and his mother would roll her eyes at him, moving to embrace Hermione into a tight hug.
His dad would ruffle his hair and tell him just how perfect he was in finding his true love. Hermione would blush at that, failing miserably at hiding her flustered look with her mass of curls.
Harry would shoot her grin and give her a chaste kiss before she could convince his mom to go look at the Potter Library.
—
"Harry's kissing was more than satisfactory," she blurted out.
Both boys turned to face her and he wanted to do nothing more than to kiss her cheeks, tinted with a lovely shade of pink.
She had such a fierce, confident look at what she'd just said—even when she was blushing—and he couldn't help but feel a little proud for being the reason for it.
His kissing had made Hermione Granger proud.
Take that, Viktor Krum.
Harry gave her a firm nod, biting down a smile but bursting out laughing anyways as he joined Ron, who in result made her laugh too.
Her laugh was one of the prettiest sounds he'd heard. People often thought of certain objects or even food to make them content, but Harry — oh, he just wanted to hear her laugh.
It was sweeter than his favourite dessert, treacle tarts, and more fascinating that any sight, even a blanket of silver stars dispersed in the sky.
He wished for the sound to ring in his ears for the rest of his life.
—
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to smile at his best friend. The smile was anything but a genuine one. No, it was bitter and cracked.
He was tired of smiling like that — he just wanted to sit in front of the Black Lake with her head in his lap as they talked about their future plans, and he smiled at the freckles he wanted to trace with his finger and kiss - each one of them.
"Let's go home."
He stayed quiet, even as they both apparated to the Burrow, filled with wholeness and people, yet so empty and lonely.
—
"Hermione," he started, grabbing both of her hands and intertwining her fingers with his own. "I need to go watch the memories."
Her face was dirty with mud, a spot on her nose that resembled the one Ron sported during their first encounter.
Had it been another time, he would've chuckled at that, teasing her as he said, 'Look who has dirt on their nose now?'
He pulled a few strands of hair that had managed to spring out of her braid like always. They curled around his finger, feeling soft against his rough skin. He tucked them behind her ear and gazed at her beautiful eyes with regret.
He didn't want to leave her, but deep down he knew. He knew his possible end was coming soon that night and the more he prolonged it, the more people would die.
Her eyes looked darker than usual, filled with sorrow and pain that matched his own emerald ones. People often said that green was beautiful, but he found chocolate mixed with golden even more fascinating.
One day, he'd wanted to go to Greece with her, for their Honeymoon. There, she would've taken him to all the historical places she wanted to visit and during their afternoon breaks, they would've laid down in front of the sun, where he would've fondly looked at her eyes, swimming in gold.
Her heart was golden too.
"I'll be waiting for you by the stairs," she told him, knowing he wanted to view Snape's memories alone.
She always understood him.
He gave her a smile, one filled with promises he couldn't keep, even though he knew she would be there to fulfill her own share.
Shaky hands cupped her bloodied cheeks and he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, warm and sweet as honey.
He hoped she could feel the hum of his love. He wanted to comfort her — just like how she'd done so many times with him.
Reluctantly, he let go of her, immediately feeling the loss of her skin.
"Did you know I love you?"
Her head snapped back over her shoulder, her cheeks pink as she made a show of rolling her eyes before turning around.
"And I love you too," he heard her say and his lips twitched.
When he came back down, his head was filled with thoughts. Snape had loved his mother and Harry - he needed to die. This whole time, he'd been Voldemort's horcrux and he resisted the urge to claw out of his skin in disgust.
How many times had Voldemort seen her through his eyes?
He was crushed by the burden of his responsibilities, still determined to go to the Forbidden Forest and end it at once. Hermione and Ron will be there to kill Nagini and finally end the battle of his immortality.
His brows rose in surprise as he began stepping down, approaching the group at the bottom of the stairs — slowly and then, quickening at each step. The Weasleys were there - why were they crying?
Ron looked devastated and he felt a pang in his heart at the thought of one of his brothers being hurt.
One by one, they all looked up and their eyes met him with devastating grief and pity.
He felt a chill sweep over his skin, with goosebumps erupting on his forearms.
Why—
No. He took one step down before Ginny moved away from the laying form in front of them. No.
It wasn't her—not Hermione, please—it's not—
He didn't know he'd fallen, not until he began crawling to her with shaky arms. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her as sobs racked his body, and he tucked away the same strands of hair he'd put behind her ears earlier.
Her eyes were closed — why were they closed?
He shook her shoulders firmly, desperately.
"Hermione," he whispered, his voice hollow. "Wake up."
This was no time to sleep, he wanted to tell her.
He needed to see her beautiful eyes, just before he could snog her silly like they'd done so many times in the castle, hidden by prying eyes. He wanted to engulf her in the tightest hug and never, never let her go.
"You can't leave me," he choked on a sob, his lips trembling as his eyes took in the sight of her — pale, bloodied. She looked just like before. She couldn't be dead.
He turned to Ron, who was staring at her with tearful eyes. His hand latched onto his arm and he desperately tried to catch his attention.
Words welled up to his throat, as painful as tears, clogging and choking. "Ron! She just fainted — she's fine!"
She had to be fine. Nothing could bring Hermione down. Was she not the Brightest Witch of Their Age?
"It was Dolohov," a voice explained and he shook his head frantically as though to tune it out. It couldn't be real. It was just a nightmare; like the ones he continued to have in the tent and she would eventually join him in his bed to cuddle.
". . . she fell down during the fight and he used the Killing Curse to . . ."
Molly wrapped her arms around him, but it was nothing like the ones he wished for. They weren't warm and they didn't hold the scent of her love for him.
Intense disappointment squeezed around his chest and choked the breath from him. His mind felt muddled — had she not promised to be waiting for him?
His chest continued to ache, throbbing and dull as he watched everyone around him look at her sadly. Like she was gone; just like that.
He wept, shameless tears falling on the same cheeks she used to kiss with a fond smile. He held onto her as though he could bring her back.
For the longest time, he didn't say anything. He laid crumpled on the ground, wishing the ground would swallow him whole and put a stop to the deep ache he felt.
Empty. She was everything to him; the love of his life, his soulmate.
"I have to go," he eventually spoke, despair sinking in his tone. He ignored their protests as they sank down with the background noise, among everything else.
His heart pounded, almost as fiercely as it had when he'd kissed her for the very first time. He was walking straight to death, but at that very point, he wanted to do nothing more than to bring the end of Voldemort and the war.
He began to wonder if it hurt Hermione, when death arrived to receive her. He wasn't sure he remembered what he'd felt like, the first time Voldemort had killed him.
Terror sunk in his veins, squeezing the life out of him. His rib cage was squeezing his lungs so tightly that each breath came out as a wheeze.
He saw fallen faces of those he knew, pain washing over his body as though it was raining in sacrifices for him - Harry Potter.
He managed to pull Neville aside and tell him about Nagini, hurrying to do so before the boy could question him about where he was going.
What he hadn't expected was for his Golden Snitch to act up halfway through the path. He froze in his steps, turning around quickly to the voice of his father.
"You are nearly there," said James. "Very close. We are ... so proud of you."
He asked if death hurt. It felt silly at first, but the voices that surrounded him brought a sense of relief at what he'd been assigned to do.
He saw his parents, moving around quickly to listen to what Sirius and Remus had to add. It was only when another voice spoke up that he halted, heart clenching with longing.
"I love you."
It felt like a whisper of the breeze, or perhaps the hustle of the ancient trees surrounding them all that night. His lips trembled as her sweet voice sank in and his gaze frantically swept around to find her.
She was smiling at him with that proud look of hers.
He scrambled on his feet to touch her, smell her, feel her. His eyes blurred with more tears and he wanted to do nothing more than beg for her to come back to him. It felt selfish to him, at the sudden reminder that he was just about to die as well.
"I'm so sorry," he choked, his voice hoarse and sobs beating his will to remain strong in front of his family.
She shook her head firmly, like she'd done numerous times to stop him from acting like an idiot. She brought up a hand to cup his cheek, even though he could feel nothing.
There was no warmth, no comfort.
But her love was still there.
"You've done wonderfully, Harry. I'm so proud of you — please, just remember how much I love you. You're so strong for being loyal to friendship and bravery and—"
"Love," they said together.