Chapter Text
It was a rough awakening.
Hermione bolted upright in bed, her breathing ragged, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
The dream.
Again.
The same one that had haunted her every night for the past two weeks.
She pressed her hands against her face, rubbing at her eyes, only then realizing that tears were already streaming down her cheeks.
It had felt so real that, for one terrible moment, she wasn't sure she'd ever truly woken from it.
The memories came crashing back.
She saw Harry's face, paler than she'd ever seen it before. Not even during the darkest days of the war had he looked like that. Not after the Battle of Hogwarts. It was as though every drop of blood had drained from his body. He stood perfectly still, staring straight ahead, unable to utter a single word.
Beside him was Ginny, her eyes red and swollen from crying, holding a completely shattered Molly.
And finally...
There was her.
Her body had felt numb, as though it no longer belonged to her.
She hadn't cried.
She hadn't screamed.
Her mind had gone utterly blank.
For one fleeting moment, she'd convinced herself she was trapped in a nightmare—or that she'd somehow stumbled across a Boggart wearing the shape of her greatest fear.
But it had been neither.
It had been real.
Then she'd smelled it again.
Burning wood.
So strong it felt as though it had seeped into her skin forever.
Every time she remembered it, her stomach twisted into knots.
She remembered her legs giving way beneath her.
The world spinning around her.
And then...
Darkness.
Hermione blinked hard, forcing the memory away, and turned toward the bedside table.
The clock read 3:38 a.m.
She already knew she wouldn't be getting back to sleep.
Drawing in a slow breath, she tried to steady herself, though she doubted it would help.
Not even Dreamless Sleep Potion had managed to free her from the nightmares.
After several minutes of failing to calm down, she climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom.
She needed a shower.
As she stepped inside, her eyes met her reflection.
Her hair, as always, looked as though it had survived a fight between a cat and a dog.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes so deeply they could almost have passed for bruises.
The face that had once been so full of life had become frighteningly pale—barely recognizable as her own.
For a brief moment, Harry's expression flashed through her mind again.
Along with it came the smell of burning wood.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head until the images finally retreated.
The shower was brief.
It didn't clear her thoughts, but at least the hot water loosened some of the tension knotted in her muscles.
When she finished, she made her way to her study.
If she couldn't sleep, she could at least work.
At the center of her desk lay the report she'd been writing for weeks: a proposal to abolish the Ministry's registry for witches and wizards of non-human ancestry—a practice that continued to fuel pure-blood prejudice.
Immersing herself in work was one of the few things capable of silencing her mind.
She focused on reviewing case files belonging to highly qualified witches and wizards who had been denied promotions—or even employment altogether—simply because one of their parents wasn't fully human.
When she finally looked up from the last file, the pale light of dawn had already begun filtering through the curtains.
She blinked, disoriented.
She had completely lost track of time.
Turning toward the clock, she muttered a curse beneath her breath.
She was late.
She was on her feet in an instant, moving through the study with the efficiency that years of routine had ingrained into her.
She changed clothes, carefully packed the parchments into her bag, and checked—almost automatically—that her wand was where it belonged.
Then her stomach growled loudly enough to make her stop.
She hadn't even had breakfast.
Her eyes flicked toward the kitchen, briefly considering throwing something together.
She dismissed the thought almost immediately.
There wasn't time.
Ignoring the hunger, she hurried across the sitting room to the fireplace.
Taking a handful of Floo powder, she clearly spoke her destination and vanished into emerald flames bound for the Ministry of Magic.
As usual, Hermione met Harry for lunch in the Ministry cafeteria.
They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes.
Hermione barely noticed the food on her plate.
The chatter surrounding them blended with the clinking of cutlery until it became little more than distant background noise.
Harry was the first to speak.
"Saturday..."
Hermione looked up.
"It'll be a year."
Her fingers tightened around her fork.
"I know."
Harry remained silent for a few moments.
"Are you going?"
"Of course."
The answer came out sharper than she'd intended.
Harry set down his knife and fork.
"Hermione..."
She met his eyes.
"What?"
He studied her quietly.
"You've changed."
Hermione lowered her gaze to her plate.
"I'm just tired."
Harry let out an almost imperceptible sigh.
"No."
She frowned.
"No?"
"It's not just that."
Hermione said nothing.
"It's been a year," Harry continued calmly. "None of us are okay. But you're the only one still pretending you can carry everything by yourself."
A knot tightened painfully in her stomach.
"I'm not pretending."
Harry held her gaze.
"When was the last time you slept through an entire night?"
She didn't answer.
"Or ate a meal without someone reminding you?"
Hermione looked away.
"I'm fine."
She didn't believe the words herself.
Harry remained silent for several seconds.
"You don't have to be okay for our sake, Hermione."
She swallowed hard.
She wanted to say something.
Anything.
But no words came.
At last, Harry gave a slow nod, understanding he wouldn't get any more out of her.
"All right."
From the way he looked at her, Hermione knew he hadn't believed a single word she'd said.
She stood, picking up her bag.
"I should get back to work."
Harry rose as well.
"I'll see you Saturday."
She managed a smile she didn't truly feel.
"I'll see you then."
She walked away before he had the chance to say anything else.
It was one o'clock on Saturday afternoon when Hermione arrived.
Had it not been for what the place meant to all of them, she would have called it beautiful.
A wide meadow stretched before her, covered in vibrant green grass shimmering beneath the summer sun.
On one side stood trees of every size, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.
On the other lay a crystal-clear lake reflecting the cloudless sky, so peaceful it seemed impossible that a place like this could hold such unbearable memories.
It wasn't fair.
That somewhere could remain so beautiful after witnessing so much pain.
Hermione stood at the foot of the path leading up the hill for several long moments.
She didn't want to move.
Part of her still hoped that if she waited long enough, someone would appear and tell her she didn't have to do this.
That she could go home.
That she didn't have to face this day again.
But she knew no one would.
Drawing a deep breath, she started walking.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Her fingers opened and closed restlessly, unable to keep still.
She tried to steady her breathing, but her body seemed to remember this place before her mind did.
The smell.
The silence.
The overwhelming certainty that the world had stopped making sense.
With every step forward, the memories grew stronger.
The night everything changed.
Hermione pressed her lips together and kept climbing.
When she finally reached the top of the hill, everyone was already there.
The first person she saw was Molly Weasley.
She leaned against Arthur, one hand gripping his arm as though she needed constant reassurance that he was still there.
Hermione could see the faint tremble in her shoulders despite the effort she made to remain composed.
Molly looked smaller than she used to.
As though the past year had taken a piece of her away forever.
Harry and Ginny stood nearby, holding one another in silence.
A little farther off, Bill and Fleur remained beside George.
The rest of the family and their closest friends stood in scattered groups across the hill, speaking only in whispers.
Then a branch snapped beneath Hermione's foot.
The sound was insignificant.
Yet in that silence, it felt as though it shattered the entire world.
Every head turned toward her.
Molly was the first to react.
"Oh, dear..."
Her voice broke before she managed to steady it.
"I'm so glad you're here. We've been waiting for you before we began."
Hermione barely had time to answer before Molly wrapped her in a tight embrace.
For just a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes.
The hug was still warm.
It was still Molly's embrace.
And yet...
It no longer made her feel safe.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she whispered as they pulled apart.
Molly returned to Arthur's side.
"Please... come closer."
Everyone obeyed.
Hermione stepped forward as well.
One step.
Then another.
But she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.
The grass.
The scattered stones poking through the soil.
Anything that wasn't directly ahead of her.
She already knew what was there.
She didn't need to look.
Her breathing began to quicken.
The voices around her drifted farther and farther away, as though echoing through a tunnel.
She caught only fragments.
The wind stirred the treetops.
Someone sobbed quietly.
Hermione continued staring at the ground.
She couldn't lift her head.
She didn't want to.
Because she knew the moment she did, she would no longer be able to pretend.
She took a step backward.
She needed air.
Then another.
A gentle hand settled on her shoulder.
Arthur.
When Hermione finally looked up, she saw a weariness in him she'd never witnessed before.
Yet his expression still held the quiet warmth that had always made him so easy to trust.
"Hermione," he said softly. "Would you like to say a few words?"
Several seconds passed before she answered.
"No."
Arthur didn't remove his hand.
"It doesn't have to be much."
Hermione shook her head.
"I can't."
He looked at her for another moment before silently nodding.
Then the smell returned.
Burning wood.
So vivid that her throat tightened, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
For an instant, the hill vanished.
She could no longer hear the wind.
She could no longer see the Weasleys.
There was only that smell.
And the memory.
Her eyes flew open.
The dizziness forced her to brace herself against her own legs to keep from collapsing.
Without realizing it, she'd lifted her head.
She tried to look away.
She couldn't.
Her gaze slowly drifted downward.
First, she saw the dates.
1980–2001.
The air left her lungs.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
No.
She didn't want to keep reading.
Not again.
She opened them.
Her gaze fell lower.
The words engraved in the stone blurred before her eyes.
Beloved son, brother, friend, and life companion.
She swallowed.
No.
There was still one final line.
The last one.
The one that, even after an entire year, some part of her still hoped she would never find.
Ron Bilius Weasley.