Hermione awoke to a bitter winter morning. Frost blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts like a cold, silent shroud. She shivered as she looked out the window and wished she could just crawl back into bed, pull the blanket over her head, and hide from the day ahead. It wasn't only the biting chill of January that made her want to retreat — it was the dread of what this day would bring.
Professor McGonagall had organized a memorial service in the Great Hall to honor all those who had lost their lives in the fight against Voldemort. Afterward, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Mad-Eye Moody would be laid to rest in the burial ground near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Although only a handful of students currently remained at Hogwarts, hundreds of people were expected to attend.
With a heavy feeling in her stomach, Hermione dragged herself to the shower, letting the warm water run over her shoulders before quickly dressing in her warmest clothes.
Breakfast was subdued, the air thick with unspoken grief. The looming funerals seemed to hang over everyone like a dark, heavy veil.
Ron joined Hermione at the table, greeting her with two quiet kisses on the cheek. In the distance, Ginny and Harry entered arm in arm, their expressions somber. Words felt out of place that morning. Each person seemed to be searching for their own way to endure the day.
By eleven o'clock, the Great Hall had been transformed — the long dining tables replaced with rows of benches, enough to seat around three hundred people. Outside the castle gates, the grounds were alive with movement as visitors apparated to the boundary of Hogwarts and then made their way up to the castle in groups.
Hermione was helping McGonagall arrange flowers on the platform when she noticed Molly Weasley entering the hall. Setting the bouquet down, she walked over to her.
"Hello, Molly," she greeted softly.
"Hermione, dear… oh, come here," Molly said, pulling her into a crushing hug. "I'm so glad you're all safe… it's just awful, so many gone."
"I'm so sorry about Fred… I still can't believe it," Hermione whispered, tears pricking her eyes.
"I know you've been such a support for Ron. It may not have looked like it, but he and Fred were close. He's hurting more than he lets on. Promise me you'll watch over him. He cares for you."
Hermione nodded, returning the hug as best she could.
---
The memorial was both balm and torment to the soul.
McGonagall, steady and composed, found just the right words for each of the fallen. Even Albus Dumbledore himself could not have done better. The grief in the hall was palpable, but it reached its peak during the burials of Lupin and Tonks, when sobs seemed to ripple across the Hogwarts grounds like a single, shared heartbeat of sorrow.
Hermione's vision blurred from the endless stream of tears. She made no attempt to stop them — this grief needed release, or it would crush her.
Harry carried little Teddy Lupin in his arms, and sometimes passed the boy to Hermione. Each time she held the small, orphaned child, her heart broke anew. The thought that he would grow up without his parents lodged in her throat like a stone.
She looked around — at the Weasleys mourning Fred, at parents grieving children who would never return, at faces hollowed by loss. She wanted to scream the question that burned in her chest: Why? Why did these good, selfless people have to die for the madness of one deranged tyrant?
---
When the ceremonies ended, Hermione walked away from the burial ground with Ron, their arms linked.
The cold on her skin no longer stung; in fact, it was almost welcome, cooling the fire of grief and reminding her that life moved on, whether they wanted it to or not.
She found herself wondering again whether she had done Snape a favor by saving his life. She had forced him to keep living, and she wasn't sure if he would ever thank her for it.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice Ron stop by a large tree until he gently pulled her aside and wrapped her in his arms.
"You mean the world to me, Hermione. I'm so glad you're safe," he said, holding her tightly.
She let herself lean into him, accepting the comfort.
---
From his window, Snape watched the fields stretching toward the Forbidden Forest. There she was — arm in arm with the redhead.
He despised funerals. If things had gone as he wished, he would be lying over there next to Lupin, and that would be the end of it.
Why had she done this to him? And why, in Merlin's name, hadn't he held her accountable the way he had with everyone else who ever crossed him? She had ignored his wishes, just as his father had, just as Voldemort had, just as Dumbledore had in the end.
In the past, he would have cut her down with words sharp enough to keep her away for weeks. But when she had applied the balm to his wounds, he had felt something… different. She had been honest with him. She hadn't hidden her pain over what had happened. He knew the decision hadn't been easy for her — she was far too disciplined for rash impulses. She had saved him because she wanted to, not because she had to.
And all she had asked in return… was lessons. Compared to what Albus or Voldemort had demanded of him, the request felt almost like a gift.
From afar, he saw her moving toward the castle with Weasley, and his heartbeat quickened. For the first time in years, he felt something alive within him.
.
END OF CHAPTER
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