Chapter 1
It didn’t feel like it was over, it felt like a dream.
“Hermione!? HERMIONE!”
No matter how long she stood staring at the body, he didn’t seem gone.
“What’s going on?!”
Nobody had wanted to touch him. To move him.
“No ones seen her. No ones seen her since the wall collapsed.”
She felt like she was underwater. She knew they were all yelling, crying - but everything sounded tinny. Far away.
“Ohhh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck…”
There was this inexplicable urge to go over and nudge him. Because he’d wake up right? This wasn’t really - it couldn’t actually be -
“HERMIONE!”
His head lolled as she toed the side of it with her boot. She thought the people around her might have gasped, but she couldn’t be sure. She was in shock. Or there was something wrong with her ears. Maybe a bit of both. She nudged his head again. He didn’t move.
The snake was still bleeding out at his feet.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably from where she stood in the courtyard, intently staring at the body for a few minutes. Even the aurors were giving her a wide berth. She had the sudden thought of her first year of Hogwarts, of watching Fred and George enchant snowballs to bounce off the back of Quirrell's turban. It was funny then and hilarious knowing what she knows now. She’s reminded of this again as she winds up her foot and gives a violent kick that leaves her toes screaming and his jaw bloody.
Who knew the bastard could bleed?
And it's that sludge, leaking from between his teeth, the red so dark it's almost black, that succeeds in convincing her more than anything else.
He’s dead.
She still can’t hear, but she can tell the kick has attracted attention. It’s time to go.
She stumbles through the castle. Past the toppled wall she and Fred had just barely been able to (mostly) avoid. Past the Great Hall with its endless congestion of stretchers of still bodies.
She knows she should try and find everyone, but Tom Riddle is finally, finally, really, and truly, dead. And she doesn’t feel like celebrating. And she doesn’t feel like mourning the dead. And she doesn’t feel like healing the injured. And she doesn’t feel like discussing the next steps with the Elder Wand. And she doesn’t, Merlin forgive her, feel like picking up the pieces Harry must certainly be in.
She doesn't even want to see Fred.
Because now it's over. And they’ve survived. And he’ll want to reunite properly.
And talk
and laugh
and take her to bed
and expect her to be like she was when they left off and she just -
she just -
just -
She just doesn’t feel like doing anything.
Voldemort is dead and his corpse has a bloody mouth and he’s not getting up and for the first time in months she doesn’t actually need to do anything.
So -
so there.
She doesn’t really remember the walk, or even deciding on a destination, but suddenly she’s in the library, hovering about her favorite study table like a ghost. She has no further plan, probably should have just headed up to her dormitory probably - there were good odds nobody was accompanying her old four poster tonight - but then she notices a pool of moonlight softly illuminating the hardwood floors just to her left, and she just lays down in it.
It’s peaceful.
She inexplicably wants to cry.
Something is definitely wrong with her ears.
There’s a weight sitting on her chest.
She wants to cry.
Why does she want to cry so bad?
It’s over now.
Everything’s okay.
Her eyes are prickling.
Thank Merlin Harry’s alive.
Thank Merlin Fred’s alive.
She’s a horrible person.
She should go find him.
She can feel the exhaustion in her bones.
The skylight is very pretty.
She really wants to cry.
Her ears are ringing now.
Why doesn’t she have the energy to cry?
She falls asleep.