Broken China
Smoke still rose in tendrils from the ashes of the safe house. Wooden beams stuck up from the foundation, jagged and splintered. Ashes and debris-covered what was left of the foundation. If she hadn't seen it, hadn't actually lived in it, Hermione would have never known there was a structure here just yesterday.
Something made a sharp crack and gave away underfoot.
The handle of a porcelain teacup, fallen right next to the matching saucer. Picking it up she could still see the residue of tea and sugar coating the bottom.
The fire had destroyed everything and left her with only this one piece of proof of his existence. Evidence he'd been right here, living, breathing, alive and well.
She was going to hope they were all wrong. Though Hermione had never put any faith in divination before, now she would take this as a sign from somewhere. She needed to keep looking and keep hoping even if this was all she had left.