This Very Moment

Hermione sat in the back yard of their house, her face devoid of expression, her eyes dry and burning, and her mind a dull hum.

She had walked outside with the intention of escaping her own thoughts and memories. She desperately wanted to shut everyone of her senses down or overload them to the poin that nothing came through.

He was everywhere she looked and in every sound she heard. Sometimes she thought she heard his voice when their friends surrounded her. She could almost feel his breath in her ear as warm as when he would whispered to her at night. She couldn't escape them and she couldn't bring them together to form what she needed most.

She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes, recalling the look on Ginny's face the last time they had met. Grief pooled in Ginny's eyes that last time. No hope or determination, but loss and ache. Hermione hated it. And she hadn't seen Ginny in three weeks because of it.

She refused to accept that Harry was never coming home. He would never hold her or kiss her or tell her he loved her. They had lived through so much, survived such pain and trial, to get to the other side. It was incomprehensible. No one could make her accept it. Never.

Hermione stood up, threaded her hands through her hair while she bit back a scream. Anger surged through her. Why wasn't he here? Was he somewhere thinking about her, just as worried, missing her? Was he in pain? Was he lost? Was he struggling to get back to her? Where was he? Why did she have to live in this limbo with out him?

She looked around the yard; her eyes darted from tree to table, to bush. She whirled around taking in the birdbath, the grill, everything. She wanted to hurt something, someone, even Harry.

She took a deep breath, spread her hands out before her, and exhaled.

Control.

Calm.

She counted each slow breath and then sat back down.

She thought of her meeting today with the Auror, Elphias Doge. Doge kept her updated with regard to the progress in finding Harry. Leads turned up every once and a while. Someone would think they had seen him or had heard a rumor that he was being held in some small town in the U.S.

Today, while she had been talking to the Doge in his office, an owl had arrived with news that an unconscientious man had turned up at a muggle hospital with the name Harry Potter. She had rushed there just behind Doge. It wasn't Harry, but a forty-five-year-old accountant with three children and a hairpiece.

She let herself smile, thinking about Harry's reaction to this middle age man with his name. They would have laughed together and made fun of what was probably a very good father and husband.

Hermione turned her head to the side, watched the breeze rustle in the trees and strained to hear an echo of Harry's laugh.