Winter

It was snowing.

There was a time when this would have been a joy to her, a quiet comfort in her otherwise hectic life. She wasn't like the other kids. While they were building snowmen and having snowball fights, she was sitting under a tree, quietly admiring the beauty of all the pure whiteness. Whereas her mother was worried that she wasn't social enough with the other kids, that she would catch cold without the mittens she'd bought her earlier that winter, her father was less concerned about her social life. He told her mother not to worry, that she was wearing an old pair of his gloves that she had always admired from afar - plain black with fluffy plaid lining on the inside.

"She'll be alright", she overheard him telling her mother one night after she'd been caught lying in the yard in a snow angel she'd just creating with her eyes closed. She said she loved to feel the cold on her eyelids. Her mother said that she'd catch her death that way.

"You can't watch over her forever, you know," her father said quietly, "One day, she'll be on her own."

She got her Hogwarts letter that year.

----

Thinking of her mother and father brings tears to her eyes faster than she expects. They're gone Hermione, she tells herself firmly, you can't mourn forever. But her reproach wasn't entirely fair, as she was never given time to mourn in the first place.

She remembers coming home on Christmas morning her Seventh Year. It was supposed to be a surprise - she'd told her parents she'd be staying at Hogwarts so that Harry wouldn't be alone, but Harry begged her not to miss spending Christmas with her parents again on his account. She agreed, and when she walked into the house Christmas morning, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was home - no more exams, no more worrying about the war. Just relaxation, if only for a day or two.

The gifts were under the tree, arranged with the care that only her mother could give. Her father's bright green stocking hung in the corner over a small, ceramic Christmas tree covered in little multi-colored lights. She walked over, and touched her finger to the material, cocking her head to one side. There was a thin line of red running down the middle. But there was never...

She remembers the panic when she realized the house was too quiet for Christmas morning; the radio should have been blaring, or her father's old Christmas records playing in the background. She remembers Apparating up the stairs, because even running at full speed wouldn't have gotten her into her parent's bedroom fast enough.

When she saw what was waiting for her on her parent's bed, she wretched on the spot. Her parents were dead, their eyes open and lifeless, but it wasn't just a simple killing curse. The Dark Mark was burned into the wall, written in their blood. The message was clear.

She blacked out then, and didn't come to again until the Aurors showed up at her house, headed by The Order and flanked by Harry, who scooped her up in his arms and carried her out, shivering and crying.

And all the while, it was still snowing.

----

Not long after that, Voldemort attacked Hogwarts. The Order anticipated that moment longer than anyone could remember. They'd been training Harry. They'd been training students in more advanced Defense magics. They were ready to win.

They were never prepared to lose.

There were just too many on Voldemort's side, too many experienced with killing and torturing, and too few of them prepared for the onslaught. They held strong for as long as possible, blood staining the ground, flashes of green light shooting everywhere, terror filled screams breaking the night. She watched Neville fending off three Death Eaters on his own, Seamus ducking to avoid a curse, Hannah Abbot falling face first onto the ground. Hermione turned her head. She knew Hannah would be among the many dead tomorrow.

She remembers wiping the sweat off of her forehead, the tears leaving tracks down her filthy face. She could see her breath on the cold night air, the wind blowing straight through her clothing and freezing her skin. She was getting ready to back up Ron when she heard a familiar scream.

And that was when Harry fell.

The battle was over soon after that. Dumbledore ran straight into the fray and grabbed Harry's arm, getting struck by the sword of a Death Eater on the way. He wasn't deterred. When he reached Harry, he touched his wand to a button on his robe, transporting them and the rest of the remaining Order back to their old hideout at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

As Dumbledore died, Voldemort proclaimed himself the victor of the Second War.

And the first snow of the season began to fall.

----

As the Wizarding world became Voldemort's playground, the Order assessed their losses. Their first priority, of course, was Harry. Molly and Remus spent two tiring weeks tending to his wounds and trying every spell they knew to wake him up. Remus reckoned Harry would wake when he was ready.

She was sitting by his bedside, Ron's hand rubbing her back soothingly, holding Harry's hand in hers when his eyes fluttered open. He smiled feebly at both of them as she cried. He squeezed her hand; his skin was warm, comforting, and she could only smile and wrap her arms around him. Ron gave Harry a wink and left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.

They laid together in silence and watched the window, where the snow continued to fall among a starry sky.

----

Her most vivid memory of him is the day that he kissed her.

He was leaning against a tree in the back of the house. The cane he now used to walk was on the ground next to him. His arms were crossed, his cloak drawn tightly around him. He was staring into the distance, his breath coming out in cold puffs before disappearing into nothing.

She approached him, her arms wound tightly around herself. "It's freezing. What are you doing out here?"

Harry shrugged, his eyes never meeting hers. "Just thinking. The cold is sort of soothing. It makes me feel numb."

She put a hand on his shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to understand what was going through his head. Remus and Molly tried to hold off telling him about their casualties until he was able to get out of bed, but he demanded they tell him everything. So they did. And the list went on and on. Luna, Parvati, Dean, Cho, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick. Hagrid. Professor Snape. And Dumbledore... Harry was devastated when he heard that his Headmaster had died, despite all that he had kept from him until the very end, and even worse when Remus gently told him that he died while saving his life. He went from disbelieving to angry to sobbing in her arms in all of twenty seconds, and her heart ached to see him so broken.

"Don't you want to feel anything at all?" Even now, looking back, she never would have expected the answer she received.

He turned to her then, a picture of confusion and longing. "There is one thing..."

Suddenly, he pressed his lips to hers. His mouth was chapped and cold against her lips, but she found herself closing her eyes and responded, her arms winding tightly around his shoulders.

As she felt the first snowflakes fall around them, she found herself falling in love with winter all over again.

----

That was the last day of relaxation either of them would ever have. As reports came in from the outside of tortured Muggles and murdered wizards, they all realized something had to be done.

Harry sat in a circle with Ron and the remaining members of the Order. She watched as he ran his fingers up and down the blade of the dagger in his hand. Dumbledore had given it to him just a few days before the first battle, told him it was full of magics long lost to the Wizarding world, and that all he had to do was stab Voldemort with it, anywhere, and the magic would work for itself. Of course, only Harry could yield it. Anyone else would get their hands horribly burned. She found that out the hard way.

The Order was split between those who thought they should go back and fight, and those who thought they should flee. They all knew that they were wanted fugitives, and that Voldemort had placed high prices on all of their heads. Was it even worth it to die for the cause anymore? Eventually, a fight broke out, and she watched as the debate got more and more heated.

Through the mass of voices, Harry said very loudly and very firmly, "We're going to fight."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Ron stood up. "I'm with Harry." Gradually, even those who wanted to leave agreed that there was nothing else to be done.

Harry's eyes met hers and she nodded at him. The fate of the Wizarding world was on his shoulders once again, and all she could do now was stand beside him and fight.

They decided to attack Voldemort at his base of operations - Hogwarts, in no less than two months time, on Christmas Eve.

----

The next few weeks seemed to go by quickly, most of their time spent training, eating, or sleeping. Harry was more determined than anyone to get himself back in proper shape, and she would often see him training with Remus outside early in the morning hours, the light of the rising sun shining down, making them glow against the whiteness of the fallen snow.

After her shower the night before the battle, she stood in front of the mirror, examining herself. She barely recognized her own face, gaunt with worry, her skin a shade lighter than normal. She could see the beginning of her ribs showing under her breasts, her waist and legs skinnier than she had seen them in years. Her stomach was constantly in knots from anxiety over Harry and what might happen on that battlefield. She knew the prophecy - one cannot live while the other survives. What if Harry's the one who...

She shivered and wrapped her robe tightly around her. She wouldn't think about the worst. Not yet.

There was a knock at the door and Harry poked his head in. She waved him in and stood looking in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. He came behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she told him after a long period of silence.

Harry tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "I do."

He brushed his lips against hers, and she turned around so she could kiss him more fully. The tie on her robe fell open of her own accord, and she rested her forehead against his as his hands shakily pushed her robe from her shoulders to the floor. She looked into his eyes and kissed him again, pulling him down on top of her on the bed. The fireplace burned brightly as the snowstorm raged on through the night.

----

It began and ended quicker than any of them would have imagined.

She, Harry, and Ron stepped onto the battlefield together, but were soon separated. They had the element of surprise, but were quickly outnumbered, and the fight looked like it would end worse then the last one.

Harry went straight for Voldemort, and the two engaged in a deadly sparring match. Wands were of no use to them since neither wanted a repeat of the Graveyard Incident. She could hear them baiting each other as swords clanged together loudly, daring the other to make the next move. Harry's Gryffindor scarf was wrapped around his neck, a symbol of what they were all fighting so hard to take back.

When it happened, it happened fast. Harry struck the dagger deep into Voldemort's heart at the same time that Voldemort swiftly cut into Harry's abdomen.

Voldemort fell with a scream as Harry fell to his knees, and the entire battle stopped to watch. The Dark Lord's body burned and shriveled into nothing; the smoke drifted from his burnt corpse taking the form of the Dark Mark in the sky before exploding into green sparks with a force powerful enough to knock everyone off of their feet.

The wind blew softly as the dust finally cleared, the sun disappearing behind grey clouds. It was cold, and the air smelled like rain, as if any minute the skies would open up. The Order was rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, who had panicked and tried to flee when they saw their master fall. She and Ron moved quickly to their fallen friend, but it was apparent to both of them as they watched his blood stain the ground that there was nothing they could do.

She sat with her knees tucked under her and pulled Harry's head into her lap, stroking his hair away from his forehead. Voldemort was dead, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was that his eyes stay open, but even she could tell that he had nothing left to give. He squeezed his hand in hers. He felt cold.

"I'm proud of you," she said, her voice shaky and sorrowful.

Harry gave her as strong a smile as he could muster. He whispered I love you, so quietly that it could have been mistaken for the wind. She laid a gentle kiss on his lips before his eyes closed forever.

They told him one would die while the other would live...but they never said for how long.

The tears began to fall before she could control herself. She lifted his hand to her lips and quietly said I love you, before brushing a fringe of hair off of his forehead. She carefully placed his arm across his chest, buried her face in her own hands, and cried.

The rain never came, but as the rest of the Order approached, with Ron's arms wrapping around her shoulders to help her stand as he shed quiet tears of his own, the snow began to fall.

----

Twenty years later, the sky is tinged pink with the sunset. It's snowing. She remembers how much joy the snow used to bring her, playing in the park as a child, sitting next to the lake at Hogwarts, hers and Harry's first kiss. There is no joy in it for her now, walking through the cemetery on the anniversary of Harry's death.

She drops to her knees and lovingly runs her fingers over the name engraved in the tombstone. It is all she has left of him, that and the charred remains of his Gryffindor scarf. She runs her fingers along the singed material, as if it is something holy, something to be cherished forever. In some strange way it's her salvation, for wrapped inside is a small dagger with a jeweled handle, the one Dumbledore had given Harry to defeat Voldemort, although it is devoid of all its magic now.

The snow continues to fall around her and she sits back on her heels in the snow. Staring up at the sky, she closes her eyes and focuses on nothing but the cold feeling of snowflakes falling on her eyelids. She purposefully slides her finger along the edge of the blade. It is dull now in its old age, but if she moves it just right... it would be so easy to end it all. To feel the blunt edge against the skin of her wrists, just a little pain...and then nothingness. It is a tempting thought and she can almost taste death on her tongue... but she can't do it. He wouldn't want that. He'd never forgive her, even if it meant they would finally be together.

She takes the dagger and buries it in the snow in front of his grave, hoping that this will be a new beginning for the both of them.

Hermione sits and stares at the headstone for hours.

All the while, the snow continues to fall.

~ Fin