Before you draw your terminal breath

To my mother:

Dear Mother,

Do you truly and really know what surges between a mother and her daughter? Only a blessed few have the answer. I think I'll take an educated guess. What surges through a mother and her daughter is a lot more than love. A light guidance, a true and real understanding of one another. A mother is an angel to her children. Someone who will forgive and forget every mistake her child ever made. A true Angel: that is what you are. If you can soar high, I know I can too. I love you--never ever forget that.

LOVE,

Your daughter Hermione

She sighed, as she sent the letter with Hedwig out towards the night sky. They were coming.

Tonight would end all nights, whether it be for the side of light or darkness. Tonight would be a night to go down in history as either the day the light prevailed or the day that darkness overcame. This was the last night. Almost everyone at Hogwarts, especially the muggle-borns, were sending letters like that to their parents. Letters saying "I love you," and "I'm saying goodbye," without really saying it. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"This is all so unfair," she thought to herself, rubbing her aching temples. "All the lives lost--" she began to tick them off on her fingers. "First Bertha Jorkins, then some poor old muggle bloke named Frank, then Cedric; after him, Sirius." Another tear rolled. "Next Arabella Figg, then Minister Fudge," she bit her lip not wanting to admit it, "then...Professor McGonagall, Kingsley, Tonks, and...and...Ron. All in one shot." Her voice broke out in a small sob. "George died trying to save his little brother. Oh my god!"

Hermione threw herself onto one of the benches and starred at the full moon. Today was the day, the anniversary on which many important things had happened. Halloween. Halloween, 1982: Lily and James Potter die, their young son Harry survives Avada Kedavra and brings the downfall of the Dark Lord.

Halloween, 1997: Remus Lupin kills Bellatrix Lestrange. Later he is murdered by the silver hand of Peter Pettigrew. On that same eve, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, avenges Remus's death by slowly slitting Pettigrew's throat. Earlier that day, Vicktor Krum, had accidentally thrown Lucius Malfoy out of his house, a one hundred foot drop from his window, down to the cold rigid ocean line. He apparently snapped his neck on contact with the rocks. He did this with the help of Draco, of course.

Halloween. She smiled at the idea of the muggle holiday. Children running the streets with pillowcases and plastic bags, going house to house, asking for candy. Dressed up like cartoon characters, or ghouls and goblins. Who would ever have thought that Halloween would turn out to be such an important day?

The halls were quiet, but there seemed to be this sort of buzzing that went through the students and the Aurors present. Third-years and lower had been sent home. The fourth-years could go as well if they wished, but not one wished to coward out of the fight.

Hermione looked, strained her eyes, and suddenly the shapes formed, hundreds of them, wands out charging towards the castle. She lazily shot an Avada out into the array, but didn't look to see if it hit any one. She flew down the castle from the Owlery and ran into the Great Hall where many students and teachers sat, trying to eat. She bounded in and in a singsong voice called out, "Theeere heeeere!" and flew out the doors to be the first to enter the battle.

That's why on this Halloween Eve many parents would receive strange letters from their children. Perhaps the last letter they would ever receive--then again, perhaps not.

Only time could tell.