Peace

Hermione was running. No longer running away, but simply enjoying the exhilaration as the cold winter air pierced her lungs and her hair whipped away from her face and streamed out behind her. There was a freedom here. Nobody was going to stop her; nobody was going to tell her what a state she looked, or that she should calm down. She could just go on running until she could run no further.

And it was safe. Even though she was out in the open, even though there was nowhere to hide. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing could hurt her here.

Hermione loved the beach. Not the way most people loved it, when it was warm and summer. She avoided it then, preferring the comfort of her own garden. But in winter it was another matter. In winter she could have the whole place to herself. The winter wind came across the sea and tasted of salt. It made her hair even wilder than usual. It made her cheeks pink. It made her feel alive.

Without warning her headlong rush changed. A flock of birds had caught her eye as they dipped and checked in the face of the wind over the water. She slowed to a walk, catching her breath. The sand crunched under her feet. She was near the water's edge.

It was not only her hair that was wild in the wind; the waves were unpredictable in this weather. They'd crash and roar a few metres away before suddenly rushing up the beach. Hermione loved this too, it was like a battle; it kept her on her toes.

Carefully she stepped closer to the surf, daring it to come and meet her but it was retreating again. The tide was going out. Grinning to herself, she followed the line of shells embedded in the sand, which showed the extent of the water's reach. Skipping sideways every now and again to prevent her shoes getting wet, she headed back the way she had come.

Eventually, she reached the rocks where she had left Ron.

Ron did not like the beach. His family's delicate skin rendered it out of bounds in the summer and he was not a fan of cold weather. But watching Hermione walking towards him, he began to wonder whether he could be persuaded. Her cheeks were pink from the wind and the running; her eyes were bright from the fresh air after all the time she had spent in the library. Her hair was dishevelled and the wind seemed to like it as much as he did, judging from the way it kept snatching at strands and pulling them in different directions.

She looked beautiful.

He stood up, the cold of the rock and the wind had seeped through his jeans. He was glad he had worn a thick Muggle coat. They were better than robes, even charmed ones. Once again, Hermione had been right.

They drew together. Hermione slid her arms around his waist and he tried to smooth her hair, but the wind had other plans. Laughing, she pulled away and took his hand.

Together they walked along the rocks. At first they were slippery with the surf and seaweed. Ron's trainers were wet and Hermione giggled as he tried to stop himself sliding into a rock pool or getting tangled in the weeds. But as they approached the cliffs the rocks dried out and it was Ron's turn to laugh at Hermione as she struggled to leap between safe perches. He loved spending time with her like this, when all her dignity and maturity was forgotten, when she wasn't worrying about where her parents were or about what might be happening to Harry. He loved her when she was like this, even more than normal. Because this was his Hermione, the Hermione that he knew he could always find, the Hermione that nobody else knew.

She paused. Ron jumped from the rock to the sand and lifted Hermione down.

They were in a gap between the rocks and the cliff. The wind whistled around their heads but for the most part they were sheltered. Strands of Hermione's hair were still being whipped about. Ron still hadn't released her after lifting her down from the rock. She looked up into his eyes and he smoothed several wisps back from her face.

She smiled up at him as his hands cupped her chin and lifted her lips to his. The first touch was dry and tasted of salt. They drew apart, each licking their lips. Then suddenly they were back together.

The wind continued to snatch at Hermione's hair; calling her back to the beach she loved. To the wind and the birds and the crash of the waves. The cold air tried to break in between them and convince them to leave their shelter and run for the warmth of the beachside tearooms. But Ron and Hermione were oblivious.

In a minute they would separate. In a minute they would return to meet Hermione's parents for tea and cake. Hermione would excuse herself to tidy her hair and Ron would sit awkwardly with a teacup and saucer, trying to make conversation.

But for now it was just the two of them, together, in peace.