The snow was lingering, covering the landscape in a soft sheen of white, like icing, transforming the vista utterly into something she had no longer believed existed. A world of beauty, without flaw. It was astonishing really, when she stopped to consider, how something so natural could change entirely one’s entire perception. Hermione could dimly recall a time - a time long past, stolen from her as so many other things had been - when the white-capped houses had enchanted her. Somehow this distant memory went hand in hand with the moments she had been happiest. The days she had spent so many years ago with Harry. With Ron.
Hermione was under no illusions. The snow was not magical. Beautiful, undeniably, but it had long been apparent to her that winter’s majesty concealed something deeper - a biting cold, a cruelty that would not be denied. But for all this, she appreciated its want of warmth, for it suited her mood. And the bitter wind did something for her she could not do herself. It numbed her to physical pain, just as she had closed her heart to emotional. Repressing herself she might be, but she knew she was not yet ready to grieve. Not ready to deal with that pain. Once again Hermione was dragging her heels, but it seemed to her the only thing to do when unsure. There was no way to move forward without certainty.
Guilt gnawed at her as her feet pounded the rough cobbles. But guilt she could handle. It was a familiar feeling, and one she knew she deserved. Pulling her black robes tighter around her, she reflected briefly on what might have been, had she chosen that path. After all, it had once been a possibility. When things had been simpler there had been times when she had looked to the future and seen herself standing with Ron and Harry; Aurors, the three of them. If she’d chosen that road, would she be standing here? Would others be grieving for her, rather than for Susan? That seemed right, somehow. Perhaps it should have been me.
Susan had had a husband, children, and Hermione had nothing. Her friend had everything to offer, where she had so little. Susan had been the brave one - she hadn’t been afraid, or doubted and so she had been able to move forward. And it was this more than anything that whispered to Hermione, a lingering thought brought about by shame. It should have been me. Not her.
Even with the war finally ended, good people met fates they did not deserve. It seemed a terrible prospect that after so much fighting, so many other needless deaths, they still did not have control of their own destinies.
Hermione stopped, almost hesitantly, as she reached the gathering. Everything seemed out of place. Her windswept hair, the flowers she carried, but most of all herself. So many figures clad in black, all of whom she regarded with a sense of shame, because they had all loved Susan deeply, and her own presence seemed pittance in comparison.
“Hermione.”
That one word immediately brought with it an overwhelming sense of relief, because her name spoken in such a warm, familiar voice meant more to her than she would readily admit. It meant she wasn’t alone.
Hermione turned expectantly, and with the barest smile she couldn’t quite prevent upon her lips, to see bright green eyes and tousled black hair. For a moment she simply stood and took in her friend as he was in that moment. The same Harry she had always known. Some things don’t change.
Slowly, hesitatingly, she allowed a small smile, and it seemed that this more than anything broke the barrier between them. Harry moved forward and hugged her, uncertainly, awkwardly, it was true, but that embrace meant more to her than she could ever have imagined. Perhaps she hadn’t severed all ties. Perhaps she still had something of her past.
That was when she saw him. Pulling away slowly from Harry, Hermione’s eyes fell upon the one thing she had hoped they wouldn’t. The one thing that she didn’t think she could handle, this day of all days. It seemed almost cruel that she should feel completely hollow at the thought of Susan - at the thought of her friend, whom she had allowed to slip away - and yet she could still look at Ron Weasley and feel her heart shatter, a deep, wrenching pain she had tried so hard to force away.
He was standing a little apart from Harry and herself, holding himself stiffly as though with restraint. This wasn’t the Ron she knew, the one who had been so utterly at ease whatever the situation. But then, she hadn’t seen him for so long. Hadn’t heard from him since those angry, bitter words had been spoken so many years ago. Hermione could look at Harry and see her friend; see a part of her she could embrace once more. But looking at Ron, all she could see was what they had been once, and what had fallen apart. Ron and Hermione. Perhaps it had fallen apart, or perhaps they themselves had torn it in half as their paths both stretched in different directions.
There was a strained silence as they simply looked at one another, and she realised that neither of them knew what to say, or what to do. It was true that some things didn’t change. But some do. Hermione could see him, could see what they had been together, but she couldn’t see their futures intertwining. All she could see was the great distance that was now between them - the dark hollow that the years apart had created.
People were taking their seats, signalling the start of the service, and once again Hermione wavered. Once again, Harry sprang to her aid.
“There’s a table for flowers over there,” he said quietly, nodding towards it. “I’ll take them for you.”
She wordlessly handed him the lilies and moved slowly, as if through water, towards the rows of chairs. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet anyone’s eyes, and so took a seat at the very back row, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on her lap. Her eyes weren’t necessary anyway - she only needed to listen, and to remember.
Someone had already begun speaking when Hermione felt the warm weight of a hand upon her shoulder. She turned her head slightly, expecting to see Harry; expecting anything but him. There was an intensity in Ron’s gaze as he indicated silently that she should move over. This she did with a sense of confusion. Something weighed heavily upon her chest as she felt Harry slide into the seat on the other side of her, but it wasn’t like anything she had felt before. For Hermione had expected to be alone in this - she hadn’t imagined even for a moment that they would be here, though it was not in the slightest a ridiculous prospect, now that she considered - but with Harry and Ron by her side once again, it was almost as though she had never really been alone at all.
Hermione did not look up, but instead listened in silence, tears falling heavily down her cheeks, to the words spoken of her friend and the life she had lived to the full.
“Hermione!”
This time she did not want to turn around at his voice, for she had wanted to run; to leave as soon as was possible and to cause the least disturbance for those around her. Talking to Susan’s husband had been trial enough. But it was difficult to ignore him as he called the second time, closer behind her.
Hermione turned, aware that her cheeks were stained with tears, her hair out of control. Ron had come to a halt and was watching her intently.
“I was hoping we could, you know, talk,” he said.
She bit her lip. “I have to go. There’s somewhere I have to be.”
Ron shook his head, taking a step towards her. “Don’t leave. That’s all you ever did. It’s like nothing has changed.”
Hermione blinked, unsure as to how to respond. I didn’t leave them, though. They left me. You left me. We went off in different directions, and you didn’t look back. It was so strange, the way he had said it - as though nothing having changed was a bad thing.
“You’ve changed,” she told him.
Ron seemed so surprised at this that she almost smiled. “Like hell I have. I still wear odd socks, and eat too much mashed potato.”
Hermione bit back a laugh - the prospect of such a light-hearted emotion really didn’t appeal to her at the moment. Instead she frowned at him. “Ron. Don’t fool around.”
“Things move on. Some things change for the better. Some don’t.”
“I didn’t keep in contact,” she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I never made the effort to write to her. She sent me a letter - she wrote to me, not the other way around.”
“Hermione,” he replied slowly, “you didn’t stay in contact with a lot of people. It doesn’t mean that they don’t still… love you.”
She started slightly, and for the first time met his gaze without hesitance. This wasn’t the Ron she had known for so long - that Ron hadn’t had all the answers, hadn’t known so much more than she did. She wasn’t sure whether this change was for the better or the worse.
He was fumbling with something in his pocket - a small, flat box, which he handed to her. “I… I wanted to give you this.”
“You don’t buy presents,” she said. “What happened to you not having changed?”
“Well,” Ron paused momentarily, “this isn’t a present. This is a choice.”
Hermione lifted the lid of the box and breathlessly removed a long silver chain, upon which hung a small silver hourglass. She inhaled quickly. It glittered in the light as she held it up, beautiful as it was.
She hadn’t seen one, held one, since her third year at Hogwarts. Images flashed instantly through her mind, each one blurring into the next yet still holding so many memories. Memories of times when they had been together. She could see him, even now, standing beneath the beech tree, by the lake.
“Ron… how did you get this?”
“I work in the Department of Mysteries now,” he told her slowly. “Some were salvaged.” More images now, more memories. Rooms that glittered, heavy footsteps, blue torch-lined corridors. And time held in the palm of her hand.
“But that’s not what’s important here-”
“Not important?” Hermione looked up in disbelief. “It doesn’t matter that I barely know you any longer? That you don’t know me? That you’re walking back into my life without any warning or any thought as to the fact that we’ve both changed? Maybe too much so.”
Ron pressed her hand closed over the time turner. “That’s why I brought this. That space between us, I want it closed. I want to… know you again. To fill in the blanks. But only if that’s what you want too. So there’s your choice.” He let go of her hand. “We wasted too much time, Hermione,” he told her. “Too much time. We said we wanted different things, but the only thing I ever really wanted, was you.”
Their eyes met once more, and for just one moment it was as if the world melted away - the frost and bitter wind mattered no more, for she - for the first time in years - did not want to be numb. She hadn’t known what she wanted for so long, but seeing him, feeling the weight of the chain in her hand, she felt a world of possibility that no longer overwhelmed her. She knew now.
The only thing she knew was him. He was all she needed.
She stepped forward, taking his hand, knowing that with it she was taking her first steps into the light. And into the future that she would live to the full.
Why aren’t you shaking?
Step back in time
Graciously taking
Oh, you’re too kind
And if the answer is no
Can I change your mind?
We’re all the same
And love is blind
The sun is gone
Before it shines.