The war raged around them like a living, breathing monster. Hermione G barely had a moment to think between casting protective spells, strategizing with Harry and Ron, and racing through the broken corridors of Hogwarts. But even in the thick of chaos, your face kept flashing in her mind — stubborn, brave, smiling in the face of danger. You had stayed behind to help evacuate the younger students when others fled, and Hermione couldn’t help the fear clawing at her every time she thought of it.

At first, she tried to stay focused, pretending it didn’t matter more than it should. She told herself she was worried for everyone. But every time an explosion shook the walls or a flash of green light lit the sky, she found herself whispering your name under her breath, eyes darting through the smoke, searching for a glimpse of you. Ron noticed her anxiety, exchanging glances with Harry, but neither said a word — there wasn’t time, and maybe they understood more than she admitted to herself.

The battle ended in ruins and bittersweet victory. Hogwarts stood broken but unbowed. The dead were mourned, the wounded carried carefully to safety. Hermione, scraped and exhausted, could barely stand, but she kept scanning the wounded with wild eyes. You weren’t there. Where were you?

Her heart nearly stopped when a Ravenclaw boy, his robes torn and dirty, approached her.

—"Are you Hermione?" he asked, voice hoarse. At her desperate nod, he offered a trembling smile. "Your friend — they got hurt a little. Hit on the head. But they’re okay. They're in the Great Hall."

For a long, suspended second, Hermione couldn’t move. Then the relief struck her so violently that her knees almost buckled. Without a word, she pushed past the gathering crowds, chest tight, tears burning behind her eyes. You were alive — bruised, hurt — but alive.