The smoke was too thick. Suffocating even. But Harry must go on. Or else, he might lose one of the most important persons in his life.
"Hermione! HERMIONE!" he cried, again and again, shielding his head from the burning debris falling down from the roof. "Are you in here? Hermione? WHERE ARE YOU?"
Panic rose into his chest. A million possibilities rushed into his mind. Where was she? Was she all right? What if she's hurt? Or worse, what if she's...
"No," Harry firmly told himself, sidestepping a burnt cabinet.
And then, he heard coughing. Relief took over his heart as he rushed towards the direction of Hermione's faint, yet persistent coughs.
The smoke was thickening. The fire was spreading much too quickly for his own liking. The sound of sirens was heard while screams of frightened neighbors fueled his worry. He forced his aching legs to run faster until he arrived at the Granger's kitchen.
This was supposed to be a nice, happy dinner with the Grangers. Hermione had sent him a letter, asking if he was all right. After all, just a month before summer, Harry had started his grueling trainings with Albus Dumbledore, which Hermione suspected had bothered her best friend to no end. She knew of the impending war and Dumbledore had been doing everything to prepare Harry. And him? She assumed that the pressure of the prophecy on him had been driving him insane already and a simple dinner invitation would do him good.
As soon as he saw Hermione's letter, he immediately decided to ignore it. He understood his friends' concern but he needed some time alone.
He politely declined her dinner invitation, writing some lie which both knew was... well, a lie. But Hermione was a one, persistent girl and Harry had no choice but to accept her invitation, albeit reluctantly.
And so, that day came. Today. He had second thoughts at first then, reluctantly left the Dursleys' house, although ten minutes late.
And as soon as he arrived at the Grangers' residence, the green Dark Mark mockingly staring at him above the burning house, he fervently wished he had cast his selfishness aside and went to Hermione's house a tad bit earlier.
"Please, be all right, Hermione," he whispered, "Please, be all right."
He saw her, crumpled on the floor, as she desperately tried to fight away unconsciousness.
"Hermione," he whispered.
Coughs racked her body as she slowly looked at him, her eyes half-lidded. "Ha-Harry."
And then, she started to cry. From relief or fear, he did not know. All he knew was that he scooped her into his arms, his tears of relief mingling with Hermione's broken ones.
"They're gone," she sobbed. "They're gone. He got them. They're gone. Oh, Harry, they're gone."
"Shh..." he consoled. "You're all right now, Hermione. I'm here."
"They're gone," was the last words she uttered before she slipped into unconsciousness.
Harry closed his eyes and apparated to Merlin-knows-where.
He just wished it was someplace safe.
Albus Dumbledore stared at his office, a quite satisfied smile resting on his old, wrinkled face.
Looking at his collections calmed him down, especially after an exhausting day. A new school-year was approaching and as Headmaster, he had to make sure that Hogwarts would still be in good condition. Unfortunately, the Astronomy Tower was not.
