WILDFLOWER, hermione granger.

xxxiii. hello cold world

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XXXIII. HELLO COLD WORLD
thirty three

       THERE WAS A LOT OF THINGS THAT HERMIONE GRANGER READIED HERSELF FOR—BEING TORTURED, THE WAR, POSSIBLY GETTING KILLED... however, nothing prepared her for the day Ivy would die in front of her.

       Hermione hadn't forgotten about Ivy's failsafe—for fuck's sake, what if it doesn't work? She was literally bawling over Ivy's body as they appeared on seashore near Shell Cottage—

       Everything was happening too fast and next thing, next thing—Ivy was laid on a cleared table and there were people, too many people. Hermione doesn't know what the hell it was that she was doing—her trembling hands were flying over Ivy's wound— "I DON'T NEED HELP!" Hermione shouted, overwhelmed.

       She must look pitiful, so distraught over the death of her girlfriend, shaken... the room had fallen quiet, she could make out the faces of Ron, Harry, Luna, Fleur, Bill, Sirius... Lupin.

       "Hermione—" Bill tried to say gently. All he got was an angry glare as everything about healing that Ivy taught her ran through her head. Hermione snatched her beaded bag from Harry, albeit nearly falling over, and yanked out Ivy's bag, and the large bottle of healing potion she brewed.

      "Hermione, she can't have survived a knife to the chest—" Sirius tried to reason, and she knew why, because Dobby had fallen victim to Bellatrix's dagger.

       "She's not dead!" Hermione's voice cracked as she literally poured the potion on Ivy's wound, which healed at a moderate pace. "At least not permanently. I need a knife."

       "But—"

       Hermione looked up, glaring at Fleur. "A knife!"

       Frightened, Fleur handed over the knife that once protruded from Ivy's chest—she felt sick to her stomach doing this as Hermione grabbed Ivy's wrist, her eyes tracing the stitched up wound on the inside of the blonde's wrist.

       Hex bags, Hermione remembered as tears blurred her vision, and, as gently as possible, Hermione cut through the scar.

       Lupin moved to push her away, but Sirius and Harry stopped him, his face pale with trepidation and contorted in pain. This was his daughter, laying there... dead.

       Hermione sobbed as she pulled the small hex bag out, bloody and looked as if it had been siphoned of its use. She dropped it on the side, and quickly healed Ivy's cut.

       Nothing.

       "Ivy, come on," Hermione said desperately, cupping Ivy's face and scanning it for any signs of life. A tear fell down her cheek, and another. "Come on, Ivy, wake up!" Fleur covered her mouth, a tear falling from her cheek. "Ivy, show me your eyes, okay? Ivy, please!"

       Nothing.

      The loss hit Hermione like a brick, her face falling. Granted, Ivy warned her it might not work—but fuck, it hurts. A loud, heartbreaking sob spilled from Hermione's mouth, crying as she pressed her forehead on Ivy's chest.