Hermione lay bleeding on the grass, holding a hand to the bloody stump that was once Fred Weasley's arm. Fred gazed back at her, begging for some sort of comfort but Hermione couldn't provide it. She had nothing to say.
She had for a fleeting moment let herself relax. Let herself believe that Voldermort was dead, and therefore all was to be right in the world. There was to be weddings, parties and bright sunny Sunday mornings. She wasn't suppose to shed anymore blood. She wasn't suppose to lose anyone else.
She'd lost enough people. She had killed enough. She had sacrificed enough.
Hermione was tired, so beyond tired. Tired of losing. So she let her eyes flutter closed, and Fred watched as Hermione let herself once again, slip into a false sense of security.
TW: dark themes, blood, death, fighting, hospitals, survival
They had won the battle but Hermione was just about to find out how much she'd lost.
If the last thing Fred remembered was in her fourth year of Hogwarts then he wouldn't remember anything of their story. Anything of how he fell for her, how they first kissed or how she first realised she wouldn't ever be happy with anyone else so long as he walked the Earth. Her Fred was gone. And it was all her fault.
She had thought their story was unforgettable. Until it wasn't.
****
"I think about you a lot Granger... like a lot a lot" He finally admitted.
"You better be joking Weasley" She breathes shallowly as she backs against the wall. His hands found their way to the wall on either side of her head and she was cornered. Her breath quickened and she was sure he could hear her heart beating.
"Not this time Granger." He smiled that damned smile that had already gotten her into so much trouble as he leaned down towards her.