What Dreams May Come

"No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true." - Cinderella

Hermione Granger-Weasley looked at her old, tired reflection in the bathroom mirror. Time had taken its toll on her smooth skin - it was now quite wrinkly. Her eyes had lost their glorious luster and the life had seemed to have drained from them. Even her signature hair had changed. It was no longer boundless in length, but was cropped to her shoulders. The dark, chestnut coloring had faded into a gentle gray splattered with white streaks. At the very least, it's curly, bushy state had remained intact.

Hermione sighed, rinsed her hands, and left the bathroom. Ron was already asleep, she knew. She grabbed her wand off of the counter and headed back into her room. She heard the sounding off of the downstairs clock. That meant that it was well after eleven. She had been cleaning the Burrow all day - the next day the entire family was coming for a visit. Hermione smiled at this thought. She adored her children and grandchildren. Especially Jasmine, Rose's oldest daughter. Her determination and inquisitive mind reminded Hermione of herself. Jasmine was now in the beginning stages of her first pregnancy. Hermione fondly remembered when she had received a letter telling her of the news. She jumped at the idea of being a grandmother. It had been a very long time since she had been that happy. In fact, Hermione recalled, she hadn't been that happy since Harry was alive. Hermione's smile faded.

Oh Harry. Hermione felt her eyes well up. She kept herself busy every single day so she wouldn't have to think of him. But, of course, it was no use. Harry had been all she had ever thought of since she was eleven years old. Looking out for him and caring for him year after year had kept her on her toes, and constantly worrying for him had kept her heart true. But, it wasn't until she realised that she was in love with him did all of this come together. It had been so many years now, but Hermione remembered the exact day that she fell in love with Harry.

She was thirteen years old and was holding on for dear life as she and Harry flew over the Hogwarts grounds on Buckbeak. Hermione had her eyes closed tightly and her hands wrapped around Harry's waist. She was so frightened of heights at the time that she was scrambling to hold on tighter and tighter to Harry. She moved her hand over his heart for the briefest of moments, and in that short, short span of time, Hermione felt a heartbeat.

She quickly pulled her hand back down to Harry's waist, where her other hand was. She opened her eyes, and time seemed to slow down. All around her were blurs of colors, but all she could think about was what she had felt. A heartbeat. Harry's heartbeat. And...and for a moment...it had been her heartbeat, too. She looked up at Harry, who was oblivious to what had just happened. Hermione looked from around Harry's waist to the hand that had touched his chest and then back up to Harry. And that's when she knew.

Hermione sighed once more as her memory ended. She decided it would be pointless to go over how Harry had seemed to overlook her when he started noticing girls. She had always known that it wasn't meant to be between Harry and herself. She was his best friend, nothing more. And that's how she lived her life. As just Hermione. Throughout her faulty marriage with Ron and her plastered on smiles for whenever she spoke to Ginny about Harry, that's all she was. Just Hermione. And, she decided, that's all she ever would be. So, she closed her eyes, and smiled as a tear fell down her cheek. She saw Harry's face, as she did every night, and drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Ronald Weasley would wake to find his wife dead. The healers would say that she had simply passed of what muggles would call "old age". Although it was highly unlikely that a witch would die at the age of seventy-four, since witches and wizards tended to live longer than muggles, they concluded that perhaps it was because she was muggle-born. In the end, no one was certain why or how it had happened. The entire wizarding world had grieved at the death of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and now they mourned his beloved best friend and sidekick.

But, what they didn't know was that Hermione went by choice. What they didn't know was that as she had closed her eyes for the last time, she had seen Harry's face. And, as she had done every night since she was thirteen years old, she had whispered "I love you". Only on this night, Harry had responded.

As Hermione fell faster into her slumber, her vision of Harry became clearer and clearer. His outstretched hand came into full view. Soon, it was only them, Harry and Hermione, standing in a blur of color. Hermione looked from Harry to herself. They were young again, not a wrinkle or gray hair in sight. Hermione looked at Harry and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Harry, took her hand, the hand, and put it on his heart. And she felt a heartbeat. Hermione looked from her hand back to Harry's face, and he spoke in the voice that she had missed for so many years.

"You were never 'Just Hermione' - it was always you".

That's when she knew. That's when she went. And that's when Harry and Hermione were together - forever.