“What do you miss the most?”

He looks at her and scowls. “What sort of fool question is that?”

“Don’t you ever think about it?”

“No, I do not,” he informs her bluntly. She looks crestfallen and so unbelievably young that he almost relents. He doesn’t, though. She’ll soon learn, he knows, and then she’ll quit asking all her ridiculous questions and nagging him. He can’t seem to escape her these days. Everywhere he goes, she’s there with her wide brown eyes and messy hair and gentle smile.

“Oh,” she says softly before she looks out the window. “I miss a lot of things.”

“You would,” he mutters as he reluctantly looks out the window at the fading sun. It’s a blazing ball of yellow and orange, and he frowns as, for a moment, he almost remembers warmth.

“You’re always so cranky,” she grumbles. She doesn’t look at him so she misses the full force of his worst glare. It’s the glare that used to have men shaking in their boots and sent them scurrying out of his path. Now, it does nothing except make him feel comfortable.

“I see little reason to be happy, little girl.”

“My name is Hermione,” she reminds him before a rueful smile crosses her lips. “I’ve not been a little girl in many years.” She speaks quietly, and he knows the sincerity of her words. She may be young but he remembers seeing her throughout the years as she grew up far too fast like most of her generation. He rarely notices such things but it was difficult to miss the Muggleborn Gryffindor who proved to be one of the cleverest witches to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. She surprises him by glancing in his direction. “There are reasons to be happy. This world is peaceful again and people I care about are alive, just to name a few.”

“Give it time and you’ll not be able to think of one,” he says confidently.

“I’ll never forget them,” she vows stubbornly. “I won’t become like you.”

“I certainly hope not. You may be infuriating but at least you’re a pretty girl to look at.” He gives her a dark look that adds a subtle sarcasm to his comment.

“You’re so annoying,” she mumbles as she turns away from the window and the bright yellow sun.

“Where are you going?” he asks before he can stop himself. He refuses to look at her and keeps looking at the sky through the small window.

“I don’t know,” she admits in a sullen tone that almost makes him smile. “To find better company, maybe.”

He snorts and turns to smirk at her. “The others bore you,” he says smugly. “It’s why you keep following me about like an overeager Hippogriff. You want intelligent conversation.”

“That wouldn’t explain why I talk to you then,” she points out with a smug smile of her own. “Besides, you like talking to me or you’d scare me away like the others. They all think you’re a grumpy bastard, you know?”

“I don’t like being stalked by some silly little girl,” he insists. “And I am a grumpy bastard. They’re obviously just smarter than you are.”

She’s silent for a moment before she whispers, “It’s been a year.”

Her words aren’t what he expects. Has it really been that long? Time stopped meaning anything to him centuries ago just as it will eventually mean nothing to her. He remembers the celebration, the loud festivities in the Great Hall as glasses were raised to that brat Potter and those who helped him win and words were spoken about those lost, but he mostly remembers finding her in the library when he escaped the madness.

“Has it?” he asks simply. He knows now that he will avoid the rest of the castle until the anniversary is over. He hates the obnoxious parties that began with Dumbledore’s turn as Headmaster and continue strongly with Flitwick’s rule.

She looks at him and nods. “Tomorrow is the day,” she tells him matter-of-factly, though he can hear her voice tremble slightly. “Does it get any easier? It’s been a year and I’ve tried so hard but I can’t forget what it was like.”

“It gets better over time,” he says honestly. “You’re still a child and it’s still fresh. Soon, though, you’ll not give it much thought.”

“I miss my friends,” she confesses as she moves away. “I miss hugging them and touching them and even fighting with them. I don’t think they even know I’m here. It doesn’t matter, though. I won’t see them because they need to forget me. That will be easier if they never see me like this.”

“Typical Gryffindor, making yourself into some sort of martyr,” he mutters.

“I’m not a martyr. I’m weak and I know that seeing them will make this even worse,” she says with a flare of anger. “I think this is worse than anything that could have happened to me.”

“Not so perky now, are you?” He knows it’s best if he just leaves her like this. He doesn’t waste his time with any of the others, after all. She’ll stop pestering him eventually and things can go back to how they were before that night in the library.

He looks at her steadily as she fights through the self-pity and anger, and he remembers when he first found her. She had been confused and didn’t understand what had happened, but she’d figured it out quickly with that sharp mind of hers. It had been a few weeks before she’d ever left the library but she’d adjusted and sought him out and he, stupid fool that he seemed to be, tolerated her presence, probably to the amusement of the others.

“No, I’m not,” she murmurs as she turns and gracefully moves back to the window. “They’re all growing older and moving on. I want them to do that, but the thought of being forgotten hurts. I miss being alive, miss the feeling of a good hug, miss tasting food and smelling flowers. It’s always so cold now and I hate it. I hate not being able to touch any of the books and I hate not having friends and I hate being so bloody helpless and unable to do anything!”

“You’ll eventually forget what food tastes like and how the flowers smell,” he says gruffly. “You’ll forget warmth and love, forget everything except this castle and that library and the cold.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks again as she turns to look at him, seeking answers to comfort her or possibly give her something to look forward to so she can be strong enough to make it through this right now.

“You can’t miss what you don’t really remember,” he tells her. The answer is far more complicated, but he doesn’t tell her of the moments when you can remember and how it feels to recall that only to lose it again so quickly. She’s a good kid, even if she’s a nag and far too optimistic for a ghost, and he can’t do that to her.

“You’re lying,” she says after a moment. Her voice is soft and sad, but she smiles anyway. “The sun is nearly set. I suppose I should try to find Nick. He’s helping the students plan a celebration for tomorrow.”

“Of course he is,” he says dryly as he glances at the fading yellow sun. He misses being warm, and can remember what it felt like to swim in the river and let the sun dry him naturally.

“I don’t really want to think about tomorrow,” she confesses as her hand moves in the air above the scars that cover her neck and shoulder. The fading sunlight makes them look silver, which just adds to her ethereal appearance.

He remembers hearing rumors of the curses that caused the marks, knows they claimed her life and left her to this existence, and wonders if she ever regrets making such a sacrifice when her friends continue to live and enjoy their lives while she is stuck in this way of un-life. He doubts her negative melancholy will last beyond this first anniversary, which is always the worst, so he expects she would happily trade her life again if it meant winning.

“You can stay…Hermione,” he tells her crossly, as if she’s forcing him to make the offer. He’ll send Peeves to terrorize the bloody Gryffindors as they plan their party, he decides, a thought that brings out a slight quirk of his lips that is reminiscent of the wicked smile that was so common in his youth. He glances at her when she doesn’t reply and watches her stare at him as if she didn’t hear him correctly.

“I’d like that, Baron,” she says softly as she smiles at him and, for a moment, he remembers warmth again. He glowers at her so she won’t think he actually enjoys her company and then settles in to watch the sunset with her.

End