Chapter 15

                                    

                                          
The knife hadn't hit Harry. 
The knife hadn't hit Ron.
The knife hadn't hit Hermione. 
The knife hadn't hit the goblin. 
Instead, Bellatrix's cursed blade buried itself into the stomach of Dobby. 
He'd died in a beautiful place though. On a beach on the edge of nowhere. A safe house that Bill and Fleur were using. It was truly beautiful. 
When they'd landed, they'd all been scattered about the beach, Hermione's back lying on the wet sand as the wind blew at her. Ron had rushed to her to help her up but she couldn't stand it. The way she felt when he touched her made her want to claw off her skin. 
"Hermione. You're alright. We are safe. We're all safe," Harry promised as he rushed to her. Hermione didn't mind it when Harry hugged her. Ron noticed.
She forced herself to swallow all her trauma though when an injured Dobby fell into his arms and Harry begged Hermione to help him, for some sort of miracle cure in her bag of everything. 
It wasn't even her bag. It wasn't her potions, her cures. Most of the help Hermione had given her friends wasn't even from her. Even if there was something in her bag that could help, Bellatrix's knife was made with dark magic and Dobby's wound was fatal whereas Hermione's was superficial. In some ways, Hermione didn't know what was a better option. 
Dobby died that day. Dobby died a free elf, he died with his friends and Harry Potter himself buried the elf, without a hint of magic. He had blisters on his hands from the shovel as he dug in the sand, high on the dune. He had sweat on his brow. Dobby died a hero that day.
Luna closed Dobby's eyes as Hermione carried him up to his grave and they all buried him.
Here Lies Dobby...A Free Elf.
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 "It was our aunt's," Bill explained as they all gathered inside the cottage. "We used to come here as kids. The order uses it now as a safe house. What's left of us, at least." 
Most of them gathered inside the cottage. Harry hadn't really left Dobby's gravestone and Hermione...Hermione stuck close to the shoreline as she stared out at the horizon. She was still in the clothes she wore at the Manor, she hadn't changed yet even though Fleur had some extra clothes for her to borrow and there was more inside her bag that the boys had been able to retrieve when they made their escape. She didn't care.
It felt extremely comforting to have her ring back on her finger. She couldn't believe how used she'd gotten to the sight of the big emerald, of the feeling of it there; of Draco always being there. 
But even as she stared at it, even as comfort seemed to wrap around her, she couldn't stop the tears from flowing out of her eyes as she scratched at the sleeve of her coat, knowing what lay beneath it. She wanted it to stop. The war, the killing, the torture, the thoughts inside her head, she wanted it all to stop. She wanted a minute to breathe, a minute to grieve. Not even a minute, just a second! She wanted a second to be the kid that she was supposed to be. 
And in her entire 17 years of life, there was only one person that she'd ever met who'd been able to quiet her thoughts with nothing but his scent; his touch; his words; his very presence. Hermione didn't hesitate to go to him. 
"Astralis Proiectura." 
And Hermione left her body from where she stood on the beach as she was pulled towards him, towards Draco. 
She couldn't help the racing of her heart as she appeared inside the Manor. She wasn't there and no one could see her, but still, coming back so soon... And yet, despite her fear, her need to see Draco again, to feel his hug after all she'd endured, it was overwhelming. It overpowered any fear and any trauma that seemed to bubble to the surface.