Whoever said silence was golden had never been on an body-littered field after war had ravaged it through.

Hermione fought the urge to scream as she stood amongst fallen friends and enemies alike. In the wake of the Final Battle, no one could speak and most everyone had fallen. She glanced around, looking for a place to step through only to find herself completely surrounded by amassed bodies. There were no open spaces, no gaps in the terror, just the endless horrific sight as far as she could see. Were there no survivors?

"Harry?" She whispered, her voice hoarse from the spells she had used for hours on end. There was no answer to her quiet call; she wasn't sure she would be able to hear him anyways, her mind was full of that frightening quiet.

"Please..." Her voice trailed off as she began to panic. She frantically searched from her position on the field before beginning to run. She tried to ignore the feel of bodies giving way beneath her feet, but she was uncomfortably aware of the squish of bodies, fluids and fabric. She couldn't contain herself any longer, her mouth opened and she screamed until her throat was raw. She continued to scream even as she realized she couldn't hear her own high pitched wail. Tears streaked down her face and dropped onto her tattered robes, bleeding into the black fabric along with the other miscellaneous stains.

Her foot caught on someone's robe and she fell to the ground. She found herself face to face with the silent body of her best friend Ron. His red hair was cast around him and in the increasing light, the sun gave him an almost angelic glow that he could never achieve in life. His face was smudged with dirt and blood and his left cheek was swollen. Hermione collapsed into his chest and cried. Her heart broke just a bit more when she realized she couldn't hear his heart.

"Plea..." She broke off through the word, her sobs tearing through her mouth. "Please Ron, please come back." She was reduced to a pitiful mess, she knew she would never hear him ask for help with homework again, or tell her how hungry he was, or how desperately he wanted to go to Honeydukes and get some more chocolate to restore his stash.

She slowly pushed herself away from his body and crawled away. She looked around urgently for the other third of their infamous trio. Tousled black hair could be seen from the corner of her eye, so she changed directions to head towards him. She was surprised to find Harry in a similar situation to herself, though he seemed to be waking from a nightmare from the expression on his face. He rose from his knees and stood among the bodies like she had originally done. He swayed briefly just from the sight, but seemed to recover himself and glanced in her direction. He said something, but the sound didn't reach her ears.

"Harry?" She gasped, trying to stand up. She stumbled and toppled back into the bodies, so she remained among them. She watched Harry race her way, all the while saying something. If it was her name or something else, she couldn't tell; she never was able to read lips.

He grabbed her arms with bruised hands and lifted her from the ground. He hugged her tightly to himself, burying his nose in her hair. She could feel his mouth moving, but no sound came out. She wondered if he had been hit with the muffiliato curse. He lifted his face from her hair and grasped her cheeks in his large hands. His green eyes were full of water and she was astounded for just a brief moment before he pressed his lips to hers. Whether it was a declaration of undying love or just plain relief at seeing her alive, she didn't know. Hermione also knew that she didn't really care either. She reciprocated the motion and clutched him tightly to her body.

He slowly pulled away, lingering in her embrace. He spoke again and she knew it was her name on his lips. She wondered again why she couldn't hear him, but ignored that fact by glancing around them, curious to see if anyone else had survived. She was surprised to see others rising from the filthy ground with confused expressions on their faces. She realized that where she had assumed they were all dead like the ones she had been next to were, they were actually unconscious. She vaguely remembered someone flinging a curse that had hit half the crowd, making them fall, before she had managed to cast a stupefy at the dark wizard.

Harry had his hands on her shoulders and was trying to get her attention. His mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. She knew she looked confused, her brows had drawn together and her lips pursed slightly. He was saying her name again and she desperately wanted to hear him, but there was no sound. And then it hit her.

She couldn't hear anything.

She couldn't hear Harry saying her name. She couldn't hear the relieved whispers of war heroes as they rose from the mass grave. She couldn't hear Kingsley and Mr. Weasley's footsteps as they chased after an escaping Lucius Malfoy. She had not heard Ron's heartbeat and she had not heard her screams, whispers or sobs. It was not a curse on Harry or anyone else. There was no muffling curse on the field itself. No, Hermione had lost her hearing.

She was deaf.

Her eyes filled with furious, panicked tears. Harry was holding her face again and he seemed just as worried as she. She could feel the press of bodies around her as more people woke up. Harry glanced behind her and she turned around to see who had risen. It was Ron. He rubbed his face, further smudging blood and dirt on his cheek. He pressed one hand to his swollen cheek and ran the other through his messy hair. He glanced up and caught their gaze; a brilliant smile lit his face. He raced across the field and pulled them both into his arms. His lips were moving against her cheek; she knew he was saying their names like a mantra, a praise to realize they all made it through the war. He pulled away after a long moment and couldn't stop staring at them both. His watchful eyes switched from her to Harry and back again, not resting long on one person. Confusion spread across his face when she didn't speak.

"Ron?" She wondered if her words were garbled, if they sounded like the words of the girl who used to live down the street from her in her muggle neighborhood. He looked abruptly frightened when she spoke and returned his blue eyed gaze to Harry's bright green one. They were talking over her head and she very much wanted to hear their voices again.

They were leading her away from the battlefield now. They carefully stepped over bodies that would never rise again, passed by friends who were glad to be alive, and mushed through the mud that had been created in the aftermath of the Final Battle. Hermione wished she could hear the squish of the mud, hear the rising voices of the survivors clinging to each other and crying out their relief. But most of all, Hermione simply wished she could hear Harry and Ron's voices again. She wished Harry's deep, yet boyish voice would wash through her ears and erase the horror of the event they had just survived. She wished she could hear the joke that Ron had teased her with earlier, a joke that could block out the wails of the hurting that she knew were echoing around her, even as she couldn't hear them.

Before them on the path, the castle looked like a broken monument of their rebellious idealology. Wizards and witches, students and teachers, young and old alike were moving around in a daze; half amazed they won and half amazed at the damage that had been caused. Harry and Ron led her through the castle until they reached what remained of the Great Hall. The tables had been transfigured into beds where all the wounded had been placed. Madam Pomfrey was bustling around with numerous medi-witches following along. Orders were being barked and commands were issued, but Hermione's ears were filled with that numbing silence that cut out all noise.

Harry and Ron sat with her on a thankfully empty bed, her hands engulfed by theirs. Despite the low priority of her need, Madam Pomfrey was by her side soon enough. Spells and incantations were cast, but nothing could be revealed about her hearing loss. They all stared at her, baffled. That was when Hermione knew the truth. There was nothing that could be done about her loss and there were others who were more greatly injured. Seeing as how Ron and Harry were still holding her hands, she rose from the bed and pulled them out of the impromptu medical ward. They stumbled behind her, but when she turned back to look at them, they realized that she had already resigned herself to a fate without sound.

They passed by Mrs. Weasley, who was sobbing over Fred's body, so Ron stayed behind to help comfort her and to deal with his own grief. Hermione and Harry continued on their walk, the general direction being the Owlery. It was disturbing to see how empty the room was when they finally made it up the long flights of stairs. There were no owls flitting about or anyone off sending letters to home; it was completely empty. Hermione pressed herself up against the window and gazed down at the opposite side of the castle. She couldn't see the destruction from here and she obviously couldn't hear it either. Harry pressed himself against her back and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned her head back against his chest and began to cry again.

Her tears were not of pain or horror, merely futility. The futility of ever regaining her hearing or of Hogwarts ever really being the same again. There was futility in the families ever truly recovering from the loss of friends and family. She cried without really knowing why and only stopped when Harry softly pressed their lips together in a bittersweet kiss that revealed long repressed emotions. The tilt of her neck was awkward, but Hermione was beyond caring. She wrapped her arms around his neck and relished the feeling of his chest pressed into her back. Their kiss was deep and passionate while still maintaining a soft and delicate nature.

Despite the pain of what she had experienced and the knowledge that she would probably never hear Harry's voice again, Hermione lost herself in the moment and forgot why she hated silence in the first place.