Hermione turned away, facing the Burrow in silence. She could feel his eyes boring into her, those perfect eyes she couldn't bear to become lost in anymore. They had been her solace through the too-short summer, the first summer since she had first discovered magic that she had wished never ended. It mightn't have, if things hadn't gone so wrong…

She still didn't hear the door close, and she swallowed nervously. Why, why wouldn't he just leave? Why didn't he see that he was better without her, stronger without her? That was what went wrong in the first place: he got too attached. He came back for her, when she told him not to. He came back and tried to fight the Daleks on his own—and won, in some manner. The Daleks were blown from London out across the stars, absorbed into the lost cracks of the Void.

But the victory came at a price: Hermione could barely look at her Doctor without seeing the bloodthirsty sneer he wore as he killed millions of Daleks—hardly the most innocent of creatures on the best of days, but intelligent life-forms nonetheless. She couldn't see the puppy-eyed man she'd fallen in love with.

Slowly she heard the door creak shut until it closed with a thud, but the sound of rustling reeds underfoot told her he was far from gone. She felt the soft touch of his oh-so-gentle hands on her shoulders, but she shook him away, tears glistening in her eyes. A hand raised from her side to brush away a tear was caught in his, but this time she didn't recoil.

She allowed him to step around her and take her in his powerful arms for one embrace; the embrace she knew would be their last. Her tears flowed freely into the brown pinstripes, and it took her a few moments to notice the teardrops falling into her hair.

As he released her, she felt her chest rise and fall heavily with each breath. Her eyes were closed; she was unwilling to let her heart break any more in the cold, dark night. She heard the door creak open and then slowly shut. She released a breath, and as she stood, her back to the mighty blue box, she heard it slowly fade away into emptiness.

Her walk to the front porch of the burrow was slow and shaky, for she couldn't believe it. There was something stirring in her blood—regret, perhaps, or fear? Fear, definitely, but she realized with clarity that there was no regret. But there was fear above all else, and she collapsed upon the porch in exhaustion. Tears flowed freely, now that he was gone and she was here.

She heard a creak and for a moment feared he had returned—but turning she saw the door to the Burrow open and a sheepish face framed by ginger hair looking down at her. She knew how disheveled she looked, but only released another weak sob, and Ron was at her side, holding her shoulders and brushing away her tears. Suddenly the world seemed less terrifying, and she knew in her heart she wasn't alone.