Who: Hermione Granger and Fleur Weasley Where: Hermione's dreamscape = all sortsa places When: Friday Night What: Dreaming Rating: Low, I'd assume Incomplete, Closed
It was snowing. Everything looked so peaceful. The big cotton-ball snowflakes fell around her where she stood in a field of white.
Hermione knew where she was though she hadn't yet seen the cottage. Calmly, slowly, she made for the tree under which Dobby was buried, his rock only just sticking out of the snow. She never came to visit him. She should come by more often, she thought as she stood looking at the top of the rock. The words engraved upon it were hidden by the snow, but she could read them all the same. She knew them by heart. A free elf. Funny how that worked. That her only success story had died. She couldn't remember if he'd been buried with his hats, or his socks. She would have to ask someone. Harry would know. She would dig him out and bring them to him if he hadn't been. But that would be weeks away yet. When the ground had thawed.
"Hello, Fleur," she said, without looking up. "It's lovely here in the winter."