At long last, the floo ignited in the fireplace, drawing Hermione from her frantic thoughts. Slowly, she turned to face one of her oldest and dearest friends. Harry stood in front of the fireplace, deep frown lines marring his forehead. He ran a hand through his dark hair as he observed her uncomfortable looking posture. She didn't quite know what to say as they had already talked non-stop over the past couple days about how she couldn't leave this earth and that her life mattered even if it seemed insignificant at times. She had tried to assure him that, deep down, she knew this, but things got a little bit blurred at times when the darkness crept in. Harry had conceded that, despite the fact that he didn't truly understand what she went through on a day-to-day basis, he was willing to try.