If there was anything Hermione could have picked from all of her experiences at Hogwarts as symbolic of all that the place meant to her, trains wouldn't have been it. That evening, though, she found herself sitting on the very last car of the small train which traveled and wove through the island, looking backwards, her hair carried off by the wind and looking more like the tangle she was once known for in Hogwarts, before she'd started to care about appearances, considering it a part of her identity that was important too, if not quite as much as the time she liked to pour into her texts and studies. Drawn first to the train as more of a lark than anything else, as soon as she'd sat down on it, she'd thought about the last time she rode a train over half a year ago, the fact that it had been so clear in her mind that it could be the last time she ever traveled on that path to and from Hogwarts. The place where everything had changed, really.

Maybe it was more important to her than she'd originally thought.

After the effects of the first brownie had subsided, Hermione had adamantly refused to take another, something about the swell of happiness only leaving her stomach feeling significantly lower than it had been before. By the time she sat on that train, all that remained was the slight buzz of alcohol, a concession Hermione had allowed herself mostly to be social. She sat down on the caboose, watching Harry walk on over to another girl standing far ahead, and smiling a bit for it, before turning to watch the retreating tracks.

Some time later, she laid down on the train, wincing at the slight discomfort of it, before staring up in wonder at the sky above, at the numerous stars that shone so clearly, marred only by the occasional ring of steam emitted by the train. One hand reaching up to feel the crisp winter air blow past, she sung to herself, under her breath.

"Weasley can save anything, he never leaves a single ring. That's why Gryffindors all sing: Weasley is our King."