A/N: This was written for Miss Bree-tea.'s 25 sentences challenge. This is Hermione-centric. I'm not going to state the occasion, because I hope it's obvious from the writing.
Did he ever know Hannah was in love with him?
The only Muggle plant he grew was roses, because he knew I liked them.
It's funny how some people cling to memories, while others push them away.
Hannah gives me a weary smile, but she's not really seeing me.
Harry hugs me because he can't help any other way.
There is no wind today, but there should be.
He kept a diary—journal might be a better word—for years, a small leather book with neat, tidy writing detailing his observations about life and plants.
He was so grateful once in Potions that he kissed me when Snape turned away to snap at Harry.
When I found out he was dead, everything passed by as if I were in a dream.
Hannah sobbed, I spilled ink on my letter to Kingsley, and the clock struck midnight.
He burned himself stifling Molly Weasley's Howler to me with his bare hands.
The sunset spreads a red glow over everything as Professor Sprout speaks about his career.
"Surprise! Happy birthday, Hermione!"
He stayed out in the cold for hours after I showed him how to make a snow angel.
He was my friend for so long, before he was more.
He was the only man I ever met who told me I was not pretty, but beautiful.
He was hopeless at keeping secrets, in general.
His eyes were always wide, like he was scared.
They never taught us music at Hogwarts, which is unfortunate because it's the only field of study, besides Herbology, that he really loved.
A butterfly has landed on the coffin.
This is the hardest funeral I have ever attended.
I didn't cry then, but now I can feel the tears on my cheeks.
When he died, it was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky.
He made tea for him and me every morning, up to the morning of his last day.
A letter came from my mother today, asking us down to my parents' for Christmas.