She's not surprised, really. She should be, because when all is said and done, Harry is human, and despite the magic Hermione's studied for seven years, this just isn't normal.

But somehow, it fits.

Somehow, in the rain, Voldemort's body still at his feet, Harry spreads a pair of wings -- magnificent, glorious, wings, and takes to the air, and Hermione isn't surprised in the least.

Ever since the day he caught Neville's Remembrall, she's known. She's never seen someone with wings before--she's not sure Harry has seen someone with wings before, and she's knows he's seen--she knows. She's always known. You couldn't watch Harry and not know that someday, he would escape from everything.

She closes the body's eyes, presses a kiss there, but she can't bring herself to cry. That isn't Harry anymore.

Harry's flying.