Wrongful Death?
The light is fading from her eyes.
She could remember, like everything else in her life, the details of the wand movements and the incantations of the combination of curses that are killing her.
Time slowed before her. She feels herself beginning to fall. The battle is fading around her, the Department of Mysteries and all the wonders she only just this night learned of, fading to black.
And then he is there.
He is moving so slowly. She calculates the distance he has to travel, determines how fast her falling body will be moving, and concludes that he won’t be able to catch her.
His eyes lock onto hers. Brilliant emerald meeting deep hazel. She sees the flicker of realization in them. She watches, almost dispassionately as he drops his wand to start reaching out for her.
She remembers the first time she saw that wand. Truly saw it. He didn’t even get a chance to use it before it lodged itself up a troll’s nose. But if it weren’t for that night, none of what came after would have happened.
The polyjuice- no. That one, we leave out of this.
But the days of being petrified. She remembered hearing Harry every time he came to visit. She heard him through it all. He even, bless his soul, read Hogwarts, a History to her just so she wouldn’t be alone.
His wand hit the ground, silver sparks shooting out of the tip as it clattered on the stone floor.
Silver.
The same color as his patronus. She would never admit it to anyone, but she spent some of the time she gained with her Time Turner doing what she liked to call Harry Watching. As much as her work overwhelmed her over the course of the year, she never tired of helping him.
Maybe…
Maybe she should have told him then….
But it would have been better to tell him before the First Task, wouldn’t it have? They ran the tournament so badly, so haphazardly, that she could have snuck over to the tent, cut a hole in it, confessed her feelings.
Probably even kiss him.
But she didn’t.
No. All she did was what she always did.
Studied advanced spells and helped him learn. Helped him earn the skills he needed to survive one more time.
And besides. There was Ron to consider. She felt something inside of her for him, but she couldn’t place it. But it grew stronger. And it pushed aside all thoughts for Harry in its need to get Ron.
Something else said that was wrong though. And so she did what she always did. Studied. Wizards and, more importantly, witches, spent a very long time writing on many subjects relating to the heart and how it could be swayed, but none of her beloved books knew how to tell her what to do, or how to feel.
That’s all she was, after all.
Books, and cleverness.
And then, she didn’t know how, but she was in his arms. He caught her, falling the rest of the way to the floor with her. He held her gently.
So gently. So warm, here, now, finally, in his arms. Some part of her, some inner voice, growing smaller by the heartbeat, told her it was wrong. That it should be Ron. She reached up and grabbed his jumper, trying to pull him closer. It suddenly didn’t matter.
“But,” he said softly, so quietly. Barely a whisper that she could only just hear over the spellfire.
“There’s more important things than books and cleverness.”
She smiled as a tear ran down her cheek. He remembered. That was so long ago. A lifetime. A lifetime at its end now.
He brushed the tear away from her face.
“Friendship and bravery,” she said.
“And love,” He whispered, as he pulled her to him.
But before their lips could do much more than whisper together, she lost the control of her muscles and her head lolled back. Her hand, clinging desperately to him, fell to the side, limp.
The last thing she heard as her mind finally stilled, was a scream of pure anguish. A scream that was not wordless, not thoughtless.
It was her name.
He screamed her name.
And then, that scream still echoing in her ears, Hermione Granger startled upright, falling out of the chair she found herself sitting in.
Picking herself up off the floor, she took the time to examine her surroundings. Everything was a brilliant white, in various shades. Probably so that people could actually tell what they were doing.
She took in the all white chairs, with magazines on the tables placed strategically between sets of three. And then, another oddity. There were no lights, no lamps to provide illumination, and yet everything was perfectly visible, as though light permeated the very air.
Another oddity. As she took in the surroundings, two more women appeared in chairs. Their clothing was identical, a set of glowing white robes. Looking down, Hermione saw she was wearing the same clothes.
A door opened behind her, and a voice called out, “Granger, Hermione?”
As Hermione turned to the voice, she saw another figure, dressed not in the flowing white robes, but instead, was wearing a perfectly cut office uniform. The charcoal grey skirt fell to just below her knees, and the cream silk blouse was not form fitting, but certainly revealed her shapely upper curves in a way that Hermione was sure was distracting to a great number of men.
The red-headed woman smiled as Hermione stepped forward. “This way, Hermione. Your reaper is waiting for you.”
“So it’s true then,” Hermione said. “I’m dead.”
“I am afraid so, my dear. But don’t be alarmed. It does, after all, happen to everyone, in the end.”
Hermione nodded. Death was just a part of life. Everything has its time. Everything is supposed to end.
Except…
Except Voldemort didn’t. He came back. With a frown, Hermione tried to figure out why. So deep was she in these deep thoughts that she almost missed the two of them coming to a door with a frosted glass window on it.
The glass had the following written on it in black.
Meredith Grelsick, MSRS
England, France and Benelux, 15th- 22nd Centuries AD
With a knock on the door, the secretary opened it for Hermione as a voice called out for them to enter.
“Hermione Granger to see you, ma’am.”
“Very good, Beverly. See her in.”
Inside was a nicely decorated office, with awards hanging on the walls, along with framed diplomas from universities that Hermione had never heard of. But, then again, she supposed. This is the afterlife after all.
Included among these decorations was a black cloak set in a framed box, with a very classic looking scythe across the chest. That, more than any of the other signs, really seemed to hammer home where she was.
The other occupant of the room turned from one of the filing cabinets along the back of the room, her delicate hands setting a red file down. Hermione turned her attention to the woman. Meredith, she assumed.
The woman had black hair, pulled up into a bun held in place with a silver pin shaped like a sword. Her face was mostly sharp lines and angles, but the wrinkles spreading out from her eyes softened it into something almost motherly. Meredith sat in her desk chair and took up the cord holding the file closed.
As she unwound the ford holding the file together, it grew in size, expanding into multiple folders and partitions marked in multiple colors of plastic.
“Here we are,” she said. “Now, let’s see…. Hermione Jean Granger, age two hundred thirty-six…”
“I’m only sixteen, miss. Well, seventeen, probably. I never did do the exact math from using the time turner.”
Meredith stopped in shock, dropping back into her chair.
“That can’t be. You are a destined one. Chosen for a destined fate. Says right here in the summary. You’re supposed to live past two hundred, have kids, grandkids and see at least two more generations of them with your destined soulmate, and die having done more than your part in ensuring the Magical world has a future.”
“Except I’m sixteen, and I died before I could even be kissed by Ron. I know Harry was going to. I think he wanted to, but… something said it could have been right, I did used to fancy him, after all. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
Meredith looked down at the file, reading a page, lifting it up and reading the page under it. Then she lifted the entire section to read something deeper in the file. She tutted at whatever it was she was reading, her face growing redder with each added page. She then suddenly slammed the entire section back down with a fury that made Hermione jump.
“Annabelle!” Meredith yelled angrily. “I need Porthos here. Now! And get me someone from Destinies. We have a Möbius level paradox to sort out!”