Hermione had never understood what it meant to lose until now. Until standing covered in the blood of her best friend. Someone who only yesterday, she traced his laugh lines while they were sitting together in the Gryffindor common room. Back when she made an uncharacteristic joke about hippogriffs hoping it would give him any kind of comfort despite what they knew tomorrow would bring. His face had lit up, for a moment she could see the boy she met on the train. The one who still carried loneliness in his eyes but it was masked behind the type of hopefulness about the future that only a child could have. She would watch it slowly disappear each time he was forced to grow up. So she couldn't stop her hand from reaching toward him to make sure that she wasn't imagining the brief happiness on his face. But now she would never see him do anything again, let alone smile. This is the last time Hermione would touch any part of Harry Potter, with his blood-stained on her skin.
Her ending unlike her friend would be easy. There would be no fighting, her life had been filled with it, and her death would not. She would be leaving Hogwarts just as she came.
Alone and hated.
This time there would be no Harry and Ron to make her feel better. A knot formed in her stomach. They never gave up. Not really. Ron might have left them in the forest but he came back, he always came back.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
Hermione would no longer wait for Ron Weasly, he was waiting on her now. Waiting with the rest of them, almost as if they had all gotten up early and they were passing time until she joined them.
She imagined Ron playing chess. He would easily win because his best friend would be more focused on the red-haired witch sitting on the seat closest to them. Ginny would only look up from her Quidditch magazine to share a look with Harry when her brother would do his ridiculous victory dance. He would then demand that a blushing Neville should immediately stop his conversation with Luna to play him next. Which would cause Ginny to protest. She could almost hear them now.
Come on just one game
Leave him be. Can't you see that he's busy right now?
He is only just talking to Luna.
Seriously, how can I be related to someone so stupid?
Harry would try to distract Ron to get them to stop arguing. Hermione will be coming soon then we can all do something together.
They would look towards the end of the couch by the coffee table with the books sitting on it. Where there would be an empty space.
Her space.
She shouldn't feel guilty for wanting to see her friends again. They were the ones who left her.
“Not by choice,” a voice reasoned.
She knew it was not fair to complain about why they were gone when they already left, it was horrible, but nothing about this was fair. Everyone always mourns the dead but what about those who survive? The dead get peace, what do the living get?
Even if by a miracle her side did win, what was left for her? How was she expected to keep going? Hermione might have parents but they did not have a daughter anymore. People she had known since she was eleven laid around her cold, unmoving, and the few left were about to join them.
It would hurt less if she finished it herself, the word carved into her arm was proof that they would make sure it hurt.
Mudblood
That was all she was now. Her entire existence was stripped down to a word she had not claimed. It didn't matter that she could perform spells better than any of her classmates or that she constantly spent her time exhausting herself to be better. She would never be enough and it only took the end of the world for her to realize that.
She tried to find the strength to raise her hand with the wand in it. The wand that didn't save Harry and won't save her. There was no way to know if the spell would even work on herself. She would have to mean it. Truthfully she was not ready to find out if she had what it takes to cast it. Would she be a murderer if the life she had taken was her own?
She had never been much for religion. Her family used to go to church on holidays before they found out she was a witch. She guessed if she had believed in anything it was them, the three of them. That was what she placed her faith in, the belief that no matter no what happened they would be okay because they had each other. She never told them any of that. Maybe she should have. It probably wouldn't have made a difference but at least they would have known.
Could anyone truly blame her for wanting it to be over? Her future had died with her friends. All she wanted was to see them. What was wrong with that? Harry always considered himself a burden on her. As if her life would have been better without him. What he never understood is that in Hermione's mind, he was never Harry Potter: the boy who lived, he was Harry Potter: her best friend. He and Ron were what made her life magical. But the magic was gone now. In a matter of minutes, a world that seemed so enchanting was dulled.
It wasn't enough for the Deatheaters to just take her boys from her, they had to take everyone.
Fred.
George.
Remus.
Lavender.
Ginny
Professor McGonagall.
Each left like stars disappearing in the night until there was only darkness left. Only her left. As much as she hated them for killing the people she loved, she hated them more for not taking her first. What had she done to deserve to live? Why her?
This was never going to end well for Hermione. Maybe once it could have been, she shouldn't go down that path. The what ifs hurt more than what is.
With her decision made, Hermione stepped out of hiding into the view of a random death eater. It was better that she did not recognize him.
This was it.
Even though this was what she wanted she still was expecting to feel a sense of dread. Instead, all she could feel was the wand slipping through her fingers, falling with deafening noise as her opponent lifted his.
The end.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head up towards the sky. She could have sworn she smelled freshly mowed grass and broomstick handles and then nothing.