Itās just like Harry said, a long time ago, when they first started talking about death.
Faster than falling asleep, painful and painless in the same time.
She knows sheās dead because the green spell hit her square in the chest, and it partially is her fault.
Since her wife, Bellatrix, passed away many moons ago, Hermione has become sloppy, negligent and careless.
The first weeks without her soulmate were the worst: the witch hardly ever even left the house, and had it not been for Ginny and Harryās intervention, Hermione would have let herself die of sorrow and guilt in the heady emptiness of Black Manor.
Instead, her friends once again rescued her, for the sake of the old times. That, and the fact that the Minister for Magic couldnāt just go missing.
Hermione turned in her resignation three months after Bellatrixās passing, as focusing on the wellness of the wizarding community was too much for a witch who could hardly think about hers.
Bellatrix had been cursed, no doubt on Hermioneās mind.
Too many were the people who wanted her dead, too many the relatives of the victims of the dark witchās youth wrath.
Right when Hermione and the prime ministers of the European wizarding council had finally signed on the treaty for a better collective contract for House Elves, a gift was delivered to her private residence.
A place only those closer to her knew.
When she apparated back home, Bellatrix had insisted oh so much for her not to open the package.
āItās not even signed, Hermione. How stupidly naive and thoughtless must you be to trust it?ā
āIt canāt be from anyone we donāt trust. Thatās all I need to know.ā Hermione protested, moving closer to the wrappings.
With a flick of her wand, Bellatrix made the package levitate through the air, the same way she did when she first brought the thing inside their home.
āBella.ā Hermione called her lover, with a raised eyebrow.
āIf you deem it safe, you wonāt mind me opening it, then.ā
Hermione sighed. She could tell there was a tinge of jealousy in her wifeās voice, and she was sure it was related to the card that came with the gift.
āCongratulations for your latest accomplishment.
Hereās a beautiful piece for the brightest, dreamingly breath-taking witch of our age.
The handwriting vaguely reminded her of Ronās.
Hermione hence moved towards her wife, who was making it a big deal at keeping her back directed to Hermione.
The younger witch didnāt let that stop her, instead she encircled the dark witchās waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder as the older witch would usually do with her.
āYou know, if I didnāt know you any better Iād say youāre being..ā
Bellatrixās back stiffened, and Hermione quickly changed the ending of her original sentence.
āā¦ envious.ā Surely, a better shoot than jealous. She could manage a quirky mocking Bellatrix, but she couldnāt stand being the reason for an irate, hurt one.
āEnvious? Whatever of, pet? A necklace? A bracelet?ā Bellatrix smirked, purring the words right into Hermioneās ear.
āThe jewels in my vault could make whatever is in this wrapping bleach in comparison.ā
Hermione simply stated, closing her eyes as Bellatrixās warm breath caressed her skin.
She squeezes her wife as she further corrected her.
āYou said my. Itās our vault, now.ā
Bellatrix smiled softly, relaxing in the younger witchās hold. Then, pecking her lips, she convened: āI always knew you were after my money.ā
Hermione slapped her, softly.
They exchanged one last look of complicity before Bellatrix turned her attention to the package. Her long pale fingers opened the carton wrappings, and her fingertips barely even scraped the emerald green pearls of the elaborate necklace before it happened.
The older witch stiffened, making Hermione frown with confusion.
It quickly turned into concern as Bellatrix grasped her own left forearm, and a gut-wrenching scream pierced the silence of their private residence.
āBellatrix?!ā Hermione kept calling her, even as the witch tried to break free from the younger witchās hug. āNo, no, hang in there! Donāt you dare leave me, Bellatrix Black!ā
Hermione cried, as she rushed to their bezoar stock, only to find it empty.
A wheeze called her attention, as more strangled coughing came from her wife.
āNo! This canāt be it, we can still disapparete toāā
Bellatrixās fingers closed around a lock of Hermioneās hair, as the witch sat down to straddle her suffering wife.
The older witch barely shook her head and Hermione understood: it would be painful and useless.
The last gift Bellatrix gave her wife, was a vial full of memories - memories Hermione would then consume in the following months.
Hermione held her, kissing her every inch of skin: her eyes, her forehead, her nose, her cheekbones, her mouth.
She wanted Bellatrix to leave this world feeling loved.
Despite the appearance, Hermione never stopped blaming herself.
If only she had listened to her wifeā¦ yet she never looked for revenge.
Ultimately, Hermione understood the wizarding community wasnāt ready for the changes she was leading then through, too projected into the future while half of the wizarding world was still grieving their deads from the Magical Wars.
Even by not seeking revenge for the terrible murdering of her wife, Hermione came to meet the wizard who gave her the package.
Ronald Weasley, her childhood friend, whose eyes were under the unmistakable influence of the imperious curse.
Hermione didnāt even try to dodge it.
And here she was, the unmistakable walls of Hogwarts surrounding her with an unnatural blinding-bright light.
āWhy am I here?ā She asked, talking to herself.
āYouāve died, Hermione.ā A celestial voice replied, making her jump with surprise.
The creature in front of her, a bronze-skinned man dressed in nothing but a white tunic, compassionately smiled at her.
āIā¦ yes, I figured. But why am I /here/? At Hogwarts?ā
āYou chose it as your passing place. People usually pick their childhood home, Iām guessing Hogwarts was your favorite place during your most vulnerable times.ā
Hermione nods, giving it a careful look.
It was all exactly as she remembered it from before the war. The reconstruction changed many things of the castle, so this truly had to be the version of it that she experienced.
āI guess so, we surely had so many things happening when we wereā¦ā she trailed off, her memories suddenly coming less.
āWhere are we going?ā She asked the man.
Once again, he smiled and it gave Hermione a sense of peace sheād never experienced.
āPeople have different names for it. Weāre going towardsā¦ peacefulness of the senses. The ethereal sunshine.ā
āParadise.ā Hermione prompted him, but he only shrugged.
āThatās just a version of what some may call it, yes.ā
āIsā¦ do we get to see our loved ones?ā She asked, and although her heart surely wasnāt beating, she felt it quiver in her chest.
āSome of them. Those who lived rightful lives.ā
Hermione instantly knew the meaning of those words. She loved Bellatrix and she forgave all her deeds, but she knew some things just couldnāt be erased.
What Bellatrix did during her life ā during her years as a Death Eater ā had tainted her path.
āWhat if I donāt want to go there?ā
The man looked at her curiously.
āHeaven. What if I donāt want to go there?ā
āPeople entitled to the eternal sunshine donāt usually argue their way out of it.ā
āBut what if I do?ā She enquired, with no attempt to hide the preoccupation in her voice.
āI had a feeling you would.ā
āSheās not there where you want to take me, is she?ā Hermione finally asked.
āShe isnāt.ā The angel confirmed.
Hermione closed her eyes.
āThen take me to her.ā
The travel was fast. Surprisingly enough, Hermione found herself at the gates of Malfoy Manor.
A man with dark-red coloured skin studied her and the angel from behind the metal bars.
āWe donāt accept visitors, buddy. How long have you been doing this job? You should know better.ā
āWeāre not here on visit, Curlybeard.ā
āSheās staying.ā The angel explained, shortly.
As the devil began to mutter, the gates unlocked, and the creature stopped talking altogether.
Said the angel instead, leading the way.
Hermione couldnāt help but notice how, wherever she and the angel laid foot, the tile would light up in bright colour, in sharp contrast with the blackness of the manor.
āShe might be a little different from how you remember it. But before I let you inā the angel started, as they stalled in front of the closed doors of the entrance, āI need to ask. Are you completely sure this is where you want to spend the rest of eternity?ā
āItās not really about the place.ā She reasoned, making the man smile heartedly.
āIs she who you want to spend the rest of eternity with, then?ā
Hermione momentarily thought of her friends: Harry, Ronald, Ginny, Luna. Her parents. Fred, Tonks and Lupin.
She wondered what they might think of her.
āYes.ā She breathed. āYes, I want to be with her.ā
The angel smiled tenderly, although his eyes didnāt hide the pity he felt.
āAlright then. Welcome to your resting place.ā
With that, he opened the doors of the manor for her.
In the middle of the hall, right in the same spot where Bellatrix years before had Hermione screaming and crying with pain, was a witch.
Younger than Hermione had ever seen her, no Azkaban tattoo on her skin.
Bellatrix had tears in her eyes, and her hand was caressing the tiles of the floor where Hermioneās blood was shed.
āLooking for something?ā
Hermione called her, making the witch start.
There, in the loving, almost worshipping look Bellatrix gave her, Hermione read all the reasons in support of her choice.
Behind closed walls, the angel and the demon were taking.
"I don't get it," said the demon, "This person's lived a perfectly good and virtuous life. Why are you sending them to hell?"
The angel nervously rubbed the back of their head.
"Honestly? We're pretty sure they'd be happier in hell than heaven."
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