A/N: Italicized parts in paragraphs three, five, and nine, are excerpts from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling and have been used here without permission and with no intention of profiting from the use thereof.
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"Harry Potter," he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "The Boy Who Lived."

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: Everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his—

Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear—

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

-Excerpt from page 704 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Hardback Edition), by J.K. Rowling.

To say that Hermione Granger was overwhelmed would be an understatement. She was running around the great hall from injured to injured, trying to help however she could, but there were so many, and the damage was so terrible…. She would not allow herself to think of the dead, of Fred, Remus, Tonks…. No. NO! She had to concentrate, focus on the task at hand, save as many as she could.

But despite her intense focus on healing, Hermione had also developed a sudden intense awareness of time. Time seemed to be on the side of the Dark, as he was moving far too quickly to be of any use to them. Hermione knew that their hour was almost up. She also knew that Harry no one had seen Harry in quite awhile. Hermione knew her friend well. She knew what was going to happen, what he was going to do. It would be foolish to think he would do otherwise. She would not allow herself to give up hope, despite the bleakness of the situation. She tried to steal herself for what she knew would come, but was brought suddenly out of her reverie by a voice booming and echoing through the hall. Voldemort.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

There was a muffled sob nearby, and Hermione knew it was Ginny. She herself felt indescribably sick to her stomach.

"The battle is won. You have lost half your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Hermione was unconscious of ever moving to go outside, but suddenly she was there, surrounded by members of the Light, waiting, hoping, praying their hero wasn't really gone.

She heard Hagrid before she saw him, great sobs wracking his body, and her heart clenched in her chest. And then she saw him, laying limp and lifeless in Hagrid's arms, and she heard McGonnagol's cries, and Ginny's and Ron's, and then everyone was making terrible sounds of grief, and it was a moment before she realized that she was crying too, crying out for her friend and confidant and hero. She found it hard to breathe, felt constricted and oppressed by an overwhelming grief, the likes of which she had never experienced. She had seen death before, even among people she knew, but Harry had been her best friend, her brother…

Voldemort forced the crowd silent and began to speak again and she forced herself to listen. Hagrid was laying Harry at Voldemort's feet, his sobs silenced by a Death Eater's spell.

"You see?" said Voldemort. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever…."

Hermione stopped listening. She would not listen to this monster spout lies and slander about Harry.

But then Ron, sweet, brave Ron, cried out in contempt and defiance. He was the spark to the flame, and everyone was shouting, crying obscenities and words of obstinance. Another silencing spell cracked in the air, and Voldemort continued to tell them all how Harry—no, lie to them that Harry had betrayed them all, had tried to run away. Their Harry had never run away from anything, He ran into the danger.

There was a sudden commotion, and Hermione realized that Neville had literally launched himself at Voldemort. As proud of him as she was for taking a stand, she didn't want to see more people killed. She watched Voldemort force the burning Sorting Hat onto Neville's head. She wanted to turn away, needed to turn away, but she couldn't. And suddenly a spell was flying, and suddenly more spells were flying and self-preservation set in and she found herself dueling almost unconsciously.

They were losing, and terribly. Even with the reinforcements of the house elves they were failing miserably. All around her people were falling, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she went too. For a moment she almost wondered if she wouldn't welcome death, but then she remembered why she had to stay alive. That she had the key to defeating Voldemort. That it was up to her now. And Ron- Ron! She needed to get to Ron! She began searching frantically, holding off pursuers with quickly fired spells. She watched as Ginny fell to the ground, but barely stopped to spare it a thought. She worked her way to the other side of the hall, and there, there was Ron, lying slumped against the floor, his eyes glazed over as he held a profusely bleeding wound on his stomach.

"No, no no no, Ron, no!" She ran up to him and grabbed onto him. "Hang on, Ron, it'll be okay, hang on! "

"Er-my-knee," he groaned out.

She felt the moment his spirit left him. She was filled with an agony she had never imagined anyone could feel, and she wanted so terribly to give in to the urge to join them all in the afterlife. It would be so easy to let herself die, to let someone kill her, but even in grief her sense of responsibility remained. She knew what she had to do. She began to fight her way toward the Forbidden Forest, dodging and firing curses with the skill only an experienced fighter could possess. One step into the Forest, that's all she needed. She felt a curse pass narrowly by her shoulder and saw a flash of green light nearby. So close. She began to run, dodging left and right, zigzagging through the remaining fighters with an accuracy due almost more to pure luck than skill.

And then she was beyond the boundary of the Forbidden Forest, and she cried out the words that would activate the portkey: "Mors aequo!" Death as an equal.

She landed on a pristine lawn outside of a mansion too small to be considered sprawling, but large nonetheless. There was a clicking noise and she turned to find a silver-haired man in a suit pointing a gun in her face.
"Who are you?" the man demanded.

As calmly as she could, she responded, "My name is Hermione Granger. I am a friend of Molly Prewett Weasley. And I am here to see Jenny Shephard."