There was no-one left for her. Ron had perished soon after the 'final battle' and Harry and Ginny were busy with their jobs, family and finally living their life. The clean up after the death of Voldemort had taken seven long years. It had nearly destroyed them all. Hermione was the only one left fighting. She knew nothing different. Fighting was what she had done since she was eleven years old. Every night she still donned her black leathers and headed out to clean up the streets of London. There weren't many left now, but a few of the Death Eaters still managed to evade the Aurors. Only those that knew them best had a hope in hell of finding them.
Tonight was no different to any other night. She laced up her knee high boots, smoothed out her leather pants and pulled on her leather biker jacket...well, not 'her' jacket exactly. It was Sirius Black's jacket – but he was hardly coming back for it. She'd found it in the attic of number twelve, where she now lived. As a tribute to the late Mr. Black, she made sure to flip off the family tree on the way out the door to search for her target – Bellatrix Lestrange.
Hermione knew where she was going. In the wrong end of town there was a dingy, basement level hovel that Bellatrix had been hiding in for months now. As she approached she heard the witch inside babbling to herself. Hermione readied her wand and her pistons. The she kicked in the door – BANG!
"I guess you finally found me, Hermione Granger," Bellatrix cackled, "took you long enough."
"I was pre-occupied, Bellatrix. Don't think I gave you any special attention," Hermione spat back.
"I could still kill you, child. I'm not as weak as you think. Come closer and I'll show you," Bellatrix drawled
"Do you know what I want, Bellatrix?" Hermione asked.
"What's that, mudblood?"
Hermione raised her handgun, "you to shut the hell up?" – BANG! BANG! BANG!
With three shots to the head Bellatrix Lestrange was dead.
As Hermione looked down at the bloodied body of her prey she whipped out her phone and called the Auror Department.
"Kingsley speaking," was the answer to her call.
"Clean up, sector four, sixty-one Smiths Road, Basement level," she said in a business-like tone.
"Shit, Hermione. Again? You can't keep this up. Start living, girl," he said, concerned for his old friend.
"They'll need bleach," Hermione said before hanging up and walking out of the building. Hermione walked down the street away from her victory feeling a bittersweet combination of relief, success and sadness as she remembered the destruction Bellatrix had caused over the years. The closest deed to Hermione was, of course, the murder of Sirius Black, but this was not her most heinous crime by far. She thought of Neville, whose parents she had tortured to insanity. Hermione raised her phone to her ear and waited for her childhood friend to answer.
"Hello, Neville here," came the tired sounding voice on the other end.
"Bellatrix is dead," she informed him coldly.
"Thank you for letting me know, Hermione."
She hung up the phone before they got to the pleasantries. Small talk was not something that she cared much about these days. She snapped her phone shut and shoved it back into her pocket as she walked down Grimmauld Place. As the house appeared to her she realised that the large old door was ajar. Every hair on her body stood on end as a reaction to this danger. Hermione cautiously approached the house with her hand gun at the ready. If she was lucky she could splatter the intruder's head all over that goddamned tapestry in the living room, she thought to herself.
She was careful not to make a noise as she entered. Sneaking past the troll's foot umbrella stand in the hallway, she entered the living room to see a tall man's back. He had long dark hair that looked as dishevelled as the rest of him. He was running his hands along the tapestry on the wall – Hermione was in luck. She approached him silently and put the business end of her pistol against the back of his head. The man jumped with surprise.
"Do not move a muscle or I'll kill you quicker than you can say 'boggart'," Hermione threatened, "now, who are you and what are you doing in my house?"
"Steady on, love," the stranger drawled in a familiar yet unknown voice, "this is my house and who the hell are you?"
"I ask the questions. Who. Are. You?" she retorted.
"My name is Sirius Black," the stranger replied.
Before she could stop herself, Hermione's hand rose up and slammed the butt of her pistol into the back of the man's head, knocking him out cold.