Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own Harry Potter, that right goes to the amazing J.K. Rowling.
The Boy Who Lived
She curled up in her chair and stared out the window. It was raining; very suitable weather for today, for today was the anniversary of the day that ruined her life. Her brown eyes her red and puffy from crying, and her bushy hair uncombed: it didn't matter nothing mattered except for what happened. She clenched the bear bottle in her hand tighter as she remembered.
The grass was of the field was blood stained, and dead bodies were everywhere. A blinding light flashed and the entire enemy was dead, except for the leader. The tall man's anger was evident in his blood red eyes. The teen-age boy in front of him was radiating with power.
She stared as they fought her and everyone else who was still alive. The two were fighting, but she knew it was pointless; the man could not be killed because they had not found the final Horcux. They were fighting with all of their strength; everything that they could use was used. Then it happened, the man stabbed the boy through the heart with his sword. The boy gasped, his body shaking there. With all the energy he had left, he pointed his wand and uttered those fatal words. The green light hit the man square in the chest: he died. She ran forward, she had to get there; she had to help the dying boy. She could not let him die. She was too late though.
Tears flowed down her cheeks. Why? If he had destroyed the last one, why did he not kill him sooner? There was a tap at the window. She got up in shock: she had left that world. She had left and she had not looked back until today. Nevertheless, there it was, an owl with a letter, taping on her window. She let it in, and took the letter. Hermione Granger was all that was written on the envelope. She closed her eyes but opened it nonetheless.
Dear Hermione,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier. If you're getting this, it means that I'm dead. You have to admit it, that is the first step to getting over it. I had to die, Hermione, it was the only way.
I figured out what the last Horcux was, but I knew that I couldn't destroy it. I would never be able to do that. Hermione, I was the last Horcux. I had to let Voldemort destroy it himself, that would be the only way for him to die.
I know you, and I know that you will have beaten yourself up over this, but don't. There was no other way. I did what had to be done. If I did not die, there would never be an end to this war. Now, I want you to do something. I want you to go back. As I said, I know you; you will have run away from the Wizarding World. Go back, because they need people like you to rebuild. Rebuild and make it a better place. For the Future Love Yours Truly, Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived
She stared, the tears flowing freely down her face. All right Harry if that is what you want I will do it.
Outside her window, a man stood his bright green eyes shining as he watched her gather her things to go back.
A.N.-- Hey, well I hope that you liked it this is my first story here on Fanfiction. Please review even if it is just to flame, I don't care I want to see what people think! And I'd like to thank my beta