I still remember the night I died.

The mist swirled around the windows like the cotton fluff sold on every corner of the Brighton beachfront. Thick, yet glowing with an inner radiance, it was an unearthly shroud for my last hours on earth as Hermione Jane Granger.

I don't blame Pansy; she couldn't have known who was waiting in the darkness with Draco. He'd begged and pleaded for us to unbar the doors. Several of the students in our year were vehemently against allowing him in. A first-year ran to bring Professor McGonagall to the East entrance hall. Pansy stood alone amongst the older students, calling out shrilly to Draco and arguing that he would die if left outside in the mist.

Arriving in a flurry of tartan and evergreen, McGonagall was surrounded by all of us talking at once. She held up her hand for silence and hurried to the wooden doors separating us from the terror that lurked beyond the castle walls. She leaned against the great door and called out to the boy on the other side. When he heard her voice, Draco began crying and pounding on the door, promising anything if only we would let him in. I felt sick to my stomach; what horrors had Draco seen to change him from the proud pure-blood elitist who flaunted his position within Voldemort's followers to the scared boy he sounded like now?

"Please! Please, Professor! I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, for my life, please let me in!"

McGonagall turned away, leaning back against the doors now, her expression grim, unshed tears wavering in her eyes, whether for the boy or in sadness for what he had become, I couldn't tell. Pansy, perhaps reading the finality in the professor's expression, shrieked, "No!"

Several of the girls started to pull her gently away, but she broke free and ran to the doors just as McGonagall replied to the hysterical boy, "Go back to your own kind for protection; there's nothing for you here."

Pansy threw herself against the door, beating her fists against it, in counterpoint to Draco's frenzied pounding. "Draco! Draco!" she sobbed.

"Return to your dormitory, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall said sharply. We all stood by in silence, watching McGonagall walk away, leaving Pansy standing beside the doors crying, wrapping her arms around herself as if to deny everything that had taken place these last weeks since the war had broken out and we'd been barricaded within Hogwarts Castle. Even the pounding from outside had ceased. Professor McGonagall's mistake—our mistake—was to believe that Pansy's anger had been quelled by defeat. We should have known better.

Before a warning could be shouted, Pansy had raised the brace on the doors and thrown her weight into pulling it open, screaming Draco's name.

In a few seconds we all surged forward en masse, pulling the hysterical girl out of the way and slamming our bodies against the doors to force them shut.

We almost made it.

A strong shove from the other side sent me falling backward onto the flagstones. Many black clad arms were now visible through the gap, pushing with preternatural strength. It was no use. The doors flew open, and we scattered like tenpins. In strode a triumphant Draco Malfoy, the wet trails on his cheeks already drying as he grinned maniacally, yelling back into the throng of silver-masked men pouring into the entryway, "My Lord! We have done it!"

Some of the students ran; the rest of us were confined to the hall, made to kneel as we were relieved of our wands—not that having a wand was all that useful anymore, not since the mist had come. Hardly any of us could perform the simplest of spells.

One man, tall, imposing, with lank black hair was quickly searching through the captives, his dark eyes flitting from one face to the next. He stopped in front of me; I felt faint, could barely draw my breath. His identity was confirmed the moment he spoke—Snape's voice was unmistakable. "Quickly, Granger—tell me who killed Potter!"

He was standing before me robed in black, cutting me with the obsidian knife that was his voice. I shook my head, unable to utter a word.

"Tell me!" he roared, grasping the fabric of my school robes and twisting them at my throat, pulling me off my knees. I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, he was gone leaving me to fall painfully back to the floor. I looked up to see the Death Eaters moving behind those of us kneeling, all attention on the figure who was now crossing the flagstones toward us. Eyes burned, claw-like hands clenched and mimicked his pet Slytherin as he surveyed each of us in turn. He stopped in front of me. I could feel the people to either side shrink away in terror, leaving me to face the Dark Lord Voldemort. I could feel his madness, his will, his intent burning through me as he forced my head up with a cold hand to meet his eyes. I fought as hard as I could to suppress my memories of the final battle. I should have known it wouldn't work.

"Her."

He knew. He knew what I had done to Harry after they'd confronted each other on the castle grounds.

"Take her to the lake. Hold her under the water until she is no more."

My death sentence was delivered in that hateful, high-pitched voice that belonged only to the Dark Lord now. Although I had expected no mercy or forgiveness, his words hit me with the force of a shotgun blast. I would join Ron and Harry in death, along with so many others. A man sprang forward to grasp my arm in a brutal grip. I didn't need to see past the silvery death mask; it could only be Snape, my former teacher, ally, and now executioner. How elated he must feel to end the life of the girl who was the last reminder of the child of the woman he'd loved! How stupid I was to think he had accepted me as a confidant during long talks at Grimmauld Place, or that I could ever even dream of taking her place in his mind. He had sworn to protect Lily's son, and now the last remnant of his failure was his to destroy.

I barely registered the screams of those around me as I was dragged away from the others, pinned against the body of the man who was to kill me. It's odd what small details one remembers... the painful pressure of his icy fingers, the feel of his buttons digging into my skin, the throbbing of his heart as we raced away from the East hall. Professor McGonagall's cries of agony, pleas for the Dark Lord to spare my life echoed along the corridors after us as Snape ran with me toward the main doors to the grounds, giving no thought to the terrors that lurked outside. Beyond them awaited the lake where Harry had died under the black waters a few weeks before during the fight for control of Hogwarts. It was the path I took every night in my dreams... to watch Harry drown, his green eyes accusing me in madness and rage. Now retracing those steps with Severus Snape, I felt betrayed.

I can remember all of it, even though I'm not supposed to.