Hermione stands in the dusty ruins of Hogwarts. Countless corpses litter the blood-stained earth. She stares at the faces of her dead friends blankly. No tears. She's been unable to cry for a while. She gazes at the corpses of Fred and George, torn to pieces by one dark spell or another, faces frozen in identical masks of terror. Even in death she has trouble telling them apart. Beside them is Ginny, poor, sweet Ginny, who took a blood freezing curse for Harry when his back was turned. Ron, Bill, Charlie, Tonks, Lupin, Neville, Luna. Everyone she's ever cared about lays dead in the ruins of the school that she loved.
Harry's final expression is one of anguish. After Ginny took the curse for him, he'd thrown himself into the battle, taking on multiple death eaters at once, but eventually, they overtook him. It doesn't matter that Voldemort is dead and the last survivor is Hermione, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. As far as she is concerned, there have been no winners in this war. Everyone dead, everything destroyed. Hermione feels hollow. What can she do; what should she do, now that her purpose is gone? There is nothing left. Why did she survive out of everyone? They were all fighting together until one by one, a curse brought each of her friends down. Why was she spared?
Hermione feels a presence behind her and whips around, wand drawn. Draco Malfoy smiles grimly, hands in the air: "I'm not an enemy," he reminds her.
She nods and pockets her wand. Halfway through the war, Draco had switched sides, joining the Order of the Phoenix and giving them important information regarding Voldemort's plans. Harry and Ron had been surprised, but Hermione had not. As much of an arrogant ponce as Draco was, he wasn't a killer or ruthless murderer like his father and the other death eaters. Draco did have a conscious and eventually it was able to override his upbringing. Hermione knew it must have been incredibly hard for him.
Lucius had been furious, obviously, and in a raid a few weeks ago, Draco had been forced to kill his father in order to save their group. His mother committed suicide soon after. Draco refuses to speak of the incident, but Hermione knows it must have hit him hard.
"So you and I are the only ones left alive then, huh? The mudblood and the blood traitor." Hermione's lips turned up in a grim parody of a smile.
"Yes," Draco admits, "But it can't end like this. There's no point."
"What do you suggest we do then," Hermione counters coolly, "Everyone is dead, except us. Hogwarts is destroyed. The magical world is in ruin. We can do nothing."
Draco took a deep breath. "I have an idea," he murmurs, "It's probably impossible, but if there were any chance . . ." he trails off, shrugging, knowing Hermione will accept even if there is practically zero chance his plan will work.
"What is it, then?" Hermione asks a bit curiously. Even a massacre at school can't stop her from being eager for knowledge, Draco notes with amusement.
"Well," Draco starts, hesistating, "I found some books in the family library, in the closed off section that had been warded. They crumbled after my father died, and there was this one book . . ."
He pulls the book out of his bag and shows it to Hermione. "It's just this one paragraph in the last chapter, I don't really think it's possible, but you should probably check it out just in case."
Hermione reads the passage, looking skeptical. "No, no, no" she mutters, "This can't possibly—" Suddenly she stops. "Oh my god, Hermione breathes, this . . . this might actually work."
The passage is just a tidbit added by the author about theoretical time travel of souls.
"It's not possible of course," Draco tells her, "Everyone knows you can't send a soul back in time because your body from that time period will already have a soul and they would fight for space, but I thought maybe it would help give you an idea . . ." He trails off, looking at her hopefully.
"No Draco this is brilliant," Hermione breathes.
"It is?"
Hermione snickers, her first genuine expression of amusement in months, "Of course a wizard would never figure it out, thinking memories are part of the soul. I swear, this whole society is completely backwards."
"Hermione what do you mean?" Draco asks.
"Muggles have found that memories are just signals in the brain, they're biological, not spiritual, and unlike with souls, a brain can fit many memories so it doesn't matter if we send a bunch more back in time."
Draco stares at her in shock, "So you're saying we can actually—"
"Yes," Hermione says simply, "We can, technically, go back in time."
The next months are spent researching and researching and researching. Draco watches Hermione with a mixture of horror and amusement. She manages to get through hundreds of books a day, both muggle and magical, while cross-referencing and taking notes that only she is able to decipher.
Draco sits in the study of Malfoy Manor as night is falling, writing a letter to the Chinese wizarding world to look for a book Hermione has been wanting to get her hands on for their little "project." Suddenly, the door is slammed open, and Hermione comes bursting into the office, eyes tired but bright, with a wide smile stretching across her face.
"It's finished."