Disclaimer: All credit, obviously, to J.K. Rowling. I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story.
Prologue:
Some things are instinctual.
"Hermione! Use the sword!"
Some things your body just knows how to do.
"Hermione! Hit it with the sword! Finish it off!"
Some things we don't even think about, we can't even think about, because our bodies don't give us the time – it just reacts.
"Come on Hermione! You can do it!"
Some things are unconscious, like breathing, like closing your eyes under water.
"Go for it, Hermione! Silence it once and for all!"
Some things…
"DO IT NOW!"
…are fate.
Hermione rushed at the small, inconsequential piece of jewellery laying open on a rock in front of her. She held the sword of Gryffindor high above her head and clumsily swung it down, as hard as she could force herself. It ricocheted off of the enamelled golden edges, and in the rebounding clang, Hermione realised she had missed. The whole world around her sucked itself away and faded to black.