HERMIONE GRANGER DIES IN BIZARRE HEART ATTACK
"Dies," spat Rosie, tossing her thick ginger hair over her shoulder, throwing the newspaper on her kitchen table. "Like she's a candle or something. Like she could just be snuffed out. Don't they know who they're talking about?"
Hugo said nothing. Ron wasn't surprised; his son had always been on the thoughtful side, a slow boiler, and solemn--which dissapointed George slightly. Rosie was quick to give anyone who would listen a piece of her mind. But somehow, Hugo's silence went much deeper.
"Disgusting," continued Rosie.
"I've never known anyone to die before," whimpered Hugo softly.
No, thought Ron. Of course he hadn't. His children had grown up in a world where Voldemort's name was used in history lessons, and no one gave a second thought about it. A world where no one ever worried that her husband wouldn't come home from work at the Ministry, where equality between the purebloods and the muggle-born was stressed. Times had certainly changed.
Ron remembered all the times when he'd tried to get Harry to say "You-Know-Who" instead of Voldemort. All the nights his mum stared at the clock, watching his father to see if he was coming home yet or in mortal danger. The time he ended up puking slugs because he'd defended Hermione when Malfoy had called her a Mudblood.
Ron had had so many people taken away from him in the six years that he went to Hogwarts and the one year he spent with Harry and Hermione under the radar--Mad-Eye Moody, Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Sirius, Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore, to name just a few. Even Harry had hardly escaped death, several times. But Hermione! Even then, it had been an outrageous thought, that he might lose her. She was too special. Not when she was eleven, thirteen, seventeen--and certainly not when she was in menopause.
"I love you," he said very softly, barely audible, not sure if he meant it for Rosie, Hugo, or Hermione's spirit.
HERMIONE let her gaze fall across the bookshelves, one by one, as far down as she could see.
"Why am I here?" she asked.
Lupin smiled. "Strangely enough, that depends on your situation, and what you mean by 'here.' For example, if you were back on earth, that would have something to do with your purpose."
Back on Earth. The phrase made Hermione sick to her stomach.
"But 'here'," he said, "the way you mean it, has something to do with this library, specifically, right?"
Hermione nodded. Oddly, she felt rather calm.
"When you die," Lupin told her, "you go to the place that your life changed."
"When in doubt, I ran to the library," murmurred Hermione.
"Yes," agreed Lupin.
"I learned so much here."
"It opened your world."
The two sat quietly for a few moments.
"So this is my heaven. Where did you go?" she asked.
"I went to the whomping willow, where padfoot, prongs, and wormtail first went to the shrieking shack with me." He smiled as he remembered.
"But... I'm all alone in my heaven?" She was suddenly worried. "Forever?"
"Heavens, no!" laughed Lupin, and then he chuckled. "No pun intended. This isn't heaven."
"It's not?" she was confused. "So, what is this? Where is my heaven?"
"This is only the transition. You have to be ready to move on before you go anywhere. Your heaven... it's through there," he said, pointing.
Hermione looked: he was pointing toward the restricted section of the library.
