Henrietta coughed wetly into her handkerchief. The familiar pain bloomed with each cough that ripped through her small frame. She looked at the piece of linen and saw the spots of blood were bigger this time round. Soon it would be time. Time as an old man once said, for the next adventure. She was quite looking forward to it. She'd done all she could have done.
Henrietta Potter had restructured the world which she had stepped into forty years earlier. Yes her lifespan was shorter than most witches, but she hadn't known that the horcrux had merged with her her soul. And that ripping it out would have left her weaker. But not so weak she wasn't called the Lioness of the Isles by the ICW. She had a shorter lifespan, but had accomplished so much. She'd transformed the Auror Corps into an institution that was respected.
She set up the first Dubbin Welfare Group, so named after a group of young ones in a book from her childhood. No longer would a child like Tom Riddle grow up to be a menace to society, uncared for and treated with distrust. No longer would a child like herself grow up in a cupboard.
By writing for the Daily Prophet she'd introduced op-ed pieced that examined the state of wizarding affairs. It created debate among the masses and forced them to think for themselves. No longer would silver tongued liars control the thoughts of the majority. She'd invited guest writers to give an account of what their view of Britain was.
Surprisingly her most requested guest writer was an Italian vampire who not only highlighted foreign views but also foreign views by the lens of the magical beings community.
With Hermione's aid she'd created a shelter and hotline for abused house-elves. Worked some impressive magic that allowed them to tell the truth without punishing themselves for speaking ill of their Masters.
While the improvement of the Magical World of Britain could not all be laid down at her feet, she could take pride in what her contributions had wrought.