The war is over, the good guys have won, and Hermione Granger goes to sleep in her lovely flat only to wake up in 1953 in the bed of someone she'd really much rather were dead. "I'm working on the 'kill Lord Voldemort now, work out the temporal paradox issues later' plan," she tells him. He laughs. Tomione. COMPLETE

He can't leave the room. Her room. And it's all the Order's fault. Confined to a small space with only the Mudblood for company, something's going to give. Maybe his sanity. Maybe not. "There," she spat. "Now your Blood's filthy too!" DM/HG. PostHBP.

Ultima ratio - the last resort. At last the day of the Final Battle against Lord Voldemort has come. Harry, Ron and Hermione fight bravely against their nemesis - but then something goes wrong. And Hermione finds herself alone in a precarious situation.

Hermione is killed by Voldemort, and is now dead. Well, sort of. Turns out that death is a little more complex than she knew. Ignores epilogue and last 50ish pages of DH.