A/N: I don't own Harry Potter

This is for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Sci fi day 3 Day Three

Write about a character with a disability in the post-apocalyptic world.

Word Count - 650

Hermione made her way around the bunker She'd memorized most of it by now. She'd heard the shouting, heard the screaming. She'd never thought going down into the family bunker for a tin of coffee would ultimately save her life.

The first day, she'd been terrified. She'd turned on the radio to hear the last broadcast to ever be made. There was a nuclear war, the bombs had exploded and now, there was no one left. There was nothing but dead air on the stations now. She kept trying every day, when the clock chimed ten, just in case some one had survived.

That had started three weeks ago. There was still nothing but silence. Not for the first time, Hermione wished she would have put some of her books in the bunker. It was boring down here. Her parents had surely put some of their books, but none of those were in braille.

It had been a while since they'd ever really given much thought to the bunker. Hermione knew there were some of her dolls down here, and maybe some children's books, but nothing that would hold her interest now.

A sound caught her attention. Something was outside the bunker! Carefully, Hermione made her way to the back, where her father had put a shot gun. Hermione knew how to shoot, she knew how to take a gun apart and put it back together just by the feel of the pieces. Now, she only hoped she wouldn't have to use one.

The noise became louder and she could hear the door of the bunker turning. She had forgotten to lock it. Part of her wanted to run, lock it and hide away, but another part of her, was so desperate for human interaction, made her remain where she was.

"Hello?" a velvety voice called. A man by the sound of it. Hermione stayed and listened as he explored the bunker. She could hear him in the kitchenette, could hear him walking into the bedroom.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he called out again. Hermione slowly her gun, taking a step from her hiding spot. She could already tell a few things about her visitor. He walked quietly, he was tall, and he was so far the only other person she knew was alive.

"Who are you?" she finally asked, as she heard him across the room from her. She was still holding the gun, ready to fire at a moment's notice. She heard him stop moving.

"There is someone here, then. My name is Severus. I'm from Spinner's End," he said. Hermione nodded, slowly. That was the town about twenty miles to the west.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for other survivors. I have this-"

Hermione heard him moving, but being blind couldn't see what he was holding.

"Which is?" she asked.

"A radio receiver, it picks up radio waves, anyone who's still listening. I started getting readings from this direction, every day. I followed them until I got here. By the way, you're pointing that gun at the wall next to me."

"Oh," Hermione exclaimed, adjusting her aim. She could feel Severus looking at her.

"Were you born blind?"

"Yes," she admitted. "How did you know?"

"The way things are arranged, the way you're not looking at me. Are you alone?"

"Yes," she answered. "I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger."

"I think we might be the last survivors, Hermione."

"I was thinking the same. Can you read?" Hermione asked, suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Can you read to me then? I've been alone for so long, and I don't have my books... I've been afraid to step out of the bunker."

"How about I help you find your books, and then you can read to me?" Severus suggested. Hermione smiled in his general direction.

"That sounds wonderful, Severus," she replied, following him to the exit.