Nobody ever talks about the aftermath of war. The horror of it all, the worst that was seen in what humans were capable of. Seen what happens when monsters abandon common decency in favour of hate. How hard it is to rebuild your life in the aftermath of a genocide and working for a people that were insistent on her death even just a few months ago.
As she stared at the flickering light of the enchanted candles, Hermione Granger's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The echoes of laughter and the vibrant energy of her friends felt like a distant memory, swallowed by the shadows of loss that had crept into her life since the war ended.
She ran her fingers over the delicate parchment of her notes, her latest project—a detailed study of the Veil—scattered across her desk. The allure of its mysteries had drawn her in, a desperate attempt to grasp the unknowable and find answers to the questions that haunted her nights.
"Is it wrong to want to bring back the dead?" she wondered aloud, glancing at a small photo of Ron and Harry smiling from a happier time. The thought echoed in her mind as she considered the risks of her research. What if she could bridge the divide between the living and the lost?
Honestly, it was a shame that no further studies had been recorded on the veil, and where exactly people went when they entered it.
Determined, she stood up, her heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. The time had come to delve deeper into the Veil's magic, to push the boundaries of what she knew magic was capable of.
Donning her robes, she walked towards the antechamber holding the veil. In the dimly lit corridors of the Department of Mysteries, a creeping sense of foreboding followed her. The air was thick with the tension of the nightmares that plagued her from her fifth year. A reminder of the horrors that lay within.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Hermione pushed open the heavy door. The room was shrouded in shadows, illuminated only by the soft, eerie glow emanating from the Veil. She could hear the faint echo of voices, as the veil billowed.
Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself. She had spent countless hours researching the Veil, uncovering ancient texts that hinted at a way to cross it safely. Tonight, she was ready to attempt the ritual.
She carefully laid out her supplies on the cold stone floor: a small bowl, a sharp dagger, a candle made of dragon's blood resin, and a smooth piece of quartz crystal that glinted in the dim light. Each item held significance, a key to unlocking the magic she sought.
As she set the candle in front of her, she used her wand to ignite it. The flame flickered to life, casting dancing shadows on the walls. She felt a surge of energy as she focused her intent, her her heart resolute. This was not just about crossing the Veil; it was about understanding it, about reclaiming what had been lost
With her focus object in hand, Hermione knelt within a circle of salt, grounding herself. She pricked her finger with the dagger, allowing a few drops of blood to fall into the bowl, the warmth of her life force mingling with the cool air around her. She could feel the weight of the moment, the importance of her sacrifice.
Raising her arms toward the Veil, she recited the incantation she had discovered in her research, the Latin words flowing from her lips with conviction:
Per ignem transeo, sanguine vincio. Aperi mihi."
As she spoke, the flame of the candle surged higher, the shadows swirling around her, and the air thickened with power. She focused on the flickering fire, envisioning it as a bridge between worlds, a gateway to the unknown.
With each repetition of the chant, the Veil pulsed and shimmered, responding to her energy and intent. The voices behind it grew louder, a cacophony of whispers that resonated in her mind. Hermione could feel the pull of the other side, a magnetic force drawing her closer.
With a final, decisive breath, she stepped forward into the flickering light of the flame. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, she felt a rush of heat envelop her, the sensation of being torn apart and remade in an instant. The world around her dissolved into a blur of colors and sounds, a kaleidoscope of the past and the future.
All she remembered before losing consciousness was the distinct thought that this wasn't supposed to be how she died.
Vaguely, she remembered that she must have died. Her body was in such pain that it felt like she was back in Malfoy manor. Difficulty moving, great heaping sobs, labored breathing. If this was what one would feel when walking through the veil then she likely wouldn't be doing this again.
Opening her eyes, she took in the sight of the stone floor and the raised dias she was on.
"Honestly," she muttered darkly, "what was I even thinking? Maybe they'll still take my transfer to the creatures department."
Pushing her arms out and lifting her body upwards she looked around the room.
"What- what the fuck did I do?" she gasped, for before her the ground was cracked, and barren. The air palpable with a thick wave of heat. Grabbing her wand she cast the bubble head charm, and glanced around at what appeared to be decimated ruins of the antechamber.
Panic washed over her as she took in the area, no fluttering of the veil, no archway to even hint of its existence.
"Dear merlin, what have I done now," gathering her courage she stepped beyond the dias and took in the ruins before her. Towering stone pillars scattered throughout the area, it looked to be a city devastated by disaster. Walking through what appeared to be a doorway, she edged onto old forgotten pathways. Nature had clearly taken it's time reclaiming the space.
The air thick and heavy, plumes of smoke rising from vents along the mountain side, and the tell-tale sign of aftershocks from still on-going earthquakes. Clearly this wasn't an area safe enough to inhabit for long periods of time.
The most important thing to do now would likely be to find a safer space to travel to, and apparate there. Making her way to what seemed to be a safer spot to stand, she glanced upon the waters. The fog had lifted in it's intensity, just enough for her to see-
"Merlin," she breathed out, "its steam. The waters are literally so hot that they're creating steam."
Spying another outcropping of land with a safer and much flatter beach, she took a good look, twisted and with a crack, apparated.
Is this the city of Pompeii? Dust as far as the eye can see settles like a thick fog, nothing but ash and smoke and the jagged towers that pierced through the gray sky. Dark silhouettes casting long shadows over the ground. The very stones seemed to whisper of ancient magic and power.
This must have been the sight of a massive volcano eruption. Given the size of the main island, as well as the others it could have very well been a series of volcanic eruptions, primed then by a mega volcano. Something possibly similar to the Yellowstone volcanic eruptions over a thousand years ago.
It was then that she saw it– a flicker of movement towards a darkened alleyway. Cautiously she approached it, heart pounding away and gripping her wand tighter. Spotting areas with a dark black sludge, these must have been the victims. Normally, as seen with Pompeii, when a civilization endures a volcanic eruption, the bodies don't just burn away. Most die from the heat of the eruption and the resulting settling of ash. The heat preserves them and they're subsequently buried mummified corpses. These bodies never got the chance, weathered down as they were by the elements that followed thereafter.