You're Universe

Two weeks ago. The Potter's living room A quiet evening. The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting flickering light on a stack of parchments spread across the table. Hermione sat in a deep armchair, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her dress. Ginny pressed close to her, hugging her shoulders as if afraid her friend might vanish right then and there. Harry sat opposite, his green eyes narrowed as he scanned the documents. "What does this mean, Hermione?" He placed a parchment on the table, his voice trembling with anger. "Are you giving up?" She sighed, exhaustion evident in every word: "Harry, two months. Two horribly long months I've fought this curse. I've scoured every archive, every forbidden book. It cannot be lifted. Yes, I shouldn't have opened that damned book. I punished myself. I'm going to die. It's unavoidable." Ginny held her tighter, tears dripping onto Hermione's shoulder. "No, no! Please, don't give up! We'll do anything!" "Ginny," Hermione smiled weakly, stroking her back. "We've already done everything." She turned to Harry, her gaze hardening. "I'm counting on you. After my death, handle my estate. And, Harry..." she handed him a thin silver bracelet. "This is crucial. The moment my heart stops, you'll be transported straight to me. I don't want my body left... God knows where... for wild beasts to find." Harry took the bracelet grimly. "Hope you don't drown," he muttered, fastening it around his wrist. Ginny snorted through her tears: "Decided to go wild before dying? Climb Everest? Bungee jump?" Hermione slumped, her voice bitter: "Here I am, at 28, realizing I was always just a bookworm. Life passed me by... and a book is what killed me." Silence hung in the room, broken only by the crackling fire. Harry stood abruptly, turning towards the fireplace, but she saw his shoulders tense. "You're not a bookworm," Ginny whispered, kissing her temple. "You're the best of us." Hermione closed her eyes.

***

Hermione Granger's Funeral. The day was gray and windless, as if nature itself had paused in silence. Everyone who knew Hermione had gathered at the cemetery: friends, colleagues, former classmates. Her coffin was slowly lowered into the earth beneath quiet incantations that scattered silvery sparks over the grave – the magical world's final gift to the one who had saved it so many times. Draco stood apart, leaning against an old oak tree. He didn't approach closer. Didn't dare. His cloak blended with the tree shadows, and his fingers gripped a branch so tightly the bark bit into his skin. He watched but didn't join. He merely clenched his jaw, feeling a lump rise in his throat. When the ceremony ended and the crowd began to disperse, he remained there, unmoving. Only when it grew dark and the cemetery emptied did Draco finally step forward. He approached the fresh grave and sank to his knees before it. "Well, your list is finished," he whispered, placing a crumpled parchment on the earth. The final item was now checked off. `Choose names for our children` The moon rose, illuminating his hunched figure. He didn't cry. He just sat there until dawn, as if hoping that if he waited long enough, she'd return and say this was just another one of her brilliant plans.