Hermione Granger
1st Person Pov
March 3, 2040
If there is still a world left, if anyone remains to read this, know that I tried.
I do not know if history will remember my name, if they will curse me or call me a fool, but I cannot let it end without someone knowing what we lost.
The war did not begin with a single moment.
It built slowly, years of unrest, of laws passed and lines drawn.
And then, in an instant, everything was gone.
Hogwarts fell first.
The castle had stood for a thousand years.
It had weathered wars, tyrants, betrayals.
It had survived dark lords and ancient curses.
It did not survive this.
The attack came at night.
There was no warning, no prophecy, no vision of doom.
Just fire in the sky and screams in the dark.
The walls shook, the towers crumbled, and then there was nothing.
The wards shattered.
The air turned to poison.
The ground burned.
We sent messages, spells, anything we could think of to see if anyone had survived.
No one answered.
We do not know how many were inside, how many died.
There was no time to grieve.
The Ministry was next.
I was there when it happened.
The building did not fall in a single blow.
It collapsed piece by piece.
The Aurors fought, but the spells did nothing.
The walls cracked.
The magic burned away.
When it was over, there was nothing left but silence.
Silence and death.
We fled.
There was nowhere safe.
There were no strongholds, no castles, no sacred places where magic would protect us.
We tried to fight back.
We crafted spells that twisted through steel, that shattered the sky itself.
We built weapons that turned the earth against them.
We burned cities, left craters where strongholds had been.
But they had something worse than all of it—persistence.
They did not stop.
They did not tire.
They did not retreat.
And now, I see it slipping through my fingers.
I see the world unraveling, and I cannot stop it.
The laws we fought for, the reforms we passed—they are called mistakes now.
Whispers in the shadows, voices turning against me, saying I was wrong, that we were all wrong.
They say I let this happen.
They say I should have stopped it before it began.
Ron does not look at me the way he used to.
He does not see a wife.
He sees the cause of his pain.
He does not say it, but I know he blames me.
He blames everything I stood for, everything I fought for.
He wants revenge.
He wants to fight until there is nothing left.
I tell him we can still find peace, that we can still stop this, but I see the anger in his eyes.
I see the rage.
He lost everything.
He lost his family.
He lost his home.
I do not know how to reach him anymore.
Harry is worse.
He does not speak of peace.
He does not speak of anything at all.
He fights, and that is all.
He fights like there is nothing else left, like he is already dead.
I see him disappearing, slipping further and further away.
I do not know how to bring him back.
We are breaking apart.
The world is breaking apart.
And yet, I hold onto hope.
I have to.
There is still a way.
There has to be a way.
We do not need to become monsters.
We do not need to let this consume us.
Hermione Granger Minister of Magic.
March 20, 2016
If there is anyone left to read this, I must record what has become of us.
Of the families that once stood as pillars of the Wizarding world, few remain.
We were scattered like dust when the first attack came, and in the years since, we have been ground down to nothing.
The names that filled the history books, the legacies that defined our society—they are almost all gone.
The Weasleys were among the first to fall.
The Burrow was reduced to cinders before the war even truly began.
Arthur and Molly—gone.
Charlie—died in Romania, defending the last of the dragons from extermination.
Bill and Fleur—executed when the banks fell, their bodies left in front of Gringotts as a warning.
Percy—tried to hold the remnants of the Ministry together but was captured and never seen again.
George... George held on the longest, but when they bombed Diagon Alley, his shop was among the first to go.
Ron—he is still here, still fighting, but he is a shadow of who he was.
He is filled with a rage I cannot temper, and I fear one day it will consume him.
The Potters—Harry is all that is left.
His children were in Hogwarts when the bomb fell, and Ginny... I cannot write it again.
He fights like a man with nothing to lose, because that is what he is.
I do not know how much longer he will last.
The Malfoys were torn apart early in the war.
Narcissa was executed publicly for refusing to betray what few allies she had left.
Lucius never reappeared after the Ministry's fall, either dead or in hiding.
Draco remains, but he has lost everything.
His wife, his son—taken.
There is nothing left of the arrogance he once wore like armor.
He does not speak of vengeance, only survival.
He fights, but his heart is not in it.
He only fights because stopping would mean accepting that there is nothing left to fight for.
Other pureblood families who sought neutrality have been shattered.
The Greengrasses, the Selwyns, the Notts—either forced to choose a side or wiped out in the chaos.
Those who refused to pick a side early on suffered for their hesitation.
The Longbottoms fought bravely, but Neville is the only one left.
He has become something else—a warrior without fear, without hesitation.
He led countless battles, bringing ruin to enemy strongholds, but the cost has been immense.
I do not know if he sleeps at all anymore.
Hannah Abbott was taken in one of the raids on safehouses.
Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan—both lost in London.
The Lovegoods—Luna tried to rally people at first.
She spoke of unity, of standing strong.
She vanished six months ago.
No one knows if she is dead or captured.
But there are those who still repeat her words, still hope she will return.
The Macmillans, the Bones—all gone.
House after house, name after name, erased.
The Factions:
The Light—What remains of the Light is scattered, leaderless.
We held onto our ideals for as long as we could, but when the old structures collapsed, there was no one left to uphold them.
Some fight still, believing we can end this without losing ourselves.
I am among them, but I grow more alone with each passing day.
The Grey—Those who once stood between the Light and the Dark have grown silent or turned to survival by any means necessary.
The Grey faction has become mercenaries, scavengers, whatever they need to be to see the next sunrise.
Some still cling to old alliances, but most have abandoned them.
They do not trust me.
They do not trust anyone.
The Dark- The remnants of the Death Eaters were not spared the destruction.
Without their master, they were disorganized, their power scattered.
But then she appeared.
Her name is Delphini.
Voldemort's daughter.
None of us saw her coming.
None of us believed she even existed.
But she carries her father's blood, and with it, a purpose more terrifying than his ever was.
She does not fight for dominion, for rule—she fights for destruction.
She has rallied what remains of the Dark forces, and she does not care for purity, for bloodlines, or for ideology.
She only seeks power, and her magic is unlike anything we have seen before.
She moves through battlefields like a storm, and when she leaves, nothing remains.
Even the Muggles fear her.
They thought they had the upper hand, that their weapons made them invincible.
But she has adapted in ways we never did.
She has learned from them.
And I fear she may be the only one who truly knows how this war will end.
She has not yet approached me, but I know she will.
She believes we must fight fire with fire.
And I fear many will listen.
The world is closing in.
Our numbers dwindle.
I speak of peace, but fewer hear me each day.
The wind howls outside the tent.
I pick up my quill again, forcing my hands steady.
Tomorrow, I will go to the conference.
I will speak.
I will argue.
I will fight, not with spells, but with words.
There must be a way to stop this.
There has to be.
I refuse to believe otherwise.
- Hermione Granger Minister of Magic
End of Pov
That was the last time Hermione Granger was seen.