From Destiny to Death

From Destiny to Death

Destiny

Hermione Granger refused to believe that the future could be foretold in soggy tealeaves, spirals of smoke, or the lines indelibly imprinted onto one's palms in the womb. In fact, she did not believe in Destiny at all.

Destiny however, believed in her. Just as He believed in every person and every atom that has ever existed, as well as the ones that never would.

Desire

In her school days, many people thought that she had none. Or rather, that her passions were focused exclusively in the academic arena. To stay at the top of the class, master one more spell, unravel another rune translation that nobody had ever deciphered before. The truth was, Desire took great pleasure in this girl whose passions burned bright and fierce. Whether or not they would ever be fulfilled was not Desire's concern.

Dream

As a little girl, she had dreamed of Christmas trees lit up with electric lights, prancing cartoon characters, and long drives snuggled in her mother's lap, going nowhere in particular. Now her dreams were filled with blood, funeral pyres, and crimson eyes in a bone-white face. In the morning, she remembered nothing except a haze of red. But even while awake, Hermione feared that the Muggle world she still loved would one day only exist in dreams.

Destruction

The first rise of Voldemort plunged the wizarding world into a decade of death and destruction. Today, witches and wizards old enough to remember that time would gladly relive it again, rather than face the current horror of daily life. Some cursed Destruction, while others devised complex magics to appease him.

Destruction remained oblivious to all this, and spent his days painting and sculpting on a sun-drenched porch. After all, he had abandoned his duties centuries ago.

Despair

Hermione would rather let Despair's hooked ring rip her heart to shreds than admit defeat. Despair was not happy about this, for happiness was contrary to her nature. She was, however, willing to oblige.

Delight/Delirium

She found it more and more difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. Each embrace carried a measure of desperation. Each victory celebration was just a little too loud and drunken, as if they were not warriors, but merely children lighting matches to frighten away the dark.

Death

The sound of curses, explosions, and screams filled the air. Hermione dodged a bolt of silver lightning, and aimed a stunning spell at her attacker. The noise of the battle was so loud that she couldn't even hear her own words, only saw a streak of red that shot from her wand to his chest. Grimly, Hermione stepped over his prone body, and advanced a few more feet towards her goal. Behind her, there was a sudden flash of green light, then all the sounds faded away one by one.

Hermione spun around, wand still in hand. There were no more hexes to dodge, no other fighters, nothing at all.... Only her own crumpled body lay at her feet.

A dark-haired woman stood beside her. She wore ripped black jeans, a tank top, and a silver ankh that twinkled around her neck. Her face was young and kind, but her eyes looked as old as time itself. With a start, Hermione realized who her companion must be.

"Who's going to win?" Hermione demanded. "Will it be Harry or Voldemort?"

Death shrugged. "I have no way of telling who'll come to me first. But everything comes to an end eventually. Lives, wars, eras... It's the only way new things can begin."

"But I'm not ready!" Hermione protested. She'd intended to sound defiant, but it came out as frightened plea.

"I know, and I'm sorry," Death answered softly. "Nobody ever feels like they're ready for me, but it always turns out okay in the end."

As Hermione takes Death's warm and soft hand, she's surprised to discover that Death was right. Of the seven Endless, Death was the only one who personally visited each and every mortal. To Hermione's mind, she was the only one worth meeting.

The End