The blood was on her hands.

It was warm, still warm from the person it had been spilt from. The blood a much brighter red than this young witch had ever seen. She had never seen it this fresh before, at least never this much at a time. She'd only ever seen it dried on someone else's person, or dripping slightly from a cut on her hand.

But it enveloped her whole person, making her vision swim with streaks of red.

As more of it dripped onto the ground, making the puddle grow; her vision swam only more. Her body would sway, and soon she found herself forced to her knees.

Her hand came down to catch herself, and landed into the puddle of red. But she found that it felt no different from where her other hand rested on her stomach. And with a sudden realization she lifted her hand up into the air.

The hand blurred in her vision, but she could see that it to, was covered in blood. Her own blood.

At the sudden thought, she fell to the ground; no longer having the strength to hold her own body up. She found the warm puddle oddly comforting, and she felt the need to fall asleep surrounded by warmth that was much warmer than anything she had experienced in the past.

Hermione Granger was dying, that she knew. But she could not seem to recall why it was that she was here in the first place.

She shut her eyes hoping that maybe she could finally succumb to the lull that had been trying to capture her for the past moments of her life.

A strong arm was wrapped around her waist just as the young witch finally faded to the blackness.

This is the prologue.

Tell me if it's worth continuing.

- Josie