She was at her desk, she always wrote best at night, when an idea wouldn’t let her sleep. She rose to leave her study, stopping dead as she saw the stranger in the room.

She thought she had security to stop people like this getting in. “I knew we’d meet again.” He said, his smile somehow added to the unease his presence generated.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” She sounded calmer than she was. “Surely, you must have suspected those books weren’t fictional, didn’t it all seem a bit like you were remembering events? Except for the 7th, you changed the ending, I liked the truth better. I liked it when Harry died.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, nothing I wrote happened.” She started feeling an uneasy, prickly sensation, like the start of a migraine.

“Allow me to remind you, Hermione.” He seemed triumphant now, and as he stared at her she remembered everything, losing the war, Harry’s death, her grief, her despair, Ron altering her memory. Most importantly, she remembered where her wand was.