THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

Ashes and Shadows

The rain fell lightly over the gray tombstones, a steady, sorrowful rhythm that seemed to echo the collective grief of the magical world. The sky was a slate of melancholy, the overcast clouds mirroring the desolation that gripped the hundreds who stood beneath their umbrellas, clad in dark robes. The enchanted flowers that adorned the gravesite refused to bloom in such sorrowful air, their petals barely lifting from the dirt. In the heart of this gathering stood Hermione Granger, staring down at the casket that held the body of her dearest friend, Sitara Evangeline Potter Black, the savior of the magical world.

Hermione’s face, gaunt and weary, was marked with traces of tears that she had long ceased trying to hide. She had always been strong, always the logical one, but today, as she stood alone in the place where the last thread connecting her to a sense of family had been severed, she could barely hold herself together.

The funeral was a somber affair, orchestrated by Hermione herself because no one else had been left to do it. It had been her duty, her responsibility, and her final act of devotion to her friend, the woman who had saved them all, and in doing so, had lost everything—including her life.

As the ceremony drew on, the crowd shifted restlessly. Even in death, Sitara's story was not free from controversy. Whispers of her decision to save a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul and transfer it to her unborn child had spread like wildfire after her death. It was a choice few understood and even fewer accepted. The magical world had been saved from Voldemort, but for some, it seemed like the Dark Lord had left behind a legacy that still festered. It was Ron Weasley who voiced these thoughts openly, his anger palpable even in this place of mourning.

“If she hadn’t decided to give birth to that abomination,” Ron spat, his voice low but venomous, “she’d still be here. We wouldn’t be burying her.”

Hermione snapped, her voice a whip of fury. “If she hadn’t, she would’ve been a hollow shell! Do you think she could’ve survived without that piece of her soul? She would’ve been less than a shadow of herself, Ron!”

Heads began to turn toward them, eyes widening at the growing argument. It was supposed to be a day of mourning, but their voices had grown too loud, too sharp, for it to be ignored. Hermione’s hand shook, her emotions on edge after weeks of planning and grieving. The last thing she wanted was to create a spectacle, but she couldn’t hold back the bitterness any longer.

Ron’s eyes flashed angrily. “She was my friend too, Hermione! You act like you’re the only one grieving her!”

“She was my family, Ron! She was all I had left!” Hermione’s words cut through the air, raw and fierce.

A media scandal erupted as Hermione, in an act of pure frustration and heartbreak, shoved Ron away, telling him to leave the funeral. Rita Skeeter, ever the opportunist, was already scribbling furiously in her enchanted notepad. The scandal that followed would be the talk of the magical world for weeks: the once-golden trio now fractured beyond repair.

But that didn’t matter to Hermione. None of it mattered. Not when she had lost everything.

In the days after Sitara’s death, Grimmauld Place had become her prison. The old house was more desolate than ever, with only Teddy Lupin’s occasional laughter piercing the gloom. Andromeda Tonks had died months after the war, and Hermione had taken over the care of her godson. Teddy was all she had left to remind her of the family she had fought beside, and yet, even his presence was a reminder of all that had been lost.

His magic had become volatile after Sitara’s death, his grief manifesting in bursts of uncontrollable power. A week after the funeral, Hermione had taken him to Diagon Alley in an attempt to calm him, to help him regain some sense of normalcy. But normalcy was a distant memory, and their visit was far from peaceful.

As they walked through the streets of Diagon Alley, whispers followed them. Stares lingered a little too long, and more than once, Hermione heard the cruel rumors that had begun to circulate about Sitara and her unborn child.

“She might have survived the war,” Rabastan Lestrange sneered as he and a group of remaining Death Eaters cornered her in a narrow alley, “but no woman survives childbirth.”

The cold laugh that followed was like a blade to Hermione’s heart. Her wand was in her hand before she could think, her magic flaring with a wildness that mirrored her grief. “You don’t get to speak her name,” she hissed, launching herself at Rabastan with a fury that could only come from loss.

The battle that ensued was chaotic. Spells flew in every direction as Hermione fought with everything she had, protecting Teddy, who she had secured in the corner of the alley. But just as she seemed to be gaining the upper hand, the unimaginable happened.

A flash of green light.

Rabastan Lestrange’s Killing Curse hit her square in the chest, and in an instant, Hermione fell. She collapsed to the ground, her lifeless body cradling Teddy in her arms as if her last act was to shield him from the horrors of the world.

The magical community once again plunged into chaos. The loss of Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was another devastating blow. Teddy Lupin, the last remnant of the family Sitara had left behind, had now lost the only person who had cared for him, the last remnant of the Black family apart from the sister line of the malfoys was gone with Teddy.

It was a dark time, and there seemed to be no end to the suffering. The wizarding world, once so full of hope after Voldemort’s defeat, now seemed irreparably fractured. Grief hung over them like a storm cloud, and the future, once so bright, now seemed dim and uncertain.

Some whispered that the magical world had been cursed. That perhaps the price of victory had been too high. First, Sitara had sacrificed everything to defeat Voldemort, and now, in the wake of her death, it seemed that those closest to her were being taken, one by one.

As the weeks passed, the world continued to mourn. But for many, especially those who had loved her most, it felt like they were living in the shadow of Sitara’s legacy—one that had cost them everything.