Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to JKR. I make no money.

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The Mortuary was cold like the inside of an industrial fridge. I shivered as I strode in, my surgical gown fluttering in the breeze created by the air conditioning unit in the corner. Though masked by the heavy scent of disinfectant and Luna’s perfume, I still believed I could smell the stench of rotting corpses and putrefying flesh. Death can never really be hidden from us, you see. It still lurks long after the bodies have gone, reminding those who wander of the room’s original purpose.

The sound of metal against metal filled the air as Hermione’s drawer was opened.

---

I remember busying myself with washing my hands and gloving up. Anything to avoid looking at her. For, once I did, I knew that would be the end. I would no longer be able to deceive myself into believing she was still alive.

The thought hurt.

I rubbed my sternum, willing away the pain. There is no fool like a lovesick fool, they say, and I was most certainly lovesick. It was, after all, not the first time I had felt for a dead woman.

Unable to delay the proceedings further, I took a deep breath and raised my head.

---

Seeing her on the cold metal table of the Mortuary, the fluorescent light bouncing off the contours of her body with an unforgiving harshness, made many things apparent.

Marks on her wrists, the deep purple of trapped and decaying blood, showed signs of a struggle. I liked to think that Hermione wasn’t, perhaps, as defenceless as she first seemed. The skin under her fingernails seemed to suggest so. Of course, that was before we found out that the epithelial DNA matched her own.

It was an intriguing discovery, for there were no scratches to be found upon her body.

---

I felt a little uneasy watching as Luna undressed her, exposing her cold and decaying flesh to the harsh lighting above us. It was almost as if I was invading her privacy, seeing things that only a lover should see. Never before had I felt this sense of guilt, though I had, by then, seen countless victims, most in far worse condition than this.

I fought the urge to look away, in case I missed something important. My own feelings were irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. And I was sure Hermione would not have minded, considering the circumstances.

---

She was far thinner than I had expected. I could count her ribs; I could see the shadows that lurked at her hips. No doubt, had I attempted, I could have grasped her waist and felt the tips of my fingers at the other side. Deep hollows lay beneath her cheekbones and around her eyes, looking for all the world like bruises, accentuated all the more by her dark lashes.

Clearly, the stress had taken its toll on her. But then, I reasoned, being sued for malpractice can do that to a person. Her career choice certainly had its hazards.

---

I watched as Luna finished her external examination, lint and other such pieces of evidence collected and meticulously set aside for magical processing. There wasn’t much on the body.

Luna turned. A set of sharp instruments gleamed at her side, but she bypassed them, grasping, instead, the showerhead and switching it on. Water, cold, splattered across Hermione’s skin, washing it clean, getting it ready for the final invasion of privacy.

Dirt spiralled down the drain, leaving a muddy, brown trail. Perhaps, had I been paying more attention, I would have seen it then. The key to the whole damned thing.

---

The sound of her bones braking, of the flaying of her skin will stay with me forever. All that destruction, that invasion of privacy. It pains me to think of it, of how I watched as Luna cut through the layers of fat and muscle.

I wondered how many times Hermione would have done this. Tens? Hundreds? Perhaps she sought comfort in the fact that, when she cut and sliced, it was all for a good cause. That her patients were living, breathing. That they consented to such treatment.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the money was good enough for her.

---

When the autopsy was finished, I made my way upstairs with the evidence. My legs shook with every step, and I feared I would collapse before I got to the lift. I wiped the Vicks from beneath my nose, hoping to wipe away the memory of her with it. I was unsuccessful, and the vision of Hermione, her chest open and her organs gleaming, stayed with me for the rest of the day. I am not afraid to confess that I did not get much sleep that night.

I didn’t cry again. I merely lay awake alone with my regrets.