Chapter Text
Hermione was late. She ought to meet the recently appointed Headmistress, McGonagall, at her office…. roughly an hour ago.
She was sprinting across the great hall like a woman chased by a bloody troll. She shivered at the thought while recalling the first year’s events. The bathroom attack was just a glimpse of what would follow in the next few years. As traumatizing as it was, worse had been thrown at her plate.
With only a loaf of bread snuggled tightly between her teeth and a cup of coffee that she downed standing still in fear of choking, she ran, waving at the students taking their breakfast before going out and working on the castle repairs.
"Hermione, where to?" Hagrid’s voice greeted her as soon as she stepped off the hall’s exit.
"I have a meeting with the prof-headmistress, one that I’m terribly late to." She didn’t cease her running, just smiled when they came face to face.
"Don’t let me keep you." He waved at Hermione and went to pick up a cardboard box that contained plates and utensils, Narcissa Malfoy’s donation after Draco announced that he was returning to complete his education. "Come by my cottage, if you have time, I’ll be there after five p.m."
"Count me in!" said Hermione, taking a left turn. There was no way she would miss Hagrid’s special, homebrewed tea, and pleasant conversation. The half-giant refused to share his secret recipe, no matter how much she begged.
She continued on her set path. The heat of the day caught up with her, causing her pace to slightly slow down. The Gryffindor had neglected physical exercise after the war. Her body hadn’t completely recovered from the months of starvation and running around, but even if it had, her mind wouldn’t be up for the task.
Climbing the grand staircase was not an easy fit. The portraits glanced her way in pity, the figures drawn in them were used to her nightly roaming. They asked if she was okay, or if she needed them to fetch Professor McGonagall. From the first day she resided back in the castle, her heavy footsteps and muffled sobs disturbed the portraits' slumber, but surprisingly, the usually judgmental pictures attempted to soothe her. They had been hanged from the castle walls way before the first war and witnessed the effect it had on the students.
Oh, how her younger self would’ve thrown an angry fit at her future actions. She would deny being in any way affected by traumatic events and would try to keep a strong facade even in front of dead people. Time waited for no one, though, and the little bushy-haired girl was not able to survive. War had happened and life had hurt. Hermione was, in a sense, relieved that her innocent part was left behind, into happier days.
Little by little, she reached the imposing griffin statue that guarded the staircase. It stood silent with a piercing gaze.
"Beetle Buttons" her voice came out clearly, somewhere between the breaks to catch her breath, she ate the loaf of bread. Immediately, the statue moved its huge frame aside, granting entrance to the Gryffindor, who sighed audibly upon seeing another pair of stairs.
Opening the office door, Hermione found the headmistress going through an impressive stack of paperwork. Her bright green eyes were dull under the thin spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose. Exhaustion was written all over the woman’s face, and Hermione felt like a complete arse when she stood her up.
"Miss Granger, you are late." The headmistress's disapproval was evident from the tight-lipped smile she offered while indicating Hermione to sit on the armchair directly facing her.
"I’m sorry, Profess-" the young witch went on to correct herself, but was shushed by the headmistress’s raised hand.
"It’s okay, all that matters is that you are here." She gestured at a bowl placed in the center of the desk. "Have a Choco ball, you don’t look good my dear."
Hermione laughed openly, sliding down the chair, getting comfortable. The older witch waited patiently for the laughter to die down.
Of course, she didn’t look good, she hadn't had a decent night’s sleep in Merlin knew how long. Except for the weight she lost during the Horcrux hunt, dark circles marred her face, and her hair was greasy because she didn’t feel like taking a bath, an action that required looking directly at her scars for a hefty amount of time.
"I’m working on it," said Hermione, but she wasn’t.
McGonagall let the blatant lie slide for the moment and rummaged through the scattered scrolls she was working on.
"This came for you yesterday." She reached out with her hand, giving a fancy, sealed scroll to Hermione.
"From the ministry?" she asked, immediately recognizing the distinctive capital M engraved on the wax. Without waiting for an answer, she unsealed it. The noise of stretched wax snapping pierced her ears, filling the silence in the room. Hermione focused again on the paper.
Dear Hermione,
I regret to inform you that after the war, many of the ministry’s members were casualties of the terrible war, leaving many offices understaffed and in dire need of capable individuals to fill the positions. I’m aware of your decision to finish your education, but I need you to reconsider. If such an influential war veteran joins the ministry, many witches and wizards will follow your example. Please be mindful that the mystery department will grant you access to information that might prove helpful to retrieving your parents’ memories, a task that would be otherwise impossible.
I’m looking forward to receiving your answer.
Kingsley Schacklebolt, Minister of Magic
Hermione’s eyebrows were both raised in disbelief. Oh, that’s so rich. Kingsley was practically threatening her by withholding the information he thought she needed. Narcissa Malfoy, the only master Legilimen in magical Britain, had told the Gryffindor that reversing the obliviate spell was impossible. Kingsley was bluffing, but it still irked her that a man she fought alongside would try to lure her like that.
"Incendio." With a flick of her walnut wand, the letter turned to ash.
"What was that about?" asked the headmistress, alarmed. This new, brash behavior was unlike the young lion.
"That," Hermione said, letting the ashes fall to the marble floor, "is my answer to the minister." She put the wand back in her jeans pocket; there was no reason to run around in school robes when working around the castle.
Hermione bowed respectfully before standing up. "Now, if there is nothing else to discuss, I should head to the courtyard. The outer walls won’t get fixed by themselves."
"Hermione, you can take a break from time to time. You don’t have to push yourself so hard all the time." McGonagall smiled gently before continuing, "My door is always open if you want to talk to me. Your friends are worried. Don’t shut them out," the former professor spoke softly, as if she was afraid to scare a wounded animal.
"I know I won’t, but I must go now." Hermione tried to smile at the headmistress, touched by the witch’s thoughtfulness, but it came out as a painful grimace as she closed the door behind her.
The courtyard was a sight to behold. Once filled with plants and benches for the students to sit on and laze around between classes, it was now a shell of its former self. Broken marble littered the once earthly ground, making it impossible to walk around without whitening your shoes from the dust. Hermione preferred working here, she only needed to cover her face with a piece of cloth to prevent coughing fits and was set for many hours of mind-numbing labor.
The castle was almost ready for the term to start, only the courtyard was left to become presentable. It was a no-brainer that it would be the last spot to be repaired. It would be too painful to start from here, in the yard where many students lost their lives and where the victory against Voldemort happened.
Hermione reminded her treacherous brain that this was not the time for depressing thoughts and began to levitate the biggest pieces of marble, arranging them in a neat pile.
She only stopped when sweat burned her eyes and her right hand felt sore from the spell work. She scanned the area, satisfied with the process as the ground was now clear of debris. It was easy to get lost in the task. Hermione frequently had someone come to fetch her at dinnertime, by Hagrid’s orders.
With Harry and Ron away, in auror training, she spent most of her free time alone or with her half-giant friend, drinking tea and roaming the forbidden forest at night. Day by day, the Hogwarts library, which seemed to hold all the answers to the Gryffindor’s problems, lost its appeal. She seldom, if ever, checked on books and tomes anymore.
Casting quick tempus, the time indicated that it was early afternoon, the sun shone brightly, and she had to make her way back for lunch.
Upon entering the great hall, Hermione spotted a familiar blonde Ravenclaw and headed to sit down next to her.
"Luna, when did you arrive?" she asked, while the dreamy witch stood up and embraced her tightly, not bothered by the dust on her clothes. Hermione’s heart quieted down, basking in camaraderie.
"Just moments ago, I wanted to see you before your departure," Luna responded, her gaze never leaving her face.
"But I’m not going anywhere." Hermione frowned. Luna often spoke in riddles, but this time the message was clear. "Don’t you remember? I will finish with my N.E.T.W.S just like you, Neville, and Ginny. "
"You will, but not here," the blonde said, with such certainty that Hermione was worried she had applied to some other school during one of her breakdowns, she quickly discarded the thought.
"This makes no sense." She put some sausage and beans on her plate, eager to finish with this bizarre conversation.
"Nargles are flying around you. It’s time to take a break, don’t you think?" Luna pierced the Gryffindor with her arctic blue eyes, freezing the air.
"I think that this is something I will decide and not some Nargle." Hermione was getting irritated, the happiness she had felt upon meeting her friend was slowly evaporating.
"And you will do it, that’s for sure," Luna pronounced the words in her trademark dreamy tone, that, combined with Hermione’s earlier mood, was a disaster ready to happen, and as she always did after the war, the Gryffindor fell for it.
"Look! I don’t care, okay?" said Hermione, voice sharp. She pushed a hand through her oily hair, getting disgusted by the slimy texture. She was tempted to leave, but her hunger kept her put. "Agh, I’m just.... I’m not great company when angry. Sorry," Hermione apologized, regretting her outburst, acutely aware that she was losing control of them.
"Don’t worry about it, I still find you great to talk to." Luna grabbed some napkins, already leaving the Gryffindor’s bad attitude behind.
"It’s good to see you, Luna. I missed you." It was the truth. The younger Ravenclaw proved to be a great friend throughout the years, fighting alongside Harry, proving to be braver than many Gryffindors combined and more compassionate than many Hufflepuffs. She was a kind witch that under no circumstances deserved the rough treatment of her classmates during the school years.
"I missed you too." Was the sweet reply, simple but full of love. Hermione smiled, grateful for Luna’s presence in her life.
They ate mostly in silence after that, exchanging a few words of small talk and enjoying the never-ending food supply in Hogwarts that even the damn war couldn’t reduce.
As night fell, she made her way to the forest. Hagrid’s cottage was the only building that was left intact by the fight, and it had a calming effect on every passerby, only to be crushed by the forest’s eeriness moments later, but that was not a problem for Hermione.
In the past months, the groundskeeper had shown her around, explaining in detail how to track forest creatures and know which ones to avoid, how to navigate around the similar-looking trees, and how to not cross the line of centaur’s land. A line she had crossed with her friends in the fifth year with Dolores Umbridge.Hermione’s past actions pointed to a lack of remorse. It was troubling to an extent, but she decided that it was not the time or place to dwell on it.
It was dark outside the cabin. After lunch, she went back to Gryffindor Tower to catch some sleep, only to wake up swallowing a gut-wrenching scream. It was way past teatime, so she hoped that Hagrid would be up for some late-night adventure. Hermione knocked three times, in case he was asleep.
After a moment, heavy footfall was heard, and candlelight moved to the door. It was visible from the window. The half-giant appeared, towering over the witch. He held a lantern and wore nightclothes.
"Hermione, it’s almost midnight. What are ye doing out here?" his voice was groggy from sleep. She didn’t notice that it was this late when she left her dorm room in a hurry.
"I apologize for the intrusion; I was about to go for a stroll and wondered if you’d like to join me."
"It’s late, Mione." He adjusted the cap on his head before continuing. It was slightly large for his head and kept falling onto his eyes. "You should go back, don’t even think of wandering around alone," Hagrid said, and he fixed her with the sternest gaze he could manage.
"Yes, I see now that it was a bad idea, I will head back. Goodnight and once again, sorry for waking you up." She wasn’t about to admit that she went alone a few times, she would worry her friends needlessly. Instead, she turned and began walking in the same direction she came from.
"Goodnight Mione, be careful. McGonagall would skin me alive if something happened to one of her lions.," he joked but waited at the door until he couldn’t recognize Hermione’s silhouette in the dark, making sure that the witch was returning to the castle.
The forest’s silence was balm for her overthinking mind. The wind twisting around the trees felt like soothing whispers, telling Hermione that, in the end, it would be alright. Sometime during the hunt, before Ron’s abandonment, the three of them sat by the fire and shared their worst fears. Back then, she said that death was her biggest fear. A reasonable fear for a fairly sheltered child, only three days after the confession, had changed to sharp voices, claw-like nails, pale faces, and curly, dark hair. A worthy fear for an adult witch to have. Just asking ten war survivors would prove it.
And of course, in a great display of absolute cowardliness, Hermione didn’t attend Tonks and Lupin’s funeral. Oh, no, she hid like a coward in her parents' house, crying her eyes out and cowering at the prospect of meeting Andromeda Tonks, a woman who had lost so much in the damn war, just because her sister awoke one day and decided that torturing a child was the best way to gather information.
It was during times like these where she felt truly disgusted with her new self. Abandoning her books was fine, not joining the ministry right away was fine, accepting that her parents would not come back was painful, her barely standing house back in London was proof enough, but after many sleepless nights, it became a deep wound that would be fine. A conscious decision to protect them. They were far away but fine.
Living a life with no purpose, with fear, with nightmares, with a constant void unable to be filled was not fine. Hermione was burning and crashing like a train set on a fixed course with its breaks cut off.
She wandered deeper into the forest, not paying attention to her surroundings. Her war-honed instincts would ring in alarm for potential danger. She was wrong.
A whip-like branch hit her in the right calf, and a stinging pain spread to the whole leg. She took out her wand to cast Lumos. Light shone for a moment before another whip came from the left, targeting her hand. This time, she changed to diffindo in an attempt to sever it and the whips stopped for a while.
A wail shook the ground she was standing on, and as if on cue, many whips lunged at the same time. Hermione threw diffindos in different directions, trying to cut as many as possible, but they kept coming at rapt speed.
When she turned her back for a second to free her leg from the branch that managed to wrap around it, her breath was forced out of her throat from a death grip. With grave seriousness, the Gryffindor realized her mistake. The opposing tree was the Whomping Willow.
The bloody tree disarmed her. A branch kept her wand over her head mockingly. She went to attempt wandless magic and her hands got cuffed behind her back. The whip in her neck squished harder, stealing more of her precious oxygen.
With blurry eyes, shallow breaths, and filled with Gryffindor defiance, Hermione flexed her fingers, imagining hungry flames feasting upon the log of the Willow. Her fingertips started burning, indicating her success, but she still had to direct the spell before burning alive.
The tree, sensing her intentions, squished even harder. She was about to lose consciousness any moment now. She wiggled to no avail and the fire spread to her palms. When it reached her wrists, it would burn the whips. Hermione needed to stay sharp and not faint.
She thought, just a little bit more, trying to calm herself. Hermione was lucky to not feel the full force of the pain, her blood was contained in her head, trying to keep her alive. At the same time the Willow shrieked, piercing her eardrum, she felt the bonds loosen.
The whips got burned, setting her hands free. Unfortunately, her victory was short-lived. A thick whip struck her across the face, hitting her nose and right eye repeatedly. The tree was in a frenzy and Hermione choked on thick blood, her vision darkening. In her last and desperate attempt to hurt the tree, she directed the Fiendfyre towards the veined roots.
And just like that, everything turned dark. The Gryffindor's body felt like a feather being guided by the wind. It was time for Hermione to greet death. A funny thought appeared in her mind. Harry had died too, even momentarily, and when he returned, he said that it wasn’t scary or painful, maybe she would get lucky too.
Oh, how much her face hurt her, her hands too, now that blood circulated normally. It was supposedly the moment that the movies showed the dying person’s life flashing before their eyes. Hermione saw none of that, she only felt a desire so deep that it shook her to the core. She wished she could meet Andromeda, the woman who looked so much like her dead tormentor, to confirm with her own eyes that she was safe, and then, maybe and only then, Hermione would give herself the chance to sleep better.