AN: Yeah, hi. Life is life, and this isn't beta'd really. Keep on marching everyone.
If Hermione was to be honest with herself, she had been depressed since second year.
After the war, things didn't get better; returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year might have been one of the biggest mistakes she ever made. School, learning, even reading had become a chore; these tasks were an homage to the Old Hermione. Nothing had changed. The bigotry was still there, the micro-aggressions, the slight sneers that her peers gave her as she passed by in the hallway or gave her opinions in class.
So Hermione stopped. She didn't reach out to Harry and Ron. What was the point? They were moving on with their lives. Ron at the joke shop, and Harry in Auror didn't write back either. She kept her essays to their mandatory length, stopped doing extra credit, slept past breakfast, and avoided the library.
Because what was the point of trying when the very fabric of society, the fundamental level didn't want to change their ways of life. Everyone it seemed wanted to go back to life before the war.
If she was to be honest, and perhaps pessimistic, Hermione knew there was another war on the horizon, it would only take another 20 years if things continued the way they were going. The way things had always been. Why try when she was already doomed at the start?
McGonagall had noticed, had pulled her aside for some gingernewts and tea, she had asked. Hermione had stared at her, until the silence had become uncomfortable and the new headmistress looked away. Hermione had left the office with invites to weekly tea. She didn't go.
Neville was back as well, his thoughts too preoccupied with Luna Lovegood. Luna, who sometimes sat with Hermione down by the Black Lake in silence. Hermione thought she might understand.
NEWTS came and went. Job offers from the Ministry were left ignored. Hermione's future had opportunities in it. But nothing seemed exciting.
Leaving Hogwarts found her to be homeless. She moved in with Harry and Ginny, until Ginny politely expressed that maybe Hermione should find another couch to sleep on, as they were trying to be a couple, independent from others.
So, Hermione left. Going to Gringotts was another mistake. They had seized the contents of her vault to pay for the dragon, and had made her aware of the various fines against her for breaking into the bank. She was penniless. Harry, or Neville could've helped, but she didn't want to ask. Didn't want to be dependent on them. Didn't want to bother them with her problems.
She took her tent to one of the spots they camped at during the war, set up her wards and thought about what she could do.
It would be so much easier if she wasn't breathing. Hermione didn't want to give up yet, but at the same time she didn't care. So Hermione sat, laid in bed, and thought until the sun went down.
McGonagall had sent her a letter, a year or so after she had graduated. Its contents were full of well-hidden care and concern. Hermione was once again invited to weekly tea.
She went.
The first meeting was awkward. The majority of it was held in silence and Hermione began to regret showing up. All of the Headmistress's questions filled her with self-disgust. What had she been doing since graduation? Nothing. Had she read the latest theoretical journal? No. Had she seen Ron and Harry lately? No, they had been busy. How was she? Fine, alive.
She went back the next week anyways. She walked out of the meeting with a copy of Transfiguration Today.
The next meeting she shared her thoughts on the article, and was drawn into a discussion on battlefield charms when Flitwick walked in.
She ran into Slughorn on her way out who told her that he had, had such high expectations of her. The condescending tone of his voice suggested that she had already peaked, and was fated to end up like all the other mudbloods.
She didn't go to Hogwarts the next week, instead she met with the Goblins and started to negotiate her debt to them. It would take her a few years to pay it off, but it was a few years less than what it had been.
She wrote an article on a ward structure she had developed during the war. She sent it off to The Warders Journal under the nom de plume; Dorcas Blythe. It got published, she was given a small sum and, a request for another article.
She started reaching out to other publications, and after eight weekly meetings missed, Hermione ghosted her way back up to the castle to see her old Professor.
The Headmistress was frowning at The Daily Prophet, at one of Dorcas' articles. Hermione was frankly astonished it got published. It was an opinion piece titled; "Hogwarts: The best Magical Education? I think not."
"Hermione," McGonagall had sighed, putting down the paper. "I had often thought the along the same lines as Blythe here- I assume you've read the paper from last week?"
She had, and so Hermione nodded, and then took a sip of her tea, waiting for the Headmistress's reaction.
"The author makes some valid points, most of which I have previously brought to the attention of the Board of Governors. They didn't want to change, they wanted the tradition that was Hogwarts to continue, now however with all the bad press and a projected loss of alumni investment… they are changing their tune."
Hermione smiled grimly, and set down her tea cup when she muttered. "Time marches on, and drags those unwilling under the current."
McGonagall looked over her glasses at Hermione for that comment and only replied "Indeed."
Hermione left that meeting, feeling some small flicker of hope that things might change.
It wouldn't be Hermione Granger doing it. No, that name had too much weight and connotations to it to ever do anything. Rather, it would be Dorcas Blythe who would change society, and that maybe there was a chance of things not going back to the way They Had Been.