Hope is a Waking Dream
A/N: This story is femslash and MM/HG (though it will be somewhat slow leading up to it), if you oppose either, don't make yourself miserable by reading. The story takes place mainly after the trio leaves Hogwarts. The only things you have to know prior to reading the story are: Dumbledore did not die and in the world of this fic, the year that would have been the trio's seventh, Hogwarts was closed, the war ended, and the following year, school resumed with everyone in the grades they should have been in (trio in seventh). There was a double class of first-years.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and anything relating to it, does not belong to me. The title is a quote taken from Aristotle.
Graduation caps flew in the air. For a brief moment, Hermione wondered what people like Draco Malfoy would say if they knew that Muggles had the very same custom. Hermione shook her head; she was not going to let thoughts of Malfoy ruin her graduation. Unfortunately for her, it was too late. Thinking of Malfoy made her think of the second war, and the final battle.
It was glorified in the newspapers and by people in pubs, the people who had been sitting home when it happened. But as someone who was there, who fought in it, the final battle was anything but something to be glorified. There were so many deaths, on both sides, the Ministry seemed content with making those who died in battle either war heroes or traitors who should have died anyway, but in reality it wasn't that simple. There were people who died who went long before there time. Of course, there were also those who, Hermione at least, won't miss. Bellatrix Lestrange who had been hit with three killing curses, Lucious Malfoy, Severus Snape though no one was sure which side killed him, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Nott, Rufus Scrimgeour, Mrs. Parkinson… And the ones she would: Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Madame Hooch, Percy who proved his long over-due loyalty to his family by stepping in front of a killing curse meant for Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Fleur who Hermione had just begun to like, Neville a true Gryffindor to the end, and Ron. Ron who was killed so that she and Harry could be saved.
Hermione felt the tears beginning to well up. She excused herself and hurried outside. She stood gazing at the lake thinking about Neville, Fred, George, Bill, and Ron, especially Ron.
"He would want you to enjoy graduation, they all would."
Hermione threw herself into Harry's waiting arms. "I know but I can't help it." Harry kissed her forehead and stood with her, stroking her hair until her body racking sobs quieted.
"You don't always have to be the strong one you know."
"Yes I do," Hermione whispered.
Harry smiled weakly, typical Hermione. "Ready to rejoin the land of festivities?" he asked.
Hermione nodded.
"Besides," Harry said, "it doesn't look so good for the top student not to be celebrating. The Ministry might think that the War actually happened!"
"Oh sod off it!"
The two walked back to the Great Hall, arms around each other, each engaged in a private memorial to the third part of the once trio.
Four and a half hours later, the formal celebration had finally ended. Families returned either to their homes or to a hotel in Hogsmeade. Students returned to their dorms – some sneaking in food and drink. Hermione walked with Harry to the portrait of the Fat Lady, bid him goodnight and told him to come to her rooms if he couldn't sleep. As he crawled through the portrait hole, Hermione sighed. She had foolishly thought that once Voldemort was vanquished, her constant worries about Harry would also disappear. Unfortunately, while the worries over his death had been lifted, they were replaced with worries about his health, the nightmares that plagued him nightly, his grief and guilt over the deaths, especially Ron and Neville's.
Figuring she'd see Harry later, Hermione made her way down to her rooms. That was one of the perks of being Head Girl: her own bedroom, bathroom, and common room. The common room had been very useful during N.E.W.T. studying, having Harry over late into the night, and on those days when Harry, Ginny, and she couldn't face other people.
Hermione was so caught up in her own thoughts, that she was paying no attention to where she was walking and consequently, walked right into the Deputy Headmistress.
"Professor McGonagall! I'm so sorry, are you alright?"
"I'm fine Miss. Granger, no harm done."
"Really, I'm very sorry Professor; I'll pay more attention in the future."
McGonagall chose to ignore the comment. "May I inquire as to why you are not joining your classmates in a continuation of the festivities?"
Hermione shrugged, "I'm not in a very celebratory mood I'm afraid."
"Is it because you are leaving Hogwarts, or because of the War?"
"Both."
McGonagall stared at her for a second, an unreadable expression on her face. "Would you care for a cup of tea Miss. Granger?"
Hermione nodded her assent and followed her favorite teacher into her private quarters.
McGonagall's private rooms were breathtaking. Gryffindor red walls with gold molding. The furniture and floors were a deep cherry wood. There was a huge fireplace in the center of the only wall in the common room that wasn't rounded. Above the fireplace, there was a portrait of a man who looked very much like the room's owner. In front of the fireplace, there were a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. The remaining wall space was covered in bookshelves.
Hermione gazed at the room in awe. She was drawn to the bookshelves, running her fingers longingly over the spines of ones she desperately wanted to read.
"Sit Miss. Granger," McGonagall said. Pulling herself away from the enticing books, Hermione made her way over to the sofa. McGonagall flicked her want and in a lively fire jumped to life. She napped her fingers and a house-elf appeared, returning with tea a moment later.
The two sat quietly, each sipping her own tea. "If you don't mind Professor," Hermione said, "I'm not sure if I can talk about it."
"You are not required to talk, Miss. Granger. But if you have the inclination to, you may always talk to me." Silence resumed, drifting over the room like a soft blanket, a comforting silence, and suddenly Hermione was ready to talk.
"It's just – everyone is thrilled that Voldemort is gone and they think everything is safe and wonderful, but its not! People are dead or suffering and all anybody bloody cares about is that "he-who-must-not-be-named" is no longer a problem. And Harry – everyone is thrilled because once again he saved them from tyrannical rule, while they sit at home, but they don't' care about him. Do they realize that he can't sleep at night because he is terrorized with nightmares of battle? Do they realize or care that before she died, Bellatrix Lestrange hit him with a curse that has been slowly stripping him of his power? Does anyone care that one of my best friends is dead and I feel so utterly alone?"
McGonagall pulled Hermione into her arms. Hermione collapsed gratefully into her mentor's embrace. They sat like that for a while, the Transfiguration teacher quietly comforting her very distraught favourite student.
"Hermione," McGonagall said once the younger woman had calmed slightly, "were you, in love with Ron?"
Hermione pulled away, a look of shock dancing across her features. "In love!?" she said, "with Ron!??" Hermione shook her head, "No, I am most definitely not in love with Ron."
"You are very adamant about that Miss. Granger. I didn't mean to offend you; I just thought perhaps you were, both from your interactions with Mr. Weasley and what you said just now."
"I'm sorry for freaking out Professor. Ronald was my best friend, nothing more; and he was the only one who knew -" here Hermione trailed off looking uncertain.
McGonagall waited quietly for her student to continue. The fire crackled softly as Hermione thought about what she was about to say.
"You see, Professor, Ron was the only one who knew that I – that I…"
"Miss. Granger, if it is too taxing or private, you don't have to share."
"Oh but I do!" Hermione cried, "I have to tell someone, especially now that Ron is – dead," she finished in a whisper.
Hermione took a sip of tea and a deep breath, "I'm gay Professor and Ron was the only one who knew."
There was silence. Hermione glanced, hesitantly, at McGonagall, afraid she'd see disappointment or disgust on her face, instead, Hermione was met with an unreadable expression.
Finally McGonagall spoke, "I have no intention of belittling the situation or your difficulty with expressing it, but it's nothing horrendous." There was a slight pause. "Well in any case, I don't think it is a disgrace or anything of the like." McGonagall took a sip of her tea, "And Miss. Granger – I am very honored that you told me."
It wasn't until Hermione glanced at the clock that she realized just how late it was. She thanked McGonagall for the tea and the talk, bid her goodnight and went back to her own rooms. It felt as though a hippogriff had been lifted from her shoulders.
Luckily Harry wasn't waiting in her rooms when she arrived. She threw on nightclothes, piled her hair on top of her head and opened her book. She was rereading Hogwarts: A History for sentimental reasons. It had been the very first book she had read after finding out she was a witch and it was the one she turned to when she was confused or in need of comfort.
About three chapters into the book, Hermione was startled from her reading when a hand was placed on her arm. She whirled around to face Harry.
"Harry! You scared me!"
"Sorry 'Mione. You just looked like you were enjoying yourself; I didn't want to disturb you. So, what are you reading?"
"Hogwarts: A History."
"Again!? 'Mione, haven't you already memorized that book?"
"I wanted to reread it, is there something wrong with that?"
"Not at all Hermione, not at all."
Harry sat down next to Hermione on the couch. "Can you believe we're leaving tomorrow?"
The tears started to fall. Three times in one day, Hermione get a grip! Harry just gathered her in a hug, "I wish we didn't have to leave."
Hermione suddenly remembered something she had been meaning to ask Harry, "You were talking to a very official looking man during graduation – is anything wrong?"
Harry smiled, "Well you know how I've been wondering what to do after we leave, cause of… well you know. The man I was talking to is the manager of Puddlemere United. He offered me the position of Seeker and I accepted!"
Hermione threw her arms around her second best friend. "I am so happy for you, and I'll be in the top box at all your games!" Even as she was hugging Harry, Hermione felt her heart clench, damn Bellatrix and her penchant for ancient Dark Curses that had no counter action. It was because of that sadistic – woman was too kind a word – that Harry had to suffer through a year of school in which he could do almost no magic, and now, had to rethink his entire career plans.
"Really though Harry, I'm very proud of you."
"Yeah… it's kinda neat, I'm gonna play professional Quidditch and you're going to study at Everard-Maeve. We're adults now."
Hermione laughed. The sound, so rarely heard nowadays, seemed to linger even after all three occupants of the Head Girl's rooms had fallen asleep.