Her brown eyes are unfocused, staring through the thick smoke from her cigarette into her mind. Once as bright as anyone could have imagined, it's dark, and twisted. The only time she moves is to keep bringing the firewhiskey to her lips. A heavy, cruel chuckle slips past those chapped lips before she whispers to herself. "Imagine if they saw me now?"
The squalor around her is wrong. She should be in a beautiful library, or in a handsomely decorated office. Not in a cheap muggle motel, wearing ripped and dirty clothes. No, Hermione Granger has fallen far, far, far.
It started that night. When Mr. Weasley died. When Dumbledore didn't make it in time. The last time she saw a smile fully reach Ron's eyes. The last time she saw the brilliant, natural, wonderful, enviable friendship between Ron and Harry. Things just weren't the same. Things never would be the same.
When Ron changed, so did Hermione's feelings. He turned serious, hard. Hermione was serious enough to know he didn't need anyone else to make her be serious. The only people who Hermione could bare to be around were Luna, and the twins. They kept it light. A little bubble of happiness in the darkness.
Who would have thought that Hermione Jean Granger would become a menace? That she'd be handing out fever fudge and nosebleed nougat? That she'd help them plan the escape? Hell, she did most of the charm work on that bloody swamp.
She found Fred the night before. She thought she'd have the common room to herself to practice for her OWLs, she wasn't expecting Fred to be alone, when was he ever alone, crying in his favorite chair. She can still watch the scene in her mind, no matter how fucking drunk she gets.
"Fred?"
He shot up in his seat, frantically wiping at his face. She crossed the room and sat on the arm of his chair, hugging him tightly. The old folded picture from the newspaper fluttered to the floor.
"We were such little shits, Mione. How could we be such little shits! All he w-wanted was for us to t-try!"
She held him tighter, letting him cry into her neck as she stroked his muscular back. "No Fred. He wanted you to be happy. He loved you so fucking much."
And they sat there, finding comfort in this simple embrace. And for the first time Hermione thought maybe she did have a place after Hogwarts. And then Fred pulled away, only to give her her first kiss.
And it was so perfect.
And Fred left the next day, she reminds herself, shooting another gulp of firewhiskey, burning her throat. But he wrote her. Constantly. And when they got back from the Ministry, he was waiting for her.
"What the fuck where you thinking Hermione! What if you didn't come back!" He whisper-yelled at her, shaking her slightly in their hiding space behind some curtains in the hospital wing.
"We thought Sirius was in danger! You think I should have let them go without me!" She challenged back, standing tall.
"i- you- No." he sighs, pulling her into his chest and burying into her soft hair. "I just… I can't lose you Mione."
She lets herself relax for the first time in hours, days, weeks, breathing in his scent. Fred smelt like warmth, like home.
And this time, she kissed him.
The next year was secret meetings in Hogsmead and trips to Diagon Alley. George was the only one who knew. God, that was the best year of her life, even with all the danger around them. When she was with Fred, reading his letters, holding his hand under the table in The Three Broomsticks, she felt invincible. They only really fought once. But that was the only fight they needed.
"What do you mean you're leaving!"
"Fred, he needs me! Du-Dumbledore needed this to be done."
"Hermione, they'll kill you! Why can't George and I come too? We'll be a shit load more useful than my tosspot brother."
"DON'T talk about him like that! He took your dad's death hard!"
"HE did! We all did!"
"Why can't you just trust me to come home? How often have you said I'm twice the witch of any of them?"
"Why can't I come with you!?"
When she just shakes his head, Fred says the stupidest thing of his life. "Because then you can't finally get with Ron. You know what, fuck off."
She's on her feet in seconds, calling his name but he just turns long enough to remind her coldly. "You were the one who wanted to keep this secret. Guess I know why now."
She's been screaming his name since. Every second of the day she wanted to cry, her body yearned for his touch. She desperately looked for any clue that he was still alive, still safe. And for some part of her heart, still single. But she's Hermione Granger. She soldiers on, surviving what should have killed her and being strong for Harry and Ron.
When Bellatrix cursed her, time and time and time again, she learned the Cruciatus Curse doesn't just cause physical pain, but mental, emotional. Fred dying, leaving, hating her. Harry and Ginny, Ron and George, they all turned on her that night and it was real, so real. It was easier to let it be real. She wished it was real. Because if it was, she would die of that pain, and never would have had to survive the real thing.
She should have known Fred would climb out of that bloody portal. She should have known he'd have that stupid little grin that makes her want to swoon and giggle and act un-Hermione like. And she tries to get him alone, to say whatever she has to to have him back holding her. To make sure he knows that she- she loves him. But then Ron's babbling in her ear about fucking basaltic fangs and dragging her away and she locks eyes with him just long enough for him to smile sadly. She could almost hear what he whispered to George. "As long as she's happy."
She had to shove Ron off her when he tried to kiss her. And then they were all over the bloody castle with no sign of Fred, no chance for Hermione to right her wrong. Finally, finally, finally, she sees him and he's beautiful. Lit by the luminescent glow of curses left and right, his brother on one side, and a grin and joke on his lips. His hair was standing like after they made out, and there was going to be a scar just above his eyebrow. But he was alive.
She sighs with relief, and starts looking for someone to curse, only for her heart to stop as the whole world slowed. She saw Bellatrix cry out a blasting curse rather than hear it, and she heard each piece of stone come undone, the force of it sending her flying and she saw the largest section of wall flying directly towards Fred. Desperate she shot whatever would come out of her wand at the rock, but nothing could save him.
And then it goes dark for a moment, and she's woken by the most heartwrenching wail, one that carried a pain, a misery, an everlasting cruciatus curse that could never be healed, never be forgotten, never be numbed. And she knows.
She's crying before Harry pulls her up by her hand, and soon she leaves him behind, falling into the only clear spot left. "No no no no no, no" she sobs, cupping his face. Her tears mix with the plaster and she cries, not caring who hears. "I love you Fred. I love you! You can't leave me!"
She almost screams when a chilling hand grabs her wrist, but she sees those blue eyes crack open and he's trying to force something out. Hermione does what she always does and is strong, leaning down to hear his horse, last words. "I love you… and I'll be waiting… I prom… ise to be…patient…Mione."
And then his grip on her wrist loosens and he is falling back, smiling slightly. Gone forever.
And so was that girl. That Hermione Granger. Strong, smart, vivid, Hermione Granger. Most of the time now she's just referred to as The Granger Girl.
She hears the door opening but doesn't bother to see who it is. Only two or three people come see her anymore. Ron tried to heal her. It hurt too bad. Harry faded away, happy with Ginny, their little boy was born recently. As far as she knew her parents were still satisfied in Australia. Luna left. No one knew where. And Hermione and her booze and cigarettes were joined only by one of two Weasleys, and never by both. This time it was Percy.
Next time it'll be George.
Whichever it is, they'll sit and drink and smoke and talk about anything but him. Sometimes if it's George they'll fuck. But this is it. This is Hermione's life.
Percy speaks softly this time. "You need to let go Hermione. You need to move on"
"no."
It's never I can't, or even I won't. Just a flat out No.
"He wouldn't want this. He wanted you happy."
"This is as close as I'll get, Perc. Now are you going to nag me, or are you going to drink?"
It's quiet. And then. "I'm marrying Audrey. I'm sobering up. George too. Mum's got him in therapy. We aren't coming back. Is there anything I can do before?"
She shakes her head softly, and stares resolutely at the hideous picture that is actually a mirror as he goes. Once the door clicks shut, she moves almost robotically to her bag in the closet, and pulls out her father's 9mm.
The headline a few days later reads, FALLEN WAR HEROINE DIES ALONE.
And the couple in Australia who never wanted children has been crying to sleep.
And at last two souls are at peace.