Waking Up

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter or his world.

Author's Note: Just wrote this as it came to me right now, been tossing around this idea for a little while. Wanted some input on what people think. If I get good feedback, and more inspiration, I'm going to try to write more of this in the next few days. I guess going through my old fic and revamping got me feeling creative again. Let me know what you think.

Chapter 1: The Mist

Five years had passed since the end of the war, but for Hermione, it still seemed like yesterday, especially on nights like this - cold, misty nights with a fog so thick you couldn't see your hands outstretched in front of you, let alone the stars dotting the night sky. On these nights, Hermione could still feel the sharp sting of the Bellatrix's dagger spelling out that nasty word into her skin, she could still see the pain in Ron's eyes after his splinching, she could still feel her heart drumming madly against her chest as she realized it was Harry's limp body that Hagrid was carrying...

Yes, it was four years later, but the horrible events of that last year had not left her. Currently, her mind was in the present. Hermione tugged her robe tighter around her thin form, shifting her legs a bit so they didn't go numb propped up the way they were against the open window. The cold, moist air being her favorite antidote to her night terrors. She'd woken up in a cold sweat again, short of breath, heart thrumming, her eyes wide with fear. Now, however, she was lost in thought.

Life hadn't quite gone the way she thought it would. Her long-time-coming romance with Ron had been something of a disappointment. She certainly didn't think the after-effects of the war would be like this. And her career was taking a backseat because of it. Hermione Granger was twenty-two, and this was not what she wanted. Had you asked her ten years ago where she thought she would be at twenty-two, this was definitely not what she would have told you. Maybe somethings would be the same, but on the whole - No, this is not what she had wanted.

Hermione had expected to be deeply in love, preferably with Ronald Weasley, and engaged - if not married. No kids yet, but perhaps they would be thinking about it. The war would have been won, of course, and she would be a strong, healthy witch with several committees answering to her. She wanted to be making a difference in the lives of underappreciated magical beings everywhere. And maybe even have been published, written articles for esteemed scholarly magazines, and a book in the works. She knew at twenty-two she would be too young to settle down and teach at Hogwarts, but she wanted to be on her way.

Her life had definitely not turned out the way she wanted.

Truthfully, she wasn't upset anymore about things with Ron not working out. Turns out, they really were just much better as best friends. The attraction had been there, but it fizzled out rather quickly. They argued more often (if you could imagine that!), and they began to realize that they were not compatible as a couple at all, and they missed the friendship they had shared. It took a while, but after their whirlwind of a relationship things eventually went back to the way they had been. But after it had all died down, and she moved into her little flat above a shop in Diagon Alley, her depression set in... And then came the night terrors. And the next three and a half years blurred together.

The horrors she had witnessed during the war had finally come back to haunt her. It wasn't every night, or even every week, but when they hit it left her shaken for a few days. It started with the dreams. She'd dream in flashbacks, different frightening moments from that last year. And then they'd morph into hideous nightmares, and they didn't end the way they should have. Ron getting splinched while on the run turned into Ron losing his arm and the snatchers were there, torturing Harry and herself. The night in Godric's Hollow did not end with their narrow escape, but instead with Harry lying on the floor of the upstairs room bleeding profusely from snake bite wounds while she desperately tried to stop the bleeding. But then, she'd wake, shaking, crying, gasping for air. She knew there were potions she could take, different draughts to make it easier. But she also knew that there were risks of becoming dependent. She didn't want that, so she endured, and found different ways to calm herself. For her, letting the cool, moist evening air wash over her face was the best way, though not always possible.

The sound of fluttering wings brought Hermione out of her daze. She opened her eyes, she hadn't realized she had indeed started to doze off in her seat by the window, to see a familiar grey owl perched there. The owl gazed at Hermione with what seemed to Hermione as a knowing look. Hermione smiled reluctantly, and took the letter from the owl. Instead of taking flight, as per usual for owl post, the owl simply fixed Hermione with her knowing gaze and waited. Hermione sighed, realizing that the owl wanted a response. Thinking it was a rather odd time for mail, she looked at the clock and did a small doubletake when she saw it really wasn't that late at all, it was only half-past eight. She had, after all, fallen asleep rather early this night and apparently her demons had taken no time at all before coming to haunt her.

Hermione turned her attention to the letter in her hand, and slit open the seal.

Hermione -
I tried your floo but you weren't responding, I figured you must be in your bedroom.
Come to St. Mungo's NOW! The baby is coming!
-Harry

Hermione gasped, jumping up from her chair, startling Thalia, Harry's beautiful Great Grey owl. She rushed to her desk, flipped Harry's hurriedly scrawled note over and wrote her short reply on the back before attaching the note to Thalia's leg, knowing the owl would get the note to Harry quickly.

Harry,
I'm on my way.
-Hermione

Without even bothering to watch the owl take off into the night, Hermione ran to her closet, quickly changing into the first set of robes she could find. She grabbed her handbag off the dressor on her way out her bedroom door. Her stomach rumbled as she crossed into the kitchen, so she grabbed a banana off the counter and scarfed it down, not knowing exactly when she'd get the chance to eat something. With that, she strode into her small living room, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder out of the pot on the mantel, and in a flash, she was gone.