Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. I am but a humble a fan, forever grateful for the world she has created!
A/N: I wrote this one-shot based on my headcanon that Hermione's violent tendencies had to stem from somewhere. Combined with her determination to fight for the underdog, writing her family as one affected by domestic violence just made sense for me. I am, in no way, condoning domestic violence or suggesting that people in abusive relationships should go to couples therapy. I recognize that every person affected by DV may be on different points in their journey, and for some people, staying in the relationship might seem like the best option. I am attempting to show a realistic portrayal of family violence and its effects on children. I am also basing Hermione's parents on my own, and I do think that change is possible. However, if you or someone you know, are in danger because of DV, please know that you are not alone and that there are options out there.
For the US:
1-800-799-7233
For the UK:
0808 2000 247
If anyone knows the numbers for other countries, please feel free to post in the reviews! :)
The glass crashed against the wall.
"Please! Stop it, please!"
"You don't like when I get angry? Don't make me fucking' angry then!"
The woman fell to the ground. He had slapped her.
The little girl took a tentative step into the kitchen. She was clutching her stuffed animal, an orange cat named Garfield.
"Mummy?"
The man and woman looked at the girl. The man's eyes were still filled with fury, and the woman gave the girl a weak smile from where she laid on the kitchen floor.
"Hermione, go to your room! Your father and I are just talking," the woman instructed.
"No, mummy, I want to stay—"
"Sweetheart, please. Do what Mummy says, Hermione, please!" she pleaded, tears in her eyes.
"Damnit, Hermione! Get to your room!" the man screamed.
Hermione flinched and ran upstairs.
Hermione cried in the empty classroom as a sense of shame mixed with hurt filled her. She kept picturing the look of fear in Ron's eyes when she attacked him with the birds.
"How dare you!" she had thought as jealousy all but consumed her. She had felt her body becoming hot with rage as her hands clenched into fists. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she stared at Ron and Lavender, their hands intertwined.
She had lost it.
Harry had looked at her after Ron and Lavender fled. He was backing away through the classroom door, mumbling something about going to bed.
"I managed to scare off my two best friends. Fantastic job, Hermione," she muttered to herself, wiping the tears from her face.
Hermione knew that her ways of showing anger were wrong. Ever since she was a child, she struggled with her feelings of frustration and anger. She had thought it was normal to use her words as daggers and her hands as fists. And when she learned magic, she had scared herself at times with the ease with which she had used it to control and intimidate others.
Her parents had fought a lot when she was a child. On the surface, they were a perfect family: successful dentists with a lovely and intelligent daughter. But at night, she would hear fighting. She'd see the broken glasses and plates in the garbage the next day. She'd see her father patching up holes in the wall. She'd see her mother crying in the bathroom when her father was out. Hermione had thought it was just a part of marriage. Surely everyone was like that! It wasn't until Hermione met Ron and his family that she realized how abnormal her own was. It was because of this that she loved being at the Burrow. It made her feel so safe and loved.
She barely saw her parents anymore, aside from the occasional break from school. They seemed better now. Her father had stopped drinking. But she never knew for sure. As a child, she dreamed that one day, her mother would divorce her father. But their marriage still stood.
As she became older and was surrounded by her friends more and more and her parents less and less, the sinking realization that her way of dealing with her feelings disturbed her. She felt like two different people—she was Hermione Granger, the fearless advocate of elf rights, the courageous comrade of Harry Potter in his fight against evil Voldemort. And she was Hermione Granger, the cowardly girl who was too scared to talk about how she really felt, the ball of rage and spite that would send birds to attack the boy she loved.
"You've got no right to hit me," Ron had told her once, earlier that school year.
The night he told her so, they were sitting in the common room late one night working on homework.
"Hermione?" he asked quietly, his voice creaking.
"What, Ron?" She looked up from the parchment, expecting him to ask for help with his essay.
"I want to talk to you about something." He swallowed nervously, and his voice was shaky as he stared at his hands.
Hermione's stomach flip-flopped. Was this the moment he finally told her how he felt? Her mouth suddenly went dry.
He looked up at her and called on his Gryffindor courage, his jaw setting as he sat up straighter.
"I don't like it when you hit me. I don't know why you do it, but I want you to stop," He stated quickly.
Hermione's face twisted, the pit in her stomach dropping in disappointment.
"What are you on about, Ron?" she asked, agitation lacing her voice.
"Like this morning! At breakfast! After I made that stupid joke about Ginny's friend's tits. You punched my arm!" Ron explained, increasingly indignant.
"That? You're upset about that?" Hermione laughed.
"Yeah, I'm upset! You've got no right to hit me. Or anyone! It actually hurt a bit!" Ron replied.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, it's not like I'm trying to hurt you!"
"But, ya did, yeah? Why'd you do it anyway?" he asked.
Hermione faltered. Thinking about that morning, she remembered a wave of jealousy washing over her as she heard Ron joke about grabbing hold of the girl's breasts if he was ever drowning. "I reckon they'd float alright!" He joked, making grabbing gestures with his hands. The boys at the table had laughed, and Hermione stared down at her small chest. She punched his arm, feeling angry and disgusted with Ron, and deeper still, with herself.
"I'm sorry if what I said was obscene. I was just having a laugh," Ron explained. His tone was a bit gentler, as he noticed the ashamed look on Hermione's face. He touched her arm, and Hermione began to cry.
"Look, Hermione, it's not like I don't want to be your friend anymore. I just wanted to be honest," he said, running a hand through his hair.
She looked up at him, only to begin to sob even more. She hid her hands in her face.
"Hey, hey, it's alright!" Ron tentatively began rubbing her back.
"No, it's… it's not, Ron… I'm so… I'm…." Hermione cried, her words muffled by her hands.
She sat up and looked at him directly as she whispered, "I'm messed up, Ron."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I have issues. Like, anger issues. I've always had them. I don't know what to do." Hermione whispered, staring down at her hands in shame.
Ron shrugged. "Have you tried talking to someone?"
Hermione looked at him, her eyes widening. "Like a shrink?"
"Shrink? What's a shrink?"
Hermione shook her head. "It's.. it's like, a muggle mind healer."
"Oh. Right! Yeah, like a shrink."
Hermione looked at him, her face showing more vulnerability. "Do you think I'm mental?"
Ron grinned slightly. "Well not, like, mental mental, but I mean, if it could help you, I don't see what the big deal is."
Hermione kept staring at her hands. In an effort to cheer her up, Ron added, "I'd still like you even if you were mental-mental, you know." She looked at him, giving a weak smile.
"My dad went to see a shrink," she admitted. "He used to hit my mum sometimes. I saw him. They were always yelling at each other." Her eyes revealed that her mind was far away.
"I used to beg them to stop screaming. One time, I tried to get in front of my mom, and he hit me on accident. That's when he started seeing the shrink. I don't think they fight like that anymore. But I swore to myself that I would never be like my dad," she shared, "And now I'm just like him!" Her tears began anew.
Ron was at a loss for words. Hermione had always been guarded about her family life. She had talked about the fun she had while on vacation with them, although she never gave much detail. He knew she loved both of her parents, but he was taken by surprise by this new information.
"You don't have to be like him forever though. You said he started seeing a shrink, and now he's a bit calmer, yeah?" Ron offered. Sure, she was scary at times, but he knew that she was, at base, a good person. He loved her anyway.
Hermione nodded. "You're right."
"I'm right? Let the records show that Hermione Granger thinks I'm right!" Ron joked, trying to bring humor to the conversation. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"You're right a lot of the time, you know," she said, nudging him with her elbow, causing Ron to blush.
The next day, Hermione approached Madam Pomfrey about meeting with a counselor. She had been attending sessions diligently, and she had felt herself changing. She was doing well… until this moment.
She felt like she was spinning out of control. Everything had looked so promising. Ron had agreed to come with her to Slughorn's party. She had been working on dealing with what she experienced as a child, and Ron had been so supportive. With excitement in her voice, Hermione would talk to him about the skills she was learning to deal with her emotions. For fun, she started reading about the effects of violence on child development, and Ron, being the friend he was, listened patiently to her explaining something that he would never have learned otherwise.
But then, something happened. She couldn't understand what changed his mind. Her lack of control in the situation infuriated her. She had run out the common room, trying to use what her counselor was teaching her.
"Breathe, Hermione… just breathe…." She mumbled, her hands shaking as she ran them through her hair. She felt herself tugging at her hair, as anger fought to bubble to the surface. She felt tears sting her eyes.
"He's just being a stupid boy, Hermione. He's your friend, not your boyfriend. He can do what he wants," she whispered. "Just breathe… just breathe."
She suddenly heard someone clear their throat. Turning around, she saw Harry in the doorway. "Hey, Hermione," he said. It sounded like an apology.
She felt light-headed as she crumpled to the floor. "Why? Why is this happening?" Hermione sobbed. Harry handed her a tissue as he sat next to her. Her breaths became shorter as she cried. Harry noticed her hands becoming fists.
"Why am I… I'm never… I wasn't enough!" she screamed.
At that, she began to punch herself, crying ever louder.
"Hermione! Stop!" Harry exclaimed, trying to grab her arms to stop her from hurting herself. "It's okay, Hermione, just breathe," he said soothingly. She continued to weep in his arms. Harry felt guilty as he held his best friend in his arms. It was obvious that she was struggling, and he had had no idea.
At that moment, he heard people whispering and laughing softly. Ron and Lavender burst through the door, only to stop in their tracks, any traces of laughter dissipating. Before he could stop her, Hermione had set the birds on Ron.
Harry felt a mix of sadness, fear, and disappointment for his friend. But when Hermione turned to him, her eyes dark and angry still, he found himself heading quickly in fear to the door. "I gotta go… sleep early," he mumbled.
Hermione sat on the classroom floor until she fell asleep. She woke up the next day, cold and alone, and owled her counselor right away.
"So, you made some bad choices last night, huh?" her counselor, Rose, stated later that day. Hermione sat across from her, nervously wringing her hands. Rose was the resident Hogwarts school counselor. While her office reminded Hermione a bit of Professor Trelawney's classroom, Hermione genuinely liked Rose. She was the first person, other than Ron, with whom she shared her family's history.
"I'm just like my father," she muttered in disgust.
"No, Hermione, you're not."
"I get so angry sometimes!"
"Everyone gets angry. That's not the issue. What you did last night was a reaction of habit, Hermione," Rose countered gently.
"I was trying to break that habit though," Hermione said in frustration.
"Yes! And you are doing so well," Rose encouraged.
"'Are'? Or 'were'?" the girl skeptically stated.
"You are, Hermione. Change is not a linear process. It's a path with many twists and turns. You don't think you're changing?" Rose asked. Hermione shrugged.
"I think that until I feel like I can be safe around him, I should stay away from Ron. I can occupy my time with my studies and with helping Harry," Hermione stated, a sense of determination in her voice.
"What are you avoiding?" Rose questioned.
"I'm… I just don't trust myself yet. I'm afraid of hurting him," Hermione admitted.
Rose sat quietly as they both digested Hermione's revelation.
"I need to reach that point where I can accept him as my friend without letting jealousy take control. And that's something that I need to do—it's not his responsibility," Hermione continued, as Rose listened and nodded. She recognized Hermione's intelligence. Highly logical and motivated, when Hermione felt something worthy of learning, she worked her hardest to master it. Therapy was no different, and because of this, Rose felt hope yet for Hermione.
Hermione left her session that day feeling determined to conquer her demons. "If not conquer, at least learn to live with them," she though, a trace of a smile on her face. As she rounded the corner, she saw Ron and Lavender kissing against the wall. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she felt her hands ball up. Remembering her session, she closed her eyes, let the air fill her lungs, and kept walking ahead.