Drip, drip drip.

The sound of the faucet was the only sound in the bathroom, and it sounded loud in Hermione's ears, despite knowing that it wasn't.

Drip, drip, drip.

She was staring at her naked reflection in the mirror, it being the first time she had looked at her body since she had escaped captivity.

She didn't recognize herself anymore.

Her skin was white, so much so she almost looked like a ghost. Under her eyes however was dark, making her look ill. Her hair was wild, frazzled, more so than usual. Her lips were dry and cracked. She was much thinner than she ever had been; her bones stuck out obviously, adding to her sickly stature. And then there was the nasty gash of a scar on her stomach, the one that hadn't yet healed, and according to the healers, never would. She had been stabbed by a powerful blade, a cursed blade, and the mark would be with her forever, much like the scar on Harry's forehead. Except this mark was uglier, and Hermione remembered every second of it.

She remembered every second of the time she had been held against her will, after the Death Easters had killed her parents and taken her prisoner. She remembered the hours of torture, the darkness, and the silence.

And the drip, drip, drip, of the water in the cellar.

The dripping of her own blood after they buried the dagger into her, and she accepted that she was going to die.

The entire time she had been held in the dark cellar, Hermione had remained hopeful. She had stayed strong against Voldemort. She had refused to cave into him. It was the only thing that kept her going, was the hope that she would make it out of there to see her friends again.

Once that blade entered her stomach, her hope had vanished. After all, she had no sign or way of knowing that anyone knew where she was, or if she was alive. There had been nothing but darkness and pain in that cellar. Her only comfort had come from knowing that at least soon, it would be over. Even if she died, at least she had died protecting Harry in the only way that she could, and that was enough.

But they had come to save her. Barely in time, but there she was. She was alive.

But being alive was proving to be difficult. She almost wished that they hadn't rescued her. Death would have been easier than living.

Living meant that she was haunted every moment by what she had gone through.

Living meant she had to face the death of her parents.

Living meant that she had to try to go back to being Hermione Granger, top of her class, Harry and Ron's best friend, the bright witch who always had the clear head and knew exactly what to do.

Thats's what was expected of her, but she wasn't sure if she was that person anymore.

How could she go back to being that person, after everything she'd been through? She couldn't stand listening to the sound of the sink dripping. Every waking moment of her life since she exited that cellar had been excruciating. She had thought that nothing could be worse, when she lying on the cold ground screaming in pain. She had thought that nothing could ever be as terrible as that.

But living with what had happened was even worse than experiencing it.

Because now she had to deal with it, confront it, and try to move on from it. And she had no idea how.

This was her real hell. Standing in the Weasley's bathroom, looking at her ugly, broken body, trying to find the point in living this life.

"Hermione?"

Hermione jumped. Ginny was calling her through the door. How long had she been standing there?

"Are you okay in there?"

"I-I'm fine," Hermione lied, turning on the bath. "Just getting in."

"Okay," Ginny replied, sounding unsure. "Just call if you need anything."

Hermione didn't respond. After a few moments, she heard Ginny walk away. Hermione sighed, and climbed in the tub, the warm water feeling amazing on her frozen skin. She lay there a few moments, trying to relax, a small part of her brain telling her to sink below the water and never come back up.

...

After a quick bath, Hermione climbed out of the tub and quickly got dried and dressed. When she exited the bathroom, her heart began to race unnecessarily, just as it always did when she knew she'd have to face people. Ginny was waiting for her on the stairs. She jumped up when Hermione saw her, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," Ginny said quickly. "I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Hermione forced a smile but didn't say anything; she was anything but okay, after all.

She followed Ginny to Ginny's room, where Hermione's temporary home was. She'd only been released from St. Mungos yesterday evening, after spending almost an entire 24 hours there, the healers doing everything they could for her. It had barely been two days since Hermione had been rescued by the Order. At some moments it felt like a lifetime since she was locked in that cellar, where at other times she'd close her eyes and believe she was still there. She was exhausted more than she could ever put into words. Her mind was exhausted, and her heart was exhausted. They were due back at Hogwarts in a couple days to start the new term, but Hermione wasn't sure if she would be able to go or not. Everything was just too much.

Hermione climbed into her bed, curling up under the blankets. She had been frozen in her prison the few days she had been there, and one thing she found comfort in was warmth.

If she could be warm again, maybe she could be strong again, too.

"You know," Ginny said from her own bed, "If you need to…talk or anything, I'm here."

Hermione pulled the blanket more tightly around her. "I know." Ginny seemed satisfied and didn't push her. Hermione hadn't told anyone what had happened in the cellar, except the couple members of the Order who had been in her hospital room. She hadn't even told Ron or Harry yet, though she knew they both wanted to know. She had barely spoken to them at all. Both boys were shocked by the state of their best friend, and she knew this. Neither of them were sure of what to do or say, afraid to make things worse for her. In some ways, Hermione was grateful for this. After all, she had very clearly given everyone the impression that she needed her space and time to think. But the walls were starting to come down. The hurt was becoming too much. All she had wanted was to see her friends when she was alone and scared. Ron and Harry was all she had left, after all, now that her parents were gone. Hogwarts was all she had left as a home.

Hermione was startled to find tears on her face. She hadn't cried, not once, since she had emerged from the cellar. She hadn't had the energy to cry. She hadn't really let herself feel that deeply. But, they are coming. They were coming on strongly now. She felt her throat constrict as she fought the sobs she knew were trying to escape.

"Hermione?" Ginny said, climbing off her bed. "What-?"

"Ron," was all Hermione was able to say, and that was enough for Ginny. Hermione heard her leave, a just a couple moments later she returned, and Ron was there.

"Hermione," he said gently, more gently than Hermione had ever heard him speak before, and it only made more tears come as she looked up at him. He looked so sad, so lost, and she could see the longing in his face. He wanted to help her but wasn't sure how.

And then he was climbing into the bed with her, pulling her close to him, and Hermione buried her head onto his shoulder and cried, for what felt like hours, until exhaustion overtook her.

She dreamed of her parents, and their laughter in the last moments of their life.