A/N: Hello, all! This is a sidetrack I had while writing my other story, a one-shot that plagued me for two weeks before I wrote it out. It's a one-shot about the hard road to healing. I enjoyed writing it! Please, critiques, comments, reviews, anything is welcome! :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing- JKR is queen here, not me!
"lets unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words" - Rise Against, Swing Life Away
Too many years had been bloodstained, shrouded in evil and hatred. Too many lives lost, too many battles fought. The stench of death hung in the air, a full fortnight after the end of the greatest war ever waged on the wizarding world.
Voldemort had fallen, but only after huge losses on both sides.
The grounds of Hogwarts were stained red, blood soaked into the ground, pure blood mixing with that of halfbloods and muggleborns. Many wondered if the ground would ever lose that crimson color, or if it would remain, a reminder of the horrors seen by those who fought bravely.
Shoulder to shoulder, many young wizards and witches had succumbed to death, the killing curse seeming to ride the wind freely, caressing the fighters tenderly as they slipped into its comforting grasp. She had spent many nights since, wondering if it would have been easier to just give up, as so many had.
The faces of the dead haunted Hermione Granger, in wakefulness and in sleep. She couldn't escape; nothing brought her solace. Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Colin Creevy, Lavendar Brown, Seamus Finnegan, Oliver Wood, Ernie MacMillan, Mad-Eye Moody, Madame Maxime, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley…
Their faces swirled in her mind's eye, making her dizzy; she could feel the bile rising and fought long and hard to keep it down. Hundreds of other nameless faces, some children, some barely adults, flashed before her eyes. So many lost… those left behind weren't much better off. So many injured, so many cursed.
The light had conquered the dark, but at what price? She fervently hoped that the likes of this war would never again be seen, replicated in some unforeseen future.
She sat perched in a wing backed armchair, wrapped tightly in a down comforter. In the days that had passed, Hermione found it impossible to stay warm, always shivering, always grieving. Never in her life had she felt such pain, such lifelessness in herself; she could hardly believe that so many good people had died, so many innocent lives lost.
She could feel his eyes on her, felt them appraising her thin form, knowing before he spoke what the Boy Who Lived would say to her.
"Mione, love, you're too thin. When was the last time you've eaten?" She heard him limp his way over from the staircase, seating himself on the sofa next to her. She purposely ignored the pain that shot through her heart as he left out a whimper as he sat, pretending she didn't see the mangled leg he favored, nor the new scar he had acquired that ran the length of his face.
Yes, they had all been touched by the war, had all suffered injuries that would take many years to heal, if they would fade at all.
Hermione turned her gaze from the fire in the Weasley's fireplace to meet the serious green eyes of her best friend. One of her only friends left her mind supplied, breaking her heart all over again.
"We both know eating isn't on my list of priorities right now, Harry." Her voice sounded rough in the quiet of the room, hoarse and ragged. The pain was there, barely hiding under the surface
He smiled gently, the light of the flames throwing his newly scarred face into sharp relief. Her heart ached for the loss of his innocence, even as she knew Harry had lost that many years ago; had the boy ever truly had innocence, surviving the way he had for so many years?
Unconsciously, she brought her pale hand to his face, fingering the scar reverently. A tear slipped down her face unaccosted, and Harry's face turned pensive.
"This was Voldemort's last act." He laughed humorlessly. "After he k-killed Ron," Hermione's breath caught in her throat, as Harry stuttered painfully through their friend's name, "I lost it. I couldn't control my anger, and I lashed out with Sectumseptra, and of course he deflected it." Shaking his head, he reached up and cupped her hand in his. Hermione was staring unseeing as her lap; she had heard this story before, but didn't have the heart to interrupt him.
"It hit me, and the next thing I knew, the killing curse was shooting out of my wand towards him, and he crumpled, fell like a rock to the ground." Harry looked up at Hermione, and continued. "You were screaming, so loudly, so horribly. You burned him with those blue flames of yours, torched Voldemort's body until nothing was left."
A tear rolled down Harry's cheek, and he moved stiffly to kneel on the floor before his last remaining friend. "Hermione, what is it? Why are you sinking into yourself?" His voice begged for an explanation. "We all saw what you saw, we were all there! Why can't you heal with me? Why are you keeping your pain inside?"
"I don't know." She sighed, the sound that came out greatly resembling a sob. "How could he be taken from us? How could they all be taken from us? Too much death, too much anguish, Harry!"
The house was smothering her. She couldn't breath suddenly. Bolting out of her chair, Hermione Granger ran out of the house, Harry's yells echoing after her in the silent night.
She kept running until her lungs were screaming, her feet were bloody and her eyes were burning from all the tears she cried.
She held the invitation in her trembling fingers, staring at it unseeing. Her chest was throbbing painfully, even after six years. She understood the reason for the invitation, for the celebration, but that didn't mean she liked it.
In fact, Hermione Granger was livid.
Six years, two jobs and ten relationships later, the Gryffindor Princess stood in her office in the Ministry of Magic's Magical Law Enforcement floor, holding a paper reminder of all the horrors she saw so many years ago. The thoughts came unbidden, face after face, body after body.
She knew he stood in her doorway without turning around. She always knew.
"You got an invitation, too, huh?" She looked up and met green eyes, a sense of déjà vu overwhelming her sense for a second. She nodded. "It's still hard, Harry. I still have nightmares, even this long after…" She shrugged, almost helplessly. "Why am I angry that everyone can move on, but I am still weeping for the death, living in the past even as my feet carry me forward?"
She walked unsteadily over to her desk, collapsing in her chair, placing a shaking hand over her eyes. She heard Harry limp his way over to her, taking the invitation to the annual celebration to honor those fallen at the hands of Voldemort in the Great War. He pulled that hand to his lips and kissed it gently, willing her to meet his eyes.
Brown met green and Hermione pulled a watery smile, very thankful for her friend. She cleared her throat and changed the subject.
"How is Ginny and the boys doing? I expect she has grown since I saw her last week."
Harry lit up at the mention of his burgeoning family. "Oh, Gin's great! Our little girl is due in a little under two months, and the boys are being a great help to their mum. Albus has taken over most of the household chores, and James enjoys "reading" to Lily, even though he thinks she doesn't understand and he makes up the stories." He chuckled, rubbing unconsciously at his vertical scar on his cheek, then nudging his glasses up his nose.
Hermione smiled gently at her friend. "Good, Harry, I'm so glad Lily will be here so soon! I need to stop by and see Gin either tonight or tomorrow, as well as the boys. They are growing up so fast."
Harry sighed, still smiling. "Yes, James will be five in June, Albus four in September." He looked at her slyly. "And don't try to trick me, Miss Granger, I know you're trying to distract me from the issue at hand." He looked at her grimly. "We have to go this year. YOU have to go this year. You haven't been to the ceremony once since the war, and you helped save the wizarding world." He stamped his cane on the floor impatiently. "So I am dragging you there, whether you like it or not." He turned towards the door. "Who knows, maybe this is what you need to finally move on." He winked and left her in dumbfounded silence.
The day of the celebration dawned bright and clear. Hermione had spent the night hoping for rain, a tornado, something to give her an excuse to not go. She didn't want to be coddled and cheered, looked at in pity; she certainly didn't want to hear everyone having a grand time while her best friend was in the ground, dead for six years.
No, it was going to be a very long day, indeed.
Harry arrived at twelve sharp to apparate with her; Ginny had declined to join them, he informed, due to a sudden backache that had kept her up for most of the night.
"Oh, well maybe I should stay with her, you know, incase she feels worse or something." Hermione tried to wheedle out of the party, much to Harry's consternation. He frowned at her, grabbed her hand and apparated them to the scene of the Great War: Hogwarts.
Hermione hadn't been there since the war, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the grounds of the old school. Grass, as green and lush as it had ever been. Trees, no longer barren, but covered with bright leaves, birds nesting in their branches, filling the air with their song.
It was almost as if the masses had never died there. It was as if the world was healing faster than Hermione was. She frowned, feeling the tension in her shoulder ease.
Harry was secretly watching her out of the corner of his eye, and noticed her posture easing up for the first time in man years. He had known this was exactly what she needed to move on, to forgive and remember Ron for the brave man he was, not the poor boy who died.
The entered the school, the Great Hall already full of familiar faces. The remaining two of the Golden Trio linked hands, an unspoken promise to stick together. People immediately converged on them, hugging and kissing cheeks; Hermione could feel tears on her face, and marveled at the fact that for the first time, these tears weren't hers.
After the general hubbub died down and food was finally served, Minerva McGonagall stood up and headed towards Dumbledore's old podium, just as the Headmaster had done at the start of term feast every year. The woman had aged; her hair was silver, still done up in that severe bun, and she was clothed in dark blue robes. She cleared her throat, and silence immediately fell.
"We are gathered here to remember. Remember the fallen, the sacrifices, the sweat, horror, and many tears cried during Voldemort's reign. We recognize that the world would be in absolute chaos if these sacrifices had not been made. The horrors and tragedies undergone in the Great War could have been nothing compared to the horrors we would have seen if the world had fallen to Voldemort's evil." She blinked violently, her hands trembling as she struggled to keep herself composed.
"We all lost friends, family, colleagues, people who were important in our lives, and were sorely missed after they were gone. I am sure most of you still cry from time to time, even after six years. It takes time to heal, especially if the wound is very deep.
"There is so much to be thankful for. We are free witches and wizards, free to live our lives; free to work in any industry we want. Free to flourish in our differences. The prejudice of bloody purity is still felt, but is not nearly as stressed as it has been in past years. The world has grown and matured, exactly how Albus Dumbledore said it would." McGonagall wiped away a tear at the mention of her former friend.
"There are many people here who had a big part in the war, and everyone has been effected. But, in our midst, we have two very important people, two who deserve to be praised and remembered for the sacrifices they made, for the many difficult tasks they endured, beginning at such a young age.
"Would Harry Potter and Hermione Granger please stand."
The entire room turned to look as Harry stood proudly, Hermione standing shakily next to him. She had tears on her cheeks, her palms clammy in the chilly room.
McGonagall looked at the two fondly, a sad smile on her lips. "We know what you have lost, and the life this war took from you. It was a lot to ask two eleven year olds, to lose their innocence and grow up too fast. The wizarding world has been on your shoulders for years, and for that I am deeply sorry. You two- and Ronald Weasley, as well- carried the brunt of the fight for six years before you had any real help.
"Thank you for your sacrifices, for your bravery, and thank you for saving us from sure death." She raised her glass high, smiling at the two remaining in the Golden Trio.
"Here's to Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley, for rescuing us in our time of need."
The whole hall erupted in cheers and whistles. Hermione sobbed as Harry pulled her into his chest, hugging her tightly as he cried into her curly hair.
Hermione could feel her heard opening, the ice shell she had allowed to shelter it melting at the sight of so many people, thankful and living because of her and Harry. Because of Ron's sacrifice, as well as everyone else: Tonks, Remus, Maxime, Fred… the list was endless.
Suddenly, she could breathe. A weight had been lifted. Hermione felt free for the first time in, well, six long years.
She looked at Harry, who was watching her with a watery smile.
"There she is," he whispered, pulling her back into a hug, "There's our Mione." He kissed her forehead. "Gin and I thought we lost you, but you've found your way back."
She cried harder as his words hit her. They had been trying, attempting to get her back to her real self for years. She regretted waiting this long to be back; the love and healing in the room could have saved her years ago.
And slowly, Hermione opened her eyes, and for the first time in six years, she could see clearly.