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This Isn't Me

"Session 4"

She hadn't left the hospital in 14 months. This wasn't the Hermione she remembered being.

"Is there something in particular you'd like to talk about, Ms. Granger?'

The man who had asked the question sat comfortably in a lounge chair across the room. His legs were crossed, his arms along the armrests. His skin was dark and rough, and he wore his hair shorn close to his head. Wearing a dark green jumper, his broad shoulders stretched across the width of his chair.

It was a scene Hermione was growing tired of. She scratched at her neck swiftly, at the short, wily hairs resting along the nape. She jerked her head and shoulders in a quick absent-minded shrug. "Not really, no."

"Am I to pick the topic again today?"

Hermione sat across from the man, straight against the back of her chair. She had her hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, short strands falling from it to sweep in front of her eyes until she yanked them back out of her face. "Why don't you take a crack at it?" she answered, waving her hand toward him.

The man nodded, folding his hands together. "Okay. I'd like to hear about your parents then."

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, me too. Next."

The man cocked his head as he urged her, "Ms. Granger, you'll need to speak about it eventually. That's why we have these sessions."

"No," she intoned, "we have these sessions because Ron and Harry don't trust me anymore. And the hospital likes to have patients from the tabloids. Publicity hooks the customers."

"You believe St. Mungo's is milking this situation for the public attention?" he probed.

Sighing and shifting her weight in the chair, she replied, "I don't believe that it was their initial intent. But now that I'm here it only serves to highlight their recovery ward. And the board of healers knows that." She began fingering the edge of her beige sweater.

"Yes, I agree with you on that. However, do you honestly believe that anyone, either the hospital directors or society at large wanted to see one of the Phoenixes committed to the-"

"Don't call me that, Stark," Hermione interrupted. Her eyes had snapped up to lock with his gaze. "Just...don't call me that."

Dr. Stark was surprised to find her gaze laced with shame. He raised a brow. "Why not? You've been officially recognized as a Phoenix by the Ministry, the newspapers. Regardless of the events that occurred after the honoring ceremony, you are still considered a war-hero, Ms. Granger."

"I'm none of that," she said as she lowered her gaze to her fidgeting hands. "Ron and Harry are the true war-heroes. They deserved the Phoenix title. Remus, Tonks, Arthur, Ginny, Kingsley. They all deserved it. Hell," she laughed, lifting her head so that he could see her damp eyes, "even Malfoy deserved it more than me. The scared-shitless git. But apparently fear is still a good enough reason to turn someone."

"You don't feel you deserve the honor? Or the Order of Merlin you received alongside Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley?"

"There are a lot of things I don't deserve, Stark. And the public would finally understand that if Harry and Ron weren't so good at covering up. They know how to pull the wool over the cameras." She turned her head so that she could look around the room, taking in the glass coffee table on her left and the window just above it. She thought she could see the beginnings of rain against the windowpane.

Stark leaned toward her as he questioned, "And that makes it easier?"

"No," she sighed, turning once more to look at him. "It makes it harder."

"Why?"

"Because I know what it takes out of them to keep the cameras away from me. I know what it takes from them to...to see me like this." Her voice was almost to a whisper and Stark had to strain his ears slightly to pick up her words. Wiping at her noise quickly, Hermione went on. "They really are too good for me. Too good for anyone really. They've seen things and felt things I wouldn't wish on anyone. And still, look at them." She motioned to the air with her hands. "Some of the most compassionate, well-adjusted people you could ever find."

"And what does that make you?"

Hermione pursued her lips. "Unworthy."

"Of what? Their friendship?"

"Their...belief in me." She rubbed her arm unconsciously as she spoke. "They think I can actually get better. I can't even remember how long I've been here. The days merge together in such confusing memories I don't even know what's mine and what's..."

"The anadephamine?"

Hermione's eyes were dark upon the doctor's, piercing in an almost accusatory way. "Yes," she answered slowly.

"You're here so we can fix that, Ms. Granger." He hoped he'd said that comfortingly enough.

Shaking her head slightly, she glanced away. "There is no fixing me, Stark."

"Yes, there is." This time, he said it a little stronger, and it made Hermione look back at him. "You already know the magic behind the therapy, the daily potions, the physical aspect of extracting the anadephamine from your bloodstream."

"Yeah," she chuckled. "It's like feeling your veins turning inside out."

"I suppose it would feel odd."

"Try 'painful'," she said with narrowed eyes. "It consumes me. I can't focus on anything else," she breathed through tight lips.

Stark motioned toward her with his hand. "And that's where the therapy sessions come in. I'm here to re-center that focus you're looking for. I'm here to help you realign your memories, regain some control over your cognitive functions so that when you're released, you won't return to pain-relieving potions."

Her brows furrowed as she looked away again, as though that could relieve some of the shame she felt. "It's not...that easy, you know."

"It's not supposed to be," he answered simply.

"There are still some things...," she gripped her arms, shrinking herself in the chair, "...some things I don't want to revisit."

"Like your parents?" he offered.

At that mention her eyes steeled a bit and she sat up straighter against her chair. "Stop pushing it, Stark," she said lowly.

"Then how about Neville, huh? Why don't we talk about him?" Stark leaned back in his chair, refolding his hands.

Her nostrils flared momentarily. "I'm not there yet either."

"You'll have to be there someday."

"Not today, Stark," she said stiffly.

Dr. Stark sighed as he settled into the cushions of his chair. He sat there staring at her for a few moments until he spoke again. "Do you remember the last time Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley came to visit you?"

She sighed, exasperated. Scratching her neck momentarily, Hermione nonchalantly shrugged. "I don't know. A couple weeks, maybe."

The doctor looked at her for a moment before continuing. "And do you recall what you spoke about?"

Hermione jerked her head shortly in a shake. "Not really. They didn't stay long. I don't think they like being around me anymore."

"And why is that?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked up at him, tugging on the bottom of her sweater. "Haven't we been through this before?'

The man leaned back. "I'm curious as to what went on during this last visit. Indulge me."

She sighed, wiping a hand over her face. "They don't like me when...when I'm like this."

"Like what?"

"Like this," she said, raising her hands to motion at herself. "Jittery and...needy...and...," Hermione looked away, staring at the fake plant in the corner of the room, "...and slipping."

"Slipping?" The man cocked his head in question.

"God," Hermione breathed, "I can't even remember simple arithmancy equations anymore." She pressed a hand to her head, as though waiting for the information to seep through her skull and into her hand, so she could read it in her palm and know again. "Elementary potions ingredients, simple transfiguration spells, I mean...I can't even focus enough to apparate."

"You know the wards here prevent apparation."

"Yeah, I know that, Stark." Hermione dropped her hand, frustrated. "I mean, the energy, the magic. I can't focus anything in here."

Dr. Stark folded his arms loosely as he looked at her. "Then tell me what you do remember. What do you remember saying to Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione sighed and looked at him, irritated. "Ron said something about Ginny's engagement party."

"An engagement party? That's wonderful. When is it?"

"I think he said sometime in February."

"And they were inviting you?"

She snorted. "Yeah, as if you guys would let me off the leash for a holiday."

"You know what happened the last time we gave you a day pass, Ms. Granger." Dr. Stark leveled his eyes on her.

Hermione waved her hand. "Yeah, I get it. So what's their point in telling me then, right?"

"Well, you were happy to hear the news, weren't you?"

"Sure." Hermione shrugged.

"Do you remember what you felt when Mr. Weasley told you the news?"

"I guess I was happy."

"You mean you don't remember?"

Hermione sighed and started picking at her nails. "I said I guess I was happy. Can I go now?"

Dr. Stark glanced at the clock atop the glass coffee table to his right, then back to Hermione. "No. We have 17 more minutes."

"We could spend it in silence."

"I'd rather listen to you. So what were you thinking when Mr. Weasley informed you of Ms. Weasley's engagement?"

"What I'm always thinking," she answered lowly, her hand unconsciously moving to rub against her knee, feeling the unnaturally rough ridges of skin there. She closed her eyes.

"And what is that, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione flickered her eyes open. "How much I need some anadephamine."

"You mean 'want'."

"I mean 'need'," she almost snapped back, stopping the slow movements her hand was making across her knee.

Dr. Stark sighed and moved to uncross his legs. He rested his elbows atop his thighs and clasped his hands together. "So when did you feel the pain last?" he asked as he motioned to her leg.

"All the time," she whispered back.

"I mean the real pain."

Hermione scoffed. "You only think you know real pain. I feel it all the time. And it's in more than just these scars," she snapped, reaching down to touch the stretch of scars running from her lower thigh down to her calf, a mass of ridged lines and uneven skin that was sometimes red and sometimes purple in spots.

Dr. Stark stared at Hermione, glancing over her scarred leg and back to her defiant eyes. He sighed, and looked down a moment to the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ms. Granger," he began slowly, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley haven't been to see you in 5 months." He looked back up at her to see her narrow her eyes at him. "Ms. Weasley's engagement already passed."

Hermione glared at him at first, and opened her mouth to object, respond that she had just seen them when she stopped. She turned her head to look away from him, back at that stupid plant in the corner. She stared it down, moving her lips sometimes, but never opening her mouth to speak. She pulled her hand up from her knee and gripped tightly to her arm.

Dr. Stark could see her taking in deep breathes, her chest slowly rising heavily. When she looked back at him he could see dampness in the corners of her eyes and a soft, shaking smile.

"I wish sometimes God had given me cancer or something instead," she laughed softly, then wiped a hand roughly across her eyes.

Dr. Stark stared at her silently, watched her rub her forearms.

"It would have been nicer of her."

"Her?"

"God."

Dr. Stark smirked. "You refer to God as a 'she'?"

Hermione shrugged half-heartedly. "It makes it easier to blame her. I usually dislike women."

"And you blame God for what happened to you?"

"Well, firstly I blame Rodolphus Lestrange for the curse. And then I blame God for everything else." Hermione looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head. Dr. Stark could see the wetness growing in her eyes. She scoffed. "What am I saying?" Hermione looked back down at the floor, wiping a hand down her face. "I did everything else."

Dr. Stark unclasped his hands and leaned back in his chair. "What else?" he asked.

Hermione still stared at the floor, and her hands were twitching as they folded together. She sniffed, then looked back up at him. She was dry-eyed.

"I used to be smart, you know?"

Dr. Stark nodded, smiling softly. "I know."

Hermione pulled her unscarred knee up in the chair to rest against her chest. "The brains behind the operation. Except every other part of the operation came out fine."

Dr. Stark shook his head. "Not every part, unfortunately."

Hermione stared silently at him.

"Do you want to talk about your parents?"

"No."

"Okay. What about Neville?"

"Not really."

"Well, you have to pick one of them."

Hermione sniffed and looked away. "Can't we talk about Hogwarts? About when I used to be in school and never heard of Unforgivables?"

Dr. Stark leaned his head in her direction. "Even then you knew, didn't you?"

Hermione let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, even then." She looked back at him. "I always knew, even when Harry and Ron were blissfully sleeping tucked in their beds at night. Hogwarts was never really safe." Hermione clenched her teeth together. "We were so stupid."

"You were kids."

"We were arrogant, useless, blundering children who did nothing but trip over ourselves in some ridiculously valiant effort to save the world. There's nothing uglier than self-righteousness. And we were rife with it."

"The newspapers say otherwise."

"The newspapers didn't know shit," Hermione bit out. "Heroes. That's what they called us. Heroes." Hermione glared at him, shaking her head. "They didn't know shit."

"So what really happened?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, breathing in thickly as she considered a way out of this conversation. "I pick Neville."

Dr. Stark leaned back in his chair. "Okay. Tell me about Neville."

Hermione sighed, leaning back in the chair herself. She tapped her fingers anxiously against the armrest while she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

Dr. Stark raised his eyebrows in expectation, motioning for her to continue. She ground her teeth in return, but turned fully to him to begin her story, knowing now that there was no escape from regrets.

"He wasn't actually supposed to be in Squad 6 the night of the breach."

Dr. Stark furrowed his brows. "Really? I didn't hear about this before."

"You wouldn't have. They didn't put that in the papers."

"Why?"

She folded her arms over herself. "He was supposed to be out on assignment."

Dr. Stark cocked his head in question.

"Squad 3."

It took Dr. Stark a moment, as he eyed Hermione sitting there on the chair, before the recognition dawned on him. "You mean...the Lestrange place."

Hermione nodded mutely.

"So Neville was supposed to be on the reconnaissance mission to the Lestrange home?"

Hermione rubbed her cheek roughly. "Yeah. Squad 3 was supposed to be him, Remus, Kingsley and Fred. All their mission entailed was scouting. Observation. We'd had suspicions that Ginny was being held there when she disappeared two weeks earlier. You know, when the first safehouse was taken?"

Dr. Stark nodded, signaling her to continue.

She dropped her hand to finger the edge of her sweater again. "Well, needless to say she wasn't there. Anyway, that's all their mission was. Live reconnaissance. We didn't even trust in planting ward bugs. If they'd had a Switchtail's spell on the gates it would have gone off immediately."

"You delve into the mechanics so easily."

"This was my job, Stark. Keep everyone alive. This was stuff I had to think of on a daily basis." She shifted in her seat, placing her leg back down to the floor. "May I continue?"
He gestured toward her. "Please."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Well, I'm just trying to explain the simplicity of the mission. Live reconnaissance. No ward bugs, no trackers, no spellhitchers. No planted spells of any kind. We couldn't leave a trace. We had to observe before we could get the go ahead. But even with that Neville didn't want to go."

"Could you blame him?"

"No," she bit out harshly. "I don't blame him for it. I just wish he could see how stupid he was in hindsight."

"For not going?"

"Yeah. For not going. He said he couldn't face Lestrange yet. And me being the sensitive idiot I was said I'd find a replacement."

"You were the squad strategist. He went to the right person."

Hermione leaned forward suddenly, a finger raised. "Yes, but I should have told him to suck it up. Be a man. We weren't there to baby anyone. It was war. And I'd be damned if I let one person's feelings take reign over a battle outcome."

"But you didn't."

Hermione silenced, leaning back in her chair slowly. "No, I didn't."

Dr. Stark continued to watch Hermione as she slowly took in a breath. After a few moments of silence he motioned toward her again. "What did you do then?"

Hermione glanced at him. "I switched him out with Alicia."

"So Neville was at Grimmauld Place when the Deatheaters breached? When he shouldn't have even been there?"

Hermione gripped the arms of her chair tightly beneath her, her chin nodding silently of its own accord. She could feel the tightness in her throat growing.

Dr. Stark leaned forward, his eyes searching hers. "Where you killed him?"

She nodded.