Disclaimer: I obviously am NOT JK Rowling, and therefor own absolutely nothing of her fantastic world and characters. Just playing with them for a bit.

Author's Note: Here we go again. New story, new hopes. Settle yourself in for a long one, this thing is already over 100 pages long and it just keep stretching itself. Please enjoy and am always happy to read feedback.

Edit 1: After a guest review, I feel the need to point out that this is NOT a Ron/Hermione story. I do not believe I overly demonize Ron, but for the context of my story he isn't really present and more of a past catalyst for my protagonist's current situation.

Chapter 1

The halls of St-Mungo's were meant to have have been my refuge at night. It should have been an easy job to escape from my everyday trouble, it turned out to be anything but.

It had all started...well honestly, it might have started the day I was born. Raised by two orthodontists, the white sterile halls of hospitals had been my playground as a toddler. Neither parent had been willing to put their career aside for their child.

Most of the nurses had rejoiced at having a child who wasn't a patient running around, giggling and demanding to play hide and seek. Yes, I supposed it made sense that I would end up here after everything that had happened.

"Mrs Weasley?" a voice called from behind, interrupting my echoing thoughts and footsteps.

I turned around to see a man in healer's robes whom I did not recognize.

My reply was automatic, stern, "It's Miss Granger, if you please."

The man's left eyebrow rose slightly, but he did not pry. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had, my love life had been under public scrutiny since I was 15 years old, now more than ever. Or would be… I needed to remember to avoid the papers tomorrow.

We had kept it secret as long as we could have. The miscarriages, the fights, Ron's affairs...but we both knew it was only a matter of time before Rita or someone cut of the same cloth would sniff it all out. At least I had managed to move out, if not move on, before then.

I sighed.

"Oh, no worries Mrs...Miss, I'm not here to get your autograph or anything like that," the healer continued.

I took a better look at him in the dim light of the corridor. He seemed much younger than I, a trainee in fact according to the badge proudly displayed on his chest. He was a short man with hair as blonde as Draco's.

"My name is James Tuckett, and well... you see, the West Wing is off limits to volunteer staff. I'm terribly sorry M...iss…"

I blinked a few times, then turned to look at the corridor down which I had been wandering, "Right, of course. I knew that, must have gotten lost in thoughts."

"No problem at all, please," he said, and waited.

As if there was a problem, as if my presence irked him.

I noticed his fidgeting, fingers endlessly picking at each other's nails, his tongue sticking out to lick his lips over and over, but his smile didn't fade.

"I'm sorry, but what exactly is beyond those doors?"

I should not have asked; in fact, I knew better than to ask. Soon as the question left my lips I regretted it, bloody know-it-all.

The man, or boy, gosh when had I become so old...the healer did not reply. Maybe he did not trust himself to find an adequate way to tell me to bugger off.

"Well, goodnight then," I said after a long, awkward pause.

He bid me the same and watched me leave, standing there, turning slowly on himself as his gaze followed my form. I did not need to be a witch to feel his eyes linger, all the way down until I turned right and was out of sight.

Shaking the tingling feeling in my spine, I checked my watch and I realized it was nearly two in the morning, time to visit the Longbottoms. Not that they expected me. Not that they would ever noticed...

Was I punishing myself? Maybe. That was Ron's favourite thing to say, about everything really.

"This is just you punishing yourself for failing so horribly at SPEW!" he'd told me when I took up magical law in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He'd been drinking, which was nothing new really. His favourite team had won and I had just come back with a confirmation of acceptance...I'd been so happy.

I guess I'd wanted him to replace my parents, to be as proud as they had always been. Silly really… they were gone, living happier lives away from all this. It wasn't Ron's fault I couldn't deal with my own success, that I needed other's approval to be happy and to fill a void that, honestly, no one could ever fill but me.

My psychiatrist had told me that.

It was after the first miscarriage, a regular happenstance in the magical world I was told, that I decided to go see a Muggle shrink. The magical world did not believe in mental health issues, they thought everything could be fixed by the waving of a wand. You had bad dreams, obliviate my dear!

But I did not want to forget.

As I walked down the empty corridors toward the Longbottom's ward, I heard the moans and groans of our inhabitants. This section had doubled in size during the war, and then even more after it.

I guess that was one advantage of being a Muggle war hero in a wizarding world with my own psychological struggles. One of my pet projects since nearly a decade: I had managed to convince the hospital's board of directors to consider mental health problems as a real thing, and they began taking PTSD patients more seriously.

George had come here for a while. To relax, center himself, and most of all to talk to others who had suffered losses during the Second Wizarding. Some people called it Voldemort's War, but I always thought it gave the noseless pretentious bastard too much power.

I passed through a double door over which stood proudly Granger and Snape's Ward for Brave Wizards and Witches. That did feel good, every time I saw it. Not because it was my name, but that it was the name of my family, my parents, and specially my grandfather who had suffered his entire life after the Second World War with no one taking his troubles or nightmares seriously.

After I'd received the Order of Merlin First Class, and accepted Severus Snape's awards in his name (no one else had wanted to), I had put the money here.

Frank and Alice were both sleeping when I silently entered the ward. So was Lockhart, whom I tried never to have any direct contact with. Avoiding mistakes of the past...or so my shrink claimed.

Neither of Neville's parents were truly my responsibility, but I came a few times a night anyway. Always every two hours after my shift began, at 20h00 sharp. I had started doing this two weeks ago, after meeting up with Neville for the second time and hearing him ask for a status update on his parents.

I don't think he'd meant to ask, and he always apologized afterwards for pushing, but he couldn't help it. What with his job at Hogwarts, he hardly had any time to see his parents other than Christmas and summer holidays. Now whenever I met him I could tell him that they were fine, as fine as could be. And more…

Some of the staff had a hard time believing that Frank and Alice had been formidable Aurors in their time, but likely they did not know half the story. Still, I had to wonder if they were blind. None of the patients in this ward had a wand as it was either taken away or never found, and certainly no new one would ever be given another. Yet the Longbottoms always managed to override the spells on their beds. Every single night they charmed the damned things together, so that they could sleep side by side.

The witches and wizards of St-Mungo's staff were not by any mean stupid or weak, they had tried one measure after the other, but at some point must have given up. Or maybe they just did not care any more. However they managed, the married pair always went to sleep together, but at dawn their beds would again levitate where they should be, about one and a half meters apart.

Lockhart suddenly screamed out in his sleep, something about a lionness, making me jump out of my slippers and rush out of the ward. Great hero Hermione Weasl….Granger!, scared to death by a cowardly obliviated man. Oh, to see Skeeter's article.

I spent the rest of my shift moving from ward to ward, pacing the corridors and quietly greeting the nurses or patients which were awake at this ungodly hour. A tea every couple of hours kept me going through the worst bouts of exhaustion, but after nearly four weeks of being here I was getting used to the midnight shift.

Once the sun began to rise, around six at this time of the year, the hospital slowly awoke from its slumber. Full fledged Healers began pouring in through the front gates and the floor room, nurses quickly following after them and handing out reports of tasks for the day and anything which might have happened while they were gone.

"Mrs Weasley, how was the night?" a tall woman asked as she approached me, her nurse robes flowing elegantly after her. Her name was Madam Claire Devenier, she was a French-born witch who had moved to England decades ago.

"It's Miss Granger actually. Again…"

The older witch simply blinked at me, apparently uninterested by my marital status. "I still need your report."

"Quiet, as usual. Though there was…" I thought of the West Wing, wanted to ask about Healer Tuckett, but thought better of it. Last thing I wanted was to have people think I was snooping. "A shortage of coffee," I said after a pause.

Madam Devenier frowned, "I thought you drank tea?"

"As well, yes," just then a yawn overtook me and I quickly covered my mouth.

"Hmm, I'll check with the cantine, make sure they leave an extra pot tonight," she made a scribble in her notebook and then told me to hurry home for some well deserved rest.

Home. I wish I could, but that's not where I was headed. Or was it?

It was hard to think of the dusty, mould-smelling single room flat in Knockturn Alley as anything but a temporary shelter. And I wasn't working very hard to turn it into anything but. At least the rent of was low, which currently was a blessing considering as I was technically out of a job. The Ministry still paid me a percentage of my salary, for sick leave, but I doubted it would last very long.

There were not official laws or contracts on these things in the Magical World. If a company or individual who hired you liked you enough, you'd be compensated for sick or maternity leave. But they weren't in any way obliged to do so. Most did to keep up a good reputation and show off their wealth, like the Ministry.

"Well, look who it is. Seen the papers yet, girl?" came the voice of my neighbour, Mrs Stehtly, an old witch who looked like she could have been alive when Ollivander was founded. She was sitting on a rickety wooden chair in the dark alleyway where I now lived.

I sighed, "No, and not planning to have a look."

"Coward! Some Gryffindor you make. Here, have mine," she tossed the paper in the air with more force than I would have expected from her frail arms.

I fumbled, the pages spread out and flew to the ground in various crumpled heaps. Mrs Stehtly laughed for a good five minutes as I picked up the paper from the filthy ground. Then I saw it, the front page of the Prophet, and felt...relief. This was not as bad as expected!

There was Ron's face, smiling and looking into the camera with an air of confidence and pride which had made me fall for him all those years ago. Next to him was a red haired witch, someone I knew only as the other woman, your affair, and other less savoury adjectives I might have spewed over the years. I wasn't really sure it was the same woman, he probably have gone through two dozen.

The headline read: Wizarding Hero and millionaire co-owner of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes finds true love, finally! Exclusive article by Rita Skeeter.

I wasn't mentioned until page 3.

"Hermione Weasley, now Granger, the bushy haired golden trio member who was, obviously, unworthy of the great Ron Weasley, is now living in exile somewhere undisclosed. Having left her prominent position at the Ministry, one colleague was heard stating that the poor woman never had gotten over the emotional tolls of the war. And further that her husband would have been better off with someone less hellbent on her career, and more focused on her family. Who knows, the losses might have been avoided then?"

The losses. Blaming my career for the death of my unborn babies. I dropped the sad excuse of a newspaper to the ground again.

"I knew you'd like it! Quite the pair they make, no?"

"Bugger off," was all I said before stepping into our decrepit building. Behind me the old woman exploded into another fit of giggles.

My breakfast, or was it dinner, consisted of a beer and a bag of crisps. I had little energy to conjure anything else and the Wizarding World wasn't big on ready made meals. Normally I used to pop over to Muggle London to stock up on canned goods and microwavable meals, but graveyard shifts made shopping a real hassle. I ate in the kitchen, on a table big enough for two, in a room big enough for one.

The bathroom was nothing but a toilet and sink, and the only other room fit only my bed. The whole thing was a mess. Clothes spread on the ground, dust, dirt, empty bottles littered what little of the floor there was, but I stepped over them without really seeing any of it.

One day I'd clean up, I told myself. One day you'll muster the energy to wave your wand around, when you feel better, and desire to make the world around you better. But not today.

I fell asleep completely dressed.

When I woke up, the sun was setting. I rarely stepped outside during daylight hours anymore and my skin was showing it.

During these first few minutes after opening my eyes, I felt renewed energy. I told myself I would come home and clean after work tonight, that over the weekend I would visit my friends, go out in the park, go shopping, but that energy did not last very long.

Only Neville managed to drag me out of my routine every other Sunday. His letters cheered me up, and he never pried, never judged. We'd gotten closer after the problems with Ron had begun. It's not as if I could have talked to Ginny or Harry about my husband and our issues.

Luna was off traveling the world in the search of nonexistent creatures, Draco was out of the question and my colleagues at the ministry, well, I never had bothered cultivating many friends there. Work had been my number one priority.

But Neville had been there. Not that I opened up about everything to him, but his support and unflinching cheeriness had been very welcomed.

I was thankful for the cover of nightfall as I left my flat, my Batcave as I'd begun to think of it; as a matter of fact I'd found two bats when I'd first moved in. In the darkness people were less likely to recognize me, less likely to ask questions.

"And she blesses the night once more with her presence. Hermione, you should really pick up your litter," Mrs Stehtly piped up, looking as if she had not moved from her chair for the whole day. I hated the way she said my name, between her crooked teeth it lost two syllables and became nothing more than a hermnie.

I looked down, the paper was indeed still there, beaten to a pulp by today's rain and hundreds of footsteps. Angrily I flicked my hand at it and the image of Ron and his beautiful redhaired woman disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Good night, Mrs Stehtly," I replied and moved on.

My tiny flat did not have a fireplace, and therefore no floo network, which had been quite an annoyance at first until I realized that honestly I didn't want to go anywhere at all.

To get to St-Mungo's I had to use one of the public floo centers nearby, deeper down the narrow alley and into the heart of the shadiest place in Wizarding London. At least no one talked to each other here.

I entered a grimy shop without a name and a young man in black robes looked up from his book. He sat at a lonesome counter, the shelves behind him empty, the only other objects in the room were two fireplaces where a few embers glowed warmly in the gloom.

"One trip to St-Mungo's," I said and placed a few knuts on the counter. A puff of dust flew in the air.

The man scraped the coins with one hand and I heard them tumble down into what might have been a jar hidden behind the counter. A tiny bag of floo powder was then dropped unceremoniously in their stead.

He said nothing. He never did. I always hesitated to ask his name, or whether he had gone to Hogwarts, as he looked as if he could have been only a few years below me. But I never mustered the courage or energy. I looked up at him; his attention was already diverted to his book again. He was always reading. Perhaps that's why I was interested; he was also quite handsome.

I shook my head, the last thing I needed now was some sort of fling. Taking the pouch and opening it, I walked to one of the fireplaces and chucked in its content until the flames roared green. I threw myself in, hesitating just a fraction of a second longer than was prudent before speaking, wondering where the maze of the network could take me, wondering if I could simply disappear.

"St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," I said finally, and walked out in a cheery white room lit with no less than six fireplaces.

No one was here to greet me. A few late visitors entered the room, looked at me and nodded without really seeing me, before leaving through the floo. I started my rounds after registering myself at the entrance desk. Even at this hour, where Healers and nurses were still running around, there wasn't much for me to do.

I wondered if they had accepted my volunteering more as a favour to me than to themselves. Theoretically I was supposed to report any incident, with the patients or otherwise, to my supervisor Madam Devenier, but I had yet to be able to report anything. Whenever an emergency had happened, magical alarms and bells had gone off to call the appropriate person in charge, and I was left standing in the way, watching.

Still, this felt useful enough. And calming.

At around midnight my footsteps carried me to the small cafeteria where only staff were allowed. There wasn't much in there except tea and biscuits, and a bit of conversation between rounds. It was empty as I entered though, for which I wasn't sure to be relieved or not. Three weeks ago when I had started volunteering here I had enjoyed the solitude, now it was becoming monotonous.

I moved silently between the white round tables dotting the large room, making my way to the canteen counter where two large water heaters had been set up by the kitchen crew before leaving for the day. I grabbed one of the white cups and a bag of Earl Gray. Having been burnt more than once by the blasted dispensers, I waved my hand and let magic do the rest.

"You know most of us would kill to be able to do that right?"

Startled, I fumbled the cup and it shattered on the ground, splashing boiling water over my uncovered ankles. I hissed and jumped away, too late as it were. From behind me I heard a slew of apologies, peppered with choice curse words, topped with more apologies.

Somewhat flustered and a bit more than annoyed, I spun around to find Hannah Longbottom staring at me wide eyed with her arms out as if to catch me. Before I could tell her to stop, she was on her knees and waving her wand around and over the burns.

"Gosh, Hermione I am so sorry, I think Neville is rubbing off on me, you know...didn't use to be such a klutz."

"I'm fine, really, just- " but there was no stopping her She muttered one diagnostic after the other, a cooling charm strong enough to make the hot summer evening feel like winter, and another pass of spells I barely knew.

"There, as good as new. Now for the mess," she mumbled and evanescoed the broken shards and spill from the otherwise pristine white floor, "And a fresh cup for you."

"Hannah…" was all I could muster before a new cup was pushed in the palm of my hands, and a biscuit in my mouth.

The blonde hufflepuff took a step back, hands on her hips, as if to examine her handywork. She nodded to herself once and, satisfied, turned to make herself a cuppa as well.

We moved to a table with a view over the inner grounds, the dark windows mostly showing our own reflection. Once seated, and Hannah having gone through three more apologies, I finally got a real word in the conversation.

"Not to sound rude, but what are you doing here Hannah? Shouldn't this be high time at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"I'm sure it is, but I quit."

I choked on my tea. "Quit?! When?"

"Just about two weeks ago."

I looked at her, waiting for more, but she sipped her tea slowly and smiled.

"Why did you quit?"

"Oh yes, right. Well you see, it might sound quite silly to someone like you, but...I wanted to move in closer to Neville."

I felt myself raising an eyebrow at her. "Now why would I think that? It would be great for you two to see each other more often, though you still haven't explained what being at St-Mungo's in the middle of the night has anything to do with being closer to Neville."

She blushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that, well, it's not like you're known for being the romantic type. Could hardly imagine the great Hermione Weasley changing career and world to be with her one true love!" she snorted as she giggled, "But well, you see I've got accepted in a Healer's training course. It requires to have a certain number of hours spent either in home care or hospital work. As you can imagine, I've quite a bit to catch up on."

I opened my mouth to correct her on my last name, but closed it again. Honestly I was beginning to tire of the conversation. Between insinuation that I was as developed romantically as a threshal and having to silently admit to myself that I would never, in fact, make such drastic change for someone...Well, I was beginning to regret having wished for company at all.

Still, my curiosity got the better of me, "Hannah, that's really great and all, but I still have to ask, what does any of that have to do with Neville?"

She put down her cup, now almost empty while mine still steamed in my hands, "Madam Pomfrey is retiring next year. So I thought, well we discussed...it's a longshot really…"

My eyes grew round in understanding and I made an oohhh sound, honestly now that she said it, I should have made the connection, "I'm sure you have as good a chance as anyone to be hired, Hannah. And my ankles can definitely testify to your healing skills."

She apologized again for the tea incident and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes, though it did make me smile. We spent half an hour discussing her decision and new direction in life. It was odd to think of Hannah as being anything but a cheery, happy landlady with a proud smile whenever someone commented on her butterbeer or establishment. But seeing the passion in her eye as she spoke of healing and the possibility of being at Hogwarts in the same role as Madam Pomfrey, I knew she would definitely succeed.

When asked how long she would be at St-Mungo's, she grinned, "A long time. Most nights a week, and I might have to squeeze in a few weekends as well. Neville won't like it, but he understands. I'm not sure how I'll hold up though, between learning during the day and this at night...don't be surprised if you see me passed out in here a few times."

I chuckled. "Yes well, you can count on me to not wake you up."

"Thanks, Hermione. Sorry I got so caught up, I haven't even bothered to ask about you. How long are you going to be here? I'd heard from Neville that you'd started, and had kept an eye on his parents for him. That's terribly kind of you by the way."

"Well I guess I won't need to anymore, since you're here. But it was the least I could do. As for how long, let's see...I don't...I don't have any plans right now."

That felt strange to say. It must have sounded strange to Hannah as well because she barely hid a look of utter astonishment.

"I thought you might also be learning healing or so, you'd be bloody great at it?"

I shook my head, "Nothing like that, no. Just, keeping myself busy."

Oh gosh, it sounded positively depressing when saying it out loud.

"I get it, you know."

Did she? I smirked, and tolerated the touch of her hand covering mine over the table with barely hidden distaste. Hannah and I had never been close; I had always found her to be rather silly. Comfortable to be around in short amount of time, but no one to open up my heart to or have intellectual discussions with. I was too hard a judge on people, or so I was told.

"Yeah, I know you don't believe me. Still, you're doing fine Hermione. Doing what feels right, for you, right now. That's not a weakness or a failure, it's completely alright not to have a plan. Take your time. Merlin knows you never had enough of it as a child."

I stared at her, speechless My instinct told me to argue with her, be the devil's advocate, because wasn't I being simply lazy? Leaving my work, my life, my husband, basically running away from real life...to this, this sunless bunker where only the sleeping kept me company?

Hannah did not wait for me to formulate some form of reply. She took away both our cups and washed them with a quick flick of her wand, the remnants of her time as landlady I supposed. She even took a moment to reorder the teabags, wipe away the crumbs around the biscuit bowl and check on the water heaters. With both hands on her hips, she then took a step back and nodded to herself with a satisfied smile.

"Well, goodnight then Hermione, it was really nice seeing you again. I hope we'll run into each other a few more times while we're both here in the dead of night!"

I looked up and nodded with a smile, but before she was out of sight I called after her, "Wait, Hannah, what did you mean earlier? Before I dropped the cup, you said something about being able to do that. Do what?"

She grinned, "Wandless, non-verbal magic, of course! You do it without breaking a sweat! It's an incredibly rare gift, didn't anyone tell you?"

"Oh that," I waved my hand in the air dismissively.

"Honestly, Hermione," she shook her head, "But now I'm afraid I have to run. I've been asked to accompany Healer Tuckett to the West Wing, quite exciting really."

The corridor I had been turned away from. I was not used to being blocked from seeing or knowing something. As a child we'd broken into the ministry of mysteries, entered all the sections of the castles which were marked as off limits, entered the Forbidden Forest...horrible brats really. The idea that there was an entire ward which should not be visited kindled something deep inside of me, a desire to know, to explore. A thirst for adventure.

"What's in the West Wing?" I asked, same question, different person, still I wanted to bite my tongue for being so damned curious.

"No one knows!" Hannah replied in a spooky, ghost story voice as she left the cafeteria.