Title:Antithesis

Rating: K

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters, I own this particular storyline.

Warning(s): Annoying!Ron, Post-DH, EWE (Epilogue? What epilogue?), Lime

Author/Artist Note(s): Arrrrgh. This was supposed to be only 10 pages. It stands at 37 right now. I wish there could've been more room for some Dramione development but I was running out of time. Perhaps this is but a prelude to something more, hmm? I hope you enjoy this nonetheless, Soundthrustereo! Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!

Thank you Nicole, for being the best of betas when I kept sending you a longer and longer version of this!

CHAPTER 1

…a rhetorical contrast of ideas by means of parallel arrangements of words, clauses or sentences.

At any one given time, a person only activated ten percent of their cerebral cortex. This was not to say that they used only ten percent of their brain. In fact, it was the very opposite. Every sector of one's brain would be put to use sometime throughout one's life but only in fragments of ten percent each time.

Hadn't the muggle biologist Darwin once said that nature did not only evolve their physical attributes to survive, but also had a hand in behavioral aspects as well? Then what about the muggle psychologist who came after him, the one who had disregarded Darwin's beliefs as narrow if not absolutely false? Instead of letting nature take its course, Lamark had theorized that individuals changed themselves over time; they were the ones who chose the characteristics to survive, not nature. While he was thought of as a joke among his non-magical contemporaries, Hermione always wondered: didn't his ideas have some bearing on the world also?

She closed her eyes as another painful twinge shot up her spine before her mind was riddled with images she knew she should not be seeing but did see none the less.

Still recovering from her fight with Bellatrix and the various hexes she'd suffered during the final battle at Hogwarts, McGonagall coughed viciously into her hand, her thin frame shaking. As the head of the Order and also the Headmistress of Hogwarts, she had been burdened with various issues- the most important was the reconstruction of the Wizarding World in infrastructure and society. After the destruction of the Ministry, the only remaining figurehead in power with enough manpower to do something about it was the Order. They would only take control until the Ministry got back on its feet. At least until the Ministry got back on its feet. Percy was taking care of that at the current moment. Unfortunately, her health took a back seat to the needs of the greater good.

Reconstruction was underway as survivors hurried to fix whatever damage had been done during Voldemort's short reign. Assignments were quickly dealt out but they were to the young. Even if they were an eager bunch, many were sent to handle a task one capable wizard and/or witch could have handled…

Hadn't most of them hadn't died during the war. Those who did survive were currently being treated for some of the worst injuries known; this war was not only ingenious in its various creative new curses but also very gruesome. The giants and werewolves had not held back.

The Ministry of Magic, Hogsmeade, even Diagon Alley...all those areas suffered vast amounts of damage. Although none was worse off than Hogwarts. If the castle wasn't so magically inclined to survive, it probably would've collapsed with the amount of magical energy that was flying through the air when the major battle took place only a few weeks ago.

One by one, the helpers shuffled off to Apparate to their assigned stations. She knew most had dove into their tasks because they were trying to keep their minds off the loved ones they'd lost to the war. It was only by miracle it had been as short as it was. Otherwise, the war would've probably ended based on the fact that they wouldn't have had any more soldiers to fight it.

Brown eyes flickered to the tired face of her most beloved professor as the witch pinched the bridge of her nose before struggling with what she knew to be the last station. Only she, Boot, Smith, Luna, and surprisingly a few Slytherins were left in the small office.

She would've gone with Ron and Harry to help out with the reconstruction on the damage the Burrow suffered but McGonagall had requested her aid with the more difficult projects. She supposed she should've taken it as a compliment but it did not serve to lessen her worry about how the Weasley family was faring with their losses.

"Malfoy Manor?" The Transfigurations' professor- now Headmistress- said with a raspy voice. No doubt it was an effect of her age and the stress having been placed upon her shoulders so suddenly after the death of Dumbledore and then Snape.

At this, there was a tense silence. It was thick, suffocating, and impermeable. The same brown eyes flew across the room as the remaining students looked away; suddenly shuffling their feet as though they could not get away soon enough. Even the remaining Slytherins kept their mouths shut and their eyes averted as the McGonagall looked towards them with small hope.

"Alright then, I'll inform the Malfoys of the decision then." The headmistress said quietly with a disappointed air. Even she could not fault them for their unwillingness to provide help. After all, it was known the Malfoys switched so suddenly to save their own hides; there was nothing noble in that discourse.

By sheer will alone, she forced the image to stop. Around her, various knick-knacks fell to the floor in a cacophony of noise. With another painful grimace, this time due to a oncoming migraine, she carelessly waved her hand as the various artifacts righted themselves in their proper places, shattered knick-knacks repairing with ease before flying back to their original settees.

She was getting better at controlling the images, thank Merlin.

She rubbed her forehead gingerly as the pain slowly subsided.

It was ridiculous.

At least, that's what she had thought when she first started being plagued by these images. It was ridiculous so it certainly didn't require her to put much thought into it. There were many more important things to think about. Even if they had just exterminated the bane of their existence, it did not mean it was the last of their battles. The damage done to the Wizarding Community during his rule, even if it was only less than a year, would require years to bring it back the order that had prevailed during the less tumultuous times. Much of his policies needed to be rescinded and those that had been affected needed so much more than healing. There would be much to fix before anybody would ever experience a semblance of normalcy.

Besides, there were others who suffered far more than she did with her hallucinations. The Weasleys were a sure testament of that.

When she received her first image just a few days after the day Harry extinguished Voldemort, she had passed it off as a silly dream. Then, when her real life played out the exact same scene just a few hours later, she passed it off as simple déjà vu. That sort of stuff happened all the time.

Then there was the second time, the third time...when she had finally lost count, even her logic deemed she could no longer pass these incidents as mere coincidences. However, her mule-like approach to regarding certain facts she did not want to regard, refused to let go of the idea that they were only coincidences. There had to be something more.

It wasn't until she pushed Ron out of way from being crushed by a falling mortar during a partial renovation, that she finally believed that there just might be the slight possibility that...

Wide, frightened, bright-blue eyes stared at her with a mix of astonishment, appreciation and…that look in his eyes…

No. She shook her head vigorously. Stop it, Hermione! She scolded herself. She had to remember that she had been the one to walk out of Trelawney's class during her third year, that she had scoffed at Lavendar and Parvati for taking the class so seriously, that anything remotely 'divination'-like had received her equal, venomous scorn, that bloody hell- she could not possibly be having flashes of the future. Just because she suffered two hours under Bellatrix's wand did not mean her brain rewired itself in such a severe way that opened up chambers in her mind that had never been accessible before.

Instead of letting nature take its course, Lamark had theorized that individuals changed themselves over time; they were the ones who chose the characteristics to survive, not nature.

Why hadn't she gone crazy like Neville's parents had? Lord knows she had been on the verge of breaking every minute she suffered under the Cruciatus Curse but her mantra was much stronger than that: stay alive, keep Harry alive, and keep the Wizarding World alive. Had her brain rewired itself so that she could handle the feeling of her organs liquefying, her bones breaking, her skin burning as though flames licked viciously at it, without going mental? So that she could survive not as a vegetable but as a viable being in this shattered worked?

She rubbed the bridge of her forehead again. Despite all her misgivings and certainty that logic would prevail in the end, it still didn't explain the exponential rate at which her powers grew.

A semblance of normalcy. That was the only reason she still carried her wand even though there was no use for it anymore.

She had searched for answers in every book she laid her hands on. Never did she come so close to any solution for her problem until she read about basic twenty-first century psychology. It was then that she had some idea of what had happened to her.

Funny how a Muggle science seemed to explain her magical malady more so than anything the Wizarding World could offer.

Darwin and Lamark...did they realize how well their opposing arguments worked in conjunction with one another?

Before all of the strange prophetic images and the frightening new abilities, Hermione knew she should've been slightly suspicious of the fact that she'd recovered so quickly from Bellatrix's torture session. The woman only came in second after Voldemort in the mastery of that specific Unforgivable, she who had been the reason the Neville's parents had made St. Mungo's their permanent residence, she who was his second-in-command and had it not been for Molly, would have probably kept the war raging- how had she, Hermione Granger, survived a two-hour Cruciatus session with her?

At the time, she had been all too grateful that they were even able to get away from the Malfoy Manor; much less worry about whatever permanent damages the Cruciatus may have left her with. During it though, it felt like her very soul was being ripped from her body. Every cell in her body screamed for relief but obviously, none was forthcoming. The fact that she was even able to lie for Harry during it was a great feat in it of itself.

Not to mention she had touched the basilisk fang with her bare hands just so that they could destroy the Hufflepuff cup. Ron had insisted she do it and while she did not question him at the time, she now understood his unwillingness to do it himself had something to do with the fact that he had barely been able to destroy the necklace.

Even if annoyed, she didn't care. She wanted to get rid of the Dark Lord as much as he and Harry did, but unlike Ron, would not hesitate to act her part and then some. It was not a criticism but a mere observation she had come to terms with. In any case, for the tooth to be stewing in its own poison for so long, she knew it wouldn't be safe to handle unless they used magically reinforced gloves with super-long tongs and a protective barrier of some sort. Dramatic, yes, but careful she was.

However, war generally left its soldiers no time to worry about small, seemingly inane technicalities. Once inside that chamber, she'd taken one good look at the rotting snake before yanking out a fang and stabbing it right into the cup. There was a slight tingle in her palms and she had been sure it was the poison seeping into her skin...

But nothing. So she passed it off as simply being ridiculously lucky.

Now she knew it to begenuinely impossible. Nobody, not even someone who was made ofFelix Felicis potion themselves, could have had the luck she did. But these thoughts – rational thoughts – were not something she allowed herself to be plagued with. In those times, it was just too time-consuming to overanalyze every little bit of their situation and time was something they did not have. She would have time to do so later and if later never came...well, what was the point of worrying in general?

So of course, when her body didn't feel any different except for the occasional soreness, she had attributed it to her body's strong will to survive the war.

She needed to survive. For Harry. For Ron. For her parents. For the DA. Everyone. As long as she made sure Voldemort was dead, she, herself, could die knowing all would also be well even if it would be long in coming.

Only ten percent of one's brain at a time. Such a waste.

Hermione was not a wasteful girl by far.

To be continued...