The sounds haunt your dreams at night. The sounds of screams, of curses thrown into the haze of spellfire and dust from collapsing walls so thick that you can barely see. The smell sinks into your dreams as well, the smell of burning things, of blood and singed flesh. You'll never forget how it feels to trip over something that you thought was rubble, to glance down and realize it's the body - of a friend, a fellow student, a fellow soldier - their eyes wide open and murky with dust, clothes soaked in blood. Help me, they seem to say, Help me. But you know it's too late.
They're dead and you must keep moving, running through the once-familiar halls, dodging curses and flinging your own back. In your dreams, the maze of hallways has no end. In your dreams, the war rages on and on and on. It is only when you wake up that you are free, that you know for sure the Battle of Hogwarts is over. And even then - even then - being awake is no reprieve.
For weeks now, there have been funerals. Every day, a different person in the casket, a different family standing by, waiting for you to offer your condolences. And you must always offer your condolences, it is part of your duty. You are Hermione Granger. You are a part of The Golden Trio. So never mind that every night the dreams get worse. Never mind that Ron is as distant as ever, that he mourns constantly and seldom sleeps. Never mind that Harry's eyes sometimes go blank and that he lives in a fog of memories and self-medication. You must be strong. You are Hermione Granger, Hermione the Reasonable, Hermione the Logical, Hermione the Brave.
You know you will make it through this, that you all will make it through. You keep reminding yourself that this is nothing compared to the war, compared to Voldemort, compared to obliviating your parents and sleeping in that tent night after night and living on next to nothing and being tortured and beaten. This is nothing. You are Hermione Granger. And you know that eventually, all will be well.
