TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY WILL FEATURE AN IN-DEPTH EXAMINATION OF PTSD AND RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES POST-WAR. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO CONTENT FEATURING DESCRIPTIVE SCENES OF NIGHT TERRORS, FLASHBACKS, PANIC ATTACKS, OR ANY SUCH RELATED MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC.


Hermione sighed tiredly, as she stared out the window seat of her train car, the Hogwarts Express taking her to her 8th and final year at Hogwarts. Her book on 7th year charms had long since been cast to the side, the grey backed title lying against the soft red fabric of the compartment's seat and the cream colors of the compartment wall. A few chocolate frog wrappers lay next to it, unspeakably embarrassing images of an awkwardly smiling Hermione, Ron and Harry on the inside. The train ride so far had been mostly enjoyable, though longer than she remembered. Perhaps it was because this year no one much wanted to talk, and the quiet on the train was unsettling. There was still a loud chatter, especially among the section of the train where the Hufflepuffs usually gathered, but the overall noise level was quieted, as many of the occupants wondered what kind of school year to expect following the fall of Voldemort.

She had read her charms book—the very same she had cast aside so early on in the evening—the summer before last after Voldemort had returned. Even as a 16 year old, she had known to prepare for the upcoming fight and living on the run as best she could. Yet now with the war finally over and the students free to choose to return or make a life for themselves outside of the school, Harry and Ron had decided to skip the school year. Hermione, naturally, had chosen to return with a few others in her year. She felt the absence of Ron and Harry terribly. She had yet to see how large or few the number of returning students would be, as well, since everything seemed so uncertain even now. Nobody really seemed to know if anyone's choice in returning reflected a stubborn sense of freedom, or whether it was just borne out of uncertainty following the crazed murder spree of a madman.

Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the window pane, studying the way the fog from her hot breath grew and dissipated with each inhale and exhale. Night had long since fallen, and they were nearing Hogwarts with every rush of illuminated stones and grass that flew past her peripheral vision.

"Hermione? Are you listening?"

Jerking her eyes open, Hermione separated herself from the window and straightened herself against the all too familiar red cushions of the train compartment. Turning to her right, she met the concerned eyes of her friends with a crooked, small smile. "I'm sorry, I was distracted. What were you lot discussing?"

"We were sharing ideas about who we think is returning this year," Ginny started, eyes narrowed, as she looked around at Luna and Neville, as if to gauge whether they noticed Hermione's odd behavior as well. She had known Hermione long enough to know not to trust the halfhearted attempt at a smile that Hermione had given them in response. "I don't think Susan Bones is returning this year, because of what happened to her family."

"I doubt Hannah Abbot is returning, either." Neville added quietly, nodding his agreement with Ginny. "Those two are always a pair, and if Susan isn't coming back, Hannah won't either. They stick together like glue." Neville cast his eyes downward, looking at his feet, "They included me enough times in Herbology, I know how protectively they feel toward one another. I still remember how upset Hannah was after Susan received notice of her cousin's deaths in Herbology. I don't think they would want to be separated, especially now."

"You're probably right," Hermione smiled sadly, although her mind was elsewhere. 'Good,' Hermione thought, feeling guilty since the topic of conversation was so somber. 'They're talking about Hufflepuffs. Hufflepuffs are safe topics of conversation.' She closed her eyes, but only for a moment before forcing herself to return to the conversation.

"Seamus Finnigan may be returning, but I'm not completely sure," Hermione offered. "I saw him briefly in Diagon Alley over the summer, but he said he had been undecided. He was holding on to the letter to respond at last minute so he could decide. I do think, though, that he will come." Hermione, for what it was worth, gave a slight chuckle, "He feels a little too responsible for the destruction of the bridge, and it's not completely repaired from the damages from last year."

The four occupants of the train car did not miss the meaning of what "last year" meant, though all for expertly managed to avoid discussing it. Hermione was thankful for the camaraderie in that, at least.

"How about you, Luna?" Ginny offered kindly, turning to her in an attempt to include their quiet, strange companion. "What do you think of returning this year?"

Luna thought for a moment, reaching up unconsciously to tug at the corners of her spectacles. She had sat quietly for much of the train ride, in perfectly companionable silence. Although she had changed the color of her glasses with her wand at least three times in the last ten minutes, as if restlessly, she offered no input into the conversations they were having as she did so. Luna finally had smiled after settling on a multicolor pink, green, and blue version of the finger-shaped glasses, but made no comment about it. It had drawn everyone's attention for a moment, but they had given her her peace to herself as they so often had before and made no mention of it.

"I think it should be fine." She said simply, taking a little longer than necessary to elaborate. A flash of light from one of the lanterns outside the train tracks dashed across her face with the speed of the moving train, illuminating a bright spark in her already luminescent eyes. It seemed she was happy to be included after all. "Though I am a little worried about Draco Malfoy returning this year. He seems lost, and I fear will be forced to do terrible things this year. He is suffering."

Luna's concern about Draco Malfoy shocked her friends, to be sure, but then again they never quite knew what to expect from her. Hermione had seen him, on the platform, standing stoically alone after having arrived at the very last possible moment to board the train before it left. No one had come to see him off, and he seemed absolutely resolute in his determination to avoid conversation, stares, and the whispers being made about his presence as he boarded the train. He only had a single, small trunk with him this year, likely with the barest essentials he could bring. It was uncharacteristic of him, to be sure, as Hermione always remembered him boarding the train year after year whilst waving goodbye to his doting mother and prideful father. His trolley had always been heaping over with boxes and a huge trunk to full of things to occupy him for the school year, too, a signature sign of his family's wealth and privilege. Though Hermione had not given the scene another thought, having afterward been occupied by her friends arrival in the compartment, until Luna had brought him up. "What makes you think that?" Ginny blinked uncertainly, as her body stiffened in response to the mention of him. She fidgeted with her long, red hair as she twisted it around in her left hand, a nervous habit she had had since second year.

Turning her eyes to Ginny, Luna ran her gaze over her ever so slightly, as if she were watching a fly dart across the room, before smiling to herself serenely and answering, "I would be sad, too."

'For what it is worth,' Hermione thought to herself, 'We are all sad.' It was exactly as she had feared, when she considered returning to school this year. Draco Malfoy, she anticipated, would be her biggest problem, she was sure, even if she didn't want to think about him. Everyone knew he would be returning, his Wizengamot sentence posted in every major journal for the world to see. The Daily Prophet had even mentioned it in an exposé written by Rita Skeeter, which contained a complete, invasive account of his family history. It was, of course, filled with all sorts of scandals, as with the fall of Voldemort so too came the fall of the great Malfoy legacy. Many had lined up to share horror stories about the Malfoy family, and Rita Skeeter's infamous quill, no doubt, had been quivering in excitement with all of the horrible tales they now had the opportunity to report. Hermione's lip curled in disgust. Although she was never a fan of Draco, even she had to sympathize with him on account of basic human decency. Rita Skeeter was a dreadful woman, and she didn't doubt that half of the awful things that had been written about his family were actually false, given their own experience with her. Hermione, having cancelled her subscription to the prophet years ago after their utter betrayal of all things decent and good, had read the article on a community copy of that particular edition in the Three Broomsticks. At the time, she had been staying there in disguise for a week or so in the rooms upstairs. After the battle of Hogwarts, and all of the losses they had suffered, even Hermione Granger had to take a few moments to collect herself. With her parents lost to her forever due to an inability to regain their memories, and with the Weasley family reeling so terribly with the fresh loss of their son, she and Harry were suddenly found without a family or a situation. They couldn't bring themselves to stay at the Burrow, where the family so desperately needed to be alone with one another to heal. It was strange, Hermione had thought with dark amusement, that despite the adoration and whispers of their names across the entire wizarding world, that the golden trio could feel so alone, after it all. Remembering where she was, Hermione allowed a small, bitter smile to etch across her face, but only for a moment. She only ever had a moment. Months after the fall of Voldemort, months after the endless fame and fortune, and months after the end of all of the torture and the trauma, Hermione still felt as if she only ever had a single moment she could allow to slip through the cracks. It was an aftereffect of her PTSD, the St. Mungo's nursing staff had told her, but their encouragement hadn't helped ebb the constant feeling of looking over her shoulder, and the screams she woke up to every night since that fateful day.

Coming out of her reverie, Hermione could hear the others now discussing the article about Draco's family. Great minds think alike, it seems. 'How will Draco behave this year?' Hermione asked herself with some trepidation, her fingers curling into her palm despite herself. How could he bring himself to behave, after the death of his mother and the imprisonment of his father? His father, even Hermione felt, was to be pitied. Following the final fall of Voldemort, everyone knew it did not look good for Lucius Malfoy. He had already been granted leniency after the first fall, and following a swift trial this second time around he was sentenced to 4 months in Azkaban before finally meeting the dementor's kiss. The Wizengamot had doled out a truly severe punishment for him, she knew. Even directly being met with a kiss would have been kinder, though Hermione shuddered to think of it. It was a sentence designed to launch the prisoner into madness, into complete and utter loss of hope before finally being granted a painful, merciless death.

Even as her friends before her discussed it, Hermione saw Ginny's eyes flash and her jaw set. Her anger toward it all, as Hermione had so often seen in the previous months, had not yet waned. Her hatred toward Death Eater's families had only grown since the fall, out of the need to blame them for her brother's loss. Her grief was overtaking her mercy, Hermione knew, so Hermione could forgive Ginny's prejudice. It was only temporary, after all, and in the coming months Hermione knew Ginny would again begin coming back into her old self. Though the horrible, jarring, painful sense of permanent loss that had overtaken most of the country had left so many affected that she didn't know any more how to fix things than anyone else did. And because Hermione only knew her own major losses through these same connections of friends, she didn't feel that she had the right to lecture anyone. Although she had endured a permanent loss of her own in regard to her parents, she could at least go on living knowing that despite it all, her parents were alive and happy.

Tears welled up in her eyes, before she furiously blinked them away, hiding it from the others as she turned her face back toward the window. She resisted the urge to clear her throat, knowing it would give her tears away, as she tried to focus on the problem at hand.

Ah yes, Draco Malfoy. The wild card. Would he still be cruel to her, as he had been all of these years? She didn't relish the memories of her school years where his involvement was concerned. Constant harassment, constant hatred, and constant emotional abuse tainted her happy memories of such a beautiful time in her life directly because of his involvement. Although aside from all of the Voldemort problems, aside from all of the struggles she helped Harry and Ron through, and aside from the constant trials of her blood status, Hogwarts was such a beautiful, magical memory for her.

Deeply, Hermione breathed through her nose as the beginnings of a brilliant smile lit her face. The train's whistle chose to blow at that very moment, signaling their imminent arrival to the Hogwarts' station.

Hermione Granger was home.


"What are you doing?!" Ginny shrieked, a laugh playing on her lips as she staggered a few steps from her small leap off the train onto the platform. Her red hair flew all around her shoulders as she spun and laughed, turning backwards to mock her curly haired friend. "How many years have you done this now, and all of a sudden you're having such difficulty...?"

"Oh, hush," Hermione snapped, irritated but amused at her friend, as she clung onto the railing for dear life and stretched a single leg down, backwards, to place her weight onto the platform. In front of her, a line of amused students waiting to disembark the train had formed, though their heckling and humor was all in earnest jest.

"Can take down the Dark Lord but can't make a three foot jump, Granger?" A thick Irish accent howled with laughter, and Hermione's mouth quirked up at the side in amusement. It seemed that Seamus had decided to make the return after all.

"Care to repeat that to my face, Finnegan?" Hermione snorted, as both of her feet had now touched the platform and she turned around to face her companions. "We've seen the evidence of your proclivity for explosives, but if you keep challenging me I'd be happy to show you mine."

"She's in platformed boots," Neville sympathized, his voice raised a little louder in reply so that Seamus could hear it from back on the train, "It's hard to make a jump of any sort in boots!"

"Ah, bloody hell, Granger!" The Irish accent suddenly became louder as a grinning, amused Seamus pushed through the crowded platform towards their group. He pretended to clutch his heart, feigning offense, "You've grown claws since I last saw you! You're a proper woman now! With a fair bit of Irish in ya, I reckon'." He winked at her before spinning around on the platform with his eyes closed and arms outstretched: "It's so good to be home!"

"Bloody Hell, Granger," a jeering voice mocked, advancing quickly toward the group. "They sound so cheerful it's disgusting. Don't you idiots have somewhere else to be?"

The group of Gryffindors turned and resisted the urge to collectively groan as a group of the usual Slytherins offenders came up on them. Crabbe Jr., now deceased, was notably absent, as was Draco Malfoy.

"Can't even handle heels and this is the Gryffindor princess, the SAVIOR we are all made to worship?" Pansy Parkinson, the ringleader, spat in disgust as the rest of her posse chuckled lowly. Goyle, for what it was worth, snickered but didn't say anything.

"'lright, Parkinson?" Seamus yelled over the crowd, nodding to her in acknowledgement, "Still keeping up the old smear campaign, are we? Not getting enough of that at home?"

Pansy's nostrils flared, as she withdrew her wand, the other Slytherin's following suit.

"Well, somebody's got to keep fighting the good fight, haven't they?" Her eyes darted from Hermione to Ginny, a wicked smirk painting her face, "There always has to be somebody trying to cleanse this world of the mudbloods and the blood traitors, though at least a Weasley deep in the cold ground is a good start!"

"Go to hell!" Ginny roared. Her temper flared, red hair whipping around her like fire as she began to draw her wand. The air around her was crackling with her magic, her response was so intense. Hermione was quicker, though, as she reached out and grabbed her friend's hand before she was able to completely draw it. Ginny's eyes darted to Hermione's, and Hermione shook her head, beckoning her friend to put her wand away. Hermione's eyes begged for her to understand. Reluctantly, Ginny set her jaw and nodded back, her wand disappearing into the folds of her robes once more. Only Hermione could see the tears beginning in her eyes, the fresh wound of her brother's loss still at the forefront of her heart and mind.

"Let's go, guys," Hermione shook her head, muttering lowly to her friends. "I've had enough fighting for a lifetime."

The group of Gryffindors looked back one last time at the Slytherins, who were all standing, wands at the ready, poised for action. Their faces were stony, and their eyes were filled with anger. Hermione's own indignation was peaked after such a scene, she knew, but she couldn't help it. It was natural for the Slytherin posse to bait Hermione and her friends into fighting with them. She just didn't have the stomach for it anymore. Her mind lagged, thinking of both nothing and everything as they followed along the path in silence and finally climbed into one of the carriages. In the back of her mind, Hermione comprehended hearing the surprised, panicked cries of the returning students who could suddenly see the thestrals pulling the carriages, but she tried not to think about it. The worst part of seeing the thestrals wasn't that you could see them, she knew from experience. It was realizing that you had to lose an innocent part of yourself to see them. There was a price with all magic, and Hermione had always thought that seeing thestrals after witnessing death was a fair bit of dark magic that no one had discovered yet.

"Don't listen to Pansy," Luna said gently to a now openly weeping Ginny. Luna moved to touch Ginny's arm with her hand in the briefest of touches, as Ginny's head was buried in her hands as she sobbed. The dreamy smile was uncharacteristically cleared from Luna's face, though her soft voice was the same as ever. "What she said to you was cruel, but there was pain in her eyes, too. She was just trying to make you not see it. It's like the Nargles, Ginny. They cause disturbances but are hiding themselves from the rest of the world." Suddenly, Hermione understood, although she registered in the back of her mind with amusement that she was actually understanding something Luna had said. It was a trick, a classic example of Slytherin cunning. Go on the offensive right off the bat, and show them no weakness. Pansy would continue bullying this year, and some others probably would as well. It was normal to them, and in a way, comforting to them to stay in what they considered a power position. To hide the pain of their own losses, their own failures, and their own insecurities in a world rapidly changing around them, other students like Pansy were digging deep to obscure their own pain. But Hermione knew that that was something that no amount of dueling would ever fix.

"Hey, look at the first years on the lake!" Neville offered, nudging Ginny across from him with his foot as they passed. His expression had been crumpled with sadness as he had helplessly watched Ginny cry, and he seemed secretly proud of himself that he had found something to offer to distract her. Thankfully, his distraction seemed to work, as Ginny looked up from her hands to see the glowing lanterns of the first years passing over the lake. She seemed oddly at peace watching them with tear stains on her cheeks, as a small, blessedly happy smile came over her for a brief moment. They all turned to watch, each of the four knowing instinctively that the others were thinking of their own first voyage across the black lake. It was something of a tradition that returning students did every year as they watched and reminisced about their own sorting ceremony. They watched Hagrid leave with the first years for as long as they could, until their carriage came to a sudden stop and everyone began clambering down onto the pathway. It only took a minute or so for her friends to disembark, and soon enough Neville was the second to last down, leaving only Hermione standing in the carriage. She took a moment to admire the mass of students in their billowing robes, a perfect scene of black moving against the black of the night. The only illumination came from the yellowish glow of the pathway's lanterns, revealing just the tops of the heads of returning students moving through the throng. Taking it all in, Hermione turned her head toward the castle's main entrance where she knew they would all be entering for their final year, and a flash of bright white caught her eye. Straining her eyes to see amongst the darkness, she could just make out that the flash of white was a head turning toward her. She realized with a start that she was staring into the face of Draco Malfoy. The last to dismount his own carriage car, the two shared a blank glance for only a moment before his head dipped down to his feet and he began to clamber down the steps toward the pavement.

"He can't even look at me," Hermione thought sadly, before she began dismounting from her own carriage and took Neville's awaiting hand to guide her down. Surrounded by her now chattering friends, the excited buzz surrounding them lulled everyone into the traditional optimism that awaited a new year at Hogwarts. Hermione, though, couldn't quite get into the spirit. She was too concerned with the blonde-haired boy walking with the throng in front of her, wondering sadly if in spite of all of the sacrifices that they all had made to get here, whether the hatred and prejudice of the world had finally tainted him for good.


Author Notes:

Hi! With that out of the way, I want to address you all as new readers to my fanfiction. I am just now getting back into the swing of things after several years on hiatus. I was in school for much of that time while I pursued a degree in English. That said, I love getting earnest, constructively critical reviews of my writing, or any other feedback that could otherwise help me improve it.

It is my goal with this story to make it as real as possible. I want to portray the characters as close to the original canon as I possibly can, in that I am wanting to take the same characters that Rowling so lovingly bestowed upon us so I can explore genuine, post-war growth of these characters. I want to portray how I imagine a life of hardship and trauma has affected these characters we have all grown to love now that they are becoming adults, and even more importantly I want to offer a real look at how two very different, very divided characters such as Draco and Hermione could possibly come to understand, befriend and love one another. Again, this is a slow burn fic, so please bear with me.

If there are any times where you feel a character is being OOC, please let me know. If there are times where you feel a situation or scene isn't written well enough, please let me know. Writing is a serious pursuit for me, and even if I may not agree with your feedback, if it is respectful and earnest I would never ever be anything other than grateful for it.

Other than all of that, please enjoy. It is going to be a long but beautiful ride and I hope you fall in love with this story as much as I have.

-K.