A/N: Once, I thought that Draco Malfoy might belong to me. Sadly, I woke up.

I'm adding chapters 1 & 2 in rapid succession because they sort of introduce my characters and their present emotional states, and they're both shorter and full of less action than my later chapters will hopefully be.

Just as a side note: I do not claim compliance to anything that was actually happening in the HP series during the time period in which this fic takes place. I'm not a compliant person. I do not comply.

There I said it.

Chapter 2: In Which Grief is Indulged

Everything was on fire. As she watched, her parents' home burned until nothing but ashes remained. She tried to run, look away, scream… but she was unable to move. She knew that they were stuck inside and she could hear them screaming for their lives, but she could only watch with tears running down her face as their screams became more desperate and eventually stopped altogether.

She knew they were dead and that it was her fault, but she had no time to consider her guilt or even fully appreciate the loss of her parents. The fire was spreading, and she knew where it was headed. Her feet were still stuck no matter how she tried to move them. Looking around in desperation, for now she could move her head, she registered the approach of Harry and Ron, who would surely be able to save her. They were looking for her, and she tried to call out to them but she still couldn't make a sound. The fire kept approaching, and just as they saw her and started to run to her, she knew it would be too late, for the grass at her feet had gone up in flames.

Her feet started to burn first, and it was agonizing. Her parents were dead, she was burning alive, and her best friends who could not save her would have to watch her perish. Finally, she felt her throat open up; she took a deep breath and shrieked with all her might…

"HERMIONE!"

Someone was shaking her. Hermione Granger opened her eyes a bit too wide and had to shield them from the mid-morning light that filtered in through the windows of her room at the Burrow.

"Ughhhh…" she groaned.

She was drenched in sweat and her cheeks were still wet with tears recently shed. Feeling a brief moment of panic, she took a deep breath and reminded herself of where she was. She could almost still feel her feet burning, flames licking at her calves, but there was no fire here in her bed, and not even a scar marred the flesh of her lower extremities. She had gotten to Healers quickly enough that all of the damage to her body was reversible. Her heart, however, was beyond repair. It was torn apart again every night, and every morning she awoke to find it bleeding.

"Hermione, wake up. Please… Hermione… You were crying again."

Small hands were wiping her wild hair, which was wet with tears, away from her face. Thanking the Gods for the small miracle that was Ginny Weasley, Hermione did her best to shake the nightmares from her mind so that she could properly address her friend.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Ginny softly, reaching to grasp one of Hermione's hands gently in one of her own.

Hermione knew that her friend was honestly concerned for her well being, but her answer was still the same as it had been weeks prior. She knew that if she talked about her parents she'd start crying again, and she felt as if she had no more tears to spare.

"No," replied Hermione, not making eye contact with the youngest Weasley. "How about you go downstairs and get breakfast? I bet the boys are up. I'll meet you down there."

After a few seconds and with apparent reluctance, Ginny relinquished Hermione's hand, which was still clammy from sweating in the fire of her nightmares. Hermione looked up at Ginny's face and registered its sad expression before Ginny rose to let herself out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Hermione made her way to the bathroom to assess the damage. It would not do to look completely inconsolable and on the verge of tears over breakfast. That would ruin the whole "calm and collected" façade she had worked so hard to build. So she turned to the mirror and mentally gave herself a morning pep talk, brushing her teeth while she stared at her own reflection imperiously.

Pull yourself together! They do not have the time to deal with your heartache. The world cannot afford their distraction. The lives of innocent people are at risk… more innocent people. Don't be selfish. Your parents are already dead, they are beyond saving, and other people have a chance if you could just accept that. You've got this. Deep breaths. In… Out… Repeat.

She had to just keep breathing to get through the day. Eating would inevitably follow. If she could just inspire, her parents' deaths would have meaning.

She planned to use the remainder of her life to work tirelessly for the light, but as she saw the dark circles under her eyes and her tight, strained expression in the mirror, she had to acknowledge that the stress might be starting to negatively affect her health. She knew that while she may have been considered determined before, she was now venturing into the confines of obsessive. She couldn't care less, for her research into horcruxes soothed her; it was all consuming, leaving no time during the day for stray thoughts.

That must be why my nights are so awful, she thought sourly, casting a glamour on herself to stave off her friends. With one more inspection, she deigned herself presentable and prepared to face a cheerful breakfast at the Weasley's.

It wasn't long into her stay at the Burrow before Hermione found that bubble baths were the only thing she could truly count on anymore. They had a charming consistency about them; there would be water of a specified heat, bath salts that always smelled the same, and solitude. People couldn't just barge in on you when you were lying naked in the bathroom, so they were forced to give you alone time. Hermione found that she could run a bath and hide away for as long as she wanted, and it was the only place in the Weasley home where she was sure to avoid cheery but concerned inquiries about her emotional health.

Sometimes she stayed in there for five consecutive hours. Those times, she surrounded herself with stacks of books and ensured her peace by charming the door to remain locked and soundproofed.

Constant vigilance, she would think wryly to herself. She was fairly certain that she was missing the mark on Moody's mantra but she found it fitting all the same.

On this particular day, Hermione had been commandeering the Weasley second floor bathroom for two hours with no plans of surrendering it in the near future. She had gotten through an entire text about Dark Magic and hadn't noticed anything that even suggested the existence of horcruxes, but she intended to read through it again; the wording could be quite tricky in dark texts, as if vagueness could possibly save the authors from persecution. Her search for horcrux knowledge was becoming more frustrating by the day. For the first time in her life, books were failing her.

Then again, she may have to let the books off the hook in this case, as she hadn't exactly been able to focus on the reading according to her usual standards.

She was distracted. She needed to think through some things.

Not "some things." Ron. I have to decide what to do about Ron.

She sighed and picked up her wand to nudge the water temperature up a couple of degrees. She was really quite tense.

"But… 'Mione, I don't understand."

Ron Weasley was sitting next to her on a patch of grass during a fairly sunny summer day, not that she had noticed the weather. She was too busy taking in his expression. His brow was furrowed in confusion, and in his eyes she saw pure, unadulterated pain. She resolutely tried to ignore the glassy sheen they had begun to take on.

"I'm so sorry. I just can't be your girlfriend; I can't hold your hand; I can't like you. Not the way I did, anyway."

"Why not? What changed?"

Everything, she thought, but she knew that wasn't a good answer. Though it felt true, it sounded overdramatic and silly in her mind.

"I changed, Ron, and I'm sorry. This thing with my parents…" She trailed off just long enough for him to chime in.

"But I've been trying to help you! You won't talk to me! You won't talk to anyone!"

"I watched them die for me. I can't stop thinking about it, and nothing makes me feel better. You hold my hand in comfort, and it just makes me sadder. Don't you understand? I can't have… that… right now. It's too complicated. I need for us to just be friends." She was feeling desperate to get away from him, but the words just kept pouring from her mouth like water from a broken dam. This conversation had to end as soon as possible.

"Look, I'm going to go to my room. We can talk more later if you want. I'm…" She swallowed. Now her eyes were starting to fill with tears, which was exactly what she was trying to prevent. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I have to go."

" 'Mione," Ron said as she turned her back to him, "please..."

Leaving his entreaty hanging in the air between them, he walked after her and took her by the arm, turning her toward him. After taking a moment to study her thoughtfully, he grabbed her other arm with his remaining hand and held onto her tightly as he leaned his face closer to hers.

She was so taken by surprise that she didn't even know what was happening.

She felt herself inhale sharply as his lips pressed onto her own, but she never broke eye contact with him as he continued to stare at her face intently, waiting for her response.

Oh God, why is this happening to me? Was all she could think, and it was a terrible thought to be plagued with the moment that she shared a first kiss with someone. She felt as if that kiss would necessarily taint their relationship forever.

Nevertheless, he was so warm and comfortable that she felt most of her carefully constructed fortress come crashing down. Her eyes stung once again with the promise of tears and she felt a flush rise to her face.

She broke away from him - arms and lips all at once - and turned back toward the Burrow, unable to see his dejected expression through her tear-blurred vision. She ran as quickly as possible back into the house and immediately to her bathtub, stumbling and falling repeatedly on the way.

Vaguely, her brain picked up the sound Ron calling after her but she had no difficulty ignoring it; her mind was completely focused on attaining the one solace left to her.

She felt sick.

A few days later, Hermione woke to the familiar nightmare. It was getting worse. Her subconscious kept tempting her with conjured images of people running to her aid, promising rescue, but always too late. She preferred the reality of that night: she had been completely alone.

Exhausted, she decided to get some coffee and some breakfast before her morning shower, failing to even glance in the mirror on her way out.

During the short walk between the staircase and the kitchen table, Hermione watched as Ron ate six entire strips of bacon while listening to something Ginny was saying. They were talking in hushed tones and fell silent as she approached the table, Harry suddenly finding his porridge in need of his full attention and Ginny apparently supervising as he stirred.

Ron was the only one of the three without enough tact to look away from the person they had just been caught discussing. Either that, or he didn't care for tact.

"Hermione, you look like hell this morning. Everything ok?" he asked.

This game was getting old.

"I was just up late. I got very involved in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and I still can't seem to make sense of it. I mean, I know Dumbledore must have had a plan in leaving it to me, but I've read it three times now and I have no clue what I'm supposed to ascertain."

Ron just looked at her concernedly. He clearly saw through her lie but it was easier for her to maintain her ruse than it was to address the truth. He reached over to take one of her hands, obviously preparing to say something that he thought was serious, but she moved it away before he could grasp it.

He left his lone hand on the table so that it sat awkwardly where hers used to be.

"You know, Hermione, you have to sleep. And eat. You have not done very much of either recently. There are more things to life than studying…"

During his short speech, Hermione became increasingly agitated. First there was the kiss, a subject that they each had somehow independently decided to pretend had never happened, and now this ridiculous insinuation that her life was empty and meaningless? How dare he? Her family was dead, and she was to blame. How could she possibly think of anything but fighting for them? She stood up from her chair and looked down at him, anger and frustration clearly radiating from her.

"Horcruxes, Ronald. Have you heard of them?"

He took advantage of her brief pause to mutter an eloquent, "Err..."

She continued on as if the lapse had never occurred.

"We have to find all of them, yet we have no idea where to start. People are dying," she said, becoming hysterical, her shaking hands balling into tight fists, "So NO, there is NOT more to life than studying. My studies have everything to do with life."

With that, she fled the kitchen, breakfast untouched, and climbed the staircase to her room. As quickly as possible, she shut her bedroom door behind her and practically fell onto her bed, breath coming in choking gasps as she began to sob uncontrollably.

This was going to be a bad day.