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.
Unlike every other school year she had known, Hermione Granger's seventh year of Hogwarts began without a hitch.
Smoothness seemed to be McGonagall's goal for this year, as the school was running like a well-oiled machine. The staircases were gleaming, the suits of armor were all polished, and the classes were running on a tight-knit, regular schedule. It all seemed familiar to Hermione, but in an unusual way. She had never seen the staircases shine that much, and had never had classes run quite so efficiently—usually somebody kept them over for a moment or two, especially on their first day to discuss the upcoming semester. After a war, though, Hermione supposed that this emphasis on regulation was to be expected. A tight schedule would keep everyone busy and help the students feel safe and content. If things were running a little too well than she was used to, Hermione supposed she would just have to learn to ignore the prickling feeling of danger that came with such an uncomfortably well-functioning environment. The quiet of the school's routine unnerved her, and with the turn of every corner Hermione still expected danger to leap out toward her.
Overall, classes had started off well. For many of the returning seventh years, Professor McGonagall had chosen to assign the courses to the students personally. In many cases, the classes were still divided by house, though with so few returning students to choose from, most were lumped in with the existing seventh years. Hermione had potions, charms, and History of Magic with Ginny and the Hufflepuffs, while her other courses consisted of a scattered few returning seventh years from other houses, and the returning Slytherins. These were comprised mostly of her advanced placement courses, such as Arithmancy and Transfiguration. She was taking Defense Against the Dark Arts as well, in spite of everything. It was good fortune that only very few returning Slytherins had been approved to take that course, as many of the returning Slytherin students who had undergone trial with the Wizengamot were prohibited from taking it. As a part of the terms of their probation they were not to go near, practice, or study anything affiliated the dark arts. Ironically, Hermione thought, this included their study of the defense of it.
Draco Malfoy, astoundingly, had managed to become one of the very few approved to attend the Defense Against the Dark Arts course. It was a great shock to see him sitting in front of her, third desk from the front, with his materials ready in front of him ten minutes before class started. He was staring straight forward, not looking at anyone or speaking. Next to him sat Theodore Nott, an acquaintance of Malfoy's, she knew, but she had hardly seen them together previously, and not ever in recent years. It was hard to imagine that they were friends, but even Hermione's knowledge had its limits. Throughout the class, he hadn't raised his hand once, instead favoring keeping his head down and his note-taking hand busy. It seemed that for once in his life, he didn't want to create any trouble.
"Hey," Ginny interrupted, leaning over to whisper into Hermione's ear, "What did Professor Sprout just say about Wiggentree seeds?"
Her question had jarred Hermione back to reality, and she was surprised that she had actually managed to let her mind wander during a lecture. It was especially concerning, perhaps, because she had been daydreaming about Draco Malfoy. Covering for her uncharacteristic behavior, she nudged Ginny with her elbow before nodding to the professor, and resuming her fullest attention to the front of the classroom. She knew that Ginny would follow suit, and they would have the opportunity to discuss her question later.
Still, Hermione wondered. She wondered why the new potions teacher couldn't seem to get through a sentence without coughing into his hand. She wondered what Harry and Ron were doing, kilometers away from Hogwarts while undergoing their training with the Ministry. And she wondered, her gaze once again glazing over as her thoughts overtook her, what could possibly cause Draco Malfoy to meet her eyes and cast them immediately downward for a second time in two days, as he had done as he left their Defense Against the Dark Arts class earlier this afternoon.
"You don't understand!" A desperate voice screamed outside the doors of the Great Hall, silencing everyone within. In one smooth motion, the entire student body's heads jerked toward the source of the commotion, taking in the scene. A fifth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw stood just outside the Great Hall's massive wooden doors, their argument taking over any sense of rationality they both may have possessed.
"It's my problem, whether you want to admit that or not! Leave it alone, Rachel!" The Ravenclaw screamed back at her friend, gesturing wildly and beginning to turn away from her to make a hasty exit.
"You've been my best friend since first year, April, it is too my problem! Don't walk away from me, please!" The Hufflepuff pleaded, tears in her eyes as she rushed toward her retreating friend. Both students were out of sight at this point, though it stopped no one from listening to their emotional scene. Someone could have dropped a needle in the Great Hall in that moment, and everyone could have heard it. No one even dared to breathe.
"You're having nightmares, I know. I get it, we all do. Merlin, who hasn't had nightmares since last year?" The Hufflepuff girl, Rachel, begged. "But you cannot, you cannot, keep using sleeping draught to solve your sleep problems! I know you're dedicated to your duties but you cannot keep pushing yourself to the point of an accidental death because of your nightmares. You know how strong and addictive the stuff is! Please, just go to Madam Pomfrey—"
"Leave me ALONE!" The Ravenclaw, April, shouted, as she jerked free of her friend's arm. The motion sent her flailing backwards onto the floor, though no one in the Great Hall could see. They heard the sound, though, of a body hitting the ground, and suddenly everything was in chaos. A sea of students—especially the older students—were suddenly rushing the door, as if on high alert, though before they could get to the Great Hall's doors the heavy oak had swung shut and locked all of the students inside. A deafening roar of voices had come over the Great Hall since Rachel had hit the ground, only to be encouraged by the students suddenly rushing the door until Professor McGonagall, using a sonorus charm, authoritatively yelled, "SILENCE!"
As if a clock counting down to the last few seconds of a timer, everything seemed to freeze into slow motion for a moment. The students in the Great Hall turned to face a now standing Headmistress McGonagall, for the first time noticing that Professors Sprout and Flitwick were now absent from the staff table. "To your seats." Professor McGonagall commanded, looking every bit as stern and commanding as she had when she led the students in battle last year to the bridge. No one dared to defy her, and everyone returned to their seats silently and with haste.
"I understand that we have just had a chaotic moment, but as a single student body I hope I can trust for you all not to do that again." She stared the students down with intent, her gaze traveling up and down each and every house's table until she had completely made eye contact with everyone. Again, no one dared to breathe.
"We have undergone something terrible as an institution. I understand that." She nodded sympathetically to her students, her face softening into a sad smile. "We have all seen and done horrible things. I even understand that for some of you, in that moment there was a desire to spring to action to protect someone you care about. It may have even been instinctual, given what we have all been through." She nodded solemnly, before continuing.
"I cannot punish any of you for reacting the way you did, but please be warned that this warning will not be repeated. The next time any of you act like that, I will be forced to take away house points. The danger has passed. The war is won. And now, it is absolutely imperative for us to piece ourselves back together and to reunite as the school that we have always been. Even more importantly, though this is a much harder task, in my opinion—I need you ALL to remember that you are students. You are simply students." Her eyes closed for a brief moment, before her mouth settled into its characteristic firm line. "Many of you are not adults yet. You are not soldiers, or warriors. You are students, here to learn, just as you were years ago as children. Please try to go back to that place of innocence, and try to put that need to constantly be on guard behind you. Madam Pomfrey is always available for anyone especially affected by the events of last year, and for anyone having difficulties—whether they be outside of class or during—please do not be afraid to seek out your head of house or another teacher. If you do not feel comfortable doing that, any staff member will be available to you. Even Mr. Filch has agreed to report any incidents of need to me, should the need arise. Please, seek out anyone you trust. The Hogwarts ghosts have also made themselves amenable, although, I would avoid including Peeves in any earnest requests for help." The Headmistress' eyes narrowed with mild irritation, and several amused chuckles echoed around the hall, despite the seriousness of the topic. Professor McGonagall's eyes fleetingly widened in surprise at the resulting laughter, before a small smile took over her face.
"The bottom line is, the goal of this institution is still the same as it has always been. You are students, and we want you to feel comfortable here being students. If you have any issues, please bring them to a staff member or trustworthy ghost, and we will do what we can to help you. Although what we have been through is reprehensible, for those of you who are so young to have gone through it is worse still. If you see a friend struggling who is unable to seek help, please find a trustworthy adult so that we can help them. There will be no penalty for doing so. Just please remember that we are Hogwarts, you are its students, and it is absolutely imperative that we must take care of one another from now on. Slytherin or Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff—if we fail to do so, we will be absolutely no better off than we were before."
With a wave of her hand, the food at the tables reappeared, and the Headmistress gave the order to resume eating with a tiny, crooked smile.
"That was some dinner, huh?" Ginny asked as she peeled her socks off her feet and threw them in the laundry hamper. Another problem with the low number of returning seventh years—they were forced into dorms with the younger seventh year class. Hermione's new dorm—which she had once occupied with Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, was dreadfully silent. She had been so used to the constant gossip and chatter between the three girls, and with them gone the quiet was truly eerie. With so few returning to Hogwarts this year, even among the younger classes, the dorm rooms just felt…off. This year, Hermione was sharing a dorm with Ginny, Loretta Green (a classmate of Ginny's) and Fay Dunbar, who had chosen to return. She had been a roommate of Hermione's all through these years. 'At least there is a familiar face,' Hermione sighed to herself, even though she didn't know Fay all that well. It was still nice to have that companionship, though, so she knew she wasn't completely alone in this new, strange year without Ron and Harry.
"Well, it was quite disturbing, if that's what you mean," Loretta offered, as she lifted the corner of her covers and slid into her own bed. "I felt so badly for April, though. I know her family, albeit only by extension. I feel horrible that she has been so affected and I had no idea." Loretta shook her head, and reached up to remove her glasses, settling in for the night. By now, the other girls had all climbed into their own beds and started the process of winding down for the day as well. Hermione had drawn her curtains around her bed and settled in with a book, having casted a lumos spell so she could read.
"Everyone has been suffering, Loretta." Fay offered, "That was Professor McGonagall's point, I think. That's why helping each other is so important. The important thing now is that we do something about it when we see others suffering going forward."
"Exactly," Ginny's voice sounded through the room, clearly and confidently. "So we all need to be on the lookout for signs that people are struggling. Right, Hermione?"
"Right" Hermione offered, trying not to let her tiredness show. Though she was exhausted from the day, that was true enough, she had a hard time showing her permanent exhaustion to the others. Thankfully so many others were going through the same thing she was, so it was easier to mask in the crowd. She already had the eyes of the entire Wizarding world on her, she didn't need the searching eyes of the entire student body on her as well.
Between the memories of the final battle and the memories of seeing all of the dead laid out in the Great Hall, her day to day life attending classes had been more difficult than she cared to admit. It was so difficult walking down the 5th corridor without screaming, remembering the way Amycus Carrow had leapt out from around that corner, wand pointed at her with a murderous glint in his eyes. His sister, Alecto, not far behind him with cackling laughter, chasing her through the corridor in pursuit. Every time she ate in the Great Hall, she had to try hard not to think about seeing Remus Lupin and Tonks' bodies lying together, hands intertwined with one another, or the Weasley family gathered around Fred's body, screaming and weeping in agony over their loss.
Hermione hastily pressed her eyes tightly shut, willing the tears to disappear. The last thing she needed right now was for the others to hear her sniffles or sobs. Thinking of her studies instead, she willed herself to come out of her memories so she could focus on her reading. After a few moments it worked enough to where she wasn't crying, but she was still lost to her thoughts of the past.
As the low chatter of the other girls died down and each of the four offered their goodnights to one another, Hermione's exhausted mind still raced into the early morning hours, when she finally fell into an uninterrupted sleep.
"You know," Nott started, speaking into the utter silence of their dormitory, "You're not the same person I knew years ago. Who are you?"
Groaning internally, Draco Malfoy knew better than to answer. Theodore Nott was a genius and always had been. The man was like a walking lie detector, utterly silent and impenetrable. Draco Malfoy, though he had respected him and had even befriended him early on in their childhood, never had fully, completely trusted him. He had always trusted him with what was most important, though, and that was always enough.
Now that he was asking questions, Malfoy knew he was in danger…mostly because he knew he would never be able to avoid them.
"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, his arm thrown across his eyes, his tone dead. The curtains were drawn around his bed, so it wasn't as if Theo could see his childish stance. Something told Draco he could tell anyway, though. "And you're lucky we're the only one in this dorm room this year. If you asked me something dumb like that with someone else in this room, I would have to kill you."
Right on cue, Nott's expressionless face was hovering above his, the hiss of Draco's bed curtains suddenly drawn back with a single expert motion. "I mean exactly what I said." Nott said blankly, ignoring Draco's other comment. "Who are you?" He repeated.
Draco scoffed in irritation before launching himself up from his bed in a childish display of excessive energy, slapping his hands on his thighs as he did so. "Why do you always have to wait until the middle of the bloody night to ask me these things, Theo? Why can't, just for once, you ask me philosophical questions about my existence on a lazy afternoon by the Black Lake?" Draco sighed heavily, before throwing himself back to lie flat on his bed, again with more energy than necessary. He drew his arms up and tucked them underneath his head, determined to stare up at top of his bed rather than meeting Theo's eyes. He knew from experience that the more childish he acted, the less Theo would be able to read from him and the less he would want to do with him.
"Hmmm." Theo hummed, before a tiny smirk cocked at one of the corner's of his mouth. He nodded to himself, then pulled away, pulling the curtain back into place around Draco's bed and retreating to his own. Draco lay in stunned silence for a moment, before drawing back the curtain around his bed with indignation. "Hey!"
"What?" Theo asked patiently, as he was tucking himself in to his own bed. He offered nothing else, which only further irritated Draco.
"You woke me up—I was almost asleep and you asked me a question, and now you're walking off and going to bed? That's ridiculous!"
"How is that ridiculous?" Theo asked, shrugging, before whispering "Nox" to his own wand and submerging the room in complete darkness.
"Nott!" Draco yelled, frustrated, as he walked over to Theo's bed and stood above him with his own lit wand, fuming. "You wanted to talk—what do you want?!"
"Oh, now you're in the mood to talk-" Theo rolled his eyes, then, turning, raised a calculated eyebrow at Draco, "I do believe I already asked you my question. I was just waiting on my answer. Though to answer your childish query about why I don't ask you these questions by the Black Lake, you know as well as I do that it's because I don't want us to be overheard."
Draco's eyes narrowed, though he said nothing. He understood, he was just wanting to get under Theo's skin. As usual, though, his attempt failed. Nothing could ever successfully get under Theodore Nott's skin. The man was perfectly stoic, a true picture of the studious pureblood gentleman his father had raised him to be, for better or worse.
"I still don't understand what the bloody hell you mean, Nott." Draco fumed, "What do you mean, 'Who are you?' I'm Draco Malfoy, the same one I've always been." Draco threw his arms into the air, exasperated.
"Oh no, you're not." Theo started, removing the bed covers from his body and turning to rise from his own bed. Standing, he met Draco's gaze in front of their window. Between their lit wands and the greenish hue from the water of the Black Lake showing through their dorm's window, the room was cast with a faint, eerie green glow. It illuminated the two boys' faces, Draco's soft, pale features glowing and Theo's hard cheekbones becoming even sharper in the light.
"You're different this year." Theo casted his eyes downward, sweeping over his long time friend. "I'm just not entirely sure how. Some of you is the same, sure…but so much of you is different. And I'm not completely convinced it's all from the war." Theo's eyes came back up to his own, piercing. He had a way of doing that to whoever he talked to, as if he could see into exactly who they were and what they wanted with a single glance. It was utterly terrifying. Truly, it was a completely Slytherin trait, Draco thought.
"It must have been the war," Draco said, though he offered nothing else. His expression was hard. He didn't need to explain, and wouldn't. Even though he and Theo had had a falling out during their fourth year, he didn't owe that explanation to anybody, and he refused to give it. Even to Theo.
For a few moments, the two just stared at each other. Neither said anything, neither moved. They just stared unflinchingly into one another's eyes in a measured gaze, as if daring the other to say something. Finally, the moment seemed to break due to a soft tap on the glass from some unknown source in the Black Lake—probably a fish or a rock—before the two broke apart. They each took a step back at the same time, signifying a draw. Theo gave a nod almost too small for Draco to notice, before he backed away toward his bed, still facing Draco. "Must be" Theo replied strangely, though it was evident he wasn't buying Draco's excuse.
"It is." Draco said, firmly, as he backed away toward his own bed, eyes still on Theo's face. The two broke apart from one another's gazes at the same time and climbed into bed once again. Both cancelled the Lumos spell on their wands, and placed them on their bedside tables. Then, closing his eyes, Draco praised his luck that Theo dropped the subject so easily.
Several long minutes went by with no more conversation, and just as Draco was about to fall into a fitful sleep, Theo quietly said: "You just don't know yourself yet, Draco. But give it time. You will." Theo rolled over in his bed and faced the other wall away from his dormmate, then soon after fell into his own sleep. Fully awake now and with his mind occupied, Draco folded his arms under his head again and stared up at the canopy of his four poster bed. Theo was nothing if not sharp to a fault, and though Draco hated it sometimes he had to admit that Theo was almost always right about everything. No, Draco mused, hindsight always being 20/20 and all—Theo had always been right about everything. He had been the only Slytherin pureblood friend Draco had that had tried to stay away from Voldemort's influence, not believing the pureblood superiority trope from the beginning. Nott was just clever and outside of influence enough to know how to avoid it. Multiple times, he and Theo had argued about it while growing up, though Draco had always stubbornly clung to his father's coat tails and refused to think for himself on the issue. After the Dark Lord's return during their fourth year, Theo had warned him during their final, friendship-ending fight that his refusal to find his own stance on the issue was what would end up getting him killed. Draco winced at the memory. Damn if Theo wasn't right about that, too. Briefly, Draco wondered if Theo's family had had a seer in their family bloodline somewhere along the line, though he quickly dismissed the possibility. Theo was just brilliant, as he always had been, and Draco…
Draco frowned and sighed, reaching one hand up to rub his eyes tiredly. Who was he, really? It was a question Theo had asked him more than once, over the years. Memories struck Draco of them playing together as very small boys out in the gardens of Malfoy manor, "Let's play Aurors and Outlaws!" Draco would shout in glee, as a young Theo's eyes would sparkle in delight. "Okay. Who are you?" Theo would ask, and though they would always try to rotate, Draco would usually pick the Auror.
Comfortable in his own bed, Draco frowned. He supposed it was strange that for all of those years he had always chosen the Auror as a child. Even though his father had been doing some terrible things at the time and Draco only knew them to be noble, he should have understood then that Aurors were against his father's side of doing things. Shouldn't he?
A loud sigh escaped him as he rolled over, trying to get comfortable. Though he closed his eyes and tossed and turned, sleep avoided him. Theo's interruption—while it certainly hadn't helped with his restlessness—had blessedly deterred his mind from its usual plague of horrific images that overtook him as soon as his eyes closed at night. Sighing, Draco's eyes fell on his parents' signet rings on his own fingers. The rings had been in the Malfoy family for generations, and each symbolized a promise to a committed partner for marriage. He kept his father's ring on his right ring finger, a reminder of a promise he had made to himself to uphold his duty to his family and to be a better man. Since that was his dominant hand, Draco would see the ring on his finger before he signed any paperwork, and he would see it any time he lifted his wand to cast a spell. His mother's ring…Draco closed his eyes, pain surging through his heart. His mother was dead, so it didn't do to dwell on it. Still, he kept her ring on his left ring finger, the closest ring to his own heart. He had loved his mother deeply.
Making a decision to keep the past in the past, Draco once again closed his eyes in an effort to sleep. As they so often had before, in front of his closed eyes the images assaulted him once again—bodies of tortured muggles, blood running off of his dining room table onto the rug on the floor of the Manor, Voldemort's snake feasting on Charity Burbage's corpse, muggle girls being raped and then executed, Voldemort's laughing face, his mother's dead body—Draco slammed his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing, but it wasn't working. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before he finally fell into a fitful sleep, although it wasn't long at all before he awoke in the early hours of the morning to his own terrified scream.
Author Notes:
The scene for the year is now set! Who else is excited?
There are big changes at Hogwarts this year, and that is what this chapter is about. Originally titled "pieces," this chapter (Laceratus) is the Latin word for a close translation of what I imagine things to be like at Hogwarts. In tears, in shambles, in pieces left to pick up. Laceratus is a Latin root for the word "Lacerate," if that helps. A more literal translation would be "to tear, to rip," but you get the gist. :)
I wanted this chapter to reveal the jarring differences from years previous at Hogwarts. How the students behave, how the school is functioning, and of course the mindset of where our characters are.
Draco and Theo's relationship is interesting as well, and I think it will be a refreshing dynamic for you readers when the story finally starts to pick up speed. For now, the goal is to keep us all guessing and wondering what will become of such an unlikely pair.
Until next time,
-K.