"be a scar. do not be ashamed of living through something."
- NAYYIRAH WAHEED
Light pools in a crescent puddle across her bedsheets and Hermione pulls the covers up over her head with a groan. Her limbs are sleep-heavy and tingle deliciously when she stretches out her legs, and in her half-awake state she tries to recall the last time she slept so well. Prior to the battle at the ministry, surely. Maybe even before then.
The crisp scent of balsam lingers on her sheets and she snuggles deeper into them, trying to ignore the sun still determinedly shining its wake-up call through her window. There's no reason for her to get up right away, is there? After all, she'd been up late, she can sleep in…
With a start, Hermione sits up, hair flying wildly around her face. How had she even gotten back here? She had been sitting in the library with Remus, then-
She relaxes, realizing he must have carried her upstairs after she'd fallen asleep. A slight tinge of embarrassment colours her cheeks—she hadn't meant to drift off like that. Deciding that she'll apologize to Remus when she sees him at breakfast, Hermione slips out of bed and dons her faded muggle jeans and jumper, runs a brush halfheartedly through her hair, and makes her way downstairs.
Ron is waiting for her on the landing. The worry on his face, creasing his brow ever so slightly, is enough to spike her heartrate. He had gone home to the Burrow for the rest of summer, only paying occasional visits to check up on her and Harry, and Hermione tries to convince herself that this is just one of those times.
"Ron? Did something happen?" She calls his attention softly, but can't quite hide the panicked edge to her voice.
He doesn't look at her, just runs a hand through his hair and stares at the worn floorboards, toeing the side of the baseboard with his sneaker.
"M'just," He mutters so quietly she can barely hear him, "Worried about Harry. Remus told me he hasn't come downstairs for days. I know we said we would give him space, 'Mione, but…"
He trails off and finally looks up at her, his cinnamon eyes dulled and downcast. Hermione feels a pang of heartbreak for him – Harry and he had always spent most of their time together, bonded brothers in a way she could never take part in.
"I know, Ron." She steps down the rest of the stairs and curls her arms around his waist, feeling his exhale of breath as he embraces her back. They stand like that for a few moments, Hermione with her face pressed into his jumper, breathing in the familiar fresh-bread and clove smell of the Burrow.
There's a muffled cough from behind them.
"M'I interrupting something?" A hoarse voice asks, and the duo spins around so quickly Hermione nearly falls.
"Harry!" She doesn't know who moves first, but suddenly they're all a mess of limbs and everyone is crying a bit and she knows they should probably treat Harry with a little more delicacy right now, but she can't bring herself to care.
They all end up sitting somehow, tangled together on the stairs. Hermione notes that Harry's face is still gaunt and pale and there's something distinctly haunted in his eyes, but he looks better than the living death he had for the weeks after Sirius fell through the veil.
"You look better," She voices her thoughts aloud, brushing his messy hair away from his forehead. He gives her a slight smile, the first one she's seen all summer, and Hermione almost wants to start crying again. She doesn't.
"Does anyone else smell breakfast?" Ron sniffs the air, and his eyes light up with that same lively gleam she's used to. Finally feeling like her family is knitting itself back together, Hermione takes both her boys by the hand.
"Let's go find out," She says, and drags them with her down to the kitchen.
Remus is, of course, the one responsible for the smell. She smiles when she sees him, still sleep-rumpled and wearing an old charcoal t-shirt she vaguely recognizes from somewhere. He's leaning with his hip against the counter, depositing the last of the pancakes onto a plate heaped high with them.
Ron's midsection growls loudly.
Remus laughs and looks over at where the trio are hovering nervously in the doorway, clearly unsure whether he plans to eat the entire stack himself.
"I heard the floo go off," He says as way of explanation, smiling and raising an eyebrow at Ron, "I thought maybe our guest might like breakfast."
Ron flushes under his freckles but nods, mumbles his thanks, and grabs a plate. Rolling her eyes at her friend's bad manners, Hermione gets one for herself, accidentally brushing past Remus in the small kitchen. He moves out of her way with graceful ease, but not before placing a hand on her shoulder for a moment of reassurance.
It's ok, that simple gesture says, you're fine. Hermione breathes out a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Harry and Ron are already talking about Quidditch by the time she gets back to the table, and she takes a seat across from them and smiles into her breakfast. It's as if everything is fine, almost like the battle in the department of mysteries never happened. Hermione picks at her food and traces the wood grain of the old table with the edge of her fork, listening in on the conversation.
It occurs to her to wonder how much of Harry's enthusiasm is an act he's putting on, and how much is genuine recovery.
She tries not to think about it too much.
I wrote this second chapter a long time ago and never posted it because I thought it was too short - I began adding to it in the past few days and realized that it only works as it is now, and that in order to have more I'll have to do a third chapter. So, it looks like this one-shot is finally turning into something a little bigger.
Keep in mind this story is only loosely based on canon - I omit things and modify scenes and don't feel particularly tied to a particular plot structure, since this is written more like a series of moments than a play-by-play narrative.
Anyway, I hope you like this, and there is another chapter coming soon. Leave me a review if you enjoyed - it reassures me that there are those of you out there actually reading this.