Chapter 4

Staggering slightly under Rose's weight, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace into her dark bedroom and gently placed her sleeping daughter onto the bed. Exhausted by the enthusiasm of her family, Hermione curled up next to Rose, too tired to get changed. She waved her wand at the duvet, covering them both up before falling asleep.

Hermione woke up suddenly, clutching her arm and biting her lip to keep from screaming. The silent house seemed to close in around her, the darkness was suffocating. Gasping, Hermione lurched from the bed, trying not to wake Rose. She staggered to the bathroom, flicking lights on and pushing the shadows away. She leaned over the sink, splashing cold water onto her face. Hermione rolled the sleeve up on her left arm. A single tear dripped down her cheek and onto the word 'MUDBLOOD', crudely carved into her skin ten years earlier by Bellatrix Lestrange. The healers had done their best to improve the scars from her arm, but the scars left on her mind were far worse, the nightmarish memories waking her up at night.

Shivering, Hermione covered her arm up again and went downstairs. She wrapped herself in a blanket and heated a small pan of milk on the stove. Mixing in heaped teaspoons of chocolate powder into the warm liquid, Hermione felt her body relax a little. She had found over the years that such simple, muggle activities helped her feel calmer. Pouring the hot chocolate into a mug, Hermione added cream and marshmallows, then settled onto the sofa to watch trashy night-time TV shows. Watching muggles scream at each other and complain about their bizarre relationship problems on TV made her feel a little more normal.

At least her and Ron had made the mature, mutual decision to get a divorce, without any of that drama or dragging others into their mess. Hermione angrily brushed a tear away, scolding herself. They had both agreed that it was for the best. They were too tired of fighting over nothing. Neither of them had anything left to give any more, and it was unfair on Rose to keep pretending otherwise.

Hermione glanced at the unopened envelope sitting on the coffee table, concealing the broken truth of her failed marriage. Tomorrow. She would open it tomorrow.