The winter had been long, and brutal. Hermione slipped-walked on the ice between classes, her eyes tired, her body worn. Something was wrong, that much was obvious.

She fell asleep in class time and again. Her grades were lower than she'd ever seen them before, even lower than they had been in Divination. The bags under her eyes grew darker and darker, the color of her skin paler and paler. Her eyes, once a fiery golden brown, were now muddled and murky. It made her parents anxious just looking at her. She heard them whispering about her appearance, her lack of drive, her mumbled words. She thought about confronting them about it, telling them, again, that she was fine. She didn't believe it, but she needed them to; she didn't want them worrying over her like that. But she didn't say a thing, as it was difficult to hold entire conversations when she felt like this.

It was at the end of March that she finally relented and agreed to see a doctor. It had been over two and a half months since the day she had fallen asleep on the job; she hadn't had a repeat performance since then, thankfully, but she couldn't take the credit for that. Marek and Edwin had obviously noticed her fatigue, because she was rarely left alone in the shop anymore, and she was given many, many breaks. Too many, that was for sure. Still, she didn't think to question it, because she needed those minutes in the break room, stretched out on the couch. The easiest things were now difficult, and she just didn't know why.

The three separate doctors her parents took her to each ran all the tests, looking for everything from mono to cancer, and one had even considered chronic fatigue syndrome, but in the end there was no diagnosis. The closest Hermione had come to a medical reason for her debilitating weariness was depression, but that still wasn't right. She wasn't all that happy, sure, but as the third doctor ran through the sheet of questions, she responded that no, the future did not seem hopeless, and no, pleasure and joy had not left her life. At least not entirely.

She was happy whenever Elizabeth visited. Hermione only saw her good friend once a month at best. She often found herself wishing that she could just Apparate to Elizabeth's home, because the two-hour drive was long. Not that she'd ever actually been to Elizabeth's; the girl always visited her, since her grandmother lived nearby. But still, if she could ('would,' she reminded herself) Apparate, she'd see her friend more often. But she didn't, of course, because she no longer did magic.

Work was fairly enjoyable. Hermione loved her job, loved Marek and Edwin and all the books. She even forgave the men when they set her up on what could only be described as a truly horrific date. Her suitor was twenty-eight, a cousin or nephew or something of Edwin's. He wasn't bad looking, per say, just... strange. He had quoted her mangled Shakespeare in an attempt to be romantic; he had added in extra words and combined several plays, reciting lines from both Romeo and Hamlet at one point. She had mentally corrected the inaccuracies, because she just couldn't help it. But the worst part... ugh. She hated even thinking about it, hated how much she had judged him... but he had preformed magic for her. Not real magic, of course, just shoddy little tricks. "Prestidigitation," he had proclaimed proudly. She had done her best to appear interested, but the whole thing just made her sad. Here she was, 'the brightest witch of her age,' and this Muggle was showing her 'magic.' And she herself hadn't done real magic in a long, long time.

Her parents were in her life, and that was one of the few things that truly did give her joy. They were together again, and although she knew that she couldn't spend the rest of her adult life living in their home, it was comforting just to know they were alright. That her parents knew who she was, that they loved her after everything. Madeleine had been right in the end.

So yeah, she had pleasure and joy in her life. The highs weren't as high as they had once been, but she chalked that up to maturity. She was no longer the bright-eyed girl in the Hogwarts uniform. She had seen and done things that had forever changed her. It wasn't depression, it was reality.

That's what she reminded herself that mid-April afternoon as she mopped the coffee off her white jumper. It was one of those days when nothing really went the way you wanted it to go. She had overslept her alarm, and although she had only been four minutes late to her first class, it had thrown her entire day off. She hadn't had time to make her morning coffee, so she was even more exhausted than usual. Consequently, she hadn't paid attention when the professor called on her twice, and when she had finally realized that she was being asked a question, she couldn't think of the answer. Rodney had found her between classes and had asked her out again, and again she had had to turn the boy down. He was nothing if not persistent, that was for sure.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Marek's voice was muffled by the bathroom door, but Hermione could hear his concern.

She sighed. "I'm fine, Mare, sorry for running back here without saying hello. I just spilled half a cup of coffee on me on the way in. I'm trying to get it out, but it's being stubborn." She opened the door, pointing to the stain marring her sweater as she frowned.

"Ohhh, you weren't kidding about a half cup. Hang on, I'll be right back." Marek disappeared further into the back room and reappeared with a t-shirt. "Here, change into this and hand me the jumper. I'll see if I can do any better." Hermione reluctantly agreed and switched shirts, amused at the length of the tee.

Marek looked her up and down and laughed at the sight. "Well Hermione, it might be drowning you, but at least it's dry."

Hermione heard the words but they didn't register. She felt the room begin to spin and so she sat down quickly, drawing her knees to her chest. Shit, not here, please not here. Not now.

But the panic attack had come on suddenly, too quickly for her to employ her calming tactics. The stress of the day must have lowered her inhibitions, because already she was shaking, unable to control the way her teeth chattered. Her thoughts began to race, and it was all she could do to keep up with them. 'Drowning drowning drowning. He feels like he's drowning. He feels like I'm killing him. Drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning.' That one word, over and over, interspersed with flashbacks of Nott. Shit. Please not now.

She gritted her teeth, doing her best to keep her jaw from trembling. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, absolutely refusing to cry on top of this. She heard Marek's concerned tone, but she couldn't concentrate on his words. He had said one word, drowning, and she had completely fallen apart. Usually when she fell apart like this, there was a real reason, not one single word said in passing. And when the panic attacks had come in the past, she was almost always alone. This was horrifying, and embarrassing, and scary.

She felt him join her on the ground, and then arms wrapped around her and pressed into her tightly. She again heard the questions, all delivered with the utmost of care. Hermione tried her best to communicate to Marek, but the words she managed to string together were almost incoherent. "M'okay. Panic. Will go. M'okay. Just stay. It. Goes." She closed her eyes tightly as she tried to gain control of her breath. It was proving almost impossible to simply regulate her breathing, however. She gasped suddenly, and all the lights in the room flickered. Marek looked around cautiously, and Hermione knew then that she had been the cause for the fluctuation in power.

Marek just held her closer, his hands smoothing her shoulders, his lips whispering calming thoughts into her hair. She heard the door open and then slam shut again, but no one had entered the room. Shit, not now, please.

After several incredibly tense minutes, she felt her muscles begin to relax and she unclenched her jaw. Her breathing began to calm and her gasps were quieted. She could feel the muscles in her torso burn from the constant contracting. Marek had obviously noticed the attack was passing, because he loosened his grip around her and sat back, lightly brushing her hair with his fingers.

"Shhh, it's okay, I've got you."

The embarrassment came on full-force then, and Hermione buried her face deeper in her arms. Marek was her friend, yes; he and Edwin had become wonderful constants in her life, and she was grateful for them. It didn't change the fact that they were her bosses, however, and one of them had just watched her freak the hell out, and while on duty. And what about the flickering lights? She suspected the slamming door has something to do with her as well.

"M'sorry," she whispered, not lifting her head.

"Nothing to be sorry about, love." She felt his hands brushing her hair again, and the compassionate act made her eyes prickle. "Hermione..." he breathed, his voice troubled. "How long has it been since you've done magic?"

What?

"What?" she asked, confused. Maybe she hadn't heard him correctly.

What?

He sighed softly, his finger slowly lifting her jaw until they locked eyes. "How long has it been since you've done magic?"

She could not have imagined it twice, unless she had somehow passed out during the panic attack and this was some strange dream. She was silent as she considered his question. How was she supposed to respond to that?

Her voice was gravelly from the strain of the attack. "A long time." Well, it wasn't a great response, but at least it was something. Then, "How long have you known?"

She watched as a sad smile spread across Marek's face. "From the moment you walked in my front door, love."

She shook her head, uncomprehending. "I don't understand."

His hand squeezed her shoulder, and then he stood and pulled her up with him. "Let's get you a cuppa and then we can really talk."

Marek turned the sign on the bookstore's door to 'closed,' walked back to the break room and sat down across the table from Hermione. He noticed the weariness on the young woman's face, and he mentally berated himself for not seeing the signs earlier. Hermione had seemed sick for months now, and he had just supposed that she was fighting some sort of bug. Or maybe it was seasonal depression. Or the aftereffects of the war. But he should have known.

She accepted the cup of tea and slowly sipped from it. When she felt brave enough, she looked him in the eyes, and asked the only real question she had. "How?"

He smiled a slow, sad smile, and it was unlike any she had seen on his face before. Gone was the cockiness he was known for, and the seriousness that replaced it was slightly unsettling. "I'm a Squib, love. Edwin doesn't know, and I'd like to keep it that way." He sipped his tea, contemplating his next words. "As far as he is concerned, magic doesn't exist, and I have largely ignored it myself these past decades. I'm an only child, like you, and my parents put me in a Muggle school when my magic didn't present itself by the time I was to go off to Hogwarts. My dad's a wizard and my mum's a witch, but they never made me feel bad about my lack of magic. They adapted amazingly well to their non-magical progeny, all things considered." He smiled wanly and took another sip. "I was an adult when You-Know-Who started making trouble the first time. My parents left the country and spent a year or so in Sweden with some distant relatives. I had already been with Eddy for the better part of our adult lives by then, so I stayed where I was, although I wasn't really concerned over my own safety or his. Perhaps that was naive of me, but I sort of guessed that You-Know-Who wouldn't worry himself over a gay Squib living in Soho. I still heard the stories, though, through my parents. We all thought Vol..." he looked at Hermione apologetically, "You-Know-Who was defeated the first time, so obviously it was quite a shock when he returned." He bit his bottom lip and looked away. "I didn't believe it; I thought it was a lie, like so many other people. My parents weren't sure, but I thought it was just a publicity stunt or something of the sort. When people started dying, I learned just how wrong I was. My parents went back to Sweden, and I stayed put. They kept me updated, though, and that was the first time I heard your name. You were wanted for consorting with Potter, so I knew you had to be on the right side. I followed the news as best as I could, but it was all through my parents, and they were afraid to contact me more than what was absolutely necessary." Marek looked back at Hermione, and she saw the fondness in his eyes. "They were still worried about me, even then. Me, some random Squib who can't cast one simple spell." He looked away once more and continued. "My parents showed up at my door one morning and said it was all over, for good this time. I was so selfish, all I really cared about was that they were safe. I didn't have any other family or friends who were in danger, it had only been them. I remember thinking, 'Good, glad that's over and done with.'" He sighed again and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "And then one day, months and months later, you show up in my shop." He met her gaze, his eyes wet. "I knew who you were the moment I set eyes on you. Your pictures from the Daily Prophet were up on my parents' refrigerator, along with your friends. You were the girl that helped save my family. Hermione Granger, a hero. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why you were in my shop. But when you asked if we were hiring... well, there was only one answer, wasn't there? I didn't know why you were here, in the Muggle world, but there was no way I was going to turn you away, not after all you sacrificed."

Hermione didn't know how to respond. "But you... you never said a word."

Marek shrugged, and the gesture was so familiar, so Marek, that Hermione found herself relaxing unconsciously. "I sort of figured you'd only be here if you had a good reason, or if you felt that it was your only choice. I wasn't going to question that."

Hermione nodded, thoughtful. "And Edwin doesn't know?"

"No, and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"Seems like an awful big secret to keep from your partner, especially after all these years." The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and she mentally smacked herself over her rudeness. It wasn't her business; it wasn't her relationship.

Marek's eyes were sad when he responded, "Imagine there was a world where your wildest dreams could come true, just by speaking them into existence. And now imagine that no matter how hard you tried, you weren't allowed in. You knew the world existed, and you could see it, but you couldn't get past the front door. What would be worse, knowing about it but not being able to experience it, or not knowing at all?"

Hermione regarded her friend for several long moments. "I suppose I'd rather not know." She wished even now that she didn't know; it would make it easier to stay out of that world. Sure she could speak things into existence, but they were dangerous things.

Marek nodded. "Me too."

Hermione sipped her tea and then wrinkled her nose. "Tea's gone cold."

"Here," Marek said, reaching for the mug, "Let's get you another."

He busied himself about the small kitchen, and brought back a fresh cup of tea and some biscuits. "You can ask me anything, you know."

"Well," she said, "I am curious as to why you wanted to know about my magic. What did you mean, exactly?"

"When I asked how long it had been since you had done magic?" Marek clarified.

"Yes."

He pointed to the ceiling. "It was the lights that gave it away. Well, that and the door. It's called breakthrough magic, usually only seen when a child is very young. It's one of the first signs of a magical core. My parents monitored me very closely, but they never saw as much as a flickering light bulb or a hovering toy. When you were in the middle of the panic attack, the lights reacted. At first I thought it was just a power glitch, but the door... that was definitely breakthrough magic. The only time you see it in adults, from what I've heard at least, is when a wizard or witch is either mentally or emotionally unstable, or when they've been suppressing their magic. It's like energy, see? It'll come out one way or another."

Hermione bit her lower lip, unsure as to whether she should ask the next question. Hell, she'd already had a full-fledged panic attack in front of her boss and friend, complete with tremors and gibberish. Might as well lay it all on the table. "So how do you know I've been suppressing? Maybe I am mentally or emotionally unstable." Giving voice to her doubts didn't quiet them; if anything, she was even more sure now that she was going insane.

Marek laughed, a deep laugh that bubbled up from his toes. "You are one of the sanest people I have ever met, Ms. Granger. And if I had any doubt of that, I'd only have to look at how sick you've been these last months. If you don't let the magic out, it can begin to affect you in other ways. Like I said, it'll come out one way or another. I think your magic has been repressed for so long that it's hurting your immune system. It's dangerous, what you're doing. You need to let it out, love. It's the only way."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't," she whispered.

"Oh sweetie," Marek sighed, taking the young woman's hands in his. "I don't know what it was that broke you, but your magic, it's a gift. Believe me, I'd do anything to have your abilities. But listen to me when I tell you this: if you don't do something soon, it will just get worse. And a time will come when it will begin to affect not only you, but those around you. Don't let it get to that, okay?"

"Okay," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'll try."

"Okay. How are you feeling, love?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Like I should be working." It was true. More than anything she wanted to re-open the store and shelve books, anything to get her mind off this conversation. She wasn't ready to do magic, regardless of the consequences. And Marek didn't know what she knew: the fact was, she couldn't be trusted. Or more specifically, her magic couldn't be trusted. She'd find a way to release the energy without wielding her wand. She'd never let it harm anyone again.