A/N:

***TW****
some dark SA related scenes in this one:

-at the end of the legilimency scene (italicized and in one chunk in parentheses)
-as well as ESPECIALLY in the last scene (where Harry and Draco find Mia drinking alone in the RoR)
if you're sensitive to SA you can def skip it (plot wise you'll know from context so no worries there), and I promise this is as dark as those themes will get in the story—from here our girl will be working her way to healing

As soon as the morning post arrives, the Great Hall is abuzz—and the whispers only grow louder as the day goes on, people across the school devolving into hysterics.

By the time the ASA meeting starts, Harry looks ready to fight a basilisk again if it would stop the insanity; attendance is the best it's ever been, though Neville is noticeably absent, and the number of people plus the intensity of their panic makes for an overwhelming amount of chaos. "Okay, can we—before we start, let's just take like ten minutes to talk about this and see if we can calm down a bit."

Ernie Mcmillan snorts. "No offense, mate, you're a good teacher and all, but I think there's very little you could say that would be helpful right now."

"He has a point, Harry," Ginny says with a scowl, as though she resents agreeing with the prat. "It's hard to feel safe anywhere with Bellatrix Lestrange on the loose. That woman is…I had nightmares of her for years when I overheard my parents talking about some of her crimes as a kid."

"Not to mention she's batshit insane so nothing will stop her," Cho Chang adds. "Normal people—even bad people—they stop if there are witnesses, or if there are repercussions, that kind of thing. But Bellatrix has genuinely no regard for her own life or safety, so nothing stops her. The kind of damage she's capable of…"

Harry tugs at his hair. "I admit the situation is—shit. But that just means what we do here is even more important."

"Harry's right," Hermione says with a sigh, getting to her feet. "Maybe what we do here won't make a difference if we're up against her. But maybe it will. And even if the odds we're able to fight her off are slim, I'd rather slim odds than none." She tilts her head, cracking her neck before continuing. "Not to mention, this is—big. You all know about the dementors attacking Harry over the summer; the Ministry tried to brush it under the rug, and claim it was nothing. But this is proof that something bigger is happening—proof that the dementors, at least some of them, have aligned with Voldemort."

"Fudge still won't acknowledge it," Dean mutters. "He'll claim a fluke, or an outside accessory—hell, if Sirius hadn't been cleared, probably would've blamed him."

"And a lot of people will believe him," Hermione acknowledges. "That's how history goes. But not everyone will—some people will see and understand, will begin taking it seriously. This is—the start of something bigger than just us."

Dean motions in question, as if asking if it's okay for him to speak to the room, getting to his feet when Hermione nods. "One more thing. If you're scared because the mass murdering lunatic who helped to lead the Death Eaters is on the loose—imagine how those of us who are muggle born feel. If we lose this fight, your lives look different—but ours end."

"Well-put, Dean," Hermione says, squeezing his hand in solidarity.

The rest of the meeting is charged with the same fervor—the same heightened tension and immediate sense of urgency at mastering the spells they've been working on.

(The prison break—this makes it real, that war is coming.)

(That if they're not ready they'll pay the price in their own blood.)

She and Harry are putting the room back to rights, occasionally commenting on who's doing well and what pairings they might switch up, who might benefit from an extra one-on-one session, when a luminescent wolf pads into the room, the Patronus approaching them with Remus's voice. "Please come to my office."

Not the first time they've received such a summons—usually because Sirius has sent chocolates for them all, or Remus wants to check in to see that they're doing alright.

But the climate being what it currently is, Remus's tone having the worried edge that it does, they're both a little nervous when they head to the his personal quarters.

When they enter, both Remus and Sirius are reclining on the armchair, deep in discussion; Sofia is there, too, playing with muggle toy cars on the rug.

"Uncle Pads!" Harry's face lights up as he moves to hug his godfather, even though it's only been a couple weeks since they've seen him. Hermione hugs him as well, and then they both gently smile at Sofia. "Hi, Sof," Harry says, and Hermione holds out a licorice wand she'd had in her bag.

The younger girl eyes them both for a beat before hesitantly jerking forward to accept the candy and throw an arm around each of them for a brief but tight hug, before jumping away and returning her attention to her toys.

("Progress," Hermione whispers to Harry, who grins in return.)

"What's going on?"

Sirius's expression grows dark. "Have you heard—"

His husband huffs, cutting him off. "Are you kidding? You were a student here at the beginnings of a war—you remember how quickly news travels. The entire school's been talking about nothing else all day, it was near impossible to get anyone to do their work."

"Right," Sirius makes a face. "Well, the thing is—Bellatrix is my cousin."

"Makes sense," Harry tilts his head, considering. "All members of the Black family seem to be pretty nuts."

His godfather rolls his eyes, ignoring the comment and pressing onward. "Bellatrix has always been—shall we say, unstable? Even more so than the average tojours pur proponent—no more Black family insults or James's mother will rise from the dead just to hex you silly." He gives Harry a look. "Bella particularly hates me, has always resented that a member of her own allegedly glorious dynasty could become such a filthy blood traitor. So she's always been especially invested in my death—went after the friends that became my family as well." He swallows heavily, looking like he has more to say but is too scared to say it.

Harry stifles a yawn. "Are you just trying to tell us she wants to kill us too? Because you really could've written that in a letter, you didn't need to make a special trip. Same old, same old. Maybe she'll get creative and make it all a bit more interesting—if I'm gonna get taken out, might as well be in a big way, right?"

Sirius leans forward, staring at him. "Merlin, I need to get you in therapy."

Hermione lets out a laugh despite herself—despite the fear she still feels whenever Harry's well-being is at stake.

Her brother points a finger at her. "What do you think you're laughing at—you're fucked up in the head too!"

"I mean, obviously," she rolls her eyes. A knock at the door makes her jump.

"Er, sorry," Neville says timidly; he's in a sweater and sweatpants, looking worse for the wear than Hermione's ever seen him, and it's then she realizes that she hadn't seen him all day. "You wanted to see me, Professor Lupin?"

"Oh, wow, you were so right Moony," Sirius says in a hushed voice, staring at Neville. "He looks so much like Alice."

Neville's spine straightens. "You—you knew my mother?"

"Did we ever," Remus says, a sad smile on his face, giving Neville a soft look. "How are you doing, Neville?"

"Probably as well as you'd expect," the boy in question mumbles, crossing his arms like they'll keep out the world.

Hermione looks to Harry, but he's clearly equally as confused.

Sirius spots them and grimaces. "We can—"

"No, it's okay," Neville says, sighing before taking a seat by them on the couch. "My parents were tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr—cruciatus curse. Till—till their minds were shattered." He swallows heavily, eyes full of sorrow and rage and a million other complicated emotions. "They're in St. Mungo's, now—have been my entire life since."

Harry gapes. "Oh, god—that's horrible. I'm so sorry. And now she's…jesus. I can't imagine what you're feeling right now."

Neville nods appreciatively, but the clench of his jaw is bitter. "Thanks. I mean, it sucks, but after an entire year of being taught by Crouch, including the part where he literally made me watch him use the cruciatus curse?" A dry laugh escapes him, but it's more sad than angry. "It's hard to even be surprised."

"Once again, fuck Albus Dumbledore," Hermione mutters, voice scathing. Then, louder, "That's shitty, Nev. Let us know if there's anything we can do."

"Neville," Remus says. "The reason I asked you to come, other than wanting to check in on you, is that we thought—I mean, we'd always intended, but it had never happened and then—so we—that is—"

"Breathe, Moony," Sirius reminds him, before facing Neville himself. "We'd like to give you some of our memories of your parents. We've meant to for ages, but with this heathen constantly having threats against his life I'm afraid it's fallen to the wayside, and then every time we go to visit them we say we will but then the chaos happens and…anyway, given the circumstances…well, we thought you could use some cheering up. And we're thinking of them more than ever."

Neville's eyes are watery. "You—you visit them?"

"Once a month or so," Remus says. "Like I said, we were—good friends." He shakes his head, as if forcing himself out of the memories. "We've already gone ahead and put the memories all into vials for you—with labels, in case you have any preference."

"Lots of Hogwarts in there—before Lily and Prongs got together, Lily would get pissed off at our antics, and Ali would prank us to make her feel better." Sirius smiles fondly at the thought. "Some of them in action as well, seeing as we were all Aurors together—Frank and I paired up a lot for training, because Alice insisted he would go easy on her and she wanted him to properly train, and then once we were instated he and I grabbed a pint after our shifts pretty regularly."

"Not a ton of your mum's pregnancy, or after you were born," Remus says with a frown. "We only rarely saw them, what with the safety precautions in place, since back then we didn't know whether Voldemort would go after you or Harry. But there are some—including the day you were born."

Sirius moves out of the office, returning with an over the shoulder bag he hands over to Neville. "They're all in here—undetectable extension charm. And a pensieve, so that you can look at them all whenever you'd like. Our very, very belated gift to you."

"Thank you," Neville whispers, voice deep and overcome with emotion. "I—my gran doesn't like to talk about them much. I mean, she mentions them being brave and strong and whatever else, but—the memories make her too sad."

"It's different, for her," Sirius nods, eyes on Harry. "To see your child hurt, to lose so much of them…well, I'm honestly impressed she's held up as well as she has. I can't imagine anything worse."

Harry doesn't say anything, but quietly goes to hug him around the waist; Sirius smiles faintly, hands stroking his hair. "Thank you, pup."

Sofia claims the spot where Harry'd been seated next to Hermione. She holds out one of her toy cars as if in offering, smiling when the older girl takes it in hand, before laying her head on Hermione's lap and promptly falling asleep.

(And it's—the world is going to shit. Things are falling apart all around them.)

And Neville—such quiet strength, so perpetually loyal and brave and unflinchingly committed to his morals no one realizes how strong he is. How much he's been through. How resilient he is even as he continues to struggle right in front of their eyes.

(They're more alike than even she had realized.)

/

"Fuck," Harry bites out, panting as he slumps forward. "And I thought learning the patronus charm was bad."

"Sorry, mate," Draco grimaces. "I'd be more gentle but you really need to learn as fast as possible."

"I know, I know." Harry groans before throwing himself on the couch. "Let me rest for a minute, it can be Mia's turn now."

"Ass," she mutters, but acquiesces, getting to her feet and solidifying herself.

"Don't know why you're complaining—you're already fantastic," her brother grumbles.

(And of course she is—she has a lifetime of practice of putting up walls in her mind, of disassociating from herself so strongly and pushing aside memories with such force they're hidden from even herself.)

(it's—she especially hates legilimency, the invasion of her mind—the one place that's been safe all these years.)

(she'll do anything to be impervious to it.)

Draco raises his wand, and she braces herself; she can feel the attempt at invasion—like a scraping sensation on the bricks she's used to build the walls of her mind.

He's an excellent legilimens, so sometimes a claw will poke in, catch a wisp of a thought, but she quickly stamps them out or cuts them off.

After twenty minutes ago, he stops, when they're both sweating from the effort they've been putting forth.

"Good job, love," he praises her, a proud smile on his face. "I would call that highly proficient."

Satisfaction seeps through her—the familiar relief of knowing she's capable, of knowing this incompetence won't be the reason she's ejected from the wizarding world.

The tension leaves her body, and she's moving back to her spot on the couch when she feels it—a sudden mental attack, the same claws diving inside her mind.

She sucks in a break, every muscle in her body going taut. "What the hell, Draco?"

"It's your last lesson," Draco says, voice apologetic. "Always be on guard—never let your mental shields down. Constant vigilance, as I'm told Mad-Eye would say."

Hermione hisses. "That's all well and good, you've made your point, now get out of my head!"

He looks taken aback at the anger in her voice, the pallor of her skin—

(the white of her knuckles, in clenched fists.)

"Okay, I am, but you have to calm down, baby, or I'll be trapped in your head."

She swallows heavily, trying to keep from freaking out, and she's let up the walls enough for him to start to recede. She's so relieved he hasn't stumbled across anything she doesn't want him to see—

And of course, because she's thinking about it, it comes to the forefront of her mind.

(he's finally getting off of her, but her mind is far away—she'd learned long ago how to tune it out. Her gaze moves to the sketch on her nightstand, a drawing of Hogwarts by Draco's hand that Dobby had brought a week ago. Thinking about her soul mate makes it easy to ignore the aches in her body, the bruises already forming and the mess she'll have to clean up, the sound of the belt buckle as her uncle gets dressed. He's saying something she doesn't listen to, his patented smile on his face, of course. He reaches down to give a parting pinch before leaving—and then she's alone, inside the wreckage of herself, curling up and pulling the blankets tight as if the pressure of them can suffocate the wrongness of her own skin—)

She's finally able to shut it down—shoves Draco out of her mind, throws up the strongest walls she's ever forged.

When she looks up, Draco's staring at her in horror; her own face is expressionless, because as horrible as the memory is she's beyond desensitized to her own violation.

Draco tries to speak, but it comes out as a croak, and then he's reaching for a garbage can and retching.

Harry sits up, eyes worried. "What did he see?"

Hermione sighs as she moves to tie her hair in a messy bun. "Probably exactly what you'd guess would make him look like that." She retreats to her spot on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest and worrying at her bottom lip. "Although it was the tail end, not even any of the midst of it, so I don't know why he's—"

"Hermione!" Harry chides, looking unsurprised but still like he wants to yell at her for saying so. "Most people would be."

"I—" Draco rasps, "The picture. I drew that this summer. This—"

She blows out a heavy breath, turning to Harry. "Could you—give us a bit?"

"Of course." He gives her a grim smile. "I love you, Mia."

Hermione nods back, because of course she loves him too.

(He's the first family she's ever had—the one person she knows is unequivocally and unquestionably in her corner.)

They're quiet, for a moment.

Draco is still pale—shaking, she's not sure whether with disgust or horror or anger.

"That happened this summer," his says, voice cutting through the air like steel.

"Yes," she confirms, swallowing heavily. And however much Harry's reassured her, however much she knows Draco loves her more than anything and would never do anything but support her and rage on her behalf, she stutters, "I didn't—I didn't want to cheat. I'm sorry that I—I would never if I had any say, I swear."

Draco gapes at her, face contorting in the most appalled way.

(She'll never know the way it makes his blood run cold.)

"Merlin, baby, I—" he presses his hand to his mouth for a beat before continuing. "Of course you wouldn't. Mia, someone—someone hurt you, I would never try to make this into me being wronged."

(And she sniffles, because as much as she knew that, it's—the verbal confirmation helps.)

He moves to sit on the couch, not right next to her but near—she doesn't even notice how instinctively she moves away from physical contact, how quickly her back is pressed up against the arm of the couch so she can see the whole room.

(Moments like these, when it all feels fresh…as much as she loves Draco, the thought of his skin on her makes her cringe.)

"So." Draco clears his throat, hands clasped together and gripping tight to keep him from breaking things. "Can we—talk about this? It doesn't—obviously not more than what you're comfortable with, but…" he trails off, and Hermione watches his eyes begin to water. "Mia, all this time? I mean…I figured you'd been—hurt, like that—before, after we slept together for the first time, but…I've always assumed it's been over." He braces his arms on his knees. "But it's been happening this whole time?"

"Yeah." Her voice is quite possibly the most quiet it's ever been. "My uncle. Ever since I can remember."

His eyebrows pull together. "You mean since before—"

"I mean literally for as far back as I can remember." She winces when she sees his fists clench so tightly it breaks the skin—this is why she bears it alone. "And before you ask, yes, my parents are relatively aware, and no, they've never given a single fuck."

Draco sucks in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "Wow. Okay. That's…they're literal garbage. Fuck them. And him…" he wipes at the beginnings of tears starting to sidle onto his cheeks, eyes icy with rage. "I want to kill him. I really and truly wish he were dead."

"Me too," Hermione whispers—it's a thought she's had a million times over the years.

(One she's always felt guilty about, but…god, does she want him gone.)

(Is it so wrong to want a monster slain?)

And—she loves him even more, for being so angry on her behalf; for caring enough that he'd fight the sun itself if it would help.

"For what it's worth, I never have to see any of them again. Sirius obliviated them, sent them away."

"He knows? And Harry, right?"

She nods. "Yes, and Tonks, and Remus. Pansy, too." Draco looks surprised at the mention of Pansy, but she shakes her head for him to leave it alone.

They're quiet for a few minutes; Hermione can practically hear his mind moving a million miles an hour.

"Can I—what do I—" he pauses, trying so hard to find the right words—if there ever were such a thing. "How can I—help? What do you need?"

Her heart rate has begun to slow, the spike of anxiety calming to a functional level, so she crawls across the couch to where he sits. As soon as she reaches her arms around his middle, he's holding her, lips pressed to her hair while she nuzzles into his chest.

She pokes him so he tightens his grip, because she only ever feels okay when she's being held so tightly she knows it's real—knows it's not just a dream.

(When his limbs are around her and she can breathe for the briefest of moments because she knows it's the safest place in the world.)

"Just keep loving me," she pleads softly, humming contentedly when he pulls a soft blanket over them both before returning to gently rubbing her back.

"Always," he promises.

(and if he can know this darkest part of her and somehow love her still, she believes him.)

/

She's been so busy with ASA and Draco and the Order that she hadn't yet thought about what being on the other side of the year's midpoint means—until it's February, and the realization that OWLs approach hits her like a ton of bricks.

(Even though she's not sober—but she's perfecting the art of acting it, has been more careful, used more moderation, so no one around her suspects a thing.)

(Some days she thinks she's healing.)

(Others she's spiraling into a darker place than ever.)

They're in the library; Draco and Blaise have an Inquisitorial Squad patrol, so she's writing back and forth with him but physically with Harry, Luna, Ginny, and the twins, all of whom are much too calm for her liking.

Ginny sighs, clearly over it but willing to placate her. "Hermione, they're really just rehashing all the material you've been doing all year, and you've aced all of that—you have no reason to worry, even without studying."

"Says you—you have another year before you have to take them! Oh, hi Neville." Hermione beams as he approaches—between classes, meals, ASA, and Prefect duties she's been spending more time with him than anyone, lately.

"Hi, Hermione—everyone," he waves with a smile. "All right if I join you? I'm just working on an project for Professor Sprout."

"Of course," Ginny says, everyone else nodding in agreement. "We were just discussing how Hermione's being ridiculous and has no reason to be so worried about OWLs when she's acing every class."

"Not to mention," Luna adds, "that testing doesn't matter. I mean of course you want to pass, in order to graduate and maintain the subjects you need for your career, but like…it's a shitty institution that doesn't mean anything and doesn't take into account many more important factors."

Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Lu, you're a Ravenclaw, aren't you supposed to be all about school?"

His girlfriend rolls her eyes fondly. "I'd blame the nargles, but you're this clueless all on your own, aren't you?" He shrugs in response with an innocent looking grin, and she sighs, putting down her quill to explain. "First of all, Ravenclaw is all about learning, not school—big difference. Schools are—in theory, intended to foster learning and serve as an equalizer amongst society, but in reality often work to create citizens who are productive and obedient members of society."

When he still looks confused, she pushes her hair behind her ears before pointing to Fred and George. "Would you say Fred and George are smart?"

"Of course!" Harry exclaims, like it's the most ridiculous question he's ever heard. "All of their pranks are brilliant and clever, and the skiving snackboxes and other inventions I've seen have had a lot of incredible charmwork and stuff."

"Fred, George, how many OWLs do the both of you have?"

Fred winks. "Three each, darling. Our mother's greatest disappointment to date."

"See?" Luna gestures. "It's a measure of conformity to academic ideals and rote memorization, not intelligence or learning at all. And I won't even go into the fact that the prioritization of test scores largely exists as a legal means of racial and classist segregation and priority—" she huffs, blowing a stray hair out of her face. "Anyway. All of which is to say, I love learning—I want to be knowledgeable and witty and clever. I couldn't give less of a fuck about testing."

"Right on," George grins reaching out his hand for a fist bump.

Luna blinks at him, looking baffled but still extending a hand to grip his fist. "Er—thank you."

Harry holds back a smile at the interaction, while Hermione and Neville exchange a look at how utterly besotted their friend is with his soul mate.

Ginny turns to Neville. "What's your take on the matter?"

"Well—I mean, I'm not too worried, just because I don't think things like exams matter in the real world, but I think if I do poorly my Gran might hex me, so—I'll probably study quite a bit, if only to avoid that." He yawns before turning the page in the book before him. "I mean, I'm not sure what I want to do yet—told McGonagall I'm thinking about Auror or herbology research, or barrister which at the moment I'm the most convinced I want to do…but since I'm not particularly set on anything I'm trying not to stress about it. I worry excessively enough, as is."

"Why a barrister?" Hermione asks curiously.

Neville before this year would've squirmed at the prolonged attention on him, but over the last few months he's started to really come into himself—his confidence solidifying, his volume increasing.

"My parents. And honestly—Sirius." He blushes at the surprise on everyone's faces. "There needs to be some justice in this world, or I can't handle it. And I'd like to be a part of it. For him and Merlin knows how many other innocent people to go to Azkaban while people like Umbridge are in power…it makes me so angry. So if I can do something about it…well, I should."

Fred claps him on the back, looking impressed, and the others likewise indicate their respect for Neville's thoughts.

(Some days Hermione's left to wonder how everyone around her can have such grand ideas when it's all she can do to keep breathing.)

(And some days even that hurts.)

/

She's only half conscious when Harry and Draco come into the RoR, both beginning to chatter and pulling off the Invisibility Cloak as soon as they're inside.

The noise jostles her awake, and she hums and stretches before sitting up. "Harry? Draco? Did we—were we supposed to meet up?"

Draco smiles. "No, love, we were just bored and didn't see you on the map so we figured you were here."

Harry's quiet for a moment, though; she follows his gaze to the severely depleted bottle of firewhiskey on the table beside her. "Harry, I—"

"You said you would stop. You promised, Hermione."

"And I've been doing better!"

He fumes, hands tugging at his hair. "Getting so wasted you black out alone in the middle of the day isn't better, Mia!"

"Well it's as much as I can do right now, Harry! It lets me sleep and pass the day, makes it hurt less to breathe. You of all people should understand."

"Juliet—"

"Don't, Draco," she snaps, arms crossed defensively.

"This isn't healthy!" Harry snaps right back, his own posture stiff. "It's not just a coping mechanism—you're addicted and dependent."

"I don't really give a fuck," she hisses. "Because as bad as it is for me, when I'm drunk I can keep from thinking about my uncle's voice and the way he's always smiled when I wince and the feeling of my own blood being used as lube."

She raises an eyebrow when Harry's face contorts with pain, Draco practically convulsing behind him. "Oh, was that awful to hear, Harry? Did it make you feel sick?" She snatches up the firewhiskey, taking another pull before continuing. "Welcome to my fucking world, because that is what my thoughts are like all the time. That is tame, compared to some of the rest of it. And that's without the accompanied sensory memories. So fucking forgive me if I have a bit of a drinking problem when it lets me keep from remembering shit like that from when I was four."

(It's sick, the satisfaction she gets from seeing the horror on their faces at the comment, but in a way it's so validating to know others think it's terrible too—to know these things that make her writhe and throw up and cringe from humanity make others cringe, too.)

"Mia…" Harry starts, before trailing off, at a loss for words.

Behind him, Draco's sunk to the floor against the wall, eyes closed and hands pressed to his mouth.

"I know you mean well, Harry," Hermione says, more gentle now. "And I know it's—I know it's only because you love me that you're pushing so hard. But there are some things…I know it's not good for me. But it's the best that I can do right now." Her voice breaks on the last word, eyes burning as they start to water. "I'm trying. I promise you, I'm trying. But while you've both been through a lot, you haven't been through this, and I'm not necessarily saying that it's worse, but—" the tears are flowing relentlessly, now, "you don't understand this. Don't understand what it does to a person. And it's been my whole life. I've only been really and truly free of it since the summer, so it's—it's going to take me a while to get to some semblance of better, which—if I'm being completely honest most days I'm not sure I ever will."

(Which—that much they can somewhat understand; the ways that abuse forever changes you, no matter what happens after.)

Harry moves to step forward. "Can I—"

"No. Not—not right now." She swallows heavily, eyes fluttering, hurrying to correct at the guilty look on his face. "Not because of anything you did—you meant well, we're fine. I'm not upset with you; I promise, Harry. But it's—a bad brain day for me, I'm already triggered and hypersensitive, and as much as I love you both…right now I really need some space."

Draco's expression is pained. "But—"

"I love you both more than anything in this world but if you don't leave I will call Winky to forcibly remove you."

A crack and Winky appears beside her, immediately moving to softly stroke her hair. "Mistress called for Winky?"

Hermione eyes the boys who both hold up their hands, relenting. "Yes, could you please get Pansy? Ask her to come—for drunk commiseration? Tell her—please tell her I need her."

"Of course," Winky says, but then snaps her fingers, a plate and water bottle appearing where the firewhiskey was. "But Mistress has to drink all of this and eat the bread before she can eat anymore. And I is bringing you and Miss Pansy dinner soon that you both has to eat."

"Yes, Winky," Hermione smiles fondly, wiping at the droplets on her cheeks.

"We love you, Mia," Draco says softly, still looking pale, as he and Harry both waver by the door.

"I know," she promises. "I love you too."

(It's only herself she's ever lacked love for.)

(but she's—working on it.)

A/N: chapter title from dear john by taylor swift

so. Lots here. I…honestly normally the dark scenes are my favorite to write, bc they're raw and honest and high key work as my therapy, but today…today I had to stop bc I was crying bc I live in a country where we now have evidence that our president has done this to /children/ and people are still going to support him. people in my life who claim to love me are going to still support him. and people are dying, and somehow some people still think it's okay for the "wrong" amount of melanin to equal a death sentence, and I just…I am so, so tired.

anyway. I promise next chapter will be less rough—we'll have some sweet moments to balance.

I love you all. I hope something in this world changes soon.