Anti-Litigation Charm: I don't own HP.
Hi! Nyxx here! Welcome to Silence. This will be a short multi-chapter story that is dedicated to my absolutely amazing Wifey, Tempest E Dashon, on her birthday! :throws confetti and blows noise-maker: I aim to publish at least one chapter a week, but I have no chill and will probably post more frequently. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Anywhatsit, on to the story!
The nauseatingly familiar spiral started to tighten as she gazed into the middle distance.
You have no more family. Helena and Michal Granger no longer exist. Their memories can't be restored. They'll never remember you. Your parents are gone.
She felt her hands clenched into fists and a steady drumbeat pounding behind her eyes.
No one cares about you. You're the walking encyclopedia…they need your brain…not you. Ron cheated on you because you are nothing. You couldn't hold his attention. Maybe if you had just been a better fiancée, none of this would have happened.
The spiral gets narrower and narrower until she can't see a way out.
"'Mione, are you even listening to me?!"
With a jerk, Hermione looked up at Ginny. Merlin, she hated that nickname. How hard is it to say, Hermione? It's not advanced arithmancy.
"Hmm? Ah. Yes, Ginevra, I'm paying attention. Cascading peach roses with light pink peonies and green succulents. Got it."
It was at moments like these that Hermione loved her ability to absorb everything around her. She was barely paying attention to the carrying on about whether roses are too déclassé or would soft pink peonies clash with her hair? If she were being honest, and lately the only person she's even remotely honest with was herself, the last place she wanted to be at that moment was sitting at a table across from Ginny fucking Weasley planning the 'Wedding of the Decade.'
"Okay. I'm just checking. You had that look on your face."
She was so tired of hearing that. 'You have that look on your face again. Smile! Voldemort is gone!' What they wanted was for her to pretend that everything was sunshine and kneazles. It wasn't and she just didn't have the mental capacity to keep up the act any longer. She was stuck in a boring job at the Ministry with the DMLE until she gained enough clout to effect actual change, her parents had no idea she existed, her fiancé had cheated on her, and her friends just kept telling her that everything was going to be fine because 'we won the war!'
"Sorry, Gin," she says out of habit. She's not sorry. She's not fine. She's practically a shell and no one has noticed. She's been broken since the Unspeakables told her that her parents will never recover their memories. She's been broken since Ron said that her parents were gone, and it was time to move on. She's been broken since he decided she wasn't a good enough fiancée. She's mostly just broken…and to her way of looking…not worth the effort to fix.
"It's okay, I guess. Just, get it together, won't you? This is important and I need your A-Game."
Fuck your wedding, little girl, thought Hermione. Important? Please. There are starving orphans in homes all over Wizarding Britain, but the Future Mrs Potter needed her A-Game? Nuh-uh. Ratifying laws protecting witches and wizards suffering for having been on the wrong side of the War? That required her A-Game. This? This was C-Game material, at best. She could organize this circus with her eyes closed. It was her unequivocal loyalty to her friends that had her sitting here instead of being at one of the many orphanages that needed volunteers.
"Of course, Gin. You got it. I'll bring my A-Game," she says with a slight eye roll. "So, are we good for the moment? Great. I'll get these notes out to the florist and finish setting up the cake tasting. I'll owl the details."
The redhead nodded and got up to leave. She wiggled her fingers at Hermione and tossed a quick "Ta" over her shoulder as she left the restaurant. Hermione scoffed. Who the ever-loving-fuck did Ginny Weasley think she was dealing with? She wasn't some nobody that would tolerate being treated like a minion. She was a grown woman, a war veteran…the 'Brightest Witch of her Generation." Hermione could drop Ginny Weasley so fast she'd never have a chance to defend herself. She could even make it look like a tragic accident. She's been tempted throughout this process, but she just doesn't care enough. Once this wedding is over, Hermione can focus on her true passions in life.
As she closed the binder in front of her and signalled for a seltzer from the waitress, she put her head in her hands. If she were anywhere else, on any other day, she wouldn't be caught in such a weak moment. She knows she's in public, but she's alone in the backroom and away from prying eyes. She just lets everything well up inside of her until it feels like static electricity coursing through her veins. All the anguish and rage and depression coalesce inside of her. She knew that spiral was going to come back to haunt her. They always did. She's so caught up in the storm she doesn't notice the waitress drop off the seltzer and quickly back off. She imagines what it would be like to just let the darkness consume her. Would it finally take all the pain away? She can feel it reaching explosive levels when someone puts their hand on her shoulder. She gasps as all of that magic charge becomes localized in her chest. She jumps and has her wand pulled in a flash. She thinks about how her senses have atrophied in the depths of her depression...she was getting careless. She hadn't even heard anyone walk up. Just as quick as she pulls her wand, she's been disarmed.
"Ostorozhny, Меgeara. Careful," says a voice that makes her blood boil. "You wouldn't want to do something you would regret."
That voice. The voice of the one man she never expected to see again. The one that has haunted her nightmares...full of purple fire racing towards her and her body bursting into agony; full of fear and self-loathing as she breaks the taboo; full of emotions betraying her logic as she comes across him, soaked in blood and sitting against a wall during the battle and just running past with a minute acknowledgement of his uttered "Blagadaryu vas." The reason she's now fluent in three languages and knows that he owes her a life-debt. The voice that, most recently, has been appearing in her dreams - infrequent though they may be - to help her come to terms with her losses, her depression.
"Dolohov. If you do not remove your fucking hand from my person, immediately, I'll remove it for you…permanently."
"Tch. Printsessa, your magic was about to bring the walls down around you. If it weren't for me channelling some of your magic into myself, you'd have destroyed yourself and half of the street with you."
She looks up into the face of Antonin Dolohov with a bit of curiosity, a smidge of fear, a heap of anger, and a barely discernible pinch of something she's not willing to name and says, "Maybe you should have let me."
She can't tell who's more surprised at the words leaving her mouth. He opens his mouth, pauses, closes it again, and shakes his head.
"Blyat! As tempting as that may have been at one point, I would rather you not blow yourself up along with my place of employment. It was hard enough to find this bogom zabytoy job, to begin with. Come with me."
She looked at him as if he'd grown a second head and began laughing.
"I'm not fucking going anywhere with you. There's not a damn thing you can say that will change my mind."
"You're covered in blood."
She froze at his words and looked down. Sure enough, her blouse was soaked with blood. She had no idea what happened, so she looked at him with confusion.
He held up one finger. "First, your nose is bleeding," then another and said, "and second, all your scars have reopened."
She brought a hand up to her nose and pulled away blood-soaked fingertips. She lifted her left arm to see the sleeve that was a soft blue this morning now a lurid crimson.
"How?"
"Pizdets! We don't have time for this! You're bleeding out."
As the world starts to go fuzzy around the edges, she managed to get one last word out.
"...help."
Antonin leapt forward to grab the woman as she collapsed.
"Upryamaya zhenshchina!"
Picking her up bridal style, he disapparated from the restaurant with a crack.
Ostorozhny - Careful
Меgeara - Shrew/Vixen
Blagadaryu vas - I am very grateful for you
Printsessa - Princess
Blyat - Shit (like the exclamation you make when you stub your toe?)
Bogom zabytoy - Godforsaken
Pizdets - Fuck! (like, this situation is fucked)
Upryamaya zhenshchina - Stubborn woman