A/N- Hello readers! I have decided to write what I imagine happened in the first year after the war (original, I know). This will be mainly Ronmione, but all of the other characters will be there as well. It will be mostly cannon, though maybe a bit darker. I feel like spending most of your childhood fighting for your life, then going through many life-threatening experiences, would cause trauma. So this will deal with things like PTSD, anxiety, and alcoholism.
I hope you enjoy!
~Dot
Exhaustion was overtaking Hermione, to the point that she could barely focus. Up until this moment, her emotions had been on a Ferris wheel; fear, jubilation, terror, relief, repeating themselves in no particular order. Now, she simply felt numb.
She was sitting at what was the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall. How she got here, she couldn't remember. Her mind was otherwise occupied. The events that only recently took place played in her mind like a movie; Harry dying, Harry not dying, Harry winning, the dead bodies that scattered the ground that they now sat on, Ron.
She couldn't help but think about Ron. What had caused her to kiss him in the first place… She could blame it on adrenaline or the fear of their impending deaths, but those weren't the real reasons she did it. But, they would be her cover if he regretted their actions. He had kissed her back, hadn't he? It didn't matter now anyway; Fred was dead, they were in mourning. She chastised herself for even thinking about their possible romance. Now was not the time.
Ron was sitting across from her at the table. His eyelids were weighing heavily on his face, he too, looked exhausted. Ginny was sat next to Hermione; her tears had dried, with a blank expression now formed on her face. Harry had long disappeared under his invisibility cloak, Hermione would have followed him, but she knew he needed his space.
"The Gryffindor common room wasn't damaged," Neville said, coming up to the table they were sitting at, "it's open for anyone who needs a place to sleep."
Hermione hardly registered what was said. Sleep, sleep would be incredible. Nevertheless, she couldn't leave Ron and Ginny.
"You should go," Ginny said to Hermione and Ron. "You both look knackered."
"What about you?" Hermione asked, placing a reassuring hand on the other girl's shoulder.
"I'm going to go with Mum back to Aunt Muriel's. We can figure out the rest when we've had some decent sleep."
Hermione nodded and hugged Ginny before the pair stood to go on their own way.
Ron stood as well, and soon the two of them were making their way to the Gryffindor Tower. However, before they could exit the great hall, Neville stopped them. He discretely leaned towards them and whispered Harry's there. They thanked Neville for his help and continued on.
The trek to the tower was more treacherous than typical. The castle had sustained considerable damage, to the point that Hermione wondered if it was safe to try to cross it. There were fallen pillars to climb over, broken glass to avoid, and blood splatter to overlook. By the time they made it to the open portrait at the head of the tower, Hermione was wide awake; her body jittering from their mini-adventure.
The common room was bustling; there were groups of people chatting, and people sprawled asleep on the furniture. Hermione expected someone to stop her and Ron and question them about their past year. But instead, she was met with approving glances and grateful nods, the others seeming to know that Ron and Hermione needed their space.
They made their way up to the boy's old dormitory, pausing at the door.
"Harry would probably appreciate some clean clothes," Ron said, motioning towards Hermione's beaded bag hanging around her neck.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Hermione agreed, and Ron pushed the door open.
Harry's curtains were drawn, so Hermione laid out clean clothes on his dresser. She handed Ron the bag, and he took out what he needed.
Hermione knew it was time to leave, but she couldn't get her feet to move. She couldn't imagine sleeping alone, especially after spending the past year with Harry and Ron. It was silly, really, but she wasn't sure she would be able to sleep without the lull of Ron's snores.
"You could stay," Ron said, barely above a whisper. "I mean- erm- I doubt everyone will sleep here; there will be extra beds."
Hermione couldn't help but smile, though she tried to hide it.
"That would be nice," she said, getting her bag from Ron. "I'm not sure I could sleep now, though. I'm exhausted, but I'm wide awake."
"I know what you mean," he said. "I could do with a shower," he said while dramatically pretending to smell himself.
Hermione agreed, and they headed into the boy's bathroom. She was thankful for two things. Firstly, it was empty. Secondly, it was just like the girls'- with private shower stalls.
There were towels neatly folded at the entrance of each shower, and Hermione wondered when the house-elves had had time to put them there. They both grabbed one and headed into their individual stalls.
The water felt magical on Hermione's skin. She immediately walked into the water, and it rushed down her face and body, the warmth bringing comfort and cleansing her. It was only when she turned her back towards the shower did that change. She couldn't help but let out a hiss in pain as the water stung her back. And, for the first time, she realised she had a gash on her back.
"Everything okay?" Ron asked from his stall, sounding concerned.
"Yes," she said, trying to reassure him. "I just have a cut; dittany will fix it."
Ron gave an understanding grunt, as Hermione reached into her bag and got out her dittany. Much to her displeasure, she could only reach part of her wound. She tried to continue to shower without healing it, but it was just too painful.
"Erm, Ron," she said quietly, hoping that he wouldn't hear her.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"I can't quite reach my cut, do you think you could put dittany on it?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes," he said, immediately turning off his shower.
She hadn't expected him to be so quick to help. She thought he'd at least finish showering. Now, she needed to figure out what she was going to do.
She couldn't wear a top, but she thought she should at least put on bottoms. She went to get her clothes when she heard him at the entrance of her shower. She didn't have time. Reluctantly, she left her shower in only her towel. He had seen her in just a towel before, on nights in the tent when she had forgotten to bring a change of clothes with her into the loo. But, this felt different.
He was fully dressed, and she felt remarkably vulnerable.
She handed him the dittany in silence, and he motioned for her to sit on a bench in the middle of the bathroom. She pushed her hair over her shoulder, sat down with her back towards him, and waited.
He let out a sympathetic groan when he saw her back. It was worse than Hermione had previously thought.
Her skin tingled as she waited for him to begin, but he hadn't. He was trying to figure out how best to apply it. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself. Hermione could feel his breath on her neck and couldn't help the goose pimples that rushed down her back.
He finally began, her skin stinging as the ointment was applied. He apologised softly, his breath on her ear, distracting her. After a few moments, he stopped.
"Erm, Hermione," he said, sounding unsure.
"Yes?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
"Your towel- I can't get to the rest of it."
"Oh."
She stood up, still facing away from Ron and carefully loosened her towel so that it was hanging limply at her back.
Instead of sitting back down, Ron walked to her, finishing his job.
"Thank you," she said, turning back to him, taking the dittany back—neither of them making eye contact.
They both went back to their showers and finished up in silence. When Hermione had dressed and exited her stall, Ron was still in his.
She went to the mirror to inspect herself. It was a mistake; she looked horrible. Her face was gaunt and pale, small scars lining her from head to toe. Her eyes were sunken in, and she looked older than years. Her hair was still wet, but she could tell it was a mess. She had already brushed it and knew that the burns she had sustained had burnt her hair as well. It was all different lengths, and Hermione couldn't stand to look at it.
So, she grabbed a pair of scissors out of her bag and went to work. When she was done, she was quite pleased with herself. Her face was still sickly looking, but at least her hair was all one length. She managed to keep it shoulder length, but after she magically dried it, her curls made it shorter. As she was scourgifying the cut hair away, Ron exited his stall.
He walked over to her and froze.
"What did you do?" he asked incredulously.
"What do you mean?" she asked, annoyed by his tone.
"Your hair," he said.
"It was a mess; it was all different lengths," she said, feeling her anger rising. "I like how it looks."
"I've never seen it so short," he said. "It's nice," he added shyly.
"Oh," Hermione said, her anger diminishing. "Thank you."
The pair brushed their teeth and headed back into the boy's dormitory. To both of their surprise, all of the beds, except for Rons, had the curtains drawn. The stood for a moment at the door of the bathroom, contemplating what to do.
"You can take my bed," Ron offered.
"Nonsense, I can go back to the girl's dorm," she said, though, again, her feet failed her.
"I'd say we could share," he said so quietly Hermione almost had to read his lips. "But I'm not sure we'd both fit."
"I could enlarge it," Hermione said a little too eagerly.
"What?" asked Ron, apparently not following.
"The bed," she said, "so we could both fit."
"Yeah," said Ron as he headed to his old bed.
Hermione hesitantly followed. When she made it to his bed, she first performed a silencing spell, so that they grunting of the furniture wouldn't wake the other inhabitants in the room. Then she enlarged the bed as much as she could. It wasn't much, as other beds were nearby, but it was enough so that they would be comfortable.
She hesitantly entered his bed, her silk pyjamas sliding easily under the covers. She didn't often wear these pyjamas; she considered them a luxury. She decided to treat herself tonight. If winning a war wasn't an appropriate time to treat yourself, then when was?
Ron quickly joined Hermione, magicking the curtains closed as he did. They laid side-by-side, the bed barely big enough for the two of them to lay flat, their shoulders touching. It was pitch dark, and Hermione was suddenly very aware of her heartbeat; it seemed to be beating at an insurmountable pace. How was she going to sleep?
She felt Ron's hand moving next to hers, and before she could comprehend what he was doing, he had taken her hand in his. She felt her breath hitch, though she didn't feel panic. Instead, at that moment, all she wanted to do was to melt into his arms.
She turned her head towards his and could see that he was looking at her. She turned to face him, and he did the same, their hands still clasped with one another.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see a small smile on his face. She couldn't help but smile back. He reached his free hand to her face, pushing the now-short locks out of her face. Her body shivered at the touch. They were face to face, an advantage of lying down.
It was not much later that Ron leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It was a much more gentle and soft kiss than the previous one they had. It was not hurried and full of panic and uncertainty; instead, it was calm and promising. She wished it wouldn't end.
He broke away slowly, and Hermione took his hand on her face in hers. They could do so much more. After all, they were (somewhat) alone and in a bed. But now wasn't the time. Instead, she did what she wanted to do earlier and folded her body into his, the pair of them falling asleep in each other arms.