Bound To… Chapter 1, a harry potter fanfic

Summary: Estranged from the wizarding world, Hermione Granger must return to the site of her trauma 10 years after the war. But confronting the aftermath of the bloodshed isn't the biggest threat she faces, because there's nothing scarier to her than seeing Harry Potter again.

"Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer—both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams."
― Bram Stoker, Dracula

Bound To

Fear the Nightmares

Chapter 1

2 May 2008

The Battle of Hogwarts

It was an eerie silence that hung over what once was the safest place in the wizarding world. Smoke-colored clouds languidly traversed the darkened sky — almost as dark as the magic that thickened the air, corrupted by death's touch. Just seconds before, witches and wizards were battling in the age-old fight between good and evil. But then, as the serpentine figure moved forth from the forest, red eyes glowing and arms spread wide in victory, there was only silence.

Scattered sobs soon shattered the quietness that followed the harrowing sight: the Boy Who Lived was no longer alive.

There he lay, his limp body displayed like a hunting trophy for all to see.

Harry Potter was dead.

And, at that moment, Hermione Granger could only see memories of the time they spent together, and it was in that flash of recollections that she finally understood the intangible thrill that ran through her body whenever he was near. The minute she spotted his cadaverous form, she knew. That intangible feeling was a love profound… and the new feeling coursing through her body was inconsolable despair.

16 May 2020

Hermione did not want to get out of bed. For 20 minutes, she lay still, as if she couldn't hear the ceaseless chirp of the cuckoo clock across the room. Drawn curtains that blocked the beaming rays of sun made it that much easier to hide under covers and pretend it was still night.

Heavy banging suddenly shook her headboard. It crashed against the wall just as loudly as the fist pounding on the other side. "WE'RE TRYNA BLOODY SLEEP YA CUNT! SHUT THAT DAMNED CLOCK UP BEFORE WE COME IN THERE AND DO IT FOR YA! AND YOU DON'T WANT US TO ROUGH YA UP! WE AIN'T THE STOPPING TYPE!"

The violent words beyond the wall didn't even make her flinch. She was waiting for another occupant at The Leaky Cauldron's inn to voice their frustrations. It may have been rude to let the clock yammer for so long, but Hermione secretly let it happen in hopes that one of the haggard wizards or shady hags would send a hex through the wall, hindering her from getting out of bed and returning to the scene of her greatest trauma.

But she knew she had to. He had been a friend, after all.

With a groan of reluctance, Hermione met cold ground beneath her feet. The abrupt chill almost drove her to snuggle back into the rank comforter, but she knew if she climbed back in bed, she wouldn't be getting up. And as tempting as that sounded, even with reeking sheets, she could no longer avoid the upcoming event.

After shutting the bird up and taking a brief hot shower, she pulled on the clothes she laid out the night before: a black pencil skirt paired with a black tank top and black blazer. Stepping in front of the bathroom mirror, she sighed at her reflection. Dark circles made a home beneath her eyes. Sure, the clutter of seedy patrons at the bar below kept her awake all night. But sleep had become foreign long before her stay at the inn. Something far more troubling than the people downstairs kept Hermione up at night.

And now she had to face it all.

Quickly tapping on concealer, she pulled her hair in a long French braid with the assistance of Muggle products. Even they couldn't control the rebellious curls that sprouted from the style.

Fortunately, Hermione had never been overly concerned with her looks. Today, especially, wasn't the time to worry about perfecting her appearance.

Glancing at the cuckoo clock, she immediately regretted her lackadaisical attitude earlier. She was already 15 minutes late.

Forcing herself not to think, she slipped on her black heels, swallowed an anxiety pill, then snatched her black spring cloak and wand from the suitcase she hadn't bothered unpacking.

The two objects in her hand — wand and cloak — hailed pause. Like a hot potato, she dropped her wand. She hadn't held it or worn a cloak in almost ten years, the last time she was in wizarding London. They represented a part of her life she was reentering. They meant she was back, and there was no turning around if she disapparated to her house of horrors. While she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, she refused to take her wand. She wasn't ready.

Centering herself, she put her hand on the door. Though her stomach dropped at the thought, she refocused on her mission: returning to Hogwarts.

Hermione apparated outside of Hogwarts' gates and made her way across the grounds to a destination she hadn't imagined needing to visit so soon. Looking around the scenic campus, one would be hard-pressed to envisage it as the site of unyielding carnage. Instead of seeing the lush green pasture, she saw the bodies of students dropping as green bursts of lightning sprung forth from the wands of masked terrorists. She saw Fred's lifeless face. Lupin and Tonks hand in hand. Staring at the Astronomy Tower, she remembered the last time she'd seen Dumbledore's blue eyes, the twinkle forever erased.

And right there, in the field before the castle's entrance, it was where she first saw Harry's limp body. It was where she—

"Stop it," she reprimanded herself, forcing shoulders back and head high. She hated the circumstances that required her return, but ultimately there was no way she'd miss it. Tears pricked her eyes, but she willed them back. There was so much to mourn today — she didn't think she could handle confronting the stuff of her nightmares. One thing at a time, she internally chanted like a mantra, One thing at a time.

As she passed the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's hut came into view. A large crowd surrounded it, everyone dressed in black robes to pay respect to the late Hagrid.

Apparently, it was a chupacabra pup's venomous fangs that ended his life. As far as deaths go, Hermione imagined Hagrid would be pleased. Still, she felt guilt and regret wrap around her heart. Giants had short life-spans, yes. But, being half-giant, Hermione thought she had more time - thought she'd find the courage to come back to the wizarding world sooner.

But now it was too late. A consequence of fear, losing a friend before saying goodbye.

Pushing back those tears again, Hermione looked around at the crowd and noticed all held pint-sized cups filled to the brim with ale. Hermione saw to her left a large keg with glasses beside it. Following the example set, she poured herself a drink and remained in the back of the crowd.

Professor McGonagall seemed to be wrapping up her speech, "…despite the portraits painted of him by those too ignorant to see the value in all living beings, those who knew Hagrid best know his height was nowhere near as big as his heart. Hagrid, we'll miss you. Forever."

"Here, here!" Everyone took a sip of their ale.

Hermione took a demure taste just as her heel sank into a weakened spot in the earth. As she caught herself before losing balance, she sloshed beer over the front of her cloak. "Shit!" Standing on firm ground again, she instinctively reached for her wand. With no magic to scourgify the mess, she slipped off her cloak — it didn't pass her awareness that she now had rejected two objects connected to her witching roots.

While looking down at her shoe, tapping off the dirt around the heel, someone began to speak: "I-I'm not the type who gives speeches… but for Hagrid, I will. So here it goes. The first time I met him..."

His voice sent shockwaves through her body. Snapping her eyes up, she saw the face that haunted her dreams. Except for the messy black hair and the emerald green eyes glazed with unshed tears, Harry had changed, grown into his maturity. A late growth spurt put him at 1.78m, 5'10", and his face was shrouded in a 5 o'clock shadow. Gone was the perpetually thin boy — he was now statuesque, his body likely hardened beneath his robes from working as an Auror, she guessed. His glasses were in his hand, giving the crowd a better view of his oceanic eyes.

But, in his gaze, Hermione could see the war, a war Harry single-handedly had to carry on his back. In his sight, she could see… wait…

She could see his eyes directly on her. And as soon as their gazes locked, she felt her breath slam into her chest. Hermione felt like she was choking or drowning or suffocating under his penetrative stare. There was a mix of shock and something else that she couldn't read on his face. But she could most clearly see the war in his eyes and knew it likely would never fade.

Finally finding her ability to move, Hermione broke eye contact and, with furrowed brows, meticulously brushed the nonexistent lent on the front of her blazer as if it was the most curious sight she'd ever beholden.

Hermione didn't even notice that Harry had stopped speaking. "Um, sorry bout that… Where was I? Yes, I'll never forget when he aimed his pink umbrella at my cousin." Eyes on the ground ground, a nostalgic smirk lifted his mouth. "He gave him a pig's tail — he wanted to turn him into a pig so badly, but the tail was just as funny… Hagrid rescued me from that hell and brought me to a home I never knew, here at Hogwarts. That was one of the many great qualities Hagrid possessed. He was gentle, sure, but when he got angry, he got angry—" sputtered laughter marked the crowd's agreement, "—but his anger was always justified. It was always in service to a greater good - to the people he loved. And just as he did then, Hagrid protected me many more times while at Hogwarts because he was a good friend. A loyal friend. And he'd without question lay his life down for the people he loved."

He looked behind his shoulder at Hagrid's tombstone. "Taken out by a poisonous chupacabra pup that the magical creatures department didn't even know could be venomous. He, of course, knew it wasn't native and took care of it since it had no Mum. I like to think he would've been proud to die at the hands of a beloved creature that needed nurturing."

His words made her heart beat faster as she recalled her earlier thought. They always were on the same page, weren't they?

"And so… here's to Hagrid," he finished, pausing for a long moment before continuing. His voice slightly broke as he said, "Thank you… for everything."

"Here, here!" The crowd again gulped from their mugs.

As more people stepped forward to share stories, Hermione felt her anxiety grow as tears came back to her eyes. Guilt for abandoning Hagrid and all the people she loved pulsed forward. The constant reminders of death, a word that had become synonymous with Hogwarts for Hermione, was overwhelming. Being there was too much.

Slowly, she backed away from the crowd. She desperately wanted to run, but her feet betrayed her. The space between her and them was enough to calm her for now.

Another resounding "Here, here!" came as another speech concluded. And as the funeral wrapped, a slew of arrows suddenly soared through the sky, landing behind Hagrid's hut like a fortress. Hermione looked beyond her shoulder into the Forbidden Forest — she hadn't realized she'd moved so close to its edge. Within, she could see a tribe of centaurs, paying their respect to a man they knew respected them and all the magical creatures of the forest. Through the foliage, Hermione saw a blur of eyes and tails and furry legs and many others. A giant's head slowly rose above the trees. Hermione didn't recognize him, but she could only imagine Hagrid helped him in some way. But he wasn't alone. Wrapping around the forest's parameter were more creatures — more of Hagrid's beloved friends paying their respects and honoring the fallen half-giant.

More tears surfaced in Hermione's eyes as she finally let the grief of Hagrid's death hit her. She turned and saw the crowd taking in the beautiful scenery, then caught the eye of Harry again. She swallowed hard and let her eyes slide to the people around him: the Weasleys. Ginny, sobbing into Harry's shoulder.

She turned back to the forest. Quietly to herself, Hermione whispered, "To Hagrid." Then took a giant gulp of her ale.

At the funeral's end, after reconnecting with her professors and after most people disapparated beyond Hogwarts' gates, Hermione made her way to the tombstone. It was simple, reading, "Here lies Hagrid, a man who loved all creatures and all people… unless they crossed those most precious to him." But more significant than the engraved words was where he was lain to rest: between his most beloved friends, Fang and Aragog.

She crouched before the tombstone and laid a hand on the damp pasture as if it were his chest. "I'm so sorry, Hagrid," she whispered. "Thank you for always having tea and hardened scones ready for us. For protecting us. For helping us. For making us laugh and scaring us to bits with those, um, interesting creatures you managed to smuggle from Merlin knows where. Thank you for… for loving us. We loved you, too."

"Here, here."

Hermione twisted around to see who spoke, though she'd recognize that voice anywhere.

It was Ron holding out a handkerchief. Hermione hadn't even noticed she was crying. She couldn't will herself to stand, so she tentatively leaned backward to accept it. Ron Weasley. She hadn't seen him in ten years, the day she left. Staring at him, he almost looked preserved in time. Somehow, he had maintained much of his boyish looks from their Hogwarts days. He was still tall and lean, but a more prominent jaw and longer hair held back in a low bun aged him nicely. A little fuzz lay atop his upper lip — and she was surprised it didn't look as bad as it sounded.

Hermione wiped her eyes, not caring that the concealer was pretty much gone. She tried to hand it back, but he shook it off, burying his hands into his pockets.

She turned back to the grave and wept again, mourning not only the loss of Hagrid but the many others who died on the soil that had been transformed into a battlefield long ago.

After what had to have been at least 5 minutes, Hermione took a deep breath and stood, wiping the last remnants of sorrow from her face, swallowing the rest until another time. She took a deep breath and finally faced her ex-boyfriend. "Thank you."

He nodded, eyes on the ground, then looked up through his strawberry-blond lashes. "Glad you came, 'Mione."

A sad smile crept onto her face. The nickname sounded so unfamiliar, but the way her body warmed told her it wasn't so strange at all. "Me too, Ron."

His leg lifted for a brief moment, hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out and hug her, but he opted to stay in place. She was grateful. "The family's here. They're all excited to see you. Mum's making a bloody feast large enough to feed this whole lot. But, by her standards, this crowd would've been small."

Hermione giggled, fondly remembering how Mrs. Weasley pretended to loathe hosting large dinners. But not so secretly, she loved it, because maternal nurturing was how she best expressed her love.

Not that she had any left for Hermione. Not after what she did to Ron.

"You're invited, of course. Everyone wants you to come."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Everyone?"

He chuckled. "Okay, so Mum's not exactly thrilled to see you, but she's missed you more than she'll admit. Don't be surprised if she's a little snarky, though."

Hesitation entered her mind. She was there in the wizarding world only for Hagrid's funeral. She did the thing she feared most: coming back to Hogwarts and facing all the things the former haven now represented to her. And she allowed herself to begin mourning. But tackling the rest of her grief couldn't happen there. She had every intention of leaving the next day and returning to the life she created in Muggle London. Seeing the Weasleys would only make that choice harder.

"Come on, Hermione. You can't just disappear again."

The words felt like a sword plunging into her gut. She did disappear, didn't she? Vanished as if those she left behind meant nothing. At least, that was likely their vantage point of events. Her perspective was far more nuanced. Far more complicated.

A full-blown smile appeared on Ron's lips, dripping with charm. "If you come, I promise George won't play a single prank on you."

Hermione laughed, but as she stared into the face of a man she no longer knew, fresh tears swelled in her eyes. Ron took his hands out of his pocket and, this time, didn't hesitate to hug her. He pulled her tight to his chest, where she let the tears fall. She didn't expect to feel such comfort. She didn't realize how much she missed their friendship.

She could only hope the damage hadn't set in stone.

He leaned back to look at her face. "I take it that means you're coming?"

The smile was back on her face before she could stop it. "Yes, I'll come. But I don't know how much cheekiness I can handle."

He laughed and slung his arm around her shoulder. "The meat-pies she's making will be worth it. Besides, the family's grown huge! You have to meet everybody. And the Order members will be there. You'll have to meet the new lot who've joined. We won the war, but history's taught us to stay vigilant. Just like Moody said."

A grim look replaced the smile as anxiety followed. Hermione didn't want to think of the dead, not now. She'd pack her grief up and deal with it when she left. So she changed the subject, "I take it all the boys have kids, then?"

Ron chuckled. "You'll have to see it to believe it. It's mad."

Hermione lightly smiled as they walked through the gate. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty field behind her. One final glance at the hut and grave of a friend she'd never forget. "Goodbye, Hagrid."

When she and Ron were far enough from the school, the two disapparated. As her body lurched forward, Hermione's stomach dropped, and it had nothing to do with the side effects of Apparition.

No, she was about to face her biggest fear yet, one even scarier than her flashbacks of war and violence.

It was time to see Harry Potter.

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