Chapter 1


The cold air howled throughout the flat, her heavy breathing disrupting the silence that resonated in her bedroom. The curtains rustled against the window as her panicked eyes searched for something, anything to bring her away from the torment that ran rampant in her mind. Darkness crept around like an old friend, smoothing a hand down her back, eliciting a shiver to crawl up Hermione's spine. Her hand twitches with pain, as the memories return, paralysing her with fear.

The dream of Malfoy Manor returns, of Bellatrix's manic laughter echoing in her ears, the constant repeat of the torture she endured not 3 months ago filling her body, her screams bouncing of the hollow walls of that drawing room. The rancid smell of death and dark magic permeate around her as she writhes on the hard wooden floor. The cursed dagger slicing into her skin, slicing her with that horrible word, leaving a scar that would never leave her body for as long as she lived.

The howling wind outside her bedroom window breaks her from her memories. The sweat soaked sheets stick to her legs like Devil's Snare, twisting, trying to pull her down to the bed. She kicks them off of her as she sits up, her breathing laboured as she looks at the street below. Not a sound. No screaming cars passing by, no pesky birds chirping. Just the calming noise of the trees as they sway. Her breathing slows as she listens, the claws of darkness receding as she stands heading to the bathroom. The cold water cools her flaming face. Her feet take her to the kitchen, as per her usual routine.

Her flat, her current home, was just right for her. Sure her friends didn't like it, but she didn't care. From the overstuffed bookshelves, to the well worn leather couch that didn't match her other furnishings, it gave her a sense of relaxation. The warm brown tones of the painted walls, the rug that Crookshanks adored to the organised clutter, screamed Hermione through and through, and she loved it. A place for her to rest, if only for a short amount of time. A place where she could read without disruption with a cup of tea and her cat was all she needed after a nightmare, especially one as bad as this. Her sock clad feet hit the polished wood floors as she goes to the kitchen, passing a dozing Crookshanks on the windowsill. Hermione pets his soft orange fur, not stopping on her journey.

The lights automatically flick on as she enters the kitchen. She flicks on the kettle as she passes, finding her favourite mug on the drying rack and the tea bags. As she waits for the water to boil, her mind wanders to before the war. To peaceful nights filled with dreams of books, Hogwarts and Harry and Ron. Now there was nothing but pain and torment that plagued her in the cold hours of the night. The whistling kettle brought her back, the steam of the water, the calming smell of chamomile hitting her nostrils as she poured the water into her mug. After a splash of milk is added, she returns to the living room, sitting in the armchair by the window. The light brown fabric rustled as she sat, with her tea, looking out the window into the dark abyss of the sky.

Time passed slowly, the minutes bleeding into one another, turning into hours as she sat, unmoving on the armchair by the window. Her eyes watched the inky night sky, as the hours moved, until the first rays of the sun peeked out from the horizon. Splashes of orange, yellow and pink lit up the quaint little apartment with life, breaking it from the dreary darkness it once sat in. The birds began to chirp, the muggles started their routines as she sat watching their uninterrupted lives from the comfort of her living room, like a movie.

Hermione felt the familiar softness of her cat by her ankles. She looked down to see her orange half kneazle weaving a figure of eight between her legs. Hermione scooped him up and placed him on her lap, stroking his fur as she watched the world outside. " Hey there buddy. Are you hungry?" Hermione cooed, and from the resounding meow the cat gave her, she took that as a yes.

After feeding Crookshanks, she returns to her bedroom to get ready for the day. In the sunshine, the room was completely different than at the dead of night. The white flowy curtains, the soft cream colours of the bedspread and pillows, which now lay haphazardly on the floor. The hot summer air blew through the room, making the room light and airy. The doors of her wardrobe opened with a wave of her hand, as she began to make her bed. After that was complete, Hermione scanned through her small wardrobe for something to wear. T-shirts, dresses, leggings, jumpers, but nothing she chose went, so she settled on a pair of blue muggle denims and an oversized cream shirt, with her trusty trainers.

Hermione caught her reflection in the mirror, and paused to look. Her hair had dulled down since sixth year, although her curls were still unruly. The bags under her eyes, from many sleepless nights, made her look half dead. She had filled out since The Final Battle, never taking food for granted due to the many hungry nights while on the run, no longer skeletal but rather healthy looking. The tan she had acquired from her trip from Australia still tinted her skin.

She tried not to think of the unsuccessful trip to Australia. With the goal to restore and return her parents to before she obliviated them had been no easy feat, with the Healers in Australia saying repeatedly that nothing could be done, still left her upset. The gaping hole in her heart where her parents were, was still too sore and painful to even work through. So she did what she had been continuously doing since that fateful day in May: Ignore it.

Ignore the pain, torment, consequences of all the choices and actions that were made that day and shove them into the locked box in her mind. Refusing against all the power in the world, not to reveal the true terrors of that night. And the guilt and aloneness of the months following from the stress and that dreadful night in London -

No. No more. Stop it Hermione. Her thoughts reminded her as she left the sanctuary of her apartment. The muggle street where she lived was in a quieter part of London, in a neighbourhood full of light. The park across the road was filled with children playing in the playground, teen couples in budding romances, families having fun, all enjoying the summer weather. It was also very far from any Wizarding folk or press pestering her about her life.

That was one problem with being a 'war hero', was people constantly interrupting your day to day life. Constant stares off of everyone around you. At the Ministry, Diagon Alley, everywhere, and it bugged Hermione constantly. The constant thanks, the hand shakes, the admiration for saving the world. She gave up her life as a normal Hogwarts student, as a teenager to fight a noseless arsehole. She didn't feel like a hero, she felt like a child soldier.

Harry, Hermione and Ron all handled the 'fame' differently. Ron revelled in it, finally standing out against his other siblings, basking in the spotlight. Harry downplayed his role, 'The Chosen One' title becoming a household name and giving him bonuses compared to others, but he still enjoyed it to some degree. Hermione however despised it. ' The Brightest Witch of her Age' title added on a ton of pressure she didn't want, or needed, so she hid. Lived in a muggle neighbourhood away from prying eyes, blending into the background, trying to stay afloat in the vast ocean.

The cool breeze past her as her steps led her to the familiar alley, hidden between a shop and a housing complex. She checked for muggles nearby, saw none and closed her eyes. The image of Diagon Alley came into view. The pull behind her navel took her and within a moment, she was gone. Off to face the Wizarding World once more.


The Burrow still looked as it always did. The tall house illuminated the surrounding fields with light. Happiness flowing through the cracks of the old building that housed some of Hermione's most beloved memories. Christmases by the fireplace, summer days in the back garden, watching the boys play Quidditch. They came rushing back as she made her way to the house.

Hermione could hear the usual commotion from outside, laughter and chatter from the residents and the smell of Mrs Weasley's home cooking. The house creaked as a gust of wind blew by, but the house didn't fall and stayed as sturdy as ever. Her eyes took in the worn down outside of the building, wondering how a house so odd could feel like home. Or it did at one point in her life. Now she felt like a stranger looking in on a happy picture as an outsider. All alone. Like always.

The front door opened, revealing the motherly face of Molly Weasley.

"Hermione dear! What are you doing standing out here? Come in, Come in!" Molly said as she ushered Hermione into the comforting house. It was the same as always. The warm oranges and reds remind her of the Gryffindor common room, alight with life. Cinnamon and sugar permeated the air, wrapping her in a hug as she moved through the living room. Plush couches, threadbare rugs, organised clutter on counters. The comfort of The Weasley's.

"Everyone's in the kitchen dear, we've been waiting for you."

"You didn't have to wai-"

"Of course we waited Hermione, you're family and a family doesn't start till everyone has arrived." The chatter stopped as they made it to the entryway of the kitchen. All eyes turned to them, to her, as she stood there staring. Faces that were so familiar yet so different looked at her with delight all standing to greet her. Ginny was the first to greet her saying how 'it was so nice to see her!' with the rest of the room following soon after. The warmth of her second family evoked emotions in Hermione that had lay dormant for months, if only for a short while.

Finally, Harry embraced her in his arms, hugging her like it was the last time he was going to see her. His familiar scent of treacle tarts and broomstick polish washed over her, bathing her in comfort and feelings of being home. Something deep down in Hermione knew that this wasn't her home anymore, but she refused to dwell on it, as Harry spoke, "It's so good to see you, Hermione. It's been so long." He pulled away from her, looking her over as emerald green met amber ones. Messy black hair over wired rimmed glasses, a boyish smile she hadn't seen in months, years even, looked at her.

"I'm good, doing better." She replied, plastering a smile on her face, but she knew it didn't reach her eyes. However, Harry didn't seem to notice as he guided her to the only empty seat at the dinner table, right between Harry and Ron. He was the only one not to greet her warmly, only offering a hesitant smile and wave. Her relationship was still strained with Ron, since her not so nice breakup with him a few weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. She gave him a small wave and sat down, watching the dinner begin.

As dinner progressed, Hermione observed the table's occupants acting if a war had never happened. The happy chatter of Mrs Weasley to her children, Percy babbling about the Ministry, Ginny and George carrying on earning reprimands from Mr Weasley, Charlie and Ron talking about dragons while Harry talked to Mr Weasley about muggle objects; and also Bill looking at Fleur lovingly while she spoke with Mrs Weasley about the upcoming grandchild. Hermione watched their interactions; an arm behind Fleur's chair, hands intertwined on the table, kisses to the forehead, cheek, temple, and she wondered if she would ever have that with anyone. She had only had 2 boyfriends, if you counted Ron as one, and she had never had that comfortability with someone. Someone that felt like a place where you could drop your grievances and just be. The other half of yourself.

A distant call of her name brought her from her musings and she answered all the questions that were thrown at her with happy smiles and exaggerated answers, making her appear normal when in actuality she was far from it. Practised smiles and forced laughs made her blend in with the others, appearing happy and easy-going to the untrained eye, but if looking hard enough could see the odd one out. The dinner ended and everyone went to separate places, with people heading into the sitting room, cleaning in the kitchen or heading home for an early night. Hermione slipped out the backdoor unnoticed, leaving the commotion of inside behind.

The warm summer air filled her lungs, hitting her face and cooling her down. The floral scents of the flowers wafted around her, relaxing her further. Fireflies flew around creating little specks of light in the front of her as the backdoor swung shut, signifying someone's presence. Hermione turned, seeing George making his way towards her. His long strides had him next to her seconds, not a word said between them as they stood in the grassy field. Seconds, minutes ticked by and a peaceful silence lay around them.

"How are you?" His voice broke the silence between them. Her eyes flicked to his face, seeing the joyfulness of earlier days was gone from his features.

"I'm good, been busy with stuff-"

"Well that's rubbish and you know it." He cut off her sentence as he turned to face her. "How are you really? You don't just randomly turn up to dinner when we haven't seen you since June." His eyes searched her face, looking for something.

She hesitated. "I- I've just not wanted to come around much, with everyone still recuperating from the Battle of Hogwarts. I didn't want to be a burden." Her reply came out so easily, voicing how she had been feeling for weeks without a thought. George's eyes glazed over as he thought of Fred, his other half, and what had happened that day. They lapsed into silence once more.

"You're never a burden to any of us here, you're family to us 'Mione." His voice was barely above a whisper, just heard over the wind. "Even after everything that happened with Ron and Cormac-"

"Don't bring that George. Not right now." She snapped. George didn't answer, respecting her wishes.

"Just know that we are always here. To talk." His parting words rang in her head as she left The Burrow shortly after, earning small protests from the residents as she left, apparating back to the quiet muggle street. Hermione walked to the closest muggle shop, bought 2 bottles of cheap wine and headed home.

Her flat was silent, minus Crookshanks happy purrs as she returned, and got changed into an old t-shirt of her dads and cotton bed shorts, sat on her couch and drank the bottle of wine, and drowned her sorrows in alcohol. Her parents wouldn't be proud of her coping mechanisms but she didn't care. She couldn't understand how everyone at that dinner was so happy, so normal, while she was suffocating in guilt. The thoughts swirled as the night proceeded on.


The sunlight streamed in from the living room curtains, blinding her as she opened her heavy eyes. The pounding in her head had her groaning as she sat up from where she had fallen asleep on the sofa, 2 empty wine bottles on the floor. Crooks's meowing was hurting her head more as she made her way to the kitchen for water and muggle medicine.

The constant tapping of glass made her pause in the doorway, drawing her eyes to the large tawny owl perched on the window ledge. Hermione opened the window, letting the bird in, watching as it perched on her coffee table, holding a letter. She untied the letter watching the bird fly away without waiting for a response. The front of the letter made her pause:

Miss Hermione .J. Granger

2nd floor, Flat no. 23

57 Kensington Ct,

London

With the Hogwarts logo emblazoned on the front of the letter. Hermione's hands shook as she opened the envelope and read the contents, failing to notice the Head Girl badge falling on the rug at her feet.

To: Miss Hermione .J. Granger

2nd floor, Flat no. 23

57 Kensington Ct,

London

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been granted the option, as well as your fellow 'Eighth Year' members, of returning to complete your studies this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Students shall be given separate accommodations and rules this year, which shall be explained on arrival.

Please find a list of all necessary school supplies attached to this missive.

We will be awaiting your acceptance no later than August 30th 1998.

Yours Sincerely,

Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry