September 1999
Hermione POV
One year and four months. It had been one year and four months since the end of a war had become the beginning of something else. My world had fallen into silence some time between my kiss with Ron over house elves and that final moment in the great hall when Voldemort fell to the ground. There were scars that didn't heal as easily as physical wounds. Scars that formed around Fred and Tonks, Colin Creevey and even Lavender Brown. Emotional scars that reeked havoc on my mind. Hell, even the physical scars seemed to carry their own sort of torment. I wasn't sure those healed very well either. The word on my arm was just a raised pink memory, but it still seemed to ache whenever my thoughts drifted too far, back to a night in a manor- sprawled on a floor, and screaming for relief. I shook my head, fighting the urge to fall back into the memory as a door opened that led into a private boarding room typically reserved for Head Girls. A twinge of guilt twisted in my stomach. I would have deserved the room before, now it was simply a place to keep me away from all the regular students.
"I'm thrilled to have you back, dear," said Headmistress McGonagall though I could hear the sadness in her voice, the concern.
"Th-, thank you, Profess- Headmistress."
It took every effort to speak and more so to correct myself mid-sentence. She hadn't been Professor since the last time I had been at Hogwarts, when the floors were covered in cold, still bodies, and blood. No…I wouldn't think of that. I chose instead to focus on how mad I was at myself for having stumbled on my words. I'd repeated them so many times in my head, but it was hard to remember how they felt on my tongue when I said them out loud. My voice had been difficult to find after the battle of Hogwarts. PTSD induced selective mutism, that's what the doctors called it- the ones Harry had hired for me two months after the battle when I refused to leave my room at Grimmauld Place except to eat. It was a gesture of goodwill, I think, or maybe just a way for him to make himself feel better. The problem was therapy only went so far when the patient wouldn't talk. I would have denied Harry, but I had nowhere else to go and I was afraid he would kick me out. I couldn't very well go back to my parent's home. They didn't remember who I was and I didn't have the words to fix them.
There in lies the problems. Words. Not only did I not have the words to fix my parents, I didn't have the words for anything. I could barely speak a short sentence without stumbling and often choose instead to sink into the aching silence. I couldn't get a job, or fend for myself. The memories controlled me, the silence consumed me.
That's why I was delayed in my final year of schooling, why I was coming back so late to finish the education that I had started all those years ago. The rest of my friends had all completed correspondence courses or jumped straight into careers at the Ministry, but I didn't want that. Not for me. It didn't feel right that Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, would settle for anything, but Hogwarts. Yet, the farther I got from 17, the more difficult it had been to come back. I was coming up on my 20th birthday. Much too old to be traipsing around the halls of Hogwarts as a student, even as a 7th year, but it only felt right to finish since I had finally bucked up the Gryffindor courage to do so.
That's not true.
The voice in my head made me angry. I couldn't lie to myself as easily as I could lie to others. Words on parchment could be easily manipulated. That was the reason I had given in writing as to why I decided to finally come back to Hogwarts. I gave the excuse that I had the courage to face it, that I thought it would help. That wasn't true at all. I had about as much courage as a mouse these days not a lion. I had decided to come back because Ginny had moved into Grimmauld Place and I felt like a burden. I couldn't bear to force Harry into being my caretaker any longer and Ron was not an option. I cringed at the thought of his name. Ron was definitely not an option, not with all his pig-headed desire to be my salvation, to baby me into some sort of trophy girlfriend. He had tried for months to drag me out of my thoughts, trying to touch me as I swatted him away until the day he stopped trying and went home to the burrow.
"Do you need assistance?"
Shite. I had been so distracted in my thoughts that I hadn't realized I was still standing in the hall and the Headmistress was looking at me with deep pity from inside the room she had opened.
I shook my head and she gave me a sad smile as I drug my trunk into the room. I could have used my wand if I could muster the word 'Leviosa'. The first official spell I'd ever learnt went unspoken though. That's another thing I hadn't done since the battle. My magic was just as lost as my words. I could feel it bubbling under my skin, rolling around in my veins without an exit. Without conviction in my voice I could only manage to conjure up sparks in my vine wood wand. The wand chooses the wizard…in that case my wand made a shite choice. I wasn't a squib, but I sure felt like one.
"If you need anything, just send me an owl."
And with a nod of my head and a final tight smile from her, I was alone. I peered around the room, taking in the dark wood furnishings and the traditional red and gold Gryffindor bedding. The small sitting area looked much the same. The room adjusted to its occupant, but while others may have gotten quidditch posters or wizard band records I was left with nothing of significance short of a shelf full of books that ranged from 'A History of Hogwarts' to some romance novels the castle had found fitting for a recluse. The shelf was beside the roaring fireplace that was alluring and somehow still cold. I was so cold in my loneliness. I had no personality short of my need for distraction and silence. If I could escape inside a book or schoolwork for hours on end it was the best thing for me. One more year of classes and then maybe I would know where to go, what to do with my life. Perhaps there was need of a monk somewhere. I left my trunk unpacked and reached for the first book on the shelf that caught my eye. Before long I was lot in a life that was, blissfully, not mine.
