Scars
No one cares for them anymore. They are the survivors, the living among the dead. They are the heroes. It was these three that fought the hardest, the bravest, the most forceful. Their names were rejoiced, worshipped; like a holy mantra. Parades filled the streets and joy filled the air. No one realized what victory had cost them, what it was still costing them. Agony of the bloody days still runs thick through the veins. Although there are no physical indications of a horrible war, you can see it in their eyes. If you were to talk to them now, you would never realize what they were really like before the war. They were just teenagers, just children when they were sent off to fight. Seeing so many horrible things and so much dying hope took a piece of their heart that they can never reclaim, never find again. This is something that they will have to live with for the rest of their life.
Ron and Harry hate each other. Hermione is slowly deteriorating, trying to stop their fights. Harry and Ron want to kill each other, blaming each other for the death of all of their friends. Hermione is not their friend anymore, they consider. The bonds that were so tight during the war have all been burned and they live as enemies in an apartment provided by the Ministry. They have no money to buy an apartment of their own. When the three of them went to the Ministry to become employed, the Ministry only gave them lowly jobs. Hermione is the witch at the desk who picks up the phone day after day. Harry is a janitor with misted green eyes, looking for Ron because he is always looking for him to kill. Ron, being the son of the Minister, has a somewhat more important job. He is a filer. He spends his days next to an iron cabinet, alphabetizing every single piece paper. You would think these three would have been given the highest honors for their service, but no one cares for retired soldiers. Most have been placed in St. Mungo's Ward for the Mentally Ill. But the ones, the very few ones, that have survived the torment with the slightest bit of mental sanity, are deemed useless.
"I'm going to kill you." Harry said, staring down at his glass of wine.
"Alcohol isn't good for you." Hermione said, reaching for the glass.
"I don't drink." Harry responded, pushing the glass off the table.
Hermione shuddered as the glass hit the floor. "I hate the sound of breaking glass. I hate it."
"Come on, then." Ron said, ignoring Hermione as she took his glass of wine as well. "Kill me."
"You're not worth it." Harry said, standing up and walking away.
"I knew you were scared." Ron said, smirking. "You always were scared."
Hermione looks up from picking up the shards of glass, ready for trouble. Harry turns and walks back towards Ron as he stands up. They never back down. Hermione rushes in front of Ron and she feels Harry's chest press against her. She is the only thing stopping Harry and Ron from killing each other, she is the only one who can stop them Although they do not consider her a friend anymore, neither would sink so low as to hit a woman, especially one as thin and feeble as Hermione. She tries pushes them away from each other, but her attempts are useless just like they always are. Ron reaches around Hermione and shoves Harry. Harry backs up and then lunges back, shoving Ron just as hard. Hermione is in the middle again. Sometimes, their hands hit her, and she knows that it is not intentional. Hermione has so many bruises from these fights that she took all of the mirrors out of their apartment. She hates the way her own skin looks so bruised and battered that she refuses to wear dresses that show her arms. Ron and Harry don't notice; they are too busy fuming at each other.
The phone rang.
Still fuming, Ron gave one last glare to Harry before picking it up. "Hello?" he paused to listen to the other person. He glanced at Hermione and then said, "She's not home." He hung up.
"Who was that?" she asked him.
"Viktor Krum." he said.
"Why didn't you give me the phone?" she asked as he brushed past her.
He didn't answer her.
"Ron is a bastard." Harry mumbled to himself.
"Ron isn't so bad." Hermione said, kneeling down to pick up the broken glass once more. "Ron is so brave and strong. You are too, Harry. You're both not bad people."
Harry didn't answer her, didn't even glance at her as he made his way to his bedroom. Hermione winced as he slammed the door hard.
"I hate the sound of slamming doors." Hermione whimpered as she poured the glass into the trashcan. "I hate it."
She hears Ron open the newspaper in the next room.
Their apartment is simple. Every day, after Hermione buys groceries, she carries the bags up three flights of steps and down a long hall. She somehow maneuvers so that her key travels from her purse into her fingers and she opens the door that is kept locked. She always sees Ron, sitting on their ratty old couch, reading the paper. Always, she smiles at him before stepping inside and closing the door with the back of her heel. The kitchen is right next to the living room, separated only by half of a wall where the counters are. She receives no help from Ron or Harry with the bags of groceries she carries in her stick arms. On the small round table in their kitchen, she sets down the groceries and puts them away. Harry is always drinking. He doesn't drink much, not at all. He just drinks very slowly. Hermione always rushes when she grocery shops, walking briskly down the aisles, grabbing what she needs and then hurrying to the checkout line with exact change. They buy the same groceries every week, after all. The Ministry gives them an amount of muggle money and that is what they have.
Well, you ask, if they all hate each other so much, why do they bother living together? They decided to live together before the war; it was mutual. That is, until the scars started to take root into their souls. By then, they had so many other things to worry about besides where they were going to live after the war. They used all of their paychecks to pay for the cost of friend's funerals, celebrations and surgeries. All three of them have had surgeries to minimize the appearance of the physical scars and it worked. Although one cannot see the physical damage, it is evident that they are who are they are. It is just something that one knows upon looking at the trio.
"Anything interesting in the paper?" Hermione asked him, hoping for an answer this time.
There was none.
"We had a letter today." she said, sitting down on the couch across from him. "From Hogwart's. I hope that you don't mind that I opened it."
She heard the door to Harry's bedroom open.
"Well, there is to be a five year reunion." she said, wringing her hands. "Do you think that we should go? It would be fun to see all of our class again, you know. We could check up on Hagrid and maybe Dumbledore. Its tonight, if you would like to go."
Ron put down the paper and stared at her. "Do you honestly want to show them how far we've fallen? We could proclaim how sad we look, how we look ten years older then we actually are."
"You're just scared to face your classmates." Harry said, coming out. "You don't want them to see you like you are, a failure."
Ron stood up and so did Hermione, placing a hand on his chest to hold him back. All three of them were quiet for a long time before Ron said, "I'll go. Fine."
He stormed away and disappeared into his room after a slammed door. Harry looked beyond her, where Ron had stood.
"Will you come too?" Hermione asked him, wringing her hands again.
Harry didn't answer as he went back to his room.
Hermione sighed softly and walked back to her room. She closed the door quietly behind her and opened her closet. There was only one pair of dress robes in her closet, royal red dress robes that she had worn for her 6th year Yule Ball. She smiled as she remembered how flattering she looked, with her shoulders exposed and her lean arms placed in her lap. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve of the coat she was wearing and saw the bruise that she had gotten just this morning when Harry had grabbed her arm when she tried to take away his empty breakfast plate. They never meant to hurt her. She couldn't go to the Reunion looking like a beaten rag, but maybe the bruises wouldn't be so evident once she put on the dress. So, she slipped her clothes off and left them in a pile by the door. The dress was tight when she wore it in her 6th year, but now, it was loose. Almost like it was someone else's dress. Hermione held it up as she looked at herself in the mirror. Not only did she look like a beaten rag, but she also looked like an old, beaten pile of sticks. She longed for the meat on her bones that she would have so willingly given up before.
Hermione took the dress off and threw it on the floor, on top of her clothes. She went back to her closet, knowing that everything else she owned were muggle clothes. Not having a choice, she picked up her nicest dress, a gray thing. It was straight, went the floor, covered her arms in soft sleeves and had a high neckline. She looked like Mother Goose in it, she decided, but what other choice did she have? Even this dress was loose, except now, she looked like an old grandmother who colored her hair regularly. Hermione put her hair up in a ponytail of curls, but her curls didn't look bouncy and beautiful like they did before. Now, they just looked fried and tired, ready to turn gray. Hermione sighed, suddenly wishing she used make-up. She slipped on a pair of low-heeled shoes and went back to the living room, where Ron was looking very sharp in his old dress robes. Harry stood near the door, flicking the lights on and off. When she entered, they both looked up.
"Well." she said, smiling. "How do I look?"
"Let's go." Ron said, getting up. He shoved past Harry and through the door.
Harry brushed off his shoulder with a disgusted look and followed Ron out of the door.
---
It was just how they remembered it. The bricks, the paintings, the smell was so familiar and beautiful. Hermione smiled as she took it all in, forgetting about her ugly dress. She sighed happily and looked over at Ron and Harry. Harry was looking straight ahead of him through his misted green eyes, not seeing anything, not wanting to see anything. Ron looked as if where they were standing had no effect on him whatsoever. He didn't care. Hermione took each one of them by the hand, like they were children. They didn't grab her hand back, but Hermione suddenly felt too happy to care. Apparently, they were the last to arrive, as the music and conversation could be heard from the Great Hall.
"Shall we go?" she asked both of them. "It sounds like fun."
"Let's just get this over with." Harry mumbled, tearing his hand away from Hermione.
Hermione jogged to catch up to him and she heard Ron walking beside her. They stood behind the great door, suddenly remembering just how large it stood. Hermione stepped forward and touched it, and automatically, it swung open, revealing dancing couples and a clear night sky. All glanced at them when they came in, stopping their conversations, and then the room reached a deathly silence when they realized just who had come in. The Mighty Three War heroes. Hermione suddenly felt ashamed as she realized all of the people were studying the three, as if not believing that they were even alive. The crowd on the dance floor parted and Dumbledore swept past all of the students to look at what had caused the silence. When he caught sight of them, he smiled broadly, as if he was immensely happy to see them. The music started up again and everyone slowly returned to what they were doing.
"That went well." Ron mumbled, walking away, towards the food.
"What are we doing here, again?" Harry grumbled at Hermione who turned around.
"We are here because we are alive." Hermione smiled. "Would you like to dance, Harry? Just for old times sake?"
"I have to look for Ron." Harry mumbled, starting away.
Hermione caught his arm. "Please?"
"Fine. Just leave me alone." Harry said, grabbing her arm and leading her to the dance floor, where a slow song was being played.
The eyes of the people were on them as they danced, Harry annoyed and pestered and Hermione clearly sad that he was annoyed, but trying to hide it. They danced slowly and Hermione imagined she was at the Yule Ball in her 6th Year, having a good time before all of the danger started. Harry was always thinking about something else, but he was never annoyed at her. Those were the days that her life was happy, where her days weren't filled with the hate and resentment of Ron and Harry. She loved her friends more then they would ever know, which is why she kept turning Neville down whenever he called for a date. She wouldn't leave them alone for more then an hour, let alone an entire date! God only knows what would happen if she did that. Just as the song was swelling, Ron came up to her, tapping her on the shoulder and surprising her.
"We're leaving." he said bluntly. "Come on."
"But we've just gotten here!" she protested as he took her arm.
"He's a coward." Harry answered. "He's always been a coward. Afraid to face your past, Weasley? That's the lowest form of fear."
Ron dropped her arm and stared at Harry. Agitated dancing couples looked at them. Before Ron could shove him, she grabbed Ron and swept him off, away from Harry to dance. He went along, not willing to hurt Hermione. "Dance with me." she said, smiling.
"I'll kill that Potter." he mumbled as he put his hand on her waist.
Hermione looked over and saw that Harry had walked off of the dance floor and was now seated at a table, fuming. She sighed in relief.
She danced with Ron until the song was over and he went to the same table as Harry. They never fought sitting down, so Hermione wasn't worried. She walked off of the dance floor, toward the table as well and was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, turned around and saw that it was just Neville. He had grown since she had last sawn him though, his teeth were straight and he wasn't pudgy. But still, he was still Just Neville.
"It's good to see you, Neville." she said sincerely.
"I saw that on the dance floor." he said. "It doesn't seem like it was the first time." He took her arm and rolled up her sleeve to reveal the bruises that she had hid so carefully. "They hit you."
"No." She said, ripping her arm away. "They would never hit me."
"They're crazy bastards." Neville hissed back. "If you're being abused, then --"
A loud slap filled the air and heads turned to see what had caused it. Hermione had slapped Neville in her anger and grief. "If they are crazy," she said dangerously. "Then I am crazy as well. Goodbye, Neville."
Hermione walked towards the table where Ron and Harry were seated. They glanced up from their drinks and then looked back down. Hermione placed her hands in her lap and was silent. These were the moments that the silence between them seemed louder then the loudest music or the beating of a heart. No one dared sit with them. They were different, they used to be accepted when they were in school. They were popular, they were heroes. But now, they were rejected heroes. Much like the medals of Honor that they had received that now lay in the bottom of a box that they kept in the very bottom of their closet. Maybe Ron was right, Hermione though. Why live in the past? Why bring back all of the grief? It's just not worth it. Hermione saw Neville on the dance floor again, looking for her, hands stuffed in his dress robes. She looked down at her folded hands and twiddled her thumbs.
Neville and Hermione were in love before the war. She had overlooked him their first five years at Hogwart's. But then, she fell into a deep romance with him. He was the one that she had lost her virginity to, and the one that she claimed to love forever. He claimed the same, but they were separated in the war. Hermione prayed every night that he may be alive, but then her prayers stopped along with her hope. But on the day the war was over, she was different, as were Ron and Harry. Neville had been spared the emotional damage, having been put into St. Mungo's for most of the war because of his injuries. Maybe, Hermione did love him still, maybe he was the only one that she could love. Harry and Ron were her life now, the only place that she was allowed to live. It was the only place she belonged, the only place that she was needed. They meant more to her then Neville would understand, perhaps, even more then Neville.
"Hermione." It was Neville again, his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry about what I said."
"It's alright." Hermione said, turning around to meet his eyes.
"Will you dance with me?" he asked her, smiling.
Hermione felt Harry and Ron's sideways glances as she got up. Hermione didn't have time to protest as the two men got up and walked away. She followed Neville to the dance floor where they waltzed through three songs. She felt tired and weak, her knees quaking beneath her. After the third waltz, the music stopped and the couples all parted and glided off of the dance floor. Hermione, too, started away but Neville caught her arm. He led her back to her gently and planted a kiss on her quivering lips while applause filled the air. She looked around when he pulled away and saw that all of them were watching her and Neville. Neville dropped to one knee and looked up at her, and she felt a quake up her spine as he pulled a ring out of his pocket.
"Hermione Granger." he said. "You are the most beautiful person I've ever known. Will you marry me?"
Hermione put her hand to her mouth as Neville slipped the ring ( a huge diamond thing ) on her thin finger. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! She wanted to scream. She wanted to jump into his arms and have him take him far away, to a place where she wouldn't have to worry about being crazy or tending to Harry and Ron. Harry and Ron, the thought of them brought tears down her cheeks. Neville took them as tears of joy and smiled at her, waiting patiently for an answer. Hermione could almost hear the tension of all of her classmates around her, also waiting for her answer. She wanted to so bad, oh how she wanted to! But, she couldn't, and she knew that. She couldn't be Mrs. Longbottom. She couldn't. The scars ran too deep, the fear was too overwhelming. She couldn't possibly be a good mother and wife to this man, this perfect man, when she was so scarred and useless herself. She belonged with Harry and Ron, with people that understood. Even if she were married to Neville for fifty years, he would never truly understand her. She couldn't.
"I'm so sorry." she said, taking the ring off. "I just can't."
There was a deathly silence as Neville stood up. "Why?" he asked, completely perplexed. "Didn't you promise that you would love me forever? What's stopping you?"
"Just, leave me alone." She whispered, turning away.
"Hermione, I won't --" Neville said, grabbing her arm.
"Yes, you will." Ron said, stepping through the crowd. He ripped Neville's arm off of Hermione and glared hard at him. Harry stood beside Hermione.
"You have nothing to do with this." Neville said angrily.
"We have everything to do with this." Harry responded.
"What's so wrong with our marriage?" Neville asked them, a helpless look on his face.
"We may be tired, defeated soldiers." Ron said. "We may be thought of worthless, useless and given the lowest paying jobs in the world, but by God we still have our honor. And you, Neville Longbottom, will not take hers away."
"I was a soldier." Neville said indignantly. "I fought."
"Bedridden warriors don't count." Ron snarled.
Ron turned from him, towards Harry. The both of them ushered Hermione out, like a little girl being led away slowly by her two older brothers. So, maybe Ron and Harry didn't consider her as a friend, a sister. But they surely did consider her as an equal. Maybe, Hermione thought as they sat silently on the train, there was yet a chance for peace, for salvation for their friendship. She couldn't quite remember how it was, but she knew from the pictures and the letters and the diary entries, it must have been strong enough to move mountains. She watched the shadows pass on their faces and she felt her eyes water at how she had turned Neville down. Ron and Harry had their honor, their pride at having fought. But, she, she felt that she nothing. There were some things, she decided, she would never find.
The apartment was cold and unwelcoming when they walked in. Harry went straight to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. Ron sat down on the sofa, picking up the newspaper that he had already read. Hermione heard the cork pop in the kitchen as she locked the door. Without looking at Harry or Ron, she trudged to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Her pile of clothes still lay on the floor, where she had left them. She felt so different now. It was like she was finally accepting what she was. She was Hermione Granger, crazy retired fighter of a war that she could barely recall. Hermione undressed and put on her pajamas and it seemed that now, more then ever, they sagged on her body. She heard an owl pecking at her window and she opened the blackout curtains that she kept on her window and let the bird in. It was morning now, the sun peeking over the horizon. The all night train to muggle London hadn't seemed that long, now that she thought of it.
She took the newspaper off of the bird's foot, paid him, and then wandered back into the living room.
"It's morning." she said to Ron, tossing it onto the coffee table.
He gave no response, but picked up the newspaper and started reading.
"I'm going to kill you, Ron." Harry yelled from the other room.
"Alcohol isn't good for you." Hermione said to him as he downed the last drops in his glass.
"Dammit." Harry said. "I hate this life. I hate it." He stood up and hurled the glass against the wall and anger. Ron looked up from the newspaper.
"Broken glass. I hate that sound." Hermione cringed, walking over to the shards of glass. The wine left a faint purple stain on the wall that Hermione decided she would clean later.
Hermione heard Harry's agitated words and Ron's rude retorts and before she knew it, she was between them once again, both of them shoving against her, pushing, pushing, pushing. Hermione felt so small. Ron finally backed down, claiming he would kill Harry later as Harry hurled another glass at the wall and stomped to his room.
Ron opened the refrigerator. "There's no food." he grumbled.
"All right." Hermione said quietly, taking the envelope of money from a drawer. "I'll go grocery shopping."
Hermione walked back into her room, not bothering to close the door. In the half dark, she undressed, glancing at her thin, beaten body in the full length mirror and then she quickly put on her wool sweater, itchy against her bare skin and her worn flowered skirt. She slipped into a pair of penny loafers and took her coat off of her vanity and slipped it on. When she entered the living room, she found Ron staring at her. Had he been watching her when she dressed? She closed her door behind her, grabbed her keys off of the coffee table and walked towards the door.
"Where did you get those bruises?" Ron asked all of the sudden.
Hermione jumped in surprise at the sudden question and turned around, looking at him apprehensively. In his eyes, there was something different then there was five minutes ago. There was a deep concern, a wanting to know so that he could make it better. It was the look that she recognized in the eyes of Harry and Ron during the war. She loved that look, it made her feel like she wasn't a mistake or a misfit. It made her feel loved. It gave her the comfort she needed to know that she loved her best friends and even more comfort that they loved her too. She didn't want to tell him where she got these bruises from, what would he say? What would he care? Hermione walked towards him, sitting on the couch opposite from him. Harry came out of his room and stood behind the couch where she sat.
"Do you ever see me when you and Harry fight? Do you even care that it's me that get the side sweeps, the backlash?" she asked them, her voice tight and desperate.
Ron just looked at her, as if thinking that it wasn't possible, but knowing that there was no other place where she could have gotten so banged up. But still, he muttered, "It cannot be."
"Yes, it can." Harry said from behind Hermione. "But, then, why?"
"I don't know if you remember," Hermione said. "but before the war, a long time before the war, you two saved me from a troll. A huge thing, taller then all of us put together. Two first year boys ran into the girl's bathroom to save me from a troll when they could've easily looked the other way."
"So?" Ron said. "That was a long time ago."
"No." Hermione said, taking his hands in hers. "There are some things that you do not forget over time. I know that you don't know what you're doing when you and Harry go into your rages, and maybe I don't know what I'm doing when I get between you, but by God, Ron Weasley, I would rather die then watch either of you get hurt."
There was silence.
"You two were the best of friends." Hermione said, tears welling up in her tired eyes. "You two had a bond that I couldn't understand, a friendship that I could only tag a long and watch from a distance. Even though we were equals and spent most of our time together, you two had something that I could never hope to have with either of you. Every day, it destroys me to see that you two can hate each other so deeply."
"I don't understand." Harry said, his voice quivering. "Dumbledore said we weren't crazy. He said that we were fine. Did he lie? Did he lie to us?"
"I don't know." Hermione said. "Perhaps we aren't. It is something that we may hope for. It is something that we must hold on to."
Ron was quiet, and then he picked up the newspaper and retreated to the place in his mind where he tucked himself too often.
"Grocery shopping." Hermione said, getting up. "I'll go grocery shopping now. Yes, I'll go now."
"There's no food." Harry said as he opened the refrigerator.
Hermione stopped as she was about to open the door. She turned around and walked towards their fridge. She opened the door and felt a deep relief flood her when she saw that the only thing in it was a bottle of Harry's wine.
It is odd the comfort one can receive from the emptiness of a refrigerator.
No one cares for them anymore. They are the survivors, the living among the dead. They are the heroes. It was these three that fought the hardest, the bravest, the most forceful. Their names were rejoiced, worshipped; like a holy mantra. Parades filled the streets and joy filled the air. No one realized what victory had cost them, what it was still costing them. Agony of the bloody days still runs thick through the veins. Although there are no physical indications of a horrible war, you can see it in their eyes. If you were to talk to them now, you would never realize what they were really like before the war. They were just teenagers, just children when they were sent off to fight. Seeing so many horrible things and so much dying hope took a piece of their heart that they can never reclaim, never find again. This is something that they will have to live with for the rest of their life.
Ron and Harry hate each other. Hermione is slowly deteriorating, trying to stop their fights. Harry and Ron want to kill each other, blaming each other for the death of all of their friends. Hermione is not their friend anymore, they consider. The bonds that were so tight during the war have all been burned and they live as enemies in an apartment provided by the Ministry. They have no money to buy an apartment of their own. When the three of them went to the Ministry to become employed, the Ministry only gave them lowly jobs. Hermione is the witch at the desk who picks up the phone day after day. Harry is a janitor with misted green eyes, looking for Ron because he is always looking for him to kill. Ron, being the son of the Minister, has a somewhat more important job. He is a filer. He spends his days next to an iron cabinet, alphabetizing every single piece paper. You would think these three would have been given the highest honors for their service, but no one cares for retired soldiers. Most have been placed in St. Mungo's Ward for the Mentally Ill. But the ones, the very few ones, that have survived the torment with the slightest bit of mental sanity, are deemed useless.
"I'm going to kill you." Harry said, staring down at his glass of wine.
"Alcohol isn't good for you." Hermione said, reaching for the glass.
"I don't drink." Harry responded, pushing the glass off the table.
Hermione shuddered as the glass hit the floor. "I hate the sound of breaking glass. I hate it."
"Come on, then." Ron said, ignoring Hermione as she took his glass of wine as well. "Kill me."
"You're not worth it." Harry said, standing up and walking away.
"I knew you were scared." Ron said, smirking. "You always were scared."
Hermione looks up from picking up the shards of glass, ready for trouble. Harry turns and walks back towards Ron as he stands up. They never back down. Hermione rushes in front of Ron and she feels Harry's chest press against her. She is the only thing stopping Harry and Ron from killing each other, she is the only one who can stop them Although they do not consider her a friend anymore, neither would sink so low as to hit a woman, especially one as thin and feeble as Hermione. She tries pushes them away from each other, but her attempts are useless just like they always are. Ron reaches around Hermione and shoves Harry. Harry backs up and then lunges back, shoving Ron just as hard. Hermione is in the middle again. Sometimes, their hands hit her, and she knows that it is not intentional. Hermione has so many bruises from these fights that she took all of the mirrors out of their apartment. She hates the way her own skin looks so bruised and battered that she refuses to wear dresses that show her arms. Ron and Harry don't notice; they are too busy fuming at each other.
The phone rang.
Still fuming, Ron gave one last glare to Harry before picking it up. "Hello?" he paused to listen to the other person. He glanced at Hermione and then said, "She's not home." He hung up.
"Who was that?" she asked him.
"Viktor Krum." he said.
"Why didn't you give me the phone?" she asked as he brushed past her.
He didn't answer her.
"Ron is a bastard." Harry mumbled to himself.
"Ron isn't so bad." Hermione said, kneeling down to pick up the broken glass once more. "Ron is so brave and strong. You are too, Harry. You're both not bad people."
Harry didn't answer her, didn't even glance at her as he made his way to his bedroom. Hermione winced as he slammed the door hard.
"I hate the sound of slamming doors." Hermione whimpered as she poured the glass into the trashcan. "I hate it."
She hears Ron open the newspaper in the next room.
Their apartment is simple. Every day, after Hermione buys groceries, she carries the bags up three flights of steps and down a long hall. She somehow maneuvers so that her key travels from her purse into her fingers and she opens the door that is kept locked. She always sees Ron, sitting on their ratty old couch, reading the paper. Always, she smiles at him before stepping inside and closing the door with the back of her heel. The kitchen is right next to the living room, separated only by half of a wall where the counters are. She receives no help from Ron or Harry with the bags of groceries she carries in her stick arms. On the small round table in their kitchen, she sets down the groceries and puts them away. Harry is always drinking. He doesn't drink much, not at all. He just drinks very slowly. Hermione always rushes when she grocery shops, walking briskly down the aisles, grabbing what she needs and then hurrying to the checkout line with exact change. They buy the same groceries every week, after all. The Ministry gives them an amount of muggle money and that is what they have.
Well, you ask, if they all hate each other so much, why do they bother living together? They decided to live together before the war; it was mutual. That is, until the scars started to take root into their souls. By then, they had so many other things to worry about besides where they were going to live after the war. They used all of their paychecks to pay for the cost of friend's funerals, celebrations and surgeries. All three of them have had surgeries to minimize the appearance of the physical scars and it worked. Although one cannot see the physical damage, it is evident that they are who are they are. It is just something that one knows upon looking at the trio.
"Anything interesting in the paper?" Hermione asked him, hoping for an answer this time.
There was none.
"We had a letter today." she said, sitting down on the couch across from him. "From Hogwart's. I hope that you don't mind that I opened it."
She heard the door to Harry's bedroom open.
"Well, there is to be a five year reunion." she said, wringing her hands. "Do you think that we should go? It would be fun to see all of our class again, you know. We could check up on Hagrid and maybe Dumbledore. Its tonight, if you would like to go."
Ron put down the paper and stared at her. "Do you honestly want to show them how far we've fallen? We could proclaim how sad we look, how we look ten years older then we actually are."
"You're just scared to face your classmates." Harry said, coming out. "You don't want them to see you like you are, a failure."
Ron stood up and so did Hermione, placing a hand on his chest to hold him back. All three of them were quiet for a long time before Ron said, "I'll go. Fine."
He stormed away and disappeared into his room after a slammed door. Harry looked beyond her, where Ron had stood.
"Will you come too?" Hermione asked him, wringing her hands again.
Harry didn't answer as he went back to his room.
Hermione sighed softly and walked back to her room. She closed the door quietly behind her and opened her closet. There was only one pair of dress robes in her closet, royal red dress robes that she had worn for her 6th year Yule Ball. She smiled as she remembered how flattering she looked, with her shoulders exposed and her lean arms placed in her lap. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve of the coat she was wearing and saw the bruise that she had gotten just this morning when Harry had grabbed her arm when she tried to take away his empty breakfast plate. They never meant to hurt her. She couldn't go to the Reunion looking like a beaten rag, but maybe the bruises wouldn't be so evident once she put on the dress. So, she slipped her clothes off and left them in a pile by the door. The dress was tight when she wore it in her 6th year, but now, it was loose. Almost like it was someone else's dress. Hermione held it up as she looked at herself in the mirror. Not only did she look like a beaten rag, but she also looked like an old, beaten pile of sticks. She longed for the meat on her bones that she would have so willingly given up before.
Hermione took the dress off and threw it on the floor, on top of her clothes. She went back to her closet, knowing that everything else she owned were muggle clothes. Not having a choice, she picked up her nicest dress, a gray thing. It was straight, went the floor, covered her arms in soft sleeves and had a high neckline. She looked like Mother Goose in it, she decided, but what other choice did she have? Even this dress was loose, except now, she looked like an old grandmother who colored her hair regularly. Hermione put her hair up in a ponytail of curls, but her curls didn't look bouncy and beautiful like they did before. Now, they just looked fried and tired, ready to turn gray. Hermione sighed, suddenly wishing she used make-up. She slipped on a pair of low-heeled shoes and went back to the living room, where Ron was looking very sharp in his old dress robes. Harry stood near the door, flicking the lights on and off. When she entered, they both looked up.
"Well." she said, smiling. "How do I look?"
"Let's go." Ron said, getting up. He shoved past Harry and through the door.
Harry brushed off his shoulder with a disgusted look and followed Ron out of the door.
---
It was just how they remembered it. The bricks, the paintings, the smell was so familiar and beautiful. Hermione smiled as she took it all in, forgetting about her ugly dress. She sighed happily and looked over at Ron and Harry. Harry was looking straight ahead of him through his misted green eyes, not seeing anything, not wanting to see anything. Ron looked as if where they were standing had no effect on him whatsoever. He didn't care. Hermione took each one of them by the hand, like they were children. They didn't grab her hand back, but Hermione suddenly felt too happy to care. Apparently, they were the last to arrive, as the music and conversation could be heard from the Great Hall.
"Shall we go?" she asked both of them. "It sounds like fun."
"Let's just get this over with." Harry mumbled, tearing his hand away from Hermione.
Hermione jogged to catch up to him and she heard Ron walking beside her. They stood behind the great door, suddenly remembering just how large it stood. Hermione stepped forward and touched it, and automatically, it swung open, revealing dancing couples and a clear night sky. All glanced at them when they came in, stopping their conversations, and then the room reached a deathly silence when they realized just who had come in. The Mighty Three War heroes. Hermione suddenly felt ashamed as she realized all of the people were studying the three, as if not believing that they were even alive. The crowd on the dance floor parted and Dumbledore swept past all of the students to look at what had caused the silence. When he caught sight of them, he smiled broadly, as if he was immensely happy to see them. The music started up again and everyone slowly returned to what they were doing.
"That went well." Ron mumbled, walking away, towards the food.
"What are we doing here, again?" Harry grumbled at Hermione who turned around.
"We are here because we are alive." Hermione smiled. "Would you like to dance, Harry? Just for old times sake?"
"I have to look for Ron." Harry mumbled, starting away.
Hermione caught his arm. "Please?"
"Fine. Just leave me alone." Harry said, grabbing her arm and leading her to the dance floor, where a slow song was being played.
The eyes of the people were on them as they danced, Harry annoyed and pestered and Hermione clearly sad that he was annoyed, but trying to hide it. They danced slowly and Hermione imagined she was at the Yule Ball in her 6th Year, having a good time before all of the danger started. Harry was always thinking about something else, but he was never annoyed at her. Those were the days that her life was happy, where her days weren't filled with the hate and resentment of Ron and Harry. She loved her friends more then they would ever know, which is why she kept turning Neville down whenever he called for a date. She wouldn't leave them alone for more then an hour, let alone an entire date! God only knows what would happen if she did that. Just as the song was swelling, Ron came up to her, tapping her on the shoulder and surprising her.
"We're leaving." he said bluntly. "Come on."
"But we've just gotten here!" she protested as he took her arm.
"He's a coward." Harry answered. "He's always been a coward. Afraid to face your past, Weasley? That's the lowest form of fear."
Ron dropped her arm and stared at Harry. Agitated dancing couples looked at them. Before Ron could shove him, she grabbed Ron and swept him off, away from Harry to dance. He went along, not willing to hurt Hermione. "Dance with me." she said, smiling.
"I'll kill that Potter." he mumbled as he put his hand on her waist.
Hermione looked over and saw that Harry had walked off of the dance floor and was now seated at a table, fuming. She sighed in relief.
She danced with Ron until the song was over and he went to the same table as Harry. They never fought sitting down, so Hermione wasn't worried. She walked off of the dance floor, toward the table as well and was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, turned around and saw that it was just Neville. He had grown since she had last sawn him though, his teeth were straight and he wasn't pudgy. But still, he was still Just Neville.
"It's good to see you, Neville." she said sincerely.
"I saw that on the dance floor." he said. "It doesn't seem like it was the first time." He took her arm and rolled up her sleeve to reveal the bruises that she had hid so carefully. "They hit you."
"No." She said, ripping her arm away. "They would never hit me."
"They're crazy bastards." Neville hissed back. "If you're being abused, then --"
A loud slap filled the air and heads turned to see what had caused it. Hermione had slapped Neville in her anger and grief. "If they are crazy," she said dangerously. "Then I am crazy as well. Goodbye, Neville."
Hermione walked towards the table where Ron and Harry were seated. They glanced up from their drinks and then looked back down. Hermione placed her hands in her lap and was silent. These were the moments that the silence between them seemed louder then the loudest music or the beating of a heart. No one dared sit with them. They were different, they used to be accepted when they were in school. They were popular, they were heroes. But now, they were rejected heroes. Much like the medals of Honor that they had received that now lay in the bottom of a box that they kept in the very bottom of their closet. Maybe Ron was right, Hermione though. Why live in the past? Why bring back all of the grief? It's just not worth it. Hermione saw Neville on the dance floor again, looking for her, hands stuffed in his dress robes. She looked down at her folded hands and twiddled her thumbs.
Neville and Hermione were in love before the war. She had overlooked him their first five years at Hogwart's. But then, she fell into a deep romance with him. He was the one that she had lost her virginity to, and the one that she claimed to love forever. He claimed the same, but they were separated in the war. Hermione prayed every night that he may be alive, but then her prayers stopped along with her hope. But on the day the war was over, she was different, as were Ron and Harry. Neville had been spared the emotional damage, having been put into St. Mungo's for most of the war because of his injuries. Maybe, Hermione did love him still, maybe he was the only one that she could love. Harry and Ron were her life now, the only place that she was allowed to live. It was the only place she belonged, the only place that she was needed. They meant more to her then Neville would understand, perhaps, even more then Neville.
"Hermione." It was Neville again, his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry about what I said."
"It's alright." Hermione said, turning around to meet his eyes.
"Will you dance with me?" he asked her, smiling.
Hermione felt Harry and Ron's sideways glances as she got up. Hermione didn't have time to protest as the two men got up and walked away. She followed Neville to the dance floor where they waltzed through three songs. She felt tired and weak, her knees quaking beneath her. After the third waltz, the music stopped and the couples all parted and glided off of the dance floor. Hermione, too, started away but Neville caught her arm. He led her back to her gently and planted a kiss on her quivering lips while applause filled the air. She looked around when he pulled away and saw that all of them were watching her and Neville. Neville dropped to one knee and looked up at her, and she felt a quake up her spine as he pulled a ring out of his pocket.
"Hermione Granger." he said. "You are the most beautiful person I've ever known. Will you marry me?"
Hermione put her hand to her mouth as Neville slipped the ring ( a huge diamond thing ) on her thin finger. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! She wanted to scream. She wanted to jump into his arms and have him take him far away, to a place where she wouldn't have to worry about being crazy or tending to Harry and Ron. Harry and Ron, the thought of them brought tears down her cheeks. Neville took them as tears of joy and smiled at her, waiting patiently for an answer. Hermione could almost hear the tension of all of her classmates around her, also waiting for her answer. She wanted to so bad, oh how she wanted to! But, she couldn't, and she knew that. She couldn't be Mrs. Longbottom. She couldn't. The scars ran too deep, the fear was too overwhelming. She couldn't possibly be a good mother and wife to this man, this perfect man, when she was so scarred and useless herself. She belonged with Harry and Ron, with people that understood. Even if she were married to Neville for fifty years, he would never truly understand her. She couldn't.
"I'm so sorry." she said, taking the ring off. "I just can't."
There was a deathly silence as Neville stood up. "Why?" he asked, completely perplexed. "Didn't you promise that you would love me forever? What's stopping you?"
"Just, leave me alone." She whispered, turning away.
"Hermione, I won't --" Neville said, grabbing her arm.
"Yes, you will." Ron said, stepping through the crowd. He ripped Neville's arm off of Hermione and glared hard at him. Harry stood beside Hermione.
"You have nothing to do with this." Neville said angrily.
"We have everything to do with this." Harry responded.
"What's so wrong with our marriage?" Neville asked them, a helpless look on his face.
"We may be tired, defeated soldiers." Ron said. "We may be thought of worthless, useless and given the lowest paying jobs in the world, but by God we still have our honor. And you, Neville Longbottom, will not take hers away."
"I was a soldier." Neville said indignantly. "I fought."
"Bedridden warriors don't count." Ron snarled.
Ron turned from him, towards Harry. The both of them ushered Hermione out, like a little girl being led away slowly by her two older brothers. So, maybe Ron and Harry didn't consider her as a friend, a sister. But they surely did consider her as an equal. Maybe, Hermione thought as they sat silently on the train, there was yet a chance for peace, for salvation for their friendship. She couldn't quite remember how it was, but she knew from the pictures and the letters and the diary entries, it must have been strong enough to move mountains. She watched the shadows pass on their faces and she felt her eyes water at how she had turned Neville down. Ron and Harry had their honor, their pride at having fought. But, she, she felt that she nothing. There were some things, she decided, she would never find.
The apartment was cold and unwelcoming when they walked in. Harry went straight to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. Ron sat down on the sofa, picking up the newspaper that he had already read. Hermione heard the cork pop in the kitchen as she locked the door. Without looking at Harry or Ron, she trudged to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Her pile of clothes still lay on the floor, where she had left them. She felt so different now. It was like she was finally accepting what she was. She was Hermione Granger, crazy retired fighter of a war that she could barely recall. Hermione undressed and put on her pajamas and it seemed that now, more then ever, they sagged on her body. She heard an owl pecking at her window and she opened the blackout curtains that she kept on her window and let the bird in. It was morning now, the sun peeking over the horizon. The all night train to muggle London hadn't seemed that long, now that she thought of it.
She took the newspaper off of the bird's foot, paid him, and then wandered back into the living room.
"It's morning." she said to Ron, tossing it onto the coffee table.
He gave no response, but picked up the newspaper and started reading.
"I'm going to kill you, Ron." Harry yelled from the other room.
"Alcohol isn't good for you." Hermione said to him as he downed the last drops in his glass.
"Dammit." Harry said. "I hate this life. I hate it." He stood up and hurled the glass against the wall and anger. Ron looked up from the newspaper.
"Broken glass. I hate that sound." Hermione cringed, walking over to the shards of glass. The wine left a faint purple stain on the wall that Hermione decided she would clean later.
Hermione heard Harry's agitated words and Ron's rude retorts and before she knew it, she was between them once again, both of them shoving against her, pushing, pushing, pushing. Hermione felt so small. Ron finally backed down, claiming he would kill Harry later as Harry hurled another glass at the wall and stomped to his room.
Ron opened the refrigerator. "There's no food." he grumbled.
"All right." Hermione said quietly, taking the envelope of money from a drawer. "I'll go grocery shopping."
Hermione walked back into her room, not bothering to close the door. In the half dark, she undressed, glancing at her thin, beaten body in the full length mirror and then she quickly put on her wool sweater, itchy against her bare skin and her worn flowered skirt. She slipped into a pair of penny loafers and took her coat off of her vanity and slipped it on. When she entered the living room, she found Ron staring at her. Had he been watching her when she dressed? She closed her door behind her, grabbed her keys off of the coffee table and walked towards the door.
"Where did you get those bruises?" Ron asked all of the sudden.
Hermione jumped in surprise at the sudden question and turned around, looking at him apprehensively. In his eyes, there was something different then there was five minutes ago. There was a deep concern, a wanting to know so that he could make it better. It was the look that she recognized in the eyes of Harry and Ron during the war. She loved that look, it made her feel like she wasn't a mistake or a misfit. It made her feel loved. It gave her the comfort she needed to know that she loved her best friends and even more comfort that they loved her too. She didn't want to tell him where she got these bruises from, what would he say? What would he care? Hermione walked towards him, sitting on the couch opposite from him. Harry came out of his room and stood behind the couch where she sat.
"Do you ever see me when you and Harry fight? Do you even care that it's me that get the side sweeps, the backlash?" she asked them, her voice tight and desperate.
Ron just looked at her, as if thinking that it wasn't possible, but knowing that there was no other place where she could have gotten so banged up. But still, he muttered, "It cannot be."
"Yes, it can." Harry said from behind Hermione. "But, then, why?"
"I don't know if you remember," Hermione said. "but before the war, a long time before the war, you two saved me from a troll. A huge thing, taller then all of us put together. Two first year boys ran into the girl's bathroom to save me from a troll when they could've easily looked the other way."
"So?" Ron said. "That was a long time ago."
"No." Hermione said, taking his hands in hers. "There are some things that you do not forget over time. I know that you don't know what you're doing when you and Harry go into your rages, and maybe I don't know what I'm doing when I get between you, but by God, Ron Weasley, I would rather die then watch either of you get hurt."
There was silence.
"You two were the best of friends." Hermione said, tears welling up in her tired eyes. "You two had a bond that I couldn't understand, a friendship that I could only tag a long and watch from a distance. Even though we were equals and spent most of our time together, you two had something that I could never hope to have with either of you. Every day, it destroys me to see that you two can hate each other so deeply."
"I don't understand." Harry said, his voice quivering. "Dumbledore said we weren't crazy. He said that we were fine. Did he lie? Did he lie to us?"
"I don't know." Hermione said. "Perhaps we aren't. It is something that we may hope for. It is something that we must hold on to."
Ron was quiet, and then he picked up the newspaper and retreated to the place in his mind where he tucked himself too often.
"Grocery shopping." Hermione said, getting up. "I'll go grocery shopping now. Yes, I'll go now."
"There's no food." Harry said as he opened the refrigerator.
Hermione stopped as she was about to open the door. She turned around and walked towards their fridge. She opened the door and felt a deep relief flood her when she saw that the only thing in it was a bottle of Harry's wine.
It is odd the comfort one can receive from the emptiness of a refrigerator.