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Chapter One
Hermione had been having bad dreams again. They hadn't happened in a while; seven or eight years actually, give or take a few months. She had had them after the war for quite a while, but through time they had slowly ebbed from her conscious, gradually dissolving over the years. Now though, eight years after the war had ended, Hermione was again plagued by the disturbing dreams once more. They were painful to experience, physically just as much as mentally, and oftentimes she found herself being shaken awake by her fiancé, Andrew, a man to whom she had never recounted the stories of her past.
The last dream had been the worst, Hermione was positive. She had been on Hogwart's grounds and had been desperately searching for someone. She had called out over and over again, a name that, upon awakening, she could not seem to remember, but she remembered that despite all of her efforts, she had been unable to locate said person. What she did find however was much worse. She had walked all around the castle, the stillness and silence that permeated the air unnerving her both in her dream and also once she had woken up. In her dream she had seen a flash of red and had assumed that it was someone far ahead, waiting for her to join him. She had started running, only to have stumbled over something that lay across the ground. When she stood up she had realized that it was a person. Suddenly there were people all around her, all calling out to her. They were her friends, her teachers and classmates. Everyone she had ever loved surrounded her, slowly dying in a field of blood and bones. For all of her efforts she had lost everyone that she cared about. It was the worst victory she had ever felt.
Hermione had woken up in a cold sweat, Andrew by her side. He smoothed her hair away from her face, staring intently into her cool brown eyes. She had been shaking and he had held her until she had fallen back asleep. In the morning, he had politely suggested seeing a doctor to which she openly scoffed. No medications could erase the images and memories of the Great War. Voldemort had been killed, that was true, but at what price? Although Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasley's had come out relatively unscathed Hermione had seen countless other classmates perish at the hands of ruthless deatheaters. There had been hundreds of casualties and many more unaccounted for. Even now, Hermione imagined, they still had not recovered many who had gone to war and never returned.
"Hermione Honey, are you alright in there?" Andrew's voice called from the living room. Hermione jumped at the sound, yanked back from her reveries. She realized that not only was the teapot screeching on the stove, but also that the scones she had grabbed to set on the tray were crumbled to bits by her clenched fists. Hermione sighed heavily, wondering how her life had come to this. Not that she was particularly unhappy with the situation—she loved Andrew and was excited by her upcoming nuptials—but a part of her felt so empty. After the war Hermione had resigned from the wizarding world completely, unable to forget the terrible losses that magic had caused her. She had neatly packed up all of her books and potions, her cloaks, even her wand. She moved back to muggle London and later, to a town in the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of city life. She had started life over again, cutting herself off from everyone in the wizarding community save for Harry and the Weasleys. She sent them the occasional letter and they had even paid her a visit shortly after she had become engaged to Andrew, but it wasn't the same. The Weasley's were unaccustomed to muggle post and, since Hermione had strictly forbidden owls, it had simply become easier to assume that she was doing well rather than write to her. At first Harry and Ron had been good at the letter-writing, diligently sending her notes every week about different wizarding reforms and advances they were making in the ministry. After a year or so though, the letters became less and less frequent until finally she received only about two a year. It was okay, Hermione told herself. After all, it had been her decision to cut herself off from the wizarding community.
"Hermione Honey, do you need help?" Andrew asked, poking his head into the kitchen. Hermione started, once again jolted back from her reveries. She blushed and looked at him.
"I'm fine Andrew, I just, I had some trouble with the scones. I'll be right out," Hermione assured him, forcing a weak smile. Andrew regarded her quizzically before nodding at her.
"Okay then, holler if you need anything," he remarked quietly, stepping back into the living room. Hermione cursed herself, reaching for the broom to sweep up the crumbs at her feet. Andrew was entertaining some friends from out of town and had been planning the visit for weeks. Why can't I remain normal for once? Hermione scolded herself, disposing of the crumbs. She sighed heavily, realizing that she had nothing to serve except for the tea. If I just had my wand I could conjure up a tasty—no! Hermione forced the thought from her mind. Millions of people lived without magic their entire lives; she knew she could handle it too. She just had to be crafty. Reaching for the pantry Hermione scrutinized the contents. She had bread, cereal, dried pasta and jars of miscellaneous toppings. Hermione mentally kicked herself for not going shopping prior to the visit. The fridge didn't offer anything either save for a few various meats and several questionable vegetables.
"The tea alone will have to suffice," Hermione muttered to herself, carefully lifting the saucers and cups onto the large silver tray that Andrew's mother had given them as an early wedding present. It was beautiful but only aided to Hermione's self doubts. She hadn't even thought to have a tea tray, what else was she lacking? Needless to say, Hermione hadn't taken to domestic life very easily. It had taken hours in her mother's kitchen learning how to put even the simplest of meals together. She could barely keep the house clean either, what with all of the different cleaners, each specialized for a specific portion of the house; one for tile, one for carpet, one for mirrors and wood floors. She could barely keep them straight. Andrew of course had been patient through the learning process but Hermione could tell her lack of domestic ability was beginning to wear thin. Silently, Hermione resolved to try harder.
"Hermione, are you coming dear?" Andrew called, and, judging by his tone, Hermione guessed it wasn't the first time. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming out in frustration. Damn these dreams, she raged inwardly, they have me in a tailspin! I can barely stay focused for one minute!
"I'm coming Darling!" Hermione called back, smoothing down her skirt and blouse before setting the teapot onto the tray. With one quick glance out the window Hermione was able to smooth her frizzing hair, poking all loose strands into the tight braid that she had carefully constructed that morning. Then, with a determined sigh, Hermione grabbed the tea tray and spun around towards the kitchen door.
Several things happened as Hermione turned, all of which she would be unable to explain when Andrew questioned her later. The first was a loud snap that came with such power that it sent shivers racing through the house. The second was an all-too-familiar face smirking at Hermione from the doorway, and the third was the second loud crash of the day, caused by Hermione involuntarily dropping the entire tea tray, sending everything from the saucers and cups to the teapot itself crashing into a million pieces. Looking down at the shattered pieces at her feet, Hermione realized that she felt the same way.