Obtained from the court filings in the trial of RW

A year had passed since the final battle.

We were all healing, slowly and erratically but surely. Harry, Ginny, Luna, Neville and I met for brunch every Sunday morning. Over the past year we'd gradually begun to remember those lost in the war with smiles and funny anecdotes rather than tears and long faces. Of course, the empty seats would always be empty, but we gradually learned to live with the loss.

I had I had also found a good therapist, tried yoga, and discovered I was better suited to rock climbing. I'd rented a sunny and un-plottable studio flat near Harry and Ginny. Work gave me a reason to get out of bed every morning, and I gradually learned to take care of myself in ways I never had before. I even learned to cook things besides sandwiches. Against my therapist's advice, I still wore my wedding ring.

I hadn't yet gone out in public, with the exceptions of funerals and testifying at Death Eaters' trials. However, that was set to change this evening. Ginny, after much badgering and begging, had convinced me to go to her engagement party at the Burrow. I knew I couldn't avoid the world forever, and my therapist had gently suggested to me that it might be time to start expanding my social activities. I was trying to convince myself that I was looking forward to seeing all our friends and acquaintances, but as I rejected the 14th outfit, I had to admit that I was also a little nervous.

Dropping the offending top on the ever-growing pile, I gave myself a mental shake and strode back to the closet. Number 15 would be the one. After a few long moments of wondering how it was that I suddenly hated every piece of clothing I owned, I decided on a simple black dress. Can't go wrong with the classics. I dawdled over doing my hair and my makeup, but eventually there was no more stalling to be done. Wand in hand, I grudgingly stepped out my door and turned on the spot.

As I landed outside the garden gate, a wave of anxiety rolled over me. However, before I could turn and run George spotted me and dragged me inside, already pressing a drink into my hand and chattering happily about his latest product (color-changing ear hair).

After a few hours, I was forced to admit to myself that I was actually having fun. The patented Weasley Cauldron Concoction Cocktails were surely helping, but it was also genuinely lovely to see everyone and hear about their lives. Ginny seemed to be in a similar state of inebriation, and somehow a congratulatory hug turned into Harry barely preventing us from crashing to the floor.

"I'm so thrilled for both of you," I told them sincerely, if a bit over-enthusiastically.

Ginny grinned back, "Me too," she giggled, "good thing I decided to give Harry another chance, hmm?"

Harry snorted, "Eh, I guess," he quipped, as if he hadn't been mooning after her for a year and a half.

Ginny fixed me with a serious, if unsteady, stare, "You should think about it too," she stated wistfully

Harry tensed up beside her, "We agreed we wouldn't bother Hermione with that," he growled.

Ginny looked abashed, and an icy hand gripped my spine. "Bother me with what?" I demanded sharply. Harry tried to avoid the question, but I grabbed him and physically pinned him in place, "You might as well tell me now," I pressed.

Ginny looked well and truly sorry at this point. "It's nothing, Mione..." she tried feebly. I ignored this, as she must have known I would.

Harry sighed. "Well, Dolohov has been sending you letters," My stomach dropped through the floor. Harry continued placatingly, "Since your place is unplottable, he sends them to me. I didn't want to bring it all up again, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay," I cut him off in a falsely cheery voice. Both Harry and Ginny gave me concerned and apprehensive books.

Still in that same hearty voice, I assured them, "It's fine, really. I'm over it,"

Ginny, much more gullible at this point in the evening, still was shrewd enough to raise and eyebrow and ask "Really though?"

"Really," I assured her firmly, clamping down on the nauseous feeling in my stomach.

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut in, "Bathroom," and darted away before he could get another word in.

I stumbled blindly through the crowd to an upstairs room, my whole body feeling like it was covered in pins and needles. As soon as I got inside Charlie's Quiddich-themed bedroom, I slammed the door and sank down with my back to it, breathing as if I'd run a marathon.

I felt rather queasy, although whether from the news or the cocktails I couldn't say. Antonin was a box in my head I'd been reluctant to open up, even with my therapist. I couldn't even imagine what the letters said, but I didn't take a stretch of the imagination to know that it was nothing complementary. I shut my eyes and practiced the deep, calming breaths I'd learned. I practiced feeling the texture of the floor under me and the door behind me, and gradually got my breathing under control.

You're strong. I told myself, Tough. Totally over him. You can handle Antonin Dolohov if he comes calling. Eventually my breathing slowed and the nausea receded. I stood up taking another deep, calming breath and turned to the mirror to fix my hair. I straightened my back and opened the door with the confidence that only several cocktails can imbue, only to find myself staring at the other man I really, really didn't want to see.

Ron Weasley stood in the doorway. His complexion was a little ruddier than last I'd seen him, and his polo shirt was definitely a little tighter around the middle. The one thing that hadn't changed was the stink of alcohol on his breath.

"Hermy!" he slurred, lurching towards me.

I took a discrete step back, trying to keep some distance between us, "Hi Ron," I replied cautiously. My mind instantly sharpened, on the alert.

"You'sh been avoiding me," he slurred accusatorially.

"Of course not," I replied with a big fake smile, "Come on, let's get a drink." I tried to move towards the door, hoping to escape being alone in a confined space with him.

"Not so fast," he shot a surprisingly fast hand out to grab my arm, "I've missed you."

"It's been ages hasn't it?" I replied, still trying for a light airy tone, "Come downstairs with me, I'm desperate for a cocktail."

I tried not to make my discomfort clear; The key to Ron when he's in this state is to avoid provoking him. However, my gambit failed. In fact, Ron moved even closer, well inside my personal space, pinning me to the dresser.

"I've mished you," he slurred again, "How about we get reacquainted first?"

At this point, he was really pissing me off.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Ron," I said as gently as possible, trying to subtly sidestep him and get a clear path to the door. This, however was the wrong move. His grip on my arm tightened like a vice.

"Think you're too good for me now doncha?" he accused, the stink of alcohol washing over me as his face came closer to mine.

"Of course not," I said, trying to keep my temper in check, "But I am still technically married. We couldn't possibly date."

He pawed sloppily at my front. "How about just a blowie then?" he leered suggestively.

Whatever frayed threads had been holding my temper in check snapped.

"On no planet," I snapped, attempting to wrench my arm free, "Would I want to touch an inebriated invertebrate like you with a ten foot broomstick! Let go of me this instant!"

Predictably, Ron went from whiny to aggressive faster than a stoplight changing.

"Don't you talk down to me with big words, you Death Eater whore!" He roared, backhanding me with his free hand. Strangely, by that point I was so furious that I barely felt the blow land. I slapped him back, hard across the face. Fuck yoga, it felt amazingly cathartic to be this angry.

"SCREW YOU, RONALD" I shouted. I bared my teeth in satisfaction as a red handprint showed up on his face.

Ron's shock wore off quickly, to be replaced by a cold fury. I'd never stood up to him like this before. He grabbed my wand out of my dress pocked and threw it across the room. I gasped in shock, and he took advantage of my momentary distraction to slam me so hard against the wall that my teeth rattled.

"I'm going to treat you like the trash you are," he growled, wedging a knee between my legs and trying drunkenly to reach up my skirt. I attempted to light his pants on fire with wandless magic, but in my present state my aim was off. The bed skirt burst into flame, followed by a pillow. Ron appeared not to notice, still intent on getting his hand up my skirt. A wave of nausea swept over me again, and for a moment I considered vomiting on him. Instead, I slammed my head forward with all my might. I didn't feel great, but the satisfying crunch his nose made was more than worth it. He reeled back, blood gushing through the fingers clamped to his face.

Suddenly, a very familiar voice roared "IMPEDIMENTA," and Ron slammed into the wall opposite and slid slowly down. Just as his body hit the floor with a whack, a giggling Harry and Ginny burst in, clearly intent on some quality time alone. They froze for a second, stunned by the scene.

After a long moment of silence from all sides, Ginny wordlessly raised her wand and extinguished the bed, drenching half the room in the process.

Harry sighed and turned to the hulking man in the corner, wand raised. " Dolohov, why is it that whenever you're around things catch fire?"

As sometimes happens, the emotional part of my brain turned off. Considering how much I'd drunk, I don't think I had the processing power for feeling and deescalation at the same time.

"That wasn't him," I explained to Harry calmly, stepping in front of him and attempting to force his arm down, "It was me. I was trying to set Ron on fire, but my aim's a little off."

Unfortunately, in focusing on Harry I'd forgotten about the real problem in the room.

An icy, Russian-accented voice behind me intoned, "renervate"

My panicked brain realized that I had only seconds to save Ron's life. I whirled around, and before he could do more than sit up dazedly, I shouted, "stupefy," and he collapsed back to the floor.

Dolohov, not to be deterred, responded with an icy calm, "renervate"

"Stupefy!" I snapped stubbornly. Once again Ron keeled over with a thwack.

"Sorry to butt in," Ginny interjected, "but what the bloody hell are you two doing?"

"Dolohov's waking Ron up so he can kill him," I explained, still in hyper-rational mode, as I crossed the room quickly to stand in between Antonin and Ron.

Ginny stared at Antonin, nonplussed.

"This is correct," he agreed in a deceptively calm tone of voice, "So please move, Hermione,"

"Sorry, what!" Harry yelped, leaping over to stand beside me between Ron and Antonin.

Antonin opened his mouth, but I beat him to the punch. Why I was defending Ron, I honestly have no idea.

"Ron and I had a disagreement," I said in a would-be-casual tone of voice, "It... escalated somewhat,"

"DISAGREEMENT?!" roared Antonin, causing Harry and I both to jump and Harry to raise his wand again. "Is disagreement when I am coming here to see his hand up your dress and you struggle to escape, yes? And he hitting you across face, look you can see," he gestured wildly to my face, where I'm sure a spectacular black eye was already forming.

"The fuck," Harry growled, completely forgetting about Dolohov and whirling to turn his wand on Ron's unconscious form.

"You can't hurt him either!" I snapped, fed up at this point, "You, Harry Potter, are a junior Auror. This would end your career for sure, and you, Dolohov, I happen to know are still on probation," I poked him in the chest for emphasis, "Do you want to go back to Azkaban?"

Thank the gods, Ginny stepped in to back me up at this point. Sort of.

"You can't kill him in the house," she groaned, waving her hand vaguely around the slightly singed bedroom, "Mum will have a cow,"

I didn't argue her logic, happy to take any support I could get at that point. "Look," I offered placatingly, "Just tie him up and leave him here until morning. If you still think it's a good idea in the morning, you can take him in and press charges,"

Harry still looked ready to murder, but Antonin, wonder of wonders, neatly sidestepped me and before I could even react, hit Ron with an "incarcerous,"

Maybe I wasn't the only one who'd been in therapy this year.

As it became clear that nobody was going to die, and no more blood would get on Molly's carpet, the adrenaline that had been powering me through started to leave my body and I realized how thoroughly, stinking drunk I was.

I stumbled, and had Antonin not caught me would have ended up facedown on the aforementioned carpet. Unfortunately, he caught me by the arm that Ron had been using to jerk me around, causing me to yelp at the sharp pain. I pushed off Antonin's broad chest, righting myself, and turned to the door.

"I'm going to floo home," I groaned, trying to think through the pounding headache rapidly developing behind my eyes.

"I'll take you," chorused Ginny and Antonin.

"I'll take myself," I grumbled swaying again. I closed my eyes and pressed my palms to the lids, "I just need to get to the floo,"

"You can't floo in your shtate," Ginny slurred, "I'll apparate you home,"

"I also do not think you are in a state to apparate, Ginerva," said Antonin with annoyance, "I vil take Hermione home,"

"The hell you will!" Harry interjected. The pain in my head reached a roaring crescendo and I tried to make for the door, stumbling again.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms scooped me up and I found myself held fast against something very large and very warm.

I distantly heard Antonin's voice snapping impatiently, "If I want to kill her I had a whole year, idiots", only to be cut off by Ginny's impassioned retort, mixed with more expletives from Harry.

At that point, I honestly didn't care. I shut my eyes and knew no more.