A/N: Check the bottom for another note from me about my thoughts on this chapter. Very raw and emotional content ahead.

Edited: 7/26/2022, spelling/grammar, added a couple more descriptions of the healers office and Hermione's apartment, added Crookshanks!, extra info in Harry and Ginny's interaction at the end

Edited: 10/09/22, spelling/grammar, a few minor adjustments to Hermione and Pansy's conversation

TW: This chapter explicitly discusses sexual assault.

Monday, October 4, 1999

"Tell me why you're here, Miss Granger." A soft-spoken witch with graying fly-away hair sat across from Hermione in a dimly lit office. Hermione shifted slightly in the wingback armchair and shoved her hands beneath her thighs self-consciously.

"I haven't been sleeping well," she began haltingly, choosing each word with care. "I can fall asleep… for a little while… but I always wake back up after a bit. It feels like an adrenaline shot, and it makes it harder to fall asleep again the next time."

Hermione watched as the elderly witch - Mind Healer Davis - scribbled notes on the parchment in front of her. When the healer looked back up, Hermione took a deep breath and continued.

"And I get these pains… like muscle tension… but it's intense. It feels like my muscle is so tight it might snap, but I can't relax. It doesn't feel like I'm in control of it. I'm not consciously doing it."

"Where do you feel the tension?"

"Mostly in my right leg… and… well, my butt and pelvic area I guess," Hermione tried to make herself smaller. It was mortifying to be talking about this, but she had promised herself she'd go through with it. Embarassing details and all.

"I see, and are you feeling any pain now?"

"Yes."

"How would you rate the pain on a scale of one to ten?"

"Maybe a six?" She'd wanted to say eight, but didn't want to seem dramatic. The healer made more notes.

"Anything else?"

"Anxiety," Hermione crossed and uncrossed her legs. "And heart palpitations."

"When did these symptoms begin?" Now they were getting closer to the core of the issue and Hermione's nerves ramped up.

"I can't be certain..." she replied vaguely, as though this was all a big mystery. Hermione busied herself with taking a closer look at the office furnishings and avoided eye contact. There was a potted plant near the window, a bookcase packed with diagnostic manuals and medical tomes on the far wall, and a finely woven Turkish rug under her feet, but none of those details could distract her from the awkwardness of the protracted silence. Still, Healer Davis waited patiently for Hermione to elaborate. When it became clear that she wouldn't though, the healer spoke.

"Miss Granger, your trials and tribulations preceding and during the war have been well publicized. I confess that I'm not altogether surprised that you would show these kinds of symptoms of trauma," Healer Davis pulled reading glasses onto her nose and squinted at her notes. "The events of your adolescence include being cursed and tortured at various intervals and I understand that you've been seeing a mind healer since the end of the war."

"Yes, I was seeing Healer Humphrey." It was easier to engage on the confirmation of simple facts.

"Well, I reviewed his notes and he indicated that you were doing well under his care… until February."

"Yes, I suppose until February." Hermione repeated, dreading the question that she knew Healer Davis would - and must - ask next.

"What happened in February?"

The seconds seemed to drag on forever, and the ticking of the clock mounted on the wall echoed deafeningly in Hermione's ears, but Healer Davis again waited patiently. It was maddening. Hermione couldn't bring herself to state the bald truth, not yet, so she decided to try to work up to it.

"After the war, I didn't feel traumatized at all. Working with Healer Humphrey was easy. It felt like a formality. Something I did because my mother would have wanted me to do it," Hermione smiled at the memory of her mother extolling the virtues of therapy, lamenting its stigma in the world, and needling her father to see a 'shrink' (her father's terminology) when his brother died of cancer. Helen Granger was now Monica Wilkins though, and she wouldn't get the chance to do the same cajoling for her daughter.

"Even though we'd survived terrible things, all I could feel was joy, and relief, and even peace. I thought everything was falling into place. We'd won the war, I was going back to Hogwarts with my best friends, and Ron…" Hermione's heart beat wildly in her chest. She needed another detour.

"I'd probably had a crush on Ron since our fourth year, maybe earlier, but he didn't seem to see me the same way at all…"

Hermione, Neville's right--you are a girl.

Oh, well spotted.

"We went through so much together, and after the war, back at Hogwarts… I really thought that we'd… I wanted to be with him!" There was a pleading note to Hermione's voice. She desperately needed Healer Davis to understand. This was a critical point.

"He knew. I'm certain it wasn't a secret. Everyone knew… it's so humiliating now…" she buried her face in her hands, but tried to keep going. "If he'd only asked… I would've… even though I'd never before… I probably would've eventually… willingly…"

"Miss Granger, I want you to take a deep breath with me," It was a more challenging ask than it seemed. Without realizing it, Hermione's breathing had become shallow and panicked. "In for four counts, hold for two... that's it... now out for six. One more time... four in... hold for two... now out for six. Very good. Are you ready to continue or do you need a break?"

"Could I have some water, please?"

"Of course, dear."

One glass and a few minutes later, Hermione cleared her throat and began anew.

"Healer Humphrey was great, but I wanted to see you because of your specialty, or maybe I just wanted to talk to a woman… I don't know…" Hermione's eyes traced the gold engraved letters of the nameplate on Healer Davis's desk.

Healer Ruth Davis

Trauma and Sexual Assault Specialist

"Let's go back to February. Can you tell me what happened?"

"It actually stopped in February. My symptoms started in February, but the incident… that started a few weeks earlier. I can't remember exactly when it began, or, well I couldn't really know when it began. I was asleep at the time…"

"Let's practice some self-soothing techniques while we talk, okay?" Hermione was willing to try anything if it could help prevent another bout of hyperventilation. Healer Davis guided her to place her own hands across her upper arms - like a hug - and to gently rub them up and down. "Very good. Keep going, dear."

"Harry, and Ron, and I… we'd spent months on the run together sleeping in that awful tent. I slept best when I could hear them both breathing near me. It meant they were alive. At Hogwarts though, in the dorms, we were apart. I convinced them to sneak out to the Room of Requirement with me. It's my fault…" she nearly choked as her throat constricted painfully.

"It wasn't your fault," said Healer Davis gently. What a cliche. Hermione felt rage rise up within her chest.

"It was!" Hermione gasped around a sob, gripping her arms and forgetting to continue the caressing motions that Healer Davis had taught her. "I made him think I wanted it! I did want it! Not like that… but I put myself there! And then I didn't say anything! This went on every day for weeks and I didn't say anything… Harry was right there… I'm furious with myself!"

It took another fifteen minutes of deep breathing, cold water, and self-soothing techniques for Hermione to calm down again.

"Tell me about the Room of Requirement but just the facts. Try not to pass judgment on yourself as you explain," Healer Davis pressed.

"We would talk for a bit, the three of us, late into the night. I usually fell asleep first… and I guess… I guess Ron would stay up… he'd wait for Harry to fall asleep too… and then he'd… I woke up to him touching me," Hermione shuddered. It was difficult to say this out loud to a practical stranger. "With his mouth, with his hands... on me, and inside me. He didn't know I was awake. I pretended to still be asleep. I couldn't think what to do…Why didn't I just jump up, or yell, or push him him away?"

"It's just biology, Hermione. When we are faced with a threat, a message is sent to the amygdala in the limbic system of the brain. The amygdala assesses the threat and sends a message to the brain stem to activate the fight-flight-freeze response. It sounds like your brain triggered the freeze response. It's perfectly natural." Hermione could only blink. She considered herself a well-read individual, and she'd heard of fight-or-flight before, but hadn't been aware of a third response.

"How is freezing natural? Wouldn't that be detrimental if the trigger had been life threatening, like a bear attack or something?" Hermione couldn't resist the flair of academic interest in the topic, despite the sordid and deeply personal subject matter.

"A bear attack metaphor is actually a good one. The prevailing wisdom - for muggles at least - is to 'play dead' in the face of such a threat. It's not advisable to try to overpower a bear, or to outrun it, so fight and flight are both eliminated as threat response options," Hermione nodded, begrudging the point, but couldn't fully absolve herself of her own inaction.

"But I'm a witch. I could hex a bear… or Ron. I could've hexed Ron."

"But in many cases the brain's assessment of viable threat response options considers not only what is physically possible but also what is emotionally viable. Would there have been consequences to fight or flight in your situation? Also, keep in mind that this decision is being made subconsciously, often within milliseconds, and it's not always rational."

"There were consequences regardless…" Hermione bitterly mumbled.

"Let's refocus on what we can control, the here and now, and the future. What do you want to get out of our work together?"

Hermione took a moment to really think about her answer. "I want to to be able to sleep. I want to be confident and strong. I want to be happy."

"Excellent goals. You deserve to be happy. In order to get there, our first step will be to calm down your amygdala and bring you out of your hypervigilent state. Repeat after me."

I am safe.

I am safe.

I am safe.

"Pansy Katherine Parkinson!" Hermione's hand gripped the fabric of her shirt over her chest trying to calm her pounding heart. She'd just hung up her purse, turned on the light switch in her living room, and received the shock of an unexpected visitor perched on her sofa.

"What are you my mother, Granger?" Pansy calmly sipped tea from a porcelain cup that must have been transfigured. Hermione surely didn't own anything nearly so dainty. "You can't honestly be surprised to see me?"

"You're sitting in my locked and warded apartment in the dark. Of course I'm surprised!"

"Crookshanks let me in," Pansy said with dry seriousness. Searching out her feline companion, Hermione finally spotted Crookshanks hiding behind the TV stand, glaring at Pansy reproachfully. It was clear that he would most certainly not have let her in if he'd had the power to bar entry. Looking back at Pansy, Hermione lifted her eyebrow.

"Oh all right, floo permissions are still open from my last visit. If you didn't want me here you should've had me removed," Pansy stated with a haughty sniff while Hermione rolled her eyes. It had been a right beast to find the space for a whole fireplace in her tiny apartment. She'd finally managed with an undetectable extension charm. Technically, it was an illegal undetectable extension charm, but what the Ministry didn't know wouldn't hurt it. And she had asked Pansy to be the first to test her floo after having her new fireplace installed, but she was currently rethinking the wisdom of that decision. "Also, you don't have any candles."

"You don't need candles in a muggle apartment... electricity, remember?" Hermione flicked the overhead lighting off and on a few times to demonstrate her point.

Pansy waved her hand dismissively and patted the seat cushion beside her to invite Hermione further into the room. She acted like she owned the place in any situation and while it used to be infuriating, these days Hermione admired the confidence.

"I wanted to be here for you," Pansy nearly whispered in an earnest voice. "How did it go today?"

Hermione sat down with a long sigh and summoned a mug from her cupboard, busying herself with adding lemon to her tea as she searched for the right words to describe her first mind healing session.

"It was... challenging. Honestly I don't remember much of anything the healer had to say I was just so focused on telling her the whole terrible tale. Until today, you were the only person who knew what happened."

"Yes, and I recall what a paragon of eloquence you were when you told me..." Pansy lifted one elegant eyebrow and the corner of her lips twitched in amusement.

"I still can't believe you thought Ron didn't have a penis!" Hermione softly smiled as she shook her head, remembering the day she shared her secret with Pansy. It had happened quite by accident. The two girls hadn't even been friends yet, but found themselves as the last two awake in the Hufflepuff common room following what could only be described as a bacchanalia celebrating Ostara.

All houses had been invited. Spring is a time for new beginnings, the Hufflepuffs had said, and then harrassed as many people into coming as they could. Hufflepuffs looked sweet, but could be menacing if they put their minds to it. Then they'd further surprised everyone by making the most potent alcoholic punch anyone had ever tasted. Hermione had been deep in her cups and before she knew it, she was spilling her heart out to Pansy, of all people.

"You said, and I quote, there wasn't a penis! There wasn't a penis! And then tried to clarify that there was a penis but it wasn't really there."

Hermione cringed at the memory. She'd been attempting to explain that Ron hadn't technically raped her. Or well, he had, but not with his penis. He'd certainly been aroused, and Hermione had had the distinct displeasure of feeling it grinding threateningly against her leg, but it hadn't been involved in the assault the way his hand and mouth had been. In the privacy of her own thoughts, these simple facts were easy to organize, but they always came out jumbled when she tried to say them out loud.

Pansy continued, "Honestly, after that I thought Weasley might have a ghost penis if he had one at all."

Despite her melancholy mood, Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that mental image. "Ghost penis..." she chuckled.

Pansy snorted and elaborated, "Haunting vaginas everywhere and leaving his area completely smooth like a dolphin."

"Or a Ken doll..." Hermione gasped out between full-body spasms. And despite the null likelihood that Pansy had any idea what a Ken doll was, both girls collapsed in a fit of giggles. Several minutes later they composed themselves. "We talked about that today actually," she added with a grimace.

Pansy's jaw dropped. "You talked about ghost penises with your healer?"

"No!" Hermione had to forcibly school her face into a serious countenance to prevent herself from falling victim to another giggle attack. "We talked about what to call what happened to me. Since there wasn't any... penis in vagina penetration... hence my insistence that the penis wasn't really involved... I mean his fingers were... er nevermind, anyway... I've never really been comfortable calling it rape, you know?" Pansy nodded patiently, but Hermione knew where she really stood on this issue. Pansy was a staunch feminist and had never shied away from calling a spade a spade besides. "Saying I was molested makes me feel weird too, since I wasn't a kid when it happened. I think... I think saying I was sexually assaulted feels the most accurate."

"I get it," Pansy tapped her sharp manicured nails against her teacup in thought. "I'm glad you can name it now. You know, a wise witch once told me that fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"I'm surprised you were listening," Hermione scoffed. "You still call Voldemort the Dark Lord sometimes."

"Old habits die hard, I suppose," Pansy lightly groaned. "And you, do you think today was helpful? I know I can be pushy, but if you hated it..." A rare crack in Pansy's polished facade allowed Hermione to see that she had been anxious about this probably all day. It was true that Pansy had nagged Hermione for months that she should see a specialist, but she was truly glad for it. It had been eight months since the sexual assault, and Hermione was ready to do anything to help herself feel normal again.

"It was good, Pansy. I'm willing to keep trying. Thank you," she poured all of her sincerity into her voice as she squeezed Pansy's hand. Pansy really wasn't a hugger.

"Ok enough sappy crap then," Pansy sniffed and blinked away her watery eyes. "I really came over here to help take your mind off things tonight. I'm going to tell you all about the best and worst designs I saw at Paris fashion week, you're going to rant to me about your bitchy boss Macnair, and we are going to eat every crumb of the cakes that Linney prepared for us tonight."

Hermione turned around with a gasp as Pansy gestured to the dining room table that was nearly groaning under the weight of the food piled on its surface. "Pansy, I work in the House-Elf Liberation Divison! I cannot believe you made Linney do this!"

"Linney wanted to do this, Granger. It was her idea. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Mistress called?" A small house-elf suddenly popped into existence.

"Oh no, sorry Linney, but I guess since you're here you can take all the food away. Granger doesn't want it." Hermione watched in horror as Linney's eyes began to shine with tears.

"Miss Hermione isn't liking my cooking? Linney is a bad elf?" She wailed.

"That's right Linney, maybe you need to keep practicing. Save the salt from your tears for more seasoning next time," Pansy continued to mercilessly goad the poor elf while Hermione reached out her hands towards Linney ineffectually, unsure how to dig herself out of this mess. Pansy knew just how to play her.

"No, Linney, I only meant, uh... I mean, I can't wait to taste the cakes you prepared!" Hermione folded like a stack of exploding snap cards.

"Really?" Linney sniffled, turning a skeptical eye towards Hermione.

"Really!" Hermioned nodded her head emphatically. "Your hummingbird cake is my favorite!"

"Linney will go make one then!" She shouted with glee before disappearing again with a pop.

"No, wait... damn it she's gone already. You're evil!" Hermione whirled back to face Pansy, who was cackling.

"You're just predictable, darling. And I can't take any credit for this diabolical scene. Linney actually wrote me a script and made me rehearse so that she could be sure you'd accept her gifts."

Hermione's face contorted as she tried to settle on a single emotion. Pride for Linney asserting herself as a free elf and bossing around her Mistress? Or annoyance that she'd been so easily manipulated by a few crocodile tears?

Definitely pride.

Hermione smiled and finally allowed herself to join Pansy at the dining table to tuck into the decadent spread that Linney had prepared.

"You're a bad influence on her," Hermione shook her head as she sliced into a pear tartlette and served them both a piece. "And where did she find that ridiculous hat she was wearing?"

"It's not ridiculous, it's a Madame Marion original and it's all the rage in Paris right now."

"If you say so."

"I do," said Pansy, waving a fork threateningly in Hermione's direction. "Speaking of fashion, I have a favor to ask you."

"Oh?" Hermione lifted her brows nearly to her hairline. It wasn't that Hermione didn't know how to dress herself well, but she wasn't the first person she would've expected Pansy to turn to for anything sartorial.

"Ginny Weasley," Pansy stated simply. That only confused Hermione further. "She's signed for the Arrows, right?"

"Kenmare Kestrals actually," Hermione marveled at the novelty of correcting anyone on the topic of Quidditch. "Why?"

"I'd like you to ask her if she'd be willing to model for my studio. Interns are in charge of recruiting new models for the winter line and I'd be a hero if I could bring her to the table."

"Oh! Ginny is gorgeous, that makes sense."

Pansy blinked at the falsly cheery tone. "Don't tell me you want to model, Granger?"

Hermione blushed furiously. "Of course not!"

"Good, because you're about the size of a garden gnome and haute couture has a height minimum." Hermione turned her head to stare sulkily out the window, which provided nothing interesting to look at in the darkness of the evening. "No pouting! You're fishing for compliments, and frankly you're better than that. You know you're beautiful. Work on your low self-esteem in your next session with your mind healer. Write that down!"

"Piss off, Parkinson!" Hermione flicked a pastry flake towards Pansy in mock ire, but laughed all the same.

"Never."

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Ginny Weasley was soaking her troubles away in a bubble bath at Grimmauld Place when a knock on the bathroom door interrupted her brooding.

"Leave me to drown, Harry."

"You're being dramatic," came Harry's muffled voice from behind the closed door. "Come on, let me in."

Ginny sighed but flicked her wand to turn the bronze lock, allowing Harry to enter, before burying herself in the bubbles once again.

"What's wrong?" Harry softly questioned, flicking a cluster of suds off her nose.

"I'm a glorified bench warmer, that's what's wrong," Ginny grumped. "Urquhart announced the starting lineup for the next game and I'm not on it. Again."

"Surely he doesn't want Collins to play again after he got trounced by the Tornados last week. He looked confunded. Actually," Harry put on an exaggerated thinking face. "Was Hermione in the stands? He might have actually been confunded." They both laughed remembering how McLaggen had been victimized in sixth year. Good times.

"I was catching up with that scout Fiona after practice and she told me not to hold my breath. Apparently it's pretty rare for Urquhart to put a woman on his roster in the first place. He probably just figured that having Harry Potter's girlfriend on the team in any capacity would sell tickets."

"Sorry, dear. Do you want to break up and free yourself from my shadow?" Harry teased.

"Not a chance! You can't get rid of me that easily!" Ginny splashed Harry for his impudence and then stuck her tongue out for good measure.

"Wanna hear something that will make you feel better?"

"Always."

"I got assigned to be Malfoy's parole officer today," Harry gave a theatrical wince.

"No! Draco Malfoy?" Ginny gripped the edge of the clawfoot bathtub in surprise and sloshed more water over the edge with her flailing.

"The very one. Stonewall had him, but now that he's retiring everything got shuffled around. Our first check-in is next week."

"Well, he's not so bad these days, is he? He was in my Muggle Studies class last year and he seemed different. He asked so many questions I thought Hermione was there."

"Yeah, I heard he's going to a muggle university now even!" Harry waggled his eyebrows up and down in a 'what-do-you-think-of-that' motion. Ginny was impressed. She grew up a pureblood too, and even with her father's weird obsession with muggle spark plugs, she didn't think she'd feel confident in her ability to navigate the muggle world for a university program.

"Good for him. By the way, have you heard from Ron lately? Mum's driving me up a wall about him not coming by the Burrow for Sunday lunch."

"I was going to ask you the same actually. I haven't seen him since drinks with Hagrid. He seemed normal then, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. A little quiet, but I thought that was just stress from auror training."

"He'd already dropped out by then actually. Has George heard anything? I thought Ron was going to start helping out at the shop."

"Not a word. George's been hacked off because Lee only wants to work weekdays now he's dating that Spanish girl. He was counting on the extra pair of hands for the weekend crowds."

"What about Molly's clock?"

"Broke for good, unfortunately. She was carrying it everywhere during the war and dropped it a fair few times. Not sure who could even repair it. It was a family heirloom. Nobody makes them anymore."

"All right, well that's two weeks with no contact. I think it's time to open up an official investigation," Harry's mouth was set in a hard line, brow furrowed as he contemplated where his best friend could have gone.

"What, you think something happened to him?" Ginny sat up, rigid with alarm.

"I don't know. It's just not like him to not check in with one of us for so long."

"Maybe he's just upset that Lavender dumped him? Probably off licking his wounds in a pub somewhere." Ginny knew her brother was many things, but graceful in the face of embarrassment was not one of them.

"Maybe..." Harry didn't look convinced, but Ginny knew how to stop him from spiraling into work-mode.

"Well, are you joining me in here or not?" She said with an impish grin. Harry made quick work of his clothes and fell on top of her with a splash. Despite life's many disappointments, Ginny would always be happy as long as Harry Potter was with her.

A/N: I know I'm probably upsetting a lot of Ron Weasley fans by casting him in this role, but I'm using this story as a way to work through some of my own feelings about a sexual assault that happened to me. Some of you may say, "Ron would never do that, he was one of Hermione's best friends," but that's exactly why I chose him for this character arc. Rapes and sexual assaults are commonly perpetuated by someone the victim/survivor knows, someone they trust. I think it's a common misconception that it's always a stranger in a dark alley, and it can fuck with your head if you find yourself a victim/survivor someday to wonder if something's wrong with you because someone you thought you loved could do that to you. If you're reading this and something similar happened to you, I hope you get the help you need. I've gone to a lot of therapy, mostly EMDR, and those experiences are what I based the healer scene on. Of course, be aware that I wanted to take some creative liberties with the things that a therapist would actually say in order to suit my story, so if the way I wrote about therapy discourages you in any way I hope that you realize that it's not a fully accurate representation of what it could be like for you. Be well everyone!