Hello everybody! First and foremost, welcome to the story that has been swimming my mind for the past few months. I originally wrote this on AO3 but have also moved it onto here. If you recognise any quotes/scenes, it may because I was influenced by someone of my favourite movies/songs to add into this here narrative. If you spot any, comment them!

A warning needs to be set in place for those who are struggling or have struggled with binge eating, and or self-harming thoughts. I am currently going through this journey myself and wanted to read about a character who I could relate to when it came to mental health. There is also a warning for sexual abuse/rape. There is a characters that have/will experience molestation. Again, some of these stories are from my own personal life, and as a way to deal with my heartache, I wanted to write the moments down in a story. Please, feel free to back away at any point if you do not feel comfortable continuing to read.

But thank you for reading! I love writing these silly little love stories, and appreciate all of you who take the time to invest in what I create.

There are certain looks that come across people's faces when they realise that they are doomed.

Some give a breathy laugh, amused at themselves for getting into such a mess. Others clench their eyes, desperate to wake up from the nightmare. But almost always, people simply stare destiny in its face, accepting their fate for what it had become.

Ron Weasley had accepted his fate when he died.

Hermione remembers it well. The image has played in her mind every day since.

She remembers how her lips still ached from when they shared their first and only kiss. How the adrenaline was racing through her veins as she watched the diadem burn in the Fiendfyre flames, along with the two Slytherin boys who had yet to turn of age. There was an undeniable scent of death and decay floating throughout Hogwarts that night.

After the fifth horcrux was destroyed, Hermione had realised that Harry was the final instrument to killing Voldemort. It clicked together in a gut wrenching and euphoric style.

Before she had a chance to tell the boys, a Death Eater with terrible aim shot a curse in their direction, only to miss and hit a wall. The debris is what killed Ron, not the spell. Years of practice for a magical fight much bigger than himself and his life was brought to an end by a piece of cement.

Hermione can't recall much after that, but the final expression on Ron's face never ceases to fade from her memory.

She was told later in a makeshift hospital that Harry was left paralysed and called a ceasefire with his best friend's body in his broken arms. Both armies retreated and went into hiding. Order members, Death Eaters—everyone.

From whispers, she gathered that something must have happened on Voldemort's side as well as theirs otherwise the battle would have been won by the wrong army. But nothing had been confirmed.

AUGUST

There was a farm not too far out from Hogsmead that belonged to Professor McGonagall. Six paddocks surrounded the house with an equivalent amount of bedrooms, and a granny flat out by the entry gates. Apparently it was her late husband's family land, remaining empty until early May.

McGonagall had insisted that it be used as a safe house after everyone went underground or disappeared completely. Harry was left without the ability to walk and he needed somewhere to heal, somewhere hidden but also somewhere where Voldemort would never think to look; in plain sight.

From the front porch Hermione could see the wavering haze of the wards surrounding the barbed wire fences. A blind eye would see nothing but greenery for miles, but those in the know would be able to find the house if they remembered the two collapsed trees in the opposing fields. She was the only one who had left and come back over the passing weeks. No one else wanted to take the risk.

"We need more food," Harry said from the kitchen, the squeak of his wheelchair gaining as he rolled to meet her at the front.

Hermione clutched the cup in her hand tight, keeping her eyes on the glistening wards, "Do you want me to go today or can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Today."

"Fine."

She did not turn to face him in hopes that he would not want to pursue a longer discussion.

Recently, Harry had grown severely depressed. Nearly everyone in the house was suffering in their own way, but he had started to drink during the day. He was aggressive all the time, and no one wanted to be around him much. Not even Hermione.

After concluding that he might also be a horcrux, she'd avoided him. He noticed it, but assumed it was because she blamed him for what happened to Ron.

She knew he had left her alone when the wheelchair faded down to the hallway.

Harry slept in the master suite on the bottom floor, next to Dean Thomas and Theodore Nott's rooms. Hermione was told that Theo had joined the Order a few days before Christmas last year after running away from his family. He was the definition of a narcissist, and never lacked in conversation when given the opportunity.

Andromeda Tonks' room was next to Hermione's on the second floor. Baby Teddy did not cry as much as one would expect an orphan to, and yet Cho Chang often complained that she could still hear him down the hall.

The Weasley twins slept outside in the Granny flat. They felt like the last living spark within the house these days. Despite losing their younger brother, they still managed to make people smile in small gestures.

"Hey Hermione!" Fred called, bouncing up the front steps. "Reckon me and Georgie just perfected our new firework display in the back paddock right now. Wanna come and test it out with us?"

"A tempting offer, but I'll have to get a rain check. I have been advised that we are in desperate need for a shopping trip."

Fred raised his lanky arms in a 'hallelujah' manner, and flung his head back, "Finally."

"The usual then? Sugar Puffs and Jaffar cakes?"

"You know me too well."

He gave her cheek a light kiss before racing back inside to find a new culprit for his experiment.

The only shops she could go to were muggle these days and therefore everyone had grown accustomed to muggle branded food. At the start of every month McGonagall gives her a fair amount of spending money, already converted into muggle pounds. Where it came from Hermione had no clue, but accepted the donation anyway.

She knew what life was like on the run with no food or water, and it was not a life she wanted to live again.

Returning her mug to the kitchen and heading to her room, Hermione began to tie the laces on her shoes before something scraped along the roof.

She had heard that Draco Malfoy was the person sleeping in the attic, but no one had seen him yet to confirm whether that was true. His Aunt had mentioned once of the fly that he had secretly come to her months ago begging for an escape from Voldemort. It might have been the same time Theo had run away.

But there was also a rumour that he died failing to save Pansy Parkinson, so no one really knew if it was Draco locked up there or just a haunting ghoul.

"Remind me again why I was sent to the same house as Fred and George bloody Weasley!" Cho yelled from the hallway, coming to a halt by Hermione's door.

Her black hair, once silky smooth, was now strung out as if she was electrocuted. Sparks zapping off the ends.

"Welcome to my life," Hermione chuckled, slipping her purse around her shoulder. "I can give you a charm or two if you need help taming that."

"More like, I need a hex or two to throw at those idiot twins."

No one in the house actually really knew why any of them were sent here. McGonagall took it upon herself to lead the hidden Order once Harry was taken down. Everyone was spread out, given a different home to stay in until told otherwise.

Andromeda was appointed to be the mother of the household, but she had been mourning her husband and daughter so hard that the burden somehow fell upon Hermione's shoulders for the first few months. It was nothing she was not used to and truthfully, she thrived off the distraction.

"I'm going to the shop," Hermione said tiredly. "The usual?"

"Yes, thanks. Oh, and maybe you could get a few more lady toiletries. I am all run up and I'm due next week."

"Not a problem."

"Hey, how come you don't use any? Is there a charm you use each month?"

Hermione faltered, having not been asked such a question before and not entirely sure how to give a short answer. "Yeah, I use a charm," she ended up saying. Which was a complete lie.

"Could you teach it to me sometime? The muggle ways are rather annoying."

"Sure. Later."

Popping his head out of the bathroom, Dean's face was damp from shower steam, "Did someone say they're going to the shops?"

"Yes. Usual?"

"Please. But maybe more hot chocolate this week, yeah? Dunno who but someone's got an addiction and we've run out."

Hermione tapped her finger to her temple to suggest that she had mentally noted his suggestion. Dean threw her a thumbs up and a beaming smile in return.

Before leaving she had ensured she had double checked everyone's request and then headed down the road. There was a village not far from the farm house allowing her to walk without growing weary. It was the opposite direction of Hogmead and a slice of freedom for the temporarily trapped witch.

She transfigured her features to be unrecognisable and didn't like to look anyone in the eye. Somedays, when the crowds were small, she would sneak off to a book store and admire all of the stories she wished to someday buy.

It took just over an hour before Hermione returned home and everyone gathered around the table to thank her for the food. Everyone except the ghoul upstairs.

"Here let me help you with that," Theo said, lifting one of the shopping bags off her wrists.

"Thank you, Theo." She squeezed his arm softly, keeping eye contact with him to ensure that, despite being a Slyherin, he knew he was welcomed here. His playful grin guaranteed her that he did.

"Did you get what I wanted?" Harry asked.

"No. They had run out and I got another brand for this week."

"But I like my brand."

She sighed, "Well, they did not have any. Okay?"

He gave a shallow grunt in her direction, probably more pissed off about something that wasn't his alcohol. Hermione knew that Harry felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, and even more so that he was dropping that weight. So she let him take his anger out on her. Only because she knew that everyone else would hold it against him if they do end up losing the war.

"How about I head back out tomorrow and see if they restocked?" She offered.

"Sure. If you want."

It wasn't much, but it was better than a 'whatever'.

The rest of the housemates finished unpacking and relieved Hermione of the duty to go sit down. She made her way into the living room, finding Andromeda changing Teddy's nappy on the rug.

"Hello darling," Andromeda greeted, tightening the pin on her grandson. "How did you go at the market? Good?"

"Yes, everything was fine. No one recognised me."

"Good. That's good."

Sometimes, out of blue, Hermione could be hit with a shadow of darkness that seemed to eat her whole. It did not take much for her joy to be stripped. Once she had simply been hanging out the washing and it suddenly felt like a wave of sadness was drowning her.

It was the way that Andromeda blew raspberries on Teddy's belly that triggered her just now. The small baby wriggled on his back in the living room, laughing at his grandmother's quirkiness.

Hermione's chest tightened, and her lungs struggled to take in air. The echoes of giggles ringing in her ears while the dark cloud surrounded her mind.

His laughter was pure, too pure for the world he was going to be brought up into.

Making a fist and shuddering a breath, Hermione's legs dragged her up the stairs to her room and just allowed her to fall on the bed before collapsing beneath themselves. Murmurs of people downstairs still rumbling outside the door.

Her bedroom was like a safe haven, where she sought healing in the comfort of her blankets. She found that the only time she was ever happy was when she was asleep, swept up in dreams too far away from reality. And so she slept, a lot.

The days passed quicker that way. Only getting out of bed for a few hours to do what needed to be done, and then returning back to her dreams before the war.

As she started to drift off into a much needed nap, the scrape along the roof made her jump.

If Draco Malfoy was up there, she had no idea how he was still alive. She would often wonder whether there was a window up there for him to breathe? Did he ever eat or bathe himself? How did he keep himself entertained, or did he just sleep like Hermione did?

A light tap on her bedroom door broke her curious thoughts.

"Come in," she said, sitting up under the blankets.

Theo peered through the gap of the door and the frame before he fully stepped in, "Hey. Are you good? You looked a little flustered out there just now."

Hermione pressed her lips together in a line and gave a reassuring smile, "I'm fine. Perhaps a tad tired from the walk to the store."

"Truly? Because you slept for over 13 hours last night."

"Truly, I-" Before she could finish her sentence, the scraping along the roof was replaced by a gentle rhythmic thud. Like someone was jumping on the attic floor.

"Malfoy must be awake then," Theo laughed, looking up at the ceiling.

"You really think it's him up there?"

"Probably. Prat is most likely doing nothing but push ups in there for when he makes his grand entrance. That or the ghouls redecorating."

Hermione gave a soft chuckle. The idea of Malfoy doing anything other than chewing gum and trying to be liked was absurd. Then again, last she had seen him he looked so broken. Watching in terror as Bellatrix tore her skin apart on his family drawing room floor.

"Can I ask you something, Theo?"

"Anything."

"Why didn't you ever become a Death Eater?"

The harsh question threw the dark featured boy off his flow. His throat bobbed and eyes scanned the wood flooring beneath his shoes.

"I uh- Well… Do you want what you want to hear or the truth?"

"The truth."

He came and sat by the end of her mattress. Fingers intertwined at the gap between his legs. "I was never asked to be a Death Eater. Malfoy was the only one of us that was recruited but that was mainly because The Dark L- You-Know-Who wanted to kill him."

"Punishment for his father's mistakes," Hermione assumed.

"Yeah. He was set on a task too big for his own well being, doomed from the very start."

Hermione thought about that word a lot. Doomed. Malfoy seemed to fit the description perfectly.

"But he never killed Dumbledore. Snape did. So why wasn't he punished?"

Theo pinched his lower lip with his finger and thumb, "Oh he was. Just not Avada'd. I don't really know what went down, but I heard it wasn't good."

She hummed. Perhaps that was why he looked so battered at Malfoy Manor. But it must not have been that bad if he wasn't willing to identify them after they were captured.

"Do you think you would have become a Death Eater if you were ever asked?"

"Maybe," Theo hung his head. "But I don't think Malfoy would have let me even if I wanted to."

"Because he wanted the spotlight all to himself?"

"Probably. That and despite being close when we were children, he's always seen me as a threat. I've always been that little bit better at him at everything, and he's hated that our whole lives. Except Pansy, he got Pansy first."

Clutching her legs to her chest, Hermione looked up at the roof momentarily before returning her glance to the boy at the end of her bed. "Why did you really come here, Theo? What made you turn?"

"Ha. You'll have to get a few drinks in me before you get that story. Can I tempt you to come downstairs tonight?"

Hermione gave his arm another small squeeze, "I'll think about it."

She would not think about it. Most nights that she had decided to stay up ended in a depression that could last for two days. There was no escaping that dark cloud that loomed over her mind, reminding her that she could not have joy when her friends were dead.

After an awkward silence that should have been picked up on a lot sooner, Theo left Hermione alone. She rested her head on her pillow and napped until someone or something was bound to wake her.

She dreamt of the time that Ron bought her perfume.

"Hermione…" someone gently rubbed her shoulder. "Time to wake up, darling."

Groaning at the voice that broke her slumber, Hermione rubbed her eyes to see Andromeda sitting on the edge of her bed. Tiny hands patted her back while she regained her focus. Teddy was rocking on his knees, babbling as he smiled down at her from behind.

"Hello, sweet boy," Hermione rasped, pretending to nibble at his small fingers. He squealed in glee.

"It's time for dinner, darling girl," Andromeda said. "Did you want to come down or shall I bring you a plate up here? Professor McGonagall is coming tonight if you want to see her."

"George is on dinner tonight, right?"

"He is."

Hermione sighed, sliding her legs off the mattress and lifting Teddy on to her hip, "I suppose I should come down. He may burn the kitchen otherwise."

"Good thinking."

Her intuition had been correct seeing as by the time that she reached downstairs the smell of burnt rubber was swimming around the house. George's desperate face relaxed the moment she had stepped in to assist.

"Help. Me. Please," He begged, falling to his knees and kissing the back of her hands.

"Get up you git," she half laughed, half shook her head. "Let's start again."

George was far more capable of cooking than he played himself out to be when she was by his side. Hermione started to wonder if he purposely messed up on his rostered nights so that it wasn't all on him if it tasted shite.

He threw too many strings of pasta at the wall, testing to see if it was ready or not.

"Do you miss your Mum's cooking?" She asked as a charmed spoon stirred the sauce.

"Yeah," he looked at her with sorrowful eyes. "I even miss her yelling. It's not as fun throwing dungbombs when there's no one to howl at you until ya ears bleed."

"You could test it out on Andromeda?"

"Maybe, but it's not the same, ya know?"

Hermione gave a short nod. She did know. Nothing was the same anymore.

With the opening of the door leading to the porch, Professor McGonagall came in gracefully through the back entrance. Her black teaching robes swapped out for a deep blue.

"Mr Weasley. Miss Granger," she gave a tight smile. "What a lovely sight seeing you two in the kitchen."

"Hello Professor," they both said in unison. One chirpier than the other.

"I take it Andromeda is upstairs?"

"She's giving the baby a bath if you wish to speak with her privately."

"Ah, that I do. Thank you, Miss Granger. Please call when everything is ready, yes?"

Hermione nodded, turning her head to face George with wide eyes and a creeping smile. He returned the facial expression, no doubt thinking the exact same thing.

"Do you think we're finally getting out of here?" She asked.

"I bloody well hope so. Dunno how much longer I can take Dean's snoring. Can hear that tosser all the way from the flat."

"Or Cho's frequent need to cry every time there's a spider in her room."

George threw his head back in laughter, grabbing her upper arm to support his overflowing amusement. "Good one, 'Mione." He wiped a fake tear from his cheek and then returned to his role of throwing pasta at the wall.

No one had called her 'Mione in a long time. The sound of it felt like bare feet stepping on gravel.

The whole house, except the ghoul, came and ate the above average pasta until they all sat back with full stomachs. Hermione had picked at her meal. For a reason unknown to herself, she had begun to hate eating in front of people. So when everyone went off to either clean the dishes or gather in the living room, she put her bowl in the fridge and promised to eat it later.

Trust. It was not an empty promise.

When the sun was tucking itself under the grassed hills, Hermione went to sit on the swing facing the back paddocks. The seat sat on two ropes and hung from the thickest branch in the tree.

In a gap in between two hills, you could see the smallest tip of the Hogwarts astronomy tower. The school still stood tall. Lonely and broken, but tall despite being haunted. Hermione could relate to that feeling.

The approaching roll of a squeaky wheel disturbed her momentary peace.

"Do you think there are bodies still up there?" Harry asked, a heavy amount of guilt in his tone.

"I hope not."

"You-Know-Who's probably made the whole school his sanctuary by now. A Death Eater banquet each night in the dining hall."

Hermione clenched her jaw, "Stop it, Harry."

"What? Do you think I'm wrong? No one is out there trying to stop him. Who's to know what kind of fucked up things are happening out there?"

"We will get back out there soon. But we cannot while your legs are the way that they are. You have to be patient."

He scoffed in a way that made her feel idiotic for being hopeful, "Okay, Hermione. Keep telling yourself that."

"Would you stop being so pessimistic? You know the prophecy claims you have the power to vanquish him. All this gloom-ridden talk is dragging the entire house down!"

Anger was boiling in her chest. Hermione knew that he was just provoking her for the sake of someone other than his internal thoughts yelling at him.

Before Harry could retaliate, the clap of the back door broke their heated discussion. Hermione turned from her seat on the swing to see Andromeda waving them over. A blank expression painted across her face.

Inside the living room Professor McGonagall sat with a cup and saucer in her withered hands. She welcomed her two students to sit by the fireplace, a photograph of her wedding day hanging just above the mantle.

"How are your injuries treating you Mr Potter?"

Harry gave Hermione a side eyed glance, "They are just as messed up as the last time you visited."

McGonagall blinked slowly, turning her head to Andromeda by the hallway door. "I take it that the potion treatments have been unsuccessful then."

"We are running quite low, Professor," Hermione answered her inevitable next question. "Perhaps we can trial a new batch in hopes of a different outcome."

"There are not a lot of resources these days, Miss Granger. But I am sure that I can arrange something. Whatever it takes to get Mr Potter back on his feet, yes?"

The room hung in silence. Hermione felt guilty that the future of the wizarding world sat upon the shoulders of her best friend. No eighteen year old should feel that burden.

"I am afraid that I do not come here with great news," McGonagall placed her cup of tea on the table beside her chair. "You-Know-Who is starting to come out of the shadows. His followers have been spotted in Italy, recruiting purebloods."

"How do you know this?" Harry asked harshly.

"I have reliable sources who wish to remain anonymous, Mr Potter. If word got out of their betrayal to the dark side we would be at a dire disadvantage in this war."

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, "So a spy?"

"Of sorts."

"We will have to stay hidden for a little while longer," Andromeda said. "Until we can build our army back up again."

"No." Harry grunted. "No army. This is between him and me, no one else needs to die."

"Mr Potter, it pains me to remind you, but this war is much bigger than just the two of you. People want to protect their families and-"

"Ron wanted to protect his family and look where that bloody well got him!"

"Harry," Hermione said sternly. "Don't do that. Don't diminish Ron's sacrifice like that."

"It wasn't a fucking sacrifice, Hermione. He died by fucking accident. Don't pretend like he took a curse for someone. He was hit by a piece of fucking brick, and everyone else will die just as patheticly if we don't get back out there!"

No one dared to challenge him. They all knew that it was an unwinnable fight.

"A few more months," Andromeda said gently. "We want you to be in that battle just as much as everyone else, Harry. But you need time."

Hermione felt her stomach twist as she watched her last living best friend roll out of the room in fuming silence. If she could find the answers for him she would, but they all needed to learn from their impulsive mistakes. This war was going to be won strategically, not bravely.

"I am sorry for the way that he spoke to you, Professor." She could barely look her teacher in the eye, embarrassed by the way that her generous heart had been treated. "I am sure Harry will come around eventually."

"There is no need for apologies, Miss Granger. He is a passionate wizard who was birthed with a responsibility he did not ask for."

Looking to Andromeda for reassurance, she gave Hermione a sweetly small smile that said everything was going to work out eventually. The elder woman was the closest thing she had to a mother-figure, but also nothing at all like her mother.

Hermione excused herself and headed up to her bedroom. The sun was completely hidden behind the hills by now and through her window the moon shone directly onto her pillow.

Her head throbbed with emotions and she just wanted to sleep, to escape for a few hours.

Tucking herself under the blankets, she cast a locking charm on the door and closed her eyes. Within a minute she was dreaming of the day she found out her exam results in third year.

A happiness that was so far from reach when awake.

It was the burning sensation from lack of food that woke her back up just after midnight.

This was a tradition for the curly haired witch. During the day she hated eating, but in the night when everyone else was asleep, she found refuge in the gifts that the fridge offered.

Hermione tip-toed down the old stairs, taking each step with the rhythm of Dean's loud snores on the first floor. Careful not to tell anyone she was about.

The pasta was cold and no doubt tasted better hot, and yet she ate the entire pot of leftovers. Her stomach that grumbled minutes ago, now cried out ready to be sick. But Hermione felt as if it was not enough, and sought comfort in the ginger biscuits she had hidden in the back of the cupboard. And then again with two rounds of cucumber sandwiches.

There was a void in her heart and the only thing she could fill it with was food.

The way her cheeks strained to keep the bread in her mouth reminded her of how Ron used to eat at school. A bittersweet memory of something she used to hate and now burned to see again.

It was 1:30am by the time she loathed herself.

Thoughts of a damned future swam through her mind as she crept back upstairs. She needed to go back to sleep. She needed to run away from it all again.

As she bid the stars goodnight, a dark figure at the entry gates caught her eye in the window. Her heart jolted at the sight of someone inside the property lines, and she rushed to grab her wand from the nightstand. However, the reflection of white hair in the moonlight brought her to a halt.

There was no denying who this person was. His heritage was loud and undeniable.

Draco Malfoy. In the flesh.

Hermione swallowed a fearful lump in her throat as she watched the boy stand like a soldier at the gates, unmoving.

From her view in the right window he could have been dressed in all black or all red, it was far too dark to know. But he looked broader than he had at the manor. She could not see his face, still she yearned to see it.

She wondered how long he had been standing there? He must have come down before she did otherwise they would have crossed in the kitchen. Was he planning on leaving? Was he too scared to leave?

Minutes passed where Hermione just sat on her bed and watched him contemplate the idea.

His pulled back shoulders and the wand in hand made him look ready for battle, or maybe ready to beg Voldemort for forgiveness. Hermione patiently and desperately waited to know his decision.

Twenty minutes must have gone by the time the blond slowly turned on his heel and made his way back to the house. Hermione ducked from the window, unsure if he would be able to see her in the dark. For reasons she could not name, she tucked herself back into her blankets pretending to be asleep.

There was a click as faint as a cricket that could have been the attic door closing. The sound left Hermione's frantic heart racing.