13 months after the Battle of Hogwarts.
There she sat, her left hand's fingers tapped an impatient staccato beat at the desk as her right hand flew across the parchment, leaving messy scrawl.
Her focus was single, the proposal she'd dreamed of since she was only eleven and discovered the disturbing prejudice and lack of knowledge the magical world held for muggle individuals. A program to help acclimate Muggleborn students and introduce their families to minimize the culture shock and trauma of their whole world shifting. Hermione had already devised a number of protocols: an ambassador to hand deliver the letter--trained on how to break the news in a compassionate and careful way and guide the families in obtaining school goods--an introductory week-long summer session where parents can tour Hogwarts' campus and students can have preliminary introductions to catch them up to wizard children, pamphlets containing information on magical studies, ways of life, creatures and more.
She was deeply proud of the work she'd done, it was sorely needed. Headmaster McGonnagall, Minerva; Hermione still wasn't used to referring to the esteemed witch in the familiar sense, had approved her proposal for this program only a month ago.
Her deep concentration nearly caused her to ignore the squeak of her office door, but months on the run kept her on edge. Her senses hadn't seemed to recognize that the threat was gone. She gazed hastily at the rude intrusion, not even a knock.
Pansy Parkinson stood tall but wringing her hands. Her body remained in the threshold of the door as though a sticking curse held her in place.
"I apologize- it's just that I didn't think I'd have the nerve to knock. I might've hidden if I had the time for you to walk to your door." The admission was, unexpected.
"Parkinson, how can I help you?" Hermione's tone was even, she sensed no threat. Though her mind ran through possibilities for the inconsistency of a childhood bully and rival bursting into her office and immediately offering an apology.
Pansy nodded politely and gestured to the purple upholstered chair in the corner of Hermione's office, "May I sit?"
The niceties were grating on Hermione now, and against her better judgement, and the roiling of her gut, she conceded with a wave.
"I heard about your initiative to better prepare Muggleborn students to weather magical society and schooling. I hope to, take part in it, if you will have me." Pansy's voice came as though there was sand all down her throat.
Hermione quirked her head, "I don't mean to insult, but this program will be for the betterment of Muggleborns. Part of the program is also improving the Muggle studies class to be mandatory and encompass a more comprehensive understanding of muggle life and experience. Every employee on this team has had to take mandatory sensitivity training, are you certain you are interested?"
Pansy fixed her with a determined expression and sat straighter in her seat, "Yes, I am certain."
Hermione's lips were pursed and her eyes scanned the room. A form of her thinking face. "I feel I must emphasize that you will have to not only tolerate, but advocate for the Muggleborn students. If that is not an issue for you I am more than happy to begin a formal interview with you immediately and determine if you will be a fit, and then where to place you."
Pansy's expression faltered. Rather than the malice Hermione expected to find, it was guilt and pain that shone through before the polished mask slid back into place.
"I understand that, I want to-" she cleared her throat, "I wanted to actually apologize to you first and foremost. I am working on diffusing my biases and I feel embarrassed and ashamed to have treated you as I did back in school. I hated you because my parents told me that was the way, but my actions were my own. I'm sorry for any pain I contributed to you and I hope to learn even more through this position." Pansy flattened imaginary creases on her tailored blouse, though her eyes never strayed from Hermione's gaze.
Hermione sucked in a breath, "I appreciate that Pansy. I will not judge you for the child you were but I will determine my feelings based on the woman you show me you are. Keep in mind that actions speak far louder than words, though this is a particularly strong start." Hermione shot Pansy a small smile and pulled out a new piece of parchment.
"Thank you, Hermione," Pansy seemed to relax slightly, though her posture was still rigid.
"Alright, Pansy, what strengths do you believe you can bring to the program?" Hermione dipped her quill in some quick dry ink and prepared to take notes.
"As a born and bred pureblood, we have the rules and history of wizard society burned into our minds by a plethora of tutors. I am intimately aware of much of Wizarding history as well as customs and ways of life." Pansy's answer was succinct. She did not tout the word pureblood, it was merely a statement of the truth. Hermione marked it down.
"That is certainly valuable, what would you say is one of your strong suits, and what would you say is one of your weaker traits?" Hermione's questions were clearly rehearsed, commonplace for the office.
"Though my history with you would not speak to it, I am very strong as a hostess, being a guide or host was taught to me by my mother and I believe it is one of my better qualities. I am not very good at written work or records keeping, I find it rather dull and tedious." Pansy's bluntness was refreshing after Hermione had heard so many replies of 'I work too hard' or 'I'm too dedicated'.
"I have to warn you, this position would be temporary. The current phase of this office is to get the program off the ground, everyone I have on staff knows that we are simply building this program and once it is sturdy we will withdraw and remain on a board to make future decisions but return to our usual day jobs, are you comfortable with that?" Hermione was still furiously jotting down notes, Pansy waited patiently until Hermione could look at her again to answer.
"That is great actually, while I am very interested in working on this project, I do have aspirations to be a designer." Pansy's direct answers continued to please Hermione. She never understood why interviewees seemed to try and tell her what they thought she wanted to hear.
"Good to know. What level of commitment are you willing to take on this project? Would you prefer to be a lower tiered employee, or would you be interested in a position that would put you on the board of directions after this foundational phase?" Hermione ceased her scratching and gazed intently at Pansy.
"I would like a position that would put me on the board, I think I need to do this." Pansy seemed perplexed by the ending of her own words.
"Finally, how did you do on your OWLs and NEWTs?" Hermione resumed dipping her quill.
"All Es on my OWLs except for potions, and and Es across the board for my NEWTs." Pansy's chest puffed with pride as she relayed her scores.
"That's terrific, I figured but we are expected to ask." Hermione dropped her quill in the ink and set aside the parchment, "Pansy, I would like to offer you the position of Welcoming Coordinator. You would be the head of determining how to greet and handle the students and parents during the week introduction in the summer, would that position interest you?" Hermione glanced expectantly at her.
Pansy's lips spread in a dazzling grin, that had never before been aimed at Hermione. "Yes Ma'am, I accept."
Two Years after the final battle.
Warmth oozed in a honey glaze around the sprawling yard.
Ginny and Harry twirled awkwardly around a dance floor set in the backyard of the Burrow. Though their limbs kept tangling and their waltz was far from graceful, it was the picture of love. Harry pulled Ginny tight to him by the arm gripped at her waist and rested his forehead on hers. The grin he wore crinkled his eyes so much they were nearly closed. Ginny's brilliant smile rivaled his.
Hermione felt her own lips pulling agonizingly toward her ears, her joy so strong her skin strained. Her eyes had been misty the entire evening. Now, with a blazing sunset of pink, orange, and deepest red, laying beyond two of her best friends experiencing their first dance at their wedding, her tears ran free down her cheeks.
She was the maid of honor and a groomsman. Her best friends had argued over who got her on their side of the wedding party until they ultimately decided to split her. She didn't have to pick a side to stand on as they chose her as the officiant, the most well spoken of their friends and a special person to each of them.
Ron's eyes met hers from across the crowd and he nodded, tears of his own streaking his face. The pure joy bubbled in her chest and threatened to suffocate her. She'd welcome death at that moment, with so much peace and love that it made up for all the pain they'd experienced.
The night was everything. Imperfectly perfect. Ginny was a vision of beauty and happy. Harry smiled like a dazed idiot the entire night. Weasleys, and the goodhearted guests they seemed to collect, filled the yard with boisterous celebration.
Even the missing members; Fred, Lupin and Tonks, Sirius, Dobby, Hedwig, were almost present. Rather than pushing their memories aside to enjoy the day, members of the reception discussed happy memories, and shed loving tears, and made sure they were included through remembrance on such a special day.
Hermione drank well, hugged so many loved ones, and danced under the twinkling stars with the family that found her and didn't let go.
26 months after the battle.
Draco Malfoy wriggled uncomfortably in the rigid chair. The mind healer's piercing gaze was unforgiving.
"I asked you a question, Draco," Healer Casey's voice was even, without judgment. That only lit the flame on Draco's barely contained fury.
"I know you asked me a question Casey. I am without an answer for your idiotic inquiry." Draco spat.
Healer Casey didn't flinch, "I understand if it is a sore subject, but we are here to help you sort through your past and prepare for a brighter future. I am unable to help if you are unwilling to share."
Draco scowled at the impossibly patient woman, "Alright, would you like me to describe the exact fanatical vitriol with which my Death Eater father raised me? Or perhaps his opinion on the disposal of those with unclean blood?"
Healer Casey nodded softly and jotted a few notes in her notebook that Draco suspected was dedicated to his twisted mind alone. Each scratch of the quill only scraped at his dwindling patience.
"Yes, I would like you to share the way in which your father raised you and how you feel about it. You have already made a lot of progress, you don't agree with his cause and you feel the Death Eater cause was rooted in evil and cruelty, your own words. But I believe you need to process your emotions about how your father raised you." Healer Casey's tone was encouraging and she gave him a smile.
"I am far from healed, yes I can objectively say that murdering people because of blood status is wrong. I still struggle with seeing muggles, half-bloods, and muggleborns as equals and it is tearing me apart. I swear when I see one and the voice in my head calls them dirty or undeserving to be in our society I recognize it as my fathers, and I don't even agree but I can still hear the thoughts. It's like I can't control it and it makes me so angry. I want to bash my head against a wall just to make it stop. Doesn't that make me as much a bigot as it does that bastard?" Draco's screaming outburst had his voice wobbling. His arms moved in a frantic way that his mother would scold.
"Draco, do you ever consider that your father's rhetoric was always troubling to you and these are just intrusive thoughts?" Healer Casey set the book aside for a moment.
"I am-I am unfamiliar with the phrase." Draco averted his eyes and deflated in momentary embarrassment and exhaustion from his outburst.
"An intrusive thought is not a true opinion or feeling of the person. They often manifest in anxious and depressed people. One person may suddenly fear being murdered in a wild way, or they might suddenly think of killing someone, or they might think something they don't agree with or believe. But the hallmark of an intrusive thought is that it is untrue of the person and it makes them upset or unsettled. Does this resonate with you?" Healer Casey lifted the notebook back into her lap and prepared for his response.
"It is not out of the realm of possibility. Though I still feel that perhaps I am just a truly deplorable person who discriminates based on blood status." His answer was cautious at first but turned venomous.
"You are visibly unsettled at the moment," Healer Casey observed with a knowing eye, but continued, "Why don't you try some exercises to deal with them and if it doesn't help we can reevaluate. I want you to try to label the thoughts when they come in as intrusive thoughts, acknowledge the thought, take a deep breath and observe your surroundings, consider your values and if it matches them. Allow it to exist but remove the emotion, and try to release it once you can. Remember they will still happen, this is not a silver bullet-ah yes muggle phrase, it is not a simple solution- you will have to be diligent but this may help you feel less affected by them."
Healer Casey pulled a page out of the notebook and levitated it into Draco's lap. The page contained the instructions she just listed and a small note of encouragement at the bottom.
"I suppose I can try." He conceded, carefully folding the paper and tucking it into his breast pocket.
"Good, before we adjourn, have you had an opportunity to make a longer excursion into the muggle world? I know you've had meals among muggles, but I would like you to organize an entire day. Perhaps go to a museum and then a film? Could be fun." Healer Casey closed up her notebook and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees.
"I haven't, but I will make an effort soon." He maintained eye contact with the intent woman although it made him uncomfortable that it felt like she could see into his mind, his soul, and know everything that made him broken.
"I must say, I am very impressed with you Draco. Your mandatory therapy sessions were only slated for a year, and you have stayed dedicated to change and to yourself. You are making progress, make no mistake," she stood up to shake his hand, "You have a good week and I will see you next Thursday."
Draco left feeling deeply unsettled and utterly seen, as he did after every session.
30 months after the final battle
Crookshanks shot off Hermione's lap when her Floo roared to life with blazing green flames. She stood hastily when an uncharacteristically disheveled Pansy came stumbling through.
Her eyes met Hermione's and there was silence for a moment, and then she released a heartbreaking sob and ran into her arms.
Cradling Pansy's head, Hermione guided her to the couch and simply held her. Pansy's tears soaked Hermione's shirt and her sobs shook both of their bodies. Hermione knew it wasn't the time to ask what was wrong, Pansy needed comfort, to know someone was there.
After some time of calming words and soothing back rubs, Pansy hesitantly pulled away from her. Her face was puffy and tinted a deep red, her eyes were blood shot, and her breaths still came in pants but grew more steady.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked softly as she stood and set her kettle on heat. Her apartment was small so the living room was open to the kitchen.
"My mother just disowned me." Pansy's voice was hoarse but certain. Hermione balked and shot back to her side.
"What? Oh, Pansy I am so sorry, what can I do to help?" She looked intently as her distressed friend. Over the roughly year and a half that she knew Pansy, they had become surprisingly close. Pansy was clearly a changed woman and her spontaneity and take life by the balls attitude was good for Hermione's obsessively careful attitude, and vice versa.
"Could you call Ginny? I want you both to know but it's going to be hard for me to talk about more than once right now." Pansy's eyes drifted to the floor in embarrassment, perceived weakness was something she detested.
"Of course, Pans, no shame in wanting support from your friends." Hermione strode to the Floo and tossed in some powder, muttering Ginny's name.
"Hermione! I was just thinking of popping by," Ginny's enthusiastic voice came through strong.
"Gin, would you mind coming now, I have Pansy here and we could use you," Hermione kept her voice level so as not to announce Pansy's distress to any listening ears on Ginny's end.
"Of course," Ginny's voice was noticeably concerned, damn that girl could read Hermione like a book. If she didn't already know there was no magic that could grant mind-reading, she'd be certain Ginny could perform it.
Before the Floo call could even go dim, Ginny was stepping into the living room and Hermione was scrambling backwards so as not to be kneed in the face.
"Sorry Hermione, forgot to tell you to step-" Ginny's eyes fell on Pansy and her apology was forgotten, "what happened?" Her eyes darkened in a frighteningly similar way to her mother's. The Weasley women had an uncanny ability to strike absolute fear in the hearts of their enemies with a single withering glare, Hermione did not envy the recipients of their protective rage.
"My mother disowned me," Pansys lip wobbled and the sobs resumed. This time Ginny pulled her into her arms and Hermione resumed preparing tea for the three of them. While the bags steeped, she observed her best friend rubbing Pansy's back lovingly and thought of how bizarre this moment would have been to her only two years ago.
Hermione set the mugs on the kitchen table and took a seat, Ginny and Pansy, who'd been hugging beside the table, sat as well.
"Thanks, Hermione. I think I'm ready to explain." Pansy took a shaky breath and shut her eyes tight.
"So, my mother was a recluse following the war. She is still on house arrest and locked herself away from society, she didn't read the prophet or talk about the outside war. She was-she was depressed that the dark lord had failed, that purebloods wouldn't have their ideal world." She shot an apologetic look at Hermione, who simply shook her head kindly, dismissing the sentiment.
"I never told her I worked on the Muggleborn Introduction Program, I knew she wouldn't like it and I figured she'd never find out because she's so disconnected with society. Well anyway, a howler arrived. I was in the dining room eating dinner with my mother and it was from a devout pureblood family, shouting about how I was a blood traitor for working on the program, and with Hermione, who they consider their antichrist as a successful war-heroine Muggleborn. Mother didn't say anything at first and then she threw a plate at the wall and all hell broke loose." Retelling was clearly weighing on her, as she hiccuped, but she trudged on.
"She told me it was an absolute disgrace. That I was the ultimate disgrace. She said that she excused my 'delinquency' at the battle as simple survival instincts. She'd already chastised me for not supporting the dark lord at the battle, for not selling out Potter. She'd said I was of weak character and I was a coward looking for protection. I didn't agree with the dark lord's cause and she knew that! We were kids, I wasn't going to sell out a classmate to die or stand back while my other peers battled grown adults throwing killing curses. Anyway, she said she overlooked too much and that she couldn't even stomach my presence anymore. She said I spat in the face of every tradition and was a stain on our family. And then she burned me off the family tree and told me to leave and that the wards would never allow me back. I was no longer her daughter." Pansy's eyes watered again but she just looked exhausted at this point. As though she could take no more.
Ginny gasped at the last part, "She burned you off the tree?" Pansy nodded, and a pang went through Hermione's chest. Her own parents were furious with her for taking away their memories, saying she had no right. But eventually they understood and forgave her.
To be burned off a family tree was to have your existence erased from your family history. Pansy had lost everything she'd ever known in a single night.
"Do you want to stay here? I know I don't have much room but I have a pullout couch and you are welcome to stay here as long as needed." Hermione offered without thought.
Pansy glanced by the fireplace where she'd dropped a suitcase Hermione hadn't noticed, "Are you sure? I don't want to put you out?"
"Pans, I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. How can we help beyond that. Like tonight, what would make you feel better? Do you want to curse your mother and talk about it, do you want to rest, do you want to watch a movie, what would help?" Hermione's eyes scoured her friend as though she would discover the answer on her person.
Ginny nodded and waited for Pansy's answer, "I would like to drink and watch a tape." Her statement was final.
Hermione grabbed a bottle of merlot and three glasses, she figured firewhiskey might get them too drunk and only make for a worse situation. Ginny went over to Hermione's small collection of tapes and scanned them, having been here enough times and being married to Harry, Ginny now knew her way around a VHS.
"How about The Princess Bride? It's funny and sweet and good escapism?" Ginny plucked the tape from the collection and looked at Pansy expectantly. Pansy's eyes lit up a bit at the sight of her favorite of Hermione's movies and nodded.
The rest of the night was a tangle of limbs on Hermione's couch with Pansy cradled at the center, tipsy giggling, and many cheers of 'as you wishhhhhhh'.
39 months after the final battle
Draco had spent the afternoon walking through the Victoria and Albert Art Museum in muggle London.
He had always appreciated art and found that muggle art was incredibly intriguing. Though the portraits were not moving and alive, they were a form of life all their own.
He noticed that there was more style in muggle art, he found his favorite was called impressionism. It was not lifelike and accurate in the way wizard art was, it was abstract and all lovely tones and serene scenes. He longed for the peace of a pastel picnic scene on a river bed, though he'd sooner eat his own tongue than tell another soul.
After several hours of observing each painting and sculpture in detail, and reading every single plaque, he chose to buy a croissant from the nearby cafe and sit in the courtyard. People watching had become a pastime of his as of the end of the war. It was peaceful and calmed the storm in his mind.
Watching muggle families visit the museum and appreciate art was eye opening. It was a reminder that they were complex, more than just the detached word he'd been raised to believe they were. They were families, and artists and lovers.
The most wild realization was the technology. He was aware of the idea of technology but he had no idea how advanced it was, muggles may not have magic but they certainly were advanced in ways wizards were not. Some muggles walked around with little clips on their hips and cords going into their ears, Draco was disturbed at first but then he noticed how their heads bobbed and they didn't seem afraid and then he was just curious.
He'd chosen to end the day with a film like Healer Casey suggested all those months ago, she'd helped him plan the day last session he had on Thursday. It had taken him longer than he was proud of to finally do this; Healer Casey said better to wait until he was ready than to go prematurely and panic and not want to try again.
He had never seen a film but Healer Casey said it was similar to the theater, but it was a big screen instead of live people. Healer Casey said something called Rush Hour 2 would probably be his best bet.
Draco didn't care much for the 'movie' but he enjoyed watching the crowd react. It was different than wizard theater. The whole crowd laughed at the same moments, gasped, or even shouted in surprise. It was like they were all connected, brought together by this foolish spy film.
It was special, to feel bonded to these strangers.
When the film ended some people clapped. As they shuffled out of the theater Draco caught a few smiles from most anyone he made eye contact with, as though they were friends because they spent the last two hours in the same room. He thought he might actually like it.
43 months after the final battle
Hermione had been off for a few days. Her stomach had been turning and her mind was racing. Nothing particular had happened, she just felt off balance.
She'd experienced this before. She saw a shrink, Willow, who was a psychologist for muggles, but she herself, was a Muggleborn witch. Hermione was able to receive muggle therapy--which she preferred to wizard mind healers, as many of them were reluctant to observe muggle research which was far more advanced--and there was no issue with the Statute of Secrecy because Willow was magical.
Willow was great for Hermione, she knew the events of the war and so Hermione was able to go into depth in a way she would have had to hold back with a muggle doctor. She'd been struggling with post traumatic stress disorder and subsequent anxiety and anxiety attacks.
Hermione did not seem to experience depression, which she counted herself lucky for as her hands were full with the anxiety and PTSD. The first time she had an anxiety attack had been at the Weasley's during summer solstice, George had set off a fire work and she'd seen the green flash and her chest constricted.
She'd quickly struggled to breath, feeling a pounding in her chest and seeing black dots at the edge of her vision. When she tried to walk back into the house she nearly collapsed because her eyes seemed to be taking everything in a moment after she'd moved or looked at it, lag in her brain.
She panicked and apparated to St. Mungos, thinking she was having a heart attack. They had done diagnostic spells and found everything ok other than her racing heart and sporadic breathing, her blood pressure was erratic.
Some healer had recognized it for what it was and put a cooling charm on her and insisted they give her a calming drought. She eventually calmed down and was deeply embarrassed.
Hermione never told the Weasley's, explaining her disappearance as an emergency notice from her wards. She told her own parents and they suggested she see a therapist.
Sometimes the episodes were prompted by something, sometimes they were random. Apparently, this episode would be random.
The precursory paranoia and body aches had been present for two days. She thought maybe it wouldn't happen so she didn't alert Willow. Standing in her kitchen, preparing for lunch with Ginny, her heart began slamming in her chest.
She tried to calm herself, "Hermione, you are safe. You are in your home. Your heart is beating because you are having an anxiety attack, you are not dying, you will be okay." She repeated her words, trying to make them sink in.
Pansy had never witnessed an episode during the six months she lived with Hermione, and she'd moved out on the basis of Hermione's "dreadful taste", really her one bedroom apartment and pullout couch were not adequate for roommates. Right about now she kind of wished Pansy was here.
For lesser episodes, she was able to quell them by talking herself down and practicing breathing exercises. Inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight, repeat. But it wasn't working.
Her mind was telling her body she wasn't breathing, so even though the breaths were sufficient, she couldn't feel the relief.
Her eyes were unfocused and her view was swimming in front of her. While she could stand she grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and slapped it on her chest as she sunk to the floor. The cold tended to help keep her grounded, distract her.
She could hear the rattling breaths and pounding heartbeat in her ears, she felt like vomiting and passing out. She raised a hand to her face, and although she felt so hot she wanted to rip her clothes off, it came back clammy and cold.
Cold sweats, she would become dehydrated if this went on too long without her drinking water, and that would only make it worse.
She tried to stand but her legs wobbled and her vision jolted sideways. She gave up and settled for the ice pack and trying to focus her breathing while it felt like her body was quitting on her.
The Floo burst to life and Ginny stepped through, "Hermione, I'm here, I know I'm a little early but I was free and I missed-" she spotted Hermione then.
"Fuck, Hermione what's wrong? Should I take you to St. Mungos?" She pulled out her wand and pressed her hand to Hermione's head.
Hermione shook her head weakly, "Water please. Anxiety attack." Ginny looked confused but grabbed the cup for Hermione and sat on the floor in front of her, worry creasing her brow.
"You look like Harry when he wakes up from the nightmares," Ginny muttered, more to herself than Hermione, "How can I help?"
Hermione tried to look at her but got nauseous, "Talk to me please, anything other than this, I need to feel normal again." She bit out the words.
Ginny could do that. "Well as you know, James' first birthday is coming up next month and I am trying to come up with a theme. Harry says it should be quidditch themed, but I don't think that would be fair, considering the little stinker can't ride a broom yet."
Hermione choked out a laugh, and Ginny smiled wryly. One of Ginny's strengths was being able to do what needed to be done, as soon as Hermione asked her to make her feel normal, all fear disappeared from Ginny's demeanor.
"I was thinking maybe a magical creature petting zoo? He's just old enough to be excited about animals and not so old that it would be boring, but I don't know that we have enough children in the family to justify getting a whole petting zoo. I also thought about just doing a garden party, as he is going to be a one year old and won't have any memory of it anyway." Ginny shrugged in such a normal way that Hermione realized she could see clearly again.
"I think garden party is a good way to go, maybe garden party with magical creature decorations. Save the petting zoo for when he'll remember it." Hermione's voice was still breathless but better than the choking noise it was before.
Ginny nodded thoughtfully, "Can always count on you to be the problem solver, do you want to stand up? We can call out for takeaway and just eat here?" Hermione agreed to her idea, feeling deeply relieved.
After the food was ordered, Hermione's breathing was almost back to normal. She was on her third glass of water and feeling much better. Ginny gave her a knowing look.
"This has happened before." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Do you need help?"
"I see a therapist."
Ginny nodded, "Will you please come to me and open up? I want to be there for you but I can't if I don't know about it."
"Yes, my therapist, Willow, has chastised me for not reaching out to you and Harry, specifically, sooner." Hermione's head dropped in shame.
"The war was almost four years ago, have you been suffering alone all this time?" Ginny's eyes were swimming with tears and her face had gone pale.
"Yes, but that is my fault. I should've told you guys, I struggle with this stuff, but I've been seeing a therapist for three and a half years, it really has gotten better." Hermione reached across the table and took Ginny's hand.
"I'm so sorry I didn't notice." Ginny's voice was shaky but she cleared her head and fixed Hermione with an intense look.
"Gin, please. This is not at all your fault, I have post traumatic stress disorder and anxiety, I was already prone to some amount of anxiety but most of the intense stuff and all of the PTSD is from the war. I am certainly not the only one, and I know you have witnessed Harry struggle with the same things." Hermione squeezed her hand.
"You've heard Harry talk about his depression and survivor's guilt, how come you didn't reach out?" Ginny wasn't being accusatory, she still felt like she failed her best friend.
"It's different to provide support than to ask for it. I guess it got to a point where it had gone so long I didn't know how to breach the topic." She shrugged.
Ginny and Hermione sat silently, still holding hands, until the Chinese takeaway arrived.