Chapter II: Put To Rest

It had been two weeks since the last Quidditch game of the season had wrapped up, securing the House Cup for Gryffindor, yet another year in their winning streak. Two weeks since the party that had changed everything. Two weeks since Harry had his first panic attack. Two weeks since Hermione had promised to herself that she would never let him down, that she would be anything and everything he needed her to be.

So far, she had more than kept that promise.

Ever since then, Hermione had been hard at work, studying whatever material she could find about possible treatments, balms, therapies - anything that could provide Harry with some kind of relief from the effects of his trauma. And so, for the past couple of weeks, her sole focus had been pouring through the library, scanning each and every relevant tome for answers, along with ordering the newest theories in magical psychology. She had pestered Madam Pomfrey about ways she could assist in Harry's treatment outside of his sessions with a private mind healer.

If there was a piece of text in the castle even tangentially related to mental health, Hermione made it her mission to read it.

And that was where she found herself, on a bright afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, sitting with her knees beneath her on the sofa, leafing through a copy of 'The Advanced Guide for Potioneers: Mental Health and Recreation'. She was alone - Harry was out on the Quidditch pitch, teaching Ginny and the team tactics and manoeuvres they would need for the next year - but that barely bothered her. In fact, her isolation only made her more efficient. She preferred it that way. It was all for a good cause, after all. Ron, on the other hand...

"Hey, Hermione," the boy in question greeted her as he passed through the portrait hole.

"Good morning, Ronald."

He dropped heavily into the seat beside her on the sofa.

"What're you reading?"

"The elements needed to craft a draught of peace," she replied. Ron's face twisted into a picture of disgust.

"Potions? I didn't realise we had homework for potions."

"It's not homework," she explained irritably, bristling over his aversion to work. "It's for Harry."

Ron frowned.

"Right, of course, it is," he said, his shoulders stiff. "Should've guessed."

Hermione paused on the sentence she was reading, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"Is there something wrong?" she offered. He shrugged.

"No, no of course not, 'Mione." She forced herself to resist cringing at his nickname for her. For some reason, hearing it from his lips felt incredibly uncomfortable. "I was thinking, the Hogsmeade weekend's coming up. I thought you and I could go together. Just the two of us."

Her eyes narrowed.

"What about Harry?"

He looked at with a bemused expression.

"What about him?"

She sighed.

"He might like to come too," she replied.

"Well… he's got Ginny, hasn't he? They can go together," he reasoned. "So what do you say?"

Hermione frowned, biting the inside of her cheek, her eyebrows tilting upwards.

"I'm not sure, Ron," she said eventually, turning back to the passage in her book. Ron scoffed.

"Oh, come on," he urged her. "We've been meaning to go on a date recently, this could be nice." He scooted himself closer to her. "Just us, alone…" He reached his hand across to her knee. "You know…"

"Hmm," she hummed noncommittally. Her eyes stayed glued to the page. Ron, flummoxed at the lack of response, cleared his throat loudly, stretching his arms on the spine of the sofa. Once again, she failed to reciprocate his intentions.

"Hermione?" he called after several moments of silence.

"Hmm?" He looked up from her book, suddenly noticing his proximity. "Oh, sorry, I was miles away."

He forced sigh.

"Yeah, I could tell."

"It doesn't mention anything about the lavender flower in here," she noted, her focus once drifting back to the book in her lap. "I wonder, if I included just a pinch, it might enhance the calming effects…"

"I just think it would be good for you get away from all this for a bit," Ron interjected, resting one hand on the page she was currently scanning.

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to nudge his fingers away from the text.

"You've been studying far longer than usual, Hermione," he replied. "It's not good for you. You need to relax."

"I can't relax, not yet," she insisted. "I need to master this calming draught first."

"What for? Surely it can wait a few days."

"What if Harry needs it before then?"

"Oh, there we go again." He threw his hands up in annoyance. "It's always about Harry nowadays, isn't it?"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" she challenged, folding the book closed and letting it rest by her side.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Hermione," he shot back. "Either the two of you are off doing god-knows-what together, or you're too busy researching another project for him. Every time I try and offer to do something with you, there's always one more thing that Harry wants, which of course needs your full attention."

Hermione glared at him, her pout turning into an unpleasant frown.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, Ron-"

"Maybe I am!" He stood from the sofa. "My best friend is with my girlfriend more often than I am!"

"I'm not going to apologise for being with Harry," she growled.

"I'm not asking you to," he retorted. "I'm just saying that if this is gonna work between us, then we at least need to spend time together."

"And do you suggest we do?" she asked rhetorically. "Because every time I offer something, you seem to reject it."

"No one wants to have a date in the library, Hermione."

"I wasn't suggesting the library!" she exclaimed. "It's not my fault that all you want to do with me is snog."

"Lavender and I snogged all the time when we were together."

Hermione's mouth fell open in disbelief. Ron paled, quickly realising his mistake.

"Oh, you saying I'm not up to snuff with Lavender now?"

"No!" he insisted, his palms raised. "No, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what are you trying to say?" she challenged in a serious tone. "That I'm not giving you enough as it is?"

"You're barely giving me anything!"

"I'm giving as much as I can!"

"Right, but it's still Harry that gets the most love and care."

"Because he needs my help, Ronald!"

"He's the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione! He can take care of himself!"

Hermione flew to her feet.

"You have no idea what he's going through right now, do you?" she glared at Ron, her teeth bared. He scoffed.

"Oh, I can imagine," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Poor Harry. It's such a tragedy being the chosen one and all. How can he live with the fact that he's rich and famous and-"

"Hermione!" The winded, urgent voice of Neville interrupted their argument. She turned, spotting him as barrelled into the common room, huffing and gasping for air. "Hermione!"

"Neville? What's wrong?"

"It's Harry!" he explained. Her eyes widened. "He just collapsed in the middle of the pitch. He… he told me to find you. He won't speak to anyone else… he's not speaking at all."

Her heart began pounding in her chest as she realised what had happened. Immediately, all motivation to continue arguing with Ron fell away, replaced with a sudden need to find her best friend.

She stared Neville in the eye.

"Take me to him."

He nodded, gesturing to the portrait hole. Hermione nodded, telling him to lead and she would follow. Before she had reached the opposite side of the room, Ron called to her.

"Hermione…"

She turned, allowing him a glimpse determined, steely look. Whatever he was about to say, he faltered, realised that no matter what came out of his mouth, it wouldn't change her mind. She was going, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. He sighed, his jaw tightened, and he stalked past her, back towards the boy dormitories. Before he could entirely disappear, she gave him one last look that told him one thing: 'We need to talk about this.'

He jerked his head, gesturing for her to leave already. And she did, striding out of the common room without hesitation. She did not look back.


Hermione didn't slow down until she reached the pitch, running the rest of the way down the hill outside of the castle walls, so fast that even Neville had trouble keeping up with her. By the time they reached the entrance to the stadium, she had allowed Neville to catch up, letting him lead her into the boys changing room, where a small crowd of people were gathered around one corner. The sound of ragged, distressed breathing persisted just above their concerned murmurs. Hermione recognised it immediately.

"Harry!" she gasped. She stepped forward, ushering people aside. "Let me through! Give him some space!"

As she pushed past Dean Thomas, Harry was revealed to her, curled up in a ball in the very edge of the tent, rocking back and forth, his skin pale and laden with sweat. Ginny was on her knees beside him, her hands on his arms, trying to pry them away from his face. His eyes met Hermione's face, and he cried.

"'Mione," he called to her in a small, raspy voice. "I can't breathe."

She crouched to his level, enveloping him in a warm, comforting hug. Ginny reluctantly moved aside.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," she whispered, stroking his hair. "It's okay. It'll be over soon. It's just a panic attack, that's all. No one's going to hurt you. I'm here now."

His breathing began to level out, and his tension in his body began to unwind, but he still clung to her like a lifeline, his grip tight, matching her's. She whirled around, glaring at the gathered Quidditch team, forcing them to take several steps back with only a look. One by one, the students departed, leaving only Neville on a nearby bench, and Ginny, who was rubbing Harry's back in small circles.

"What do we do?" he asked.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," she ordered. "Tell her we'll need a calming draught."

Nevile, clearly tired and in no fit state to run, called through to the outside of the tent.

"Dean!"

"On it!" Dean's voice replied. The sound of a broom taking off from the ground followed and Hermione exhaled, knowing that help was on the way. She turned back to Harry, gathering him as she slowly sat beside him on the grass floor.

She glanced up, noticing Ginny was still present.

"Is he going to be alright?" the younger girl asked, concern evident on her face.

"He will be," Hermione replied plainly. "Don't worry, I'll look after him."

A spark of something dangerous flicked across Ginny's face. She stared into Hermione's eyes, who stared right back, challenging her to try, just try and get her to leave. Eventually, after several moments of staring each other down, Ginny relented, storming out of the tent. Hermione couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her lips.

"Harry, what happened?" she asked softly, continuing Ginny's ministrations. She noticed that he responded far more positively to her touch than when the youngest Weasley had done so, shivering in her arms in a way akin to a house cat.

"I don't know," he replied weakly, shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "I was just flying around in the air, I was fine, really. It just sort of happened. I'm really sorry. I should've-"

"Sometimes these things just happen, Harry. It's not your fault." She placed a light kiss on his temple. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this. You're doing so well. Madam Pomfrey will be here in a minute with some calming draught. You'll be alright in no time."

The pair sat together, taking a moment to revel in the peace and quiet of the empty changing room. Eventually, Harry's breathing began to even out, settling into a steady rhythm. His body was still tense, and his trembling had yet to quell, but for that moment, Hermione was immensely proud of how well he was handling himself.

"'Mione." His voice brought her out of thought. "Can you stay with me? Please? Just for a little bit? Until Madam Pomfrey arrives?"

She smiled nodding.

"I'm not going anywhere, Harry," she replied, holding tighter against her chest. "I promise. I'll be right here with you, for as long as you need me."

"I'm sorry you have to do this, 'Mione. I-I'm trying…"

She shuffled her grip, placing her hands on the side of his face, so he was forced to look into her eyes.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she said resolutely. "This is my choice. I want to help you. Never apologise for letting me help you."

"I… I know," he whispered, "but I've seen how much work you've been doing. How much you've been helping me. I know you'd rather be with Ron, and I…"

"Harry," she said, weaving her fingers through his hair, "there's nothing I'd rather do than help my best friend." And she gave him a broad, beaming smile that he attempted to mirror.

"…You're my best friend, too, Hermione," he admitted, his eyes shining in the dim light. She nodded, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a hug.

"Thank you, Harry. That means a lot to me."

"I'm sorry I can't give you much of anything back," he chuckled.

"You do," she assured him. "You being my friend, that's more than enough."

He seemed ready to say otherwise, to protest the very idea that something so meagre as his companionship could mean so much to anyone, but for some reason, it never came. For whatever reason, he decided against, instead preferring to sit with her, basking in her embrace. Perhaps he thought it pointless to argue, maybe he thought it would annoy her to carry on stubbornly denying his own self-worth, or probably - and Hermione hoped as was the case - she was finally getting through to him.

Regardless, she was glad when the entrance to the tent opened a few minutes later, and Madam Pomfrey walked through, wielding a Draught of Peace in one hand and a bouquet of lavender in the other. The effects of the light blue potion were immediate. His shaking stopped, his face regained its pinkish colour, his breath slowed to a manageable state. The difference was night and day. Gone was the small, vulnerable boy that she had held and comforted for the past few minutes, replaced with good, old Harry, her best friend.

Despite no longer needing it, which Madam Pomfrey verified as she left, it was a while before the two disengaged from each other's embrace.


Ron Weasley found himself alone on the loveseat of the Gryffindor common room later that evening, stewing in the irritation that plagued him since his argument with Hermione. He shouldn't have felt as anxious as he did, he and Hermione regularly quarrelled, and every time they eventually got over it. Surely this is was just going to be one of those times. Except, it certainly didn't feel like it. Something told him that this time it was different, that this time the two had crossed a line.

The fact that she had chosen to go to Harry's side after all was said and done certainly stung. After all that she had done for Harry, all the work she had indulged in on his behalf, all but ignoring Ron for the past couple of weeks, he had thought that it would have been enough. Ron had assumed that if he merely offered, if he confronted about it, then she would relent, see the error of her ways and run straight back to him. But she didn't.

Instead, she left him, alone, without a moment's hesitation. She had chosen Harry over him, her boyfriend - in all but name. It was but one more thing that Harry had that Ron didn't, and yet he still demanded more, deserved more, apparently.

His thought was interrupted by the sound of the portrait hole opening, and the sight of Hermione walking through into the common room. The moment she noticed him, she paused, standing in the light of the fireplace. Neither spoke for several agonising seconds, merely staring at each other in an awkward stand-off.

"Has it always been him?" he asked from across the room, eliciting a glare from her. Her jaw clenched, and her hands tightened into fists.

"Ron, if you're asking me to pick between the two of you, that's not going to happen," she replied coolly. "This isn't about which of you I like most, this about Harry needing my help."

He inhaled, calming himself. He had tried getting angry before it didn't work. She at least deserved to explain herself, he reasoned.

"What's happening to him?"

Her face took on a weary, forlorn expression as she stared into the fireplace, watching the embers dissolve into flame.

"He's not well, Ron," she explained. "He has something called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." Met with his confused silence, she continued. "It's when a person experiences something very traumatic or distressing in their life, and it affects their mental health. He's not going insane if that's what you're thinking. He's still the same Harry that we know, but if it's not treated soon… then he's going to be traumatised for the rest of his life. Who knows what could happen to him."

"Is that what you've been doing?" he asked his mood from agitation to concern. "Helping him get it treated?"

She scoffed sadly.

"I'm nowhere near qualified for that. I've been trying to find ways to help with his panic attacks."

"His what?"

"Sometimes, Harry gets these moments when he panics, for no reason," she elaborated, taking a seat on the sofa. "It's never intentional, it just happens. He starts struggling to breathe, his body loses function, he even has flashbacks of the worst moments of his life." She glanced to him, her frown deepening, her eyes glistening. "It's hell, Ron. It's like he's trapped inside his own worst nightmare."

The image of Harry in pain brought Ron crashing back down to Earth.

"Merlin…" he sighed, suddenly feeling all the more guilty for pestering her. A million more question fired through his head, but he only verbalised the prevailing one. "Why hasn't he told me any of this?"

"Because he's embarrassed," she simply said. "It's an incredibly personal thing, Ron. He thinks it's some form of weakness, that it's somehow his own fault."

Ron sighed in frustration.

"How could that possibly be his fault?"

"I don't know, but he'll find a way," she answered sardonically. "He's not in a good place at the moment. I think all the pressure in his life is starting to catch up to him."

"Is there anything we can do?" he asked, his head hung low.

"We can help him when he needs us," she replied, glancing at him in a way that communicated her discontent. "Apart from that, I don't know. This isn't something we can fix. If Harry's ever going to get better, it needs to come from him."

Ron stood meekly from the armchair, moving to rest on the opposite side of the sofa.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quietly. "I never realised…"

"It's okay," she replied tiredly. "I haven't been entirely open with you. Which is why we needed to have this conversation. Ron, I know you care about me a lot, and I care about you too. I just don't think we're right for each other. If you want someone who will snog you like Lavender, then you're better off trying to get back with her. I know you want a girl who will devote all their time to you, who will cater to you and your life and love you in exactly the way you need to be loved… but I'm not that girl, Ron, and I never will be. And that's not entirely your fault.

"I kept this going, just like you did. And partly because I was vain. I liked having someone who desired me, who could love me, even. I wanted to feel like Lavender or Parvati, or any one of the other girls in our year who were beautiful and popular and... Except, I realise now that that's not how a relationship works. I understand now that I wasn't giving anything that you couldn't get from somebody else. I think it's time we stopped treated like anything other than it actually is: a crush.

"We could carry on saying to ourselves that this is something deeper, but at the end of the day, we're teenagers, and this was always going to end in disaster. And that's okay, that's what teenagers do. The problem is you're also my friend, Ron, and I don't want to hurt you. That's the last thing I want to do. I'd rather love you as a friend than pacify you as your crush."

"What if I feel differently?" he replied, shuffling closer to her and taking her hand in his. "What if this could be something more?"

Hermione replied with a sad smile, stroking his digits with her thumb.

"Ron, how many times have we argued over the smallest of things?"

"Couples do that," Ron argued.

She shook her head.

"Couples apologise. When have we ever apologised to each other and meant it?" He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came to mind. He quickly skimmed through the past six years of his life, looking for every time they had quarrelled over their time together. Ron's heart fell as he slowly realised she was telling the truth. Six years, and not a single apology that he could remember, not a single time when they had made up after an argument. His face fell as he saw their perfect match for what it really was: two hormonal teenagers at each other's throats. Hermione, however, was surprisingly composed.

"Ron," she called to him, a small but beautiful smile on her lips, "You deserve someone who will love you for who you are, something who won't pester you about homework or get annoyed with all your foibles. Someone who can see you for you. Trust me, Ron, you can do far better than me."

"Somehow I doubt that," he laughed humourlessly. His hand reached to the back of his neck and rubbed, trying to relieve the tension that it found there. "It's hard to admit, but I can see where you're coming from. I guess I was so caught up in wanting you that I never stopped to think why."

"And why did you?"

He smiled at her, tilting his head in a way that asked her, 'Why the hell wouldn't I?'

"Because you're brilliant," he replied, "and you're smart, and you're quite pretty as well. That and… no, I can't say it."

"Please," she implored. Ron glanced at her, waiting expectantly, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"I was... jealous." He cringed. "I may not be as smart as you are, but I could see what was right in front of me. I saw how much you and Harry adored each other, how well the two of you worked together. Hell, everyone, we've ever met thought you two were together already. It always left me feeling like the extra one. Harry was brave, powerful, handsome, rich, the bloody chosen one of all people, and you were the smart, decisive, reliable one. Me? I was just your friend. I guess I just didn't want to be left behind. That, and - I feel like such a git for this but - I wanted something that Harry couldn't have. I wasn't wealthy, or smart or famous, but I thought if I had you, then maybe I would be happy. I know, I know, it's awful, but that's just what I thought at the time. I'm sorry."

Her face was unreadable.

"Better to have it out now than ten years into marriage," she shrugged.

"Merlin, don't even talk to me about marriage," he laughed, palming his forehead. She chuckled lightly, relieved that the mood had even slightly changed for the better. "I guess this is it, then."

"It is," she sighed.

"Thank you for trying," he replied.

"Thank you for exactly the same."

The two stared at each for a moment, before they reached forward and embraced each other, awarding one last indulgence before their relationship came to an end.

"I'll always care for you, Hermione," he whispered, patting her on the back. He felt her nod into his shoulder.

"Feeling's mutual, Ron."

The two leaned back, gazing at each other as if finally seeing themselves for the first time, and smiled. It felt as if a crushing weight had been taking off of their shoulders, replaced with a sense of deliverance.

"What about Harry?" Ron eventually asked after a long while staring into the dwindling fire. Hermione didn't immediately respond, but her determined expression told him everything he needed to know.

"Harry needs me, Ron. He needs you, too. I'm staying by him, no matter what. Take that how you will."

Ron shrugged.

"Sounds about right. Just… Don't you two forget about me." He grinned, patting her shoulder fondly. She smirked in return.

"How could we? I'm sorry I was an awful girlfriend."

"Nah, you were fine," he waved her off. "Could have done with less nagging, but, you know, you get what you signed up for. Just make sure you're happy, alright?"

"I will."

"Promise me," he repeated, giving her a pointed look, "because you often forget about that sort of thing."

Hermione glanced at him, feeling a warm glow in her chest as she realised just how pleasant it felt to be valued by someone she cared about. She realised that Harry must have had that exact same feeling, in the tent earlier that day.

"I promise."

Ron nodded, knowing that there was not much else he could do.

"And, do me a favour," he added. "Let Harry know I care."

"He knows, Ron," she assured him, gazing into the eyes of her friend, relieved that she had made the right choice. "He knows."