Author's Note: I am currently sitting in a very nice hotel on the outskirts of Marrakech in Morocco sipping on the final glass of a bottle of Diamour, which is where I chose to escape to for my Christmas, so I hope you will excuse the brief hiatus of this story while I've been on vacation! To tell the truth, your reviews have inspired me to write this while I am meant to be working on essays and critical commentaries and other academic assignments, but I have given my heart and my soul to this story of Hermione's (and Harry's) story. I can appreciate that it might not be to some people's tastes but keep in mind that I am writing from my perspective as someone who suffers from mental health issues who was once her friends' Hermione Granger but couldn't keep up and was left behind as they got through life, while I couldn't quite bear all it had to throw at me. If you are interested to see the gown I described for her, it is the one worn by Diane Kruger at the Cannes premiere of Inglourious Basterds in 2009.
DaenerysTargary3n
To Mr Potter and Miss Granger,
It gives us great pleasure to invite you to the gala to be held in the Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry in honour of those who fell during the last great war against Tom Riddle. This ball will serve as not only a reminder that life can now be enjoyed thanks to those who sacrificed their lives so that we might endure, but also that those who survived Lord Voldemort's attack on our world can relish the liberty, love and laughter that can now flourish without corruption or evil thought or deed.
As a personal favour, I would consider it an honour if you both, along with Mr Ronald Weasley, would consent to attend the gala as our own, privileged guests of honour. For, certainly without the sacrifices which the three of you made, the wizarding world would not be thriving in liberty, love and laughter. In short, Mr Potter and Miss Granger, we owe our current felicity to you and this evening would be a prime moment for the Minister of Magic, the government and the entire populace of our world to convey our gratitude for all you have done.
Please do owl my office directly if you have any enquiries or requests. As always, we are at your service.
Yours faithfully,
Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic
"Oh shit!" Harry spat out, having just perused the missive brought by a first class ministry owl.
Luna looked up in alarm from her place on her beau's lap, "What's the matter, Harry?"
"Bloody Kingsley! Fucking, bloody, flipping Kingsley Shacklebolt! With his fracking galas to celebrate the biggest loss of life the fucking wizarding world has ever witnessed! It makes by effing blood boil!"
Both Luna and her boyfriend, the other war hero, Neville Longbottom, were accustomed to Harry's foul language. They reckoned it was how he vented his anger and frustration at the world he had helped to create in the wake of Voldemort's virtual coup d'etat. They had - both of them - spent hours on hours listening to his tirades on what it was like to be the constant and unfailing hero of the wizarding world. It was the least they could do for the lost soul…
"It won't be that bad, Harry," Neville bravely suggested, "I mean, at least it's a party, not a funeral. Plus, the invitation is to you and Hermione so you won't have to be on your own in the spotlight and me and Luna got an invitation yesterday so we'll be there too. I don't know, Harry, it could be a laugh...if you let it."
Harry James Potter couldn't help but admire and accept the wisdom that was in his closest friend's words. For, since Ron had absented himself from Hermione's paltry existence, and insodoing, his own, Neville and Luna had become fast friends to the former Boy Who Lived. He had always counted them both amongst his merry band of misfits and unlikely heroes, but as a couple, funnily enough Luna and Neville made even more sense as a unit. There was also the fact that the two of them, between Neville's simple and straightforward talking and Luna's complex and...unique way of thinking, had got him through his months of therapy and effort to rebuild Hogwarts. They had been his only anchor in the sea that was his attempts to help his bosom friend and survive in a house whose only other occupant was a veritable living ghost.
"It's not me I'm worried about, mate."
All three companions knew of whom the saviour of the wizarding world was speaking but none had an answer that bore thinking about. Hermione had withdrawn into herself in the most terrifying way. She had never been extrovert to be sure but this hermitage she had assumed shocked and made all concerned fret beyond measure. The worst part of her retreat into herself was the effect it was having on her housemate. For, Harry had begun to truly find his pathway out of the perpetual darkness into the light at the end of the tunnel, but his unease on behalf of his best friend was keeping him from reaching the gateway back into the world of the living and the whole.
"You need to accept that she may be beyond help." Neville whispered, not wishing to entertain the notion but not relishing the idea that Harry might lose the rest of his days to finding a cure for Hermione's melancholia and PTSD.
"No," Harry exclaimed, irate and incensed, "I will save her! She can be saved. She will be Hermione again!"
"Come now, Harry," Luna said gently, "she does nothing all day but write her memoirs, she sees no one but you and Mecklewit and she does not even see her alone. I love Hermione almost as much as you do but I can see how the war has plundered her soul, her body and her mind. I hope she will regain some of her former self but she lost too much of herself to Voldemort's followers and the fight. She's a shell of who she used to be, Harry. She may never recover, and that won't be your fault, my fault or anyone's except Voldemort's!"
It was as Luna's tirade elapsed that Harry saw that she did indeed care for Hermione almost as much as he did, but had evidently given up most of her hope that the brightest witch of their generation would find the strength within herself to recover from her injuries and traumas. He knew that it was a possibility but until the woman utterly shut down and held him at bay, he would continue to hope that she would make part of a recovery, if not a full one.
"She is getting better though. She talks about the war and when we were hunting the Horcruxes and how she fought. She never used to be able to do that at all. Surely, that's a sign that she is getting better...not worse?"
Neither Neville nor Luna responded to their friend's desperate question. Neither wanted to admit to the conversations they had shared that had centered around the possibility that Hermione would never find the lost aspect of herself that had once chided them all for not paying enough heed to their homework or had the administrative capabilities to arrange Dumbledore's Army or see Harry and Ron and countless others through the trials and tribulations that Riddle's incessant assaults had caused.
"Are you going to show her the invitation?" Neville asked hesitantly, shamelessly changing the subject.
Harry smiled smugly, "More than that...I'm going to take her. I'll show you, I'll prove to you that she can be around people when she has to. It's just that she only feels safe around a select few. She's well enough to go to the Victory Ball. Even if I don't understand Kingsley's desire to celebrate death and revel in it, I have no qualms about using it to prove to you guys that Hermione is strong enough to see all of you again."
Longbottom and Lovegood both shared their friend's hopes and dreams but found no chance of reality in them. Harry was so drawn in by his affection for Hermione that he was unable to sense the futility in attempting to resurrect her former self, however, neither wished to disabuse the Boy Who Lived so harshly. Thus, they let him be and wished him well on his way and spurred him on to invite and coax Hermione to the Victory Ball that came a year after Voldemort had fallen in the grounds of the school they had all once attended gleefully.
As he fell through the fireplace at the Lovegood-Longbottom abode into his own in Godric's Hollow, he came face-to-face with his housemate, who was - as could be expected - sitting in her favourite place in the lounge, quill in hand and rolls on rolls of parchment forming a moat around her. Her eyes were heavy, her fingers blackened, her hair dishevelled but she looked as peaceful and healthy as she ever did. Harry despaired of her state, for she left the house only for her rendezvous with Mecklewit and always she looked bedraggled, laden and weary.
"Hermione, I'm home." Harry announced, knowing that unless he did, she would remain entrammelled in her writing and lose herself.
"Oh, Harry," she smiled with only her lips, "I'm glad you're back. How were Neville and Luna?"
"Fine, fine, but a letter came addressed to both of us...an invitation."
Her eyes darted around her, almost as if she were looking for threat and danger, "An invitation to what, Harry?"
"A ball at Hogwarts to celebrate the Victory. Next week. We have to go, 'Mione."
She dropped her current scroll of parchment and sank to the floor. Her pitiful reaction to his news brought tears to his eyes but even though he took her into his embrace presently, which seemed to offer her some comfort, she refused to settle.
"I know you don't wish to set foot there again, sweetheart, but you won't be alone. I will not leave your side, not for one second and I'll have Mecklewit invited. You'll be safe and you won't have to speak to or be with anyone you don't want to, you just need to be there with me."
Hermione found herself quite lost once she understood what she had to do in seven days' time. The thought of leaving her haven in Godric's Hollow was frightening enough, but when the destination was Hogwarts, it was paralysing. She knew as a third of the Golden Trio, she was obligated to be present at such an event, but she had tried to retire from public life entirely and so far, had been succeeding. Everyone would be expecting to see Hermione Granger, the greatest witch of her generation, but very few knew she had lost her magic and lived an almost solitary existence. She was a shell of who she used to be and everyone realising how far she had fallen and in Hogwarts too, would be the end of her, she was certain.
"Hermione, please say something, love?" Harry pleaded, ignorant of how long he would have to rock his lost best friend to lure her away from the abyss into which she was about to plummet.
She looked up hesitantly and gazed into the green eyes holding her stare before placing a chaste kiss on Harry's cheek, "I'll go, but I hold you to never leaving me alone. Please don't ever leave me alone but especially not there, Harry, not at that school, not with everyone that fought there."
"I promise you that you'll be safe, and that I'll be right there holding your hand the entire time." Harry vowed, utterly cognisant of what it was she was preparing herself to do and how much of a part he had to play in ensuring she got through what would be an ordeal.
And so, the pair of them drove with Mecklewit to the gala a week later. Hermione flatly refused to apparate with either of her companions and forcing her into the grate was out of the question if they expected her to be conscious for the remainder of the evening. Harry had penned a letter to Kingsley informing him that they would arrive at Hogwarts by means of Muggle transport and all the necessary preparations should be made for that. The Minister had questioned the mode of travel but had not been told for why Mr Potter and Miss Granger with their plus one would not be apparating or using Floo Powder to reach the venue.
Harry donned his one dress robe that Molly Weasley bought him for the Yule Ball all those years ago which still brought out the verdancy of his eyes. Hermione had struggled to ready herself for the festivities so Harry managed to clothe her in a resplendent Marchesa gown of white and silver chiffon with Tiffany's & Co. jewels dangling from her neck, ears and wrists and beautiful, newly purchased silver Jimmy Choo court shoes. Her coiffure was done by him too, pinned back so her bushy and unmanageable hair would not obscure the beauty to be found in her face, with its fatigue and signs of illness masked by makeup.
Harry did not mind one jot that he had to singlehandedly dress and ready his friend for the evening he was forcing her to attend. In truth, he quite enjoyed the processes needed to exhibit a healthier and less damaged version of Hermione to the wizarding world and besides, she did look incredibly beautiful in her finery. That was worth every penny and knut...seeing her adorned as she deserved being a war hero and when he bought the Daily Prophet the morning after the party he would keep the clippings of the photos featuring him and Hermione. It would mark the next step on their road to recovery. Mecklewit arrived promptly and the three of them set off for the castle in the north.
There were floating lanterns and a line of brightly dressed aurors marking the way from the gates up to the doors of the Entrance Hall. If Harry hadn't been so preoccupied with the witch beside him clutching his hands with white knuckles, he would have remarked on the purity and simplicity of the magic that was surrounding the castle. It truly symbolised the forces of good that came together to oust the darkness and evil from the world. Kyanna, who had not been in the north since she finished her education at Hogwarts, was amazed by the beauty of the just completed school.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, the awe nearly choking her, "I had forgotten. You did a good job lending a hand to its restoration, Harry."
The young wizard nodded at her, "It looks complete and the home it once was to me and can now be again to others."
"It looks like it has been rebuilt after a battle."
Both Harry and Kyanna turned their surprised gaze to their companion and smiled sadly at her wan face. Her dull eyes were turned up to take in the castle and its grounds, looking but not seeing, finding the sorrow and the hardship in her alma mater instead of the renaissance and victory. Though for the rest of the invitees, tonight was a gala to celebrate the defeat of Tom Riddle, to Hermione and vicariously, Harry, the evening was a reminder of just how much they had sacrificed so that there might be unilateral felicity and how they might never get to share in that same felicity.
As the dolorous party of three neared the doorway, a swarm of photographers enclosed them and had to be fended off by the lines of aurors. Hermione did seem somewhat rattled by the military-like assault the journalists from various wizarding magazines and newspapers. However, when she found the niche in Harry's side that was of the utmost comfort to her, her breathing returned to a healthy, normal rhythm. Once she was safely conducted through the vestibule to the open space of the Great Hall, she was met by a different greeting, one of silence and hushed breaths. The entire room, milling with bodies, faced the pair who entered arm-in-arm and interrupted their conversations about the price of ergot and wagers on Quidditch matches to stare at them as if expecting fireworks or great orations.
Minerva McGonagall, one of the few who knew of her favourite student's suffering, climbed on to the dais at the opposite end of the hall and addressed the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, now that you have all seen that the guests of honour are now present. On behalf of myself and the Minister of Magic, I would invite you to enjoy this night of revelry and mirth to celebrate how far the wizarding world has come in the past year. There will be feasting, drinking and speaking but for now, I pray, enjoy the wonders this new Hogwarts has to offer!"
She concluded in a flourish and raised her glass to the rear of the hall, where Harry was still standing with the two women and nodded to her in thanks, aware that she had took to the stage in order to distract the mob from his and Hermione's advent. The fickle crowd's return to their own affairs and conversations granted the two thirds of the Golden Trio to find their way to the high table where there were some house-elves serving drinks.
"Winky," Harry exclaimed, "it's nice to see you again. How are you finding it here at Hogwarts?"
The usually intoxicated elf grinned at the saviour of the wizarding world, "Yes, Master Harry, we is happy to be serving at this school. Headmistress McGonagall is a kind and gracious mistress. We is liking it here. We has a daughter too, Irma, who can grow up here. We thanks you for helping to rebuild Hogwarts and for making the world safe again. Now, what would you and Miss Hermione and this lovely lady like to drink? We is here and happy to serve!"
The perkiness of the house-elf was infectious and in spite of his fretting for Hermione and how she was finding this party, Harry Potter smiled a genuine smile, one which Kyanna saw and took to be a sign that he would eventually find peace in the world he moulded with the losses of his blood, his sanity and his happiness.
"I will take a butterbeer, Winky, thank you. Hermione?"
The woman beside him looked pale but whispered to her small friend, "I will have ginger ale, please, Winky."
"You are both welcome, but Miss Hermione, you do not look well and we would be happy to find for you some medicine and make you well again."
Harry winced at Winky's words, said so sincerely but her kind offer was overwhelmed by the reminder of Hermione's ill health and mind. He found his eyes tearing up slightly at just how many people took pity on the greatest witch of the age and were prepared to dedicate themselves to returning light, love and légèreté to the life of Hermione Jean Granger. He hugged his bosom friend and felt his shirt moisten as she let the tears flow from her eyes.
"Thank you, Winky," she said, extracting herself from Harry's soothing embrace, "but I fear no medicine will be enough. Your kindness and care are welcome though, and much appreciated. I hope you live long and I would love someday to meet your daughter. If she is anything like her mother, she must be perfect."
Winky smiled, "We thanks you, Miss, she is and we would be honoured to present her to you. We would now but she is sleeping."
"Let sleeping house-elves lie, Winky," Harry interjected, "good sleep is the true sign of peace."
As a queue was forming behind the party, Harry led Hermione away with their drinks and permitted Dr. Mecklewit to place her order. He saw the room's occupants clamouring around a sea of redheads - the Weasleys - but wished not to subject Hermione to their attention and Ron's presence anymore than he wanted to see Ginny again. Instead, he pulled her close and walked with her towards someone less...notable. Hermione had only seen him and Kyanna in the past year and he couldn't imagine anyone better than Winky to provide an unexpected first foray into conversation with others, but for her second - and more planned - interaction, he hoped for someone she recognised from the past but someone unaffiliated with Hogwarts or painful memories.
Harry groaned as his hopes were to bear no fruit, for they had been glimpsed by a tall, lean redhead, who opted not to let them be.
"Oi, Harry mate," George yelled as he pursued them, "wait up!"
"Hi George, nice to see you. What can I do for you?"
The remaining Weasley twin did a double take as he felt the forced formality of Harry's words. He was flummoxed by his stance that was defensive to say the least. It was as though he viewed him as a threat and not the brother of his best friend.
"What's up with you? Why are you being so...weird?" He asked.
Harry snorted, "I didn't think you - or any of your family, for that matter - wanted anything to do with me after the battle. I don't expect to be treated as a friend, so I see no reason to treat any Weasley as a friend."
"Harry, you're talking crazy," George replied, "we are still your friends. We never stopped. It has only been recently for us that we've been able to move on from Fred's death. We - I - will never find peace or forget him, but we lost my brother, Harry. I'm sorry Ginny blamed you for his death, for what it's worth. He wouldn't have wanted that and he wouldn't have held you responsible. She regrets what she said and did, you know? It's what has made it so hard for her to get over Fred's death...knowing that it not only cost her her brother, but also the love of her life."
The lost and forsaken love of Ginevra Weasley felt something stir in his side as George finished saying his piece, but it was not longing or his own regret. It was Hermione looking up in her beautiful gown at George.
"Ron?"
Fred's brother looked at Hermione, "No, he doesn't want to see you..."
"George," Harry frowned, shaking his head, "don't."
"Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry for hurting you. The war broke my heart and my spirit and my everything," Hermione said, as though she were merely a conduit for some higher being, "I couldn't give you - or Harry - the love you deserve and so wanted from me after all that...after Bellatrix. I can't even use my bloody magic! All I can do is keep breathing and even that is getting harder and harder day!"
It was then that George understood. Indeed, everybody surrounding the three heard the young witch and understood. She was not seeing George Weasley, but his younger brother. As she basically screeched her innermost feelings at her imagined former lover, the wizarding world present beheld the war-torn and beleaguered mind of their hero. And, in that moment, Harry could nothing to shield her from the onlookers or the journalists that would profit from the story and images of Hermione Granger staggering to the floor as she unburdened herself to the wrong man.
"What on God's earth?" George gasped as Hermione fell to the floor still screaming her sorrow at him.
Harry followed his friend and one-time lover to the floor, trying to restrain her flailing arms and pacify her weeping eyes, whispering in her ear, "Sweetheart, it's Harry, I've got you. Ron is not here, it's just you and me now. Just close your eyes and it'll only be you and me. You'll be safe with me...you'll always be safe with me."
As Harry attempted to bring Hermione back to reality, he wondered where Mecklewit was and why she had not yet come to his assistance. It was afterall why he had procured her an invitation. Sadly, and tragically for Hermione, two people who sprang to her 'rescue' were not her doctor or people whom Harry wished her to be faced with under the present circumstances.
The pair of them, one redhead and one with dark locks of hair, bypassed the sea of photographers and journalists with their Quick-Quotes Quills. When they were met with the sight of a young woman floundering on the floor, her best friend clasping her tight to his chest and her resplendent gown pooling around her, their mouths flew agape and their jaws all but hit the floor.
"Harry," the redhead gulped, "what is wrong with her?"
The Boy Who Lived looked up into the azure eyes of his former closest friend and snarled, "She is remembering you! Now, get away from her, from us before she opens her eyes and sees you!"
"She needs help, man! Do not be so arrogant - let us help!"
Harry turned his gaze to the man standing beside Ronald Weasley and snarled at his impudence, "Krum, she has no need of you either and how dare you call me, me arrogant! I may have been the Boy Who Lived, I may have once wanted to be an auror but for the past year, while you have been tucked away with your family, the only family Hermione and I had was each other. We were both wounded, she more than both of us, Ron, you and Viktor, you selfish cunts cannot imagine the hell it's been to bring her here tonight. Winky was the first person she has spoken to besides me and our psychiatrist since she came to live with me one year ago and that was only minutes ago. Now, if you want to help, instead of standing about insulting me and spectating like these vultures, go and find Kyanna Mecklewit."
Ron could only listen and flinch each time he heard the pure venom in Harry's voice. Harry was never one to use foul language (it was always him who cursed) but when he railed against him and Krum, there was no restraint or mellowness in him. He nodded curtly and held his wand to his throat.
"Sonorus," he mumbled before his voice grew loud and resonant, "Kyanna Mecklewit, Miss Granger needs you. Come to the portrait chamber door."
Just as he and Krum turned to leave Harry and Hermione to their suffering and psychiatrist, they heard her faint voice call out to them.
"I loved both of you, you know? Not more than Harry, but I gave pieces of my heart to you, pieces I will never get back. A girl in a red dress gave you her heart, a girl in a red dress gave you her heart, a girl in a red dress gave you her heart."
All the four men in earshot of the young woman were perplexed at the mantra she adopted, but as she repeated the ten words, her eyes began to roll back into her skull.
"Hermione? Hermione! Hermione, come back, damn you! I told you to keep your eyes shut. Why couldn't you have just done as you were told and you'd be safe with me? Where have you gone, love? Come back!" Harry roared at his unconscious friend still in his lap.
"Harry," Mecklewit greeted as she fell beside her two patients, "what happened? How long ago did she faint?"
"Not long ago. She saw Viktor and Ron before she went and she was saying - repeating - a girl in a red dress gave you her heart. I don't know what she was talking about."
"The wedding," George said, "she wore red at Bill's wedding and danced with both before the Death Eaters came."
Mecklewit nodded, and instructed everyone clustering them to retrace their steps. She helped Harry to stand and told him that she had somewhat expected that Hermione would experience some kind of psychotic, nervous breakdown before the evening was done. She had not anticipated that it would be so vigorous or so quick to take its hold.
"We'll need to get her home," Mecklewit announced, before turning to one whose help had already been promised and was at-hand, "Winky, perhaps you might assist us in this?"
After Winky assented, Harry spoke up, "Will you stay tonight, doctor? While she is unconscious, I do not want to be alone with her."
"Harry, I'm sorry but I cannot stay at your home. My place is in my office. Your home is the place for both of you. I will clear my day tomorrow so when she wakes, which ought to be within the day, you should bring her in, but what she needs is to be in Godric's Hollow with you. I know you don't want to be alone with her, but she'll be alright and you just need to put her to bed."
So, Harry and Winky departed and together laid Hermione down on her bed and dressed her in her nightclothes before Harry thanked the house-elf who had gone above and beyond duty and still wearing his dress robes, climbed into bed beside his anguished companion and took what rest he could find beside her, just holding her hand.