Chapter 2: Broken

"I am outside

And I've been waiting for the sun

With my wide eyes

I've seen worlds that don't belong

My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize

Tell me why we live like this

Keep me safe inside

Your arms like towers

Tower over me

Yeah

'Cause we are broken

What must we do to restore

Our innocence

And oh, the promise we adored

Give us life again

'Cause we just wanna be whole"

Paramore (We Are Broken)

Hermione shivered as she sat nestled on the couch in the living room of her parent's house in muggle London. She gripped the handle of the mug she was holding tightly, trying to hold on to some sense of normalcy, but as she stared at the checkered rug beneath the coffee table, memories flooded her mind and the sobs wracked her body again.

What was she doing? She couldn't lie to herself; she knew she was breaking apart, falling down, vanishing under waves of grief and sorrow. She stood up, set the mug down and angrily brushed the tears from her face. No, she had to be strong. They would have wanted that. She walked over to the mantel where several family photos were displayed. She stared at one that involved her family and her. Each of their faces had big grins. The love that they shared was clearly palpable. She stroked the glass, as if she could indeed feel their faces under her hands again. She placed a small kiss on her father's face, then her mother's.

Her life felt twisted and warped. The brief sense of victory she felt after the fall of Voldermort vanished after the realization that her parents were dead, that thought left trails of coldness and numbness in her mind.

She recalled the day when Kingsley Shacklebolt, the tall and brooding auror, strode in to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. His eyes radiated weariness and a desperate plea that was directed towards her, as if he were begging for her forgiveness. Her brow had furrowed as she wondered what happened. Ron and Harry sank into an uncomfortable silence beside her. Then Kingsley had opened his mouth, and that was when she knew.

"I'm sorry Hermione. We tried our best, but they…"

Her world had tilted upon its axis, and her legs wobbled before she crashed to the floor. Harry and Ron had crouched down instantly beside her. Harry was mumbling something and Ron was rubbing soothing circles on her back but she couldn't hear or feel anything. Her vision was blurred from the tears that filled her eyes. As she stared off into space, images gradually flashed across her mind. The gentle touch of her mother's hand as she took her first few steps. Her father's soothing words whenever she felt like she had not lived up to their expectations. Her mother holding her when she had broken down and cried due to stress. They would never smile at her again. Never congratulate her for getting the top of her year again. Never give her the warmth that only families could provide. Her life. Her family. Gone.

Regret flooded her being as she realized that they had left this world without even remembering about her, their daughter. She expected, even yearned for the tongue-lashing she would receive, as they understood that their only daughter had erased their memories and sent them to Australia, at least that would mean that they were alive. Breathing, happy and whole.

After that, she didn't believe she could live at Grimmauld Place anymore. Harry and Ron were jumpy and nervous around her, treating her like a fragile piece of glass, trying to console her but her cool demeanor rebuffed their attempts. One night, when Ron had hugged her tightly and said that she could talk to him about anything and that he was feeling upset because of her attitude towards him. She had glared, her mind reeling. Ron, unlike her, sought out comfort from others when he suffered from grief, but she retreated into her own world. His insensitivity caused her to slam her bedroom door in his face, reviling slightly in the slight crunch and muffled curse behind the door.

She strode around the room and shoved her few items into her suitcase. She transfigured a chair into a carrier for Crookshanks before gently pushing her cat in. Crookshanks had hissed, but she didn't respond except to shut the door to the carrier. She tapped her wand on her suitcase and it shrunk to a small size before she pushed it into her cloak. After casting a cursory look around the room that she had lived in for the last few days, she grabbed Crookshanks's carrier and strode out, lightly shutting the door behind her. When she walked into the living room, Harry and Ron both jumped off the couch.

"Hermione…" They both said simultaneously.

Then Harry noticed her outfit and the carrier that she was clutching tightly in her left hand.

"Going somewhere?" he said softly.

Hermione wavered for a second, but hardened her resolve.

"I'm sorry Harry, but I need to be alone. I can't have you guys hovering around me all the time. I need time to process it all. Everything…" her voice trailed off into silence.

Ron's face had turned a slight pinkish colour and as she noticed the dark purplish bruise developing on his nose, and she realised that was what the crunch was. She wondered if he felt guilty about his actions earlier. She didn't know and as she realized with alarming clarity, she didn't care. Perhaps it was all the grief, or maybe it was because she didn't feel anything towards him anymore. She sighed and shook her head. This was why she needed time alone - to process every thought.

Harry stepped forward with his hand reaching towards her.

"Don't try to stop me Harry, nothing you do or say will change my mind. Please give me the time I need. I'm not leaving you. I promise I will come back." She pleaded with him.

Harry nodded solemnly. "I'm not trying to stop you Hermione. I just wanted to give you a hug before you go. Who knows when I'll be seeing my best friend again huh?" He laughed slightly and the side of her lip curled up into a small smile.

She leaned forward and met him halfway. His arms tightened around her for a second before he whispered in her ear: "Take all the time you need." He pulled back and his green eyes flashed with a quiet understanding. She silently expressed her gratitude as she pulled him in for another hug. Pulling back, she gave him a small peck on his cheek. She then extended her arms toward Ron and he gratefully hugged her. He kissed her forehead as he let go of her waist. He didn't seem to know what to say and for once, she was grateful, she wasn't sure how she'd respond if he did.

And that was how she'd left them nearly a month ago. Harry and Ron standing at the end of the hallway. One who was tall with messy jet black hair, the other red-haired and freckled, both staring at her as she exited the door and out of their lives.

She had immediately returned to her parent's house. The moment she laid eyes on it, she thought it looked so cold and uninviting - devoid of life. She strode into it, gasping and choking as the dust that covered the room filled her lungs. With a determined look in her eyes, she spent the next few days cleaning up the house. It provided a welcome distraction, from the war, her parent's death, everything.

She turned now and glanced at the side table where several letters were piled up. Most of it had Ron's identifiable scrawl on it. The reason why she chose not to respond to his letters was because most of it was be begging her to come back to them. Harry's letters were fewer and less frequent, but he didn't bring up the issue of where she was or what she was doing and for that she was grateful.

Several days after she had arrived at her parent's home, she arranged for their bodies to be sent back to London from Australia and organized a private funeral at a cemetery several miles from her house. She grudgingly allowed Ron and Harry to attend at their insistence. Harry had felt guilty, blaming himself and the war for doing that to her parents. She had objected vehemently and assured him that these things could hardly be predicted or stopped and that she had not regretted being his friend at all. They had parted ways on that dreary fall day in a solemn silence.

She didn't say anything about her nightmares to them then.

They flowed, vivid and fast, into her mind night after night, arousing her from her slumber and causing her to tremble uncontrollably. It was as though the events had just occurred the day before. Images of the war were burned into the back of her mind. Dead bodies strewn everywhere, blood seeping into the already blood-red earth and the occasional bursts of green light illuminating the gloom. The most unnerving one was the one she experienced firsthand, the curse after curse that was lobbed at her. It was as if her veins had caught fire and her limbs were forcibly twisted in opposite directions. Her heart had pounded with difficulty, trying it's hardest to continually pump blood through her body. There was also the flash of cold silver eyes, just staring down at her without bothering to help and his eyes closing shut when the silver blade appeared…

She usually jerked awake then, with her body aching and sore, a clear sign that she had been thrashing around during her sleep. And no methods could bring her back to sleep again, and she didn't want to, for the dreams always repeated. It was like a never-ending cycle. One that was causing her precious sleep and the dark circles that had taken up permanent residence under her eyes.

That night, as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror yet again, she noticed her pale skin, dark purplish circles under her eyes and her now prominent cheekbones due to the weight she had lost. Her hair was tangled and unruly, sticking up in a dozen directions. She sighed and splashed cold water onto her face, and all the while wondering what she was going to do with her life now.

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AmandaCJY