Smile

Smile though your heart is aching

Hermione stood tall, as she watched the dark brown wooden casket lowered to the ground. The gravestone glinted in the late afternoon sun: Beloved brother, friend, son and prankster. May your laughter live forever.

Smile even though it's breaking

Hermione held tight to her handkerchief, crumpling it in her fist as two caskets sunk to the ground side by side: In loving memory, their hearts as one, in life and death united.

When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by

Hermione sat upright in her bed, clutching the covers to her stomach. She stared into space until the sting forced her eyes shut trying to get the tiniest bit of relief. There was no blankness that greeted her, but rather fleeting memories of dangers that hadn't yet shifted into adventures. Death, torture, and pain flowed through her body to her fingertips and toes, squeezing her stomach and wrenching at her heart. She opened her eyes again for a different kind of relief. But the steady truth was there was no sleep to be found tonight. Only feelings and troublesome thoughts consumed by loneliness, grief, and sorrow.

Who was this woman? Hermione stood on her cool bathroom floor and couldn't recognise her own reflection. This woman was weak, physically deteriorating along with her mind. She hated her. Despised her. Hermione yelled and screamed her rage at this woman. Who did she think she was? How dare she be this weak? How could she stand there and continue to exist when so many others weren't given the chance to? She didn't deserve it. She left the broken pieces of glass on the floor to bleed alone.

If you smile through your fear and sorrow

Someone had come to her at last. But she was alone, alone. There was nothing else. No one else. She wasn't worth the hassle. Care for others, those that matter more. Save them not her. Finally her door was blasted open. How pathetic of her to not even try to reach for her wand. Not caring if she could be in danger. But then a boys' face, a young eleven year old with broken glasses and a too big shirt sitting on a train, appeared in front of her. With those welcoming green eyes. But they weren't on their way to Hogwarts and the boy, wracked by pain and time was no longer young and innocent. Creasing lines of worry crept around the sallow skin under his eyes as he pulled Hermione into his arms.

Smile and maybe tomorrow

Having to admit fault had never been her strong suit. But she needed help. Hermione was sick and needed help… Wasn't that a difficult thing to say? So hard to admit. Pragmatically, she knew that was because of her pride. Emotionally, she was ashamed at her weakness.

The room she was assigned at the facility was alright. The best thing about it was that it was all new. There were no memories here, nothing familiar at all. For the first time Hermione could sleep. Not much, not fully, but here she could close her eyes and feel no ghosts around her.

You'll see the sun come shining through for you

Her healer… therapist… said she was ready for group sessions. Hermione didn't feel ready. She didn't want others to know about her weakness. She didn't want to destroy the image, the reputation she had, as the level-headed part of a powerful trio.

Some things should never crumble.

She managed the first steps on her own, escorted by a healer into the open room. Her spot of bravery quickly faded as she looked at the group gathered in a circle and locked eyes with a boy whose sneer she knew too well. Her blood boiled and Hermione was carried away by three healers, leaving upturned chairs and chaos. She felt it was a triumph to see Malfoy cowering on the floor as she was carried away.

Light up your face with gladness

"No."

"Don't you think you need to face your fears and that maybe he is a part of that?"

"I do not fear Malfoy."

"Perhaps not," healer Vult said. "But you harbour very strong feelings. So strong you tried to attack him. Does that seem like regular behaviour to you?"

Hermione looked down at her hands. Her nails had been victims to her gnawing teeth. The skin at the tips flaky and coarse due to her constant need to move or pick at them, to feel something.

"No," she whispered. Because she was no longer the Hermione who acted normally. She no longer knew who she was. Hermione had long since abandoned herself when she cracked her bathroom mirror and left her reflection behind to rot in the rubble.

"Go to the next group session. You don't need to speak, or participate. Just try to find your place inside the space. Find a way to be comfortable in your own skin around others."

Hide every trace of sadness

The sun streamed in through the window, hitting her thigh and arm, which was wrapped tightly around her stomach. Everything shone bright white in the sunlight and it warmed her. Hermione liked that they all wore white, it was simplistic and comforting.

"And how do you feel about that?" The healer, a mr Coombs, asked Padma Patil who sat next to Hermione.

"I don't know," Padma answered. "Hollow."

Hermione looked over to Padma, a girl she had never really come to know. It got her wondering how her life might have been different if she were sorted into Ravenclaw. Would the two of them have been friends?

"Miss Granger? Would you like to share today?"

Hermione shook her head and went back to starting at her hands. The sun calmed her but she couldn't find her place there as her therapist had asked.

Although a tear may be ever so near

"We will have no attacks here, ms Granger," Healer Coombs warned.

"I'm not attacking him!" Hermione huffed.

"You are with your words."

Hermione shut her mouth. Shame cooled down her anger.

"This is a safe space for everyone," Coombs continued. "We must respect each other for we are all people who have come here with struggles. No matter our past we have come here to heal and be accepted."

"Sorry."

"It is not me you should apologise to."

Hermione's gaze followed where the healer gestured to, reluctantly meeting Malfoy's grey eyes. How could she possibly apologise to him? How could she open her mouth and utter those words to a man she so despised? But before she could, he did. Something she hadn't witnessed in any of these sessions.

"I am truly and deeply sorry," Malfoy said. "About all the messed up things I've said and done in the past. I don't expect you to show me respect. I can't expect you to apologise when I am the one that needs to. I am so sorry."

He then stood and left Hermione rooted in her chair. The group session continued on but Hermione kept her eyes on the vacant chair on the opposite side of the ring. He had apologised. She didn't think she had ever heard Malfoy apologise except maybe to professors at Hogwarts. But those were pseudo-apologies, to get on their good graces. She couldn't see any way that apology could have benefitted Malfoy in any way, except for some sort of personal growth. Hermione was ashamed to admit that she hadn't thought him capable.

That's the time you must keep on trying

"I wouldn't change any of my actions," Malfoy said in a group class two months after his apology.

"What?" Hermione said, indignant. "How could you say that after everything?"

Healer Coombs cut her off by raising his hand. Hermione pursed her lips together. It wasn't her time to speak and she was disrespecting the rules.

"Because," Malfoy continued. "Those choices and events have shaped me into the person I am today. I might not be happy about what I've done or who I am, but I need to accept all of that and take responsibility to move on and to hopefully become a person I want to be."

"Very good mr Malfoy," Coombs said. "Thank you for sharing."

Hermione tentatively opened her mouth to speak, conscious of keeping a calm and respectful tone. "You wouldn't change anything, even if it meant saving someone that's gone?"

Malfoy took a moment to think about his answer and then firmly locked his gaze on hers.

"No one can be saved. The ones that are gone are gone, no matter how many ifs you think of. I don't want to be stuck in the past unable to move on. Do you?"

Smile, what's the use of crying?

She stood on the terrace, looking at the flowers that dared to bloom so beautifully. Their bravery might have given her hope, she realised, if he heart were open to such naive nonsense.

"May I join you?"

She turned and looked at Malfoy standing in the doorway. It was still strange to see him wearing white. He looked almost angelic. The irony wasn't lost on Hermione. She waved her arm in a nonchalant way and he walked up to stand next to her. Together they watched in silence as the flowers dance in the summer breeze.

"Breathtaking aren't they?" He said. "Funny how nature can stay so untouched by devastation."

"Why are you here?" Hermione asked.

"I wanted fresh air."

"You have a window in your room."

"Ah," he said with a sigh. "Then perhaps it was your company I sought out."

Hermione scoffed. "Is that an assignment from your therapist?"

"No," he said and let it linger in the air before he turned and left.

You'll find that life is still worthwhile

Art therapy was Hermiones' least favourite way to pass the time. She didn't like feeling inadequate, and when she tried to draw or paint that feeling settled in her stomach like a boulder. She hated not knowing how to do something. So instead she was allowed to write. Hermione didn't write fiction, she wrote legislation. She wrote to do lists, problems she thought needed to be addressed and how she would accomplish them. It was pragmatic, practical and even enjoyable. It made her feel like she actually had something worthwhile to do. One evening she returend to the art room, having forgotten notes about werewolf equality legislations. On her way out a painting caught her eye. It depicted the night sky. It wasn't finished, but the outlines were drawn on the edges like leaves and twigs. It was as if you were lying on the ground, peeking between the leaves of a tree at the stars. She could see different constellations clearly. Hermione lost hereself in the painting. It made her feel peaceful. It was like she was there, and she wished she was.

A week later she snuck back in, looking for a painting that might stir something inside her. This time the painter was most of the way finished and Hermione wondered if they had come back after the class to try and finish it. The painting was an assortment of colours all mixed in swipes and turns, of fluid motions of the brush meticulously made in a way that made sense. In one corner black faded masterfully into purples and blues with yellows and whites. All of which swirled to the middle where oranges, reds and greens popped and sparkled. Hermione stood on tremblings legs for a quarter of an hour, tearing up and holding a hand over her mouth to contain her sobs. It surprised her that a painting consisting only of colours could affect her so. In the colours she could so strongly sense her fallen friends, all represented in their own way.

In the purples and whites she saw Tonks that fluidly shifted to Lupin, enveloped in a warm green and grey. Further up she could sense Fred in the bright spark of orange and red sparkle. But most of all she could see herself in the whole of it, her own emotions and her own journey somehow splattered on a canvas.

When she finally left the art room she felt as though a small part of her had been healed.

If you just smile

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, standing in the doorway to his room. He was packing up, getting ready to leave. She could see drawings still hanging on his walls and in some of the open had never sought him out before or gone near his room, but it didn't surprise her.

"I'm sorry," she said when he turned to her. "I didn't treat you fairly when I first came here. I was prejudiced and I want to own up to that." She stood there for a few breaths, shifting her weight on her feet. Malfoy's face was calm but he didn't say anything. So, she left, hoping she got her message through clearly enough.

That evening, after dinner, she returned to her room and found Malfoy standing by her door, dressed in a dark navy suit and holding what looked like a canvas covered in a sheet. Without a word Hermione opened the door to her room, letting him enter first. She then gestured to a chair by her desk which he sat down in. For a short moment he observed the lists and documents on her desk.

"Should have known this is what you would do in your spare time."

Hermione simply shrugged, relieved that she was at least behaving similarly to how she did before, taking it as a sign of growth and healing.

"I came to say goodbye," Malfoy said. Hermione nodded, feeling like he had more he wished to say.

"You've surprised me," he continued. "And I wish you the best of luck here."

He then handed her the frame covered in the sheet. Hermione hesitated and then took it. "Why?" She asked.

"Because it might mean more to you to have it."

Hermione uncovered the sheet and stared at the painting. It was the one she had cried over in the art room. She stared at it, taking it in all over again and felt her eyes well up with tears.

"I don't know what you see when you look at it," Malfoy said. "But I see peace and chaos coexisting. I see laughter and life."

Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat and looked up at her old school rival.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, blinked back her tears, reached out for his hand and

smiled.

The end

Authors' note: Maybe this was corny, maybe not. I really wanted to do a tiny bit of writing prompted by the song "Smile" by Charlie Chaplin. I absolutely adore this song and I had it stuck on my brain for two days and just had to write down this idea. Hopefully whoever reads it likes it. I enjoyed writing it. Hopefully this will help me get back into the writing gear I've been missing for so long. -Kete