"Hermione, you can do it," Ron whispered to Hermione as he stroked soothing circles down her back.
"I – I don't know if I can."
"We're just going to go into Eyelops', and buy some mice for Crookshanks to torture. I know that you'll have some trouble dealing with all of the people. But I also know you can do it. If you're up to it, we'll even stop by at Flourish and Blott's afterwards, okay?"
Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded.
"I think I'm ready to go now."
She clutched his hand tightly, and Apparated both of them to Diagon Alley.
And then, suddenly, she stood outside of Eyelops' Owl Emporium, hesitating. Ron stood beside her.
"Ready?" he asked.
She pushed open the heavy wooden doors of Eyelops, and hesitated for another moment before walking slowly into the store, Ron trailing after her.
Once she was just past the threshold, she cringed and stopped walking.
"I can't do this."
His hand starting stroking her arm, slow and soothing.
"Why not?"
She stared at the sheer chaos encompassed within the store's four walls. Toads balefully croaked as they hopped between human legs. A large white owl swooped down from the ceiling and flew between the aisles, knocking down several products from the shelves. Harried, flustered clerks darted through the people, animals and aisles as they tried to help impatient customers.
"It's too much," she whispered.
"What's too much, Hermione?"
"I can't – I can't keep track."
Her eyes flitted to and fro, trying to track all of the movement, trying to sense all of the danger before it could hurt her.
Ever since Bellatrix had jumped her with a knife in Malfoy Manor before the Battle, her body's flight instinct had gone into overdrive. Until she had a chance to analyze it, her body perceived movement as a potential threat. It was hard for her, now, to go out into public, to interact with people she didn't know, in places she wasn't fully familiar with.
It didn't help that after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Daily Prophet had published a spread on all of the heroes of the Light side. Her picture, along with the pictures of all of her friends, had been prominently featured. Ever since then, she had often been stopped in public by people she didn't know, all eager to question her about her role in the fight against Voldemort.
She didn't like it, her celebrity status. She didn't like that the day after she got a new haircut, the Daily Prophet ran a poll asking wizarding Britain to vote whether her current hairstyle was better than her former one. She didn't like when the paparazzi cornered her for an interview, or when her obsessive fans begged for an autograph.
She was the subject of more than one 'biography,' horrible things that were exceptionally insensitive and inaccurate, especially because she refused to allow the authors to interview her. One particularly odious bestseller dared to trivialize the war, and made it into one of those vague obstacles that a tragic pair of star-crossed lovers – obviously based on Draco Malfoy and herself - had to overcome in order to be together. It was a sappy, cliché romance novel, with the heroine wearing a big, poofy, low-cut dress and the hero walking around shirtless the whole time. From personal experience, Hermione thought wearing a dress like that would be hopelessly impractical during a war, but from what she understood, romance heroes and heroines need to wear such outfits in order to be appropriately tragic. Needless to say, the novel was a best-seller, and every witch in Britain had read it.
She hadn't, though.
The one good thing about the book was that Malfoy had been furious. She thought he was more upset that a character clearly based off of him had been pining after a Mudblood than he was about being stuck into a book without anyone asking him for permission. He made papers, yet again, when he announced that he wanted to sue the author for besmirching his name. The publishing house argued that because his name was not actually mentioned anywhere in the book or in any of the associated merchandise, they were not responsible for any unfortunate associations crazed fans made.
Malfoy probably loved the attention he was getting. She hated it.
She hated the fans that never left her alone. She hated being surrounded by unfamiliar people. She hated that her subconscious remained convinced that she was in danger. She hated that she felt so uncomfortable and scared and anxious whenever she left the Burrow.
She hated standing in Eyelops' busy lobby, surrounded by pet-lovers and animals, feeling threatened. Lost. Alone.
"Can – can we go now?" she whispered, clutching Ron's hand. It was her lifeline.
"Yeah. I guess you weren't ready yet."
She shrugged. She thought that had been pretty obvious.
"You were really brave, though, for trying, Hermione. But I'm going to take you home now, okay?"
She couldn't answer, just barely managed to nod her head.
Ron Apparated them back, back to the Burrow. Back where she felt safe, or as safe as she ever felt now.
She didn't think she'd be able to muster up the courage to leave again, at least not any time soon.
And she hated that more than anything.