A/N: This was a really difficult chapter to write. I hope you enjoy it!
Hermione woke with a start. Someone had been yelling. She looked around the room and realised it had been herself screaming in the throes of a nightmare. Noting Ron's absence, she assumed that he'd gone out; he would've come running if he'd heard her screaming.
At the thought of being alone, however, she felt as though her stomach had dropped a couple of inches. Her train of thought as quick as her breathing, she couldn't stop thinking of the death eaters coming for her. Or Ron not coming back, having been taken by the death eaters himself.
Tears filled her eyes as the walls closed in around her and she knew she had to get somewhere safe. Closing her eyes, she thought of the safest place she knew, and felt the familiar tug of apparition. Opening her eyes, she suddenly felt at home, although mildly surprised that it worked. Taking deep breaths, the smell of the books filled her nostrils, calming her down. She'd spent many an evening here, working on essays.
It dawned on Hermione that she now had the opportunity to read whichever books took her fancy. She made her way to the first shelf in the library, picking out the first few books and taking them to a table near the window so she could see out onto the grounds.
It was only as the words were becoming illegible on the page that Hermione even considered how long she'd been reading. Darkness was consuming the room, creating almost intimidating shadows. She looked out the window and saw the light from Hagrid's hut glowing in the black of the night.
Hermione used her wand to light some nearby candles, affording her some extra reading time. Hours passed unbeknown to Hermione, and she attempted to ignore her drooping eyelids, and her inability to focus on what she was reading.
"Let's get that dirty blood out of your filthy body," Bellatrix whispered menacingly, her knife cutting down Hermione's arm; once at the wrist, the psychotic witch twisted the blade causing the younger witch to cry out in agony.
"Miss Granger," a deep voice cut through the darkness. The pain subsided slightly, as the voice repeated itself. "Miss Granger, would you mind telling me why you see fit to sleep in the school library?"
Hermione's eyes flicked open, startled to find her former potions professor looming over her, dressed in his usual black attire, with the addition of a white neck brace.
Rubbing her eyes, she looked out of the window to see the black sky paling on the horizon.
"You do understand, Miss Granger, that you are currently trespassing on school property? As I am no longer headmaster, regrettably, I do not have the power to have you ejected."
Hermione felt as though her stomach had dropped an inch inside of her. She didn't want to leave her sanctuary.
"So I suggest," the professor continued. "That you go home, get some proper sleep. When you return, I'll show you how to brew an effective draught of living death. I doubt Slughorn's tuition was up to scratch. Go."
With that, Professor Snape swept out of the library.
The minute she walked through the front door, Ron had wrapped his arms around her.
"I'm so glad you're ok!" the redhead cried.
Bewildered, Hermione attempted to pull away, only to have Ron to increase his hold on her.
"Ron. Ron! I need you to let me go. Ron, I can't breathe!"
He finally let her go, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead as they parted.
"You weren't there when I woke up. I got scared," the witch explained.
"I've not left the house without you, 'Mione. I was down here the whole time. I came down here to get some sleep; your nightmares had you thrashing around so much I had no room to sleep. The screaming didn't help either."
For reasons she couldn't fathom, this enraged Hermione.
"Oh, ok. So instead of thinking 'hmm, maybe Hermione needs a hug and reassurance' you decided to leave me alone with my nightmares? Just so you could get some sleep, something I've struggled with for the last three weeks, whilst you could sleep for bloody England!"
"Yeah, so I don't have to listen to your constant crying!" Ron retorted.
"What?! You think I can help that? I would to stop feeling like that. I wish I could stop seeing Bellatrix LeStrange when I close my eyes. I wish I could stop seeing our dead friends when I close my eyes. I wish I could stop seeing Tom Riddle, and Scabior and Fenrir when I close my eyes!"
"Well, maybe you should do something other than lie in bed all day!"
"Like what, Ron? There are no deadlines, no horcruxes. What's even the point of getting out of bed?"
"Don't you see, 'Mione? We're free now. We can do whatever we want; visit friends, go to Diagon Alley or even get a job. A job would be a good idea, seeing as we're running low on food. You know I don't have the funds for that."
"So why aren't you getting a job?"
"I've been offered several, and by the looks of it so have you, if you ever bothered to open your bloody mail! Although you probably can't see it under the mess this house is."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean you haven't fucking cleaned a thing since we got here!"
"You could clean if it bothers you that much."
"Why should I? It's not my house!"
Hermione was gobsmacked.
"Fine. Get out!"
"Fine!"
With that, Ron stormed out, the slamming of the front door echoing throughout the house. Hermione stared at the door, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Eventually, she moved to the living room, crying on the couch until sleep finally took over.
Evening sunlight shone across Hermione's face, rousing her from sleep. The emptiness she'd felt on Ron's departure immediately hit her.
She vacated the sofa and went to bed, sleeping until dawn. The isolation she felt had not eased, and, not noticing the two owls waiting patiently at her bedroom window, she wandered aimlessly around the house, at a loss as to what to do. She found herself staring at the ceiling, as she lay across her parents' empty bed. As though her mind had given up, she slept for the rest of the day.
In the days that followed, she followed much the same routine, sleeping in most of the rooms of her house at some point. She lost track of days, and most days she wouldn't eat. Most of her waking time was spent staring at the walls. Even tears refused to fall as she became more and more numb. What was even the point any more?
She ignored knocks at the door of the house, knowing it would just be people trying to sell her things, no one caring if she answered or not. Post and newspapers piled up in the hallway. Lights were rarely on, the curtains rarely opened. What was the point?
She still suffered nightmares, but as time wore on, she lived for them. At least she felt something when she dreamt. What was point in being awake any more?
Another knock at the door roused her from her thoughts as she lay on the couch. She ignored it, not taking notice the lateness of the hour. Even the sound of the door being opened didn't bother her. So what if it was a burglar or a serial killer? What was the point?