The next day Hermione felt a little better, probably because the potion she took for the pain was doing its work. With Ron's help, she managed to stand up and could so with little pain. Being isolated in one room for three total days – and seven more months before that she had no memory of – with only Ron for company meant that she was going to leave this room today or lose the remainder of her marbles.

Ron usually took her to the toilet, but this time she wanted to do it herself. After she managed that, she went to the separate bathroom.

"Let me know if you need anything or if you start feeling like you're going to faint," Ron told her. "I'll be waiting just outside."

"Okay," Hermione called out. She felt a little faint but believed she could manage this simple task. Everything was fine until she looked in the mirror and saw her own reflection.

She didn't even recognize herself. For a single moment she believed that the woman before her was someone who died a violent death. Then she recognized her curls, now matted and dull, her freckles, almost hidden by the bruises on her face – it bore bruises resembling a thoroughly battered apple. It was almost impossible to tell the color of Hermione's complexion. Her eyes were blood-shot with dark grey circles underneath. The skin that was visible seemed ghastly pale in contrast, almost translucent. She had lost a lot of weight, her entire body now revealed prominent bones.

Hermione shivered. She could've cried if she knew how. She touched her bruised cheek and flinched from the pain. Washing up was hard, but she did as much and as best she could, trying to distract herself from what she looked like.

She let Ron help her downstairs, still feeling a little shaken-up, but a bit better, cleaner maybe. Or maybe not. No cleansing would ever fix the damage that was done to her.

She heard a child's laugh coming from behind her, rousing her from her nightmarish thoughts. A little boy passed them on a toy broom without giving them a second glance, and Hermione followed him together with Ron. That led them into the kitchen where Harry grabbed his son from the broom, saying to the whining boy, "James, you can keep playing after we all have lunch, okay?"

James was a small copy of his father with his disheveled black hair that listened to comb nor scissors. The only differences were that he didn't have a scar, and his eyes were bright brown, not green like Harry's.

For James this certainly wasn't okay because he started whining even louder. Harry sighed, and then saw that Hermione had come to join them today – this conjured a smile on his face.

"Hermione, you're up," he turned to his boy. "James, remember aunt Mione, I told you so much about her? She's your godmother…"

James now saw Hermione too, and his eyes widened, his whole body leaned into his father, looking for safety. Of course, she probably looked like a monster for the little boy.

Still, Hermione tried to smile.

"Hey, James," she said. "It's so nice to meet you."

Her voice must've sounded better than she looked because James no longer stared at her with fear, he seemed curious. He didn't remember her, and she didn't remember him. In this, they were equals.

Harry sat James at the table while Ron helped Hermione to her seat.

"I see you're feeling better," Harry said. "Up and about already."

"Doing nothing is really tedious," Hermione said.

"Healing is not tedious, it should be your priority," Harry responded more seriously.

"I just really wanted to see everybody else. Where's Ginny?"

She needn't have asked because Harry nodded his head looking behind her. Hermione turned around and saw her – Ginny had outgrown all signs of girlishness that were ever on her. Her outfit was simple, yet practical, her red hair tied into a low ponytail. Overall, she looked tired, yet satisfied, befitting a young mother. But there were two things that made Hermione feel… some type of way. First, Ginny was pregnant. From what Hermione could tell, about six months along. Secondly, she now looked like she saw a Boggart. Ginny looked Hermione up and down with her eyes blown wide and her mouth agape. Hermione knew she looked awful, but she didn't expect that kind of reaction. Ginny seemed close to tears.

"Hermione…" Ginny said her name with a shaky voice.

"Hi…"

Ginny gasped and her hand flew to her mouth as if she wanted to scream but couldn't allow herself to, still staring at Hermione.

"Ginny," Harry said with warning in his tone – Hermione couldn't decipher the message behind it, too focused on Ginny's shock.

"I'm sorry…" Ginny choked out. And bolted out of the kitchen.

Hermione turned to Harry, feeling sick to her stomach.

Harry's face was grim. "I'll go talk to her," he said, exiting in the direction Ginny had run.

Hermione didn't know how he was going to talk Ginny into not feeling shocked while looking at her. She regretted leaving her bedroom.

Yet James was eating his food and looking at her curiously.

"Don't worry, mummy cries a lot when daddy and uncle Ron talk about you, aunt Mione."

Hermione blinked. "I must look very scary to your mummy, James."

The boy only shrugged. "You're not scary. I once was so sick I was green. But I got better. You will too."

She tried to smile. "I hope so."

"And mummy always—" James began.

"James, eat your veggies," Ron scolded him.

The boy gave Ron a look but listened. They both ate. Hermione, however, couldn't swallow any of the food.

Harry and Ginny came back fifteen minutes later. Ginny was avoiding Hermione's gaze, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Harry's face, on the other hand, was hard as stone.

They ate in silence. It was so tense that Hermione managed to ignore the pain slowly creeping up her spine from all the unexpected physical exertion. When everyone ate, Harry spoke to Ron, "I need your help with something. Ginny, stay with Hermione for a few hours, okay?"

Ginny looked at him with big eyes.

Hermione began, "Oh, no, that's not necessary— "

"It is," Harry said. "Someone needs to be by your side at all times in case something happens. That's what Padma said."

"Okay…" Ginny said quietly.

They were left alone. Ginny took James on her lap, probably to avoid looking at Hermione, busying herself with her son instead. Hermione felt like someone was squeezing her heart to the point of bursting the blood vessels there.

"I'm sorry I reacted like that when I saw you," Ginny apologized quietly, her eyes anywhere but on Hermione.

"I don't blame you. I don't look my best; we can both admit that."

It took Ginny great effort to look up. Her eyes immediately filled with tears once more when she saw her friend's bruised face.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry you suffered through that…" she repeated.

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

They sat there awkwardly, James looking at Hermione from time to time, but mostly just busy playing with his toy train.

"I missed out on so much," Hermione said. "James grew up, and I don't even remember him being born. You're pregnant again…"

Something resembling a smile twisted Ginny's mouth. "Yes…" she managed out.

"How far along are you?" Hermione asked, looking at her swollen belly.

"Five months. Six in a week."

Hermione looked at pregnant Ginny and felt emptier inside than she felt before. There was a void in her insides that ached with want, but she had nothing to fill it. A sense of loss, of something tragically abandoned overcame her. She was jealous, she realized. She wanted what Ginny had. Not rationally, no – how could anyone want to have a newborn baby and a toddler amidst the war? Her need was instinctual. A need one can only know once they've lost what they had.

"I want a baby brother," James felt the need to put in.

Hermione smiled. "I wanted a sibling when I was little too. I didn't even care if it was going to be a girl or a boy. I just wanted someone to play with."

James looked up at her. "I can play with you."

"That would be lovely, but I'm afraid I don't feel well enough for playing. Maybe in a few weeks we can play some fun games," Hermione told him.

"Do you remember… anything? From that time?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I wish I remembered something, anything that could help Harry identify that man… But there's nothing. He did his work well."

Ginny's face twisted again. "I'm sorry…" she kept repeating and Hermione no longer knew how to respond to those apologies. So, she didn't.

"Mummy, can I go play outside?" James asked.

"No, you can't," Ginny answered firmly, her voice unwavering for the first time since Hermione heard her speak today.

"But why not?"

"Because it's cold, James. And I cannot watch over you."

It was November, as Hermione found out only last night. The seasons wasn't much of a bother since she was going to spend all of her time inside, but she desperately wanted to get out too.

"I can watch over you, James? Would you like that? I can't promise any games at all, but I can be with you."

James beamed. Ginny wasn't convinced.

"I don't think that's a good idea. If something happens, Harry said—"

But James jumped off his mother's lap and went straight for Hermione's hand, grabbing it and dragging her out of her chair.

"Slow down, I'm a sick granny, treat me like one!" Hermione said.

She stood up from the chair, ignoring the pain. She needed to move a bit, that was a fact. One little trip outside couldn't hurt.

"It's okay," she told Ginny.

"You can sit on the bench while I play, aunt Mione," James said.

He grabbed his toy broom. Ginny sighed but dressed him up in warm clothes.

"I could give you my winter coat from… before I was pregnant, obviously," Ginny said.

All buckled up, Hermione and James went outside. It was gloomy and foggy but didn't snow. The puddles had turned into ice though, so the temperature must've been below zero. She breathed in the freezing air and it calmed her a bit. The cold relieved some of the constant aching in her body.

They went a few steps behind the house which she had never seen in the colder seasons because she used to only spend her summers here, and only until she began attending Hogwarts, but she did vaguely recognize the old brick building, wrapped with vines all over it. They found a bench behind it and Hermione sat down while James hopped on his toy broom and started zooming in circles.

"So you don't remember who hurt you, aunt Mione?" James began the tirade of his questions.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Uncle Ron said that once he finds out who did it, he's gonna skin them alive!"

Hermione was grim. "That sounds like something uncle Ron would say." She didn't know why that thought came to her. From what she remembered, and that was very little, Ron didn't have a tendency to violence.

But this was war.

Since James asked such morbid questions, it was very clear he was a child of that war. In the most literal sense.

"Do other people come here often, James?" she asked. "Your other uncles, for example?"

James was still zooming on his broom, his voice going louder and quieter while he circled around.

"Uncle Bill comes almost every week. Aunt Fleur comes too, but very rarely. Uncle Bill usually talks with daddy and when aunt Fleur brings Victoire with her, she keeps annoying me, so I like when uncle Bill comes alone."

"Is Victoire your cousin?"

"Uhuh," James said, his cheeks red from the cold and the exercise.

"How old is she?"

James showed her four fingers with one hand, carefully balancing the broom with the other.

"And you don't like her?"

"She's very mean. She says she doesn't like my mummy and doesn't like my daddy and doesn't like uncle Ron… So she's very mean. And she doesn't like me."

"Now why would she say that?"

James shrugged. "I don't know. She probably won't like you when she comes to see you. But don't worry, aunt Mione, I will kick her if she calls you a bad word."

"I don't think kicking is necessary, James. We need to talk about the things we disagree on."

James only beamed at her.

"What about your other uncles?" Hermione asked. "Do they come to visit?"

"What other uncles?" the boy frowned.

Hermione's heart sank. She knew what that meant. She realized she never asked how many Weasleys survived the war until now. She had her answer. Almost.

"And your grandparents?" she asked in a muffled voice.

"Grandma never comes. She stays in her flat all the time. Mummy and I go to visit her sometimes, but not a lot. Mummy promised we'll go to her flat on Christmas."

Hermione's mood was soured. "That's wonderful…"

She didn't know whom to grieve first – George, Charlie, Percy, Mr. Weasley? Even Fred's death was still fresh in her mind. It hit her like a pile of bricks, all those losses. All at once.

She stared at the frozen puddle, looking at her own devastated reflection in it.

She lost control.

Her body didn't listen.

It was falling, bending, breaking in half despite the pain, despite the injuries. Her eyes rolled back in her skull, and this time there was no one to stop her from hitting the cold ground. She felt the pain, she felt the cold of the hard ground, but couldn't do anything. She couldn't move. She couldn't scream. She didn't see anything. Her body was convulsing, her arms and legs twisting into unnatural positions. Her throat was closing in. Her teeth chattered, biting her own tongue until it bled. She heard James hysterically shout her name, and then she didn't hear even that.

Hermione's staring at her own devastated reflection in the ice. She is running but can't continue. The lake is completely frozen over, and the ice is black and clear as glass, illuminated by the moonlight. She's staring at her own eyes, widened in horror. It's over. They have lost. She ran and ran and ran, trying to distract him, but he has finally caught up with her.

The moonlight is gone in a split second. Above her head the reflection on the ice shows a ginormous beast, flapping its wings and letting out a deafening roar. It flies to the ground. He hops off the back of the beast, more monstrous than his pet. He's wearing all black, and that infamous Death Eater mask. He's stalking towards her. Hermione should run, but she cannot. She stands. Not looking back. Staring at the refection. If she doesn't see it, it isn't real.

The Death Eater is right behind her. He will drag her with him, or he will command his dragon to burn her.

He does neither.

He pushes her into the freezing water.

—glitch—

Her head hits the ice so hard it breaks through it. Icy water splashes against her nostrils, and then slowly starts to fill her lungs. Her spine isn't broken because she feels everything, every single icy needle that hits her flesh.

Darkness.

—glitch—

She's somewhere else. He took her to a place, to a building she couldn't recognize.

The surrounding room is a blur.

There is only him.

He stalks towards her like a predator. Hermione is trying to move away, but she's scared to disappear inside the blur that is all around her, she touches it, and it feels slimy. Whatever that substance is, the feeling disgusts her to her core. Even more than he disgusts her.

He grabs her by the back of her head. She looks at him defiantly. He takes of his mask. She sees him.

His face is a blur.

He's smiling with his sharp white teeth.

—glitch—

Does he hate her?

No. It's nothing personal. That's the worst part.

He's not a person, she thinks. He's not even an animal. He's something else completely.

A monster.

Worse.

He brought her with him to torture her. Death would be a mercy now.

He won't give her that.

—glitch—

He leans in and bites out a chunk of flesh in her neck. She almost doesn't register the pain.

Almost.

—glitch—

He pushes her body into him as if he wants to consume her like one cell consumes another. She isn't even trying to get away from him, he scares her too much.

He whispers right into her ear, quiet and menacing, "I'm going to break you in, Mudblood. I'll break you until there's nothing left of you."

He turns her around and rips apart her clothes.

His grip on her body is like a vice. He leaves bruises everywhere he touches. And he touches her everywhere.

She cries at first. Then she doesn't. She doesn't know how to cry anymore.

He enters her with no mercy, she tries to scream, but he stifles her mouth with his hand, gloved with leather. She chokes on the tears that never come; on the screams she never gets to let out.

It lasts forever. A never-ending torture. She's bleeding, but he doesn't stop. He wants to hurt her, and he gets pleasure out of it. She heard his huffed breathing as he came close. She shivered violently in his arms.

After he's done, he will probably send her back to show everyone what he does to those he deems lesser than him.

—glitch—

After he's done, he throws her on the ground like a dog. He locks her up. He leaves her naked, bleeding on his tile floor.

He will never let her out.

But she doesn't cry.

She wonders if someone will come to her rescue.

You can't break. You promised you wouldn't break.

—glitch—

Then there was Darkness.