Hermione's fingers trembled as she grasped the cool metal of the Great Hall's door handle. Laughter and chatter muffled by the thick wood drifted towards her. It was a strange contrast to the loud pounding of her heart.. She sucked in a deep breath, willing her racing pulse to slow.
"You can do this," she whispered to herself. With a final moment of hesitation, she pushed open the door.
The wave of noise hit her like a physical force. Laughter, music, the clinking of glasses – it all swirled around her, threatening to sweep her away. Hermione blinked rapidly, her eyes darting from face to face as she scanned the room.
And there – Hermione's breath caught – were Harry and Ron.
They stood together, heads bent close in conversation, grins plastered across their faces. Something twisted in Hermione's chest, a sharp ache that made her want to curl in on herself.
Why couldn't she feel that? That easy joy, that relief?
Hermione's fingers found their way to her forearm, tracing the raised lines of her scars through the thin fabric of her robes. The phantom pain flared, and suddenly she was back in Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix's mad cackle ringing in her ears.
She sucked in a shaky breath, forcing herself back to the present. This was supposed to be a celebration. They had won. So why did she feel like she was drowning?
The crowd seemed to press in around her, bodies too close, voices too loud. Hermione's eyes darted from exit to exit, mapping escape routes even as she tried to calm her racing heart.
"Just breathe," she murmured, clenching her fists at her sides. "You're safe. It's over."
But was it ever really over?
She took a hesitant step forward, then another. Her eyes kept being drawn back to Harry and Ron. Should she join them? The thought sent a spike of anxiety through her. What would she say? How could she explain the maelstrom of emotions churning inside her when they looked so... happy?
Even though they were standing close, Hermione felt a huge gap between them. It grew bigger with each day since the final fight. She wanted things to be normal again. But she couldn't say what was wrong. Every time she tried, the words got stuck in her throat.
Suddenly, a loud laugh made Hermione jump. Her hand instinctively went for her wand.
The curse flew from her wand, a blinding streak of crimson light. She held her breath as she watched it arc through the air, time seeming to slow. The Death Eater's eyes widened in shock, his own spell dying on his lips as Hermione's struck him square in the chest.
He crumpled, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
Hermione's hand trembled, her wand still raised. The battle raged around her, but for a moment, all she could see was the fallen Death Eater. His mask had slipped, revealing a face younger than she'd expected. A face that would haunt her dreams.
"Hermione, duck!"
Harry's voice snapped her back to reality. She dropped to the ground just as a jet of green light soared over her head. The acrid smell of smoke and magic filled her nostrils as she rolled, coming up with her wand at the ready.
"Protego!" The shield charm burst from her lips, deflecting another curse. Her heart hammered against her ribs, blood roaring in her ears.
Ron appeared at her side, his face streaked with dirt and blood. "We need to fall back!"
Hermione nodded, her throat too tight for words. They retreated, firing spells over their shoulders as they ran. The sound of pursuit nipped at their heels, curses flying past them—
The champagne flute slipped from Hermione's fingers, shattering on the stone floor of the Great Hall. She blinked, disoriented, as the sounds of battle faded and the chatter of celebration rushed back in.
"Whoa there, Hermione!" Neville's concerned face swam into focus. "You alright?"
Hermione's mouth opened and closed, words failing her. She stared at the shards of glass at her feet, the spilled champagne a pale imitation of spilled blood.
"I... I'm fine," she managed, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. "Just... clumsy."
Neville's brow furrowed, but before he could press further, Hermione turned away. She pushed through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and concerned murmurs that followed in her wake.
The walls of the Great Hall seemed to close in around her, the very air growing thick and oppressive. Hermione's breath came in short, sharp gasps as she searched frantically for an escape.
There – an alcove, shrouded in shadows. She stumbled towards it, her legs threatening to give out beneath her.
The cool stone against her back was an anchor, grounding her in the present even as her mind threatened to drag her back to that battlefield. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against her temples.
"It's over," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You're safe. It's over."
But the words rang hollow. How could it be over when she could still smell the acrid stench of dark magic? When she could still feel the weight of her wand, slick with sweat and blood? The face of that wizard, lying in a pool of his blood.
A sob clawed its way up her throat, and Hermione bit down on her knuckles to stifle it. She couldn't break down here, not with everyone watching. She was Hermione Granger, war hero, brightest witch of her age. She was supposed to be strong.
But strength felt like a distant memory as the faces of the fallen flashed before her eyes. Fred's lifeless body, Tonks and Lupin lying side by side, that young Death Eater crumpling to the ground...
With a shaky exhale, she stepped out of the shadows and back into the light of the Great Hall.
Everywhere Hermione looked, there were people. It made her head spin. Laughter bounced off the ceiling, mixed with the clinking of glasses and people talking quietly. Hermione scanned the crowd, hoping to see someone she knew, someone who wouldn't make her feel overwhelmed by all the happiness.
There. Harry and Ginny, their heads bent close in animated discussion. Hermione's feet carried her forward before her mind could catch up. But as she drew closer, doubt crept in. Their smiles were so bright, so full of joy.
She hesitated, one foot poised to retreat. But then Harry's eyes found hers, and his face lit up with a smile that chased away the shadows, if only for a moment.
"Hermione! There you are. We've been looking for you." His arms enveloped her in a gentle hug, and Hermione felt a lump form in her throat. She wanted to melt into his embrace, to let his warmth chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. But her body remained rigid, her arms rising to return the hug a beat too late.
"It's so good to see you!" Ginny's voice was bright, her eyes shining. "We were worried you might not come."
Hermione's lips curved into shaky smile. "I'm sorry, I just needed a moment to myself. It's all a bit... overwhelming." The words somehow felt wrong.
Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. "It's alright, we get it," Ginny said softly, reaching out to squeeze Hermione's hand.
Did they? Did they really understand?
"So, Hermione," Harry's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Have you given any thought to what you want to do now? The Ministry's practically begging us to join up, but I thought I might take some time off first."
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but just as quickly closed it. What did she want to do? The question loomed over her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. Once, she'd had it all planned out. Finish her N.E.W.T.s, join the Ministry, change the world. But now...
"I... I'm not sure," she admitted. "I thought about going back to Hogwarts, finishing my education properly. But..."
But the thought of walking those halls again, of sitting in classrooms where she'd once fought for her life, made her stomach churn.
"Hey, there's no rush," Ginny said, her voice gentle. "We've all got time now."
Time. The word echoed in Hermione's mind. They had time because they'd won. Because others had sacrificed everything to give them this future. The weight of it pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Hermione!" Ron's voice cut through the crowd, and Hermione tensed. He appeared at her side, a cup of firewhisky in hand and a lopsided grin on his face. Before she could react, he leaned in, his gaze dropping to her lips.
Hermione jerked back. Ron's jaw clenched, the smile he'd been holding faltering into a frown.
His hand found the small of her back, and Hermione felt herself go rigid. "Hey, I been waiting for you," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "You look beautiful tonight."
"Ron, please," Hermione hissed, stepping out of his reach. The hurt in his eyes twisted like a knife in her gut, but she couldn't bear his touch. Not now. Maybe not ever again. That kiss, born of desperation and fear in the heat of battle, had been a mistake. She loved Ron, but not like that. Never like that.
"Is everything alright?" Harry asked, his eyes darting between them.
"Fine," Hermione said, too quickly. "Everything's fine. I just... I need some air."
She turned, ready to flee, but Ginny's hand on her arm stopped her. "Hermione, wait. You know you can talk to us, right? About anything."
Hermione met Ginny's honest gaze. For a moment, she was tempted to let it all spill out. The nightmares that plagued her sleep, the guilt that gnawed at her waking hours, the fear that she'd never feel whole again.
But as she opened her mouth, all that came out was a choked, "I know. Thank you."She pulled away, ignoring the concerned calls of her friends as she pushed through the crowd. The weight of their gazes burned into her back, but she didn't turn around. She couldn't bear to see the worry in their eyes, the pity.