Chapter Text
Four months. Four short, measly months were all it took for the walls of Hogwarts to stand tall and stable once more, for each and every magical room to be restored and refurbished, for the castle to be filled with the echoing voices of the somewhat friendly ghosts that haunted the school's halls. After standing in mountains of rubble that'd once been whole towers within the castle, it was almost inane to think that in just four month's time, the great hall would be full of gleeful, noisy students - some new, some old - who, for one reason or another, would be overwhelmed by the excitement of being stood within those grand castle walls - whether it be due to returning to normalcy, or kickstarting their life as a practising witch or wizard. Classrooms that'd formerly been unrecognisable would be occupied once again by professors and their eager pupils, as though they'd never been empty.
It was symbolic, really; a beacon of hope. Every single wizard and witch in Great Britain knew that Hogwarts was in the process of being rebuilt since day 1; in fact, most of them had contributed a large amount of money to the school. Almost all of the magical folk who knew of the building were practically desperate to see it back to its original condition, for there was little happiness in the Scottish Highlands without the presence of the students milling around Hogsmeade on most weekends. Especially since the battle that had taken place just a few months before; a battle which had, unforgettably, resulted in many lives lost. The atmosphere was still tense in both Scotland and its neighbouring countries, for nobody knew what else lurked around the corner. Many towns and areas had been raided by death eaters in attempts to gather new recruits, so the wizarding part of the country still radiated dark energy.
The people, however, had given up on tending to the wounds of the past, and were focusing on allowing their scars to fade away in their own time. They tried to live out their lives as normal, but they knew that normal was hardly even a thing anymore. Witches and wizards had stopped jumping at the mention of particular names, and they could stroll through the streets more freely now, without screaming in fear when a nearby door opened either too quickly or too slowly. Despite all of this, however, memories of what the world used to be like were still a heavy weight that people had to carry around with them on their shoulders. It was worse for some people - just the smallest words or movements were a constant reminder of the blood spilled and the bones broken in the courtyard that night, and in the rest of the UK beforehand.
Hermione was, perhaps, having one of the most difficult times of all, though she rarely showed it - and, if she did, nobody was there to see it. Especially since she'd spent three of those four months in Australia, searching for her parents. It'd been a long and exhausting task, but eventually, she'd found them living in a small but cosy home in Queensland. As the ministry had already developed a spell to retrieve a person's memories, the process was quite simple - the aftermath, however, was not. The witch wasn't sure that she'd ever greet another person so tearfully again.
To her dismay, however, there was little time available to be spent on catching up with her family. The rumors that Hogwarts was soon to be open again had, over time, become facts. And, her being her education-oriented self (a polite way to put it, contrary to the names she was often called due to her profound ambition), going back to school for a repeat of her seventh year was the one thing she looked forward to the most. She'd still be around her parents for a few more days, but after that, they'd be nothing but a few letters per month until Christmas.
Her Mum and Dad were fine with this. They knew how important education was to her, and they refused to stand in the way of her dreams when they were already well aware of just how many obstacles she'd faced. So, around half-way through the month of August, they felt like they had no choice but to let her go. And, so they did, with the bittersweet reminder that it was temporary this time, at least.
As perfect as the reunion with her biological family was, Hermione was eager to return to the comforting familiarity of the burrow, her safe place throughout the darkest years of her life. Molly and Arthur possessed a quality that, though she felt guilty for thinking it, her real parents did not: a sense of understanding. Divulging the horrors of the war and the events surrounding it weren't exactly first on her bucket list, considering the fact that becoming accustomed to her magical lifestyle was difficult enough without the added stress of learning that their child had battled some of the darkest wizards and witches of all time, and been tortured on the floor of a mansion for her blood status.
The Weasleys, on the other hand... for lack of a better way to phrase it, just got it. The girl didn't even have to spill her heart out about the feeling of dread that built up in her gut when she saw a chandelier, having spent her ten minutes of pain staring up at the one in Malfoy Manor. Nor did she have to disclose her night terrors, the sweat positively pouring from her forehead several times a week because she just wasn't strong enough to deal with what she'd witnessed.
She hadn't even had to explain herself when she had the overwhelming urge to break things off with their youngest son, leaving him utterly crushed. Despite the long days of him moping around their house before retreating to the darkness of his bedroom, they never once laid the blame on Hermione. Their silence was aimed to be comforting, but, in reality, it only intensified her guilt.
Because, really, it was her fault, since Ron hadn't done a thing wrong. It was what wasn't right that was the matter. Their kiss in the chamber of secrets felt fake, almost staged. There was no audience, but Hermione felt like she'd had to, as if the world was expecting it. Plus, in the heat of the moment, overwhelmed with those countless emotions, it was instinct.
She had her own theory, of course. Wearing a horcrux for a prolonged amount of time always elicited anger and frustration from the person, so when the pair had stabbed Hufflepuff's cup with the basilisk fang, it had the opposite effect, and instead they felt a surge of love, in all its intensity.
Apparently, Ron was hardly impacted by these feelings as he'd harboured his own for a while, and whilst Hermione had tried her utmost hardest to reciprocate them, they were unrequited and, in the end, she decided that forcing herself was unhealthy.
Initially, he seemed to take it well. It went against his very nature but he sat calmly, when she told him, blinking in silence, only piping up every now and then to ask for her to elaborate in her explanation. But, as soon as the words "I hope you can forgive me. I love you, just not in the way you want" had escaped her lips, he'd wordlessly turned on his heel and hidden himself away in his room, maintaining that unspoken vow of silence towards her since that moment.
It broke her heart to have broken his. Destroying his hopes wasn't exactly at the top of her bucket list after a year of pain and chaos, but it was the better alternative to lying to him and preventing him from finding a witch who he truly suited. Now, that, despite what Ron might think, was the selfish option.
Because, in spite of what the media conveyed, they really were a match made in hell. Ron was calmer, less serious, and floated through life with no aim other than to probably get a decent job? Hermione, on the other hand, was assertive, driven, and, quite frankly, was beyond desperate to achieve her goals. That one particular pairing had convinced her that opposites did not attract, not in the slightest. Their most passionate conversations consisted of either the redhead insisting that quidditch was "the most important part of society since magic schools became a thing", or Hermione berating him for regarding magical creatures in a derogatory way.
How Ron had thought they'd live a happy life together, she had no idea. Hopefully, her explanation and his weeks of dwelling on it only improved his standards, because they simply didn't work well together. It was more of a brother-sister relationship, she'd thought.
So, returning to the burrow after her expedition to Australia (which was another thing she felt guilty about, as she'd spilled the news to Ron and then left the country not two days later) was most likely going to be uncomfortable. She could've skipped it and pretended she was still away right up until the school year began again, but then she'd be missing out on seeing Harry, and Ginny, and Molly and Arthur.
At least she wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness of being near Ron in school. Harry had owled her to inform her that, aside from Ginny, she would be very much alone in her return to Hogwarts, since re-attending their final year was optional for the older classes anyway.
As a result of this, Ron had chosen to extend what was meant to be a summer job at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, rather than go back to Hogwarts. This was most likely just so that George would have company, since he wasn't used to being on his own, but Hermione figured that Ron wasn't too keen on going back to school anyway, since he wasn't exactly an ambitious person.
And, as for Harry, he'd gained a taste for saving the world, apparently, and had been recruited as an Auror-in-training by the ministry. This, he didn't even need to mention in the letter. Hermione had been eager to explore the magic side of Australia, and the news that The Boy Who Lived was training to be an Auror was front page news on every wizarding paper she could see.
She was proud of her best friend, really, she was, and Ginny was amazing company, but it really wouldn't be the same without him. And Ron, of course, but they were in a particularly rough patch, so with or without Hogwarts, they wouldn't reach normalcy again for a long time.
Perhaps this was a good thing? Everyone grew up and became distant from their childhood friends, whether they'd fought entire wars with them or not. These were baby steps towards gaining independence, formulating what would soon become her adult life. Perhaps they soon wouldn't have time to blow a ridiculous amount of galleons at Honeyduke's, or just sit and talk for hours in the Hog's Head. They'd have jobs and responsibilities, and maybe a little separation from "The Golden Trio" was a glimpse at what her future would be like. A better alternative to everything suddenly being flipped upside down at graduation, anyway.
Her internal debate on what the future held for everyone went on right until she reached the Weasleys' doorstep, and her heart sank at the unfamiliar silence that lingered behind the door, contrary to what used to be laughing and light scolding and friendly chatter. Sometimes she forgot that it wasn't just Mr and Mrs Weasley mourning a child. Everyone else there was mourning a brother, or a friend, and they were generally grieving for the simplicity of life before Voldemort rose again.
Inhaling shakily in preparation, she rapped on the door three times. While she'd once walked right in and made herself at home, a combination of her lone journey to another continent and the bleakness of a post-war England meant she just wasn't comfortable with waltzing in and pretending everything was normal, because would it ever be, really?
The door creaked open a tiny bit and the face of Percy Weasley appeared in the cap, his tight expression relaxing when he set his eyes on a familiar face.
"It's Hermione," he called out over his shoulder as he opened the door wider, and she looked past Percy and saw Bill tuck his wand away. It'd been months, and people were still on edge. Her heart sank further.
"Hi, err, I probably should've given you some notice bef- oomph." she was interrupted by the comforting embrace of the Weasley matriarch, and as the surprise wore off she leaned into the woman's arms. She'd never let her own mother hear it, but Molly easily gave the best hugs in the world. For a brief few seconds, the pain of seeing such misery in the household was washed away, until the older witch drew back and Hermione couldn't help but notice how pale she was. Though her eyes sparkled with joy at seeing the brunette on her doorstep, the corners of her mouth didn't quite reach them as she smiled.
"No need to apologise, dear, you know you're always welcome, and this makes a wonderful surprise! Happy to have you home, Hermione." Molly beamed, and the younger witch warmed to hear her describe it as 'home'. It was the closest thing she had to it, now (if you didn't count Hogwarts). Her parents had sold her childhood abode after she'd obliviated them, and she could hardly count their bungalow in Australia as being home, not when it didn't hold a single trace of familiarity.
"Still, I could've been anyone," she noted with a nervous chuckle, discreetly referring to how tense the atmosphere had been before the family discovered her identity. "I'll make sure to owl ahead, next time."
"Nonsense," the redhead shook her head profusely, but she left it at that, which only indicated to Hermione that it would save the older woman a lot of stress, but she was simply too stubborn to admit it.
She followed Molly further into the Burrow towards the kitchen, where the table was seated with most of the Weasley clan and then some, all deep in conversation. That sweet aroma of apple crumble that she'd missed so much filled the air, one that was always present now due to Arthur's newfound love of the muggle dessert. Harry rocked a four-month-old Teddy on his knee as he quietly sang the nursery rhyme "row row row your boat", grinning as the toddler giggled uncontrollably. Catching Hermione's eye, his smile widened, and he carefully passed his godson to Ginny, who'd been having a fiery argument with Charlie about Quidditch.
"'Mione!" He exclaimed, rushing over to greet the witch with a hug, which caught the attention of the rest of the table.
"Hi, Harry! Everyone," she nodded her head, biting her lip anxiously. How would everyone else react to her return, anyway? She'd been gone for a good three months, and hadn't exactly given anyone much notice in advance, what with her desperation to escape the tension between Ron and herself.
To her surprise, though, she was met with a crushing group hug, orchestrated by George himself, who'd lately grown much more affectionate towards the rest of his family, as if to fill the void Fred had left in the house. Giggling as she was deafened with questions from every direction, she made a mildly unsuccessful attempt to kiss each of her assailants on the cheek, until they all eventually pulled away and actually gave her room to speak.
Whilst they all chattered amongst themselves about how Charlie was excited to tell her about the new breed of dragon and George wanted to test out one of his new joke shop products on Hermione but shh don't tell her, her eyes scanned the group for a specific head of red hair until they met Harry's, who gave her a pained shake of the head.
"Still?" she asked quietly, though she was almost drowned out anyway by the sudden outburst of conversation.
"He comes out every couple of hours for a bit, and he seems perfectly fine when he does, but then his face just drops randomly and he goes back upstairs." The raven-haired boy mumbled, and she felt that same pang of guilt that hit her every time she thought of him.
"But... it's been months."
"Hermione, for the brightest witch of her age, you really can be so clueless." Harry shook his head. "For almost the entirety of our horcrux hunt, he'd felt something. It wasn't just a spur of the moment thing, for him. He'd been building up to it for ages."
The brunette gathered that he'd had many conversations with his girlfriend about this, because this seemed more like Ginny's language than his, but she didn't comment on it.
She didn't say anything else, but just gave him a sad smile as Charlie came over and bet her three whole galleons that she couldn't guess which two dragons they'd cross-bred to create this new form, and Merlin wasn't it a beauty.
"With all due respect, brother," Ginny butted in, "but I doubt 'Mione will give a brown niffler's ass about your silly flying thing when she learns that I'm being scouted for the Holyhead Harpies." She puffed out her chest with pride and stuck her tongue out at the oldest Weasley sibling when he rolled his eyes.
"Err, technically Gin, if you're really going to be a chaser then you'll be the second silly flying thing. The only difference is, one of you can breathe fire, so I know which one I'd rather hear about."
The younger witch's eyes narrowed, and she bit back, "you know what? You're right. Chasers are silly, Charlie dear." And, when he crossed his arms and nodded smugly, she continued. "I might just go down the beater route instead, but mind you, I'm not too experienced in that area, so I wouldn't be too surprised if I accidentally hit that bludger right at your bum."
The group roared with laughter, and Hermione smiled to herself, thankful for the change in scenery from the either stilted or tearful conversations with her parents. And to think, ten minutes earlier, she'd been worried that her second family were all miserable, still. Clearly a lot had happened in those three months.
"Oh, Hermione, dear," Molly ushered her over, and the brunette thought, Merlin, this is it, here comes the lecture for destroying her son's heart before leaving without so much as a "toodaloo!" and then coming back with no word of warning. But the smile never left the ginger's face, even when she led Hermione into the living room and handed her an envelope stamped with the Hogwarts emblem.
"It's for you. I hope you don't mind, but since I already knew of your plans to go back to school, I informed Minerva about it when she came asking. Must've been doing a quick check before she sent out the official letters." Hermione took the envelope with a soft smile and a nod of thanks.
"Ginevra's came too, but yours is significantly thicker than hers. I assumed, at first, that maybe it's because you're in the year above her and require more supplies, but-"
"Headmistress McGonagall already notified the student body that both the new and old seventh years would have the same curriculum, and mix in the same classes, so that can't be right!" Hermione exclaimed, and opened her mouth to apologise for her interruption, but Molly seemed to know what she was going to say and waved it away with her hand.
"Exactly. Arthur and I have been most confused about it." And the girl heard the underlying "please open it in front of me to satiate my curiosity". Despite her older age, she really was one for gossip, and Hermione had to suppress a giggle at her failed attempt at concealing her desperation.
"Well, feel free to stay here while I read it, I know just as much as you." The older woman clapped her hands in excitement as Hermione slid her finger between the seal of the envelope, and pulled out her supply list, the annual welcome back note, and a new piece of parchment. Deciding to skim read the other two later, she unfurled the third and read aloud:
Dear Miss H.J. Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that, after careful consideration, you have been selected as Head Girl for the duration of this school year. This duty involves choosing prefects, awarding and deducting house points, and being on the organisation committee for school dances and events, amongst other responsibilities that we shall discuss at a later date.
We ensure you that this will in no way disrupt your education, and that your duties will be scarce and shall still leave you with plenty of time to study and socialise.
Please go directly to the Heads' carriage (2nd carriage from the front) on the Hogwarts Express when the time to board comes, where I will be willing to listen to any queries, discuss any potential wishes to decline the position, and you will meet the Head Boy, Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy.
We look forward to your return.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Both witches blinked in disbelief at the letter, and Hermione must've already read it four times over when Molly erupted with a string of language so foul that it was almost more astonishing than the identity of her fellow Head.
"Draco bloody- Arthur! Come read this!"
Her husband shuffled into the living room, a bewildered look already plastered on his face.
"Mol, did you know this? Muggles have this strange invention called silly putty, and it amuses them for hours on end. Guess what it is! A little squishy blob that makes funny sounds sometimes. That's all it takes! Honestly! Fascinating people." When he saw his wife's dumbfounded expression, he cleared his throat as if he'd said nothing and sat beside her, his eyes widening as if to say oo, so this is that letter Hermione received that we've been wondering about for weeks!
When he finished, he raised a hand to his forehead and shook his head, a frown appearing on his lips.
"It astounds me how that boy was allowed back into Hogwarts in the first place, let alone to run it."
"Maybe it's a mistake," Hermione offered, but her attempt at reassuring the couple was feeble, because McGonagall simply didn't make mistakes.
"It's appalling, that's what it is. Honestly Hermione, if I didn't have more respect for the woman, I'd-"
"Mum?" Bill popped his head around the door, and George, then Harry, then the rest of the house followed suit, and soon there was a mass uproar that Hermione would be forced to converse and share a dorm with a renowned Death Eater - one that had bullied her for almost a decade, no less.
She didn't really mind, if she was being wholly honest. Not only had she built up an immunity to the scathing insults and ignorant slurs, but if she'd thought that was bad, she wouldn't have been able to even halfway describe the horrors of the wizarding war. The twisted mindset of an 18-year-old meant little to her, now, and she already knew that McGonagall wouldn't stand for such behaviour, anyway, and must've had a reason to give Malfoy such a position. Still, she let the group have their rants without so much as a grim nod, because insisting that it'd all be fine would only make them more protective.
"Merlin's saggy left ballsack, I've not heard a racket this loud since Teddy was only a newborn, what the bloody- oh."
Besides, why try to calm a commotion when an awkward reunion with your ex-boyfriend can do it for you?
Silence fell upon the room, as everyone suddenly became fascinated with the pattern on the floor. "Oh, Ron, dear... Hermione's back!" Molly announced gently, and Ron gave his mother a tight-lipped smile, which was closer to a grimace, really.
"I noticed." He retorted dryly, and Hermione winced. Apparently he'd switched from misery to anger, in her absence.
"Well... don't be rude, Ronald, I raised you better, say hello!"
Still, he maintained eye contact with his mother, not even acknowledging Hermione when he muttered a cold "hi". Thankfully, she didn't have to conjure up some half-arsed response, because he disappeared back up the stairs, leaving a frosty silence in his wake.
After a good twenty seconds of stillness, Fleur lilted, "Ahh! Bill, mon cœur, ze baby eez kicking!" and her husband rushed over with a grin on his face, pressing a hand to her swollen belly.
After a few moments, his smile faded. "I don't feel anything." Fleur merely shrugged at him.
"Oh, must 'ave been just once." She responded, shooting a wink in Hermione's direction, and the Gryffindor smiled, recognising it as a distraction to break the ice.
"Have you decided on a name yet?" Molly asked with a grin, having warmed to the witch in the past few months. Fleur glanced hesitantly at Bill, who smiled at her and nodded.
"We're thinking Victoire. It means victory, and, well..." he trailed off, clearly not too keen on elaborating, but Molly gasped in excitement nonetheless, kissing her son on the cheek and wrapping Fleur up in as tight a hug as she could manage without suffocating her bump.
"I love it! Little Victoire. Just think, in a couple of weeks, Teddy will have someone his own age to play with, instead of tormenting Errol and Crookshanks constantly."
The family all hummed in agreement, redirecting their attention to where Teddy lay, his shocking blue head of hair nestled against Ginny's neck as he snored softly. Hermione had to stop herself from imagining just what beautiful parents Lupin and Tonks would've made, lest she start crying in front of everybody.
"I think we should get this one back to his grandma's, actually, before Andromeda starts going batshit about us taking him away from her for too long," Ginny joked, retreating into the kitchen to make him a bottle in advance. Those lighthearted jokes about Andromeda's fierce maternal instincts were to cover up the fact that everyone knew she was only so passionate about Teddy because he was the only piece she had left of her daughter. Nobody had mentioned it, though, not since she'd shown her grandson a picture of Tonks and his hair turned that same startling shade of purple to match his mother's, and Andromeda had disappeared from the room in tears.
"Speaking of which, not to be cheeky or anything, but can I take my things up to your room, Gin? I'm drained, the international portkey meant I had to wake up at the most ridiculous hour of the morning." The redhead gave a wordless nod in response, in order to avoid waking the baby, and Hermione smiled back before hauling her trunk up the countless flights of stairs, praying all the while that she didn't have any more uncomfortable encounters with Ron in the hallway.
∼ ❈ ∽
The sudden cold, hard sensation of marble pressed against her back was what seemed to jolt her into consciousness, and muffled voices told her that she wasn't alone. If the fact that she was quite evidently sprawled across a floor wasn't enough to warn her that the company wasn't pleasant, the pungent odour of what could only be described as pure death said it all. Being unconscious had clearly saved her from harm so far, because aside from a nasty ache at the back of her head from where she'd clearly hit it off the marble, she felt relatively fine.
Naturally, she wasn't about to put herself at risk by giving away her conscious state, so she remained still, slowly becoming accustomed to her surroundings. The voices became louder, first, and then clearer, and she vaguely recognised that of Bellatrix Lestrange from the incident in the Department of Mysteries. Then Harry's voice echoed across the room, and, concluding that everyone's attention was directed elsewhere, she cracked open her eyes, spotting the severely deformed face of her best friend. The memories flooded back, and it took every ounce of willpower left within her to prevent herself from screaming.
"Draco... look closely, son." Came another voice that'd stuck with her since second year, at Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing, though this one was merely a shadow of it's old tone: softer, more pleading. The man stood facing her general direction but didn't notice her stir, his gaze fixated on that of his son's, as he scanned Harry's face.
Her stinging hex had faltered immensely, she knew that for sure. Both poor direction and long distance had meant, although it'd throw the death eater's off, his face was no different aside from being slightly lumpy. They were damned. A boy who'd once marched around school with a box of badges with Harry's face plastered on them wouldn't be fooled by a silly charm.
"I... I can't be sure." And the severity of her situation was forgotten as her eyes flew open in bewilderment to rest on the pained, pallid face of the classmate she so loathed. This was a first. Aside from that swift punch she'd served him a few years prior, and the ferret incident, she'd never seen him look so weak.
And... pardon, but did she just hear him say he wasn't SURE that it was Harry? The Malfoy she knew and hated would've jumped at the opportunity to be rid of him, and she could see in his eyes that he knew, oh he knew. Plus, even if he didn't want to give Harry up, for whatever reason... where was the abhorrent cockroach that buckled under the pressure of murdering his headmaster? Why was he willing to do that, and not simply confirm the identity of someone he hated anyway?
As if reading her mind, his gaze snapped to hers, and his expression slipped briefly into one that was unreadable, before the shrill voice that had once been drowned out by her deep contemplation suddenly became a lot louder, and Hermione quickly became aware that she was quite obviously awake, now.
Before she had time to process what the mad witch was even saying, she was pinned to the marble, the sharp tips of Bellatrix's fingernails piercing her wrists and their faces so close together that Hermione could feel her breath on her cheek, as she turned her head to avoid eye contact. Those same nails gripped her chin, however, and forced the Gryffindor's head forward to face her, eyes glistening with insanity. Scabior, she could deal with, but in this case she knew that, if it was what Lestrange wanted, she'd never stand from this floor again.
"That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringott's." The woman's tone was a bizarre combination of seething and blithe, and Hermione couldn't help but flinch at the way it grated in her ear. "How did you get it? What else did you and your friends take from my vault?"
"I didn't take anything. Please." The girl had always prided herself in her resilience, but now simply wasn't a time to feign bravery. She couldn't even find the strength to care when tears pricked in her eyes at the mere closeness of the madwoman, sliding down her cheeks and eliciting a gleeful giggle from the delinquent.
From her position, she couldn't see neither Harry nor Ron. Voldemort had yet to make an appearance, but since this was his makeshift home for the time being, she doubted that it'd be long. Not one of them had their wands, since she'd distinctly recalled Malfoy scurrying to collect them from the floor, and she was certain that apparating would be impossible since a manor like this would surely have several wards around it. For the first time in her life, Hermione Jean Granger was stuck.
Then came the pain. She hadn't even noticed the woman on top of her draw out a dagger, nor did she notice her redirect her attention to her bare forearm. Lost in her own fearful thoughts, she was oblivious to the witch's advances until her skin was pierced, and to her immediate horror, a cry of anguish escaped her lips.
Watching her writhe in discomfort was one thing. Shedding a tear or two was likely something they'd all seen plenty of times. But, giving that entire room the satisfaction of listening as her screams echoed throughout the drawing room was the last straw, the one thing that finally broke her spirit.
As a Gryffindor, she naturally valued her courage above all, and the shame of having none in that moment was so intense that she thought it might've even slightly numbed the physical pain of what felt like an entire bible verse being carved into her arm. Once one of the shrieks had escaped her lips, though, she didn't have the will to muster enough energy to suppress anymore, and they came freely. It wasn't as if she'd be able to care about her dignity if she was dead, anyway.
At every instance that Bellatrix paused to survey her work, Hermione repeated the same phrases, as if it would make a difference. It wasn't me. Please. Stop. It wasn't me. Please. Stop. Her begging only seemed to spur the woman on, until after what had felt like an hour had passed, she was left alone, arm lying limply to the side of her. Bellatrix gave her a swift kick in the side for good measure, and sauntered back over to the Malfoys.
She didn't even want to look. Didn't want to see the gleam of amusement in Lucius' eyes, the subtly smug grin on Narcissa's lip. She did not one bit relish the idea of seeing Malfoy's signature smirk as he watched her filthy, foul, impure blood pool on his floor.
Instead, she cast her gaze to the crystalline chandelier hanging above her, and she would've flinched to see her reflection in the glass shards if it wasn't for her total inability to move due to the throbbing sensation that'd now spread to fester within the rest of her body.
Her tears were falling faster now, though no sound came from her mouth. Let them watch. Let them squirm and grimace as her filthy blood and her filthy tears stained their drawing room floor. None of them could come close to rivalling their dirtied minds. That, she could at least make peace with.
Hermione didn't even need to look to know what the letters on her arm spelled out. There was only one difference between her and her friends, one that made her all the more vile in the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. No, she didn't need to look. Nor did she care. She simply lay, helpless, eyes fixed on the chandelier as the crystal fragments swung gently against each other, for so long that the image had imprinted in her mind by the time she woke up.
This was routine now. Her nightmares would end with the sight of the Malfoys' ceiling, and just as her dream self began to consider that maybe this was where it ended, she was dragged back into consciousness by the discomfort of the sweat pooling beneath her body and her dangerous shortness of breath. One of these days she feared that she'd become so absorbed in her nightmare, she'd forget to breathe completely.
Ginny didn't wake up anymore. She used to, and she'd sit beside Hermione and soothe her until she fell back to sleep, but she seemed to become accustomed to it as she'd long since started sleeping through the night terrors. It was probably better this way, anyway. The last thing the brunette wanted was to be a burden. Everyone had their fair share of trauma, she just wasn't as good at handling hers.
The Dreamless Sleep potion had helped her in the beginning, but Australian rules on supplying it were far more lenient, as the British Ministry insisted that it was addictive in doses as high as she'd need them. If she'd known this, she would've bought a few in advance, but it was too late by the time she arrived home. The only way to procure any would've been to have them prescribed by a Healer, and the last thing she needed was a series of news articles describing how she'd gone so nutty that she had a potion prescription, so she'd had to make do. Besides, there was no way they'd be allowed to prescribe her as many as she really needed, so there was no point, anyway.
It didn't help, either, that the Weasley family insisted on all shopping for Hogwarts supplies together, so she would have no opportunity to sneak off on her own and buy the ingredients. The only way to get any would be to spill her little secret, and if it were up to her, Ginny wouldn't even know: though, to be fair, if she wasn't waking the younger witch up anymore, she'd probably assumed that Hermione had gotten over them. Her only choice was to slip away during their first school trip to Hogsmeade and buy some then, but that meant enduring a good three weeks of that night - and others - being repeated.
At least she'd have her own room. That only made the secret-keeping a lot easier.
Slipping out of bed once her shaking had subsided, Hermione tiptoed across the hall, pushing the bathroom door open with her fingertips only to be confronted with the near-lifeless reflection of herself in the mirror. She didn't bat an eyelid. Though she applied concealing charms throughout the day for her bags and sunken cheeks, they'd wear off by night. Still, it was no surprise. She'd had so many midnight adventures due to her sleeplessness, she reckoned that she was more used to seeing her weaker self than she was her picture-of-health façade.
Staring at herself through the mirror, she exhaled deeply. Only one more day of pretending, then she'd be in school, keeping to herself so nobody saw her enough to even think to ask questions. As it should be.
She remained leaning against the sink for a while, rhythmically inhaling and exhaling, before she pushed off away from it and retreated to Ginny's room to enjoy what little sleep she had time for.