A/N: I do not own any character references by JK Rowling in the Harry Potter series or agree with her comments. This story is a product of my pure imagination. I do not profit from this and will not pay for any commissions for art about this story.
You used to captivate me by your resonating light.
Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind.
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams.
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me.
These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real.
There's just too much that time cannot erase.
When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears,
When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears.
And I held your hand through all of these years.
And you still have all of me.
~My Immortal by Evanescence
A/N: Trigger Warning- PTSD and Postpartum Depression
~*~15th July 1999 ~*~
Hermione sat cross-legged on the rug beside Rosella as she handed her a yellow block. "This one is yellow."
Rosella babbled, drool coming down her chin. Hermione smiled as Rosella gave her a toothy smile. Not only had her two front top teeth come in, along with one of the bottom ones. She was cutting her second bottom tooth now. It was time to start getting her used to brushing.
Rosella clapped her hands together as she tried to stack the blocks, and they fell.
"Almost," Hermione said, resetting the blocks and guiding her to put them in place, "There you go."
Molly hummed along with the wireless as she prepared a beef dish. The scent of roasted vegetables filled the house.
Hermione sat back against the sofa and stretched. Rosella had started sleeping through the night, which helped her mental health a bit. There were still mornings when her brain wouldn't rest, when she sat at the kitchen table, cold tea in her hands, but they were less frequent than before.
Rosella reached for her toddler cup that sat beside her, gripping the pink handles as she took a drink. Thankfully, she had started using the cup, because now that she had teeth, Hermione was glad to pump. Rosella threw a block as well as her cup, and Hermione reached for both, giving them back to her. It was obvious, though, that she had lost interest, because she had already started crawling over to where her miniature play kitchen, which Fred and George had gotten her, sat.
Molly opened the oven to check on the roast, and Rosella opened and slammed her own. Molly looked over and smiled, "She'll be serving us dinner soon at this rate."
Hermione stood up and looked at the grandfather's clock. Ron's hand was alongside Fred and George, all of whom pointed at traveling. She stared at it for a moment longer, and it didn't move. Sighing, she realized that he was out with the twins again.
Dinner came and went. Hermione's eyes flickered over to the clock as she wiped the mashed peas from her curls.
Molly had taken Rosella up to bed about thirty minutes prior as Hermione folded laundry, matching socks as Ron stumbled out of the floo. His hair stuck up in odd angles, his eyes tinged red. He threw his cloak, and it missed the rack completely.
"Ron," Hermione hissed as she walked over to him, "Are you drunk again?"
Ron blinked, swaying slightly before smiling at her. "Aww, come on, 'Mione. Lighten up. I just had a few drinks with Gred and Forge. Seamus and Dean stopped by, too. Boys' night is all. It was nothing."
Hermione looked at him, "Boys night," she said, tossing a rolled pair of socks at him, "Must be nice to get to go out. Must be nice to forget about stress for a few hours, to drink, laugh, and be seen."
Ron's smile fell. "Hermione…"
Hermione threw her hands up in the air. "Maybe this is just what motherhood is. Maybe this is what happens when you grow up. You stay home, where you're needed, but no one sees you. Maybe I'll just be stuck here forever while the world moves on without you."
Ron stepped towards her, and she turned away.
"I'm going to bed," She informed him, "And don't you dare wake Rosella."
~*~25th July 1999 ~*~
Hermione sat at the kitchen table, her tea cold in front of her, her gaze lost somewhere in the orchard. Her brain barely registered the door opening or the footsteps echoing on the floorboards.
"Hermione?" Ginny's voice cut through the quiet.
Hermione blinked, turning to look at her. "Oh! Hey Ginny. Luna! I didn't expect either of you… Molly took Rosella to Shell Cottage with her."
Ginny set her broom against the wall. "Practice ended early. It went so well that you are looking at the second-string Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies."
Hermione smiled as she sat down. "That's great, Ginny. Congrats."
"Thanks," Ginny said as she sat down across from Hermione.
Luna, her wand behind her ear, looked at Hermione. "Still no luck with the jobs?"
Hermione shook her head. "No," she sighed. "At least some of them were polite rejections. Most of them just lied about forgotten appointments and lost applications."
Ginny frowned. "This is madness. You had the best NEWTs in years. You've helped save the wizarding world, hold an Order of Merlin, and everyone else is finding jobs. Luna is helping her dad, while Ron is back with Fred and George, and Neville is assisting Sprout now that he has left the Aurors. It makes no sense.
Hermione sat back in her chair. "Welcome to my life, Gin. I'm being punished for being young, stupid, and thinking we were all going to die. We didn't plan for survival."
Luna walked around the table and sat beside her. "Do you need help planning Rosella's birthday party?"
Hermione shrugged. "Molly's doing it all. Honestly, I've barely done anything. It's not like I have any family to come to it. Just the Weasleys."
Luna reached for Hermione's hand. "We are your family."
Ginny nodded, "Exactly, you think we're going to miss Rosie's first birthday? Between me and the twins, it's going to be amazing."
Hermione laughed, then smiled. "Thank you. I'm trying, but I don't know where I fit in anymore. Everyone is moving forward, and I'm just sitting here stuck."
"You're not stuck," Luna told her, "You are just cultivating a seed."
"And if the Ministry doesn't wise up soon, I'll Bat-Boogey Hex everyone there until someone hires you," Ginny told her.
The three girls just laughed.
~*~31st July 1999 ~*~
When Hermione opened her eyes, they felt like they had weights on them. Her whole body felt heavy as she rolled to her side, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her thoughts were heavy and slow.
From downstairs, she heard Rosella giggling. Ron must be making silly faces at her again.
Looking at the clock on the wall, it read 12:06.
Rolling on her back, she looked at the ceiling. When Ron told her this morning to sleep in, she hadn't meant to sleep in this long.
The door creaked open, and Ron poked his head into the room. "Hey, don't get up. I just need a new nappy."
Hermione nodded as Ron walked over to the table to grab one, then leaned down to kiss her head before leaving without bothering her.
Hermione closed her eyes and turned back over, trying to sleep the day away.
It was a little after one when her stomach began to protest, demanding that she get up. Slowly walking downstairs, she found Ginny on the floor with Rosella, playing peekaboo with Ron sitting next to them, trying to stack blocks into a tower. Arthur was reading the Prophet in his armchair. As Molly hummed around the kitchen, the scent of baked goods filled the room.
Stepping into the kitchen, dressed in Harry's now oversized cardigan, her curls tied in a knot on top of her head. Her arms felt heavy at her sides as Molly turned to her.
"Oh, good. You're up," Molly said, smiling, "Sit down. I've just made sandwiches."
Hermione sat down, staring at the empty plate in front of her, barely registering as Molly set a sandwich in front of her: Turkey and cheese.
Molly placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad you came down to eat."
Hermione gave her a small smile and took a bite. It tasted like sandpaper and dust.
Molly squeezed her shoulder. "Look, I know what today is. Just know… we all miss him too."
Hermione's throat felt like it was closing as she stared down at the sandwiches. "I wish he'd come home."
~*~5th August 1999 ~*
Rosella's tiny hand poked out of her baby sling and Hermione kissed it, smiling down at her newly one-year-old daughter. It was hard to believe Harry had been gone for a year, much less that Rosella had been here for an entire year.
Rosella also had hit a growth spurt to celebrate her birthday, and despite receiving gifts from various friends and family members, Hermione found herself in Diagon Alley on a humid day to purchase a few light onesies to keep up with the warmer temperatures they had been experiencing.
Diagon Alley was much busier than she expected. With all the young children roaming about, it was probably because Hogwarts letters had just come out. Hermione squinted as sunlight reflected off the shop windows, noticing the biggest crowds were at Flourish and Blotts and Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.
As she walked past Fortescue's, she heard someone shout. "You've got some nerve showing your face here!"
Hermione glanced around and saw a stern woman looking at her, then looked behind her.
"Mudbloods shouldn't be shopping in Diagon Alley."
Hermione's blood ran cold as the woman came closer and spat at Hermione's feet. Hermione gripped Rosella's back tightly.
"Go back to where you came from, Muggleborn," The woman sneered.
A man chuckled behind her, before another man walked over in regal robes of velvet, "Is that the Granger girl? The one with the bastard child? Wait… there IT is."
The first man looked at him. "She used to be something, didn't she? Now look at her. Rita said it, though, she never could keep her legs shut. First Krum, then Potter, and now Weasley."
Hermione put her head down as she continued down the Alley.
"What a disgrace to the wizarding world. She was a war hero, yet she ended up with nothing. Can't even get a proper husband!" Someone yelled as she hurried past.
"Hey! That's enough!" Someone defended, "If you are going to be a bigot, find a different establishment."
Hermione kept her head down as she kept walking.
"Why won't she just marry the Weasley boy? Probably thinks she is too good for it." A witch stated to another as she walked past.
Closer to the Little Wizard boutique, the faster the words flew. People muttering and laughter filled her head as she held Rosella tighter to her.
"Mummy, what's a mudblood?" A child asked, standing outside the Little Wizard Boutique, her eyes fixed on her mother.
Hermione's ears started ringing as she stared at the woman, who looked at her, surprised. Pivoting, she rushed toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The door opened as she reached it, and she slipped inside.
George was behind the counter and saw her, "There are two of my favourite… Hermione? What's wrong?"
It was as if she were underwater. Her breath was caught in her throat.
George moved over toward her and looked outside. "What the hell is going on out there? Why are people yelling?"
She opened her mouth and nothing came out. Her vision was blurring as the room began to tilt.
George rushed over and caught her as her knees gave out. "I've got you. You're okay. I've got you!"
"Oh, look at that! She's moved on to another Weasley already!"
"Fred!" George yelled, making Rosella cry out. "Ron!"
"What the fuck, George? Oh, Merlin, Hermione! What's wrong?" Fred asked as George helped Hermione to the ground.
"Take her," George said as he let Fred hold Hermione and pulled out his wand, then went outside.
Ron was suddenly at her side, "What happened, Hermione? You're safe now."
Hermione laid her head on Fred's shoulder as Ron gently took Rosella out of her sling to check her over.
"Un-fucking-believable! It seems like every Pureblood asshole came to the alley today," George said, slamming the door behind him. "I summoned the Aurors."
Hermione clutched Fred's blazer, her whole body shaking.
George gently touched her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
Hermione shook her head as tears fell, and she gasped, out of breath.
George looked at Ron, "This isn't normal, Ron."
"The healers won't help her," Ron said, handing Rosella off to George, "Hermione, honey. Come here."
Hermione fell into Ron's arms and sobbed.
"We're going to get you answers, I swear it," Ron said, kissing the top of her head.
~*~9th August 1999 ~*
Walking inside the Muggle Clinic that Ron had brought her into, the familiar smell of disinfectant hit her, which made her think of her Mum and Dad's dentist office, which brought tightness to her chest. Ron helped her sit down in a waiting room chair next to a table of magazines, then went to the receptionist. Hermione stared at the television on the wall as a baby came on the screen. Rosella was at the Burrow with Molly, which Hermione felt guilty about, even if she knew she needed answers.
Ron came back over to her and sat down, clipboard in hand. "What's an insurance number?" he whispered.
Hermione shook her head. "I am not on my parents anymore."
"Dean said they wouldn't turn us away here," Ron whispered, writing her name down, "But honestly, do they need all this information?"
A nurse came to the door, calling her name, and Hermione stood. Ron stood up with her, placing a hand on her back as she was led to a scale, then an examination room. Hermione sat in a chair, and the nurse took her vitals. "Doctor Ringo will be in shortly."
Hermione gave a small nod as the nurse left the room. Ron stood awkwardly looking around the room. Reaching into a jar, he grabbed a cotton ball. "Funny, they leave treats in here."
Hermione looked at him, "That's cotton balls, Ron. Not candy floss."
Ron set it down, then came over to sit next to her. Sighing, she yawned as she rested her head on his shoulder, then closed her eyes.
A knock on the door startled her, and she lifted her head as a woman stepped inside the room wearing scrubs.
"Hello, I am Dr. Ringo. You must be Hermione?"
Hermione yawned, covering her mouth. "Yes, hello, Dr. Ringo."
Dr. Ringo sat across from them, "So I hear that you've been feeling a bit off. Can you tell me when it started?"
Hermione inhaled. "It's been a while… on and off, but it's gotten bad over the last few months."
Ron spoke up. "It's been about six months. When our daughter Rose was born prematurely, she required assistance with breathing, and things began to change after that. Hermione planned to return to school, but things happened, and she couldn't. She isn't sleeping. Other doctors we've gone to said she was tired, but it's more than that. She isn't herself."
Dr. Ringo nodded as she turned to Hermione, "Do you feel sad, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded as her eyes stung. "It's more than being sad. It's… sometimes it's like I can't breathe. My chest hurts and my hands shake."
"Have any of the previous doctors that you've seen mentioned postpartum depression?" Dr. Ringo asked.
Hermione frowned. "Depression?"
Dr. Ringo sat up. "Postpartum Depression affects some mothers after they give birth. When there are complications like a premature birth, it can increase the chances. If you've been feeling low, anxious, and exhausted beyond what's normal, this may be what is going on."
Hermione looked up at the ceiling as tears came to her eyes. "So… it can be fixed?"
"Yes," Dr. Ringo said with a smile. "Absolutely. It happens to so many mothers, it's more common than you think, but you don't have to suffer through it alone." She took out a pen, "I'm going to put together a care plan. First, we'll start with a low dose of medication to help with your anxiety and depression symptoms. I would also like to refer you to one of my colleagues, a therapist who specializes in postpartum depression. I'd like you to talk with her once a week. It's not about coping, it's about healing."
Ron nodded, "That sounds great."
Hermione sighed, "I thought I would feel this way forever."
Dr. Ringo smiled. "You won't. You're not broken. You are exhausted. How old is your daughter?"
"One," Hermione told her, "She turned one on the first."
"You've been strong for a very long time, but now, it's time to let others help," Dr. Ringo told her.
Hermione blinked as the tears came, sliding down her face.
Ron reached for her hand and squeezed it.
~*~13th August 1999 ~*
Ron looked up at the tiny therapy office tucked between a bakery and a dry cleaner on a quiet street in London. The front door was painted a soft blue, the same soft blue that her house door used to be painted, before the new owners painted it red. Hermione stood outside the door, staring at it, as she folded into herself.
The traffic was going past her at her back. The smell of cinnamon and fresh, baked goods filled the air. Anxious. It was what she was feeling, now that she had a name for it. That slightly crawling feeling beneath her skin, that spread from her chest through her body.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. This woman didn't know of magic. Voldemort. Didn't know who Harry was. So much of her troubles were based inside the magical world, but how could she make her grief and her exhaustion real in Muggle words?
"Are you sure you don't want me to go in with you?" Ron asked.
Hermione shook her head. "I need to do this on my own." Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. "I'll meet you at the park."
The waiting room was small, warmly decorated with plants that made Hermione think of Neville. The woman at the front desk smiled as she saw her and handed her a clipboard. "Just fill this out, and I will call you back shortly."
Hermione nodded as she took the clipboard and the pen, then sat down. Staring at the forms, she filled in her personal information and NHS details. Looking down at the questions, she bit her lip.
Have you ever experienced a traumatic event?Yes, let's list the top 10 traumatic, but nothing that I can tell you.
Do you have trouble sleeping? If so, how often? Yes. She wrote Nearly every night.
Have you experienced loss? Losing my parents, my best friend, and the life I knew.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione looked up to see a tall, tan woman, in her late forties, standing in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back. "I'm Dr. Harriet Olsen. Come on back."
Hermione grabbed her purse and walked back into the office after handing her paperwork over. The office was warm and cozy. An armchair and a couch sat facing each other. A coffee table between them with a pot of tea and two teacups.
"Have a seat," Dr. Olsen stated.
Hermione sat down on the couch as Dr. Olsen sat in the armchair.
"Tea?" Dr. Olsen asked.
Hermione shook her head, "No, thank you."
Dr. Olsen poured herself a cup. "I want to start by saying that this is your space. You talk about what you want, when you want. This is a judgment-free space."
Hermione bit her lip and nodded.
Dr. Olsen sipped her cup, "So… tell me why you are here today."
Hermione swallowed hard. "I… I had a daughter last year. Her name is Rosella. She was born early and struggled with breathing when she was born. I… I went through a lot of changes around that time, too, and it's been a year. I keep waiting to bounce back, but it's not happening."
Dr. Olsen nodded, "How old is she?"
"A year old," Hermione said quietly. "I saw… doctors and they told me that I was just tired. She sleeps through the night now. She's amazing, but I don't feel amazing."
"In what way?"
Hermione looked at her hands. "I feel like I am failing all the time. Like I am underwater, and sometimes… I can't breathe. I feel panic for no reason. I used to be at the top of my class, now I lose track of what I was saying or thinking."
Dr. Olsen looked at her. "Did something change in your life around the time your daughter was born? Other than her birth?"
Hermione hesitated.
"My…best friend left," Hermione said carefully. "He disappeared. We survived a traumatic experience and… I thought we'd be together after everything we went through… but he left with just a short note. No explanation."
"Do you feel abandoned?" Dr. Olsen asked.
Hermione's throat tightened. "Sometimes, more for Rosella. But I don't blame him. He needed to get away, and he had a horrible childhood. So, after we finished school… he acted out."
"Why do you feel like Rosella was abandoned?" Dr. Olsen asked.
Hermione closed her eyes, then looked at her, "Because Harry is her real father. In his absence, our best friend Ron has stepped in. He is her godfather."
Dr. Olsen nodded, "Do you talk to him? Harry, that is?"
Hermione shook her head. "I've written, but he is traveling. I'm not sure my letters are getting to him."
"So, Harry left. Did anything else happen to you before she was born?" Dr. Olsen asked.
Hermione's mouth opened, then closed. She wanted to scream that she watched people die in front of her. She was tortured, and at the age of 18, she had to help save the world.
"There was an accident, and I was hurt, and we lost friends in the accident. Harry's parents died when he was young, and his father's best friend was like an uncle to him. He and his wife died in the accident. Harry felt… guilty about… the accident. He didn't cause it, but he thought he could have prevented it in some way." Hermione sighed, "There was a lot of fear and loss. We've all been trying to rebuild. I finished school and my exams. Overall, I just feel empty."
"You're carrying a lot," Dr. Olsen stated. "Sometimes our minds struggle to push through the trauma because they have to, and in the moment, we repress our feelings and emotions in times of great traumatic events. Trauma doesn't just disappear."
Hermione blinked. "It got worse when Rosella came early. I was fighting with Ron's sister, Harry's ex, when I went into labour. She was born and couldn't breathe, so she needed help. I was terrified. I wanted him there."
"Does he know about her?" Dr. Olsen asked.
"I've written to him about her, but he never talks about her in his letters," Hermione told her, looking at her lap. "I wish he'd come home. I miss him. I miss my parents. I miss my home."
"What happened to your parents, Hermione?" Dr. Olsen asked.
"They moved to Australia, and I haven't seen them since. They moved because of me," Hermione whispered. "I want them back."
Dr. Olsen paused. "Have you asked them to come back?"
A tear rolled down her face. "They can't… they won't on their own."
Dr. Olsen nodded, "We've unpacked a lot today, Hermione. I am so glad that you came to speak with me today, and I would love it if we were able to do this weekly."
Hermione nodded.
"But just from what you've told me so far, above all, I think you need to give yourself permission to heal. Permission to move on," Dr. Olsen told her, "You have experienced trauma and loss in your life, and you are holding onto it. It's okay to heal, it's okay to move on."
The smell of lavender filled the air as Rosella splashed happily in the tub. Her curls were wet and plastered to her head as bubbles splashed through the air. Tiny hands clapped at the water, making the soap bubbles dance through the air like sparkling stars.
Ron leaned against the sink, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, watching Rosella with a smile. "She's going to flood the place if she keeps that up."
Hermione looked up at him. "She had a little bit of accidental magic the other day, I swear it. She splashed the water, and a bubble rose to the ceiling. I swear the bubble grew."
Ron chuckled. "So, how was your appointment?"
Hermione paused as she tilted Rosella back to rinse her hair. "She said that I need to recognize my trauma. That I haven't let myself deal with what happened. That I've been pushing it down because there was always something else to worry about."
Ron nodded.
Hermione ran her fingers through Rosella's hair to make sure all the suds were gone. "She said I have to give myself permission to move on… and to heal."
"Do you feel better?" Ron asked.
Hermione looked at him, "Ron, it's not going to get better overnight. But I have weekly appointments scheduled. Between talking to Dr. Olsen and taking the medication, I'm… I feel like I have a path forward."
"Good, that sounds good," Ron stated.
Hermione dipped the cup into the water again and carefully rinsed the last of the suds from her hair and body. Rosella giggled and clapped her hands.
Ron grabbed her pink towel with little rubber ducks on it as Hermione lifted Rosella out of the water and handed her off to him. "Got her?" she asked.
"Yep," Ron said, wrapping Rosella up like a burrito. "Go do whatever you need."
Hermione stood up, drying her hands on her trousers. Leaning forward, she kissed Rosella's head, "I just need a few minutes. I want to write some things down while it's fresh in my mind."
"A therapy thing?" Ron asked.
Hermione nodded, "She told me to keep a journal. I have written my thoughts occasionally, but I'm going to try to do it daily. I don't know if it will help, but it can't hurt to try."
"Take your time," Ron said, tickling Rosella's belly, "I'm going to get her dressed, and then read that Cinderella book."
As Hermione climbed the stairs, she felt slightly lighter, but only just.
Opening the ladder to the attic, Hermione climbed inside. The ghoul looked at her and grunted. Hermione loved the peace that the attic provided her at the Burrow. There was the occasional creak of boards and the ghoul's occasional sounds, but it was otherwise unbothered by her.
It was her place of solace in the house. She sat down on the rug and used the moonlight coming through the window to see her journal. Sitting cross-legged, she opened her journal and made a tiny handful of her favourite blue flames. Casting it to hover in the air, she looked at her journal.
While Dr. Olsen suggested that she write down her thoughts daily, Hermione didn't feel like writing in the traditional sense. So, she did what felt natural.
Dear Harry,
I had my first therapy appointment today. It was strange. I didn't think it would help. I was ready to sit there, in silence, not sure what to say. Not sure if the words would come out right. I wasn't sure it would help.
But I think that it did help. Not in a fix-it-all, immediate way, but a real way. She listened. She doesn't know who I am, who you are, or what we went through. But she understands the grief we went through. The grief that I go through daily. The exhaustion. Sometimes it's all too much, and I forget how to breathe.
She said I need to give myself permission to heal and move on. When she told me that, I realized that I hadn't. I've been pretending I'm fine. I went from having Rosella to studying and taking care of Rosella, just going through the motions. Inside, I felt like I was cracking under the pressure of everything.
I wonder how your birthday went. You never were able to celebrate it before, so I bet you acted like it was just another day. But it matters to me. We made you a cake and sang to you.
Every day, it feels like you are slipping farther and farther away. Like you have moved on, and I'm frozen in the past. I don't blame you. I don't. You were put through a lot of shit as we grew up, and more before you came to Hogwarts, and you are probably trying to leave it behind. I'm just honestly scared that if I move on, if I leave all the pain and the hurt behind, there won't be anything left of us. The memories are getting fuzzy, some don't even feel real anymore. The way you touched me, the way you smelled, the taste of your lips.
I'm trying, Harry. So hard. Ron has been good to us. He is trying to pick up the broken pieces of me and put them back together. He misses you, we all do. I know you'll never see this, but I needed to get it out there.
Because deep inside, I still hope you'll come home.
/\/ <3 /\/ 10th September 1999 /\/ <3 /\/
The air in Alexandria, Egypt, was warm. So warm that it clung to Harry's clothes between the humidity and the sweat as he made his way through the old wizarding quarter and the old Cobblestone streets. Hidden outside of the busy Muggle city, just beyond it.
The elders believed that magic might have begun here in Africa. From what he had seen, it was possible. Magic hummed from the walls and the pyramids as if, brick by brick, magic had created them. Street vendors shouted their wares as he passed by. Enchanted scrolls, potion vials, robes, and food.
He didn't come into Old Alexandria for the markets. Instead, he came for the oldest bookstore in the country. His guide, an aging local wizard named Amir, had taken him to underground chambers and tunnels with hieroglyphic inscriptions on the subject of magical healing. Recipes for potions only to be stirred at moonlight.
When Amir had dismissed him for the day, Harry wandered from the newer section of town to the older one. The newer area had a strong Muggle influence, coffee shops, motorbikes, and signs in English and Arabic. This area reminded Harry of Diagon Alley. When he spotted the shop, it was nestled between an apothecary and a teahouse, Maadi Booksellers.
Opening the door, a bell rang above his head. Inside the shop, it was quiet and cool, with the scent of parchment hanging thick in the air. Rows upon rows of weathered books filled tall shelves. Nodding at the worker, he wandered through the aisles and quickly found the healing section. Running his fingers along the cracked spines, he paused as he saw one text: "A guide to Holistic Healing for Children: Wisdom from the Ancient Nile."
The cover was well worn, and inside were pages filled with charms for teething pain, salves for colic, and runes for protection.
Closing it softly, he thought of Rose, Hermione's daughter, back home. He wondered if she was teething yet.
Harry grabbed it and two other titles for himself. He walked over toward the register, where a newspaper stand was set up with a spread of newspapers. Shimmering in front of him were obvious translation enchantments. The International Daily Prophet caught his eye.
Weasley Family Shop rebranded as Weasley Brothers, eyeing a second shop in Hogsmeade or Paris.
Beneath it was a black-and-white photo of Ron, grinning, standing with Fred and George under the new sign. Beside them was Hermione, her hair in a loose braid, her smile fake, but sad. In Ron's arms was her little girl. Their little girl. Pointing with chubby fingers toward the sky. Hermione looked down at her and smiled a genuine smile, kissed her fingers, then the picture repeated.
Harry stared at the image, a hollow ache in his chest. Hermione had changed. She didn't look happy. A punch to his gut as he noticed the hand that held those tiny fingers had a ring on it.
Harry closed his eyes and then went to the register, paying for the books with trembling hands.
Walking robotically back to the flat that he shared with the other healers in training that happened to belong to Amir's son, Harry stepped inside and greeted the two others who were there, before heading to his room. His roommate was not in, and he threw his bag on his bed. Looking out the window at the city, Harry lit a candle to give him light in the darkening room as he took out a piece of parchment and stared at it for a long time, trying to form the words without the hurt he was feeling. Dipping the quill, Harry put it to paper.
Hermione,
Happy Birthday! You're twenty. Can you believe it? Somehow, it feels like just yesterday when we were on the Express for the first time. Now, here you are, a graduate.
While in Alexandria, I came across a book that I thought you might like. It's an old text on holistic healing for children. Potions, herbs, and a few ancient techniques that the local wizards say have been passed down since the time of the pyramids. Some even believe that magic began here in Africa. Seeing how the pyramids hum at night, I almost believe it, too. I thought the book might be helpful for Rose. I saw a picture of you and Rose in the International Daily Prophet. She's beautiful. You both are.
Yes. I know about her. I can't lie. Finding out from Viktor Krum of all people was a shock. I don't even know how to describe what I felt at that moment. Hurt. Confused. Angry. Mostly, just sad. Sad that you didn't tell me. That I wasn't there for you and Ron. That I missed all of it.
I wish you had told me, Hermione.
I don't know what will happen next. I want to understand. And if you'll let me. I want to get to know her. I don't know where we go from here.
Harry.
Sealing the letter, he stared out over the city as the first glimpse of stars tried to appear in the sky. Taking a piece of parchment, he wrapped the book for her and tied a piece of twine around it at his letter. Running his hands over his face into his hair, he tried to ignore the ache in his heart as he stood up to find out if Amir's owl was available.
~*~ 19th September 1999 ~*~
On the day of her twentieth birthday, Hermione sat in the Burrow's sitting room listening to the Weasley family talk while Molly cooked what smelled like a delicious roast beef. Rosella toddled between everyone's legs as they sat, taking occasional steps between them. Still unsteady and preferring crawling over walking, but she could easily pull herself up on someone's trouser legs just as well.
The ache in Hermione's chest was softening. It wasn't as deep as it was last year. Therapy appointments and her journal, along with letters, some that she never sent to Harry, seemed to be helping more than she wanted to admit. The grief wasn't gone, but it was more in the background of her mind than running it.
Ginny jumped up on the coffee table and demonstrated a move that had been done in the Puddlemere vs. Holyhead game played the day before. "Then they ran into each other. Of course, then they needed a reserve chaser for the rest of the game. I cannot believe I actually got to play." She collapsed onto the sofa next to George.
Bill brushed the crumbs of his biscuit off his jumper. "That's awesome, Gin. I was listening on the Wireless. You sounded fast."
Charlie grinned as he leaned on his backwards chair, "Not that any of you care, but we had some exciting news at the reserve. One of our females laid three eggs. It's been ages since we've had more than one. It's our Ironhide female, too. They've never successfully bred before. Michel did an amazing job at it."
George grinned as he raised his Butterbeer, "To baby dragons. Think you can get me some loose scales for new products?"
"Don't push it," Charlie said, flicking George's good ear.
"Well, we can officially tell everyone that Freddie and I put in a bid to buy Zonkos. They denied it, but we are thinking of a second shop, and Hogsmeade would be perfect." George told the family.
"I don't think that they thought we were serious," Fred told everyone.
Hermione rested her cheek on her palm as she leaned on the armrest, listening to them discuss expanding to Hogsmeade. Ron, whose arm was on the back of the couch, over top of her shoulders, squeezed her left shoulder.
"You okay?" He asked.
Hermione nodded. "Just tired. I had a nightmare last night."
Fleur walked over with a wrapped parcel in her hands. "Thez just arrived for you."
Hermione's heart began to race as she took it from her. Her name was written simply on the packaging.
"That's Harry's handwriting," Ron stated as if she didn't already know, as he sat up straighter.
Her trembling fingers loosened the string, and the paper fell away, revealing an old, worn book with a cracked, pale, yellowish gold lettering on the cover that read: A Guide to Holistic Healing for Children: Wisdom from the Ancient Nile. Running her fingers over the cracked letters, beneath it was a child sleeping under the stars and moon.
Tucked within the front page of the book was a folded piece of parchment. Removing it, she gently set the book down.
Hermione,
Happy Birthday! You're twenty! Can you believe it? Somehow, it feels like just yesterday when we were on the Express for the first time. Now, here you are, a graduate.
While in Alexandria, I came across a book that I thought you might like. It's an old text on holistic healing for children. Potions, herbs, and a few ancient techniques that the local wizards say have been passed down since the time of the pyramids. Some even believe that magic began here in Africa. Seeing how the pyramids hum at night, I almost believe it, too.
I thought the book might be helpful for Rose. I saw a picture of you and Rose in the International Daily Prophet. She's beautiful.
I don't know what will happen next on my travels.
Harry.
Hermione swallowed hard, handing the letter to Ron, who read it silently. "He's in Africa," she said, breaking the silence.
Bill looked at her, surprised, "Harry? In Africa?"
Hermione nodded, "Alexandria. Well, at least he was at some point."
"Dinner's ready!" Molly's voice yelled from the kitchen.
As the other rose to head to the table, Ron passed the letter to Bill and looked up at Hermione as she stood.
"Are you okay?" Ron asked, leaning forward
She gave him a sad shrug. "I have to be. He's not coming back, Ron. There is too much pressure here, too much pain. He seems… free out there. Happy, maybe. It's time I stop hoping and start moving forward."
Bill looked up from the letter, "I know some contacts in that area. I could-"
"No," Hermione said quietly, "Let him be. It's what he wants." She turned to the stairs and looked back at them. "Be right back. I just need to use the loo."
Once upstairs, she leaned over the sink, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn't the bushy-haired girl from Hogwarts anymore. Her hair laid limp and was slightly tangled. Her shoulders hunched. Still healing, still scarred, but still here.
Running her fingertips over her face, she wondered what Harry thought seeing her and Rosella in the photo.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned on the tap and splashed her face with cool water. Looking up again, she tugged at a frizzy, wet curl. "Time to move forward."
"Hermione!?" Ron's voice echoed from upstairs as she heard Rosella's sharp cry.
Hermione bolted from the bathroom, her scream growing louder as she made her way downstairs to find Ron on the floor with Rosella, blood covering both of them.
"What the hell happened?" she gasped, sliding to a stop.
"She pulled herself up on the table and fell, catching her chin," George said, pale. "I tried to stop the bleeding, but it opened up again."
Molly rushed in with a towel, pressing it onto Rosella's chin, and she pushed it away.
Hermione's eyes landed on the book that Harry had given her, and she dove for it. Her hands were shaking as she flipped through the pages to the index.
"Cuts… cuts…" she muttered, finding the number of the page.
Seeing a spell for deep cuts and puncture wounds, she drew her wand out of her bun. "Reponere sanguine, sanans cutem dermatis."
A golden light flowed over Rosella's chin, followed by a pale lavender colour. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. She watched as the skin knitted back together neatly underneath her chin, and the two, now visible, teeth puncture marks beneath her lip disappeared, leaving nothing but a slightly shiny red mark where there had been an open wound.
Ron sat back against the sofa, holding Rosella in his arms, "Shite, what was that?"
Hermione let the book fall to the table, "A spell from the book Harry sent."
Rosella whimpered in Ron's arms, her crying softening as he held her tighter.
"Merlin's bloody balls. That scared the hell out of me," Ron said as Rosella reached for her.
Hermione took her from him gently, and she kissed her curls, rocking her slowly. "Do we even have any dittany?"
Molly shook her head, shaken. "No, but I'll get some first thing in the morning."
George picked up the book where it lay open on the table, "Looks like Harry sent the right thing."
Hermione rocked Rosella against her, closing her eyes.
~*~ 22nd September 1999 ~*~
After leaving Weasley Brothers, still called W3s by everyone with the three brothers, she paused outside the door, taking everything in, stepping out into Diagon Alley on a rare quiet weekday. The cobblestones were wet under the late morning sun. The usual hustle and bustle of the alley was quiet with all the students back at Hogwarts, and Hermione was thankful. Crowds had become too much for her. Molly had offered to take Rosella to Bill and Fleur's with her so that Hermione could shop without worry.
It was quiet and peaceful, and Hermione, for once, did not feel watched.
Just two shops down from W3s, there was a faded shop front. Leabhar Books was one of the quiet, sometimes forgettable shops in Diagon Alley. Tucked beside a seamstress and an empty storefront between them and W3s, a small sign in the window caught her attention: HELP WANTED – Inquire Within.
Hermione hesitated and nearly kept walking, but her brain stopped her. A job. A place to find a new start that wasn't wrapped around nappies and nightmares.
Pushing the door open, a small brass bell rang above her head. Inside, the air smelled like parchment and glue. It felt like coming home. The front of the shop was filled with new texts for magical adults, but past the counter, where the register sat, were rows of crooked shelves holding older books.
An older wizard with glasses sliding down his nose looked up from sorting books. "Ah, welcome to Leabhar Books," he said in a warm Irish accent, "New and used. You've got a good eye? I encourage you to check out my back half."
Hermione smiled as he set his books down, "Actually, I saw your help wanted sign."
"Ah, yes. That I'll be hirin' next month, you see. I'm still restocking after the Hogwarts lot raided me for their summer readin' and back to school." He chuckled, brushing the dust from his body. "But if you're lookin' for work, come back at the start of the month. You'll have it."
"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"Really," he said with a nod. "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you? Everyone knows who yeh are. War hero or not, I heard you've got a sharp mind and that is just what I need."
She nodded and extended her hand, "Thank you, sir. What should I call you?"
"William O'Brien, but you can call me O'Brien. Everyone does."
"It's a pleasure, Mr. O'Brien. I'll see you next month." Hermione said, smiling at him as she stepped back outside.
As she stepped outside, the sunlight felt different on her skin. The air felt warmer and lighter as she walked toward the children's shop to make her purchases.
The feeling carried with her as she arrived home and began sorting through the receipts and updating her budget at her writing desk.
Reaching for her ledger, she saw Harry's letter again sitting beside her ink pot. The corners were already worn from how often she had re-read it. She reached for a clean sheet of parchment and took out one of her Muggle pens.
Harry,
Thank you for your letter and the book. It arrived on a day I needed something kind. I've already used one of the remedies in it when Rose bumped her head while walking into the coffee table. She's more adventurous than I ever thought a one-year-old could be. She doesn't walk much yet, but she is fast. Sometimes I blink and she's in a different room.
I wish I had written to you sooner. The truth is that things haven't been easy. Trying to finish my studies, raising Rose, and dealing with the constant weight of society's judgment. It became too much. I was diagnosed by a muggle doctor with postpartum depression. The healers kept telling me I was tired, offered me Pepper-Up potions, and sent me on my way. But Ron saw that something was wrong and pushed me to seek help. I'm so grateful that he did.
There was a moment about a month ago that broke me. I was walking to W3s. Ron's been helping him and Fred since leaving the Auror academy, and I had Rose with me. A woman recognized me and called me a Mudblood. Spat at Rose and me. Others joined in. They didn't care that I was holding a child. I barely made it to George's before I collapsed. I didn't think I would ever stop shaking.
That day confirmed it. I wasn't just exhausted. I was drowning. I'm trying to get better. I've started talking to someone. I'm giving myself permission to heal.
I might even have a job lined up. Wherever you are, I hope you are healing, too.
Love,
Hermione
Folding the letter carefully, Hermione stared out the window, the breeze coming into Ron's bedroom with the slight smell of apples from the orchard. This one she would send. And for now, that helped.
Preview of Chapter 22 – Say Something
Hermione opened her mouth to ask him more about the other keepers when the floo roared to life. Out of the emerald flames stumbled Ron, his laughter filling the room as he tripped, catching himself before he fell.
"Ron!" Hermione hissed, standing up, "Are you drunk again?"
Ron blinked slowly as he looked at her with a goofy grin. "Hermes, lighten up. It was just a few drinks with the lads. Celebrating Seamuseses new job!"
Charlie stood up next to her and placed a steady hand on her back. "I got this, Hermione."
Ron's blue eyes narrowed. "Are you flirtin' with my fiancée?"
Charlie stepped forward. "Let's go upstairs before you say something you'll regret." He said, taking Ron's arm.
"Get yer hands off me," Ron snapped, yanking his arm away as he staggered toward the stairs, muttering under his breath as he stumbled up them with Charlie walking up behind him.
George stepped in from the kitchen, "He was drunk again, wasn't he?"
Hermione turned to him and nodded. "At least twice this week. Last week was three times."