Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Bellatrix Lestrange stalked towards her, a twisted, rage filled expression on her face. She wanted the prophecy for her master, but she wouldn’t get it. Hermione turned to her friends, ready to shout ‘Run!’, but when she looked, no one was there. Her heart jumped into her throat as she turned back around, her mind emptying. She couldn’t think of a single spell, couldn’t think of a single way to defend herself. Her muscles froze. Just then, Bellatrix sprang toward her. The walls of the Department of Mysteries disappeared around her, changing into the cold interior of Malfoy Manor. Cold, hard, wood dug into her spine as she was pressed into the ground.
“What did you take from my vault?!” Bellatrix screamed. She was so loud Hermione felt like her eardrums were going to burst, and spit flew from Bellatrix’s mouth onto Hermione’s face. Bellatrix shook her, slamming her head into the floor. “What did you take, you filthy Mudblood?!”
“I didn’t take anything!” Hermione cried. Bellatrix shifted to cut into Hermione’s arm with her wicked knife, flashing with light from the chandelier above them. A wave of desperation welled in Hermione. “I didn’t take anything!”
Bellatrix’s knife felt like fire in her arm, and she tried not to scream. But, as Bellatrix continued to cut, a scream ripped its way out of Hermione’s throat. All she wanted was for Bellatrix to get off her, move, please, but she didn’t. As the pain continued to grow, the poison spreading through her, Hermione jerked and tried to wrench away, her throat hoarse from screaming.
Just when she thought it would end, Bellatrix raised herself off of Hermione, done cutting into her arm for the moment, and raised her wand high over her head.
“What did you take, Mudblood?” She demanded. Hermione could see Greyback leering from behind Bellatrix, just waiting to have ‘a bit of her’. She hoped she died before then.
“Nothing!” Hermione was crying. She didn’t want to see her arm, but out of the corner of her eye she could see red pooling. Bellatrix’s face contorted even more - how can one person hold so much rage?
“You’re lying, you filthy Mudblood! You’ve been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth! Crucio!” And suddenly every nerve in Hermione’s body had been cut, every bone cracking, fracturing, breaking, every muscle clenching and releasing like they were being pulled apart and then shoved back together. She screamed, jerking and convulsing on the floor, her body slamming back into the ground. Vaguely she wondered how much she could take before ending up like Neville’s parents. And suddenly, it ended.
“What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!” Hermione vaguely felt tears running into her sweaty hairline.
“We didn’t take anything, it’s a copy, just a copy!” she sobbed. The movement hurt her, but in the next moment, that pain was inconsequential.
Bellatrix rained down on her with her short, silver knife, again and again. It hurt too much to be a regular knife - it must be cursed, or poisoned or-
“Hermione!” A voice yelled. Strong hands were shaking her, urging her to wake up, and for a second she couldn’t tell what was real. Quickly she grabbed the wrists of the person shaking her and threw them off, pushing them away. They stumbled back and Hermione grabbed her wand off her pillow and stood up, shouting, “Petrificus Totalus!”
The person’s limbs snapped together and they froze, falling to the floor with a thud.
“Hermione?” A wary voice said softly from the doorway. As Hermione swung around, wand at the ready, the person raised their hands in the ‘I surrender’ position. Hermione could feel her heart pounding, her body burning, her lungs working too quickly, and, for a second, she swayed. The figure in the doorway took a step closer, hands still raised.
“Don’t come any closer!” Hermione said fearfully.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. Listen to me now.” Hermione stilled. “I know you’re scared, but I need you to take a deep breath for me. Can you do that, love?” Hermione inhaled painfully. Her breath made a wheezing sound like she’d run a marathon.
“That’s right, love. Do you know who I am?” The soft voice asked.
After a moment Hermione spoke, her voice hoarse. “Mum?”
“That’s right, Hermione. I need you to lower your wand all the way, there’s a girl. I’m going to turn on the light, okay love?” The light flicked on, and Hermione squinted in the bright light. She quickly swung around to look at the figure on the floor.
“Dad!” She cried. She quickly spoke the counter-curse and backed away, the hand holding her wand behind her back and the back of her empty hand covering her mouth as her dad sat up stiffly. She looked between her two parents, who looked steadily back at her. Hermione could tell they were trying to be brave for her, but she could see a hint of fear on their faces. “I’m so sorry!” Hermione’s voice cracked as she spoke.
“It’s alright, love,” her dad said, standing slowly. He moved to stand beside his wife and put an arm around her, steadying the both of them.
“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said again. She sank to her knees, heels of her hands trying to push her tears back into her eyes. She heard her mum murmur something to her dad, who left the room quietly. Hermione almost couldn’t hear him take the first squeaky step of the stairs over the sound of her ragged breathing.
Her mum walked slowly over to her and knelt down. “Hermione.” She waited until her daughter looked up before continuing. “I know this is hard for you right now. I don’t know what happened out there, and I don’t know how to help you with this.” Hermione wiped away a stray tear that leaked down her face. The tenderness on her mum’s face made her feel like her insides were cracking. All traces of fear on her mum’s face had disappeared and a quiet strength took its place.
“I know, Mum,” she said. She felt guilt rise up in her stomach, clenching her stomach. She had just gotten her parents back, and now she was scaring them.
“None of that, Hermione.” She tucked a piece of her daughter’s bushy hair behind her ear, smoothing it away from her sweaty face. “Your father is downstairs making some peppermint tea. We are going to go downstairs and talk about what we can do for you, okay?”
Hermione tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling to keep more tears from falling. “I don’t know, Mum. Maybe I should go away for awhile.” She looked back into her mother’s face. “I know you just got back, but I don’t want another night like this. Maybe I should go stay at the Burrow until I feel better. We can still see each other during the day.” She gestured helplessly with her hand. Her mother caught her wandering hand in her own and held it to her cheek.
“We want what’s best for you, sweetheart. If that means staying away for a while, your dad and I will accept that. We just want you to feel better.” She ran her fingers down Hermione’s Mudblood scar, shining white in the light. Hermione hadn’t shown her parents the scar; in fact, she actively covered herself so her parents wouldn’t see, but she had shucked her sweater off in the dark hours of the night, unable to get comfortable in its bulkiness. Hermione gasped as fire swept through her. Her mother immediately let go, removing her hands like they had been burned.
“It’s okay, Mum,” Hermione said with tears of pain in her eyes. “It wasn’t you, it’s poisoned-” She stopped herself. “It’s okay.”
She watched the expressions pass over her mother’s face, confusion, understanding, fear, anger, and finally such a heavy sadness that Hermione had to look away. Her mother didn’t comment, just took Hermione’s hands and pulled them both to their feet.
“If going away for a while will help you, Hermione, your father and I will support you 100%.” She looked right into Hermione’s eyes. She could see the haunted look that had made its home there, and the desperation for her to understand. A relieved look came over her daughter’s face and she smiled. “Just so long as you come home for dinner on occasion. Your dad and I aren’t quite ready to be empty nester’s yet.”
Hermione quickly agreed.
The next morning she sent an owl to Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, explaining the situation to them. (She had bought an owl the day before she went looking for her Mum and Dad to keep in touch with everyone, though the journey had been quick.) Mrs. Weasley had sent the owl back with a note, enthusiastically agreeing that Hermione come stay with them. Mrs. Weasley had been feeling a little down herself with over half of the family moved out, so she was happy to accept Hermione. She gave instructions to come by floo that afternoon. After a large brunch with her parents (she had spent the night packing, she didn’t want to go back to sleep and risk another nightmare), she gave a tearful goodbye and was swept away in a flash of green flames.
As soon as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, she was embraced by Mrs. Weasley. Her beaded bag and one shrunken, feather-light suitcase fell out of her grasp as she hugged Mrs. Weasley back.
“Welcome, Hermione, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, pulling back to look at her. “A bit peaky, but I have some light soup in the kitchen.” She knew Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a bit of trouble with food after living so scarcely. The first meal they had after the battle was so filling that Harry and Hermione had both thrown up, and Ron was green around the gills for the rest of the night.
Hermione smiled and nodded. Mrs. Weasley thought a good meal was always the first step in solving a problem, and Hermione knew she looked more than peaky. In fact, she almost resembled a raccoon with the dark circles under her eyes.
“Ginny is upstairs sleeping. She has trouble sleeping at night, poor dear, and Ron is at Grimmauld Place with Harry. They wanted to be here to greet you, but they are helping Kreacher fix up the place.” Mrs. Weasley scooped out a bowl of steaming soup for Hermione and set it on the table in front of her, where she sat facing the window so she could see if anyone was coming up the lane. “Eat up, dear.”
Hermione set her beaded bag on the table next to her soup. She liked to have it in arms reach since it still carried the essentials from the Horcrux hunt, and she felt anxious when she wasn’t prepared to disappear on the spot. Reaching for her spoon, she recalled the moments when this bag had saved their lives.
“Thought I heard the floo,” said Ginny from behind Hermione. Hermione reached for her wand, upsetting the bowl of soup, and spun around, thinking of death eaters and screaming.
Ginny stood in the doorway to the kitchen with rumpled clothes, a wicked bed head, and a slightly shocked look on her face, which quickly faded. As Hermione’s cheeks started to stain red, Ginny smiled.
“Don’t worry. Harry and Ron are the same way. A lot of us are, really.” She stepped into the kitchen and sat down on the bench next to Hermione. Mrs. Weasley quickly muttered a spell that cleaned up the soup mess and got a new bowl for Hermione and one for Ginny.
“Sorry,” Hermione said awkwardly, eyes downcast, staring at her hands twisting together, wand resting on the table.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly. “Now eat up, the both of you.”
Ginny rolled her eyes when Mrs. Weasley turned her back, but obediently picked up her spoon and took a bite. Once she had swallowed she nudged Hermione who still sat staring at her hands.
“Seriously, Hermione. It’s okay. Harry hexed his reflection yesterday.”
At this Hermione looked up and smiled.
“Really?” She asked.
“Yes.” Ginny rolled her eyes again with a smile of her own. “He was so confused for a second, poor bloke. He laughed about it, but he was tense the whole rest of the day. I told him he shouldn’t be embarrassed, but he is.”
Hermione sat quietly eating her soup for a moment. “I cursed my dad last night,” she said.
Ginny stilled, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “What happened?”
Hermione shrugged. “I forgot to put a silencing spell around my room and I had a nightmare. He tried to wake me up. I couldn’t remember where I was for a second, and he was shaking my shoulders, so I just reacted.” Hermione’s eyes burned. “My parents were scared. Of me. So I decided to stay here for a while before I try to live at home.”
Ginny put her arm around Hermione. “I can guarantee you something right now, Hermione Granger. Your parents were not scared of you. They were scared for you.” She let Hermione ponder that, and they both sat and ate their soup, lost in their own thoughts.
~
“Hermione, dear, Arthur is coming home at 6 tonight and the twins are coming at 6:30 for dinner. Arthur will be apparating and walking up the lane, and the boys will be coming by floo.” Mrs. Weasley told Hermione.
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione replied. She was sitting on the lumpy couch in the Burrow’s living room reading. The only way she could be totally engrossed in a book nowadays was to have someone else with her on the lookout. When Mrs. Weasley turned, Hermione called out.
“Wait! When are Harry and Ron getting here?”
“Oh, they are coming at 6 just like Arthur, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley. She walked back to the kitchen, humming along with Celestina Warbeck.
Hermione smiled into her book but couldn’t take in the words she was reading. With a sigh she stood, stretched and walked towards the kitchen after Mrs. Weasley. When she entered the room, Mrs. Weasley stood, hips swaying, along the counter stirring some kind of batter.
“Mrs. Weasley?” Hermione asked.
Mrs. Weasley turned to face her and smiled. Her cheeks flushed and she set the bowl on the counter, embarrassed to be caught dancing in the kitchen.
“I was just wondering if I could help you with dinner.” Mrs. Weasley’s face went back to its normal shade of pink as Hermione spoke.
“Yes, yes, I would love some help. If you wouldn’t mind setting the table that would be lovely, dear.” Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at her batter and it continued stirring on its own. She quickly moved on to set the potatoes to peel themselves and started preparing a roast for the family.
Hermione was walking toward the table with a tall stack of plates in her hand when a loud CRACK filled the room. The plates crashed to the ground. Hermione turned towards the noise too quickly and ended up on the ground with the shattered plates. With her heart in her throat she scooted back on the heels of her hands and feet, slicing them as she went. Her breathing sped up and she cursed herself for leaving her wand in the living room. Constant vigilance.
“Hiya Mum,” said one voice.
“Whatcha got there?” asked another.
“Oh, boys,” Mrs. Weasley said exasperatedly, swatting at the both of them with a hand towel. “You’re early! And what did I say about apparating inside the house?”
Hermione looked up from her place underneath the table and saw Fred and George. “Ow,” she groaned as the stinging in her hands and feet started. She had only been wearing socks, and not thick ones at that, so she had cut her feet as well as her hands. She crawled out as Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.
“Oh, Hermione dear, you just sit right here.” She conjured up a chair for Hermione to sit on, which she did gratefully. Walking on feet that had broken pieces of ceramic embedded in them was not fun.
“Hermione!” George said. “We didn’t know you came to see us!”
“Yeah,” Fred joined. “You know, the best place to look is our shop! But the Burrow is a good a guess as any.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and raised the back of her shaking hand to her forehead, examining the mess around her. Her breathing had settled when she had seen it was only Fred and George, but her heart still thumped painfully.
“I’m not here to see you two,” she said. The boys both raised their hands to their chests in a mock wounded gesture. Hermione ignored them and continued. “I’m going to stay here for a while. And if you would like to make up for scaring eight years off my life, please, one of you get my wand from off the couch and bring it to me.”
“Oh, no, dear, not to worry. I will heal you right up,” Mrs. Weasley said. She whirled her wand and the plates reformed into a neat pile. As she bent to scoop them up, Hermione spoke.
“That’s not why I need it.” She was so quiet it was almost a whisper.
Mrs. Weasley set the newly reformed plates on the table and turned to Hermione, looking into her face. “Yes, of course, dear,” she said when she saw her expression. “Fred!” She turned toward the nearest twin.
“I’m George, Mum,” he grumbled.
“Yes, of course, George, dear. Go get Hermione’s wand from the couch please.” Mrs. Weasley surveyed Hermione’s hands. She moved to push up Hermione’s sleeves.
“No!” Hermione cried. At Mrs. Weasley and Fred’s startled looks she backtracked. “I mean, it stops at my hands. My arms are fine. My feet could use work though,” she added, hoping to shift the attention off her outburst onto the problem at hand.
An all-business expression came over Mrs. Weasley’s face as she took hold of Hermione’s hand. “This might sting a little,” she said.
She waved her wand over Hermione’s palm and all the little pieces of ceramic came flying out. She directed them into a bowl on the counter as George re-entered the kitchen brandishing Hermione’s wand. Another wave of Mrs. Weasley’s wand and the small cuts closed without a trace. She smiled at her handy work and checked the back of Hermione’s hand for any more cuts and found none. She moved on to her next hand and quickly repeated the process.
“What happened there, Hermione?” Fred asked.
“What?” She asked, looking up at him. He was holding his hand to his throat and when she looked he drew his fingers across it, almost unconsciously. Hermione’s face paled instantly and her newly healed hand drew up to cover the thin scar on her throat. She began to panic and tried to think of an answer, any answer, except the truth.
“That’s enough of that, young man. Now I expect your help with dinner if you plan on eating any.” Mrs. Weasley stepped in when she saw Hermione’s discomfort.
Hermione shot her a grateful look. Fred still looked curious, but he had seen her discomfort as well, so he let it drop with a smile.
“Well, Georgie, it looks like we are sous chefs tonight!” He conjured an apron and handed it to George with a flourish. George held it up to himself and smiled. It read "I cook as good as I look."
“Which isn’t good,” Fred quipped, then danced out of the way of George’s hand.
"We're identical!"
Fred quickly conjured one for himself and tied it on. It read Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’. Hermione laughed at the both of them then quickly grimaced when pieces of ceramic flew out of her left foot.
“That is what you get for laughing at the cooks, mademoiselle,” George said. While Hermione wasn’t looking, the twins shared a concerned look. They had seen her unnaturally pale face with fear written all over it when she had crawled out from under the table. The dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes.
Once Mrs. Weasley had finished healing her feet, Hermione hugged her. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem, dear.” Mrs. Weasley hugged Hermione tightly until she pulled away.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to join Ginny now.” Hermione still hadn’t unpacked and she needed a minute to compose herself.
“Of course. Take as long as you need,” Mrs. Weasley encouraged.
Hermione sighed as she walked up the creaky stairs. She was in for a long night.
~
Hermione knocked on the door before going in. When she looked around she saw that it looked the same as it had the summer before and she smiled to herself. Ginny was sitting up on her bed yawning.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Hermione said as she walked toward her bed in the first floor bedroom.
“Morning,” Ginny replied.
“What’s that noise?” Hermione asked. A strange whirring was coming from somewhere, and she couldn’t figure out where.
“Oh, it’s coming from Fred and George’s room. They assured me it wasn’t dangerous.” Ginny had an amused smirk on her face. The normalcy of Fred and George’s antics was reassuring to her.
“Why their bedroom and not the shop?”
“Oh, they have been sleeping here. It makes Mum less worried when they are here, so they stay over sometimes.” Ginny smiled. “Just watch where you step, and you should be fine.”
“Oh…” Hermione was not looking forward to any pranks.
“Just kidding,” Ginny said. “Mum put a ban on the pranks. Too many people are messed up from the war for that kind of thing. I mean, they’re Fred and George, so they still do it, obviously, but they are way more tame now. It’s a little weird, honestly.” Ginny had a slight frown on her face, but quickly replaced it with a smile. “Come on, Hermione. I’ll help you with your stuff.”
When Ginny was satisfied, Hermione flopped down on the bed with a sigh. She was tired and her skin was burning. The smell of roast was wafting up the stairs, making her mouth water slightly.
“I’ll go see if Harry and Ron are here yet, shall I?” Ginny said and walked out the door without waiting for an answer.
As soon as Ginny was gone, Hermione pulled up her sleeve and let air hit her scar. Without the feeling of her shirt rubbing on it, her scar quickly grew from a painful burning to an annoying tingling sensation.
“Harry!” Hermione heard Ginny’s excited shout and smiled. She stood up to join her friends, and when she opened the door she heard Ron.
“Glad to see you too, Sis.” There was a tired smile in his familiar voice. Hermione hurried down the stairs; it felt weird not having Harry and Ron not with her all the time. They’d been their own company for so long.
When she entered the living room, Ginny had wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist and didn’t appear to have any plans of moving. Ron was watching them with a slightly nauseated look on his face. He had never really gotten over seeing his sister with boys, even Harry. Seeing his arm around Ginny’s shoulders wasn’t helping him any.
“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed when he saw her. He immediately walked toward her and pulled her into a hug. “You look about as good as I feel, mate.”
Hermione laughed softly. Ron had matching dark circles under his eyes. When they pulled back, Hermione looked over at Harry and smiled sadly. He had identical dark circles and a mussed mass of dark hair. He obviously hadn’t been getting enough sleep either.
She walked over to him and they both reached out, hugging each other tightly. Ginny had stepped back when Hermione stepped toward Harry, allowing them to lean fully into their embrace. Hermione sniffed and pulled back. She didn’t know why there were tears in her eyes, and she was slightly embarrassed. Harry surveyed her face and returned her sad smile. Hermione in turn surveyed his face, and was saddened to see the haunted look there.
A questioning look came over his face, but Hermione just shook her head. Later, she was saying.
“Dinner is ready, dears,” Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen.
Ginny quickly reattached herself to Harry’s side, and Hermione was happy to see him return the gesture just as eagerly. She’d been ecstatic in sixth year when they had first started dating, and seeing how well it was going made Hermione even more happy for them.
With most of the family missing, they all shifted together towards the the head of the table. Arthur sat at the head with Molly to his right, and the kids filled in around them. Fred and George sat next to their mother, putting Fred in front of Hermione, with Harry to her left and Ron to her right. Ginny sat to the left of the head of the table on Harry’s left.
“Well aren’t we a spritely party?” Mrs. Weasley said happily.
Once everyone had finished, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retreated to the living room. Everyone else took their lead and filed out of the kitchen up to Ginny’s room. The twins said they’d come by later and continued on up to the floor above to their own room. Ginny and Hermione looked at each other and smiled; they knew they were going to their room to check their...whatever it was that they had in the room.
Ginny and Harry took Ginny’s bed, still holding hands, while Hermione and Ron sat on the opposite bed. At one time Hermione would have considered this heaven, Ginny and Harry together, and Ron and herself dating. But that just wasn’t her dream anymore. She had changed too much, and so had Ron, and they’d agreed that being friends was best.
“I’m stuffed,” said Ron.
“Me too,” replied Harry. “I might not have to eat for another week.”
The trio looked at each other, all thinking the same thing; a meal that size would have fed them for at least a week.
“Yeah,” Ginny said, distracting them all from their collective thoughts. “Look at you three, you could stand not to eat for a week,” she joked.
Ron grimaced; out of the three of them, going hungry was the hardest on him. Harry had been used to it by then after living at the Dursley’s for so long, and Hermione struggled in silence. She had never gone hungry in her life, but she knew there were worse things.
“Too soon?” Ginny asked.
“Yep,” Ron said, dropping his grimace.
“What happened out there?” Ginny asked. “I mean, if you guys aren’t ready to talk about it, I get it, trust me, but if you are, I’d like to hear about it. At least some of it.”
All the Weasley’s knew something about their escapades at the Ministry, and breaking out of Gringotts on a dragon, but they didn’t know anything from before or after. When they had seen each other at Hogwarts during the Final Battle, the Weasley’s had been shocked at their ragged appearances.
Ron turned to Harry and Hermione, silently asking permission to answer his sister’s question.
“It’s okay, Gin,” he said at Harry and Hermione’s nods. “It was just hard. We didn’t know what we were doing half the time.” He went on to explain their adventure, with a few corrections from Hermione and Harry. Ginny sat quietly and listened attentively. Ron explained how wearing the locket made you think horrible thoughts, and all three of them shuddered in remembrance. Harry and Ron thought Hermione had been the one to handle the locket the best, but the locket directed her anger and other negative thoughts toward herself, so she never had an outburst like theirs.
Ginny grimaced when Ron got to the part where he left in a Horcrux-induced rage. She knew what it felt like to have her mind altered by Voldemort, and quickly forgave Ron for abandoning his friends. Ron started talking about the snatchers, and how they had taken them to Malfoy Manor.
“Ron,” Harry interrupted. He looked pointedly at Hermione, who was white as the sheet she had clenched in her fists. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn’t seeing anything in front of her.
Ron cleared his throat. “That’s not our story to tell.”
Ginny was standing to go to Hermione, when a CRACK filled the air. Ginny fell back onto Harry who clutched her to him like a lifeboat, and Ron’s face drained of color and he quickly took out his wand. Hermione jumped so hard she fell off the bed, hitting her head on the nightstand on her way down. Ignoring the bruise that was surely forming, she reached into her pocket and grabbed her wand, rolling over on her back as she went.
Fred and George stood in the center of the room, staring at the four of them.
“Fred? George?” Ginny said shrilly. “What did Mum say about apparating in the house?”
The twins turned to stare at Ginny, who was still on top of Harry, and looked like she’d seen a ghost. George reached out and helped her up.
“Guys,” Ron said from his side of the room. He was staring at Hermione, who was hyperventilating on the floor, clenching her wand and gritting her teeth. Harry immediately stood up and went to her. As the others stood up to join him, Harry held up his hand and stood in front of Hermione protectively.
“Stop. This has happened before, and what she needs is for you all to step back right now.” Harry came and crouched in front of Hermione. She stared at him with wide eyes, breath coming in and out like a fish out of water. One hand held her wand while the other gripped her forearm. It looked like she was trying to stop the blood flow she was squeezing so tight.
“Hermione?” Harry said softly. “Can you hear me? I need you to take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that, Hermione?” He reached out and took the hand that was clenching her arm so tight. Pain flashed in and out of his features as her tight grip shifted to his hand. He ignored it, and promptly proceeded to remind her how to inhale. “In for three, out for three. That’s right, good job, Hermione. In for three, out for three.”
The others stood, or sat (Ginny had stayed seated. She had seen, and experienced, panic attacks and knew that exactly what Hermione didn’t need was everyone closing in on her.), in silence while they waited. When Hermione could draw in a whole breath and stopped clenching her wand Harry sat back, still holding her hand.
“You alright now, Hermione?” Harry asked softly.
Hermione just nodded. She didn’t trust herself to stand, so she sat and waited for feeling to return to her limbs. She hated the tingling feeling she got during a panic attack. It always started on her scalp and made its way down her body, paralyzing her. Now that she was calming down, the reverse process began.
Harry stood up in front of her again. “Mind explaining why you thought any part of apparating into our room was a good idea?” Harry asked in a quiet, angry voice to Fred and George.
“We didn’t think,” George began. Fred was standing slightly dumbstruck next to him, still staring at Hermione. He’d known she wasn’t doing to well, but he never would have done it if he’d known it was so bad.
“No, you didn’t,” said Ron. He was standing up now beside Harry, blocking Fred’s view of Hermione. Fred gave his head a little shake, seeming to snap back into himself.
“Hermione,” Fred began. He couldn’t see her, but he needed to apologize. “I’m-we’re so sorry. We didn’t know it would upset you.” His face was pale, and in all her sixteen years of knowing him, Ginny had never seen Fred look so outright sorry for anything in his life.
“It’s alright, Fred,” came a quiet, breathy voice from behind Harry and Ron.
Fred just shook his head and turned to leave, grabbing George’s shoulder on the way.
“Wait,” said the voice. Fred turned back to see Hermione on her feet, one hand on Harry’s shoulder for support. “You don’t have to go.”
Fred stood dumbstruck again. He had just scared at least another ten years off her life, and he couldn’t understand why she wasn’t angry at him. He just nodded and conjured a chair next to Ginny’s bed. George followed his lead, conjuring another right next to Fred’s.
Fred watched as Hermione plopped down on her bed heavily, her face shining with a thin sheet of cold sweat. Ron took his place beside her, and Harry went back to join Ginny.
“Well,” George said, breaking the awkward silence that had sprung up. “What were you four talking about before we so unceremoniously interrupted you?”
Whatever color had returned to Hermione’s cheeks drained away.
“Oh, you know,” Ginny said. “We were thinking of asking you two knuckleheads to play quidditch later, if you think you’re up to the challenge.” Hermione shot Ginny a thank you look.
Fred saw it, but George didn’t, so he kept talking.
“Anything for you, little sis.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “What do you think, Fred? You up for a friendly match of quidditch?”
Fred looked over with a smile prepared on his face, though he felt awful, to see George subtly scrutinizing him. It wasn’t like Fred to be so quiet, and George knew it.
“Only if you think they can handle it, Georgie.” At Fred’s use of George’s nickname he looked slightly relieved.
“Oh, I don’t know, Freddie. We just might be too much for them to handle. What do you think, Gin?” George asked, turning to Ginny. “You think you can take us?”
“Oh I think we’ll do more than take you. We’ll pound you.” George and Ginny were a little too over enthusiastic and all the others in the room knew it was an attempt to draw Fred out of his quiet shell, and to help Hermione recover from her panic attack. Even Fred and Hermione knew it, so they looked up and tried to look like they were paying attention.
“I agree with Ginny, George. I think you should be worried,” Hermione said. Every eye snapped to her face, and she shrunk back. Ron reached around her and put his arm around her shoulders.
“She’s right George. You’d better watch out.” Ron’s tone was light, but it was underlaid with a warning. No one wanted to be the one make Hermione panic again, so they looked away. After a second Hermione patted Ron’s hand letting him know it was okay to let go and he did.
Harry and Ginny had been whispering quietly together when Ginny suddenly stood, pulling Harry up with her.
“Quidditch match in one hour. Harry and I are going for a walk. See you then.” Then she walked out of the room with Harry in tow.
“A walk? Sure.” Ron scoffed once the door had closed.
“They are.” Hermione leaned around to look Ron in the face. “I can guarantee that is all they’re doing. Ginny isn’t ready for anything more than that.”
Ron’s face turned bright red and he suddenly looked queasy.
“You brought it up, Ronald. Don’t give me that look,” Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a hard look.
“Yeah, but...It’s one thing to guess than it is to know.”
George snorted. “You walked into that one, Ron.”
“I know,” he said gruffly. He stood up stiffly. “I’m going to get my stuff for quidditch,” and Ron walked out as well.
“Well,” said George. “If the party is moving elsewhere, I guess I’ll follow,” and he turned to walk out as well. Before he stepped out he spoke again. “I am sorry, Hermione. We’ll be more careful from now on.”
At Hermione’s nod, he left. Fred was the only one left in the room with Hermione. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to leave too. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
“Uh, Hermione.” Fed’s face was almost as red as Ron’s had been. “I just...I’m really sorry. I didn’t consider how upsetting it would be. I hope you can forgive m-us.” Fred stood up, vanished his and George’s chairs and walked to the door.
“Wait,” Hermione called. When Fred turned back she was smiling. “It’s alright, Fred. I forgive you.” Fred could see the sincerity on her face. He returned her smile and slipped out the door.