Chapter Text
The Trauma We Hide
By: Sarah Huff
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, etc. This story is my own idea, based on the characters created by JK ROWLING. I collected no profit. Etc. etc. etc..
The hearth in the Gryffindor common room harbored an infinitesimal sputtering of embers. The dwindling charred ashes left behind paled in comparison to the raging inferno it struggled to contain mere hours ago. The warmth seemed to abscond with Harry and Ron when they finally abandoned her for their beds earlier that night.
Hermoine, however, was finding it increasingly difficult to sleep. Each night, the time was getting later and later until she finally dragged herself up the stairs and into bed. Yet each night, the nightmares seemed to come on just as quickly; colors rather than images would flood her senses like flashbacks, consuming her until she woke up in a cold sweat, unable to distinguish between her sweat and her tears.
The first color was always the same. Amber. For it was the same eye color she inherited from her father, the very color that haunted her most. The next to swarm her vision was always crimson, the exact shade of blood that pooled from her father’s chest, through his shirt, and across her fingers. She was forced to watch him die in her arms after being shot by a bullet not intended for him. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hermione hadn’t learned any of the spells that could’ve healed him. She didn’t even have her wand with her, knowing she couldn’t use magic in the Muggle world.
And the last color, burgundy, was the color of the wine her mother drank while taking handfuls of pills, ending her own life, and orphaning their only child. It was two months to the day after they had buried her father. Perhaps that color always came last because it was the final tragedy she endured. She hadn’t had to watch her mother die; maybe she should try to find solace in that. This time it was the Ministry who informed her—in the most impersonal way possible.
They sent the news via owl to the great hall, in the middle of lunch, a week into the first semester of her 7th year. They told her that her mother was dead. They provided her paperwork, an explanation, and attached an additional note from her mother. Immediately upon opening it, she noted it was short, far too short to offer any real explanation; the sheer brevity made it clear it’d provide no true closure.
Scanning it swiftly, her mother candidly told her only child that after losing her soulmate, and knowing she could never be a part of Hermione’s world as a witch, she could not go on alone; she was not strong enough. So, she left Hermione everything, except a mother--- by taking her own life.
The note from the Ministry further explained that the Muggle coroners concluded it was an overdose of pain pills and a bottle of merlot. When the next-door neighbor found her, she was already gone.
Hermione got up from the table in the great hall with a blank expression on her face. Ignoring the questions from Sheamus, she was grateful for once that Harry, Ginny, and Ron were at Quidditch practice, and began gathering her things. She stacked the paperwork from both the magical and muggle world, and her mother’s final goodbye, into a neat pile as if the pages contained nothing more than another school assignment.
Glancing down one last time, her eyes roamed over her mother’s perfect script. There were mere sentences on the paper, donning her parents’ dental practice letterhead. Rushed words saying, praying, and hoping her daughter would know she was loved, and she believed conclusively her daughter would find a new family. But she also knew it would be in a world she could never truly be a part of. Hermoine stood that night and walked out of the hall, unsure where her life was headed.
It was that night, now weeks ago, that her nightmares began.
Another winter was swiftly approaching Scotland; this year, summer was exceptionally brief, albeit tinged with trauma by the loss of her father. Then autumn was equally torturous, learning of her mother’s demise, and being consumed in the desolation of it all, time seemed fleeting. Although it was clear, each day was a teasing proximity to the inevitable frigidity of winter. The war was looming closer each day.
Who else would she be forced to lose? How many more loved ones would die in her arms? Or abandon her because they can’t bear to sustain the war? And worst of all, what if she lost Harry or Ron? Then her mom’s hope of Hermione having a family in this world would be moot. How could she even go on without them? They’re all she had left now, and they didn’t even know. Closing her eyes against the cool draft now sweeping through the common room space, she thought back to earlier that night.
Harry and Ron, bickering in the background both unsure how to comfort her, yet unwilling to leave her alone. She chuckled, a self-deprecating sound she hoped neither Harry nor Ron would inspect beyond face value.
They knew something was wrong, only two days after she received the news of her mother’s death. She never did tell them about her father’s suicide. It seemed pointless to share her pain with them, especially Harry; Being the chosen one, he already felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.
It was better this way because she knew there was no way they could know the truth. So, she chose to hide certain parts of herself. She didn’t tell them why she came back a shadow of who she used to be this year. Both were certain something was wrong, but they didn’t know how to formulate the questions they didn’t know how to ask.
And likewise, Hermione, used that to her advantage.
However, she was glad that even in their distant moments as a trio, they stayed. Their lack of insight proved useful, not the least of which was earlier tonight. But she knew their bond was unbreakable, and she’d make it through this and still find a way to fight beside them. The boys were oblivious…. she lost almost everyone she ever loved. So, when they left her to sleep hours ago, she smiled and waved them goodnight.
And now she sat alone, staring into charred ash all the while knowing that nothing would ever be the same.
They had a funeral for her father, mainly because her mother was there to plan it. However, when Hermione heard the news of her mother, she knew she couldn’t survive another memorial. Now both her parents were cremated, their ashes in cherry wood boxes at her childhood home, and they could remain there until Hermione could bring herself to scatter their ashes.
She knew they wanted to be taken back to France, where they met and fell in love.
So, No. She wouldn’t have another funeral; she wasn’t sure that she could survive it alone. Also, her father hadn’t wanted to die; her mother did. Thinking back on her father’s funeral, she was certain she couldn’t recall a single person, besides her mother, who was there. The entire service went by, and she endured it on autopilot. If she’d been in her right state of mind, she would have seen that two of her professors did show; they just happened to be the two she never would’ve thought to invite.
The seventh year was going to prove impossible. Dumbledore was evidently cursed with some form of dark magic. Professor Vector had yet to offer Hermoine the apprenticeship she was sure should have come by now. After all, even Professor Sprout had offered Neville Longbottom one with her. (Which he immediately accepted). And rumor had it that Professor Flitwick was going to offer one to Luna Lovegood; if Hermoine turned him down.
While Hermoine never had charms class with Luna Lovegood, it was rumored that Luna took after her mother and was a prodigy when it came to charms and spell creation. Hermoine had many interests, but just as she would never impede on Neville in Herbology, she would never do the same to Luna in Charms. That unfortunately, left a huge gap and question mark on the future of the supposed brightest witch of her age.
All the skill, but nothing that fit… it was similar to her life… no matter how hard she tried, she never could belong..
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Professor Dumbledore’s Office
“I trust you all know, as I’ve made it no secret that my health has taken a turn over the last few months”, Dumbledore said, offering his hand up as evidence to the irrefutable. “There are certain things that you must be told before my time comes.”
“Albus surely-“ Minerva began, but was soon silenced with another wave of the headmaster’s hand.
“This cannot wait, not even until the morning, Minnie. Some of you will be less thrilled than others about the decision I made six years ago. But I made it and only intended to implement it in the case of my certain death.”
A cacophony of whispers echoed throughout the room. The response ranged from intrigue to shock to outrage. The most powerful order members were in the room, although it was far from the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix. Many younger members had been officially sworn in at the beginning of this school year. Onyx eyes locked onto the headmaster, harboring a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going.
Professor Snape scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking over the headmaster.
“Headmaster, tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with the magical compatibility potion you had me create for you during Potter’s first year?” he spoke, tone low and drawn out, revealing underlying signs of both his exhaustion and irritation simultaneously.
“Severus?” Professor Vector asked, clearly confused with the direction the conversation was taking.
“Albus?” Lupin echoed, looking between him and Snape, waiting for someone to explain.
Dumbledore’s eyes merely twinkled, looking amongst all those in the room, taking a breath before measuring his words carefully.
His eyes locked first on Minerva, knowing that, besides Severus, there wasn’t a single witch or wizard in the room he trusted more. Her expression was one of intrigue, but she was growing increasingly annoyed with his drawn-out theatrics. She was one of a small portion for whom he couldn’t be 100% sure about their match, but if it was who he thought it would be, it would serve her protégé well.
Next, his gaze sought Sprout, knowing she’d likely be the most satisfied with the arrangement he was going to propose. Although they hadn’t drunk any potions or performed any incantations yet, Albus hoped his intuition was correct. Hooch’s gaze burned into him, her cat-like eyes drawing his attention next. He wasn’t honestly sure how she would react.
Then there was the unmistakable presence of Tonks. She was a firecracker, a bit of a hazard, and vastly underestimated by both her fellow order and auror members. She, like Sprout, would likely be, if not thrilled, at least agreeable to the match. Then came Filius, never one to cause a ruckus, but knowing he’d already formed a kinship with the one he thought was the professor’s most compatible, he believed he would not only enjoy the task, but he would have taken it with honor regardless.
He avoided Severus, both his question and his gaze, knowing he would be the hardest battle of them all. That left Lupin, whom he was unsure of, just like Minerva. But he knew Lupin would take whomever he was matched with in stride. It was certain that Vector would take Fred, and Mad Eye would take George. No one else in the order would’ve been able to both guide them and discipline them simultaneously. They needed both the structure and the brilliance of the perspective mentors, regardless of which twin ended up with which member – they were clearly the best choices.
“Severus is correct”, Albus confirmed after a ridiculously dramatic amount of time. Summoning a crate of potions from some unknown location, they landed on his desk with a thud. He smoothed his uncursed hand over the wooden crate, smiling in bitter nostalgia before looking up to address the room. “Many mistakes were made during the first war. Most of you were far too young to be fighting; some of the order lost their lives, others”….. Here, Albus paused, taking a moment to respect the fate of the Longbottom’s, knowing this time around their son would be taking the place of his parents. “Others…” he reiterated, “Suffered a fate worse than death. I believe we must prevent history from repeating itself. In the first war, we were unprepared for what we’d face. Now, we understand and can help the next generation of the order be more prepared.”
“Am I to be chained against my will, to yet another master?” Snape sneered, just loud enough for the room hear, but not loud enough to demand a reply. However, the headmaster answered him anyway.
“If I recall, Severus, the decision to link yourself to both, master’s, as you label, was entirely of your own volition. And yes, it’s unclear how deeply this link will be; however, it is not an unbreakable vow. It is simply you, as a senior order member, aiding and helping a protégé. The goal, as you presumed when I had you create such a potion, was to prevent history from repeating itself. This group, I admit, is less native than our first order group. But they can only benefit from your guidance now.”
“And you, I assume, won’t be consuming any potions”, Severus accused.
“My boy…. And my dear friends, my illness is terminal, as you know, despite Severus’s best efforts, and poor social skills and attitude, I might add, has given me the gift of time. In case anyone has any lingering doubts about his loyalty,” Dumbledore spoke, giving a knowing look to Mad-eye, Lupin, and a general glance around the order.
“For me to drink it would be fruitless, as I doubt I’ll see the year’s end-“
A shock rippled through the room immediately.
“Silence!” Dumbledore declared, “We will have time to discuss this soon. For now, we must deal with the more important matters. Severus, would you like to explain the process, or shall I?”
The deadly silence and death glare Snape was giving to the container of potions was an answer in and of itself.
“Very well,” Albus began, knowing his protégé was going to make this entire process harder than it needed to be. “I have no desire to repeat past mistakes, leading the young and fearless into this war blindly. This potion is to be consumed by each of you. You will speak a simple incantation. Afterwards, Fawkes will provide you with a piece of parchment harboring a name.”
The order members looked both to their leader as well as the Phoenix, which they hadn’t realized was unusually quiet on its perch in the foreground.
“The name that will be provided to you by Fawkes is the one both the potion and spell have determined is the most compatible with your magic. I had Severus,” he paused, nodding to his unruly potions master, “design both so that you’d be linked with whichever younger member mirrors your…. magical identity, if you will.”
“But Albus! Who are the students? Should we not have a say? Should they not have a choice?” Minerva protested, with an immediate agreement from the staff and order members around her.
“In good time, Minnie, you will see this spell, and more importantly, the potion links you for a reason. We cannot leave these young witches and wizards to their own devices. You will make them stronger, you will know how to protect them, to teach them, that is the entire point of the creation. It’s not about forcing anyone against their will-“
To which Severus snorted obnoxiously. Dumbledore cleared his throat to silence his potions master and continued,
“It is about fate. You would never be able to be linked with someone who would harm you or our cause. You will be linked or paired with those whom you can help the most. Those who can, if you let them, even help you the most. I will read the list of candidates that may be paired with each of you. Just as the pool of my best is here tonight, the spell will only consider the best and strongest to be matched to you. Trust is essential. Now, if there are no more interruptions, I will read you the list. Afterwards, you will drink your potion, speak the incantation I will tell you, and Fawkes will provide you with your new protégé to protect.”
“Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Fred Weasley, Ginny Weasley, George Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Draco Malfoy”.
Each Professor grasped the sent potion wandlessly. The first to drink was Filius Flitwick. He seemed to have too little fear and too much excitement about the upcoming adventure he was embarking on. After quickly reciting the spell, he was delivered a piece of parchment from Fawkes revealing his new protégé. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t surprised.
“Luna Lovegood!!!!”, Flitwick exclaimed with pride, waving his parchment in the air.
Some of the other professors smiled encouragingly, knowing the dueling champion was planning on taking the gifted witch as an apprentice anyway.
“Neville Longbottom!” Professor Sprout beamed less than a minute later. Soon, the room was echoing with the cheers or trepidation of those who had learned the names of their new proteges.
“George Weasley”, Lupin confessed, crestfallen and clearly worried by the certain challenges in front of him.
“Fred Weasley”, Mad Eye grumbled; however, he seemed more excited by the challenges ahead than Remus.
“Ginny Weasley!” Professor Hooch announced! While it was an unexpected pairing, the longer she lingered on it, the more it made sense. Both were strong witches who didn’t take center stage unless they were required to. Both extremely powerful witches and excellent fliers, neither of whom took nonsense from anyone.
“Harry Potter”, Minnie exclaimed proudly, but slightly confused.
“It actually makes a lot of sense,” Tonks claimed, patting her arm. “You’re both fire breathing Gryffindor’s with unmatched talent, kind hearts, and a disregard for authority”.
At that, Snape snorted aloud, attempting to hide his blush with his hand and a cough.
“Draco????” Vector squeaked, more confused than anything,
“All in good time, Septima, all in good time.” Dumbledore consoled.
“Hey, Snape, who’d you get?” Tonks asked, knowing they were the only two not to finish the incantation. “Seems like we’re stuck with the other 2/3’s of the…. golden trio.”
“You first”, Severus sneered irritably, contemplating who would be worse, the know-it-all or the dunderhead.
“Ronald Weasley”, Tonks scoffed, smiling softly.
“Well…. this isn’t going to be a dull year,” she said to no one.
However, the statement generated sympathetic looks from both McGonagle and Dumbledore.
“Oh, that means-“ Sprout started,
“No!” Minerva pleaded
“It shouldn’t be!” Hooch claimed
“Well, at least I won’t be alone in my ….. challenges,” Tonks digressed.
“It seems, Severus Snape has…”
Albus began, but was interrupted by the man in question himself, in a tone not previousy utilized,…
“Hermione Granger”…