Stillness

Chapter 1

War. They say that war is hell but it's so much more than that. In hell, it's an endless, eternal suffering but with war, well, there's an after. There comes a time where you have to look at yourself in the mirror and rationalize it all. There's a silence after war, a stillness that you forget exits during. It's like being born, going from the calm soothing softness of the womb and suddenly getting thrown into the chaos of a delivery room, except it's the opposite. One moment you're one wrong move from death, nothing matters but your next spell, and then suddenly, everything stops. Everything is hushed voices and soothing words and admiration. Then you're expected to move on.

Hermione didn't know how to move on. Her mind didn't know how to adjust to the stillness. She didn't know how to enter a room and not immediately seek out each exit. Didn't know how to feel comfortable without her wand on her. Couldn't stop the way her body tensed at loud noises, or the list of curses she could use that flies through her mind when she's unexpectedly touched. She had watched everyone cope, watched Harry throw himself into rebuilding Hogwarts and Ron bury himself in his family. Watch Seamus drink himself into stupors with Parvati. Saw Neville lose himself in Luna. Percy threw himself into his work, Ginny into Harry, and no one had seen George while he adjusted to life without his twin. Molly mothered all of them a bit extra and Arthur fretted over Molly. Everyone had something that helped ease them back into normal life, everyone but Hermione.

When McGonagall approached and told them the school was reopening, that everyone who had lost their 7th year was being welcomed back to finish up their schooling, Hermione had hoped that this was it. School could be the thing that helped her move on. School was familiar, something she was good at, she could do school. But as the Hogwarts Express wound its way through the countryside her stomach began knotting up and she had to shove her hands under her legs to get them to stop shaking. As they approached the newly rebuilt Hogwarts she couldn't help but see the bodies. Colin, Lavender, Remus, Tonks, Fred. She could feel them, even though everything had been put back together and wiped clean, the school was soaked in their blood.

As they walked into the Great Hall, now a dining room once again, she couldn't help but see where the bodies had laid. She reached into her robes to touch her wand, feeling the way her magic pulled itself toward it, and allowed it to sooth her slightly. Her eyes scanned the room quickly and found 5 doors, 3 of which she knew exactly where they lead. If need be she could be out of the school in under 2 minutes.

"I can't believe they let him come back." Ginny's voice interrupted her paranoid thoughts.

Hermione looked toward the other girl then followed her line of sight, eyes landing on Draco Malfoy, seated at the Slytherin table looking impossibly bored. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair appeared wind blown, as she watched, he ran his hand through it, furthering the effect. He appeared paler than before, like he hadn't seen sunshine in months, but Hermione hadn't seen him since the final battle so maybe she just wasn't used to how light his skin actually was anymore.

"He had to. Part of his probation." Harry muttered as they sat at the Gryffindor table.

Harry had gone to bat for the Malfoys after the war, and had been the only reason Draco and Narcissa escaped Azkaban. Lucius didn't get so lucky, there was no denying what he had done, but since Narcissa wasn't marked and had lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead, they had nothing to charge her with. Draco was just a product of his environment, had no choice on taking the mark, and Harry had told the Wizengamot of his hesitation that night on the Astronomy Tower and how he hadn't identified Harry when they had been captured.

"Bloody wanker, should be in Azkaban." Ron muttered.

"He doesn't deserve that, Ron." Hermione said, her eyes still glued to the blonde.

"He's marked. Anyone that holds that mark should be locked up." Ron snapped.

"Drop it." Harry said, trying to stop the fight that was brewing.

Ron and Hermione had been bickering about the leniency that had been shown during the trials for weeks. She had agreed with the decision to put the younger ones on probation, even if they were marked. They were kids, just like her, Harry, and Ron were. They deserved a chance. Ron disagreed, vocally. He had even fought with Harry on his decision to testify for the Malfoys.

Hermione just huffed while Ron rolled his eyes. Her fingers found her left arm, unconsciously, and she began pressing into the scars that lay under the sleeve of her robe. McGonagall rose at the podium and welcomed them, with a wave of her wand the first years entered and the sorting began. Hermione couldn't seem to focus on it though, instead her eyes kept being drawn back to Malfoy.

He was staring blankly down at the table, his arms folded in front of him. The younger Slytherins looked toward him fearfully, but the few that returned for their 7th year acted like he wasn't even there. Just Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson acknowledged him. It made sense though, they were on probation as well, only Nott actually holding a mark but Zabini and Parkinson had played roles in the war as well. They were whispering to each other and glancing at Malfoy, almost looking worried.

It took Hermione a few minutes to realize Malfoys fingers were moving, that he was dragging his right thumb nail back and forth across the fabric of his left sleeve. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment before his eyes snapped up and locked into hers. Hermione sucked in a breath and knew she should look away, but she couldn't. She could see it in his eyes, etched into every line of his face. He hadn't been able to move on either. He still wore the war, just as he had once wore a death eater mask.

Food appeared on the tables and Hermione was jostled slightly as Ron reached to fill his plate. She jumped, gripping her wand, as her eyes scanned the hall again, 5 doors, could be out of the school in 2 minutes. She took a deep breath, trying to settle her racing heart, as she quickly filled her plate despite not having an appetite. Her gaze flitted back over to Malfoy, only to find his seat empty.

The first day of classes was surreal, Hermione felt like she was in a dream and the feeling intensified when they were waiting to enter potions. Hermione leaned against the wall, feeling the cold dungeon stones cool her back through her robe while Harry and Ron talked beside her. She allowed her eyes to fall shut for a moment but when the hall of students fell completely silent, her eyes flew open, immediately on guard. She scanned the area but couldn't see what had caused the tension. Glancing at the student in front of her she followed his glare straight to Malfoy.

Malfoy was now leaning one shoulder against the wall, watching his wand as he twirled it between his fingers. He looked bored, unaware that the rest of the students had tensed at his appearance. His eyes followed a crack in the ceiling until he was suddenly looking at Hermione. His steel gaze scanned her, from bushy hair to her black shoes, then he turned away. No scathing remark, no curl of the lip, no expression at all.

The door finally opened and they all rushed inside. Hermione didn't actually hear a word Slughorn said during the lesson. Her eyes were trained on the fire warming her cauldron, wondering if she touched it, would it simply burn her? Or would it wake her up? Maybe still in that tent in the Forest of Dean? Because this had to be a dream. How could she be sitting in a classroom after being instrumental in bringing down one of the darkest wizards of their time? How could Harry and Ron be beside her making jokes after watching so many people they loved die? How could Draco Malfoy look right at her and not say something rude or antagonizing?

That night Hermione excused herself early, assuring her friends she was just tired, but as she lay in her bed she tried to figure out how they were all so ok. None of them wanted to talk about the war, they just wanted to move on, they had grieved, found their peace, they didn't need to be reminded. She had read all the books, books about dealing with death and trauma and even delved into some about the human psyche, but she just couldn't seem to let it all go. Maybe this was just who she was now. No longer the happy curious young witch who had entered Hogwarts when she was eleven but a haunted, lost soul who couldn't find her footing in a new world.