therapy. D.M.

one

Sometimes she felt like the castle had lost its glow, like it felt colder now. When she closed her eyes the plush green hills were rising with smoke and the winding cobble stone was still bloodstained.
She had watched the reconstruction from afar when it happened. Deep down, she felt like she had enough to do with the damage on the school to try and fix it. When it came to reparations, the young witch wasn't sure she had the guts to face the wizarding world  again — perhaps she had lost some of her Gryffindor tenacity. She stayed behind as Ron and Harry (begrudgingly) had their post-war meetings with the Daily Prophet. She had successfully evaded Neville and Luna's soup kitchen volunteer sign up-sheet. For a long time after, Hermione stayed in her room writing letters to the families of those who had lost their sons and daughters in the war. She tried her best to make each letter unique in her sympathies, pulling memories from the depths of her first-year mind to remember how she might have known the victims.
When she laid in her four poster at night, now placed in the head-girl suite (perks of being a war hero, she supposed) she still felt like she wasn't doing enough. So when Hermione had come to Professor McGonnagall with the idea of student to student grief counseling, she finally felt optimistic. One on one healing with her peers, that would do it. She would take away their hurt, and maybe in turn her nightmares and panic attacks would fade away. Always an empath, her mother would tell her.
Now, as Hermione tightened the crimson fabric around her neck, her gut stewed with anxiety. Self doubt vibrated her core as her mind flicked through the worst possible outcomes of today. Three meetings, that was all she had to make it though. Palms sweaty she walked briskly to the great hall, although she wasn't sure she would be able to stomach anything anyways.
"Morning," Harry said as she took a seat across from him. Ginny sat snugly next to him on the bench, stirring her tea with wandless magic as she skimmed the profit.
She looked up. "Well, how do you feel Mione? Excited to fix some fucked up Slytherins?" A smug grin found its way into her freckled lips.
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, suddenly feeling parched. "You can't just assume they're all Slytherins, Gin. I haven't even received the names for today's sessions yet. As fate would have it, a grey owl consequently dove towards the Gryffindor table, an ivory envelope clutched in its talons. As the letter dropped in front of her, she felt the bench to her left droop down to accommodate the weight of Ron sitting beside her. Already chewing on a piece of a toast, he plucked the letter from the table and opened it. Hermione couldn't even protest before Ron began his grumbling.
"Bloody hell, Hermione. I don't know how you're going to do this. I mean just listen to this —
10:00 - 10:30 Pansy Parkinson
12:30 - 1:00 Blaise Zabini
4:30 - 5:00 Theodore Nott"

Hermione dug her nails into her palms as she took a deep breath.

"Looks like I can assume all I want, because I'm always right." Bragged Ginny. Harry nudged her with her shoulder.

"If anyone can help them it'll be the brightest witch of our age," breathed Harry. "Might just want to put them in a straight jacket first."

"Honestly you three, the war is over! The least you could do is drop these ridiculous biases," Hermione snapped, then felt her cheeks warm with her loss of temper. "Sorry," she grumbled "it's just, I really want this to work. I want to help, and I'm nervous enough without you lot acting like I'm counseling serial killers."

"Well they've definitely killed, Hermione, we've seen it! Or at least the aftermath. I just still can't believe what you're doing for them after what we've lost. What I've lost." Ron exclaimed.

The image of Fred flashed a crossed Hermione's mind, bringing back the dull ache in her chest that never really went away. She almost didn't realize Ron had stormed off as her thoughts came back to the present. Harry and Ginny looked uncomfortable.

"He'll get over it." Harry placed a gentle hand over Hermione's clenched fist. "You can't expect us to not be worried, is all. These are the same people that have been calling you names since we were eleven. We don't want you getting hurt." Ginny nodded in agreement.

"I'll be fine." Hermione mumbled more to herself than her friends. She stood up, smoothed out her robes and gingerly took the timetable from the table.

Here goes nothing.