Dark Side of the Moon

Chapter One: In our bedroom after the war

She still woke up in a cold sweat some nights.

It had been weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts - since Harry had died and come back to life, since Voldemort had been defeated and not had the same resurrective luxury, since they'd all collapsed back at the Burrow to sleep for what felt like days. In fact, she realized that once they'd made it back safely she hadn't even left the other bed in Ginny's room for at least 36 hours, save a couple trips to the loo. The previous 24 hours had been absolutely mental, starting with the Gringotts break-in and simply not ending until the war was over. They were all bone-tired. They had a right to be. But, unfortunately, this particular heavy, drowning sleep was the last Hermione had enjoyed before the nightmares began.

In the blackness of slumber she would see bodies splayed out around her. Some were bloody. Some had simply crumpled where they'd stood, victims of the Killing Curse. She could feel the dread of knowing Harry was gone, the sheer certainty that it was all over - Voldemort had triumphed. There would be no escape.

In her dreams, victory was still far out of reach.

It was another of these nightmares that had jolted her awake this night. She couldn't tell if it was incredibly late or incredibly early. Her throat was dry, her nightgown pasted with sweat against her heaving chest. She reached up two fingers to one cheek and felt wetness there - she had been crying in her sleep. Hermione glanced over to the other bed, wondering if Ginny was struggling too as she had been, but if Gin was she didn't show it. The pretty redhead laid on her side with one hand tucked under her head and a small smile on her face. Perhaps that was the sleep of someone whose love had risen Christlike from the grave. Hermione wished she could rest with that same sort of assurance. And why couldn't she? Harry was her best friend, after all. Why was she still experiencing these terrors, even though they'd won?

As she crept downstairs on the creaky stairwell, she pondered this. It almost made her feel guilty, like she didn't appreciate enough Harry's sacrifice and the magic and love that had somehow brought him back. She certainly hadn't told anyone yet about the nightmares - not Harry, not Ron, not Ginny. She couldn't explain it, but she felt ashamed. What right did she have of being traumatized when they'd won?

Hermione filled a glass of water in the kitchen and quietly made her way outside. She hadn't been thinking of exactly what she wanted to do once she'd started awake, but it was inevitable where she'd end up. At the far edge of the orchard behind the Weasleys' home there was a small ledge overlooking more of the farmland in Ottery St Catchpole, including what was perhaps a very small lake or a very large pond. She had discovered the ledge during her last stay at the Burrow, and it had become her favorite place to retreat to when the hustle and bustle of the busy home became too much for her - after all, she was the only child of Muggles; she didn't grow up used to all the magical madness all the time. She still wasn't quite used to it. The ledge was her place, her solitude. And so she padded her way barefoot through the soft grass, a bright half-moon lighting her way. Though she was alone, there was no fear as there was in the dreams.

Until, of course, she saw a shape sitting on the ledge. Her ledge.

Hermione squinted in the moonlight, stopping dead in her tracks before proceeding any further. The familiar flipping, nauseous feeling hit her stomach; the fear she'd lived with as familiarly as an old pet during their camping in the Forest of Dean. Someone was here that shouldn't be here, and that someone might be intending to harm them.

She stood motionless for several minutes, staring at the shadowy silhouette, until a small cloud carried over to her on the evening breeze. She breathed. It wasn't a cloud - it was smoke. Cigarette smoke, actually. It wasn't something she often smelled outside of the Muggle world, and it quirked her nose a moment before she fully placed it. She swallowed. Who would have a leisurely smoke before attacking a house full of people? This was, of course, where her mind drifted to before anything else; despite their victory, there were still Death Eaters out there. Maybe one had come to try and finish the job.