Catharsis

Chapter Three: Reminded

Now

The sun had just dropped beyond the borders of the buildings across the street when Hermione was finally closing up for the day. She took a deep breath of the mildly chilly air in and sighed, the crisp sting of the cold biting pleasantly as it moved in and out of her lungs, waking her up.

She hadn't gotten a good night of sleep in Godric knows how long, and she was always dragging by the time the end of her work day hit. Especially after a long, busy day like this one.

She stifled her yawn as she began making her way back down the cobblestone street towards the Leaky Cauldron, steadfastly ignoring the empty shop nearby that had caused her near full blown panic attack earlier. No, she didn't need another one.

Besides, it was still early. Plenty of opportunity to spiral into her anxiety before bed.

She smiled politely as she passed other shop owners closing up for the day, waving at the few she had come to know since opening Ataraxia, before slipping into the bustling Leaky Cauldron, its cloying, overwhelming scent filling her nostrils as she stepped inside the roaring sound that greeted anyone who opened its doors. No one tried to stop her here – it was why this brief moment at the end of her days had become one of her favorites.

As the golden girl of their little trio, she had become an infamous celebrity nearly overnight after the war. Everyone knew who she was, everyone stopped her and thanked her when they noticed her, everyone wanted to speak to the muggleborn best friend of Harry Potter who had fought so hard and given so much for them.

She didn't deserve it. She had spent a good portion of that year holed up in a manor in Wiltshire doing absolutely nothing useful except getting handsy with Draco Malfoy. And that was only useful to her.

The thanks and praise made her uncomfortable – she disliked nearly every aspect of it except for the part of it that allowed her to now do some good and make a difference. The only plus side to everyone knowing who she was, was that she was able to open doors that many couldn't get through.

But, she knew that the people didn't want to hear all of that, didn't want to know that she didn't feel worthy of their grace and affection. So she always nodded, smiled politely, and quietly shoved down the anxiety that clawed its way up and up until she was finally home and could fall apart in peace.

But here, at the end of the day in the Leaky Cauldron, with its dim lighting and raucous noise, nobody noticed her slinking through the crowd. No one stopped her or shook her hand.

For a moment, she wasn't Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Princess and champion of those without a voice.

She was simply Hermione, bookshop owner and average witch making her way home like everyone else.

She enjoyed the sounds of laughter and loud chatter that filled the small bar, remembering that every difficult moment she had been through over the past few years was worth it.

For this. For them.

For the ability to laugh and smile and drink with friends, without a care in the world.

It reminded her that there was joy and happiness, despite and because of the sacrifices so many had given.

She smiled at Tom the bartender as she slipped through the front door, and he returned it in kind, not drawing any attention to who she was, as he did every night.

She guessed it was just something inherent in who he was, that uncanny ability to understand exactly what people needed.

And she appreciated it immensely.