When We Were Beasts

Reflection

Hermione sighed for the fifth time in the span of an hour as the train rolled past the sprawling Scottish hills back toward England.
It was a shame that she had to leave Hogwarts so soon. She'd just accepted the job offer made to her by McGonagall, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. A position she would have laughed at three years earlier. Not because of the class itself, but because she would never have been the best candidate for it. Being the school's healer? Believable. The librarian? Absolutely. Even after what happened she still found solace in books. Hell, she could have even seen herself as the Headmistress of the entire bloody school before guessing that she'd replace Snape all these years later. The only class less believable than Hermoine Granger teaching defense against dark arts was hermoine granger teaching divination.
The thought made her chuckle, her breath clouding the window. In the fog, before it disappeared, she drew a rune without even thinking about what she was doing.

His rune.
She sighed again.

Hermione's skin crawled at the thought that she'd be forced to speak of what happened. In the months since, she'd never talked about it. Not a single moment had been spoken of or seen through legilemency or viewed through a pensive.

What had happened was hers, and it was it was theirs. It was his.

And yet, the ministry felt they needed to record what Voldemort had put them through. It was the ministry's business what had happened in the BackRooms.

Apparently, it belonged in the history books as a part of the war. And that meant they had every right to drag every last survivor back for interrogation.

It's a violation, Hermione thought bitterly. The nosey gits Just can't stand the thought of being left out of the loop.

She wondered if they'd found him. If he'd show.
It was as if she was on a muggle carnival ride, the kind her parents used to take her to in the summer time. Her pulse raced at the thought of seeing the other survivors again, and yet she felt sick. Up and down her stomach turned, and when her heart thundered, she couldn't determine if it was with electric anticipation or slimy dread.

Would they still hate her, after all this time?
Were her hands still stained red with all of her sins?
She hoped they understood the choices she made.
But even if they didn't, she wasn't sorry. She'd do it again.
Every painful piece, every cut and every curse, it led her to the witch she now was. Broken and cracked, yes, but also stronger.
It led her to him.

****

"It would have been much faster to Apparate to England and then use the Weasley's floo," Kingsley said as she sat at his desk, her leg bouncing against the worn down carpet. "I still quite don't understand why you took the Hogwarts Express."

"It was empty, and it allowed me time to think." She swallowed the retort that it was empty because terms just started, and she was going to be missing the first day of school. Ginny was substituting for her, but she loathed that so much time was taken from her to learn her students, and for them to learn from her.
Knowledge and time were power, and he was taking both from her by forcing her here.

Kingsley eyed her for a moment, his throat working with unsaid words as he fought the urge to say something he shouldn't.

Hermoine didn't hate Kingsley. She understood that he had only been Minister for less than two years, and he was trying to establish himself as a wizard of power and no nonsense. Kingsley was making sure no stone that was tampered with under Voldemort's reign was left unturned. He wanted justice and peace for every witch and wizard affected by Dearth Eaters. Kingsley was trying to uncover every secret so that they could all finally move on.

The issue? What happened to Hermione was a stone not only unturned, but it was buried in the fucking ground, and she hadn't budged on letting them see what worms crawled underneath it.
Thankfully, none of the other survivors had either. Until eight days ago, when she heard that Lavender Brown was going to give a recount on what went down in the BackRooms and the forest afterwards.

Hermione hated Lavender.

Kingsley's eyes softened as he stared at her tapping leg. That only made her mood sour.

If they knew, they wouldn't pity her. Oh if they knew -
But he would know, and that made it all so much more complicated.
Her persona as the bright, calming light in the golden trio, her image as the good girl who never stopped surviving, would shatter when they realized what a beast she became during her time under Voldemort's thumb.
The things she'd done-

Hermione took a shuddering breath, walling off those thoughts with occlumency.
My mind is a garden. I bury these thoughts, and on top of them plant new ones.
It was her mantra, her prayer as Kingsley stood. She stood with him, her robes rustling with the movement.

Behind his desk Kingsley pulled the cloth off of the penseive, and Hermione gasped.
"Was this-"
"Dumbledore's?"
Kingsley didn't look at her, he only kept his eyes on the swirling smoke that hovered over the water, like fog over the Black Lake.
"Who let you take it from Hogwarts?"
At her tone, he finally turned, eyebrows raised in offensive surprise. "It was a gift from the Order, Miss granger. Not taken from anyone. To be frank, im offended you'd even assume that I'd dishonor Albus' memory by-"
"I'm sorry," She said quickly, the words awkward and too large for her tongue. "I shouldn't have said that."
"Im not the Villian here, Hermione." He took a step toward her, reaching out to place a calloused hand on her shoulder. "Whatever happened needs to be brought to light. Not just for the sake of those who died in those rooms, but for those of you who lived. You all deserve a chance to move on. To say what happened so it could be buried and dealt with. Lavender was adamant she was ready all on her own. I didn't push her into this, and neither did Ron."

Ron. In school, his name had given her butterflies. His presence had always lent her strength she didn't yet have. When Hermione was a tattered flag in the wars wind, Ron had been a pillar for her to cling to.
But Ron hadn't been taken. He had been at the right place at the right time, and because of that he had stayed free, going into hiding with the rest of the remaining order members.
And when Hermione was finally released, it shook them both to see she was no longer a tattered piece of cloth but a marble statue, resilient and unyielding. She didn't need him anymore, and Ron had only ever wanted her because she needed him.

He'd gone on to be the face of the Order, which moved from a rebel group against Death Eaters that was made of Britains best and bravest to a specialty, four letter agency that acted as Kingsley's brute attack dogs.
She had nothing to do with them anymore.

Hermione gave Kingsley a close lipped smile before moving out of his reach. He reached for his wand and an empty vial, the sight of both causing Hermione to shake.

She didn't want to do this. She wanted their moments, their story, to stay between the two of them. She wanted Luna and Neville and Theo and Pansy and even Blaise to live on knowing that what happened stayed between them and the dead.
But of course Lavender Brown had to break silence and ruin it for everyone.
And even though Hermione despised what she was about to do, the only thing worse than telling her side of the story was letting someone else speak on her behalf.
And so, with shaking fingers, she plucked her still-new wand from her robe pocket, brought it to her temple, and let the memories trickle out, each one more devastating than the one before it.