When We Were Beasts

Gilded Lily

Present day
Hermione sat across from Kingsley, and they had yet to say a single word since they'd pulled themselves out of her memories. Tears stained her cheeks, yet she didn't bother to wipe them away.

Her screams seemed to echo through the room, even minutes later.

Kingsley took in a deep breath, his eyes still focused on the quill in front of him. He had paled considerably.

"Nothing there was altered?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Nothing."

"And you've heard nothing from the other group? The group Narcissa -"

"No. Nothing." She didn't want to talk about this.

Hermione felt naked. Vulnerable and open in a way that made her want to curl in on herself and use her hair as a curtain. Many of those memories had been left buried in her occluded garden for well over a year now. To throw open those thoughts again was overwhelming. Raw. Painful.

She saw Hannah's dead body. She tasted the water as she tried to swim after Draco's betrayal. She felt the Dementor's cold fingers graze her cheek. Hermione was there as Neville's arms wrapped around her, pulling her back as she clawed and shrieked his name.
It was all too much. Too much, too fast.

Hermione stood on shaky legs.
"Is there anything else you need from me?" Her voice was monotone.

Kingsley stared at her openly. His gaze was clear now. There was no more mystery surrounding how Hermione Granger had gone from the bright, optimistic Golden Girl to the introverted, almost callous apothecary owner turned D.A.D.A professor.
Kingsley now knew how she had become this version of herself.

He looked like he needed much from her still, but instead of keeping her there for interrogation, Kingsley leaned back.
"No, you may go, Hermione. We'll be in touch to schedule a time to do an in depth interrogation. Is there an O.O.T.P member that you'd prefer to do it? They'll have to see your memories as well, to be thorough. I would do it myself but Mrs. Longbottom will be arriving later this evening, and tomorrow I have a session with Mr. Zabini."

"Anyone but Ron," Hermione muttered. "I won't talk to him."

Kinglsey eyed for just a moment longer before he nodded. Hermione quickly reached for the door.

"Hermione?" Kingsley said. She paused, her back to him.

He took her silence as permission to continue.

"You were a girl trying to her best to live. I don't judge you, for any of it. And neither would Harry."

Hermione flinched. Fresh tears sprung as she cleared her throat.
It felt like she'd been crying for the last three years without pause.

"You don't know what Harry would've done," She answered him, her voice curt. "None of us do, because he's dead."
Hermione fled his office before he could answer.

****

"Do you miss it?" Pansy asked Hermione, her fingers working through Hermione's curls.

Pansy's love language was physical touch, which was why it didn't bother Hermione that the witch was always rubbing her back, playing with her curls, or touching her clothes.

Hansy Pansy, Luna had called her more than once. The memory of it made Hermione smile.

"Miss what, Pans?" Hermione asked, turning her head to look at her friend. Pansy gently but firmly grabbed Hermione's chin and kept her gaze forward.

"Your braid will be crooked if you keep turning your head like that," She chastised. "And I mean this place, not the... not the rooms. You can have it back if you regret selling it-"