Drarry One Shots

Without Words

A/N Please be aware that within this story the word 'crip' is used in various contexts. I do not use the word lightly but because this story deals with Disability Rights, prejudices and oppression. Despite its common use as a slur, from the late-1980s (possibly earlier), it is a term that many in the British disability community started reclaiming to describe themselves with pride, much like with the word 'queer' in the LGBTQ+ community though with less awareness/prevalence. However, unlike the word 'queer', it is an insider term as there can be confusion whether it's being used as a slur or being reclaimed. I have encountered some of the experiences described (particularly when I have been out with a wheelchair user) and they are infuriating examples of systemic unconscious bias towards disabilities, even in 2024.

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Hermione recognised that after the war she'd returned to her books and her studying because they represented a safety for her. They were a normality for her after the turmoil that they'd endured. And they were a way in which she could prove herself. She occasionally wondered to whom. It wasn't as if she could have done anymore towards the war effort. But that wasn't the point. She was constantly aware of the letters that scarred her arm, the word that branded her, the slur that labelled her, and she knew that there were still some that would always consider her a 'Mudblood'. Her books didn't judge her and if she could pass every exam she took with the best grades possible, then at least she couldn't be criticised for not learning what she could about this world she lived in. She knew it was ridiculous but that was her way. Low self-worth ate away at her despite her brilliance; she believed she would never be equal even if she were appointed Minister for Magic. That was why she'd insisted on returning to Hogwarts to complete her schooling—because no one could take away her knowledge and a proven track record in education.

Her need to return to education sat at odds with Ron. Ron didn't want to go anywhere near the school and the place where Fred had been killed. Which was perfectly reasonable. But things with Ron were... complex... and Hermione's input into that one wasn't welcome anymore.

Nor was Harry's.

Only because both men were bloody stubborn and it all seemed rather like a repeat of the beginning of fourth year.

God knew they all had their flaws and sometimes those flaws rose to the surface at the worst possible time and in the worst possible ways.

Hermione watched her best friend across the year-eight common room and knew, deep in her heart, he was struggling with the aftermath of the war despite how much he hid it. Since the battle had ended, the fire had gone out of his soul and light disappeared from his eyes. Full recovery seemed untenable, instead life was dulled and without purpose as he went through the motions of each day.

They all were still recovering in their own ways but Harry's journey seemed the hardest because what was normality for him? What was life even? Where did he go from here now it was all over?

Occasionally she saw glimpses of his old self, from times before the Triwizard Tournament and before the point that life became deadly serious. However, those moments quickly faded as he retreated back into himself. He was very alone despite those who rallied around him.

It was hard for anyone to understand what he'd endured and what he was still going through.

Hermione watched Harry hunched over at a desk in the corner of the room and worried about him. It was 7.45am on a Saturday morning but he'd already been awake and up for a while. Sleep wasn't easy for him these days so he'd established a daily routine that he followed religiously, whatever the day. That meant he'd already risen early, run in the hills for forty-five minutes, swam in the Black Lake for half an hour, showered, and then settled down to go through his Owl post before breakfast. She tried to persuade him that he didn't need to respond to those who wrote to him but his reply was always the same: