Somnium Perditum - A Dream Lost

Chapter 1: Exordium

TW: Domestic Violence, Mention of Death

Hermione

The faint woosh of steam escaping from the train's engine drifts through the compartment, a steady whisper in Hermione's ear as she flips the pages of Confronting the Faceless. Her fingers glide over the parchment with practiced ease, her eyes scanning each line as though the words hold some unspoken truth. The chatter of her friends fades into the background—a low hum swallowed by the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks. It doesn't distract her; it never does. She's grown adept at this—tuning out the noise, disappearing into her own world. It's something she's been perfecting for the past seven years.

Hermione has never been one to gather a crowd of close friends. That has always left her with a quiet sense of inferiority, a weight she carries but rarely acknowledges. Harry has always been the constant, her one true friend, the unshakable anchor in her life. The others? They hovered around her periphery, their connections more by proxy than by choice.

And then there was Ronald. Ronald, who has never been easy to define. Sometimes a steadfast friend, other times an elusive lover, and occasionally, even a stranger—someone so foreign to her that it left her both frustrated and intrigued. Their relationship has always been a puzzle she couldn't solve. That was part of its allure, wasn't it? The unpredictability.

It was no less unpredictable when Ronald had suggested, in that casual, offhand way of his, that they keep things simple while she finished her year at Hogwarts. He had framed it as something considerate, thoughtful even—that her studies should come first, and his auror training shouldn't be a distraction.

But Harry hadn't said the same to Ginny.

She told herself she understood. She had to understand. But sometimes, understanding felt a lot like conceding, and Hermione wasn't sure which was worse.

"Earth to Hermione?" Neville's voice broke through the haze, his kind eyes flicking to her face. "I wanted to know what song you think the Sorting Hat has under its belt this year. Now that the war is over?"

Hermione blinked slowly, dragging herself back into the present. Her gaze remained fixed on the page in front of her, the words on repelling Dementors swimming in and out of focus. "The Hat does what the Hat wants, Neville," she hummed absently, her tone devoid of energy, her eyes still not lifting.

"Come on, Hermione. You practically know everything there is to know about the Dark Arts and defending against them. You led and survived a war, for God's sake. Loosen up a little," Seamus chimed in from the end of the compartment, a grin stretching across his face. His cheerfulness felt out of place, too bright, too loud for the heavy weight pressing on her chest. "How was your summer?"

Her summer. The question sat heavy in the air, twisting her stomach into knots. The first summer after she obliviated her parents. The words alone made her throat tighten. She had spent it entirely without them—afraid to go to Australia, terrified of what she might find, scared of what she couldn't undo.

Her mind flickered to those endless, stifling days at the Burrow, hiding in Ronald's room while Harry sneaked off to Ginny's. There had been fewer words between her and Ronald than she'd wanted—fewer than she'd needed. Instead, they'd filled the silence with touches, with bodies moving together, as if physical connection could replace what was broken inside her. But it hadn't worked. She'd felt as empty and lost as ever, each embrace deepening the hollow ache in her chest.

The nights had been the worst. Each time her eyes closed, she was back at Malfoy Manor, her body crumpled on the cold floor, Bellatrix's voice slicing through her mind, her screams echoing in her ears. She had woken in a cold sweat more times than she could count, her heart racing, her throat raw from screams she hadn't realized had slipped past her lips.