Coping Mechanisms

1. Hermione

"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I don't agree. The wounds remain. Time- the mind, protecting its sanity- covers them with some scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it is never gone."

-Rose Kennedy

Monday, August 24, 1998

Hermione Jean Granger could count on one hand the number of times she'd visited St. Mungo's Hospital before her seventh year at Hogwart's. She vaguely remembered the brief visits to Arthur Weasley when he'd been here, but that could have been a lifetime ago. The hospital was a different place now, nearly three months after the battle against Voldemort. Though he'd ultimately lost, Hermione still felt the Dark Lord's impact all around her. She saw it in the familiar faces scattered throughout the hospital, in their cuts and bruises and bandages. She saw it in their eyes when they searched for what was missing. And she felt it in her heart in the hole that remained. The destruction he'd caused had been all encompassing, like an earthquake disrupting the foundation of their lives. Though the tremors had stopped, how were they expected to patch up and move on? They could fill in the cracks, but the damage would always be there, haunting them.

They say time heals all wounds, but Hermione had spent her entire summer patching people up. Time wasn't her friend; only distractions were. And that's what St. Mungo's had provided; a distraction, a purpose, a way to help others while she struggled to help herself. Many of her friends had ended up there, and while most had been lucky enough to escape the magical war with minor injuries, there were always some who hadn't. And she couldn't bear to focus on the losses that plagued them. So she'd spent as much time volunteering as she could. It kept her busy, and in turn, it kept her whole.

The six floors of the hospital had dwindled down in capacity by the end of the summer, but there was still a steady thread of noise to keep her thoughts distracted. The only room that held a consistent quiet was the fourth floor, the permanent ward. She hadn't been needed there much throughout her volunteering, and for that, she'd been grateful. Its silence unnerved her and forced her to be alone with her thoughts. She was more than happy to be occupied elsewhere.

But happiness seemed to evade her, and time kept ticking on. How was time expected to heal all wounds when some people had so little of it left?

That was the question that plagued her mind that Monday when she found herself in the quiet confines of the fourth floor. The five permanent patients made no noise outside of their steady symphony of sleeping breaths. It was still early, the morning sun just beginning to flood the room. It highlighted each stark white bed sheet, reflected off each glimpse of sterile metal. The glow of the room was nearly ethereal, but it still couldn't lighten her heavy heart.

At least she wasn't alone.

The boy beside her had been there over the summer as much as she had, but when he wasn't helping, Hermione knew she could always find him here. He'd done his fair share of visiting the permanent ward for the past seventeen years, but the past week had seen him the most. Hermione had made it a point to stay with him whenever she could. It didn't change anything, she knew, but she couldn't bear the thought of him always being alone.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione studied his posture. His hands were balled into fists in his lap, his gaze centered on the white sheeted silhouette in the bed before them. His back was as straight as a board, and if it weren't for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, she'd swear he was a statue. He hadn't said a word since she'd came in, but lately, he didn't say much to anyone. She pondered at the coincidence of the ward becoming quieter each day, just like he was.

She slipped one of her hands into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes didn't move, but she felt his fingers tighten around hers in acknowledgement, his jaw flexing as he swallowed. She rubbed her thumb softly across his knuckles, and the muscles of his arm slowly relaxed.