Limerence

The halls were busy with students travelling to and from classes, huddled together with their friends, shouting at others from one end to the other. It was nearly as boisterous as it had been in the days when Fred and George had filled the halls with shrieks and laughter. She felt the familiar kernel of anger begin to fester in her chest, seeing so many others continue on as though nothing amiss had occurred. How had they all forgotten and moved on so quickly? Did they not lose friends, family, or cherished professors? Were they not forced into combat or into hiding for fear of their lives and freedom? 

Or was the problem within herself? 

Was she holding onto the pain and grief longer than everyone else? No, she knew that couldn’t be true. She had suffered greatly in the war but still not more than all others. Perhaps they all just hid it better than she was able to. 

She weaved through the throng of students with fluid ease, avoiding any clumsy collisions as several second-years stood circled around a game of exploding snaps. She tried her best to keep her head down as she hurried toward the hospital wing. She nearly made it to the corner when she was grabbed from behind. 

Panic exploded through her, hand immediately holding her wand, a stunner on the edge of her lips. She spun around, prepared to utter the words, wand pointed at her attacker. 

When she looked up to identify who had grabbed her, she was met with the terrified eyes of Neville. 

“I’m so sorry, Hermione! I did not intend to startle you! Please forgive me!” 

She took a deep breath, lowering her wand before turning a vibrant shade of scarlet. 

“I am so sorry, Neville! I cannot believe I almost hexed you!”

Her friend smiled down at her kindly in understanding, “I know better than to surprise any of us from behind. For far too long, we had to be on guard, prepared to fight or flight. That is not an easy habit to break.” 

Her lip trembled before she steadied herself, “Thank you, Neville. I’m working on it. How are you doing?” 

“I’m doing quite alright, to be honest. While I wasn’t initially overjoyed to come back for an eighth year after everything, it hasn’t been as terrible as I feared. I’m actually rather pleased to have another year working with Professor Sprout. I wasn’t able to spend nearly as much time in the greenhouses last year, so I’ve been sneaking out there as often as possible these days. She has offered to write me a letter of recommendation for several different mastery programs on the continent.” 

Hermione watched as his cheeks turned rosy. “Neville! That is wonderful!” she reassures him. 

“Thank you! This year has certainly been unexpected, but I think we can all make the most of it and come out all the better for it.” 

She smothered her urge to roll her eyes at her friend’s optimism. She wasn’t sure how he managed to maintain such an outlook. 

“I’ve actually really been enjoying the new unity course. The reading has been really great! I wish I had picked up more muggle literature before, Hermione! If you have other recommendations not on the multigen reading list, I would really love to see them!”

“Multigen?” she asked. She suspected the term's meaning but wanted to ask, as she hadn’t heard it before. 

“Er- yeah! Some of us were talking after the lesson last week when Kinglsey lectured on the power of words and their etymology and how they can subconsciously shape our perceptions and biases. While our magical history definitely impacts our experiences, given that some of us have known about magic and this world since we were born whereas muggleborns only get introduced to all of it so much later, our blood really has nothing to do with it and there is nothing more or less pure about mine than yours. The term was Padma’s idea as a way to acknowledge that some of us come from families with multiple generations of magical folk without the implication that we are somehow superior to those who are first generation or muggleborn. It recognizes the difference in our background and how it will likely affect our experiences while hopefully eliminating the more malicious complexes that have grown from blood supremacy… It definitely hasn’t caught on yet by any means, but a group of us are trying to practice using it and spreading it around.” 

He stared at her shyly, clearly waiting for her opinion. 

A smile grew on her face at his kindness. “I think that is wonderful, Nev. I quite like it. There is a similar term in the muggle world for university students. Those whose parents or grandparents never attended university are called ‘first generation students.’ It also acknowledges the differences in experiences, support, and privilege of other students who might come from different backgrounds. So you could say I am a first-generation witch, whereas you are a multigen… I really quite like that, Nev, but I’m not sure how many others will put forth the same effort to make the change to their own vocabulary. Could you imagine any of the Slytherins or the old ministry grunts caring enough to change their habits? And even so, a new term does little should they not put forth the effort to shift the basis of their ideology. They continue to look at me and other witches and wizards like me and see less. They do not look at me and see an equal, instead, they see someone who they accuse of thievery of something I had no knowledge of at the time I supposedly stole it. They will never stop telling me that my blood is tainted with mud and dirt and labeling me a magic stealer.” She paused to collect her breath as she could feel the letters carved into her arm begin to burn. “Instead, they maim us, isolate us, and wage war on us in the name of their purity. People like the Malfoys, the Goyles, the Parkinsons will never care enough about people like me to put in the miniscule amount of effort it would take to change something as small as the word they use to label the classification of my magical parentage. They would rather see me dead.” 

Neville’s eyes had grown wide in shock as her monologue shifted from intellectual to something more like an existential soliloquy. 

“While I cannot say what it has been like to be muggleborn throughout the war, Hermione, and I cannot say that we will ever change the minds of everyone, I think that we can start here. We can start here at Hogwarts. I think we might be surprised just how many perspectives were changed during the war, even from the other side. I think it's important that we at least give them the chance. I had my polyjuice experience… it was honestly dreadful. I don’t think I want to say who I was paired with because I think that they would prefer me not to, but I can say that during my day in their shoes, I was spoken to in vile ways by people who I never would have imagined to say such things. We were all only children, regardless of which side our families stood on. None of us chose it. I think if we can all be open to change and second chances that it could all go a really long way when we’re leading the wizarding world one day.” He gave her a small smile while she stood there soaking in his words. 

“I’ll see you later, Hermione. I’ve got to get to the library, I’m meeting someone.” 

She watched as he strode down the corridor away from her. 

She gave herself a moment to file away his words before continuing her discrete journey towards the hospital wing. When she finally made it, she snuck through the heavy oak doors and found Madame Pomphrey at her desk, sorting through files. 

The witch looked up at her, “Ah, Miss Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Her smile was warm and comforting. 

Unsure if there were other students occupying any of the curtained beds, Hermione kept her voice low, “Well, you see, Madame Pomphrey, I’ve tried just about everything, but I continue to have difficulty sleeping. Harry has finally forced me here to see if you could assist.”

The older witch studied her contemplatively, “Hmm, yes, I’ve been seeing a lot of students lately for similar difficulties. It is only natural after such drastic events. Have you been able to determine what exactly is preventing you from sleep, dear? Is it physical discomfort or pain from an injury?” 

Hermione shook her head, “No, I don’t believe so. Or at least that isn’t the primary issue, I suppose. I’ve, er, been having nightmares, you see… so even when I can fall asleep, it is dreadful, and once I am able to wake myself, I cannot seem to trust my mind to try again. Some of the nightmares seem to cause more of the physical symptoms, particularly with one of my old wounds. It flares, or at least my mind creates the idea that it does, even if physically it is in the precise condition it was before. I often find myself screaming myself awake, completely out of my own control. I don’t want to become reliant on a potion to rest. I’ve seen the damage that can do… I just don’t know how to keep going without the energy, but pepperup simply isn’t enough.” Hermione could feel her already teetering emotions begin to tip over the edge as she laid her most hidden pieces out for the healer to see. “Harry is the only one with any idea, but he doesn’t understand. Somehow, he seems to be managing all of this so much better than I am…”

The woman had a soft look on her face in understanding. “I know how difficult this must be for a witch like yourself, Miss Granger, to come and ask for help, but I want to reassure you that there is nothing wrong with realising that you need to. I’m grateful that Harry was able to convince you to come see me. I would like to double check this injury of yours you mentioned, and then I think we will start you on a half vial of Dreamless Sleep, here in the infirmary, under supervision. Depending on how you respond, I think that we might try that just a few times each week and go from there-” 

The witch was interrupted when a blond head stepped out from around the corner in the far room, a crate of potions balanced in his arms. 

“Oh, Mr. Malfoy, just perfect timing!” 

Hermione’s entire body stilled as she caught sight of the wizard striding towards them. 

He set the crate atop Pomphrey’s desk, “Here you are, Madame. These are all completed calming draughts and Dreamless Sleep potions. The other cauldrons with the wigginweld potion are just about done simmering, and then I will transfer them into their viles. That should be the last of it for today.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Malfoy. I know that you’re familiar with Miss Granger here,” she said, nodding at her as though he hadn’t noticed her standing there. 

“Yes. Hello Granger,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“Malfoy,” she muttered back.

Pomphrey continued, “Mr. Malfoy has been an excellent help this year so far. He is the only one who brews the potions we use here in the infirmary as efficiently as Severus was able to. I have been most grateful for the time he has volunteered to keep my stores stocked. We’ve been particularly busy this year, and flying through these,” she gestured to the potion vials in the crate. 

“But as I was saying, excellent timing!” Pomphrey grabbed a vial of Dreamless Sleep and summoned hospital robes from a nearby shelf. “Here you are, dear. Mr. Malfoy, please show Hermione to an available bay so she can get changed. I’ll be over shortly to take a look at that arm, and then we will see about getting you some rest!” She pushed the material and bottle into Hermione’s arms as she felt her face flush in embarrassment before she rushed away to address the sudden whining coming from behind one of the partitions. Of course, Malfoy just had to be here to witness this. 

“You don’t need to- I am perfectly capable of finding a bed on my own, Malfoy,” Hermione stammered. 

He stared at her for a long moment before he surprised her by saying, “I don’t sleep well either, Granger. Is your arm healing alright?” 

She felt as though her jaw might hit the floor at his cordial, even kind, response. 

She found herself replying without hesitation, “Er, yeah. It’s only scarred. Sometimes, I get phantom pains, I think. Seems more mental than anything. I’m sure it's fine. She just wants to look it over to be cautious.”

“Hmmm,” he sounded, “I’m sorry that my aunt did that to you, Granger, and I’m sorry you have to live with the reminder of it on your body. I know what it is like to see the constant reminder of torturous pain scarred across your skin, but I will never be able to rid my mind of the memory of that night. It should never have happened to you.” 

He gave her no opportunity to respond, only spun on his heel and hurried back to the potions lab hidden away. 

Hermione couldn’t seem to make sense of what had just happened… 

Had Draco Malfoy… just apologized to her?