Chapter 1
One cannot truly appreciate the tranquility of normal living until it is nearly ripped away from you, and Hermione and the rest of her friends knew this best since they found themselves thrusted into a wizarding war caused by a man who wanted to exterminate all magical beings that did not fit into his apparently ideal world for all magical folk. Half-bloods, muggle-borns, and any other magical creature which did not contain pure magical blood in their veins.
People like Hermione, a muggle-born, were hunted like prey by Voldemort and his followers and were faced with severe prejudice that leaving the magical world entirely was so very tempting. However, Hermione had never been a fan of bullies and she has never been one to lay on her back and take a beating. The Gryffindor within her would never allow it, and so she vowed to never allow herself to be taken for granted or to be victimized like every other magical creature who is simply living their lives out as peacefully as they could in these troubling times.
When Harry had asked Hermione and Ron for their help him in his Horcrux hunt, Hermione didn’t hesitate for a second because if it meant that they had a chance to finally bring peace to the magical world, then she would gladly do it. Even if Harry had asked her to fly around the world in seven days on one of Ron’s deadly broomsticks, she would it for the possible achievement of peace in the magical world. In trying times, hope was the only thing that could keep others alive and if risking their lives in a torturously long hunt for horcruxes meant that they could finally live without looking over their shoulders for a killing curse, then Hermione will gladly persevere for the much-deserved normalcy that everyone desperately wanted and had previously taken for granted.
Each time they had destroyed a horcrux, the sense of hope only increased, and Hermione waited in anxious anticipation as the number of Horcruxes dwindled due to their efforts. Even when Ron had abruptly abandoned Hermione and Harry in the middle of their search, or when they were locked up in Malfoy manner, Hermione was determined to not let it affect her and determination to help Harry in his bringing an end to the war. Even when she was pinned down by Bellatrix Lestrange and had the very slur associated to her blood status carved in her forearm, she did not allow it to derail her from her goal.
She was not going to betray her friends. She was not going to give up when they were so close to finishing it all. She bit her tongue until it was bleeding so that she would not betray the information to Bellatrix that she desperately demanded. Even though her arm was burning with blinding pain, the dark magic seeping itself deeply in her battered and bruised body, she was not going to utter a single word of truth to the dark witch.
She. Would. Not. Give. In.
Probably the only time she felt like all hope was lost was when she had seen Harry’s body in Hagrid’s arms as he walked amongst the Death Eaters as they celebrated their victory over the Hogwarts students, professors, and fellow wizards and witches that participated in the battle. Devastation and horror were the only thing that had filled Hermione as she could not rip her gaze away from the body of her best friend, of the raven-haired, scarred boy that has saved her from a mountain troll during their first year. She barely acknowledged Ron’s arms around her as he caught her from falling, her legs giving in without her knowledge due to the shock and fatigue that hit her all at once.
Harry was dead. They had lost. The peace that they were working so hard for would never be achieved.
…
..
.
That is until Harry suddenly leapt out of Hagrid’s arms.
The determination and energy which had kept Hermione alive during the battle returned twentyfold, and much like before, Hermione found herself fighting side by side with her friends to finally bring an end to the war. Hermione and Ron hardly strayed from one another’s side, watching each other’s back and covering their respective blind spots to keep each other alive. The number of curses that she respectively casted and received was endless, but the sole focus that Hermione had was to stay alive.
She was not going to be another fallen comrade. She was going to be a survivor, and when she finally witnessed the vanquishing of Voldemort by her best friend’s hand, she realized that she had become one.
They did it.
They survived.
While they had lost many loved ones, they had secured a future for those that were able to survive and for the first time since Harry had announced that Voldemort had returned, she thought of her future. Hermione found herself contemplating on what she was going to work towards as she, Harry, and Ron walked through the ruins of their beloved Hogwarts school, taking in the haunted sight of the broken walls, stones, and archways which had not too long ago protected them from all forms of danger.
No one from the trio uttered a word to one another, instead they shared a companionable silence as they stepped over the broken ruins until they reached the bridge that connected the Hogwarts castle to the Viaduct Courtyard. The chasm beneath the bridge served as a haunting reminder that life was so delicate and fragile because despite the strength that the bridge had to support the walkway to the magical castle, it was indestructible. Hermione eyed the broken chunks of the bridge, its own ruins created from the battle as there were craters in the middle of the path, along with the safety balustrade being broken off at random areas.
“…”
Hermione mindlessly kicked off a smaller piece of rubble off the bridge and watched it fall down the chasm until it disappeared entirely, leaving the witch to contemplate about herself for a few further moments before she lifted her head to look into the sky that had become a canvas of colors that ranged from warm orange and red to tantalizing pink. She heard Harry and Ron shuffle towards her, Ron cursing slightly as he stumbled over a piece of rubble, prompting a small smile to crawl along Hermione’s face due to the familiarity of it.
When the two boys eventually stood on either side of her, looking at the same sky she was looking at, Hermione found herself feeling light for the first time in forever. She has survived this war, along with her two best friends, and she can finally revert back to the normalcy which she had yearned so much. She no longer had to work to survive, she could work to for her own benefit and personal goals.
Suddenly struck with a spark of sentimentality, Hermione reached for her best friends’ hands and squeezed them tightly before glancing at the two of them with a smile.
“We did it.” She said, which in turn made the boys smile back at her.
“Yeah, we did.” Ron replied, which was shortly followed by Harry.
“No more struggling.”
“Thank Merlin.”
All three of them laughed and Hermione turned to look back at the sky as the sun continued to rise, symbolizing the new day that has come upon all of them. Hermione licked her lips and then glanced at the two boys once again before asking the question waying on her mind.
“And what are we going to do now?”
“For starters? Find some decent food.”
Hermione and Harry burst out into laughter at Ron’s words, the redhead flushing slightly but sending a wide smile to his two friends. Harry readjusted his glasses and then shrugged.
“Dunno. But I think an auror apprenticeship sounds just about right for me.”
“You have literally just finished off the most powerful wizard in the world that has made our lives a living hell. Don’t you want a break?” Ron quipped, which made Harry laugh.
“Sorry mate, but I’m someone who can’t do nothing. And besides, hopefully joining now means that I don’t have to take the written exam.”
“…There’s a written exam?”
Hermione laughed at the two boys and shook her head fondly before pocketing her hands, a thoughtful look overtaking her face as she contemplated her own future, hardly having the time to do so before. She only snapped herself out of her thoughts when she heard Harry call her name.
“Hmm?”
“I asked about what you plan on doing ‘Mione. Afterall, anyone would be lucky to have the Brightest Witch of her age under their employment.” Harry teased, which made Hermione push him playfully on the shoulder before she cocked her head and then smiled.
“Finishing our seventh-year sounds about right.”
“…”
“…”
“Bloody hell, only you would want to go back to study after a bloody war.”
Hermione just laughed at her redheaded friend’s words and shook her head before turning back to the sky, daylight clear and broken as it brought forth a new day. She smiled.
“There is a lot of work to be done in this world Ronald, and I plan to prepare myself in every way that I can in order to help fix it.”
…
…
…
It was too bright, blindingly bright.
Hermione didn’t realize that one could struggle with opening their eyes until she found herself unable to open her own, despite her very best efforts. Her head felt heavy, with her eyelids feeling much heavily as if someone has attached small lead balls to them to keep them closed. When she eventually managed to open her eyes just a few inches, she found herself squeezing them back shut because the surrounding light was too much for her to handle.
Why was it so bright?
After a few more failed attempts, Hermione eventually managed to open her eyes and adjust to the surrounded light; however, once she managed to get some semblance of control of body, she noticed her surroundings and realized that she had no idea where she was.
She was in a bed with white sheets that was pulled up to her chest and keeping her in a warm cocoon and she was a room that closely resembled that of a muggle hospital, only that it wasn’t. There were no muggle machines that one would find in a hospital, like a television or a heartbeat monitor, instead there was a side table next to Hermione that contained various colored vials of potions which Hermione assumed was being consumed by her. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the vials and moved to sit up to take a closer look at them, only to wince as sharp shooting pain suddenly overwhelmed her.
Hermione collapsed back into the bed and whined pitifully as she waited for the pain to subside, eventually turning to her body to realize that she had multiple bandages wrapped around her, along with some very nasty-looking bruises that were dark blue and purple in color. Once the pain subsided, Hermione attempted to move again and grunted in effort to attempt to lift herself up into a more comfortable sitting position. Her body was trembling as she attempted to sit up and when she finally relented in her task, she found herself in a rather uncomfortable position with her neck pressed awkwardly against the headboard of the bed, sending shots of sharp pain down her back.
Hermione grunted at the painful sparks shooting down her spine, but then her thoughts traveled to possibilities of why she was in a hospital not hospital room. Looking around, she realized that she was not at all in the medical wing in Hogwarts because instead of the room being filled with many other beds that were occupied with students, Hermione was in a room with only herself in it with no room for others. Even though Madam Pomfrey would do her best to quarantine a student when it was necessary, Hermione knew for a fact that there were not any private rooms to use in the castle close to the medical wing for specialized treatment.
Before Hermione could start to ponder over the reason of her being in a private medical room, she heard a door opening and she turned her head to see an older woman walking towards her with her eyes looking down in the clipboard that she was holding in her hand. When she got closer to bed, she lifted her head and all but gasped when locked eyes with Hermione.
“Oh-Oh my goodness!”
Hermione watched in mild bewilderment when the woman rushed over to her and suddenly was touching her, poking and prodding at Hermione while asking her questions.
“When did you wake up?” Are you feeling any pain? Do you recall anything at all? Has anyone else entered the room? Are you alright minister?”
The sudden onslaught of questions made Hermione squint her eyes as an intense pressure in her head began to form, forcing the brunette to suddenly cover her ears to block out the questions as she groaned in pain.
“Please…stop.” She pleaded, turning over to her side to force the woman to her back to try escape her grating voice, only to make herself yelp in pain as she remembered that she was already in a rather painful position.
She heard a gasp behind her and suddenly felt hands on her again, only this time she felt them lifting her up until she was finally in a proper sitting position, the bed sheets falling to her waist as she was adjusted accordingly by the older woman until she was in a comfortable position. Hermione grunted from the position adjustment as she suddenly felt rather lightheaded as she was shifted into an upright position and almost felt like she was going to fall over until she supported by the surprisingly strong hold of the older woman.
“There, there minister, you are alright.” She said, her thumb comfortingly rubbing Hermione’s shoulder as she attempted to grapple with her sense of consciousness. Hermione groaned intermittently as she tried to level her head with some common sense, eventually managing to look at the older woman with squinted eyes, the pressure in her head lessening for a small moment.
“Where am I?” The older woman looked at her for a moment before answering.
“St Mungo’s ma’am. You are at St Mungos in the critical care wing.”
…
..
.
St Mungos? The hospital for magical folk? Why in the great name of Merlin was she here?
A brief spark of pain shot through Hermione’s head, and she immediately clutched at the side of it, grunting as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to try gather some control over herself. She heard the older woman start fussing over her, saying something that she couldn’t quite hear, but she chose to ignore it because trying to deal with her intense headache was more important than the words of an apparent healer from what she had learnt from the woman’s uniform and the newfound knowledge that she was in St Mungos. When the pain eventually subsided, Hermione interrupted with the healer with a question.
“Where is Professor McGonagall?” The healer paused from her incessant questioning and gave Hermione a lingered look before speaking again.
“Professor McGonagall ma’am?” Hermione could help but flash the healer an annoyed look.
“Yes, Professor McGonagall, my head of house. I am certain that she would not allow me to leave Hogwarts unless it was absolutely necessary. Our N.E.W.T.s will be happening soon, and I don’t want to fall behind.”
The healer stared at Hermione with an unreadable expression, not bothering to answer Hermione’s question, and while Hermione does pride herself as a patient person, as of right now, she could not find herself having much patience.
“Are you going to answer me or not!”
Hermione could just hear her mother’s voice screaming at her for speaking so rudely to an adult, and she will probably apologize later, but right now she is sore and annoyed, the worst combination to operate under when dealing with people. The healer blinked at the brunette’s shout and seemed to snap out of her train of thought before thinning out her lips and flashing Hermione a cautious look.
“My apologies ma’am, I…she is unfortunately not here; however, the head healer would prefer to see you before anyone else. Please allow me to retrieve her and her colleagues before anyone else.”
Before Hermione could argue with her, the older woman hurried out of the room without another word, leaving behind a very confused and frustrated witch. Hermione huffed in frustration and brought a hand to her face to massage the bridge of her nose, only to wince when the bandages around her hand protest when she moved. She stared at her hand in disgruntlement before attempting to test out the extent of body movement that she had, only to wince every few seconds has her body continuously protested from the effort.
“Bloody hell.” She cursed, laying her hand back down and leaning her head back against the headboard with a defeated sigh.
What on earth did she do to end up in here? While she has fallen into plenty of pitiful and dangerous situations due to her friendship with Ron and Harry that resulted in her residing in the medical wing for a few days, and even weeks, she has never been so badly injured to the extent that she was sent out of Hogwarts to receive medical treatment from other healers. Hermione frowned at that thought.
Now that she thought about it…where was Ron and Harry?
Before Hermione could think more about the whereabouts of her friend, the door to the room opened up once again and this time more people had walked inside, including the older healer which had just seen her, all of them led by a motherly-looking healer with a tinsel wreath in her hair. She smiled warmly at Hermione as she walked closer, her posture putting Hermione at slight ease but then she tensed up again when she saw the other healers that stared at her as if she was some potion about to explode.
“Good afternoon dear, how are you feeling?” The lady asked, prompting Hermione to look at her for guidance.
“I’m…fine…” Hermione started, unsure on what to say. “Who…are you exactly?”
“My apologies, my name is Miriam Strout, and I am one of the head healers here at St Mungos, most specifically the head of the magical accidents and injuries department. I have been monitoring your condition very closely, and to say that you have finally woken up is a huge relief to us all.”
While her tone was warm, Hermione couldn’t help but notice a slight tightness to her smile, as if she was trying to shield something from her. There were many things which Hermione did not like, and one of them was being kept in the dark. She hated not knowing something, which has aided her many times in all the adventures she has had with her two best friends.
“Thank you, but…what do you mean I have finally woken up? What happened to me?”
Hermione watched as Miriam glanced at her colleagues and gave them a small nod before turning back at her, flashing her a tight smile before taking a step closer to Hermione and gently touching Hermione on the forearm.
“Before I answer your question dear, could you please tell me what is the last thing that you remember?”
Hermione gave the healer a bewildered look, unsure of the reason for such a question. She turned to look at the other healers in the room, all of them taking a place around her bed and essentially making a circle around her bed, all of them writing and reading over something in their clipboards. While she did not mind them going about their job, she felt some slight ire each time she caught their gazes, as they seemed almost haunted with her very presence in the room. She turned back at Miriam and narrowed her eyes.
“Why is that important? Just tell me why I am here.” Miriam’s smile shrunk and her face instead adopted a more neutral expression, a more serious one that very much suited her occupation as the head healer of a department.
“And I will dear, but it crucial for you to tell me what is the last thing that you remember. That way, I can truly determine the full extent of your injuries.”
Hermione gazed intently at the healer, shrinking back slightly from the serious expression of the woman, her student-self becoming submissive to the figure of authority. She glanced back at the others before looking back at Miriam, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to recall the last thing that she remembered. As she tried to remember, she felt a shot of pain in her head which immediately made her hiss and clutch at her head, which immediately alarm Miriam and the other healers, the head healer immediately touching her arm to steady her. The pain in her head hovered around, not quite wanting to subside, until Hermione eventually managed to recall the last thing that she remembered.
“I…I had headed towards the Gryffindor tower after dinner with my friend Ginny. We…she was trying to convince me why the Holyhead Harpies were better than the Falmouth Falcons, although quite honestly, I do not follow the teams very closely, so it was rather futile for her to try convince me. We sat in the common room for a bit before I went to my dorm to do some more studying before I went to bed.”
Once Hermione finished speaking, she noticed the worried and slightly panicked looks that all the other healers flashed one another as they began to write down some notes on their clipboards and began to murmur to one another while not-so-subtlety glancing at Hermione. Frowning at their reactions, Hermione turned back to Miriam and noticed that the older witch had a fixed look on her face which was not very comforting. Patting Hermione’s arm comfortingly, Miriam glanced at her colleagues before looking back at Hermione.
“I see, and are you certain that is all you remember?” Hermione flashed her an annoyed look.
“What else would I remember?”
Miriam didn’t say anything and instead walked over to one of her colleagues to look over their notes before turning back to Hermione, a tight look on her face before she walked towards Hermione again.
“If you don’t mind me asking dear, how old are you?” Hermione flashed her a bewildered look.
“Seventeen. Why?”
“What is your full name?”
“Hermione Jean Granger. Why does that matter?”
“Are you currently in a relationship?”
“No, of course not!”
“Are you-“
“What is with all of these questions. Just what is going on?” Hermione demanded, the incessant questioning annoying beyond belief.
Miriam did not answer her straight away and instead turned to converse with her colleagues, all of the murmuring amongst each other much to the annoyance of the brunette. Hermione moved with the intent to get out of bed, hating the fact that she was stuck in one place while the healers were free to escape from the confinement, but she had rather inconveniently forgot about her inability to move without pain, and she immediately hissed when pain shot through her legs as she attempted to move them. Her hiss of pain immediately alerted the healers and all of them rushed to her side, Miriam reaching her first as she laid stabling hands on her arms and moving her back to her previous position.
“Please don’t move so suddenly dear, your body is still recovering from the trauma.” Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at the head healer.
“Trauma? What trauma?”
Miriam gazed at Hermione for a moment before taking a steadying breath before turning back to her colleagues.
“Let’s continue our discussion in my office, I believe it will be more appropriate.” Miriam then turned back to Hermione and flashed her an apologetic look. “My apologies dear, but before I can reveal anything regarding your condition and the reasoning behind her admittance, I need to be certain of my diagnosis. Please could you be patient for a little longer and I promise I will have all of the answers to your questions.”
Hermione stared at the head healer in shock. Be more patient? How much more patient could she be? She was literally in a hospital for some bizarre reason, and nobody is willing to tell her anything! Where was Ginny? Where was Harry or Ron? For Merlin’s sake, where was Professor McGonagall? Hermione felt entirely out of her depth, and she felt herself beginning to panic because of the lack of communication between her and others, and it did not go unnoticed. Hermione suddenly felt hands and her and felt her head being tilted upwards before a glass vial was being pressing against her lips, a liquid seeping past them and entering her mouth, the brunette coughing from the sudden drink. The older healer which Hermione first saw flashed her an apologetic look as she continued to press the vial to her lips.
“Please bear with me minister, we just don’t want you to panic, that’s all. Nice and easy, keep going.”
Hermione was given no choice but to swallow what she was being given by the older woman, but as she swallowed the contents and felt them take effect, she realized that it was calming draught that was being given to her. Hermione coughed and spluttered a bit, but eventually she managed to finish the vial and she took deep, steadying breaths in the bed while the healer rubbed her shoulder.
“There, there minister, everything will be okay.”
Hermione closed her eyes and continued to breath deep breaths to steady herself, her previous panic fading away as the calming draught worked its magic, but as she began to steady her mind and body, Hermione couldn’t help but glance at the older healer who continued to rub her shoulder.
“Why are you calling me minister?”
The older healer froze at Hermione’s question and immediately snapped her head to Miriam, whom Hermione realized was sending a glare in the healer’s direction before stepping towards them and placing a commanding hand on the healer’s shoulder.
“Please excuse us dear, the sooner we all talk, the sooner we can tell you the reasoning behind your admittance to St Mungos. Please excuse us.”
With sparing the brunette another glance or another word, Miriam led herself and the other healers out of the room, firmly keeping her hand on the other healer’s shoulder in order to prevent her from moving anywhere else aside from out the room. Hermione just watched helplessly from her position in the bed as she was left alone in the room once again. Once the door was closed, Hermione let out a loud groan.
“What the bloody hell is happening to me?”
Hermione winced as she felt pain shoot through her body once again, and she cursed as she attempted to shift herself in a more comfortable position. Even though the calming draught had taken its effect, it didn’t entirely eliminate the pain, which prompted Hermione to attempt to look over at all the different vials that were beside her hospital bed. From the number of vials that were on the table, she could only imagine the apparent trauma that has been conducted on her body since she was being treated with almost every healing potion that she could imagine.
Hermione reached and picked up every potion vial on the table to inspect it before placing it in its original place, eventually finding a piece of paper that recorded all the taken dosages that she has had and while reading it, Hermione couldn’t help but notice the primary injuries that the potions were used for.
Head injuries.
Hermione continued to read through the written contents of the medical document, soaking up the information like a sponge with water before placing it back down on the table and sighing.
“What did I do?” She questioned herself, not receiving an answer from anyone or anything as she slumped back into the bed, closing her eyes in defeat at the prospect of not knowing the reason behind her admittance to St Mungos.
Since waking up, she has been in an entire daze that felt like a swarm of bees flying around her head and sending her off her rocker. No one was telling her anything and it was frustrating her without belief. She was hoping for the healers to be finished with their meeting by now; however, it seemed they were not in a rush to return to her. She couldn’t but grit her teeth at their unprofessionalism at the whole thing. Madam Pomfrey would never leave any of the Hogwarts students in the dark like this. She was a very blunt individual, and it was something which the brunette appreciated. If there was something wrong with you, then you were entitled to the information regarding your wellbeing.
And yet Hermione was being denied the very thing that she was entitled to.
Hermione remained on her position for a small while, her eyes closed and her body slack as she attempted to rest to past the time, but she was only growing restless by each passing minutes. In her restlessness, Hermione brought her left hand to her face to rub her eyes, but as she pressed her hand to her face, she felt a hard object press itself against her skin. Puzzled, Hermione opened lifted her hand and opened her eyes to look at it to locate the hard object, only to pause when she realized that it was a silver ring on her finger.
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. She was not really one that wore jewelry since she was often on the go in the castle and did not have much time to care about her appearance. Although she is not saying she didn’t care about the way she looked at all, she has actually gotten better from her younger self during her first three years at Hogwarts who would at times not even brush her untamed curls due to either laziness or her determination to get to class first. From her fourth year onwards she began to become more mindful of her appearance, although it hardly became a priority since the reappearance of Voldemort brought a number of events which required Hermione to shift her attention to more important things, which did not include her appearance.
But aside from that, Hermione has just never been a fan of jewelry. Half the time her fingers were stained with ink, so she avoided wearing any hand jewelry because it would simply get in the way. But now she was gazing at this silver ring which looked more than just a simple band. Hermione flipped her hand over and her eyes could help but bulge at the sight of the multiple diamonds that were encrusted on the silver band. The diamond shimmered from glazing silver to shimmering blue, and it was so perfectly crafted that Hermione was certain that if she decided to sell this ring, she would get more than a few thousand galleons for it.
Hermione reached out with her other hand and began to touch the ring, absentmindedly twisting it around her finger before beginning to pull it along her finger for closer inspection before she suddenly heard a lot of noise outside her room. Hermione turned her head in the direction of the door and realized that there were voices heading towards her room which were only getting louder, catching the brunette’s attention as she readjusted herself on the bed, the ring momentarily forgotten as she tried to listen to the outside voices. It was only when the voices were right outside her door, Hermione realized that one of the voices was female and contained a rather sharp French accent.
“I waz told zat I would be immediately notified when she woke up. Why is it zat I am only ‘earing about ‘er waking up now?!”
“Mrs Delacour, please understand that we are trying to determine the extent of the damage caused by the ordeal! We don’t want to overstimulate her and cause further-“
“Get out of my way!”
The door to her room burst open and in stormed in probably the most beautiful woman Hermione has ever seen in her entire life. Long, blonde hair was tied up in a high ponytail, showing off a delicate neck that supported a perfectly sculpted face with shimmering blue eyes and heart-shaped lips that looked incredibly kissable even from Hermione’s distance. The woman’s slim figure was highlighted by the clothes that she was wearing, a blue skirt that was cut above her knees and a blue blouse that showed off her delicate and seductive shoulders. The clacking of heels broke Hermione out of her stupor as she took in the beautiful woman, the blonde hurrying closer to Hermione until Hermione’s eyes widened when she suddenly recognized the blonde just as she arrived right by Hermione’s bedside.
Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbaton’s champion that had participated in the Triwizard tournament during Hermione’s fourth year.
Hermione was bewildered to see the French witch and just as she was about to open her mouth to say something, she suddenly found herself being silence by the very lips that belonged to Fleur Delacour herself. The brunette squeaked when she felt her lips being covered by Fleur’s heart-shaped ones, the blonde having half thrown herself on top of the younger witch when she arrived at her bedside. The blonde was cupping the brunette’s cheeks firmly, almost clutching at her as if she was to disappear in a matter of seconds and she was trying to prevent it from happening. Fleur let out a half sigh and half sob as she kissed the brunette, pressing herself closer to Hermione as much as she could in the position that the two of them were in.
Hermione was completely frozen, any thoughts that were previously in her head completely vanquished all because of the blonde witch. Hermione could think of anything else aside from how soft the older witch’s lips were, and how desperate the blonde seemingly was as she kissed her. When Fleur eventually pulled away, Hermione couldn’t help but stare at her in stunned silence, even when she began to press kisses all over Hermione’s face the brunette was unable to think of anything else aside that she has just been kissed by the woman.
“Oh ‘ermione, my ‘ermione, mon tendre lion.” Fleur sighed against Hermione’s skin as she pressed a kiss to it, almost as if she was branding the brunette with her words and kiss, affection running off her as she embraced the younger witch. “Zey promised me zat zey would tell me when you woke up. Oh mon amour, I should ‘ave been ‘ere.”
While Fleur continued to press kisses to Hermione’s face, the brunette suddenly felt her body flushing up in heat because the very fact that the French witch was kissing her was beyond alarming, especially since the two of them hardly had a relationship which call for this kind of interaction, even if the French were unconditionally affectionate.
So with some newfound strength that the brunette didn’t realize that she had, especially given her state of body, she lifted her hands to the blonde’s shoulders and all but pushed her away.
Fleur clearly was not expecting the sudden force and stumbled back rather clumsily away from the bed, her blue eyes filled with confusion and hurt from the action, but Hermione did not find herself caring about the blonde’s emotions as she fixed a harsh glare on her face and crossed her arms as she glared defiantly at the blonde.
“Just what in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing!”
“…Kissing you?” Fleur said, looking at the brunette in confusion as she took a step towards her again, only to freeze when Hermione pointed an accusing finger at her.
“Don’t you even think about coming any closer!”
“What…’ermione-“
“Just who do you think you are kissing me like that? You have no right to do that to me!”
“No right? But I-“
“But nothing! I get that you French are affectionate, but we are no way close for you to just kiss me out of nowhere! What are you trying to do? Work your vela charms on me! Well, it is not going to work!”
Hermione was raging at the audacity that the blonde had to kiss her out of nowhere, much less in the hospital room where she had no reason in being in, well, aside from the fact she seems to be very injured. But what on earth compelled the French witch to kiss her of all people? Hermione couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose is disgust as she recalled the way that the blonde use to behave during her stay at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament, the blonde and her fellow veelas walking through the castle as if she was better than everyone else, other students parting for them like the red seas as if they were in the presence of some godly beings. It had disgusted the brunette to no end, especially when the blonde was the obvious leader amongst the flock given that the others always followed the blondes lead, be it using their feminine wiles on the Durmstrang and Hogwarts boys that turned them into bumbling idiots who willingly threw themselves at the veelas’ feet in an effort to please them in any way and carry out their demands or using their obvious difference in class to the Hogwarts students to create a new status quo which put them on top.
There was nothing more that Hermione hate more than a bully, and she has suffered under the hands of them even before her enrollment in Hogwarts. Growing up in a muggle neighborhood which consisted of her going to daycare while her parents were at work, Hermione was not at all a stranger to the social games that only girls were capable of playing. One of downsides of being a girl is that Hermione is perfectly aware of how vindictive they were, and bullies can be spotted even at a young age, as Hermione was a victim to them when she was growing up. Name calling, pulling her hair, and ruining any sort of work she did in the daycare was the juvenile bullying that Hermione had to face before she went to Hogwarts, and even from there the juvenile muggle bullying had shifting into the magical bullying conducted by individuals by Draco Malfoy and the other Slytherin students that followed behind him.
Fleur was very much a representation of the beehive bullying she faced during her muggle education, along with the status quo amongst the Hogwarts girls, albeit Fleur took it to a different level simply because she was French and a veela, a creature of mystery to most wizards and witches despite their obvious symbolisms of desire, as witnessed by Hermione when she attended the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione was hardly one spared from the aftereffects of the veelas influence over the Hogwarts students, especially during the Yule dance when she was Viktor Krum’s dance partner. In fact, probably after the dance is when she dealt with the brunt of the veelas’ social games, particularly by the blonde witch herself.
So, it was safe to say that she was not at all impressed at the sight of the blonde witch in her hospital room, much less kissing her like a long-lost lover.
Hermione opened her mouth to wreck another explosive rage into the blonde when Miriam Stout seemed to appear out of nowhere, stepping in front of the blonde in order to attract the brunette’s full attention, and perhaps to take the full verbal blow for the blonde witch who was staring in clear confusion.
“Please, lets all settle down.” She started, her motherly voice in place as she tried to placate the infuriated brunette, but the words only seemed to enflame Hermione’s already existing anger.
“Settle down? That woman just kissed me out of nowhere and you are telling me to settle down?!”
Perhaps she was overreacting, but quite honestly the brunette could not care less as she suddenly found herself trying to get out of bed, a righteous anger motivating her that she didn’t even acknowledge the painful protests her body was communicating to her. Miriam immediately rushed forward to stop the younger witch from moving, but Hermione surprisingly fought back with some form of strength that it actually took some other healers to rush in to help her keep the brunette down. But Hermione fought with as much energy that she could.
“Release me at once! Do you hear me, release me at once!”
“Florence, get the calming draught!” Miriam demanded to the older healer when had tended to her since she woke up, a name to her face, who quickly obeyed the head healer as she grabbed one of the calming draughts from the vial table and gripped Hermione by the jaw and pressed the vial to the brunette’s mouth, but Hermione was not making it easy for her as she gritted her teeth and pressed her lips tightly to one another in order to create a blockade to the draught, which made the struggling much more intense.
Her body was screaming in pain, but Hermione did not care, she was just an emotional tsunami right now and seeing Fleur over the shoulder of the head healer hardly helped her emotional state right now. The blonde just continued to stare at Hermione as if she was this undiscovered being, her eyes and mouth wide in shock as she watched the healers wrestle her down into the bed while trying to force the potion into her mouth. She took a step towards her, but Hermione only reacted with an enraged shout for the blonde to get back, which was the opportunity that Florence used to pour the draught into Hermione’s mouth.
Hermione tried to spit it out, but Florence covered the brunette’s mouth with her hand, not giving her the opportunity to spit it out. To force the younger girl to swallow, the healer pinched her nose, giving her no choice but to swallow the draught in order to breathe, the other healers keeping a firm grip on Hermione until the draught finally began to take its effect on the brunette. Her explosive emotions began to slowly subside and the tenseness in Hermione’s body slowly began to disappear; however, it was instead replaced with the pain that she was previously ignoring with all her movements. Hermione whined pitifully as she was put back into her sitting position in the bed, which prompted Miriam to instruct Florence to give Hermione something for the pain, a look of pity tossed her away as she eventually took her hands off of Hermione as she knew that she would not act out again.
Florence brought another vial to Hermione, and this time the brunette did not put up a fight as she was given the potion, the pain becoming almost unbearable, and she would be stupid not to accept any form of relief from it. Hermione couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when the potion eventually took effect, the ache in her body subsiding and settling into some sort of numbness which spared her from unnecessary pain.
“Thank you.” Hermione said, flushing slightly as she realized how atrocious she had acted despite the healers simply doing their job. Florence smiled at her.
“You’re welcome.”
Hermione resettled herself in the bed, cheeks growing pink as she began to grow embarrassed with the way that she was behaving. She was acting so unlike herself, so out of sorts. Hermione has always prided herself on being a level-headed, calm individual who always thought logically, and yet she was acting just like Ron and Harry when they were bated into an argument with Malfoy and the other Slytherins. She was the voice of reason in the trio, just why was she acting like her male buffoon friends?
I know why, she thought to herself as she glanced in the direction of Fleur Delacour, the blonde having not moved from her spot with her eyes still transfixed on Hermione. Despite the calming draught being in effect, Hermione couldn’t stop the scowl crawling along her face and the glare that she flashed at the blonde. Hermione whipped her head around to face Miriam, the head healer being the only person who could explain the reason for everything that was happening to her.
“Why am I here?” Hermione asked, it being the first question that was burning at the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind. Miriam gazed at Hermione for moment before glancing at Fleur and indicating for her to take a seat in the chair close to the bed.
“Please Mrs Delacour, I believe that you need to sit for this.”
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at Fleur’s marital title, as well as Miriam’s consideration towards her, especially since Hermione was the one who was the patient. Fleur looked at Miriam for a moment before nodding, glancing back to look at Hermione before walking over to the chair with calculated steps, clearly not wanting to antagonize the brunette even more since she had such an explosive reaction to her close proximity. Hermione flashed her a glare as she took a seat and then turned back to Miriam as she cleared her throat and stared directly at Hermione, a serious expression in place.
“The reason behind your admittance to St Mungos is because you and many other ministry employees were the victims of a surprise attack on the ministry three weeks ago.”
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“What?”
While Hermione had tried to imagine the possible reasons behind her admittance in St Mungos, she did not draw up the possibility that she was in a surprise attack. But while the truth was shocking, confusing began to swirl within Hermione as she stared at Miriam with a stunned expression.
“A surprise attack on the ministry? But why was there a surprise attack? Who attacked it?”
“While I am not entirely sure of the identities of the attackers, the newspapers have led us to believe that they some of the stray followers of…well, You-Know-Who.” Miriam hesitated, glancing at Fleur again before looking back at Hermione. “Their attack was most likely prompted by the recent…changes which have been made in the past years.”
“Changes? What changes? We have just recovered from the war, surely nothing too extreme has happened yet, aside from the obvious changes regarding everyone’s blood status and their livelihood in the magical community. What has Shacklebolt done to prompt a surprise attack on the ministry?”
Voldemort definitely left a large dent in the social aspect of the magical community, especially with everyone’s blood status having a significant influence over everything that an individual was and was not allowed to do. Once Kingsley Shacklebolt was appointed the new Minister of Magic, the first changes that he made was the acts that had a person’s blood status dictate everything that they could in the magical community, something which Hermione greatly approved of.
But Rome was not built in one day, so obviously Shacklebolt could not make extreme changes since the funds of the ministry were being distributed accordingly to repair the magical community from the aftereffects of the war. Corruption was still very prominent in the ministry, and Shacklebolt had to be mindful of his actions in order to not be associated with the very problems that the ministry is constantly accused of and contains. He had to be strategic, so he would not make such sudden changes which would prompt a surprise attack on the ministry which was still in a fragile position.
“That is just the thing dear…it was not Shacklebolt who had made the changes that prompted the attack.”
Miriam still had her serious expression and Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at the head healer in confusion. Shacklebolt was the Minister of Magic, who played a major role in the development and implementation of any changes in the magical community. If he did not make the changes, who did?
“Who made the change?” Hermione asked, which made Miriam hesitate for a moment before she cleared her throat and fixed Hermione with a sympathetic look.
“You did, dear.”
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“Excuse me?” Hermione questioned, confusion swirling up within her entire being as she stared at the head healer in shock. Miriam took a deep breath and stepped closer to Hermione to lay a steadying hand on the brunette’s arm, her eyes never leaving hers as she delivered the truth.
“You are our new Minister of Magic dear. You have been for the past two years, and you have done a wonderful job thus far; however…like all great leaders, there are always people that want to oppose you, and unfortunately it was in the form of an ambush that led to you being very grievously injured, to the extent that I believe there has been damage to more than just your body.”
Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. Her? The Minister of Magic? That is impossible, she hasn’t even completed her seventh year at Hogwarts yet! There is no possible way that she was the Minister of Magic, there was no possible way.
“No way, there is no way that is true. I’m seventeen, there is no way I am the Minister of Magic!” Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head violently at Miriam while she stared at all the other healers that were looking at her with forlorn looks.
Miriam stared intently at Hermione and then turned to look at Fleur, who Hermione realized was looking at her with a stunned expression, her eyes wide in shock as she turned to look at Miriam for some kind of information. Miriam shot Fleur a solemn look before turning back to Hermione, her hand giving the brunette a slight squeeze in what Hermione could only imagine to be in comfort.
“I am afraid that your belief of your age becomes connected to the extent of your injuries caused by the ambush that we have diagnosed before Mrs Delacour’s made her arrival quite obvious to us.”
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at the older witch, confused with what the healer was implicating. What does her age have to do with anything regarding her condition. She was seventeen years old, she was in her seventh year, surely her age was obvious enough from her appearance alone. Miriam removed her hand from Hermione to pull out her wand to transfigure the empty potion vial beside Hermione’s bed into a hand mirror, and she fixed Hermione with a forlorn look as she pocketed her want again and picked up the mirror and offered it to the brunette.
“I am afraid that your injuries have affected more of your memory rather than your body Mrs Minister.”
Taking the mirror, Hermione gave the head healer a confused look before finally lifting the mirror to look at her reflection, and she couldn’t help but gasp in shock as she looked at the person that was staring back at her. Hermione could quite easily recognize herself, but at the same time she couldn’t because her reflection clearly showed the changes in her face which was different from the last time she remembered seeing her reflection.
Hermione has always had wild, curly hair, and even when she began to take more care of her appearance following her fourth year, she still struggled in taming it. But looking at her reflection, she notices that her wild curls have matured into waves of hair, not as easily knotty that her hair used to me. She noticed that the usual plumpness that her face had was gone, her face looking more matured and dare she say, more adult like than one would find from a seventeen-year-old girl. Her lips were fuller, her skin clearer, and quite frankly, she found no traces of the usual awkward teenage features that one would find on her. She…looked older. Older than seventeen.
Suddenly realizing something, Hermione whipped her head to look at Fleur, the blonde witch being the only person in the room that was closer to Hermione’s age since she was only three years older than the brunette. The blonde was undoubtably very beautiful, that was very clear to anybody’s eye, but as Hermione looked at her more closely, she realizes that the witch looks older than the older teen, or young adult that Hermione last remembered her being.
While Fleur has always been beautiful, it being the main highlight of her entire being when she was at Hogwarts, her beauty has only seemed to be matured. She was not the same beautiful teenager that participated in the Triwizard Tournament, she was now an obviously beautiful adult woman, most likely in her late twenties or early thirties, who held herself in a very elegant and graceful manner that Hermione called the veela’s mother contained when she noticed the woman when she met with Fleur and her younger sister from the loved one’s meeting for the champions before the start of the third task.
From looking at Fleur’s appearance and her own from her reflection, a sense of horror began to form in Hermione as she began to shake her head, looking Miriam in sheer desperation to dissuade the thoughts that she was beginning to form; however, the head healer only looked at her with a pitying look.
“A-Are you telling me…that I am…” Hermione was unable to speak properly, but the head healer seemed to grasp what the brunette was trying to say as she nodded.
“You are currently twenty-nine years older, nearing thirty, and you were appointed as our new Minister of Magic after the retirement of Kingsley Shacklebolt two years ago.” Miriam said, her words making Hermione’s head shaking increase even more as she began to breath heavily, trying to take some control over herself while a pressure in her head began to form and increase as time kept passing.
“But…I…I don’t remember anything about…that.” Hermione confessed, trying to rack her brain for any sort of memory in connection to her apparently becoming the new Minister of Magic even when she was still so young. Miriam’s features softened at the brunette’s confession and nodded sadly.
“We believe that we have discovered the reason behind your lack of memory. During the ambush, you and the other employees attempted to fight off the attackers; however, you suffered a major injury when the upper-floor and part of the side wall had collapsed on top of you. Fortunately, the attackers were defeated by then; however, you were in very critical condition, and we were fearing the worst as you had fallen into a coma for the past three weeks since the attack. From what we have learnt since you have woken up, I believe we are correct to diagnose that you are suffering from dissociative amnesia.”
Amnesia? She had amnesia?
Hermione forced herself to try keep a steady head as Miriam delivered the verdict of her condition and treatment in the hospital. While Hermione did not want to believe that she was over a decade older than what she remembered to be, it was the only thing that she could believe because the older-looking appearances of herself and Fleur was a clear indication that what the head healer was saying was true. She has forgotten everything that has happened after her seventh year, memories that were lost to the brunette, who suddenly couldn’t help but feel some grief at the idea that she had lost some important memories that included all of her friends and family, as well as the life she was living right now.
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But suddenly a thought dawned on Hermione and the brunette immediately turned to look at Fleur, catching the blonde already staring at her. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blonde witch, trying to understand why she was here in the first place. She would expect at least Ginny, Harry or even Ron to be here, but instead, it was the very woman who Hermione could not stand since her fourth year. Hermione gritted her teeth and stared at the blonde for a few more moments before finally speaking.
“Why are you here Fleur?”
The blonde straightened at the use of her name, her lips parting slightly as she looked at Hermione before looking at Miriam, whom Hermione noticed gave Fleur a solemn nod to Fleur before the blonde turned to look back at her. From her current memories, Hermione as always remembered Fleur being a very confident woman, as well as arrogant, haughty, spiteful, and downright vain beyond belief, but for the first time ever, she is seeing the blonde looking rather nervous. She was biting her bottom lip and her fingers were rubbing against one again as she continued to gaze at Hermione. The blonde seemed to be having an internal argument with herself before she finally decided to stand from her seat, taking a deep breath to steady herself before looking directly at Hermione.
“I am ‘ere because I am supposed to be ‘ere.” She said, which made Hermione furrow her eyebrows.
“What, no you are not-“
“Your last name is not Granger.” Fleur interrupted, a fire sparking in her eyes as she straightened herself even more before continuing. “It is Delacour.”
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“What?”
Hermione was beyond confused right now. The blonde was not making any sense. She furrowed her eyebrows deeply at Fleur, trying to make sense of what she was trying to say, and Fleur obviously noticed her confusion as she took another deep breath before raising her left hand and showing the back of it to Hermione, revealing a gorgeous silver ring on her finger that contained multiple small diamonds on it which shimmered in the light.
“I am your wife ‘ermione.”