Prologue

Trigger Warnings: (heavily implied) rape, suicide, depression

All was dark around her.

She couldn't see, she couldn't move.

Her arms and legs fought against the restraints that chained her to the wall. With every second she grew weaker, until she couldn't even find the power to move anymore, and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of liquid dropping.

She wasn't stupid, she knew it was blood.

Her blood.

She was cold, freezing.

But she welcomed it, for it numbed the pain.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would die. Cold and alone, never to be found.

Oddly enough, that thought didn't disturb her as much as it used to.

Distantly, she remembered all the hardships she had taken upon her, so that she would survive. That her friends would survive. But now, it all seemed almost unreal, like a dream.

And what did it help her?

She might be alive, but she wasn't living.

In that precise moment, when she surrendered, stopped fighting, something happened, something shifted. She felt light, free.

And when she closed her eyes, for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt at peace.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she awakened. Her eyes flattered open, but unlike every other time, she didn't get up immediately. Something felt different this morning. She felt at peace.

For the first time in the three years since the war had ended, she realized, she didn't have a nightmare, and she hadn't awoken screaming her throat out. She wasn't drenched in cold sweat, and there were no gruesome images just waiting on the forefront of her mind to invade her conscious thoughts and distract her.

Hermione had forgotten what it was like to not be tortured every night in her sleep, just to then go out and about, do her job, and while being successful, still not feeling happy. Positive, even just neutral, not negative feelings had become a foreign concept to her.

Not quite a smile on her face, she freed herself from her blanket and made her way to the bathroom, careful to not make any noise. Ron was still asleep, and while he probably also would stay asleep – after all she had started putting a charm on him every evening that muffled any noise around him after he had started complaining about her waking him up at least once or twice a night because of her nightmares –, Hermione always preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

Especially in this case.

While she changed her clothes and brushed her hair, her thoughts wandered. No, her husband did not abuse her. Ronald Weasley was just a very specific individual.

He and Harry were both instantly accepted into the Auror corps, war heroes and everything. And Hermione had been proud, of both of them. But that one kiss, that at least on her part had been more like a spur of the moment thing than anything else, had made him convinced they were meant to be.

She had never had the heart to tell him that the only reason she did it in the first place was that she didn't want him to die without having his single most desire at least partially fulfilled, when she had the power to do that for him. Unfortunately for her, that whole ordeal ended in a double wedding of Harry marrying Ginny and her marrying Ron at the Burrow.

Of course, Hermione could have done something, anything, to stop that from happening, but with a determined Ron, an overexcited Mrs. Weasley, who used this opportunity to distract herself from the loss of one of her sons, and herself being shattered and broken, the wedding day had arrived and then it had already been too late.

Even before that, her whole energy was spent on keeping herself from falling apart completely, to function, and to get things done. To get up in the morning and go to sleep in the evening. And all the while paying attention to every single detail around her.

Not all Death Eaters were caught, and not all people were in awe of her. She now had a public image to uphold, not just as the Brightest Witch of her Age, but also as a war hero, as someone who played a crucial role in defeating the cruellest Dark Lord in British history.

Not to mention that there were still people out there trying to discredit everything she did, just because of her blood status.

Hermione's original plan had been to return to Hogwarts, maybe help with the reconstruction work that had to be done if she could, then complete her schooling, sit her NEWTs and then apply for a job at the Ministry, either in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures or if possible, the Department of Mysteries. If she could get over the trauma-like associations she had with it, that is.

Now, with her being not Hermione Granger anymore, but Hermione Weasley, things changed. Ron was a pureblood, and even though his views didn't match those of the purists, there were still some things he deemed appropriate that just seemed old-fashioned and outdated to her. Like him working and her staying home to take care of the children, for example.

Okay, they admittedly didn't have any children at the moment, but it was about the principle.

When her husband came home, he expected his wife to be there, have cooked and cleaned and set the table, and be there to listen to his complaints about his day. For Hermione, that meant no chance of going to Hogwarts.

So what she did was apply for a low job at the Ministry, working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where Ron was working as well, doing almost exclusively paperwork – or more accurately, reading boring report after boring report, setting her signature under it and forwarding it to the archive.

That was actually the part of this whole mess she disliked the least. She hated that it kept her from fulfilling her potential, kept her from actually doing something, and changing things for the better. Appeasing the public with a profession like that was also not easy, but the one redeeming quality this job had for Hermione was that she could relax.

Not fully, never fully, but at least she wasn't under immediate scrutiny from anyone, and that was more than she got any other time of the day. The only people she saw were when she arrived and departed.

So, that said, no, Ronald Weasley did not abuse her. But what had become clearer and clearer to Hermione with every passing day was, that she didn't love Ron. Most times, she didn't even really like him. Oh yes, she put on a happy facade, practically all the time. In public, in front of her friends, in front of him. Although she herself wasn't happy, after all the suffering from the war, she couldn't take it away from Ron.

She just couldn't.

In the beginning, once she had realized what a big mess she had gotten herself into, she had had still hope. Hope that things would get better, and if they didn't, that someone would realize and come rescue her. Or at least help her rescue herself. The only candidate for that would be Harry, however; only he knew her well enough to recognize any signs she might have possibly sent.

But how could she expect him to do that?

Every time they met, Hermione could see in his eyes that he was maybe not in the exact same situation, but close. He was traumatized, and him more so than her had the responsibility to lead the Wizarding World into better times.

As time progressed though, Hermione saw Harry healing. The haunted look in his eyes faded and was replaced with true, genuine happiness. He became more confident and took charge, soon becoming one of the top Aurors in the whole department.

And she couldn't fault him for it, but as his life went on and changed for the better, hers stayed the same, and no one noticed.

-oOoOo-

Hermione was standing at the stove, preparing breakfast, when she suddenly felt a pair of hands and arms encircle her waist. Instinctively, she flinched, before she caught the faint smell of a familiar shampoo. Turning her head, she looked at her husband sheepishly.

"Sorry, I was caught off guard", she said.

Ron smiled.

"What are you making me?", he asked.

Hermione turned back to the eggs and bacon she was frying, not answering.

"Hm?", Ron enquired.

He moved closer, his head resting on her shoulder, peeking at her cooking. Hermione's heartbeat got faster, as she tried to suppress the memories that surfaced, triggered by his actions.

She could feel the black curls tickling her face, the hard boning of the corset pressing into her back. The sweet breath as she heard the whispered words make their way into her ear, and felt the thing that made her freeze.

There was a knife, silver with pretty carvings and gems on the handle, pressed to her throat. Death was a mere second away, if she just had the courage to choose it.

"'Mione? Hey, 'MIONE!"

"OW!"

Hermione raised her hand to touch her burning skin, the cheek which Ron had just hit with all his force.

"Are you okay?", he asked, sounding slightly concerned. "You started to space out a little back there."

For just a split second, Hermione felt the undeniable urge to shout at him, scream and yell, and at least try to make him understand what she'd been through these past years. Wanted to make him feel just as bad as she did, inflict the same pain and suffering on him that she had had to endure all this time. Not because of him, but also not in spite of him.

But that feeling was fleeting, gone so fast that she didn't even fully realize it had been here in the first place, and she just reacted the way she usually did when she didn't want to talk about something,

"I was just thinking about a book I've still not finished", she said, knowing that it would suffocate all of Ron's little interest that had been there in the first place.

He was a wonderful chess-player, no doubt, and – probably because of that – had a good eye for strategy, but just mention the existence of books and he would do his best to redirect the conversation.

"Oh, okay", Ron said, buying her excuse.

She felt relieved for just a moment, then she shoved that feeling aside as far away as she could. Her was her husband, she shouldn't lie to him, and even more so, she shouldn't be relieved if she succeeded. Or rather, when.

"How long 'till it's ready?"

Hearing Ron's voice redirected Hermione's attention back to the stove, where the breakfast was close to being finished. She looked up at him again, at least he was standing next to her rather than behind her now, and replied: "Just a minute, now."

She almost flinched again when she noticed Ron come nearer.

"Don't I get a good-morning kiss?", he asked.

NO!

"Yes, of course. Sorry. I think I'm just distracted today", Hermione said.

As she rose to her tip-toes and touched her lips to her husband's, she wondered.

What is wrong with me? I've never forgotten kissing him. And I've never, ever reacted that way to him suggesting anything...

She felt Ron's tongue invade her mouth, and as was expected of her she responded in kind. But for the first time in her entire life, she felt fully and thoroughly disgusted with her actions.

-oOoOo-

Hermione looked behind her, making sure she didn't leave anything behind she might need and made her way to the door. Ron had left about two hours ago, and since then she had done the dishes, made their bed and cleaned their bedroom.

He didn't like it, but she had done it the muggle way. It was the only way she wouldn't feel useless, even though it would leave her with a lot less free time to read and study.

There was also another problem with that.

Ron had refused she buy any more books after he had seen how many of them she had at home and deemed important enough to take with her when moving in with him. So the only way she would get to read anything new was by going into a bookshop or library.

Ron didn't want her leaving the house, however, not on her own. It came with who she was. Public places were dangerous. She might be a national hero, but there were still people out there who wanted to get to her.

And there were other disadvantages that came with who she was. The tracking charm that was embedded in her wedding ring, for example. Of course, she could just take it off, but not to mention that Ron didn't like her leaving the house except for going to work when he wasn't with her, not only him, but also Harry would be alerted to her not wearing her ring anymore.

Hermione understood that it was merely a security measure, that, should she be kidnapped, they could find her, or at least know when someone took it off, and therefore have a better chance of protecting her should there be a malicious intent behind it, but as much as she appreciated the effort, she could not help but be annoyed by it, today even more so than usual.

She hated it, hated that she was so limited in her movements. She felt fury rise up in her, only to be replaced by a feeling of extreme sadness and helplessness.

Yes, she hated it, but what was there for her to do?

There was no on else could talk to, no one that would understand.

Hermione closed the door behind her firmly, determined to leave whatever it was that made her so miserable today behind as well.

As always, Hermione saw almost nobody at work. Her office was isolated and while that allowed her to work in peace, today she felt lonely, pure and simple. Not even walking to and from work all through London, or her actual work could distract her from that.

Contrary to popular belief, Hermione actually read the documents the was supposed to sign. She refused to set her signature under something when she didn't even know what it was.

In one file, she found an old Prophet, from almost two months ago. She would bet that whoever had written the file had been reading it, instead of doing actual work, and accidentally filed it.

On the front page, there were three people, children still, smiling and waving. Two boys, and one girls in the middle, all wearing Hogwarts robes with the Gryffindor crest proudly presented on their chests.

The headline read Three Year Anniversary – The Biggest Celebration Of All Time!

She hadn't been there, when practically whole Britain had made their way to Hogwarts to celebrate the defeat of Lord Voldemort. Ron had insisted she stay home, there could be people wanting to harm her for the role she had played in the battle and all the years leading up to it.

She had protested of course, said that she was capable of defending herself, hadn't she proven that by surviving the war, and besides, there would be many people there, and Aurors on protection duty, but Ron had argued that she hadn't duelled in years, and she was still feeling under the weather because of the summer cold she'd had.

She had been ill, and too tired to argue, so she had accepted his decision, but now, that she saw this photo of her and her two best friends from about ten years ago, her heart cracked just a little.

What had happened to her, that she didn't recognize the girl she saw in that photo anymore?

Hermione remembered being happy, being careless, and despite everything that she had already faced, being able to just let loose and smile and laugh and have fun.

But she hadn't felt like that in so long, it suddenly seemed impossible to ever do so again.

And for the first time, she almost wished she had died in the war, having lived a short but fulfilling life, instead of being where she was now.

Almost.

Several hours later, Hermione couldn't find anything more to do, she had spent more time at the office in one day than ever before.

That dread she felt when only thinking about going home, seeing Ron and having to actually deal with him got worse and worse with every second that passed.

Hermione took her time, tidying her already empty desk, looking in the mirror on her wall, studying her face. It was a curious thing that, although she had been feeling off the whole day, physically she looked better than she did in years. There were no rings under her eyes, and the haunted look, that had accompanied her gaze for the last three years almost wasn't visible anymore.

There was no happiness in her eyes, no sadness, but peace.

Hermione found herself yearning for that peace. If she were to see her reflection in the Mirror of Erised right at this very moment, she knew what she would see. The ultimate escape, the only true peace she could ever get.

In other words, death.

For just a second, she welcomed it, opened her heart to let it in and claim her forever. But then Hermione blinked, and shook her head, locked the door and went home, pushing whatever thoughts she might have had to the very back of her mind.

There were things she had to do, duties to fulfil. She couldn't afford to let these slide, not even for a moment. People would notice, and then, it would only get worse.

Don't I want people to notice, though?, Hermione asked herself.

Only yesterday, she would have answered that question in the affirmative. But now? Something had changed. The whole way back to her flat, she brooded over that, but didn't find an answer.

It was late afternoon when she pulled herself together again and started to think about dinner. She hadn't had any lunch, but then again, that wasn't an exception anymore. For one reason or another, she either couldn't afford it, more time-wise than monetary-wise, or she just didn't feel like she deserved it.

Such a day was today.

Hermione didn't even think she deserved to eat a proper dinner. All thoughts she had had today were negative ones.

She shouldn't be sad, she should be happy. To be alive, to have survived. She should be happy that she had the chance to have a family, the chance that so many others didn't get. And she should be happy that she was even married in the first place.

Hadn't she been worried all her life that there would be no one who would voluntarily marry bossy, stuck-up Hermione Granger, who wasn't only an insufferable know-it-all, but also had impossible-to-tame bushy brown hair and way too large front teeth? Granted, her teeth were shrunk since fourth year, and her hair wasn't even nearly as bad as it used to be, but still. She knew she should at least be grateful for all that she had.

But she wasn't, and at this specific moment, she hated herself that she not only wasn't, but knew she never would, or even could, be.

Dinner that night was awful. Hermione had been so distracted while cooking that half of it had burned, and the other half that didn't was just as bad. Ron, who apparently had had an exhausting day at the Ministry didn't take kindly to that, and what followed was the worst fight him and Hermione had ever had.

And they'd had some pretty bad ones.

"What is this supposed to be?", Ron had asked with a voice full of contempt, pointing at the food.

"I'm sorry", Hermione said in a small voice. "I was distracted and..."

"Distracted?", Ron cut her off. "DISTRACTED?!"

Hermione flinched at his angry shout.

"You do not have the right to be distracted! You are to cook for me, and keep the house clean, like a good wife! There is no room for distractions!"

Hermione watched silently as her husband worked himself into a state of rage she knew he wouldn't exit soon. She had experienced it often enough, be it targeted at her, or Death Eaters, or just Slytherins in general.

"I could...", she started, trying to at least pacify Ron a little bit, but that sorely backfired.

"NO!", he shouted. "You can't do anything. Not one simple thing, like cooking dinner, for example!"

Ow, that hurt.

Rationally, Hermione knew he didn't mean it, but all her life – especially in the last three years – there had been more and more times when she had just felt inadequate.

Stupid.

So hearing Ron, her husband, who was supposed to love her, unconditionally, say this, it not only stung, but it hurt.

A lot.

"Don't have anything smart to say now, hm?"

"I...", she started again, not even knowing where she wanted that sentence to go, what she wanted to say, only not wanting to stay quiet, not wanting him to have that satisfaction of seeing her speechless.

"Nothing!"

Hermione unwillingly flinched and tried to make herself as small as possible when Ron advanced on her, his right hand held over his head.

Smack!

Inhaling sharply, not daring to make a noise again, Hermione held her stinging cheek, tears forming in her eyes. It wasn't so much the physical pain – she was used to that, even after all this time – but the emotional one.

No matter how bad their fights had gotten, Ron had never ever hit her, or even threatened to do so. It had been completely unexpected, and Hermione hated it.

"I'm the one in power here! And when I give you a command, you better follow it, do you understand?"

Hermione could merely nod. Ron's face relaxed, but only a little.

"Now, do you want to make it up to me?", he asked her.

She could hear he was still angry, so whatever he had in mind would be bad, but she wasn't in control of her body anymore, so shocked by her husband's previous actions, so she nodded again.

"I want you to say it out loud!", he commanded.

"I want to make it up to you", Hermione heard herself say.

Her voice was shaking.

"Good."

A cruel grin formed on Ron's face.

"Turn around!"

As if she was on auto-pilot, Hermione did what he said.

"Take off your knickers!"

Her hands were moving already, before the command had even really registered, and she felt the fabric moving down her legs, before she stepped out of it.

"Turn around!", Ron said again. "Give them to me!"

She did as he said.

"Good. Now..."

He stretched his hands forward and touched her thighs.

The moment Hermione felt his skin against hers, she came back to her senses though, and her first instinct told her to fight back.

So that's what she did.

She pushed Ron away from her, and as anger and hurt began to bubble up inside her – how could he dare?! – she tried to flee the kitchen as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately for her, Ron caught her sleeve and she was forced back. Even worse, he was angry again.

No, not angry.

Furious.

His eyes were feral, shining with what she recognized to be something akin to bloodlust, and she knew she had screwed up.

-oOoOo-

Hermione awoke with a start, in the middle of the night. It was dark, and the moon that was shining through the window didn't do much to light the room.

Her memory was fuzzy. The last thing she could clearly remember was being pressed against the counter, helpless, while Ron angrily whispered in her ear all the things he was going to do to her.

Shivers made their way over her body at the thought, if it was from fear or something else, she couldn't tell. Also, she was cold.

And naked under her blanket.

It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

Somehow Hermione knew she wouldn't fall asleep again, so she decided to get up. She also noticed that it had been the second time in a row she hadn't awoken with a raw throat and the sound of her own screaming. As she rolled out of bed, she involuntarily groaned, and fell onto the floor.

She felt like shit. Every cell of her body hurt. It wasn't the worst she had ever endured, but it was a close second. The collision with the floor hadn't made it better, admittedly, but her body protested her every movement.

What the hell happened last night?, Hermione asked herself. What did Ron do? And why can't I remember?

She continued to lie on the floor, thinking. It felt like she had been tortured, and then passed out.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He wouldn't!

But even though she was still not sure about the torture part, if she hadn't been sleeping but been unconscious, it would certainly explain the lack of nightmares. And the bad feeling she'd been having ever since she had awakened.

NO!

She would not believe her husband capable of torture. She couldn't.

It took her a while, but some time later, Hermione had convinced herself to move. It hurt a lot, but finally she was standing in the bathroom, facing the mirror.

She lit her wand, too afraid to light the whole room, and the moment she saw her reflection, she at first instinctively held her breath, before it became faster and faster. She didn't have to be the Brightest Witch of her Age to put together the puzzle pieces.

Her whole body was littered with bruises, most of them only starting to form. But that wasn't the worst of it. What was, though, what stood out to her was the positioning.

There was a hand print on her cheek – that one she could even remember getting – and her lips were swollen. There were bite marks all the way down her neck to her breasts, more that just a little too harsh to be mere hickeys, and both of her breasts bore not only 'hickeys' and the markings of fingers, but also dried blood that was unmistakably set free by Ron's teeth. Very much the same, if not worse, was the picture she saw between her thighs, bruises, bites, and dried blood running down.

She barely even noticed the fingerprints on both her wrists, before she lost consciousness yet again.

When Hermione woke again, it was because of a new pain.

She sat up slowly, already mostly used to the pain her bruises caused, and touched her hand to the back of her head. She flinched as she made contact. She must have hit her head on the bathtub when she fell backwards. And while it had bled, probably a lot, it luckily didn't anymore.

Also, she absolutely refused to clean that mess up. Indirectly, it was all his fault, anyway.

Hermione almost laughed out loud when she realized she couldn't even bring herself to think his name anymore. The anger she had felt only a moment ago made way to something different.

How could he?!

Never in her life, not in the Department of Mysteries, not after Dumbledore's death, not even after Bellatrix had carved 'Mudblood' into her skin, and hit her with the Cruciatus Curse more times than she could remember, had she ever felt that defeated.

The one thing, the only thing she had still had, even after being more or less forced into this marriage was her free will in regards to their physical relationship. No, she had never wanted to have any sexual interaction with Ron at all, but it had still been her choice.

And now? He had taken that from her as well. He had forced himself on her. Marriage or not, in her rational mind Hermione knew this was rape.

But, who would believe her? Were they not married? Were they not happy?

Despite her non-existing acting skills, everybody believed her. Everyone told stories of her and Ron's marriage to their children, the only one even more popular would be Harry's and Ginny's, and every single child out there wanted the exact same thing for him- or herself.

There was no one out there she could possibly talk to.

And even if there was, their wedding had be a magical one. It was binding. She didn't know the exact mechanics, but it had been traditional.

By now, she knew what Ron's idea of traditional constituted of.

There was no way she could get out of that. The only way would be if Ron were to die. And even if there wasn't a clause against that, there was also no way she could ever murder her husband, no matter what. She would rather die herself.

Oh, how appealing that sounded.

Not having to live this life anymore, not having to feel the pain. To be free, floating, like in that dream she had the night before.

But that could never happen, never become reality.

Hermione knew it, and so much more, and for the first time in over three years, she could do nothing to stop her tears from falling.

It felt like hours later that Hermione finally stopped sobbing and started to breathe more regularly. It couldn't have been too long though, because from what she could tell, it was still dark outside.

As she sat on the floor, she felt empty. Maybe, on some level she had hoped crying would help, let out all the negativity. And, she supposed it had.

Only it seemed like there was nothing else left.

Hermione wasn't sad anymore, or angry, or even desperate. There was only emptiness, nothingness.

But while her thoughts were still wandering, unsorted without any real direction, the loneliness came. It was only logical. After that, there came the feeling of being lost, the devastation and dread Hermione had always associated with it. The desperation, and the sadness.

If she had to find a simile, she'd probably describe it as being captured by quicksand. Being sucked in, at first slowly, but then faster and faster, with no chance of survival.

Survive...

Live...

These two words resonated oddly in her mind, being turned over and over, without sense or purpose.

Did she even want to survive this, like she did everything else?

Did she even want to live with yet another experience, another memory, that would haunt her for the rest of her life?

Was it even possible to continue, to move on from this, lead her life in the presence of someone who had violated her in such a cruel way, and, on top of that, fool the public into thinking everything was rosy and perfect?

Like it used to be?

Hermione couldn't suppress a bitter laugh at that thought.

It had never been perfect. And now, even considering to return to that life, not even looking at how much worse it would be after this night, she was filled with devastation.

Tears sprung to her eyes again. She did her best to not let them fall, without success. She hugged her legs, sharply inhaling at the stab of pain that went through her body at the movement, and rested her head on her knees.

Hermione knew herself, and she knew she wouldn't ever recover.

She wouldn't ever get over this.

But she didn't even want that anymore. She didn't want to be happy, or have fun, or fall in love. The only thing she wanted was to be rid of all this. She wanted to be free, she wanted to be left alone, she wanted rest, and above all, she wanted peace.

Rest in Peace...

She had heard these three words so often, after the war.

And in this very moment, there was nothing Hermione wouldn't give to be like one of the many people whose funerals she had attended. Lying in their coffins, motionless, their soul departed.

They didn't feel anymore, didn't suffer. They had moved on, maybe even to a better place, another realm maybe, where they were careless and free.

There was nothing she wouldn't give to be one of them right now.

After yet another period of time that felt like eternity, during which Hermione continued sitting on the floor, staring into the empty space, the sun came up and she finally found the will to move again. She really didn't want to face her husband, not now and not ever, and so she got dressed as fast as she could, and left their home.

On the streets, everything was still quiet, it wasn't even fully day yet, and it seemed like Hermione was the only living soul that was out and about, walking aimlessly through the alleys. She enjoyed the absence of voices and movement, enjoyed the peace that was overlaying seemingly the whole world.

It was something she wished could last forever.

But she knew it wouldn't.

In only a few hours time, it would be gone, replaced by noise and people hurrying down the streets to get to work on time.

It all seemed to be so far away, like she was in a dream, or in parallel universe.

The Afterlife.

Hermione longed for a place like this, that wouldn't be just the picture of a moment, but a never ending film, with herself in the main role. She wished she could be there, live that, even if it meant she had to die first.

As the sun rose higher, people in their houses started to wake up, what had been quiet just seconds before came alive.

Hermione hated it.

It reminded her that there was nothing she had to live for, no reason to survive. She wanted to go away, as far as possible, have a new life, and another chance.

Didn't everyone talk about life after death?

A new, clean slate, the possibility to start over?

It wasn't only a wish anymore, or a longing, or a desire. Hermione felt it in every cell of her body, something pulling her, calling her.

She supposed that was the feeling that some people got, people that knew they would die. It was Death, calling them to his side, to his realm.

And now it was her time, and she would take that chance. It was like an inner light that no one could see, a thread that she followed, and Hermione turned on the spot, only to find herself hovering over a huge lake, the black water reflecting the rising sun like a mirror, completely still.

Looking around, she recognized Hogwarts in the distance, the spot where once had been Hagrid's hut, and she was overwhelmed by sadness and regret all over again.

For more than three years she hadn't laid eyes on the grounds, hadn't seen all the progress that was made, but even now, the picture that would not disappear from her inner eye was how it had looked directly after the battle, everything lying in ruins, blood and dead bodies everywhere. She didn't even question how she had breached the Anti-Apparition wards that had been reinforced many times by various curse breakers, nor how she was able to stay afloat in the air without any noticeable effort on her part.

The only thing Hermione was focused on were her emotions, all the pictures that were rewinding over and over again in her head, and the pain that flared back up, lighting her body on fire, every injury she's ever gotten, bleeding, aching, hurting, all at the same time.

And the last thing she consciously remembered was her magic giving in and her falling into the ice cold water of the Black Lake, before she was swallowed by it and sank slowly to the ground.

WARNING: long author's note ahead.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. The fact that this is published on a FANfiction site should be enough to make that obvious, but whatever. Here you have it. This disclaimer counts for all following chapters of this story, as well as this one. I am not making any money from doing this, and like all other fanfiction writers out there, I do this for my own pleasure. Thank you.

now, on to the other stuff that could be important:

1. This story will be updated whenever I finish writing and editing a chapter. I hope it won't ever take more than two weeks, but I can't promise anything.

2. English is not my first language, and I don't have a beta. Mistakes are therefore inevitable.

3. I'm open to (constructive!) criticism. Feel free to tell me where I've made mistakes, and I will do my best to fix them.

4. Generally, I will always try and answer questions in reviews per PM. If the answer would be a spoiler, however, you're out of luck.

5. If you have any suggestions on what should happen in the future, or ideas or anything else, they're very welcome. I can't guarantee they will make it into the story, but if they don't interfere with the general plotline I've set up, I don't see why I shouldn't work them in.

6. This will be a long story. I don't know how long exactly, but I tend to make stuff very detailed, and I don't plan on many major time skips, so...

7. The song that inspired this story's title and underlying theme is not mine. It is called 'Stand in the Light', was written by Lauren Christy and Stephen Moccio, and is performed by Jordan Smith.

I don't think I forgot anything, but if I did, feel free to tell me in the reviews. And in general, if you feel like it, please review. It would make my day!