Scars That Heal (Dramione Fanfiction) [COMPLETE]

4 - Psychologic

It was late after the detention had ended, and the other girls were already in bed. Hermione could hear Sally-Anne shuffling her duvet as she settled down to sleep, but it was otherwise silent in the dormitory. She pulled a piece of parchment out of her dresser, and started to write a reply to Harry.

Dear Harry,

I'm glad you and Ron are well, and you are both doing good work at the Ministry. It must be incredibly difficult, and I'm sorry I can't help much. My only revision tips would be to make sure you don't just read things through; active revision like writing them over and over will make them stick. I've been doing just fine. I haven't received any homework as of yet, but it's only the second day. I'm sure some of the teachers will start laying it on quite quickly, though. Professor Clark is very nice, if a little unprepared. I don't think she quite understands all that has happened here, and the weight she must carry as a result. But she is very intelligent and open, and I think she sits with the school quite well.

I haven't had much of a chance to speak with Ginny, but I don't think everything is OK with her. She seems like a shadow of herself. I need to have a talk with her about her duties as a Prefect now, but I can't promise anything. And I don't know when the Hogsmeade dates will be yet, but I will try to meet with you both then. I hope Ron's alright; he hasn't written to me since I've started, but it has only been a few days.

I need to ask you something, Harry. Don't worry about me, because I'm fine really, and I know you've had worse, but I want your help with this. I keep having these awful, awful nightmares about what happened in Malfoy Manor. The knife, ribbons on the floor, Bellatrix... It's stopping me from sleeping. It's worrying me, and I've looked in the library for textbooks on it but there is nothing. So I've got some Muggle psychology books from Professor Gladheart - the new Muggle studies teacher - and I'm going to start reading them now. Is there anything I should be doing that could help?

I do hope you'll come back soon, as I miss you lots. It just isn't the same with everyone gone. I miss things the way they were.

Hermione x

That seemed like a well-thought out letter, and she made clear that Harry shouldn't worry. It wasn't his problem, and she knew he had had it far worse than she had. By this time, it was past midnight and Hermione couldn't bring herself to start the psychology books. So she curled up in bed and turned her wand out. It was safe, at Hogwarts... There was nothing bad here anymore. She was safe. She was safe. There was no reason to be afraid of the changes, and she was safe. Safe. Safe...

Cold blood glittering on a blade, strings of crimson life scattered on the floor... More laughter. Flashes of glass, and crashes of frozen lightening. Mudblood... Mudblood... Her sodden clothes drowned with tears and sweat and muddy, soiled, blood... Laughing, laughing, tormenting laughter, and a window filled with raindrops... A face, just looking. It does nothing, she is trapped, and she is a weak, worthless, Mudblood... Mudblood...

Gasping again, Hermione jerked upright and threw her curtains back. Her hair was twisted into a snarled bunch on the side of her head, and she caught a glimpse of her own terrified face in a mirror. Her eyes were glassy and strangely awake, while her mouth was open in a scream. Pale threads of tears were clinging to her jaw where the scab stood livid, and there were large sweaty patches on her pyjamas sleeves. She pulled her hair away from her face and picked up one of the Muggle books. Then she strode out of the dorm again and went to the Tower.

Opening the hatch, she was grateful to see it was empty, her own place to recover: the last thing she needed now was to have to contend with Malfoy. The dream was still fiercely clinging to her mid, and she had to sit down on one of the old cushions and breath steadily for ten minutes before she was prepared to even consider opening the book. In... out. In... out. Those lungfuls of air helped to remind her she was alive, and she was in control now. And that was all she needed for now.