Greengrass

~8~

The anxiety didn't creep up on her until the moon was high in the sky.

Hermione had spent the night with Daphne, Astoria, and Pansy and fell asleep in their dorm room. They spent hours after dinner looking through wizard fashion magazines and discussing the upcoming Quidditch season. Astoria told them she and Ginny had agreed to practice together, despite the disadvantage it would give their teams if their rival captain knew how the other played. They craved the challenge.

Hours later, the three girls were asleep in their room, snoring softly into the night. Hermione wished she could join them, but she couldn't shake the niggling feeling that something wasn't right. She slipped out of her bed and quietly walked over to the window. The moon greeted her, big and bright and beautiful.

Her breath fogged the glass and she walked over to her sister's beds. Her wand moved of its own accord, placing wards for protection and silence around their sleeping forms. She didn't know why she did it, but she felt like she had to. What if the snatchers heard them?

If the snatchers heard them they would kill them. Hermione couldn't let that happen. They had to save the wizarding world, they had to defeat Vol-You Know Who. She had to keep them alive. If not her then who? They needed her. She needed to find out more about the Horcruxes, she needed to find out more about who Tom Riddle was so she might find what he bonded his spirit with.

She needed to know everything, she needed to keep reading. Where did she put her books? Where were the boys? Were the snatchers in the forest already? She had to move they were going to find her she couldn't let them find her she needed to place more wards she needed to keep them alive where were they why couldn't she do anything what good was she if she couldn't do something why couldn't she just do something

w̷̲͈̰̻̗ͥ͆ͮh͕͎̼͚͖̳͋̇͘ͅỳ̨̹̥̯̝ ̷̭͙̬̤̻̀̚c̡̻͓̹̊̈́̐o̧̦̰͉̻̻̥ͭͤ͗̓u͚̫̲̩̫ͯͬ͌͟l͔̮̜̙̺̻͉̳̉̄͞d̘̜̍́ṉ̸̤̝̝͍̼̲̏ͪͦ͝'͔̩̱̩̯̺̽̿͊͘ͅt̙͈̤͂ͦ̀̆͝ ͋҉͍͖͕͉͙̯̜s̺̝̮ͨ̂͞h̢̬͔͖͕̞ͫ͊́ẻ̯̠̝͜ ̸̦̺ͧ̏̚j̸͖̠̻̗̳̖̠͙̒u̖̞͇̻ͨͮ͋͢ͅs̫̘̱̔͡t͓̖̱̗̫̗͚̫̏͛́ͮ̕ ̡͚̭̭̄d̢̟͖͇͚̗̼̏̃ͅȯͨ̅̀҉̳̪̮̠ ̸̮̦͙͇́ͅs̛̞̰̘̲̙̩̻̰ͬͮ̑ơ̺̱̫̋ͭm̜͖͇̠̜̝̯̉̿ͩ̓͢eͯͨ̐͏͚̱̘̖̹̘̰̮t̛͚̞̰͍̜͋̐ḥ̨̤̻ͧ̉ͫ̃ī̛͉̗n̘̝͔͕̜͖͉̅ͭ̌̈́͠g̷͕͖̫ͣ

"Hermione!"

Pansy Parkinson had her hands on her shoulders and was shaking her a bit, her look of concern startlingly clear in the pale moonlight that spilled in through the window. When Hermione didn't answer, Pansy spoke again.

"Breathe!"

Her mouth opened and her lungs took in a greedy breath of air. Her right hand found its way over her heart and her knees buckled. Pansy caught her just in time to lower them both safely to the floor.

Pansy whispered to Hermione in the dark, telling her to take deep breaths, telling her she was safe, telling her she wasn't alone. They sat there for a while, Hermione folded into herself with Pansy in front of her, her arms firm and steady around her shoulders.

After a while, Hermione broke the silence. "The muggles call it post-traumatic stress disorder." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, but the silence around them made her sound much louder. "The Healer I saw at St.Mungos last year confirmed I contracted it after the war. Apparently, spending your formative years narrowly dodging death, getting tortured, and watching people you've known since you were eleven die in a war they shouldn't have been fighting messes up the brain a bit."

Pansy was silent, the only indication she was listening was the gentle hand rubbing her back in soothing circles. It worked wonders on Hermione's rigid spine. She couldn't remember the last time she was held like this, like she was fragile. Maybe her mother after a nightmare when she was a child? It was wild to think that the person who was offering her so much comfort in her time of need was once nothing more than her school bully.