Sanctuary

It is said that if a person witnesses something so tremendously traumatizing, so incredibly daunting, life as that person knew could come to an end. Not physical death, but emotional.

Hermione Granger was emotionally dead.

The Daily Prophet had covered the story.

WAR OVER: HARRY POTTER DEFEATS THE DARK LORD.

Every wizard and witch in the world rejoiced. They could finally lead lives without fear, without worry. But even though there were vast celebrations across the world in honor of the defeat of Lord Voldemort, there were many who didn't join the merriment. Because, while Voldemort was indeed gone forever, the damage he inflicted... was not.

"There's nothing more the Healers can do."

Mr. Weasley's face had aged considerably during the War. Now that it was over, his face was a constant reminder of what he'd had to endure to survive to keep his family alive. "They've tried everything they could. I'm sorry."

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley reacted the same way anyone would under the same circumstances.

"That's fucking rubbish! There has to be a mistake."

"Those arseholes don't know shit, Dad!"

Mr. Weasley sighed. He supposed that if he'd been told that one of his best friends had lost all ability to express and feel emotion...well, he reckoned he'd say the same things.

"I want to see her," hissed Harry. "I want to see her now."

"Me too," added Ron.

Mr. Weasley looked at his son and at the boy he considered his as well. The War had been hard on both boys--men, they're men now, he told himself. Wars turned seventeen-year-old boys into men whether they wanted to or not. Ron had angry red welts peeking from under the neck of his sweater from where Lucius Malfoy had tried to strangle him during the Final Battle. There was a four-inch scar running down his jaw from where a stray curse from a Deatheater had hit him during a raid. Only days before the Final Battle, he'd been put under the Cruciatus curse, so he now only had partial mobility in his left arm.

Harry wasn't in better condition than his male best friend. Harry's scar now held a sickly green tinge to it--Healers hoped that with proper potion dosages the green would dissipate. Though now covered by his jumper, Mr. Weasley knew that Harry had a large scar that started above his sternum and curved slightly to reach his right hipbone. No one knew how he obtained that scar except Ron and Hermione. In a run-in with Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry came out with damaged leg tendons, so he now walked with a slight limp.

Both Harry and Ron held unimaginable grief in their eyes that promised nightmares for the rest of their nights.

Mr. Weasley sighed again and placed one of his hands on each man's shoulder. "I'm not sure that would be the wisest thing to do," he admitted. "Hermione isn't the same girl you saw before the kidnap."

"With all due respect, Mr. Weasley...I don't give a flying rat's ass. We need each other now more than ever." The look in Harry's eyes sent a shiver up Mr. Weasley's spine.

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Alright. I'll arrange it."

"The Mudblood has proved to be a bigger problem than I predicted."

"Look, Malfoy, if the girl does not tell you the information we need by tonight, it'll be your head the Dark Lord will have on a platter, not mine. I told you from the beginning that the only way to get anything from her is to show her the Muggles."

"Do not presume to know more that I, Avery."

"I do not presume, I know. Look, Malfoy, even your idiot son was unable to retrieve any information from the chit--you've got to show her the Muggles."

"Arrange it."

The room where Hermione was being treated in wasn't all that large. The walls were painted a dull gray that would make even the most cheery person in the world feel depressed. The only contents in the room were a small cot in the far right corner, a side-table drawer with a reading lamp on it, and a rickety table that held various potion bottles and Get-Well cards from Hermione's friends.

It gave Harry the chills.

Hermione had been the least physically abused than both her best friends during the War--Harry and Ron had both made sure of that. Most of her injuries had faded with time--only the wounds from her kidnap remained.

There were red welts similar to Ron's, and lacerations all over her body. Her face was pale and full of cuts and bruises. There was a bandaged gash on the palm of her right hand, and another bandage covering a sword-wound on her left shoulder.

Hermione was sitting on the cot with her arms encircling her knees that she'd brought up to her chin. She didn't turn away from the tiny window when she felt the mattress dip from their combined weight.

After several moments of silence, Harry placed his hand on her shoulder and winced at the feel of her protruding bone. "Hermione?"

When she did turn to him, part of him wished she hadn't. She looked...empty. He'd seen the same look on Ginny Weasley's face after Wormtail had cast the Killing Curse on her. Harry had always been able to read what she was feeling by looking into her eyes, but now...

"How are you?" Harry knew it was a stupid question, but he really had no idea what to say to her.

She looked away from his face and resumed gazing out the window. "Fine." Her voice was a bit raspy, her tone flat.

Harry looked over at Ron and nudged his head in Hermione's direction. "Say something," he whispered.

"Are you, really?" It wasn't much better, but it was the best Ron could come up with. Hermione only lifted a shoulder in response.

Harry sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he desperately wished things were different.

Hermione had always been warm. Her eyes had always held a compassion and tenderness that Harry had up until now overlooked. Even during the War she'd been a source of comfort to many and any. But to Harry she'd been vital. Her tender hugs and easy caresses had given Harry the will and strength to fight for a future she'd made sure he knew of.

And to see her like this...cold, distant, empty--it broke Harry's heart in two.

"Please let there be something that can make you better." Harry's whispered plea went unnoticed by Hermione.

After Hermione had been kidnapped, the Order had told them that they would be risking Hermione's life if they tried to find her on their own. So they had, without hesitation, relocated from a barn house in Yorkshire to the familiar environment of the Burrow.

Upon their return to Ron's childhood home, Harry had immediately felt a surge of relief. Here he felt protected, here he felt at peace. The Burrow gave him hope that they would find Hermione safe and sound.

But now the only feeling that the Burrow gave him was helplessness.

Ron watched as Harry made a trench in his bedroom rug. "I can't believe this is happening." Ron rolled his eyes. Harry had been saying the same thing over and over for the past half-hour.

"This is beyond unfair," Harry told him. "We're supposed to be celebrating with the rest of the world. We're not supposed to be like this." He stopped pacing abruptly, as if he'd suddenly run out of energy, and proceeded to sink to his knees. Ron watched as Harry covered his face with his hands and fisted them in his hair.

"Mate." Ron sank to his knees in front of him and placed his hands on the other boy's shoulders. "We have to pull ourselves together if we want to help Hermione. We can't go on blaming ourselves for--"

"I'm not blaming you," Harry interrupted. "I'm blaming me."

Ron scowled and pulled Harry's hands off his face. "Don't give me that shite. We were both supposed to look after her, not just you."

"There has to be something that can be done to help her. There just has to be." Harry fisted his hands at his sides. "I thought that once I killed Voldemort he'd be gone for good." He shook his head in disgust. "But now I 'm starting to think that he may never be truly gone."

"Don't say that." Ron's face contorted with anger. "That bastard's gone for good."

"He isn't." Harry lifted his face to look at Ron. "Don't you see? Even in death he's making my life a living hell." He straightened and went to sit on the cot Mrs. Weasley had placed for him next to the window, unconsciously mirroring Hermione's stance. There were dark, ominous clouds threatening to spill their contents at any given moment. Harry thought they seemed to match his mood perfectly.

"There's still one difference," said Ron; he continued when Harry tuned to look at him. "He's not here to stop you from making it right again."

Harry didn't respond to his comment and resumed looking out the window.