#✦ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝟎𝟏.𝟏 ➜ ｢ Post-War ｣

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❧ EMOTIONALLY CHARGED SENTENCES STARTERS ☙

➤ @monmuses asked: (emotionally charged sentence starters) ❝ look i’m not coddling you, i’m just trying to help. i wanna take care of you cause i, you know— care about you. ❞ from Scott, we need some angst

  ❝I know—❞ Hermione responds quickly, but cuts herself off before saying anything else. She knows she can sometimes blurt out words, sometimes even without thinking. He cared about her, he wanted to make sure she was okay. It was the sweetest sort of gesture that you'd want from anyone, especially from someone you care about so deeply.

  But there were somethings she had to prove, not just to others, but more-so for herself. Scott was by her side so much, and not once did it feel like he was coddling her.

  ❝I know you do, Scott,❞ she tries again, her arms crossing over her chest as if to protect herself, her eyes shifting away from him to look anywhere else, ❝I know you're trying to help, and I appreciate that so much. I do. I suppose I'm still...❞ Scared? Traumatised? Closed off? All of the above, really. War does that. ❝...Thank you, Scott.❞

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  ❝Oh—Ron,❞ Hermione's head turns to look at him, slightly startled but nothing out of the ordinary. She was stood outside of the Burrow, looking up at the night-sky, the stars glimmering above their heads. Peace was now at hand, especially with Voldemort out of the picture. It was strange, really... she didn't really know how to feel about it. It took up so much of their school lives that living a normal, free sort of life was just... well, how do you even go about that?

  ❝Sorry, I just... I needed some air.❞ She exhales a sigh, a cloud of vapor forming from her breath. It was cold, but she wasn't shivering. The breeze was relaxing, and she welcomed it quite happily, ❝Was there something you wanted—?❞ She turns to him again, though slowly this time. A lot had happened during the War that... well. Maybe somethings needed discussing more than others.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

note ║ can take place during Hogwarts or post Hogwarts

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❧ DRAMATIC & PROTECTIVE RELATIONSHIP PROMPTS ☙

➤ @managedxmischief asked: can you stay? just for a little while? it would help. - Ron ☺️

  Hermione stopped in her tracks, her head turning to look at the red head with slightly widened eyes. How could she leave him when he'd asked her in such a sweet way? Harry had dismissed himself to bed, Ginny moments before him, but Hermione stuck around that bit longer when she was the one who preferred an early night. Ron, though, seemed to be having some trouble doing so as of late. He wouldn't tell her why, and she tried her best not to pry it out of him, no matter how much she wished he'd just tell her. It could be a number of things, but the one that stood out the most to her was the possible grief of losing Fred.

  Her lips curling in the corners, Hermione nodded, ❝Alright.❞ A simple agreement, but it carried that sentiment. She turned completely, going over to the now vacant seat beside him, plopping herself down gently beside him, perhaps a bit too closely, but she could now, couldn't she? ❝I'll stay for as long as you need—❞ Want, ❝me to.❞

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❧ MISCELLANEOUS SENTENCE PROMPTS ☙ ⤷ Collection #3

➤ @lightcreators asked: " the world isn’t very kind. " (from harry potter)

  Her brows knit together as she watched the Boy Who Lived ( Twice ). He had the saddest look on his face, his glasses crooked on his nose, lenses cracked. She hated the sight, really. Harry wasn't Harry if he wasn't smiling.

  ...No, that wasn't right. He was still Harry, but he'd become almost accustomed to all the sadness, betrayal and death around him. Oh, how she wanted to tell him that it'd be alright. And with how the war was over now, surely it would be... but that'd take time.

  Resting her head on is shoulder, Hermione exhaled a shaky sigh. ❝I know, Harry.❞ She whispered, her voice, even though rather quiet, cracking. Their lives were utter messes and she hated it. He'd be living in Grimmauld Place properly, making it more his own house. Would she go there too? Or would she be staying with the Weasleys? She COULD go check her own house, but since her parents are in Australia...

  She inhaled sharply, sitting herself upright as her hands came up, her fingers wrapping around her curls as if to attempt to detangle them. ❝It might be grim now, Harry, but...❞ A breath, ❝I think... I think things might just start looking up from here.❞ Her reassurance wasn't solid, but she was trying. Even so smiling at him.

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❧ “YOU CAN KILL ME BUT DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THEM” ☙

➤ @literatae asked: ❝ you can’t get all worked up every time something happens to me. that’s just life. you’re not always gonna be able to protect me from it. ❞ | from harry

  The words hit her harder than she had anticipated, causing her to swallow, lips parted. He was right. It hurt that he was, but that's just it. The truth hurts. She wanted to protect him so much, so bad, that she was basically coddling him as if he was an infant. No... they'd grown past that. He didn't need her to figuratively hold his hand anymore. He was his own wizard, a powerful one; he always had been.

  Stepping back and wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione frowned, ❝I... I know, Harry.❞ She spoke quietly, her eyes drifting down to her feet, her trainers twisting in the ground below them absentmindedly. ❝Sometimes I just... I go back to when we were just children,❞ She let out a little chuckle, ❝When you and Ron always needed my help with something so intricate, or even your assignments... but we're not that anymore. We're not kids.❞ The solid truth. They weren't young—they were pretty much grown adults at this point. They went through war, got hurt, saw others die around them, even at their feet.

  A hand reaching up to push some curly strands behind her ear, the witch shrugged her shoulders, ❝I need to remember that you won't always need me, nor my help.❞

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   The fact he thought that such words would affect her now was humorous at best. Though she wasn't smiling, her face looking quite bored if she was honest, she was grateful for where she stood. He was locked in a cage, only able to try and make her uncomfortable and squirm with his words. Once upon a time, he had power in high places and a wand to get what he wanted.

   Not any more.

   She hummed, her tongue clicking, ❝Unfortunately for you, Bellatrix is dead, and all she could do was write a word on my arm that means very little.❞ Yes, at the time, it was a mortifying experience—and Malfoy Manor still gave her shivers any time she thought about it. She hated the place, but not for the reason of her writhing and screaming in pain on the wooden floor as a knife carved into her. No. She looked at him blankly, unreadable, as she sighed, shaking her head, ❝The punishment was dealt fit for the condemned. And you are certainly that. A vile, evil creature.❞ She chastised coolly, ❝Do you not see any error in what you've done, Mister Malfoy?❞ She asked, her head tilting, ❝None at all? ...No, most likely not.❞

There's only so many pardons the Ministry is willing to give out. Draco and Narcissa will walk. The testimony he gave openly incriminated him in what felt like every crime he committed in service of the Dark Lord and damned him to a fate worse than death. It was a prerequisite to the pardons, under threat of stacking so many charges against his son and wife they would never be free of the war.

Lucius has no idea what "meet your maker," is supposed to mean. It's the sort of idiotic thing a Muggle would say. Unless he was created by Dementors. Perhaps it's another jab at his moral character? He thinks about it and find he doesn't care. Not anymore. Not in this haze of miserable fear and endless despair.

"I wish Bellatrix killed you," he says maliciously. "It would have hurt, a great deal . . ." He remembers her squirming on the floor of the Manor, all those months ago. Back then he'd been too preoccupied to care, but now, with only his malice to warm him, the idea is delicious. "She liked to drag it out." He pauses. "But even that . . . is a more merciful fate than the Kiss."

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❧ Injury Prompts ☙

➤ @paddyfeet asked: "Drink this. It'll help you heal faster"

  The girl winced in pain, her face covered in little cuts and bruises, as well as her arms. Her face stained with blood ( nothing that a bath or shower couldn't fix ), her clothes too, for that matter. Sigh. All because they were pawns in an adult's game. The War, so to speak. Gods, it was almost as if they were playing wizarding chess with children as their pawns. Putting it into that sort of aspect made her want to throw up.

  Sirius had come up to her as she was tending to her own injuries, dabbing a damp cloth on her wounds to clean them up. She looked a mess, no doubt. Her curls everywhere, looking like a real bird's nest.. her clothes torn, stained, definitely ruined. Scourgify wouldn't fix that. Glancing to Sirius, who definitely survived when they went to the Department of Mysteries, had offered her a healing potion. He knelt by her side, watching her with steady eyes. He'd just tended to Harry, who also looked worse-for-wear. That's what you get when you put youngsters in front of a psychopathic maniac and win. Not many people, wizards or witches, could tell that tale.

  Exhaling a shaky sigh, Hermione reached out for the potion, winces coming from her as she finally had it in her grasp. She popped it open and gulped it down, trying not to look like she needed it like she needed air to breathe. Taking the last drop and removing the vial from her lips, Hermione's body relaxed. When did it last do that? Who knows. Breathing out again, she looked toward the man with gratitude in the mix of her chocolate gaze, ❝Thank you, Sirius.❞ She appreciated, offering him a small smile. ❝How's Harry holding up?❞ She asked quietly, leaning to take a look at The Boy Who Lived—Twice now. ❝I bet he's happy. Tired, but glad it's over.❞

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   The witch sat there, her eyes staring at the motion. Her hand being lifted and kissed as if it were some type of formal gesture—like Viktor did at the Yule ball in their fourth year.

   Warmth spread throughout her, across the back of her neck and on her face, dusting over her freckled cheeks. He actually, actually, rendered her speechless for a good minute or two, as if her brain had completely malfunctioned and needed that of a reboot.

   Blinking, as if finally being reloaded, Hermione cleared her throat, nodding her head, ❝I—... Yes. Yes, I think that would be... a good idea. A walk, maybe? To help clear your head a bit.❞

Harry couldn't begin to explain why he was spiraling the way he was...It just ended up being the way his mind worked anymore. But he was glad she knew what he meant, even if he shouldn't be surprised; Hermione always knew what he was thinking and in some ways she knew him better than he did.

Scars would heal with time, he supposed, but for right now he just focused on the here and now. Without a thought he brought her hand up to his lips, kissing the back of her hand gently and glancing over at her.

"Do you wanna...I don't know just, get out of here 'Mione?

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  God, she still felt like a stupid little school girl whenever he looked at her like that. A prat at times, but that look, those eyes... her heart melted every single time. He only had the sweetest intentions, something she's known for years.

  Oh. Oh! That was something, a change. A healer. Hermione's eyes widened and practically sparkled, giving off an amber-ish glow amongst the dark pools of brown. ❝I have no doubt in my mind that if you put your all into it, you'd make an amazing healer, Ron. You just need to make sure you actually put in the work,❞ She teased, her nose wrinkling as she ever so gently nudged him with her elbow, ❝I can't do it all for you this time, you know. You're smart, you know you are. I know it, too.❞ She smiled warmly, her hand reaching out to place gently atop his, ❝You'll be a fantastic healer, Ron. You'll be helping so many wizards and witches.❞

  ❝I can help you study, if you like? No doubt there are medical exams and things involved.❞ She suggested, though her opposite hand coming up and across, pointing her index finger at him, ❝But remember, this is all you.❞

Ron looked at Hermione, their eyes meeting. He remembered back to the moment when she returned from Hospital Wing in their second year. He'd been so scared that he'd never hear her voice again. Worried she would never scold him for leaving his homework until minute. When he saw her, un-petrified, and smiling. He was calm again. That was what Hermione did for him. She calmed him.

"You reckon?" He asked with a grin. "It does help. Loads." Ron nodded. "Do you think that this is something I'd be good at?" Her asked honestly. He had though long and hard about what he wanted to do. Being an Auror had been something but then he remembered visiting his father in St. Mongos and seeing Lockehart and Neville's parents. Ron cared so much for others. Becoming a healer for long term patients was something he wanted to do. "I'm excited to start learning." He told her.

"You think I'll be a god healer? I think I will be. I like helping people. Protecting them."

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   Hermione huffed with agitation, her free hand coming up, pushing under her fringe and slowly dragging down her face. For Merlin's sake. A man blinded by the words of another, false promises and hopes. It was the one thing that made her wince inside, but her whole resolve was steeled still.

   Her dark brown eyes snapped up to look at him then. I'll let you go, he said. She wasn't being held captive. She could've got out of this at any time. The Brightest Witch of her Age, after all, she has an arsenal of spells at her disposal—but she wasn't going to use them. She knew how to be mature and civil... she thought, anyway. And then ❛Go find Ron❜ he continued with, which made her blood boil. Like hell. Poor Ron was probably still mortified over the idea he kept a grown man disguised as a rat as a pet for so long. Let alone the one who sold out Harry's parents.

   ❝What makes you think that Ronald will want to even see you? Let alone hear from you?❞ She chastised. Taking a breath, Hermione thought about her options. She didn't want any blood spilled... but this man wasn't a good man, and how he was even standing in front of her was beyond her. Then again, she wasn't really paying attention to who lived or died during the war, only those of note.

   Exhaling silently, she gave him a stern glare, ❝Are you sorry?❞ She asked then, not faltering. ❝Are you? Because I can't really take your word, can I? I can't trust it.❞ As the saying goes, you need to mean it for it to take proper effect. She didn't want to take his word—he could take any sign of her accepting it and run with it, just because she, and her friends, sent his dear master to his grave, where he bloody belonged. They were the winning side. ❝You need to prove that you are, if that's the case.❞

Wormtail suddenly realizes how old he’s gotten. Old enough to know what’s possible and what’s not. His hair is falling out, and his joints are creaking, and Hermione’s got her whole life ahead of her. He cuts himself short. Don’t say that. She’s in mortal peril, all because of him. She’s fighting to live, something he’s failed to do. Then why stand in her way? Why not let her live on, prosper, bear children. He suddenly remembers whose children those would be, and his heart is sent into a spasm.

“His words…”

…Were fire. Were ice cold. They burned a hole in him and left nothing behind.

“Hermione, I wasn’t strong enough to bear… That pain… is beyond imagination.”

The Dark Mark scorches his flesh, pulsating viciously, like an inflamed tooth nerve. He knows what it urges him to do.

“And my friends…”

His palms spread, as if dropping sand through the fingers. The lives of his friends. He couldn’t save them. That’s what saved him. Why is it that whenever he chooses himself, something awful happens?

“Hermione, please, don’t fight me… I’ll let you go… Go find Ron… And tell him… that I’m sorry.”

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   Hermione's eyes read the letter intently, brow raised with intrigue. She wasn't as fixed on her whole S.P.E.W idea as she was back in Hogwarts—that didn't mean she wasn't still passionate about the subject, she just had a lot of other things going on.

   But this... this was interesting.

   She rushed about, picking up a quill and some parchment to write some sort of response in return;

Dear Theodora,

I'd love nothing more than to come and look, if you wouldn't mind! I'm sure it'd certainly help with possible future endeavours, so I'd absolutely appreciate that wholeheartedly.

Please let me know with a date and time I might be able to come over? The more convenient for you, of course.

Kind regards, Hermione Granger

   And with that written up, Hermione rolled up the letter, passing it over to her new addition to her family, her barn owl, Soren, before sending him off with it out of her window. Having an owl was a new experience for her, but hopefully her letter would be delivered quickly enough. These could help when she would soon start her career within the Ministry of Magic, in the Magical Creatures department.

@thcbriightcst liked my permanent starter call

Dear Hermione,

I’ve been cleaning out my family’s attic and have stumbled across several tracts on subject of house elf rights from the 15th-17th centuries. I’m aware that this is a topic of great and long-standing interest to you, so if you would like, you’re welcome to come and have a look at them.

Cordially,

Theodora Nott

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   ❝No you aren't!❞ Hermione hissed, leaning forward into his space to try and get close enough so she could inspect his shoulder. Her face was covered with concern—how could he just sit there and say that he's fine when the pain on his face says otherwise.

   The guilt in the pit of her stomach, the fact he got splinched... she tried her best to help him, to do whatever she could to make the pain and bleeding stop. She was beside herself the entire time, Harry too.

   ❝I—❞ She paused, her teeth dragging her bottom lip in to gnaw on it. What she needed before was now completely irrelevant. Utterly and completely. ❝Can... Can I see it? Just to check on it, I mean. I could rub some dittany on it, or—❞

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  ❝I...❞ Hermione stared at him when he finished, feeling her face heat up at his little admission. He was something, Ronald Weasley, and for some reason that she possibly couldn't explain, he took her breath away, and caused her thoughts to become messy and foggy. Not necessarily a bad thing, it just showed how much he had an effect on her without really doing anything—

  But it was his words that got her this time. ❝On the contrary,❞ She comments, shaking her head at him but her smile never faltering, ❝I dare say you've grown up, honestly.❞ She teased lightly, leaning over just a bit. ❝But... I won't be going anywhere, if that helps a bit more.❞

@bccksmarts asked : don't look so stiff. — to Ron!! 👉🏻👈🏻

"What?" Ron asked, looking to Hermione when she spoke. "Oh, yeah." He rolled his shoulders and relaxed them. "You know how I get. I've always had a problem with nerves." He sighed. "It's better though. With you here."

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   ❝Don't. Don't you dare.❞ Her voice stern, eyes squeezed tightly closed. She knew she would've been as good as dead if Voldemort sought her out. If he had. She might be a powerful witch herself, but she knew her fate would have been sealed if she couldn't hold her own. ❝I wouldn't. Never.❞ The thought alone gave her the nastiest taste in her mouth.

   ❝You... You could have turned to your friends if you needed help. To not be swayed by his influence.❞ She pressed, taking a breath to shake off those thoughts that she was sure would haunt her later. The man was now dead, for Merlin's sake, she didn't need that. However, saying that, he was one of those types. The type to see a power advantage at that given time and side with it. The vile, vile man... probably muttered promises to him that clearly weren't kept. ❝But... no. No, his words, his... flattery... whatever he did, he persuaded you good and proper.❞

   She couldn't, wouldn't, pity him.

   ❝If he wanted anything to do with me, even the smallest speck, I would have sooner preferred to have been avada'd.❞

Her judgement is crystal clear, as it always has been. He cannot stand in its light, his rat self itching to scurry away and hide in a corner, where it’s too dark to see him. At times he feels like he’d be better off never being born at all. Yes, that would make everything right. This, however, brings a new agony – it lets him realize he’s been the crucial link in the chain of disaster. Not even the Dark Lord – him.

“You don’t understand, Hermione…” he gulps down tears, “How strong he was…”

And oh, how cold those hands were. How gently they touched his forehead when he lay broken by Cruciatus in a puddle of his own piss. The hands that dealt pain and relief, mouth that whispered such bitter truths and such sweet promises…

“You… you would be his too, if he wanted. Even you…”

Pettigrew cannot imagine anything beyond his experience. He can only imagine the way one craves freedom of at least one thing. One thing.