When Hermione was six years old, her parents grounded her for sneaking out of the house and climbing on the roof to watch the sunset every day for a week, fearing that one morning she would slip and fall to her death or injury. Now, as she sat on the roof of her new home to see crimson and gold rays cut through granite-colored clouds, Hermione wished for her mother's worried voice to meet her ears and for her father's hands to pick her up and carry her into bed. But they had died six months ago, and would never help her sleep again.

Not that she really slept anymore these days, Hermione thought as she climbed down from the roof and went back inside. Even though the war against Voldemort had ended months ago, the insomnia she had developed during those grueling days and nights refused to go away. The old Hermione had thought that victory would soothe all of her aches, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Too many horrible things had happened to secure success for the Light.

She remembered that after destroying the last Horcrux, hidden within Voldemort's snake Nagini, Harry had confronted the Dark Lord surrounded by his friends, every surviving member of the Order, and the reinforcements their allies in Bulgaria and France had sent by Portkey. It was too bad Voldemort had had one last trick up his sleeve.

When his Avada Kedavra spell ricocheted off of a joint Shield spell by Harry and Ginny and struck him in the chest, the body that fell to the ground was not that of Voldemort, but Lucius Malfoy who had taken a dose of Polyjuice potion. It had all been a ploy. Two Death Eaters, hiding under Invisibility cloaks, had grabbed the two members of the Light closest to them, Hermione and Fleur, and Apparated away while every one else was distracted.

While the two witches found themselves in the same cell, it became obvious that Fleur was nothing more than a hostage as Hermione was hauled, night after night, to a dark chamber where none other than Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolphus raped and tortured her for hours on end, demanding information in between cruel thrusts and the myriad casting of the Cruciatus spell. Every night she returned to her cell and watched Fleur sleep, as she no longer had the ability.

After two weeks of silence, it became apparent that the methods of torture were having no effect besides the occasional scream of agony and Bellatrix had suggested an alternate method of intimidation.

They, with wicked smiles she would never forget, strapped Hermione down to a steel table and started to drip a bottle of what she believed was acid onto the right side of her face, letting one drop fall at a time before Vanishing it away before the damage got past the skin.

After six hours, the angry red of soon to be scarred flesh was down her neck to the start of her shoulder. It was then that Harry and the others had managed to find her and Fleur moments after they defeated the true Voldemort. Bellatrix and Rodolphus were Stunned and wrapped in the ropes of an Incarcerous spell, but even with her torturers helpless and her friends around her, cutting through her bindings, Hermione did not stop screaming for an entire night.

When she woke up after having Remus and Tonks hold her down and force Dreamless Sleep down her throat, everyone was around her bed, though only three people, Remus Lupin, Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour were looking directly at her. When Hermione asked with a shaking voice for a mirror, the Frenchwoman fetched one from her room a moment later without a word and held it up for Hermione to look into.

Tears (that could only come down the left side of her face because the tear ducts on her right were now damaged beyond repair) came down the seventeen year old's cheek as she stared unflinchingly at her new face. Remus explained to her that none of their spells had done anything to heal it and said he believed that the Lestranges had enchanted the acid to keep the damage from being reversed.

Hermione gave no answer to her ex-Professor's words but turned to look Harry, who now had managed to turn and see her face and asked him how many people they believed had died for the Light in these last battles altogether. It was a cruel question, she knew, but at this moment in her life, all thoughts of being polite or merciful were nonexistent in her head.

She listened as he spoke, making a mental list. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill (she saw Fleur wince), Percy, Fred, George, all of the Professors at Hogwarts save McGonagall (who was in critical condition) and Hagrid, over two thirds of the students at Hogwarts, the French and Bulgarian witches and wizards who had accompanied Fleur and Krum, and Mad-Eye Moody. So much death to rid the world of one soul.

By the time Harry had finished there were tears in everyone's eyes, and Hermione told all of them their time would be better spent grieving for the dead rather than the wounded because she would live another day. They obeyed her for the most part, leaving the room all too quickly, but Viktor gave her a kiss on the forehead and told Hermione he would rather stay. Fleur also didn't move, but said nothing.

After the mass funeral the remaining members of the Light had arranged, they all returned to Hogwarts to try and repair the damage there. Remus refused to let the school fall apart and began owling the Ministry for their assistance with repairs. Some of the surviving villagers of Hogsmeade also came to help, and soon enough, everything was fixed. On the outside anyways.

As a hero of the Light, Hermione had been given a small house near the Wizarding village free of charge, and spent most of her time alone, refusing multiple interview requests and only letting a select few friends breach the constant wards she had cast over her home. Viktor probably visited her the most, using the few hours she gave him inside to get her to eat or talk, both things she didn't do often. Hermione had her suspicions that he still very much wished to be with her, but thankfully Viktor was polite enough not to do more than try and make her healthy.

Sometimes Harry, Ron, and Ginny would come as a group for tea, as if they all were afraid of being alone with her. When they came over, Hermione had taken to wearing a cloak with a hood so she could cover her face and Ron would actually stare at something besides the floor. But to her shock, he had cornered her one afternoon and asked if she'd like to go out with him.

Her response was (in a voice filled with venom) if she'd have to wear a mask when they were in public. His ears had turned a dark shade of red and he murmured something about her temper getting worse with age. Since then, Ron had not been welcome in her house and all of his owls of apology were sent back unanswered.

Ginny had stopped coming by as well when she heard about Hermione rejecting her brother, but Harry still visited for another month before she received two owls from Ginny: one informing her that she and Harry were engaged, and another stating she'd prefer it if her fiancé didn't visit Hermione anymore. With a gentle rage, she had torn apart the letters and tossed them in the fire.

When Krum was hired as the Quidditch coach at Hogwarts, his visits began to decrease as well, much to her quiet despair.

It had been a week since Hermione had seen another soul, so she was surprised when she heard a knock at the door. Taking a long sip of her coffee, she stood; pulling up the hood of the cloak she now wore constantly and walked over to the thick redwood door opening it halfway to see who had interrupted her breakfast.

Hermione blinked in surprise at the sight of Fleur Delacour standing at her front porch, dressed in nice but casual robes. The twenty year-old woman gave her a small smile and asked quietly if she could come inside. With a murmured reply in the affirmative, Hermione opened the door all the way and took a few steps back.

Fleur came inside and gently closed the door behind her. She stared at Hermione's hood for a moment before shaking her head out of her little trance. The Gryffindor sat down at the oak table she ate at every morning and gestured for the Frenchwoman to take a seat.

When Fleur sat down, Hermione poured her a cup of coffee and offered it to the older woman, who took it with a visible look of relief in her cerulean eyes.

"I didn't think you'd let me in," Fleur started off, pushing a strand of silver hair out of her face absently.

"I didn't think you were still in the country," Hermione responded, voice a little rough from lack of use.

"Zair is nothing left for me in France," she said, a thread of sadness trailing through her words. Hermione remembered someone telling her that Fleur's sister Gabrielle had recently died, but she wasn't sure who had informed her.

Hermione wanted to ask exactly was what was here considering her husband's death, but held her tongue for the first time in months. She looked at Fleur and saw the signs of self-neglect in her pale face; hollow lines from lacking of eating, blood-shot eyes from sleepless nights…all things Hermione saw every morning she dared to look in the mirror.

"Why come to me?" She asked finally, still recovering from the surprise of finding the woman on her doorstep.

"I don't know really," Fleur murmured, staring into her coffee, "something in my 'eart told me to, and in France we listen to our 'earts more than our minds. Perhaps I just wanted someone to talk to."

"I'm afraid if you're looking for mindless chatter or conversation to merely pass the time, you've come to the wrong place."

"Well, then it's a good thing zat's not what I was looking for, oui?"

Hermione paused.

"What are you looking for then?"

"You, 'ermione. Ze one person I can't get out my mind."

Another pause followed Fleur's words before Hermione answered.

"Why me?"

"Because, though everything zat happened, you stayed stronger than everyone else and no one has bothered to thank you for it."

Anger bubbled in Hermione's stomach as she hissed, "So what is this, a dose of sympathy and a thank you for suffering for the good of the cause before you fly off on your merry way?"

Fleur blinked, looking shocked. "No, zat was not my intention at all-"

Hermione interrupted her with a growl, "Then what is your damned intention, Fleur? To try and make up for all the stupid things my friends have done, or to try and get rid of your guilt because they tortured me instead of you?"

The blue eyes looking at Hermione chilled to several degrees below zero.

"Whether or not it matters to you, I wish zey 'ad tortured me rather than you. You gave up everything and no one bothered to pick up ze pieces of yourself you 'ad to leave behind because of it. But zat's not why I came. I-"

Fleur stopped, and Hermione's eyes hardened with frustration.

"You what?"

The Frenchwoman stood, shaking her head. "Perhaps I was wrong."

"About what!" Hermione yelled, on the verge of crushing her coffee cup between her hands.

Fleur fled towards the door, all composure gone. Her eyes held both a little fear and the beginning of tears as she whispered, "About believing zat I was falling in love with you."

With that, she ran out, the door slamming behind her, leaving an extremely confused and startled Hermione to gasp the word, "What?"