A/N: A few brief notes before you begin this journey with me. This is my first truly full length fic, and I would GREATLY appreciate all reviews and thoughts in regards to it.

Please note: I have disregarded the epilogue entirely, made several events occur during DH that never did, and have brought many Characters back to life. As it stands Dumbledore died, but Snape is alive. Fred and Remus also survive in my happy little world. Also, I have played with the ages here, and I realize that. Minerva is significantly younger, though still more than double Hermione's age. Remus is slightly younger, and Hermione is 19 for her eighth year. (That age actually does line up rather nicely.)

Finally, the M rating here is based upon mentions of Rape, and some strong language. There is no lemon to be found here (though several close moments), if you are in search I do suggest one of my other recent one-shots, "Whispered Nights".

So without further ado, I present you with "After the War", I hope you enjoy!

(If you just received an update on this story, it is because I have seriously edited and reworked the beginning (As well as some small edits throughout). While I loved the story after several chapters, the first chapter was shameful rubbish, in my opinion, so I've fixed that. I hope you enjoy the changes.)

It was only a month after the final battle when they had received their letters. The Golden Trio, as people felt the need to call them, had been spending a few precious months at the Burrow before returning to reality. They mourned the loved ones they had lost lost, caught up with the one's they had missed, and enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in real beds, and eating food which hadn't been transfigured by Hermione. They tried to find the easy friendship which they had treasured before war had torn them apart and turned them into warriors.

At the end of July, when the owls had come swooping in through the window, each had known what they would hold—and each had thought that they were going to share a matching decision—but they had been acting on incorrect assumptions. In fact, none of them had matching plans, and each seemed determined to follow their own path.

One owl held letters from the Ministry, offering a whole myriad of possibilities for the Trio, but most enticingly, an offer to join the Auror's Academy and train to uphold the law and defend the defenseless. This was the offer that Harry had been waiting for, and his whoop of joy had grabbed the attention of all of the Weasely's.

The other owl held three crisp Hogwarts letters, each offering the trio members' another chance to finish their final year at Hogwarts, obtain their NEWT certification, and graduate in June. This was Hermione's preferred route. She had no urge to risk her life ever again. Quite a few of her peers and her friends thought that she was simply stifling her adventurous instincts—but really, it was quite the opposite.

Hermione had never had adventurous instincts; she had just had doing the right thing instincts. Her best friends needed help, so she had helped, but she didn't want anything to do with anymore adventures. She just wanted to rest and eventually settle into a safe, yet intriguing, job. She had assumed that her boys would follow her to Hogwarts, as that seemed to be the most logical choice in their options. But when had Harry and Ron ever been logical?

Ron on the other hand, had been under the impression that all three deserved a break from any responsibilities, and was entirely shocked that either of them was considering working at all. They had each earned a respectable financial reward from the Ministry, and he felt absolutely no need to rush back into anything.

"Hermione," Harry asked from the doorway, months after the owls had flown through the Burrow window. The young brunette glanced up from her packing, "Can I talk to you?"

She gave a weak smile and beckoned him into the room, "What's up, Harry?"

He sat heavily on the extra bed, fidgeting nervously with his hands, "Do you—Do you want me to come to Hogwarts with you?"

Hermione sighed, they had been having this conversation constantly since those Owls had arrived, "No Harry," she said with a frown, "Did I expect you and Ron would want to finish up school before starting out, yes. But I understand why you're passing. This is your dream opportunity, and you were never academically driven like me—I know that. And with everything that's happened, Ron is probably better off staying away."

"I just—I don't want to abandon you, Mione," He said, eyes staring at his hands, a look of absolute agony on his face. Hermione sighed deeply, when would he understand?

She approached him, sitting gently on the bed next to him, "Harry, you're my best friend. After everything we've dealt with together, I know you would never abandon me. It's just—right now, we both need to heal from everything, and we need different things to do that. You need to move forward, and I just need some place safe and predictable."

"I guess I always thought you liked the adventure," He said quietly, causing Hermione to snort with laughter.

"Harry, I hated the adventure. Admittedly, I enjoyed the puzzles, but chasing bad guys and fighting duels—I never liked that. I like my books, my library, and my ink-stained fingers."

Harry shook his head, a disbelieving smile on his face, "You really are still that bushy haired girl from the train, aren't you?"

Hermione smiled, "Are you sure that's a real spell," she mimicked, "Well, it's not a very good one, is it? I've only tried a few simple ones myself, but they've all worked fine for me."

"We didn't know what to make of you," Harry grinned.

"Please—you both thought I was entirely annoying. Ron wanted to hex me!"

"That might be true," Harry admitted with a grin, "But I was just perplexed."

"As if you aren't still—I know that I'm a confusing woman, Harry."

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "I'm going to miss you, Hermione. I don't know how to exist without seeing you every day."

"You can visit me on Hogsmeade weekends," she said, a sad smile on her face, "And we'll owl each other weekly."

Harry nodded, "I know," he said softly, "And you know that I would go with you, if you needed me, right?"

Hermione smiled, "I never doubted it Harry, just like I would go with you if you needed me."

"I think you already did your part, Mione," He grinned. She nodded slightly. "Mione, are you-are you going to be alright? I mean, I know that I'm not the most observant, but I can see how hard things have been for you recently."

Hermione sighed heavily, "I'm fine, Harry."

He took her hand, "No, you're not. And that's okay, I'm not either, I just wanted to make sure that you will be okay. The nightmares, and everything with Ron—is there anything I can do?"

Hermione shook her head lightly, "I'm working on it Harry, I just need time. And Ron—I just need some space. I know that he wants us to be best friends, like we always were, and I'm sure we will be—I just need space right now. Space and time to sort through all of my emotions."

"He wants a lot more than that, Hermione," Harry said honestly.

"I know," Hermione whispered. "But I can't give him that."

Harry nodded again, and then sighed deeply, "You better finish packing, you don't want to be late."

Hermione smiled softly and hugged the raven-haired man tightly, "I love you, Harry Potter."

Hermione's first day of classes passed without any real excitement—in fact, without any excitement at all, something which disappointed her. It seemed that during her year on the run, she had learned much of what they taught to their Seventh years—and therefore their eighth years as well.

She shouldn't have been surprised.

The Seventh year curriculum was dedicated to teaching the students how to survive in the real world. Hadn't that been exactly what they did all year?

Potions covered house hold necessities, healing, and even the occasional beauty remedy. Charms was all about cooking, cleaning and healing spells—spells for packing, spells for organizing, spells for maximizing your space. Care of Magical Creatures was focused on household pests, and creatures which you were likely to encounter on your own land at some point.

Hermione sighed deeply, yes; her first day and a half had been incredibly dull. She was now settled in the back row of Transfiguration and finding it increasingly difficult to focus on her notes. Giving up, she set her Quill down, and just tried to hear what Professor McGonagall was saying—something about covering transfiguring clothing later in the semester, adding rooms to houses and tents, and emergency transfiguration.

Yea, because Hermione didn't know anything about surviving on nothing but your wand and a pile of junk.

She supposed she should have paid closer attention to what Professor McGonagall was lecturing about, but instead she felt her mind wandering back to the common room—the infuriating place that it was. Hermione had come back to Hogwarts under the delusion that she could pick up where she left off—but that hadn't been the case.

As it turned out, she was one of only 5 eighth years in the entire school—and the only Gryffindor. On top of that, most of her sixth year friends had refrained from returning as well. Ginny and Luna had both been offered jobs—and had both wanted to stay close to their family after the war.

Those who were left in the school barely knew her at all, and only knew her as the Hermione Granger. They simultaneously frowned down at her as the know-it-all that she had always been, and stared at her fearfully—and with a hit of idolization. That left no room for friends. So far, her nights had been spent alone in a chair with her book.

She had hoped to make friends out of some of her professors, seeing as she had worked so closely with them during, and after, the war—but all of them kept a polite distance, and made it clear that she was their student now, nothing more.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

As class drew to a close, Hermione forced her attention back to Professor McGonagall, who was making her final announcements to the class, "Finally," she said sternly, "All seventh and eighth year students are encouraged, and expected, to meet with me at some point throughout this semester to discuss future career options and life paths. Thank you and I will see you all Thursday."

Hermione frowned slightly, packing up her bag. As much as she liked her Professor, she had no urge to meet with her. She knew that if her other professors had reverted back to treating her like a child, McGonagall surely would—and she wasn't looking forward to that.

She quietly made her way out of the classroom, intent on disappearing into the library before dinner. At least that hadn't changed.

Meanwhile Minerva frowned towards the back of her classroom, her eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed, she leaned against her desk.

After teaching for so many years, Minerva knew how to tell if a student was paying attention—especially if that student was Hermione Granger. The once bright-eyed intellectual was a shadow of her former self, and Minerva was far from pleased.

Where Miss. Granger would usually fully engage herself in class, the first to volunteer an answer or a question, today she had sat dully staring at her hands, a meek frown in place. Minerva could only hope that it was simple loneliness due to the loss of her two friends—they had spent an entire year in very close confines, and Minerva was sure that being apart would be a shock.

Either way, Minerva was surely going to pay attention from now on—Hermione Granger had far too much potential, and too much heart, to be allowed to simply fade away.

Minerva sat in her office quietly working when she heard a soft knock on her door, "Come in," she called curiously. While these were technically her office hours, she generally only saw students by appointment. She hadn't expected anyone today, but smiled nonetheless when she saw the uncontrollable mane of Hermione Granger precede its owner.

Minerva had done as she promised, keeping a close eye on the younger witch, and she hadn't been happy with what she saw. Instead of getting better and finding her way once more, she had completely disappeared inside of herself. Sure, her school work was as impeccable as always, and she was always extremely polite, but somehow she had lost a certain spark about her. She didn't seem excited—hell, she didn't even seem interested in her classes anymore.

Most worrisome of all, Minerva noticed that where Hermione had always been incredibly warm and empathetic, she now flinched at the slightest contact and withdrew into herself. During her first week, Hagrid had given her a hug, and she had nearly collapsed from quivering. That was far from normal for Hermione, and Minerva knew enough about human psychology to be concerned. That sort of development was a warning sign for several things.

Now it was mid-October and Hermione had finally found time to see her. Seven years ago, Hermione would have been the first student to approach her regarding advice for her future. She would have had a clear plan for several different paths, and be wondering if there was a way for her to do them all. In her fifth year she had been considering work in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, A Mastery in Charms, Transfiguration, or Ancient Runes, an internship with the healers at St. Mungos, working with the owners of Flourish & Blotts, or even being a Curse-Breaker.

At the time Minerva had advised Hermione that she should wait and see if her heart was particularly drawn in one direction or another—she didn't think that would mean Hermione waited until she was the last student to visit with Minerva.

"Come in, Miss. Granger," Minerva called warmly, "I'm actually surprised it's taken you so long!"

Hermione blushed faintly, drawing attention to her pail skin and lean cheekbones, "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I had meant to come sooner—I guess I lost track of time."

"Well you're here now," Minerva said, forcing a smile into place, "How have you been?"

"I've—I've been alright," she stuttered quietly, eyes downcast, "But I don't quite know what to tell you in regards to a career choice."

Minerva's eyebrows rose, "I'm surprised, Hermione. You've never seemed to have any trouble before—is it still that you have too many options?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, Professor. It seems the opposite—I just don't feel suited for anything."

"How so?" Minerva asked, confused.

Hermione shook her head quickly, "I don't know, I don't know," she said, her pitch rising slightly. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have come until I had a better idea. I've wasted your time," Hermione shot up from her chair, picking her bag up swiftly and moving towards to door. "I'll—I'll come back soon. When I—When I have more of an idea. I'm sorry, Professor, sorry."

Minerva's eyes widened, "Hermione wait!" she called, stopping the girl at the door. Hermione didn't turn around, but she stood still, waiting for Minerva to continue. "Miss. Granger, turn around and sit back down. We're not finished yet."

Hermione let out a small sigh of defeat, dropping her bag and sitting back in the chair.

"Now Hermione, I can help you but you mustn't run away from me," she chided.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione said quietly, "I just don't know what I want to do with myself, or what I'm fit to do."

"Well, speaking for myself, I would say you are fit to do just about anything, Miss. Granger," Minerva complimented, making Hermione blush again, "But that doesn't answer what you want to do, that is a question only you can answer."

"That's the problem," she said meekly. "I don't know."

"Well, what are you passionate about?" Minerva asked, but Hermione just laughed darkly.

"Isn't that the problem? I'm not passionate about much of anything."

Minerva shook her head, "Certainly, you are. You have always been one of the most passionate student's I've had."

"I'm not her anymore," Hermione sighed, closing her eyes tightly.

Minerva watched her and sighed, whatever was going on, Hermione was far more broken than she had initially observed. The poor woman was a trembling mess just sitting there.

"Hermione," she said softly, kindly, "Forget about the career counselling for a moment."

Hermione's eyes shot back opened, looking at her wildly, "What?"

Minerva raised her hand in a calming gesture, "Just for a moment, we'll return to it eventually, I assure you."

"Alright, I guess."

"Hermione, may I be quiet blunt with you?" Minerva asked carefully.

The smaller woman nodded. "O—Okay," She whispered unsurely.

"Hermione, what's going on with you? You're unfocused, disinterested, and for lack of a better term, lost. You've been that way all year. What has happened to you?"

Hermione's eyes were wide for a moment, before she shook her head quickly, "I don't know what you—"

"Hermione!" Minerva scolded, pulling out her sternest Professor expression—as much as it hurt her. She knew that Hermione needed to be forced into caring again, and Minerva would do that no matter how much she just wanted to give the poor woman a hug, "You don't have to tell me things," she said quietly, "And you don't have to talk to me, but do not lie to me. You are a strong and brilliant woman; you don't need to result to such childish antics."

"I'm sorry, I'm trying Professor!" Hermione shook, tears coming to her eyes. "I'm trying, really I am. It's just—difficult right now."

"What's difficult?" Minerva prodded—hating herself for her lack of tact.

Hermione shook her head, the tears falling from her eyes as her curls seemed to tighten around themselves, "I don't know—everything, everything is difficult. Nothing is the same. The war—it changed everything," Hermione cried. "I'm supposed to pretend everything's alright when absolutely nothing is alright! How am I supposed to be inspired to learn, when I'm not even inspired to live?" Hermione covered her mouth quickly, obviously horrified by the things she had revealed.

Minerva softened, as she watched the smaller woman twitching slightly in her seat. Hermione held herself as if she would crumple at any moment. Then suddenly her mood seemed to change, her eyes growing cold, having realized that she was being manipulated into speaking. Minerva barely refrained from cowering under the young woman's gaze, deciding to be supportive, now that she had gotten to the root of the problem.

"Hermione," she said kindly, taking her student's hand, "No one expects you to be perfect."

"Bullshit." Hermione swore, tearing her hand away as Minerva's eyebrows rose. As far as she could remember, Hermione Granger had never, ever, sworn.

"Excuse me?"

"Bull. Shit." She articulated, standing up suddenly, and Minerva felt herself dissolve under the fiery gaze of Hermione, she had definitely gone too far, and now the Gryffindor lioness was angry. "I disappeared for a year—a year Minerva. And everyone just wants to pretend that nothing happened during that year. They want to pretend that no one was killed, no one was tortured. I'm supposed to call people who fought, plotted, and researched at my side—people whose lives I saved, Professor and Sir, rather than their given names. I'm supposed to forget the friendships I formed because of propriety. I'm supposed to be polite towards the boy whose home I was tortured in six months ago! Everyone wants me to pretend none of it happened!"

"Hermione—" Minerva tried.

"No." Hermione snapped, "You wanted me to talk—that was your goal in all of that, right? Well I'm talking. I'm not alright Minerva! My life has been torn to shreds, and I'm just trying to pick up the pieces. You, and everyone else, expect me to be that same twinkle eyed prodigy that walked through the front gates eight years ago—but I can't. That girl—that girl is dead. She died in the Malfoy ballroom—and in a dozen other places."

It was Minerva's turn to be speechless, and slightly proud. "Hermione, I'm sorry."

Hermione sat down heavily, burying her hands in her hair, her fury gone as quickly as it had come. "No Professor, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper. Just please try to understand, it isn't easy for me right now. I thought I could come back and forget; that I could find my way again through learning. But it isn't that easy." She sighed. "You're the first person to even ask. People here—they don't talk to me anymore. The professors feel awkward; they don't know how to treat me. The students are afraid of me. How can I tell you what I'm passionate about, when I'm not passionate about anything anymore?"

Minerva took Hermione's hand in hers, "Hermione Granger, you are one of the most passionate women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I do not doubt for a moment, that you will find that passion again. You don't have to decide your future today, give it some time. Things will get better." Hermione nodded as she picked up her bag again, heading towards the door.

"I really am sorry Professor, I came here for your help and I ended up just being disrespectful. It's not appropriate."

Minerva paused for a moment, "Hermione?" she called out. "I think it's about time you start calling me Minerva, actually. At least when we visit privately. You—you will always be my student, but that does not mean I am your superior. You have earned my respect, and my friendship." Hermione stared at her, taken aback for a moment.

"Thank you… Minerva. I appreciate that."

"Any time, Hermione," she said lightly, as the girl shut the door behind her.

Note: Expect an update several times a week, I already have 23 chapters completed, so this story will not be abandoned. :-)