Chapter Song: 1-800-273-8255
The weeks after the battle should have been a time of healing.
But the world outside their home had not changed.
If anything, the whispers had grown louder.
Even as Hermione rested, surrounded by the warmth of Draco and Mia's love, the shadows followed her relentlessly.
Letters arrived — cruel, anonymous, filled with venomous words about her blood, her worth, her place in the wizarding world.
Some days, she forced herself to ignore them.
Other days, they slipped beneath her skin, igniting old wounds she thought had healed.
In the marketplace, a mother's sharp glance cut through her as she passed.
In the halls of the Ministry, colleagues' polite smiles masked simmering contempt.
Even some of the students at Hogwarts struggled to accept her — despite all she had endured, all she had sacrificed.
Each slight, each insult, each hateful comment was a fresh blow — reopening the scars Lucius's torture had carved so deep inside her.
Draco watched helplessly as the light in Hermione's eyes dimmed day by day.
One evening, after a particularly harsh encounter at the Ministry, Hermione barely spoke, her body hunched and fragile.
"I'm fine," she said quietly, but Draco saw the cracks.
That night, while Draco and Mia slept, Hermione sat alone in the darkened sitting room.
Her wand lay untouched.
But her mind was a battleground.
Old voices echoed — hateful taunts from childhood, the venomous sneers of her teenage years, the chilling curses from the war.
The word "Mudblood" burned like a brand on her soul.
And then the thought surfaced — terrifying and dark:
What if it all ended?
She closed her eyes and raised her wand with trembling hands.
A whispered curse slipped from her lips — a spell forbidden, dark, and desperate.
Pain blossomed inside her, sharp and consuming.
She collapsed onto the floor, breath shallow, heart pounding erratically.
Suddenly, a voice — sharp and frantic — cut through the haze.
"Hermione!"
Draco burst into the room, his wand blazing light, his face etched with panic.
He dropped to his knees beside her, catching her trembling form.
"No," he whispered fiercely. "You're not leaving me."
The next hours blurred into a whirlwind of healing charms and whispered reassurances, but Hermione's body betrayed the storm inside her.
She was alive — but only just.
The morning brought new pain — guilt cutting deeper than any curse.
Mia found her mother later that day, sitting by the window, pale and distant.
"Mom?" she asked softly.
Hermione forced a weak smile, brushing a stray curl from Mia's face.
"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here."
But inside, the battle was far from over.
And Draco knew the hardest fight wasn't the one against Lucius or the Death Eaters — it was the war Hermione fought within herself.