I never imagined that I would be the girl who got married straight out of school. I never doubted that I would always be strong. I never thought that my heritage would come back to bite me. I feared for Harry and Ron and all the Weasleys but never myself.

And now I’m lying awake in the middle of the night, afraid to sleep because sleep brings the nightmares.

I can see her standing over me screaming “Crucio!”. And I’m screaming and writhing and the pain won’t end and I want to die. I want her to kill me to end the pain, but she won’t kill me, though she would love to end my life, because I know about the sword. So she stands over me, torturing me, questioning me. But I won’t talk. I just scream and scream and scream.

Then Ron is shaking me awake. “Mione, it’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe. The war’s over. We’re all safe. She’s dead. You’re safe. I love you. You’re safe.”

Every night it’s the same. I dream. I scream. He wakes up. He wakes me up. He comforts me. I feel safe again. The pattern just repeats again and again and again and again, and it never ends.

I won’t sleep tonight. I won’t dream tonight. I don’t want to see her tonight. I don’t want to wake him up tonight. I have to feel unafraid for tomorrow when I stand by his side in front of the altar, and I become his wife in front the world; although, he has been my husband for months. He’s stayed by my side in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer. He is my everything.

From the first time I saw him, from the first time he teased me, I’ve wanted nothing but to be his wife. Mrs. Ron Weasley. Mrs. Ron Weasley. Hermione Weasley.

Everything I ever wanted is coming true now, but not the way it should have. Ron is lying beside me, yet I feel utterly alone in this room, utterly alone in this world. It’s not his fault, I know. He can’t understand what it’s like to stand there with a wand pointed at your heart. She was merciless. I was helpless. I had to tell her everything, but it would hurt Ron and Harry so I had to keep silent. Back and forth torn between the pain and the thoughts, and I couldn’t think because the pain was ripping me apart. I wouldn’t wish the pain, the agony on anyone, even her. I glad he can’t understand, but late at night I feel so alone.

I should be terrified right now. I should have nervous jitters. I should be staying at my mum’s house because it’s bad luck to see the groom the day of the wedding. Mum didn’t even suggest us staying apart. She knew I couldn’t be away from Ron. She knew Ron was all that kept me going.

He didn’t realize at first why I seemed so strange, so angry. I kept it under control for so long. I even dressed as her to get into Gringotts. I wanted to scrub my skin away after that day, but I did it to stop Voldemort, and we did. They noticed I might have a little too much to drink at the many celebrations, but what of it. Who questions war heros? Who questions their saviors? Who wondered if maybe I was trying to the horrors? Who ever told me it was impossible to forget? I hid it so well. I was an expert at burying my emotions behind anger and sarcasm and witty retorts. I was too smart for my own good.

It was after the week of celebrations when we went to St. Mungo’s. It was just a check-up; just to be certain that we hadn’t been hurt. They focused on Harry; he did die after all. I was an afterthought. They might never have noticed if Ron hadn’t mentioned her. Then the questions: How do you feel? Nothing. Will you tell us what it was like? No. Do you have nightmares? I wake screaming nightly. Are you okay? Do I look okay to you?

Do I look okay? Am I okay?

I wasn’t okay. They told me that I had undergone trauma. Really, is that all. I hadn’t noticed with the war and the torture and all. They told me I had post-traumatic stress disorder. They told me I would be fine. They told me it wouldn’t last forever. They told me that the best thing would be to talk. They told me to spend time with whomever I was closest to. They told me that perhaps I should live with that person for a while to help with the nightmares, until I was better.

Ron stayed through the questions and the answers. Ron found a flat and told me to move in, so I did. I was tired of thinking for myself. I was tired about the fear every night, so I slept with him. He became my safe house. I love him

I love him. I say I love him every morning, every night, and every moment in-between. Someone once told me that love will grow; love will bloom. The healers told me that I would learn to feel again. This emotional numbness would fade, and I would feel real again.

I say I love him to train myself, and one day I will believe him. I need him. I can’t live without him. I have always loved him. One day I will remember how it feels to love . He loves me. That is reason enough to marry him tomorrow.

One day at a time I will heal. I will become Hermione Granger again, only tomorrow it will be Hermione Weasley. First we marry. Then I start taking care of the house. Then I remember how to feel again. Then I stop dreaming. Then I find a job. Then we have a family. Then I’m Hermione again.

Until that day I have Ron. I have his love. I have my safe house. That is enough for now.