Hermione jolted out of her bed as loud noises coming from outside her window woke her up from her slumber. Instinctively snuggling her head on the pillow, she shrieked in annoyance as the voices got louder, music echoing through the walls as people left the safety of their home to succumb to the night's many pleasures. Whether it was a conscious decision or not, Hermione had stayed in an apartment relatively central to the city she was in, pubs and clubs adorning the streets around her. Although the location wasn't the best in terms of isolation, the constant noises around made her feel less alone.

Once she had left the pub a few hours earlier- the throbbing in her temples from the effects of alcohol numbing the torturous pain in her chest-, Hermione stumbled across the alleys, trying her hardest to find her way to her small apartment.

Before finding this apartment and settling a few weeks ago, like a nomad, Hermione had moved from safe houses to motels with the comfort of her extendable handmade bag and muggle money she managed to obtain from a few day jobs as a waitress. Although it was to survive, working in local cafes enabled her mind to wander away from those she had lost, and those she was losing. Living a life as a non-magical being had given her a taste of what it could have been like if she had never discovered her magic. The growing hatred towards what ran through her veins, that sparkle of magic she felt trickle at the tip of her fingers, had now become part of her nightmares. Although she tried to convince herself she was a good witch, she couldn't help but question whether her magic had been tainted by darkness.

After the war, Hermione had become dependent on her wand and the powers she felt surging from it. After his death, she had lost all sense of self, all sense of good. She knew a few death eaters had escaped the battle. Although her parents were in her mind, she needed to avenge his death first. It's sickened her, this growing desire to harm and to inflict torturous pain, to only feel, for a split second, that she controlled her life—this life that had been stripped away from her, tearing her apart. However, now, magic had become the reason for her torment. Spell after spell, book after book, Hermione slowly started to focus her magic on finding a reversible solution to get her parents back, to get her life back.

A loud bang caused her to yelp in fear, intuitively searching her back pocket, the reflexes from the war still intact as Hermione twisted in her bed and propelled herself under the window, ready to strike. However, as she noticed her wand wasn't in her grasp, the fear etched in her face turned into a grin as giggles erupted from the house across the street. Hermione sighed in relief and stood up, eyes glued to the group of friends dancing in the streets. As he jaw clenched, her thoughts wandering back to those careless moments she lived in Hogwarts, enjoying life as it went by without fears of repercussion or what tomorrow held. Although it was always with a tint of adrenaline, Harry and Ron had given her the power to believe in herself. Yet, the war had damaged her far more than she was ever willing to accept.

Hermione jolted at the sound of her phone's ringtone, cursing at herself as she checked the time on her screen.

"Sorry Gin I fell asleep," she said as she picked up the phone, her nails nestled between her teeth as she nibbled on them, "promise I'd be more careful next time."

Hermione winced as she heard a sigh, hating herself.

"You seriously think that I care that you fell asleep? I was worried sick 'Mione. You could have just sent me a heads up or something." Ginny glowered. Hermione could tell from the sound of wood creaking that she was pacing frantically, "being the only one who has direct contact with you is nerve-racking. I thought something had happened!"

"I know," she whispered, her teeth now pulling on the skin next to her nails, "I'm sorry, I just completely forgot."

She felt worthless, stupid and incompetent. Hermione knew that Ginny was waiting for her call, every Thursday at 10 pm, every week, every month.

After a few seconds of silence, she heard a door close on the other line before Ginny spoke again, "No I'm the one who should apologise. I'm so sorry 'Mione. It's just, after..."

"I know" Hermione interjected, dreading to hear the rest, "you don't need to explain Gin, I know."

"After Fred died, all I do is worry, worry about everyone, but especially you. I promised him I would look after you, for Merlin knows why, but how am I supposed to do that when you're so far away!" She yelped exasperated.

Hermione's hand curled into a fist, her teeth enclosing on her lips painfully as she stifled a cry.

Fred.

Instantly, as an image of his grin flashed before her teary eyes, Hermione stumbled forward, her free hand grasping the chair beside her desk, holding the wood until her palm started throbbing. No matter how hard she tried to still her breathing, her eyelids kept shaking, blurring her vision.

"'Mione?" Ginny's voice was nearly a whisper in the chaos buzzing in her head.

There it was, the pain she tried to run away.

Fred.

A gasp escaped her tightening throat as her jaw contracted, her body acting on its own accord, releasing the ache which she desperately tried to silence.

"Hello, 'Mione can you hear me?"

Unable to carry her weight any longer, her knees bucked and blood stilled making her collapse to the ground, weakened. Teeth still firmly trapping her now bloodied lip, Hermione couldn't hold the tears anymore, and allowed herself to blink, her tears running down her cheeks, like silver blades slicing her skin.

"Hermione, I think there's an issue with this contraption I can't hear your voice anymore." Said Ginny, before pausing for a few seconds, "oh god, Harry is home, I have to go. I'll call you next week. I love you."

Upon hearing the call ending, Hermione escaped a scream she didn't realise she was holding, her ribs practically shaking from the violence of her roar.

Fred.

Fred.

Fred.

Fred.

She was a reck, a miserable and unconsolable reck.

"Father?"

Lucius awoke with a start, the small yet audible knock waking him up. Rubbing his eyes, Lucius waited until he saw the doorknob lower, his son stepping inside the room.

"I thought you might want to know that the Ministry has accepted to see us tomorrow afternoon", spoke Draco confidently.

Lucius watched his son for what appeared like an eternity, scrutinising the man who stood before him, unrecognisable. He watched astounded at how much Draco had changed in a few days. The young Malfoy was no longer a ghost of himself; what used to be his slender body was now replaced by protruding muscles ripping through his clothes, revealing a perfectively drawn body, as if he was sculpted from stone.

"We need to get your new measurements Draco," replied Lucius, before angling his chin, pointing at the mirror, "you look ridiculous."

Draco sneered, his nose curling at his father, face tensed, "careful father, I'm not in the mood for your snarky remarks."

This was an understatement. Draco had spent most of his night trashing in his bed, flashes of the war brought him back to a time of his life he wished he could forget. He had tried desperately to wake up, yet his muscles had tensed to the point his entire body was stiff, like wax. His screams had engulfed the air around him, yet the silencing charm Severus had placed hushing his pain. When the sun had graced his skin, warming his tired traits, Draco had woken up, eyes glistening an unfamiliar glow, before escaping a low howl, his teeth aching.

Draco had rushed to the bathroom when he saw the pool of blood he had slept on, analysing his body as he stood in front of the mirror, a look of horror edged on his face. His mouth was bleeding, gums sliced open as his teeth rearranged themselves in his mouth. He watched petrified as he noticed two holes in his lower lips. He couldn't tell where they came from and had spent the rest of the morning trying to still his racing heart, cleaning the blood of his body frantically before a Ministry's owl tapped on his window.

"Are you threatening me son?" Lucius' eyes were transfixed on his son, silently amazed. This was not his son, impossible. "You've grown well I see."

"I howl at a moon and my body hasn't stopped morphing in the past days. Thank Grayback for this" Draco snapped, unable to hold his temper.

"Enough! I've told you, his name shall not be spoken in this house, never!"

"Why, father?" Draco dared, walking to the edge of the king-sized bed, his hands gripping the wooden frame at the foot of the bed, "my pureblood blood has been tainted, the Malfoy lineage forever ruined by scum. Does that anger you?"

Lucius opened his mouth to retort yet flinched as his son's eyes gleamed. "No one can know!"The side of Draco's lips curled, the famous Malfoy smirk plastered on his face, "trust me father, I'm as displeased with this as you are."

Turning on his heel, Draco headed towards the door before stopping in his track, his attention on his reflection, "let me give you a piece of advice father. If you don't want to die from a loveless life, keep your snarky remarks to yourself. With this body," growled Draco, "I'll steal your winged angel in a heartbeat, and mark her as mine."

Hermione laid still on the floor, marvelling at the soothing sensation of the cold tiles against her exposed skin. She tried to still her breathing while keeping her eyes glued to the ceiling, counting down. It had helped her before, particularly after a panic attack. But this time, her shaking chest and throbbing temples wouldn't cease.

Her throat felt dry, painfully so. No matter how many times she called after him, screaming from the top of her lungs, the ache in her chest didn't stop her heart from ripping. Hermione couldn't help but feel regretful of the times she spent chasing Horcruxes and planning their next move instead of cherishing the moments she had left with Fred. Every night she torturously replayed the evening they had helped Harry escape Privet Drive, when Fred's eyes were sparkling with a glimmer of adoration and relief as she ran into his arms. That small instant when his warmth spread through her as he wrapped his arms around her waist protectively, hosting her up, relieved that Hermione was alife and unscattered. Tears kept rolling down her cheek as she recalled the words he had whispered to her as he nestled his head in the crook of her neck, his lips delicately grazing her ear as he enunciated each word, professing his love unbeknownst to those around them. They graved that intimacy, yet the secrecy of their relationship had turned into a strain on their love, now a distant memory she hopelessly craved to relive.

"Ten, nine, eight .." counted Hermione as she brought her hand to her chest, hitting it lightly, "seven, six, five..."

She closed her eyes, trying to dissociate herself from the noise outside her window or her heavy breathing. "four, three, two."

Her hand turned into a fist as she continued to hit her chest unceremoniously, "go away", she cried, needing for the pain to dissipate.

"One," she whispered, her eyes still firmly closed, "one-and-a-half."

Hermione hated her situation, being at the mercy of her emotions, unable to control her body's reactions to the simple mention of his name.

A few minutes later, as her headache started to dissipate, Hermione considered a warm steamy shower to ease the knots in her arm.

"Fuck this," she growled as she opened her eyes, the darkness welcoming her as she stood up.

She wanted so desperately to forget, to move on, but how could she when she was the cause of her misery?

Removing an article of clothing at a time, letting them fall to the ground, leaving a trail of clothes leading to the bathroom, Hermione opened the shower curtain and stepped inside, yelping at the contact of cold water against her skin. Mumbling a spell to warm the water, she couldn't contain the moan that escaped her dried lips as the scalding water prickled down her body, her eyes now falling shut upon the delicious sensation.

Drop after drop, Hermione summoned wandlessly a lavender-scented soap before rubbing each curvature of her body, flinching whenever she touched the unhealed wounds across her chest.

She was instantly unable to restrain her mind from propelling her thoughts to that day she had lost all sense of humanity, battling what she thought was for the right reasons, before a curse hit her across the chest, nearly killing her.

Breathing in the intoxicating smell of lavender, Hermione waved her fingers to open the bathroom door, releasing the build-up steam. A few mumbled spells later, bubbles started to emanate from her hair as she began to scrub her scalp, her eyes rolling to the back of her head in bliss.

A few minutes later, Hermione flinched at the sound of the door closing on her, the bathroom quickly becoming foggy, bearly breathable. Realizing with fright the now enclosed confinement, Hermione stepped out of the shower with a grunt, a cold breeze tickling her skin as she gripped the handle of the door and entered her room.

The smell of freshness reached her flaring nostrils as she opened her drawer, searching for an undergarment.

As she dropped her towel to the floor, Hermione caught a glimpse of her body on the tall mirror beside her. She watched her body, the impact of the war still edged on each of her limbs.

She knew it was time to move on, yet how could she when the simple thought of seeing her friends frightened her?

Memories paraded like a movie before her eyes as she recalled her first night at Hogwarts; candles dangling in the air as her innocent eyes welcomed the surroundings in wonder. Or the moment she had succumbed to Fred's advanced, forever sealing their love in a torrid night in the astronomy tower. Although those were heartwarming memories, all Hermione could see was the pain and suffering that came with it, scarring her for life.

While her eyes watched the large scar on her chest, Hermione's fingers followed the line from her breast to her navel, cringing at the burning yet calming sensation of her touch.

"Merlin, I'm so ugly," she cried, her eyes never once leaving her body.

Scrutinizing every flaw, Hermione took in the sight of her. Her lips were chapped, the glow in her eyes long gone, along with a part of her humanity.

She yelped as a growl resonated in her head, stripping her away from the mirror. She backed against the nearest furniture and fell backwards, landing on her bed.

Refusing to move, frightened, Hermione tried to still her ragged breathing as her eyesight blurred, her eyes widening in horror as two blue eyes stared back at her, glowing.

She screamed while waving her hand towards those unexpected eyes levitating in the air, her magic surging from the tip of her fingers, blasting whatever was in her way.

"What the hell," she shrieked, blinking furiously before looking around the room, realizing she had destroyed the mirror and splintered the desk, "what THE HELL!"

The hair on Hermione's hair raised as she saw her reflection on a broken shard of the mirror, her eyes widening. Although she saw nothing unusual, her body was reacting in odd ways to her reflection, as if knowing something she didn't.

Hermione instinctively called for her wand that came flying from her bag into her waiting hand. A small gasp erupted from her lips as she felt her blood tickle, the magic surging away from the wood.

She waited, her wand ready as she looked tentatively around the room, prepared to strike once more.

"Lumos", she cast, the wand emanating a powerful light that illuminated the area around her.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

"I'm going crazy", she concluded as she delicately placed her wand back into the bag, as if afraid that it would tempt her again, as it once did.

As Hermione took in the mess she had caused, she mumbled a few spells, watching the room before her morph, the broken pieces flying back into their original place.

Feeling the air getting heavy, Hermione walked towards the window and opened it, leaning forwards as she took in a breath of fresh air, marvelling at the cold against her skin.

However, what she didn't see as her amused eyes watched a couple dancing in the street, was the lustrous wings carved on her back, the feathers so realistic they seemed to move at each swing of her hips as they too swayed to the silent music. The feathers ended not far from her lower back, spread out beautifully, majestically.

Magically.

Under the moonlight, Hermione looked like an angel, but an angel with cursed wings.