Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. I am not making any money out of this. I only own the plot.

Warning: Involves bulimic descriptions; also deals with PTSD, please proceed with caution.

------------------------

The war was over. Peace had come upon the Wizarding World once more. But they had all paid a dear price for it. Many had lost their loved ones. Many still suffered from fearsome nightmares. And many places had been destroyed. But they were all healing. Finding their way back to some sort of sanity, slowly but surely. Maybe.

Hermione

I lunged out of bed, cold sweat running down my face and back. I ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water over my face, shuddering and sobbing uncontrollably. I sunk to the floor, finding solace in the cold bathroom tiles. "It's fine now. I'm safe. I'm safe." I murmured like a mantra.

The nightmares never seemed to cease. Night after night I was haunted by memories of the war. I was tired. So tired. One would have thought that after the War, we all deserved some rest and quiet. But every time I closed my eyes, I could hear Bellatrix's wild, insane laughter, and her high-pitched voice yelling out "Crucio" over and over again. I could hear her whispering "Mudblood" in my ears. I could hear my own screaming, my voice breaking.

"Useless, ugly, pathetic, Mudblood."  She hissed.

I don't know who says it anymore. Me, or her. 

Sometimes I see Harry, lying lifeless on the ground before me, and try as I might I couldn't reach him, couldn't help him. I see Voldemort, with his red eyes trained right on to me, his reptilian face twisted in a grotesque smile. I could see Ron, and Ginny, and Neville, and so many others, being killed or tortured before me. And I could do nothing to stop it.

"Useless, ugly, pathetic, Mudblood." They all hissed at me. "Useless." "Worthless." "Pathetic."  

"Stop, stop, stop, please stop!" I begged. "Please."

"Worthless." "Pathetic." They laughed at me, mocking. "Useless, ugly Mudblood."

I gasped for air, trying to stop crying. I was stronger than this. I would not pity myself because I had nothing to be sorry for. I had survived the War. And I would survive my nightmares. Just like I would survive everything else after this.

I knew everyone else had nightmares too. Many a time I had had to comfort a hysterical Ginny. And sometimes Harry or Ron went silent and wouldn't talk to anyone for a day. George was still grieving for Fred. We still missed those who died on the battlefield. I often found myself poised over the floo, wanting to talk to Tonks or Remus or Dobby, and then remembering suddenly that they were dead. And that they'd never return.

My friends would be fine. George had Angelina, Harry and Ginny were well on their way to having each other even though they didn't seem to see it, and Ron...Ron had Lavender. And I was happy for them. I really was.

My friends visited me once in a while, and I wasn't too much of a recluse. I was fine, too.

We're all good.

It is difficult to live in the present when you are haunted by shadows of the past. But we could try. And maybe, one day we would succeed. Maybe.

And I was trying, I really was. I swear I was. Harder than anyone else, even.

But my past always caught up with me, however quickly I ran. And I had become a very exhausted runner.

I was fine, though. No one needed to worry about me. Exhausted runners could still run remarkably quickly given enough determination.

And I had a lot of that.

I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror above the basin. My eyes had heavy, swollen bags under them. I looked like a sleep and food deprived zombie. I burst into tears again, silent, fat teardrops rolling down my face.

*******BULIMIC BEHAVIOUR WARNING*******

I sunk down onto the floor again slowly. 

And then I slowly, slowly leaned over the toilet bowl.

I paused. Hesitated. Waited some more for anyone, anything to stop me, say I was crazy. Tell me to stop.

But all I heard was Bellatrix, hissing "useless, ugly, pathetic Mudblood" at me.

I stuck my fingers deep into the back of my throat and threw up violently.

Threw up until I felt sufficiently empty.

Cleansed.

Weightless.

I needed to be fast enough to outrun the past.

And fast runners like me needed to be weightless.

*******BULIMIC BEHAVIOUR WARNING END*******

I will have to come out of the bathroom soon, I know. Just not right now.

Sometimes it is difficult.

A/N: So what do you guys think? I updated this chapter to show the background as to why Hermione had her eating disorder, as I thought it might be more appropriate to show it now instead of waiting for her to talk about it later. I hope you guys liked this chapter.

Please know that I do not seek to beautify or advocate any eating disorders, and I apologize if the descriptions and such are not the most accurate. I have tried my best though, so I hope you guys enjoyed this!

For those who may be suffering from eating disorders, I just want to say that we're all beautiful human beings in mind and soul and body, and if people don't see that, then they must be blind. Don't let them distort your image of yourself. Be happy and healthy, and believe me, that's all it takes to be blindingly, dazzlingly, angelically beautiful. 

Exude rainbows, fellas, and I'll post again soon! :)