𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩| 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞

2

Hogwarts.

Hermione had wholeheartedly regretted her decision on going back to Hogwarts. She felt it all come back. The moment she stepped into the great hall, she remembered it all.

It hurt to remember.

She saw the blood pouring from under the cloths that had been put over the deceased. She saw familiar faces, cold, lifeless. Laying there helplessly, while their loved ones sobbed. Hermione felt the air from her lungs be taken away all at once. She began heaving. Hermione scooted herself at the end of the Gryffindor table for the rest of the feast, in hopes to not being noticed.

Someone did.

Someone noticed.

Hermione did not eat. She sulked. She sulked in regret. Horrible regret that would eat her alive. Hermione heard nothing, she did not care to hear. She saw it all as a blur. The only thing she saw, or heard, was loss.

Lavender Brown.

Fred Weasley.

Countless amount of names swirled around her mind in a  way the ocean has millions of things swirling around in it. She felt dizzy.

For the rest of the afternoon, she walked around the wet grass of the black lake. Hermione looked far out into the distance. Anger. She suddenly felt the feeling of anger bubble to the surface. Hermione had her moments to be angry. Angry with the war, deaths, regrets, herself. She knew it was selfish when there were people who probably lost far more than her. They deserved her feelings, not her. She felt like she was supposed to be normal, how everything or everyone else was. That is exactly what she has been impatiently waiting for, to be normal again. To be able to feel the warmth of familiarity course through her, welcoming her back to where everyone else was.

Hermione heard someone grunt before they threw a rock out into the lake in an annoyed mannerism. Hermione rolled her eyes at whoever was acting like a child who had got their candy taken away. She turned.

Draco Malfoy.

Hermione scoffed at the sight. There he was, a few rocks in hand, hair scuffed up, brows knitted together, his mouth in a tight frown. He clearly was not having a good day, she felt for him. She knew every negative emotion by now, she has felt them.

Draco had obviously not noticed Hermione as he turned his head, so she had a perfect view of the backside of his head. He turned his head back, his eyes widened as he laid eyes on her. Maybe he was embarrassed she had caught him in a tantrum. Perhaps he was conjuring the perfect insult to throw at her unmercifully.

Hermione was in no way, feeling up for their insult exchanges. She simply walked away, without a second glance. Hermione felt his gaze burning holes in the back of her head, she wish she could find herself not caring. But, for some odd reason, she did. Hermione was utterly clueless by his silence, by his anger.

Hermione had always found Draco Malfoy as an arrogant, self observed person. But, nonetheless, she did notice his smarts, his ability to get his way, or how he did not give his words a second thought. He was collected in Hermione's eyes, she silently praised him for that.

Now, Hermione regretted coming back to Hogwarts more than ever. She had remembered.

It hurt to remember.

She knew her school bully has also decided to return to Hogwarts, which surprised her dearly. She was now noticing how she had not given him a single thought ten minutes ago since the war. Hermione could not help but wonder, why he was angry. Why he had returned. She had read Lucius had been sent to Azkaban for life, she was blissfully happy at the news. She had also read him and Narcissa had moved out of the manor, to somewhere no one could locate.

Folding these sudden contemplations in the back of her mind, Hermione began to practice spells that were taught to her last year to pass the time.

Expecto Patronum.

Hermione realized she probably would not be able to conjure one. Her stomach dropped with disappointment.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Nothing.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Nothing.

—————

He had been thinking. Not necessarily letting the notion completely take over his mind, but the thought, remembering, keeps knocking at his head. She walked away. She did not even spare him a second glance before leaving. Perhaps she thought he was going to insult her. Perhaps she assumed he would hurt her.

Yes, Draco did choose the right side in the end, but that did not make what he had already done be erased. Draco had noticed something about her, the way she looked.

Hermione had looked exhausted, bags under eyes, screaming for her to sleep. Draco had thought about her a lot after the war, mostly because of the nightmares he would have of her at the manor as his aunt carved that perpetual name into her arm. The mere thought of the unpleasant memory made him shudder every time.

Draco had assumed she would be thriving. They had won, she would be happy, she would have been taunting him. But no, one would have assumed they had lost by how she looked. Of course, they had lost people during the war, but that did not mean they did not beat the dark lord. He supposed she was not as happy as he had seen her other friends were. It made him curious.

He wanted to know the reason or reasons why she was not as giddy as the others. He wanted to know what was holding her back, what she saw that the rest did not. Draco was surprised she was still friends with her friends. He thought it was absolutely stupid to consider them as friends if they did not even notice her demeanor difference to everyone else.

In that moment, while he was sat in the grass, staring out into the black like, that he realized, he would not give this up, yet, he did not know why. Draco had no clue why this bothered him so much, it was just Hermione Granger. It was then, he knew, he knew why he cared so much. It had been for the fact that looking at her, reminded him of how he looked, awful, worn out, exhausted, defeated.

It hurt to remember.

It really did.