Aftermath

O N E

The Hogwarts Express glided through the mist-laden hills, its steady rhythm echoing like a heartbeat slowed by grief. 

This journey back to school felt like a passage between worlds, as though they were traveling not through space but through memory—a painful, winding tunnel haunted by those who would never make the journey again.

Hermione Granger sat alone, her fingers tracing idle circles on the cold glass of the window. She watched the scenery blur by, each hill and tree a silent witness to the aftermath of the war. The familiar sight should have stirred warmth or nostalgia, but instead, it felt distant, like a half-remembered dream. 

The world beyond the window, once vibrant, now seemed washed out, stripped of life and color. There was a certain cruelty to how unchanged it looked, when so much within her had shifted beyond repair.

The compartment around her was empty, but in her mind, it was crowded with ghosts—laughing friends, busy conversations, the vibrant noise of old journeys to Hogwarts. It felt strange to be alone, to feel the absence of Harry's steady gaze or Ron's easy laughter. Absence was a strange thing; it filled the air as tangibly as presence once did, lingering in the silence, hanging heavily on her shoulders. 

It whispered to her of the faces she'd never see again, of names now etched in the stone of memory, lives reduced to scars.

As the train pulled to a halt, she hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment. Stepping off the train, she thought, was like accepting the finality of all they'd lost—acknowledging that this was the new world they lived in, a world that had traded innocence for survival.

In the past, Hogsmeade Station had been a lively gateway, bustling with chattering students. Now, it was strangely quiet, the platform sparsely dotted with small groups that stood close together, as though seeking comfort in one another's presence.

Heads were bowed, shoulders slumped, movements careful and muted, like shadows afraid of waking a sleeping monster. Hermione felt as though she were moving through a graveyard, each footfall a silent homage to the names that lingered unspoken on her lips.

When she reached the castle, it loomed ahead, vast and cold under a shroud of cloud. Hogwarts had always been a fortress, a place of safety and magic, but now it felt like something else—a shell, hollowed and empty, a monument to a battle it barely survived. 

The walls that had once echoed with laughter and mischief now seemed to absorb sound, dulling every noise into a heavy, respectful silence. The castle had witnessed too much to carry on unchanged. It was no longer a refuge; it was a relic, holding memories as its most faithful ghosts.

The Great Hall, normally brimming with voices, felt like an expanse of shadows. Hermione could barely look at the House tables. They were thinner now, full of empty spaces that felt like scars on the castle itself, each one a testimony to a life cut short. 

She took a seat alone at Gryffindor's table, ignoring the few friendly glances from classmates. She didn't want to talk. How could they all sit there and pretend that things would be normal again? The old Hogwarts was gone, and all that remained was a mirror held up to their pain, reflecting their grief back at them.

Professor McGonagall stood at the front, her voice echoing into the hall. "Welcome back to Hogwarts," she began, the words heavy with a grief she couldn't hide. "This year, we return not only to learn but to honor those we have lost, to rebuild what was broken."

Hermione listened, her expression unreadable. Honor and rebuild. The words clanged in her mind like an empty bell. Was that all they could do now—honor and rebuild, stitch the pieces back together, pretending the cracks didn't show? 

She wondered if anyone else felt the futility in it, if they, too, felt like they were merely tracing over the outlines of what had been, unable to touch the substance of what they'd lost.

As the feast began, Hermione barely touched her food. Harry sat beside her, his eyes scanning her face, but she avoided his gaze. When he asked if she was alright, she simply nodded, her expression fixed, hollow. 

It was easier this way, to lock away her feelings behind a mask of indifference. She couldn't allow herself to crack, not here, not now. If she began, she wasn't sure she could stop.

After the feast, students filed out slowly, moving like somber shadows through the corridors. The castle itself felt like a living reminder, each corridor a pathway of memory, each stone bearing silent witness. 

She walked alone through the darkened hallways, the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower feeling almost surreal, as though the walls themselves might crumble around her at any moment.

The common room was full of hushed whispers, students huddled together for warmth and solace. Hermione watched from a distance, her face impassive, her heart guarded. 

The walls were closing in on her, the memories threatening to suffocate her, and so she slipped away, taking refuge in the solitude of her dormitory.

Her bed was waiting for her, unchanged, though she felt like a stranger in it now. She lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the stillness, each tick of the clock echoing like a heartbeat, constant and hollow. In the quiet, her mind drifted back to those who were gone, her thoughts spiraling down into the same loop of guilt and regret that she'd held at bay all summer. What more could she have done? 

She had survived, but at what cost?

As she closed her eyes, she felt the weight of her resolve, her silent pact to carry this burden alone. She couldn't allow herself to be vulnerable. Not here. 

Not with everyone else trying to move forward. Her pain was hers to bear, her own secret she'd keep locked away. Letting anyone else in would only make the loss feel more real, more final.

And so she lay there, in the silence, sinking deeper into the emptiness...