Aftermath

T W O

The morning sun filtered weakly through the heavy curtains of Hermione's dormitory, casting muted shadows across the room. She stirred awake, the remnants of last night's anguish clinging to her like a damp cloak. 

The world outside was still, the usual laughter of students returning for the first day of classes absent. A sense of unease nestled deep within her chest as she prepared for the day ahead, the weight of loss pressing down on her.

As she walked through the castle, Hermione felt as though she were navigating a maze of memories. Each corner turned, each staircase climbed, echoed with laughter and the energy of friends who had once filled these halls with life. 

But now, silence loomed over everything, a stark reminder of the void left by those who had been lost. The bright murals and portraits, once a source of comfort and cheer, now felt like mocking reminders of a happiness that had vanished.

Her first class was Potions, a subject that had once captivated her mind. Today, however, the ingredients swirled in front of her, but she could scarcely concentrate. 

Professor Snape's voice droned on, yet everytime she glanced at Parvati, her heart seemed to get enveloped by this darkness, all she could think about was how their laughter punctuated the air like bubbles bursting. Instead, Parvati sat alone hunched over her copy of Advanced Potion-Making, her expression a mirror of Hermione's own sorrow.

As the class ended, Hermione gathered her things, and Parvati approached her, a hesitant smile crossing her face. "Hey, Hermione," she said softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "How are you holding up?" 

Hermione looked up at Parvati, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know... It's... Overwhelming... You know?"

Parvati nodded, her expression somber. "I know what you mean. I still think I'll see Lavender at the Gryffindor table or hear her laugh in the common room." She paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "It's been tough. It feels wrong to laugh or to enjoy anything, doesn't it?"

Hermione met her gaze, and in that moment, they shared an understanding that transcended words—a bond forged in the crucible of grief. "I keep thinking about all the moments we'll never have again," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "It feels so... empty."

Parvati's lips quivered as she whispered, "I never got to say goodbye." The two girls stood there, their shared pain creating a fragile connection, a reminder that they were not alone in their sorrow. They lingered for a moment longer, leaning on each other before going their separate ways to the next class.

Maybe she wasn't so alone in this.

Throughout the day, Hermione drifted through her lessons, her mind constantly slipping into daydreams of Harry, Ron, and their stolen moments. 

Each subject was a haze, a blur of half-formed thoughts that danced just out of reach. By the time her last class ended, the corridors felt stifling, as if the very walls were closing in on her, suffocating her with their memories.

As she headed towards the Gryffindor common room, she turned a corner and collided with someone. She looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing before her, his platinum hair gleaming even in the dim light of the corridor. 

His expression was a mixture of annoyance.

"Watch where you're going," he snapped, his voice sharp and biting. Startled, she took a step back, the air thick with tension. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But his piercing gaze didn't waver; it bore into her, unrelenting. "Sorry doesn't cut it," he replied, his tone dripping with disdain. "You need to pay attention. You're not the only one in this world."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her heart racing. "I'm surprised they even allowed you back on campus after everything that happened, Malfoy." Draco crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, come now, Granger. You know I have a way of charming my way into places I'm not supposed to be." He glanced around the bustling courtyard, students swarming with laughter and chatter, oblivious to their tense exchange.

Hermione took a step closer, her voice lowering. "Charming? You mean intimidating. The way you treated people—"

"Was necessary," he interrupted, his tone sharp. "The world isn't as colorful as you'd like it to be, and I had my reasons."

"Reasons that put countless students at risk," she shot back, her frustration simmering just below the surface. "You can't just play the victim now, Malfoy. Don't pretend you were a martyr in the midst of your own chaos."

His expression soured, and he scoffed, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Just because you played the hero?" He turned to walk away, but something in his demeanor felt heavy, almost defeated.

"Why do you care?" Hermione shot back, a mix of anger and confusion bubbling inside her. "You've always been on your own side, Malfoy. Why pretend otherwise now?"

He paused, looking over his shoulder with a cold, disdainful gaze, but for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of regret flicker in his stormy eyes. The moment vanished as quickly as it had appeared, swallowed by the shadows of his hardened expression. It was gone, replaced by the familiar mask of superiority.

"Stay in your lane, Granger," he said, the venom in his words less than before. With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the corridor.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, her heart pounding. Why did she feel a pang of sympathy for him? There was a heaviness in his presence, a weight that mirrored her own, and yet, here they were—two survivors, bound by the same scars yet divided by years of enmity.

As she continued toward the common room, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She couldn't shake the feeling that beneath Malfoy's cold exterior, there was a sadness that resonated with her own. 

The war had transformed them all, leaving them to navigate a world where loss was the only common thread, a haunting reminder of the friends they could never bring back.