Aftermath

T H R E E

Hermione slipped into the familiar embrace of the Hogwarts library, a sanctuary where time lost its meaning. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and aging books, a comfort that wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

She often found solace in studying, a coping mechanism that provided a sense of control in a world that had spun violently off its axis.

As she walked between the towering shelves, memories flooded her mind—her heart ached with the bittersweet weight of them. She remembered those carefree trips to Hogsmeade, each visit a tapestry woven with laughter and adventure.

The smell of butterbeer mingled with the crisp autumn air, and she could almost hear Harry's teasing voice as he recounted a ridiculous story, Ron's laughter booming beside him. They'd darted through the streets, racing for sweets and treats, their worries lost in the magic of friendship.

But one memory stood out, sharper than the others—the disastrous Polyjuice Potion incident during their second year. She could almost hear Ron's frantic exclamations.

"Hermione, I think I.. I think... You're a cat!" he had shouted, panic etched across his face. His panic had sent them all into fits of laughter. They had spent hours trying to reverse the potion, their voices echoing in the stone walls, every failed attempt deepening their bond.

Yet, alongside those bright memories, the shadows loomed larger now. As she recalled their mischievous grins and the carefree laughter, a weight settled in her chest. How could she possibly recapture those moments when they felt so irretrievably lost? 

The joy they once shared seemed tainted, overshadowed by the faces of friends no longer present.

"Miss Granger?" a voice cut through her reverie, and she jolted back to reality. Madam Pince stood nearby, her glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose. "Professor McGonagall wishes to see you in the Great Hall for the feast."

With a heavy heart, Hermione arranged her books on the nearby table, the familiarity of the library slipping away like sand through her fingers. 

She left reluctantly, knowing she would have to face the reality of the world outside those walls.

As she entered the Great Hall, the flickering candles cast a warm glow, but the atmosphere felt charged with unspoken sorrow. She made her way to the Gryffindor table, a ghost of the spirited gatherings of years past. 

The usual camaraderie was replaced by quiet whispers and distant gazes, as if the very walls of the castle mourned alongside them.

Her eyes scanned the hall, landing on Draco Malfoy. He sat isolated, much like herself, his head resting heavily in his hands, elbows propped on the table. His platinum hair fell in layers, obscuring his expression. 

For a moment, she felt a strange kinship with him, an unspoken understanding of the weight they both carried.

As Professor McGonagall rose to address the hall, the noise settled into a heavy silence. Hermione's attention snapped back to the front as the headmistress began her speech, her voice steady yet tinged with sadness. 

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," she said, each word resonating with the weight of loss. "This year, we gather not only to learn but to remember those we have lost. We must strive to honor their memories by continuing to pursue our dreams."

Hermione felt the ache of those words. Could she really find a way to honor them, to turn her grief into something constructive? 

She watched as McGonagall's gaze swept across the room, her eyes lingering on the students' downturned faces, a mixture of sorrow and determination in the air.

"And now," McGonagall continued, her tone shifting to something more resolute, "it is my responsibility to assign new Head Boy and Head Girl for this academic year."

Hermione's heart quickened as she glanced around the Great Hall. 

Who would be chosen? Her mind flickered to Harry and Ron, and how they would have joked about the responsibility that came with the titles. But as the headmistress cleared her throat, her voice carrying over the stillness, the room held its breath.

"I am proud to announce that this year's Head Girl is Hermione Granger," she said, and Hermione felt a wave of surprise wash over her, mixed with the weight of expectation.

The Great Hall erupted in quiet applause, but her heart sank as McGonagall continued. "And the Head Boy is Draco Malfoy."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She turned to look at him again, his head still bowed, though she could sense a shift in the atmosphere around him. The hall buzzed with murmurs, and she felt a strange combination of disbelief.

As the murmurs faded, she looked at Malfoy once more, his posture shifting slightly, as if the weight of their new titles pressed down on both of them. What did this mean for them? For her?