Aftermath

F I V E

The library felt like a tomb, its oppressive silence broken only by the steady beat of rain tapping against the arched windows. Hermione sat at the long wooden table, her quill poised over a parchment, but her mind was elsewhere. Across from her, Draco Malfoy slouched in his chair, his presence an ever-present weight. The quiet was suffocating, the air thick with the tension that had built between them since the moment they were assigned this task.

She had hoped that the memorial would keep them busy enough to avoid bickering—keep them focused on something bigger than their animosity—but that hope had quickly withered, crushed under the relentless pressure of their unresolved history.

Draco tapped his fingers against the table with an irritating rhythm, each click of his nails on wood a reminder of his need to provoke. Hermione gritted her teeth, trying to maintain control over the growing irritation in her chest. She shot him a glance, only to be met with a smirk—cocky, confident, and infuriatingly unreadable.

"Are you always this serious?" he drawled, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched her jot down notes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Hermione didn't look up. "Some of us actually want to do this right, Malfoy. Unlike you."

He scoffed, leaning back in his chair, the sarcasm dripping from his voice like poison. "And here I thought Gryffindors only pretended to care about noble causes," he quipped, his smirk widening.

Her grip tightened around her quill, and she fought to keep her voice steady. "Right, because Slytherins like you are only interested in things that benefit them," she shot back, her words sharp and biting. "Honestly, it's a wonder you're even bothering to show up."

Draco's smirk faltered, his jaw tightening for a split second before he recovered, leaning forward slightly. The edge in his voice was colder, more dangerous now. "Don't presume to know why I'm here," he said, his words low and clipped, his eyes flashing with something darker.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she considered backing off, but then the old bitterness rose within her. This wasn't the time for understanding, and he certainly wasn't about to offer any.

She forced her tone to remain steady, though the words came out harsher than she meant. "I don't need to know why you're here, Malfoy. It's already clear. You're only here because you have to be."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. The rain outside was louder now, its drumming on the windows mingling with the tension in the room. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but the discomfort wasn't just physical. There was a weight on her chest, an old burden that had never quite gone away. And here it was again, in the form of Draco Malfoy—his presence a constant reminder of everything she hated about the past.

After what felt like an eternity, Draco broke the silence, his voice low and dripping with venom. "For those you lost, you mean," he muttered, his words laced with bitterness. "Not all of us have the luxury of playing hero, Granger."

The words hit her harder than she wanted to admit, and she felt the sting of them deep in her gut. She clenched her fist around the quill, her knuckles whitening. "You think this is some kind of game to me?" she snapped, unable to hold back the heat of anger rising in her chest. "This isn't about heroics, Malfoy. This is about respect—something I doubt you'd understand, considering how much you used to mock everyone who wasn't exactly like you."

He met her gaze then, his eyes darkening, the mask of indifference cracking for a moment. The anger flared in his gaze, and for the briefest of moments, she saw something vulnerable flicker behind his eyes before it was gone, replaced by the cold, familiar sneer. "You're right, Granger," he muttered, his voice thick with disdain. "I don't understand your naive need to keep playing saint. Especially when everyone knows how self-righteous you are."

Her jaw tightened at his words, but she didn't look away. "And I don't understand how you're still so arrogant after everything that happened. After everything you were involved in," she shot back, her voice low and sharp. The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she let them spill out anyway, the old resentments bubbling to the surface once more.

He recoiled slightly, but his eyes remained locked on hers, cold and challenging. "You don't know a damn thing about me, Granger," he spat, his voice quieter now, barely more than a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made her spine straighten. "You think you do, but you don't."

The words lingered between them like a challenge. For a moment, Hermione hesitated. There was something raw in his voice, something almost... personal. But then she remembered who he was—the same Draco Malfoy who had tormented her throughout their years at Hogwarts, the same one who had stood by as his family fought against everything she believed in.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. "Fine," she said, her voice cold. "Let's keep it that way."

The silence that followed was thick, heavier than before, but neither of them moved. The rain outside seemed to echo the storm brewing between them. Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her pulse quickening, the air so charged it felt like something was going to explode.

Draco was the first to break the tension, his voice flat and calculating. "Look," he said, "if we're going to get this over with, we should at least agree on something." His eyes were hard, cold—focused only on the task at hand, as though this entire conversation was nothing more than a business transaction.

Hermione crossed her arms, forcing herself to appear calm, though inside, her emotions were swirling. "Fine," she replied, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. "I was thinking something simple. A memorial that focuses on remembering them—not dredging up the past."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "So, light a few candles, say a few words, and pretend that fixes everything?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think that's going to make it all better?"

"It's about respect, Malfoy," Hermione replied, her voice low but firm. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, considering how much you used to mock anyone who wasn't exactly like you."

His smirk faltered, his eyes flashing with anger as he leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers. "You're right, Granger," he muttered, his voice rougher now. "I don't understand your need to keep pretending you're some sort of martyr. Especially when we both know you've got a lot of blood on your hands, too."

The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, Hermione felt something tighten in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. She had no defense for what he said, no justification that would make sense in this moment. Not after everything that had happened.

Instead, she turned away, her face flushed with the heat of their argument. The rain outside had intensified, the sound of it filling the room like a deafening roar. But it did nothing to drown out the bitter silence between them.

Finally, Draco stood up, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor echoing through the stillness. "Maybe we're both just as intolerable as ever," he muttered under his breath, picking up a parchment and examining it, though his posture was tense, his hands gripping the paper a little too tightly.

"Fine," Hermione snapped, barely holding back the venom in her tone. "Let's just finish this and be done with it." She turned back to her notes, gripping her quill harder than necessary. The air was thick with hostility, neither of them willing to give an inch. It was a fragile truce, built entirely on resentment, the forced civility barely hiding the contempt they still felt for each other.

And as she scribbled out her ideas for the memorial, she could only hope that this would be the last night she would ever have to sit across from Draco Malfoy.