Jaded (Rewritten)

Chapter Two: Bust The Windows of Your Car

Hermione ran down the corridor toward the lifts, her footsteps echoing far too loudly in the otherwise silent hall. Each sound felt amplified, accusing, as if the walls themselves were watching her unravel. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, her chest tight with a panic she could no longer keep contained.

She stabbed the call button—once, twice, again—until her fingers trembled with barely restrained desperation.

Come on. Come on.

When the doors finally slid open, she didn't wait. She all but threw herself inside, spinning around and slamming her thumb against the close icon with far more force than necessary, as though sheer will might make the lift move faster. The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing her inside the narrow metal box.

The moment she was alone, her legs gave way.

Hermione sagged back against the cold metal wall, the chill seeping through her clothes and into her skin. The shock of it grounded her—just enough to keep her upright, just enough to stop her from completely falling apart.

"I'm so stupid... very stupid..." she whispered, the words tumbling from her lips on a broken, merciless loop. Each repetition felt like a punishment she deserved.

The lift lurched into motion, jolting her slightly. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the back of her head against the wall, willing the pounding in her temples and the sickening spin in her stomach to subside. She focused on breathing—in through her nose, out through her mouth—the way she'd taught herself during far less personal crises.

When the soft chime sounded and the doors slid open again, Hermione straightened abruptly, instinct taking over. She dragged in a steadying breath, wiped at her cheeks with the heel of her hand, and smoothed her hair with trembling fingers. Whatever was happening inside her chest, she refused to let it spill out here.

She stepped out into the Atrium and forced her feet to carry her forward, eyes fixed ahead, determined not to look at anything—or anyone—around her.

"Hermione!"

She froze mid-step.

The sound of her name hit her like a curse. Tears stung her eyes instantly, hot and unwelcome. "Bugger," she muttered under her breath as recognition dawned.

"Hermione!"

She scrubbed her face quickly, schooling her expression into something that vaguely resembled a smile before turning around. "Ginny."

Ginny didn't hesitate. She closed the distance in two strides and threw her arms around Hermione, hugging her tightly, fiercely. "It's been months!" she exclaimed, voice bright with genuine joy. "I've missed you!"

When Ginny pulled back, her smile faltered almost immediately. She kept Hermione at arm's length, eyes scanning her face with growing concern. "How have you—" She paused, brow furrowing. "Are you crying?"

Hermione shook her head too quickly. "No. I'm just tired," she said, the lie slipping out smoothly out of long habit. "I missed you too." The smile she offered was thin, fragile, and entirely unconvincing.

Ginny studied her for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. "Something happened," she said quietly. "What is it?"

Hermione bit her lower lip, fighting the tremor threatening to betray her composure. "I'm fine, Gin," she insisted. "I'm just feeling a bit under the weather. Don't mind me."

Ginny's expression softened, but her concern only deepened. "I know you," she said gently. "Tell me what happened."

Hermione opened her mouth to answer—