Wanderer

Just Fine

AN: I know. I'm rubbish. Positively rubbish! This is hopefully a {albeit late} Christmas present to you! It's KIND OF important, KIND OF a filler but I need to establish a narrative since the last chapter was very much CONTEXT then preview of what this fic is essentially. Anyway, I hope you like this! And I hope you all had a very merry Christmas!

Chapter Two

She'd overslept.

Her blankets had come loose from where she'd dragged them to under her chin, and were haphazardly strewn across her legs. One arm was splayed above her head, as though she was basking in the glow of the winter sun, whilst the other rested on her stomach, and she nestled deeper into her pillow. There was that unfamiliar stinging in Hermione's eyes when she blinked them open, that vague sensation of being doused in sobriety when she had just seconds before been deep in sleep. She hadn't woken to it in a long time, and when she craned her neck to peer groggily around her room, she was surprised to see that the sun was already soaking it. Usually, Hermione woke early enough, or didn't sleep at all, and was privy to watching the first tender and unsure rays of light explore their way across her dormitory, finding first her crimson drapes then stretching eagerly to devour the rest.

She took a minute. It was rare that she had anytime to herself these days, so she stole a moment; Hermione languidly stretched her legs, pointing her toes so they brushed the bedframe, and flexed her arms and fingers. A slow breath trickled from her lips, and she could taste the remnants of jasmine on her tongue.

Frowning, she retracted her limbs and sat up. Last night had been an odd one. For all her late night wanderings, she had never come across someone else- she'd never planned nor expected to. Least of all Malfoy. And yet...

Hermione pressed the base of her hands into her eyes so hard her skull ached in protestation. She couldn't shake the image of him sitting alone against the wall, where even the shadows kept their distance. The bite in his voice she felt as though it was cutting into her skin with the cold.

"I'm just my father's son."

A small, frustrated growl tore from her throat and she kicked her blanket off and jumped to her feet.

Coming back to finish her eighth year had been a blessing and a curse. Admittedly, Hermione had very nearly declined the offer and twice, she had come close to owling McGonagall to change her mind even after accepting. The fact that Harry and Ron weren't there to make her laugh and keep her from locking herself in the library was difficult for her to stomach. She had been subjected to the privilege of their company for seven years, had lived with them, had shared the same bed with them when they were on the run. They were a family, and they'd been through a lot together. To go back to nothing so suddenly was jarring.

Hermione often felt the loneliness manifest itself as a cold and numb weight in her chest. Though Ginny and Luna were in their seventh year, and Neville had returned too, she frequently felt out of the loop with them. They had bonded last year when continuing Dumbledore's Army, and their shared resistance was like a golden thread tying them to one another. She found that everyone was like that.

Every person she looked at had some kind of string connecting them to someone else.

Hannah Abott returned and there was a red string tying her heart to Neville's. Hermione had stumbled across them holding hands, faces close together, whispering as though the rest of the world had simply dropped away. She had found it difficult to look away at first, enthralled and taken off guard by the sheer innocence of the scene. Then, she had averted her eyes, and continued walking. The remaining teachers all had a grim, grey line connecting them; this one was fraying, and Hermione knew it was the terrible guilt that they had outlived many of their students. The sight of Colin Creevy's mangled body, looking somehow tinier in death than he did in life, pervaded her mind more often than she'd like to admit. It hit her when she least expected it, when she was reading a book or copying down notes. Sometimes, Hermione felt like she was the only one in the school, the only one in the entire world, with no string at all.