The Space Between Us
Hermione barely managed to sit down before Ginny pounced. Hermione dropped her spoon into her porridge with an exhausted sigh, pressing her fingers to her temple as she gleefully waggled about the latest Wickedly Yours again.
The redhead speared a piece of toast with unnecessary force, eyes glinting with far too much interest. “So.”
Hermione sighed, reaching for the pumpkin juice. “Ugh. This again?”
Ginny raised a brow. “Obviously. What, you thought I’d let it go?”
“We already talked about it,” Hermione muttered, pouring herself a glass.
“Yes, but not enough,” Ginny countered. “Because you’re still mortified over it instead of recognizing what’s actually important here.”
Hermione scowled. “Oh, do tell.”
Ginny smirked. “Malfoy.”
Hermione groaned, shoving a hand through her curls. “I knew that’s where you were going with this.”
Ginny leaned forward, voice dropping into an urgent whisper. “Hermione, the entire school saw what happened. But Malfoy was the only one who acted like—”
“Like I was horrifying to look at?” Hermione cut in, her voice sharp, her stomach twisting. “Yes, thank you, I noticed.”
Ginny blinked, then scowled. “Wait, what? No. That’s not—”
Hermione pushed her eggs around her plate, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck. “He looked at me like I was some… unfortunate disaster. Like I was something that needed fixing.”
Ginny groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh my Gods, Hermione, no he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did.” Hermione huffed. “Why else would he be so quick to shove my robe at me? He was probably doing the whole class a favor.”
Ginny threw her toast down dramatically. “Merlin, you’re painfully oblivious.”
Hermione shot her a look. “You realize who you’re talking about, right? Draco Malfoy. The same Draco Malfoy who has spent years insulting me. You really think he was concerned about my modesty?”
“Yes,” Ginny said simply, then pointed at her. “But you’re too busy being insecure to see it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Right. Because Draco Malfoy is secretly enthralled by me.”
Ginny shrugged, but her smirk was maddening. “Stranger things have happened.”
Hermione scoffed. “Not that strange.”
Ginny grinned. “Okay, fine. But what about the plant?”
Hermione froze.
The plant.
Her fingers twitched slightly as she recalled the previous night—Malfoy standing in her doorway, face unreadable, voice flat as he shoved the Seraph’s Balm into her hands and practically ran away.
She had spent far too long staring at it afterward, trying to make sense of the whole thing.
And clearly, Ginny was dying to dissect it.
Hermione exhaled. “It was weird.”
Ginny’s face lit up like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “He gave you Seraph’s Balm—the exact plant that made you look well-rest and glowy, might I add—”
“It was not glowy,” Hermione muttered, looking around as if people might be listening.
Ginny ignored her. “And then he just—what? Showed up at your door and handed it to you?”
Hermione huffed. “Because he’s a prat, obviously. Maybe he was put up to it.”
Ginny frowned, resting her chin on her palm. “By who?”
Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. Greengrass? Nott? They’re nice enough.”
Ginny tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “Theodore is kind of sweet, isn’t he?”
Hermione rolled her eyes, nudging her with her elbow. “Bad Ginny.”
Ginny grinned but didn’t deny it, humming as she stirred her tea. “I’m just saying—he’s cute. He’s got that whole mysterious, quiet, dark-horse vibe going on.”
Hermione groaned. “You have terrible taste.”
Ginny winked. “And yet, I’m the one giving you advice on boys.”
Hermione opened her mouth to argue—
But then, she saw Ron approaching, and both girls went dead silent, snapping their attention to their plates like they had been doing absolutely nothing suspicious.
Ron sat down across from them, grabbing a handful of bacon without a second glance. He looked between them, chewing a mouthful of bacon. “What were you two whispering about?”
Ginny and Hermione exchanged a quick glance.
“Nothing,” they said in perfect unison.
Ron frowned. “Weird.”
Ginny shrugged. “Not really.”
Ron huffed, reaching for the juice. “You two are always up to something.”
Hermione forced a small smile, pushing the conversation from her mind.
Hermione was not having a good day.
Yesterday, she had felt almost like herself—less exhausted, less on edge, less like the entire world was conspiring to make her miserable. And she had foolishly thought that maybe, just maybe, the worst of her frustrations had temporarily faded.
But today?
Today, it was like every minor irritation had multiplied overnight.
She had barely slept, waking up constantly despite the Seraph’s Balm sitting by her bedside. Her Charms class that morning had been insufferable—some idiot had set their sleeve on fire attempting a basic Reparo, and she had to sit there, watching the Ravenclaws act like it was a great mystery how it had happened.
Now, she was late to Transfiguration.
And?
She didn’t really care.
At least, not until Ginny started huffing beside her, clearly annoyed about it.
“Merlin, Hermione,” she muttered as they half-jogged toward the Transfiguration classroom. “You could’ve at least pretended to walk faster.”
Hermione sighed, not even remotely concerned. “It’s Transfiguration, Ginny, not a Ministry hearing.”
“You say that, but McGonagall is going to kill us.”
Hermione highly doubted that.
Still, when they pushed open the door, she at least attempted to look mildly apologetic as McGonagall’s sharp gaze snapped toward them.
"Nice of you to join us, Miss Granger, Miss Weasley," the professor said dryly, barely sparing them a glance as she flicked her wand, sending a stack of parchment onto her desk.
Hermione did her best to look like she cared, tilting her head slightly and mumbling, “Sorry, Professor,” though she was fairly sure it lacked sincerity.
Ginny, meanwhile, was still genuinely bothered, whispering, “We weren’t that late,” as she nudged Hermione forward.
Hermione ignored her, scanning the room for open seats—
And immediately regretted it.
Oh, bloody hell.
The only available table was at the very back of the classroom—directly behind Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott.
Because of course it was.
Ginny’s grin widened instantly. “Well, isn’t this interesting?”
Hermione shot her a glare. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Don’t.”
Ginny smirked, but she didn’t push further. Instead, she very happily sauntered toward the table, plopping down beside Hermione as McGonagall turned to address the class.
"Now," the professor began, tapping her wand against the chalkboard, "since I no longer have the luxury of teaching separate sections for each eighth-year house, we will be reviewing concepts in a broader manner while still pushing your abilities. Today, we will be working on human transfiguration—a spell that requires precision and control."
Hermione tried to focus—tried to push away the minor irritation still thrumming under her skin. Normally, Transfiguration was one of her best subjects. But she was distracted, her patience already thin, and—
It didn’t help that Malfoy, sitting in front of her, had gone right back to being an absolute prat.
She knew it the moment he shifted slightly, barely turning his head, as if registering that she was there. He didn’t fully look back, but his shoulders tensed—not in irritation, but in something calculated.
Like he was gearing up to be a menace.
Nott, on the other hand, had no such subtlety.
He turned fully, glancing between Hermione and Ginny before smirking at Malfoy like he had just been handed the best gossip of his life.
Hermione braced herself.
And sure enough, Malfoy exhaled sharply through his nose, like he already knew what Nott was about to say and wanted no part of it.
Ginny leaned in toward Hermione, whispering, “I love this.”
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temple.
Yesterday had been a fluke. A blip. A temporary lapse in the reality of her existence.
Because today?
Today, everything was back to normal.
Normal, in the way that Hogwarts was still Hogwarts. That the air still felt too thick in her lungs, that the ceilings still pressed down on her in ways that no one else seemed to notice.
Normal, in the way that she felt restless sitting in these classrooms, in these unchanged hallways, surrounded by people acting like this was just another year, like the past twelve months hadn’t torn them all apart and stitched them back together in ways that didn’t fit right anymore.
She wasn’t tired.
She was suffocated.
Like this place refused to let her move on, like it wanted her to stay trapped in the version of herself she had been before the war—before she had seen things that made studying for exams and prefect duties and Transfiguration theory feel so stupidly insignificant.
She hated it.
Hated the way Hogwarts was supposed to feel like home, but instead, it felt like a prison sentence.
And sitting behind Malfoy?
Didn’t help.
Because of course he had decided to go back to being a complete and utter prat, shifting his body just so, lowering his voice just enough, making sure there was no possible way for her to accidentally exist in his world.
And mostly, she didn’t care.
Mostly, she had too many other things to focus on, too many thoughts pressing down on her, too many feelings she couldn’t name without them swallowing her whole.
But there was a small part of her—a part she did not have time for, a part she refused to acknowledge—that felt something sharp at the realization.
Because wasn’t that just how this place worked?
Dragging her back into the person she had spent the last year trying to peel off like rotting skin?
She clenched her wand a little tighter, flicking it toward Ginny, trying to force herself into something real.
The spell fizzled out before it even reached her.
Ginny frowned. “Are you alright?”
Hermione clenched her jaw. “Fine.”
She wasn’t.
And it wasn’t because of Malfoy.
It was never because of Malfoy.
It was because she was here.
Because she had been tricked into believing that she could return to this castle, this school, this life and somehow feel whole in it again.
Because she had sat in this exact classroom before—years ago, a lifetime ago—thinking about nothing but perfecting her wand work and taking the best notes and being the best student, and now?
Now, she sat here wondering how the fuck she was supposed to make any of this feel real again.
In front of her, Nott muttered something under his breath, grinning as Malfoy exhaled sharply through his nose like he was holding something back.
She hated that she noticed.
Hated that she was aware of the way Malfoy’s shoulders had tensed, of the way his jaw had shifted, of the way he was so obviously making a point to not look at her.
Like yesterday had meant nothing.
Like he hadn’t stood outside her door and shoved that damn plant into her hands, insisting she take it.
Like she hadn’t spent the entire morning staring at it, debating whether or not to throw it in the bin.
Like it wasn’t sitting on her nightstand right now, staring at her, mocking her for thinking—
No.
She cut herself off again, the thought slamming into an iron wall in her mind.
It didn’t matter.
She didn’t care.
She had more important things to think about, more important things to focus on.
She just hated being here.
That was all.
And Malfoy?
Malfoy could go fuck himself.
Ginny’s transformation was perfect.
One flick of her wand, a confident sweep, and just like that, the subtle shift in her jawline settled into something sharper, more refined. It was seamless, effortless—the kind of spellwork that normally would have made Hermione proud.
Except her own magic wasn’t working right.
Hermione inhaled sharply, setting her shoulders before flicking her wand at Ginny, muttering the incantation with precision.
Nothing.
Ginny’s face stayed exactly the same.
She felt Ginny’s eyes flicker to her, questioning, but Hermione refused to meet her gaze.
She just adjusted her grip, flicked her wand sharper, forced her magic to comply.
Still, nothing.
It felt wrong, like trying to cast through a layer of fog, like her body was rejecting the magic before it even left her wand.
Like it wasn’t hers anymore.
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her wand. Focus.
This was Transfiguration. This was her subject. She was better than this.
Another flick, another incantation—
Another failure.
From the table in front of her, Nott let out a quiet snort.
It was subtle, but pointed—the kind of thing meant to be heard.
Hermione braced herself.
And sure enough—
“I think she’s mad at you, mate,” Nott murmured, casual, amused—just loud enough for Malfoy to hear, just quiet enough to sound offhanded.
Malfoy didn’t respond.
Didn’t turn. Didn’t even acknowledge the words.
But Nott wasn’t guessing.
He knew.
Because Nott saw things. He noticed. And right now, Hermione was doing a shit job of hiding the way she kept flicking her wand just a little too hard, the way she kept glancing at Malfoy’s back, the way her magic wasn’t working right.
Nott, however, seemed determined to get a rise out of him.
“Not even gonna defend yourself?” he prodded, voice light with amusement.
Malfoy’s response was immediate, clipped. “No.”
Hermione felt her stomach twist again.
Nott hummed, thoughtful. “Strange, considering she wasn’t mad at you yesterday.”
Malfoy’s grip on his wand tightened.
Ginny, ever the opportunist, leaned in with barely concealed glee. “Do you two need a moment?”
That got a reaction.
Malfoy’s jaw ticked, his fingers flexed against the table, and Nott, always keen on pushing, let out a low whistle.
“She really gets under your skin, huh?”
Malfoy exhaled, sharp and controlled. “Drop it.”
Nott grinned. “That was a lot of effort to sound uninterested.”
Hermione didn’t dare move.
Didn’t dare look up.
Didn’t dare acknowledge that Nott was right.
She clenched her jaw and flicked her wand again, harder, refusing to let herself feel anything else.
This was fine.
This was normal.
This was how things were supposed to be.
And she would make herself believe it.
It was late.
The corridors were nearly silent, the usual after-dinner bustle of students long gone, leaving only the distant crackling of torchlight along the stone walls. Shadows stretched long against the floor, flickering with each shifting flame, warping the castle into something almost unfamiliar.
Hermione had finally left the common space, after spending most of the evening pretending to be buried in coursework while Ginny kept watching her like she was debating whether or not to stage a full-blown intervention.
She had tolerated it—ignored it—until even she couldn’t take the weight of the scrutiny anymore.
She just needed to breathe.
To be alone.
To have five bloody minutes where she didn’t have to pretend today hadn’t gotten under her skin.
But as she rounded the corridor leading to her room—
She nearly ran straight into Malfoy.
Her breath hitched, boots scraping against the stone as she caught herself just in time, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The dim torchlight cast sharp lines across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders set the moment he saw her.
His hand twitched toward his wand. A reflex.
Like he had expected a threat.
Like she was something to guard against.
Her jaw tightened.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
The corridor felt smaller, the air thicker, as they stood there caught in a moment neither of them had prepared for. She could see the tension in his stance—like he was physically resisting the urge to acknowledge her, fingers flexing at his sides, shoulders squared in a way that felt pointed.
His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something.
But then—
A hesitation.
A flicker of something in his eyes before it was gone.
Then—
"Granger," he said stiffly.
Her fingers twitched at her sides.
She narrowed her eyes. "Malfoy."
A second stretched.
A beat too long.
The torches crackled between them, filling the silence with a slow, rhythmic burn.
Then, Malfoy exhaled sharply through his nose, gaze flicking away as he brushed past her.
Hermione stood frozen in place, listening to the echo of his retreating footsteps against the stone, watching the shadow of him stretch and disappear around the corner.
The corridor was empty again.
But she was still holding her breath.