Chapter 1
The world had moved on. The war was over. The corridors of Hogwarts, now rebuilt and filled with the laughter of a new generation, seemed nothing like the haunted hallways of Hermione’s memories. It was as though everything had shifted, yet here she was, standing in the same spot she had stood all those years ago.
Hermione Granger’s fingers brushed against the worn, stone walls of the room she had left behind. Her heart ached with a longing she couldn’t quite place—like she had been forgotten in time, suspended in a moment that hadn’t quite been finished.
The last time she had been here, it was with him.
It was ridiculous, she knew that. Ridiculous that after all this time, she still came to this place. Ridiculous that every step she took in the Great Hall or along the same path she had walked as a student made her feel like she was stuck. Like she hadn’t moved forward at all.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried. She had built a life, a future. She had done the things she’d always told herself she would do after the war: helping rebuild the Ministry, leading initiatives for the rights of magical creatures, even dating someone who was kind and warm and willing to understand her. But none of it ever felt like it could fill the gap.
A sudden cold draft sent a shiver through her. She turned, half-expecting him to be standing there.
Draco Malfoy.
Not that he would still be the same. He wouldn’t still be the arrogant, sneering boy from the halls of Hogwarts. Not after everything. She had hoped—she had truly hoped—that he had changed. But no matter how much he had changed on the outside, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that they were forever bound by their shared history. By the choices they had both made.
In the quiet aftermath of the war, after everything had shattered and reformed, she had thought there could be something between them. Something soft, maybe. Something unspoken. But it had never happened. It had never been more than a flicker.
A memory.
“I see you’re still here,” a familiar voice broke through the silence.
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected him to be here, standing in the same spot.
Draco was watching her, his expression unreadable. He looked different—older, certainly, but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t changed. Something that had always been there, hidden behind the walls he had built. The same vulnerability she had seen once, long ago. Before everything became too much.
“I never left,” Hermione replied, her voice softer than she intended.
Draco glanced around, his eyes briefly lingering on the empty, quiet halls, before meeting hers again. “No. I suppose you didn’t.”
The silence between Draco and Hermione was suffocating, a heavy weight neither of them could easily shake off. Hermione could feel her pulse quicken, the past hanging in the air around them like a fog, thick and impossible to ignore.
Draco’s eyes flickered toward the distant hallway, his fingers brushing over the old, worn stone of the wall as if searching for something that wasn’t there anymore. “I never thought I’d come back here,” he murmured. “But it seems like it’s always pulling me back.”
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, a familiar ache flooding her chest. The words felt too heavy, too loaded. She had never wanted to see him like this again—not after everything, not after the war had torn them apart, not after he had walked away.
"You’re here now," she said quietly, unwilling to meet his eyes at first. "But for how long, Draco?"
He looked at her then, his expression unreadable, almost defensive. "I don’t know. I didn’t expect to see you here. Still hanging around the same halls. Are you... still stuck here, Hermione?"
His voice had the faintest edge to it, as if it wasn’t just a question, but something else—something accusing. She felt a pang of guilt twist in her stomach. Was she stuck here? Or was it just that she couldn’t let go of the past?
“I’m not stuck,” she replied, though it felt like a lie. “I just... I come here sometimes, when it all gets too much.”
There was a long pause before Draco spoke again, softer this time, his gaze lingering on her face in a way that felt far too familiar. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”
Before she could respond, a voice rang out, pulling them both back to reality.
"Hermione?"
She looked up to see Ron and Harry rounding the corner, both looking as if they had been searching for her. Ron’s face twisted into a frown when he saw Draco standing there, and Harry’s jaw tightened just slightly.
"I thought you were done with all this," Ron said gruffly, his tone sharp as he gave Draco a sideways glance. "You coming here, Hermione, it’s not good for you."
Hermione felt a pang of guilt at his words, but she bit her lip and didn’t reply. She wasn’t going to explain herself to Ron—not when he already assumed she was stuck. Not when he couldn’t see that it was all still so unresolved for her.
Harry looked between her and Draco, sensing the tension. “Maybe we should just—"
But before Harry could finish, the unmistakable voices of Draco's friends interrupted.
“Malfoy,” Theo Nott’s voice cut through the air with its usual coolness, followed by the sharp sound of Blaise Zabini’s laughter.
Draco’s friends were here. And everything in the room shifted, the tension suddenly unbearable.
"Didn’t expect to see you back here," Theo continued, his gaze lingering on Hermione before returning to Draco. “Isn’t it a bit late to come back, Draco?”
Blaise, always the more laid-back of the two, leaned casually against the stone wall, his eyes scanning the group with a mix of amusement and indifference. “I thought you’d moved on, mate. You know, with Astoria and all that.”
Hermione froze. Her heart stopped for a beat, the name hitting her like a punch to the stomach. Astoria Greengrass.
Her breath caught, and before she could control it, the words escaped her lips.
“Is that what you’ve been doing, Draco? Moving on?” she asked, the bitterness slipping into her voice before she could stop it.
Draco stiffened, his lips tightening as he exchanged a brief, unreadable glance with Theo and Blaise. Theo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Blaise smirked, clearly enjoying the moment of tension.
“I’m happy, Hermione,” Draco said, his voice suddenly cold, cutting through the charged atmosphere. “I’ve moved on. I’ve got a life now.”
It was the words she had been dreading. She had known it, of course—she had heard the rumors, seen the whispers, but hearing him say it aloud was like hearing the finality of it all.
“Hermione,” Harry spoke gently, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “You don’t need to stay here. Let’s go.”
She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to let go. But she could feel the tears stinging the back of her eyes as she forced herself to look at Draco once more.
“I didn’t think it would be like this,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “I thought maybe... we could—”
But Draco didn’t look at her, not like that. He didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he turned toward his friends, his face hardening into something distant, a mask she recognized too well.
“I’m not going to apologize for moving on, Hermione,” he said, his voice rough now, but colder than it had been a moment ago. “You have to understand that.”
Ron and Harry exchanged an uneasy glance as they guided her away from the scene. Draco and his friends watched them go in silence, the weight of the words hanging between them like a final curtain closing.
A few weeks later...
The invitation arrived, thick and heavy with finality. The elegant script on the front of the envelope, the words that Hermione had tried so desperately to ignore:
The Marriage of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass.
She stared at it for what felt like an eternity, her fingers trembling as she slowly turned the envelope over. The invitation was real. The life Draco had built, the future he had chosen—it was a life she couldn’t be a part of.
A life that had nothing to do with her.
The guilt, the ache, the feeling of being left behind—it all hit her like a tidal wave. She tried to breathe through it, but the tears welled up in her eyes. She wasn’t just stuck in the past—she was lost in it.
She picked up the invitation with shaking hands and set it down on the table, her chest tight as she tried to swallow the sob that was rising in her throat.