Right Where You Left Me

The invitation stayed on the table, an unwelcome reminder of a life that had slipped beyond her reach. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, but she couldn’t look at it without feeling the sharp sting of loss either. Every time she passed it, her gaze would linger for a moment before she turned away, as though even the act of acknowledging it would make it real.

Draco’s marriage to Astoria felt like an irreversible decision, one that cut through everything she had thought she might have had with him, and everything she had foolishly hoped would still come. She knew the man he had become—someone who had made peace with his past, someone who had built a future without her. But that didn’t mean the ache in her chest would go away.

As the days passed, Hermione found herself drifting further into herself. She spent more time buried in her work, as if drowning in responsibilities would somehow keep her from thinking of Draco, of the wedding, of everything she had lost. The world had moved on—everyone had moved on—except her.

One evening, as she sat at her desk in the Ministry, the sound of a knock on her office door startled her. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. When she looked up, Harry was standing in the doorway, looking more serious than usual.

“Harry?” she asked, her voice quiet, unsure of what he was here for.

He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door gently behind him. “We need to talk.”

Hermione put her quill down and looked at him, her heart thudding. She had been avoiding him too—avoiding all of them, really. She could feel the weight of his concern, his eyes scanning her like he was waiting for her to crack.

“What’s going on, Hermione?” Harry’s voice was soft but firm. “You’re not okay. I can see it. You’ve barely said anything about the wedding. About Draco.”

She flinched at his name, feeling the sharp edge of her emotions threatening to spill over. She swallowed, trying to hold back the lump in her throat.

“I’m fine,” she lied, the words tasting bitter. “Really.”

Harry sighed, stepping closer to her desk. “You’re not. You haven’t been yourself for weeks. You’ve been keeping it all in, Hermione, and I’m not going to let you do that.”

“I don’t need you to fix this, Harry,” she snapped, surprising herself with the harshness in her voice. She looked away, feeling a rush of guilt almost immediately.

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t back down. “I’m not trying to fix anything. I’m trying to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been ignoring us. Ignoring yourself.”

Hermione’s fingers clenched at her sides, and she stood up, suddenly feeling restless. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s over, Harry. Draco has moved on, and I’m still stuck in the past. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Harry’s face softened, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. He knew. Of course he did. He had always seen right through her, even when she tried to hide behind books or work.

“You’re not stuck, Hermione,” he said quietly. “You just need to let go. You can’t keep holding onto him. It’s not fair to you.”

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest at his words. It felt like he was pulling at something fragile, something she hadn’t realized was still holding her together. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she looked past him, out the window, as if that could somehow distance her from everything she was feeling.

Harry stepped closer, his voice gentle now. “You know what you need to do. You have to move forward. Not for anyone else—but for you.”

Before she could answer, there was another knock at the door. This time, Ron’s face appeared in the doorway, looking somewhat sheepish but determined.

“Erm, sorry to interrupt,” Ron said, glancing between them. “But we were all talking, and, well... we thought you might want to come out with us. All of us. You’ve been so distant lately, and... well, you know, we miss you.”

Hermione hesitated, the weight of their concern making her throat tight. She had been so isolated, so alone in her own thoughts. And yet, it felt so much easier to stay like this—detached, floating above the world they had all moved on to.

But then, Draco’s face flashed in her mind, and the image of him with Astoria... smiling, laughing, building his life without her. She felt a sudden rush of emotion, a wave of grief that threatened to drown her.

“Okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible. “Okay, I’ll come with you.”

The pub they chose was quiet, tucked away in a corner of Diagon Alley. It was the sort of place they used to frequent, back when things had been simpler. Back when there had been hope that everything would work out, even after the war. But now, sitting at the same table with Ron and Harry, Hermione couldn’t help but feel out of place.

They tried to keep the conversation light, but it wasn’t long before Hermione felt the tension creeping back in, the words unsaid hanging in the air between them. She caught Harry watching her more than once, his gaze filled with concern, but he said nothing more. Ron, ever the optimist, tried to keep things jovial, though even he couldn’t ignore the sadness in Hermione’s eyes.

It wasn’t until they were all finishing their drinks that Draco’s name came up again.

“I heard it’s next month,” Ron said, his voice quieter than usual. “The wedding, I mean. It’s going to be a big one, apparently. Big guest list.”

Hermione’s chest tightened. She stared into her drink, the cool liquid offering no comfort. She wanted to scream, to tell them she didn’t care, that it didn’t matter. But the truth was, it did matter. It mattered more than anything.

“It’s fine,” she muttered, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let him have his life. He’s made his choices.”

“You deserve better than this, Hermione,” Harry said softly, his voice full of tenderness. “You’re not going to be stuck in the past forever. You’ll find your way out.”

But as she glanced up at both of them, a thought crossed her mind, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to let go of him?”

Neither of them had an answer.

A few days later…

The morning of Draco’s wedding, Hermione stood in front of the mirror in her flat, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t planned to attend—she knew she couldn’t. But the invitation had lingered on her desk, a constant reminder of the life she would never have.

She stared at the reflection of herself, standing still, as if frozen in time. Right where you left me, she thought to herself. That’s where she had been, all these years. Right where Draco had left her—still waiting.

With trembling hands, she placed the invitation into the drawer, closing it with finality.

She wasn’t going.