Right Where You Left Me

Hermione’s heart had been pounding all day, the heavy anticipation of Draco’s wedding lingering in the back of her mind. She had made her peace, or so she told herself. She wasn’t going. She wouldn’t show up, wouldn’t subject herself to the sight of him marrying someone else, someone he had chosen over her.

But the invitation had stayed on her desk, always in her peripheral vision, a constant reminder of what could have been. The hours passed slowly, the evening creeping closer, and she tried to focus on the work she had piled up, trying to drown out the thoughts that circled her mind.

But then came the knock on the door.

Hermione paused, her breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She knew it was probably Harry or Ron, checking in, trying to keep her from retreating into herself. They had been persistent, but she hadn’t been ready to face them. Not like this.

When she opened the door, her breath caught in her chest. Draco stood there, coat still on, eyes filled with an unreadable mix of emotions. He was standing in her doorway like a ghost from the past, as if the years between them hadn’t happened, as if the ache she’d carried for so long could simply vanish in an instant.

"Draco?" Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing. The man who had walked away from her stood before her now, looking... vulnerable.

He opened his mouth, but the words seemed to catch. "I... I needed to see you," he said, his voice unsteady. "I had to talk to you before it was too late."

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, the way it always did when he was near. Not now, she thought desperately. But she couldn't bring herself to close the door. Something in the way he looked at her—something raw, desperate—kept her rooted to the spot.

Hermione swallowed, her gaze hardening despite the emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. "Talk? About what, Draco? About how you're about to marry someone else? About how you’ve been living your life without a single thought about me?"

Draco flinched, and Hermione noticed the guilt that flickered in his eyes. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Not anymore.

"I never meant to hurt you," Draco said quietly, taking a small step forward. "I... I don’t love her, Hermione."

The words hit her like a slap. She stepped back, as if the force of his confession had physically knocked the wind out of her.

"You don’t love her?" Hermione echoed, disbelief coloring her voice. "Then what have you been doing all this time, Draco? What was all of it for?"

"I thought I could move on," he continued, his voice breaking slightly. "I thought I could forget you. But I can’t. I’ve tried, but I can’t. I don’t know how to fix what I’ve done, but I can’t go through with it. I can’t marry her when I still think about you, when I still think about us."

Her chest tightened at his words, but they didn’t bring the comfort he probably hoped for. If anything, they only deepened the ache inside her.

"You don’t get to do this," Hermione said, the sharpness in her voice betraying the hurt she couldn’t mask. "You don’t get to come here, today, and tell me this. After everything—after you left me behind, after you made your choice—I don’t get to be the one you come back to. I’ve spent years wondering if you’d come back, Draco, but you didn’t. You chose her. You’ve always chosen her."

The room seemed to spin as she spoke. She wanted to scream at him, to push him away, to stop the tears that were welling up in her eyes. But she couldn’t. His presence here, the look in his eyes—it was too much.

"Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me?" Hermione whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I was stuck, Draco. Right where you left me. All this time, all these years, I was stuck in this place, waiting for you, hoping you'd come back. But you never did."

Draco's face softened, the raw pain in his eyes making it impossible for her to look away. He stepped closer, but Hermione instinctively pulled back, shaking her head.

"I didn’t want this for you," he said, his voice trembling now. "I never wanted to hurt you, Hermione. I was just too afraid to let you in. I was afraid of how much I needed you, of how much I loved you, but I couldn’t admit it. I thought if I let myself love you, I’d lose control, and I didn’t know how to fix the mess I had made."

She shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “But you did lose control, Draco. You left me here to pick up the pieces of a life I thought we were supposed to share. And now, after everything, you think you can come in here and undo it all? You think I can just forget what you’ve done?”

The hurt in her voice sliced through the silence, and for a moment, Draco seemed to struggle for words, his expression torn between regret and helplessness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I never should have walked away. I never should have let you go.”

Hermione stood there, shaking, her chest tight with the weight of everything they’d left unsaid. She wanted to hold on to the part of her that still cared about him, that still wanted to believe in the possibility of them, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t keep holding on to a version of him that no longer existed. She couldn’t keep living in the past.

“I can’t keep waiting, Draco. Not anymore,” Hermione said, her voice a quiet tremor. “I spent so long being stuck here. But you can’t keep dragging me back to something that’s already gone.”

Draco looked at her for a long moment, and in his eyes, she saw the truth—the regret, the guilt, the love he had never truly shown her. But it was too late.

“I understand,” he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. He turned slowly, his steps heavy as he walked back toward the door.

And just like that, the door between them closed. Not with the slamming finality of a broken relationship, but with the weight of all the unspoken things left behind.

A Few Weeks Later…

Hermione stood at the edge of her flat’s balcony, her hands on the railing as she looked out at the city below. The storm clouds had cleared, leaving behind a clear sky. It was as if everything had washed clean, leaving her with the quiet certainty of her own heart. She had let go. Not all at once, not without pain, but slowly. Piece by piece, she had let go.

The invitation to Draco’s wedding was no longer on her desk. It had stayed in the drawer, out of sight, but it no longer had the power to keep her trapped. She had made her peace, even if it didn’t feel perfect. She had let herself feel the weight of it all, and now, she was moving forward.

Not because she had forgotten Draco, not because she was over him. But because she had finally understood that the only way out was to stop waiting for him.

She was no longer stuck in the place where he had left her.

And that was enough.