Chapter 1
When Hermione Granger thought about the war ending, she never imagined it to cease in winter.
Of course, she dared not fantasize that far, of what she were to become and the type of life she would lead. Still, there had to be an ending, because it would be too painful to carry on fighting in a war that bore no conclusion.
It is just slightly ridiculous, that this long-awaited resolution, that drained the last drop of life out of every single one of them, would fade into the most bitter season of the year. Frost would come, taking more than just leaves. It would leave no proper funeral nor burial; Just barren branches and corpses of memories.
One particular fantasy became a rope to cling onto when things became too much, though she hardly considered it to be fantasy. She would picture a field, littered with the brightest of yellows, and it would be void of people. The daffodils would be at their ripest, blooming away into a boundless sky and limitless sunlight.
It would be a field that extended to the edge of the earth, going on forever and never-ending, just for her to witness. Despite everything, she was hopelessly romantic, because spring meant new beginnings and a new life after the war.
Spring however, was not to come first. The Gods had other plans.
Instead, they gave her snow. How generous of them, being able to afford a whole season merely for the premises of a mass funeral.
It is hard to come out of mourning when even the Heavens seemed unwilling to let go of what had been.
One thing remained unchanged; She was alone. Her parents have long lost all memories of their daughter. Harry was dead. Ron had Lavender. Hermione Granger no longer had obligations to anyone, or anything for that matter. She was no longer needed.
Which is why, to find Draco Malfoy standing outside her cabin in the middle of the forest, was the last thing she expected the universe to throw at her.
She didn’t recognize him at first. In fact, she thought she had finally gone insane after all the potions she had taken throughout the war to keep her mind intact after being tortured for so long.
Someone like him, was too distinct. It felt like a slap to her face, a plunge into ice cold water, a grand punishment for simply existing. For a moment, Hermione stopped breathing.
The fact that he stood so vividly before her could only mean that he was real.
“What,” she seethed, “are you doing here?” She barely managed to bite the words out after the initial shock of seeing him began to fade.
Hermione thought that the rage bottled inside of her would die itself out eventually as the war came to an end. Seeing him however, brought forth a torrent of flashbacks and a storm of emotions that felt too heavy to be dug out. She wanted to hurl the largest rock she could find at him and see him physically hurt. She wanted to watch him groveling and in pain, trying to claw out the gates of hell unable to save his loved ones.
She thinks it’s unbelievably fucking unfair, that she was the one who mourned when everyone died, when he got to walk away freely because he did not have anyone he cared about enough to mourn for. Most importantly, she was so angry at him for ever choosing Voldemort when he could have chosen to be in The Order first.
“Not too happy to see me, I’m taking.” Malfoy drawled the words out, slightly bemused.
Glitters of snow tread at the tips of his eyelashes. His cheekbones were slightly tinged with the barest of pinks, an undoing of the cold.
Hermione hated herself for noticing these things.
She realized, she had never seen him wearing anything else other than Death Eater robes and battle gear. It was comical almost, his frame amidst the trough of snow and the scatter of trees.
“How did you find me?” She demanded savagely.
“Didn’t I tell you I wanted to be in a cabin and die in the forest after all this is over?” Malfoy looked at her rather more intently now.
For a moment, Hermione froze. These were passing events, deviations from the war that she was trying to forget.
“I don’t care. Go find somewhere else.” She snapped.
“I’m dying.”
“I don’t—What?”
“You know, paying for my crimes and all that. There’s a limit to the amount of dark magic one’s body could take until they start fading away.” He smiled thinly.
The sunlight penetrated through this icy atmosphere, and distantly the echoes of birds chirping could be heard.
Cold fury trickled through her veins. Hermione stared at him in horror, which slowly transformed into resignation.
“You know what, you deserve it. Do whatever you want. I couldn’t care less. ”
She slammed the door shut in his face before she could say anything more, not bothering to wait for his reaction. Her bones felt fragile, exhaustion plaguing her body.
This interaction and the information that came with it was as if the war was bequeathing its last, final job to her. After all, Malfoy was a stark reminder of this damned war and everything it had taken away from her. She gave herself to it for so long that it’s relinquishing became more difficult to survive, because she didn’t know who she was anymore in a world without war.
She tried to compartmentalize and to not think of him at all. When Harry and Voldemort killed each other at the final battle at Hogwarts, it finally dawned upon her that there would be no full stop, no token of finality, no exchange or reward for their efforts. It would simply mean that Voldemort’s followers would try to reenact his ideals and fail, and that meant more people would die.
Being afraid of death was a shallow principle; None of them were afraid of death after being acquainted with it for so long. But, Hermione Granger was done. She was a shell, and there was nothing left in her to give.
They held a wake for everyone they had lost, and then she slipped away off the face of this earth.
No one would come looking for her and knock on her door anyway. She was not stupid enough to think that, and once, she might have still hoped, that somewhere, she would be remembered by someone, but that hope has long been drained out of her.
After she had done everything there was to be done, she went to Muggle London and used what was left of her money to buy lots of books. It was childish to have books as her only companion, but she had brought them along with her to keep her company in the forest. It’s not like she would be hunting down wild animals or fishing or talking to the forest nymphs to pass her free time.
Refusing to think of Malfoy, she picked up a title. After a few moments, she gave up. Reading wasn’t the same anymore; Trying to immerse herself in a world that only existed as fiction gave her a migraine. It was also difficult to not think of Malfoy when he showed up at her doorstep like that all of a sudden. She hoped that he was rotting outside in the cold somewhere.
Unable to contain herself, she got up from her chair and lifted up the blinds from the only window in the cabin.
There were only white flashes and branches and trees, and the frozen pond that rooted in the earth as a frozen bowl. It was breathtaking.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Of course, Hermione thought bitterly. He had probably returned back to the Manor or a quiet beach somewhere to live the rest of his life without having to feel grief the way she felt it.
She almost laughed.
At nightfall, she would try to fall asleep in this eerie silence. Too silent, almost. If it weren’t for the occasional sound of the crickets outside, she would believe herself to be dead, her head lying in a casket somewhere. Her memories are heavy with the war, and she would beg and beg herself to forget. To leave behind the past. What was the point of the war ending if she could not step away from it?
She tried not to think of what Malfoy was doing. It was too dangerous to dissect the meaning of him showing up at all, because he was not one to do things without prior calculation.
That was a territory she did not dare to tread.
Incoherent dreams floated to the surface of her unconscious state, fragments waiting for her permission to piece them back together. They came in flashes.
Ginny, her eyes bright with tears, asking Hermione to be her bridesmaid. Hermione standing at the front of the small gathering outside the Burrow, delivering a speech at their wedding, surrounded by the Weasleys and a few close friends. Ron and Harry both cried, but she choked away her tears because this was an event that did not deserve to be stained by the war.
It was all they had left.
During the last Christmas dinner, Molly Weasley upheld the tradition of stitching the yearly festive sweaters for all of them. Privately, she pulled Hermione aside, her voice thick, and whispered that she would always be grateful for her. Hermione burst into tears. Charlie Weasley placing a record of John Lennon on the vinyl player, waltzing with Fleur in his hand, and the rest of them sat in a circle with warm butterbeers in hand playing exploding snap. Ginny, oh fiery Ginny, pointing her fingers in Ron’s face, accusing him of cheating.
Harry laughing in the background. She missed his laughter the most. The war had demanded her best friend to be at the center of it all. She wanted to hide him away, to put him in her pocket and protect him furiously, with all her might. They were all desperately trying to steal from time. The table was all smiles, an imitation of a scene from their days at Hogwarts, until Moody’s patronus stormed in, and the weariness returned instantly and they all got up to fight again.
The sand of time was slipping from their fingertips.
One by one, watching her friends fall. Arguing and raging at Kingsley and Moody in the meeting room of Grimmauld Place, and then leaving the meeting to sit in the living room couch and stare at the fireplace because there was nowhere left for her to go.
Being held captive at Rabastan Lestrange’s house for three months.
Watching Malfoy play Death Eater, his hands filled with so much blood that even an infinite amount of lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to wash them clean.
And then remembering, after all this, he still got to be the one who walked away first.
Somewhere deep inside her, abandoned and untouched, she knew she couldn’t afford these memories any longer.
Silently, she drifted.