Chapter 1
1. Haunted reminders
In the aftermath of the Great War, uncertainty plagued all of the students, doubtful whether they had the courage to step foot back into Hogwarts after watching the school we once adored turn into a burial ground of our friends and classmates
However, for individuals who were at the cusp of it as Harry, Ron and myself - the small meagre children who were always at the face of Voldemort's chaos - the past seven years have proved a great testament to our strength. If we were able to deal with the anarchy that has scorched our lives since we were eleven, we are able to endure the next and final year of Hogwarts, hopefully in a smooth, endless pace of conventional study.
Anyway, I wasn't regarded as the brightest witch of my age only for my to drop out from the education I have beeb building up all these years.
I'm walking through the hallways towards the great hall for breakfast, mind wracked in deep thought until a spec of blonde ashen hair and slivery arctic eyes strums me from my reverie.
Fractals of broken, traumatic memories stem from the darkest and deepest roots of my brain. Like the swift, early autumn breeze outside, they sweep over me beyond my control and I feel the ground liquefy while my feet solidify to the infinite darkness right beneath me.
As per usual, Draco Malfoy is clouded by his Slytherin gang - Goyle, Theo, Pansy and Zabini. But while the others are invested in whatever engaging conversation they seem to be having, Draco's expression is unchained, cooped inside the darkness and pain of the demons haunting him recklessly.
My eyes scour to my wrist. I discreetly pull my robes back to see the reminder of the divide that has embedded itself into wizard history; within that one word, contains centuries of prejudice and agony that has deemed muggle born witches and wizards unfit to practice magic primarily due to a blood status that they couldn't control.
I close my eyes for a mere second, and I'm cemented on that floor, an immoveable force of rock, completely helpless to the destruction that possessed me. I can still hear the prominent, bloodcurdling screams crying out of my throat, begging for an end I never thought would arise.
Yet the more I screamed, the more silent I felt. As Bellatrix sliced those letters into my skin, at that exact moment, all I really wanted was the pain to subside.
Ironically enough, it wasn't only my screams that keeps the trauma fresh and alive. His screams were terrifying and menacing all at once; his strangled voice epitomised the wails of tortured spirits, pleading his vindictive father for my freedom to compensate for his imprisoned duty to the dark lord.
We pleaded for each other's survival.
No. You are not doing that. Once upon a time, you may have been each other's everything, but that was during an era where your fates laid in the hands of Voldemort. It was nothing but a moment of pure insanity.
Then why can't my heart seem to release its incorrigible hold upon one of the only men that resurrected life in a world consumed by darkness?
As I forcefully snap myself back to the forefront of reality, Draco's arctic impenetrable eyes gaze over me. His shoulders tense, and under his monotonous mask, his face brims with all the unsaid words that we never exchanged after he saved my life when he hauled the sword out of Bellatrix's hand.
Stay strong, Hermione. You have no time for boys. Focus on yourself.
Without allowing his icy gorgeous eyes to further deteriorate my insides, I tighten my book bag over my shoulder and heave myself into the great hall.
Throughout breakfast and even the first few classes of the da, while I was effortlessly engaged in my work - since it's the first priority - no essay or spell could eclipse Draco's piercing, silvery green eyes from my peripheral thought.
Since our first kiss at the Yule Ball in fourth year, his presence left his mark on me; a mark that seemed to grow from there on till it possessed my entire body.
It's now lunch time, and once again, reality disfigures around me as I guiltily allow myself to sink into the mental images of Draco's breathlessly beautiful face.
"Hermione!"
Ginny's abrupt force of aggression snaps me back to the present I'm always drifting away from. When I blink repeatedly, my cheeks flush horribly when I find that her, Ron and Harry are all glowering at me with confrontation. Damn it, how long was I out of it for?
"Bloody hell, Hermione. You have been out of it all day. What's the matter with you?" Ron prompts incredulously.
I nervously tuck a few brown curls from my face. "Sorry, I guess I was thinking about a class assignment too hard."
Luckily, the daft dimbo that Ronald is, he easily falls for the lie. He rolls his eyes, "It's the first day back. Who on earth already has assignments?"
How on earth did this poor boy survive wizard chess, the chamber of secrets, dementors, death eaters, horcruxes and no other than Lord Voldemort himself?
Oh wait, that's because of me.
"Maybe if you paid attention in transfiguration once in a while, you would realise Professor Mcgonagall already set us an assignment regarding advanced conjuration."
Ron stares at me blankly, as if he didn't comprehend a word of my response. Actually, considering how slow he is, he probably didn't. "Conju-what now?"
We learned this in third year. How barbaric can he truly be?
For the first time since this ridiculous conversation started, Harry decides to add his input. He places a reassuring hand on his friend, "Mate, I think it's better if you just focus on your lunch to avoid embarrassing yourself further."
Due to Ron's palish complexion, his face transcends into a hot, simmering red. His eyes sink to his half eaten chicken and baked potatoes, and silently removes himself from the discussion.
"Anywayy, now that is done. What is going on with you?" Ginny nudges me.
I miss Draco. There I said it!
"Nothing is wrong. I just haven't been as chatty. As as I told Ron, I'm thinking about assignments." But because I've known Ginny for such a long time, and because she's one of my only closest female best friends, my emotions are transparent to her. "Now that's absolute bullocks. You know it and I know it. Spill the gossip, Hermione. We need some normalcy after the hectic years we endured."
Her blue, electric eyes glisten expectantly into me. It's like she already knows my boyfriend turmoil but she's waiting for me to verbally articulate it to her.
I glimpse at the boys; he won't show it due to his polite character, but I know Harry is also eagerly anticipating for an answer. Ron also wears that expectant gleam in his eyes, almost a sense of entitlement.
Too many pairs of eyes are on me. I know, considering we were thrown into the devil's cage together and escaped with our lives barely spared, I should be able to open up about the dilemmas I face. Normally, I can.
But not Draco Malfoy. Even though he did redeem himself to what was left of the student body by throwing Harry the wand that ended Voldemort.
They didn't even know I had an ongoing love affair with him from the fifth year.
Considering the rocky relationship we've had with him in the past, I thought it would be best if I didn't spike an argument. Because I know, especially with a short tempered Ron, the conversation would have ended in angry and empty words thrown carelessly around, resulting in tears.
So I end the conversation in the way I only know how to. I quickly get up, and in a clipped, dismissive tone, "I lost my appetite. I'm going to the library to study for a while. Don't wait up."
My body practically shoots out of there like a Quidditch player effortlessly gliding through the air. The further I distance myself from my friends, the sharper the guilt is as it punctures into my stomach. I hate closing them from my thoughts and secrets. But how can I admit it to them when I don't know how to admit it to myself?
It's the first day back, and my head is already wanting to collapse into a deep sleep. Why are boys so exhausting?
Damn you Malfoy for making me love you.
My legs speed into the library, and I momentarily encapsulate myself into a random aisle to recuperate. I drop my book bag to the floor and hunch against one of the windows, attempting to soothe the adrenaline racing through my heart.
No one tells you how physically and mentally draining it is to keep a secret silenced in your head. Every nerve and metabolic process is made to tie a noose around my mouth.
"How did I know you would be here, Granger?"
His masculine, sexy voice plummets my body into the bottom of the North Atlantic. My muscles solidify and the power of his voice simmers my lungs to pure ash. My head is tilted to the floor, and I'm unsure if I can bring myself to manoeuvre it.
"You didn't. Just luck guess," I answer quietly.
Ma'am why are you so bashful? He's seen you naked, repeatedly. Now you can't even look at him in the eye.
Oh come on, Hermione. You helped take down the most evilest and cruelest person in the wizarding world, and now you're too flustered to stare into the eyes of a guy.
I voluntarily haul my eyes upon Malfoy. From icy cold temperatures, his arctic , emerald eyes ignites my body alive with familiar flames. In the afternoon sun, its dazzling light orchestrates an otherworldly gleam upon Draco's cold yet beautiful features, making him seem untouchable from his environment.
Currently, he's propped himself against a bookcase, with a few strands of his slicked, ashen blonde hair curtaining his forehead. I gulp fervently as he steps a few inches closer.
This time, I confidently stare into his silvery line of sight. Around the monotonous edges, lies a pool of sincerity. Even in the silence, they louden with the unresolved trauma of last year's events; the ghost of his pain lurks within.
But they subside back into his intimidating green pools before I deepen myself into them. "This brings back old memories, doesn't it?" He cocks his head to the side with a memorable, ageless smirk.
My ears grow flush, reminiscing all the rendezvous moments where the both of us ditched potions to come here for hot and heavy make out sessions.
"Yeah, it does indeed," I purse my lips together.
We're so close yet indefinitely so far apart. I want to reach out for him, but a mixture of our trauma acts as a gravitational pressure, tugging the both of us in the opposite direction.
As quick as it appeared, his smirk disintegrates from his face. In replacement is a look of pained apprehension. "How are you?"
I kneed my shoes together. That is a question that has become too repetitive lately; same question, same pitiful tone, and I'm greeted with the same sympathetic looks to the point it was too painfully frustrating to answer.
Because to bystanders, I was Hermione Granger - the muggle born witch who survived Bellatrix Lestrange.
But to Draco, there was no pity. After all, he was at the face of that night. He's the one who go slashed by his father when he disarmed his aunt; he was the one who faced the abuse when he forced, Ron, Harry and I out of that horrific mansion.
This time, I cautiously push myself forward. I discern his face, and although it's very subtle, a thin scar line is tattooed diagonally across his nose and right eye, beginning at his forehead, and ending over his jawline.
I hesitate for a good few seconds before my hands boldly and slowly careen over the uneven bumps that separate from his silky and supple skin. At the smallest touch, Draco's body breathes out a pleasing sigh. His eyes shut in relaxation, slightly tilting towards the path of my hand.
I can't even imagine the agony he must have endured after we escaped.
"Oh Draco...." the words come out in a heartbreaking whisper.
"I would have done it all again, y'know? It was worth it."
The Draco I knew back in the earlier years would have spit upon the vulnerable, empathetic man he's grown himself into. Yeah, he's made mistakes; horrible ones that jeopardised the lives of many innocent witches and wizards. But Lucius was the true Master of those merciless crimes, and Malfoy unfortunately was forcibly enslaved by him.
I place my other hand on Draco's face, veering closer to him until we can feel each other's quick, nervous and erratic breaths.
A distasteful expression pains his gorgeous eyes, "Over the break, I was conflicted. I wanted to reach out to you but I also wanted to give you the space you needed to deal with all this bullshit. Fuck, I'm so sorry, Hermione."
He hangs his head low in agonising remorse, inches away from scraping along my shoulder.
'Malfoy, look at me," I passionately cup his face in my hands, and peer his sad, guilty eyes into me. "Your father was Voldemort's instigator. Because of that, Lucius coerced you into a life that was not of your own choosing. You didn't know better."
Draco remains stiff and unconvinced. So more courageously, I curtain my arms around his neck. His face flutters in sheer, petrified surprise, as evident by the shocked stillness in his body.
"Yes, I'm not going to lie, you were an arsehole when we were younger and that punch was well deserved." Draco briefly chuckles by the memory of my fist wedging into his foul, little face. Honestly, the memory is now laughable as it's indicative of his exponential growth in maturity. "But again, that's because of your father's influence. Anyway, you're not that guy anymore."
Draco sighs a deep breath. For a minute or so, as my words secrete into his skull, I remain pressed up against him, arms still tied around his neck.
My heart pumps excitedly; my skin tingles boisterously with electricity when Draco tightens his broad arms around my waist. He lowers his forehead to mine.
After being absent from his mere touch for three months, his arms are a breath of clear and crisp oxygen.
His silvery, emerald gaze seethe spectacularly, brimming with emotions that I once initially depicted as an impossibility for him to feel.
He careens his translucent knuckles over the warmth of my rosy cheeks.
And then, like all the many times before in this exact position, he kisses me.