Fading memories infested her train of thought causing glimpses of better times spent in Diagon Alley to flash before her retina: her first year with her parents, Gilderoy Lockhart, being close with Ron, and Draco Malfoy. All of these thoughts were emblazoned in the back of her memory, yet she felt sad that that’s exactly what they were: mere memories so distant now, it was difficult for her to recall that they even occurred.

“Quiet please, Lovebirds!” Slughorn bellowed.
Hermione’s face grew scarlet. Harry and Ron whipped around in their chairs only to find her and Draco nodding in reply.

Hermione couldn’t help the nerves in her figure to stiffen as she thought of herself in Ginny’s position: Calling after Draco, with no response, for what may be the rest of her life.

His fingertips stroked the unhinged door, and he immediately inhaled hard, jolting his hand away from the cabinet. She was watching him sorrowfully, certain at any minute he would break. Despair was plummeting through her stomach upon seeing him so terrified. His face was frozen to the bone, his eyes inert, and she was certain she had heard him sob.