I sit under the tree and look up at Hermione. She gives a soft smile and settles down beside me. She tells me how it was a wonderful idea to come to the forest we both knew so well in our younger years.
"It's been long, hasn't it? I guess the Forbidden forest isn't so forbidden anymore," she says lightly, resting her head on my shoulder. "you know Draco, we've all changed, like this forest. We've both changed. Ron's changed. Harry too. I know it." And she smiles, a sad smile that tries to lift its own corners. I put my arm around her waist, hoping to give her some comfort. Potter and Weasley died years ago, in the battle of Hogwarts.
We were supposed to die too. We were fighting each other at the edge of the forest, right beside the spot we are sitting at now. Both on opposite sides of the line, and neither willing to actually go in for the kill. So we traded hexes, curses, jinxes. It was a game, and it was also our moment of salvation. We both knew neither faced the threat of death. We both knew if we kept fighting, perhaps neither of us would have to join the battle and die. So we fought. Later, we saw Weasley and Potter die under the wand of Voldemort. In her devastation and anger, Hermione struck Voldemort with a killing curse from the back. Since then we became hesitant friends, formed due to the small battle that took place between us. I never questioned the logic behind this friendship. Perhaps at that moment, I saw her loss, and she too, understood mine. The loss of my identity, my family, my life. Perhaps at that moment, we just needed some other soul to depend on.
"I blame myself, you know? If I hadn't fought you endlessly, I could have saved Harry and Ron," she says. I shudder, because it means she feels that she should have just killed me. "Perhaps this was supposed to happen though. Perhaps this is fate." And although I never thought about it before, I have to agree. Because if she didn't fight me pointlessly, she probably would have died. And I probably would have sunk into my own despair, my own self-pity, and failed to see the greater good in the world. Hermione sees though, she sees the good in everybody, except herself. She's not perfect, no. But she's better than I'll ever be.
I turn to kiss her on the forehead, and we spend the rest of the evening sitting under that tree.
I've always believed in soul mates. I've always believed in one day meeting that one person who can see past your facades and into the deepest crevices of your soul. And that I'd be able to see their true self as well. I've always believed that one day, by chance, I'd turn a corner, or sit in a café, or walk down the street and meet that one person who looks me straight in the eye and connects with me inexplicably, and we'd have a silent, mutual moment of understanding.
We go together to a ball one day, Hermione and I. She, as the war heroine, and me, as the war heroine's invited guest. Everyone gravitates towards Hermione the moment we step foot in the large ballroom.
"Miss Granger! May I express how absolutely grateful I am to you for your contributions in the war," A middle aged woman addresses Hermione. I faintly recognize her as a Head of some department at the Ministry. A lanky guy at the side chimes in. "Thank you so much for all you have done!" Another woman, slightly younger, enthusiastically shakes Hermione's hand.
Panic flashes across Hermione's face. She takes a step back as more and more people come forth. I gently place my hands on her shoulders and guide her away from the crowd. She looks at me desperately. And suddenly, I've found her, my soul mate. I understand the desperation she feels. She never wanted this. She never wanted to be a war heroine. She never even wanted to fight in a war. She was, and still is, a pawn in the bigger game that people like to play in this world. And I see in her eyes the same despair I've felt my whole life. Unable to run away from the truth of reality, unable to change our roles and responsibilities, we've both had to sacrifice our dreams, our friends, our family, and ourselves. She sees it too, I think. She reaches out to touch my face. Her hand is cool, and it gives the both of us solace from our inner turmoil.
A few months later, she tells me that she's leaving Britain. "Maybe somewhere East," she replies when I ask her where she's heading. "I need to leave." She looks into my eyes, and I understand. "Then go," I say, "And don't come back." I turn away. A hand reaches over to rest on my arm. "I won't be." The hand slides away, and suddenly I miss its warmth. I wait until the sound of her footsteps fade away before I let the tears fall.
Sometimes, we meet our soul mate in an unexpected moment. It may be someone you've never met, and happened to chance upon on the street. For me though, it was someone I'd known for a long time. I'd known her as a child, and we'd taunted each other endlessly, choosing our sides unconsciously in a war that was soon to come. I'd known her in the war, where we'd fought on opposite sides of a line that we never wanted to have in existence, but was there because of all the other people that were fighting too for a cause that was not their own. I'd known her as we'd fought each other, as someone who was, too, unable to kill, unable to slay another for the sake of something that even we couldn't fully understand. I'd known her after that as a friend, my first true friend, and as we sat under the trees and on the beaches and in the little cafés together, I'd also known her as the person I grew to love.
It was only later that I truly understood her, even though I'd known her for years. I understood her as someone just as lost as me, just as broken as I am. But, as hard and miraculous as it is to find my soul mate, we never went beyond that moment of understanding. We never went beyond that moment where we looked into each others' eyes and when she touched my face with her cool hand. Because sometimes, soul mates meet just so that they can touch the lives of each other for that one moment, and that one moment only.