Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Death changes people. Many think that since the war is over, life will be happy and blissful. Whatever side we were on, these voids are forever and will never be filled.

Many people changed. I am one of them. There is a stereotype that Death Eaters cannot feel happiness. I believe in opposition in all things, so how could I not feel happiness, but now feel so much anguish?

On top of the pain, they put me as Head Boy. Why would they put me, Draco Malfoy, as Head Boy? What does Professor McGonagall see in me?

I stand at the top of the castle balcony staring up at the sky. Is my mother there, among the stars? Is my father proud of whom I've become? I feel that the most common misconception is that because of wealth, one has a fulfilling life. Money cannot buy happiness. It does make some things easier, but cannot buy happiness. If it could, I would spend everything in Gringotts to have one more chance at happiness.

It is then, standing in the solemn night that I realize: I am the last; I am alone. My mother, Narcissa Malfoy, is gone. My father, Lucius Malfoy, is gone. My mentor, Severus Snape, is gone.

The realization uppercuts me in my gut and knocks the wind out of my system. I have never felt so forlorn in my life. My mind reels over everything that happened in my life. I try to remember the happy times, but there it is again: the opposition in all things. Every happy moment with my mother or father only magnifies the suffering I feel.

How could they leave me?

My hands clench intensely; I feel my nails digging into my palms. A roaring, fiery gulf of anger crushes the sadness. My pride is all I have left; I will not cry. I rebuke all self-pity and storm back to the Head's Common Room.

I burn into our room as if I'm leaving a trail of fire. I glare over to Granger who's sitting in the corner, sipping some tea, and reading a book. What I would give to have some of her contentment. She looks up at me, and instantly, her gaze softens. I tear eye contact from her and head towards the fireplace.

"Draco? Are you alright?"

I hear the concern in her voice, but I don't answer. In our entire time together this year, I have barely spoken more than three words to her. Regardless, I sit on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Granger stands up and I hear her footsteps walking in my direction. Had we been in the same position a year or two ago, I would curse or do something just as demeaning to her. I don't have that kind of energy anymore; I don't care anymore.

I feel her sit next to me, but I continue to stare at the fire burning away. I feel her grab my hands and hold them in hers. I would've pulled them away, but I'm too broken.

She says my name again, "Draco," with extreme tenderness.

Tears threaten my eyes; my pride fortifies a dam and walls. I try my best to bottle up my feelings; I don't need anybody's pity or sympathy.

"Don't hold back," Hermione says in a warm tone, "Let it out."

The dam explodes and the walls crumble: I let out every tear I hadn't shed since my losses.

"I have never felt loss like this before," I admit to her, "How could they? How could they leave me?"

She moves one of her hands to my back and gently massages in soothing, circular motions. The crying intensifies; I cough and choke a few times. My emotions shoot through lightning bolts of anger and crash into a sea of sorrow and strike back in anger. The cycle continues; I don't know how to control it. This rollercoaster exhausts me to the point that I can't stay awake. Before I know it, darkness consumes me. I can't stay awake...

The morning light calls me back to consciousness. I notice that both of us are lying on the same couch since yesterday; she stayed. She's behind me, with her left arm draping over my rib cage. My left hand is covering hers; our fingers are intertwined. Interestingly, I don't want to leave this. For the first time in a while, I feel safe.

Reality hits me again: she's not doing this out of sympathy; she's being empathetic. How could I have been so blind? Hermione experiences what I feel: the pain, the loss, the emptiness, the bitterness, the resentment, the anger, the void.

I untangle myself from her and sit up. I run my fingers through my hair. Hermione sits up next to me, and I feel guilty. I should have understood her earlier.

"Why?" I asked, "Why would you even look at me again? I've been nothing but a monster to you."

"Everyone deserves a second chance."

I look down at my hands and quietly say, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hermione answers with a smile.

There's a good, silent pause for about thirty seconds.

"Draco," she says and I look at her, "This is grief. We don't get over it; we learn to live with it. We'll just take it one step at a time. And I'm going to be here for you every step of the way."

I nod to her. Surprisingly, there's an interesting feeling coexisting with the pain: contentment. I feel the corners of my mouth pull up slightly. There's actually somebody who wants to listen to me, who cares about me.

"Promise you won't mention this to anyone."

She stifles a laugh and replies with sincerity, "Not a soul." She leans her head against my shoulder; it's a...wonderful feeling. Her kindness gives me a reason to sincerely smile for the first time in a long time.

The seed is planted; maybe I do deserve to be loved. This must be what Professor McGonagall sees in me: a second chance.

It's been over four and a half years since I lost somebody. Writing this piece was EXTREMELY liberating.

Please Review! Constructive Criticism welcomed!

~Prince Kalama