Disclaimer :: The following is a work of fan fiction based on the popular series Harry Potter created by the wonderful JK Rowling. No offense is intended towards JK Rowling or her work. However, this fan fiction is 100% written by me unless otherwise indicated.

CHAPTER ONE: KING'S CROSS STATION

Hermione Granger got off the bus, carefully setting the heavy suitcase she had in her hand down on to the asphalt ground. King's Cross Station loomed in front of her with its singular clock tower and massive structure. All around, people rushed past the young witch. She, however, stood still. She had no destination to speak of. But she needed one, didn't she? Everyone needs to go somewhere. Does it matter where she goes as long as she is not just standing still?

"Come on, Hermione." She whispered to herself. "You can do this."

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her suitcase and entered King's Cross Station. Her mind was empty of anything save for the plan that she had concocted several weeks ago. Well, it wasn't exactly a plan per se. Originally, she was going to go to King's Cross Station, look at the train routes, and choose the train with a final destination that was farthest away from London. Once she gets to her destination, she would find an adequate lodging area and continue her planning from there. Admittedly, it wasn't a spectacular plan but it was at least a plan.

However when she got to the ticket booth, Hermione didn't know what to say to the ticket lady. After a few moments of awkward silence where the ticket lady patiently waited and Hermione stuttered with frustration, she decided to walk away and take a seat at one of the many waiting areas at King's Cross Station. As a woman who always relied on extensive and careful planning, winging it was a rather difficult task. How did Harry and Ron make it seem so easy? She just wanted to buy a train ticket to somewhere and already she was having anxiety issues from not having a concrete plan. She didn't know where she was going or for what purpose and it frustrated her more than she would like to admit.

Was it without purpose though?

As Hermione pondered on her thoughts, people moved about the station. Some sauntered slowly about, some waited in chairs like she did, and others rushed about in a mad dash to catch their trains and reach their desired destination. While there were others who waited as she did, she couldn't help but wonder if they were going through the same thing she was going through.

Logically, she knew the answer. But she couldn't help but wonder if they had fought a war, witnessed the unconceivable deeds of humans, and lived to tell the tale. And if they did somehow survive it, she wanted to know how they survived life after war? Although the second wizarding war was still fresh in her mind and carved into her flesh for life, she was not curious about that type of war. She was referring to the war one have with oneself.

Hermione didn't know how long she stayed in that seat. Time was no longer a constant flow. If anything, it has been rather slow. She didn't know how to explain it really. While everyone is going about living his or her lives, it seemed that her world had slowed down tremendously. Nothing mattered to her anymore. Even if she had previous plans, she could sit here in this seat at this station for hours and not even notice. Nothing mattered, remember?

Two hours and twenty-six minutes after she sat down, Hermione Granger snapped out of her daze as the person on her right vacated their seat. That was when she finally noticed him. Sitting a seat away from her was a tall and lanky young man with white blonde hair. He was dressed formally in a dark suit and had no suitcases or other belongings apart from a heavy green scarf that he wrapped around his neck in several layers. Judging from his sitting posture, it looked like he has been there for a while and had no plans to leave any time soon. He didn't notice her at all, so preoccupied with his book she presumed, and she took a moment to look at the boy.

When she last saw him at the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy looked quite ill with dark circles under his eyes and a grey tinge to his usual pale skin. Given the ordeals he had been through, it was no wonder he looked the way he did. Half a year has already passed since Voldemort's death and it seemed like he's doing better. While there are still dark shadows under his eyes and his skin was still pale as ever, he seemed better. Healthier. That's… She didn't know how to feel about that. After all, her feelings for the boy were more colored than most. Hermione scoffed at the thought. Colored is an understatement.

"It's not nice to stare," the familiar voice said.

As if feeling her stare, Malfoy's book suddenly snapped shut and the silence that followed as he turned to meet her gaze with his gray eyes was deafening. Hermione's body tensed. All the years of angry hateful insults thrown about via intense glaring, scowls, and shouting matches had all escalated to this one moment of dead air. The war was over. Voldemort was dead.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked when it was clear the blond had nothing to say.

Arrogant purebloods like Malfoy would hate to be caught loitering about the Muggle side of King's Cross Station so the sight of him leisurely reading at the waiting area puzzled her. At her question, Malfoy's gray eyes roamed the station. When he finished inspecting the area, his gaze returned to hers and he slowly shrugged as if unsure of his answer.

"I just am." He said. "What about you?"

The lack of animosity in his response greatly disturbed Hermione. Where was the haughty spoiled brat she was so used to confronting? Why was he being… civil? Even the mere thought of Draco Malfoy, heir to the pureblood fanatical family, being civil made her paranoid with fear. Was he here for her? Was he planning on causing harm to the people at King's Cross? Hermione instinctively made a grab for her wand inside her coat's pocket.

But when her fingers touched air, the fear and anger that had suddenly boiled inside her dissipated. What was the point? The war already ended. Voldemort was dead. She did her part in the war. If purebloods like Malfoy wanted to continue with the disillusioned monster's life work then let them be. She did her part. Asking her to continue, damaged as she was, was too much. So she unclenched her fist and returned her hand to her lap. Staring at her hands, Hermione shrugged as well.

"I'm just here," Hermione replied.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her answer but said nothing. Instead, he leaned back against his chair, put his head in his hands, and let out a long tired sigh. The loud movement he made caught Hermione's attention and she watched him, entranced. She had witnessed more emotions crossing his face in those few seconds than years of going to school with him. But as she looked at the young boy, she realized she was witnessing a different set of emotions. While spiteful anger and utter repulsion shaped his face back in school, the Draco she saw now had nothing but controlled sorrow and aching tiredness. If anything, he seemed more vulnerable than ever.

"Are you…" He paused then, unsure of what to say. "Are you going too?"

His voice, muffled by his hands, sounded almost sad and resigned.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She answered. Yet as she said this, Hermione's left hand slowly went to the handle of her suitcase to secure its position at her side in case something happened. Something like the pureblood fanatic going berserk in a station full of muggles. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Your suitcase says something else," Malfoy retorted. She glanced at him and saw him peeking at her through the openings he made with his fingers. Hermione said nothing. Resignedly, Malfoy took in a deep breath and straightened his posture so that he could fully face her. "You're going somewhe—"

"Where I'm going is none of your business Malfoy." Hermione interrupted, irritated at the boy's insistence. Who was he to start speculating on her actions? If anything, she should be asking him questions. "Now if you don't mind, piss off."

Just like that, the ugly disgust that Hermione was so familiar with returned to the boy's face and she almost laughed when she saw it. Scorpions will always be scorpions.

"Since when did the muggleborn princess turn into such a bitch?" Malfoy hissed. "What's wrong with you, Granger? Where's the kindness that you usually exhibit-"

"And since when did the pureblood fanatic whose only purpose in life is to kill and maim muggleborns let himself be surrounded by such dirty blood?" Hermione hissed back. From the corner of her eyes, she could tell that their raised voices were attracting attention but venom was on the tip of her lips and she could not swallow it. Instead, she spitted it out at the only person who deserved it. "What are you really doing here, Malfoy? Planning to torture some helpless muggle for fun again?"

Jaw clenching and unclenching, Malfoy's expression said all that she needed to know. She was pissing him off and she actually got a kick out of it.

"Stop." He said.

She dismissed it.

"Wait, I'm sorry. You're on a totally different level now, aren't you? You're a Death Eater. A fanatical Death Eater who kills with purpose, right? Was that your justification? Tell me, are you still killing muggles?"

"Stop."

There was that word again. It was spoken in a softer tone this time and it was much softer than her harsh loud voice. She could almost recognize the pleading tone attached to that word but she didn't care. Why should she?

"Did your father send you out on a Death Eater assignment today? Is that why you're out and about? Is daddy dearest training you to become the next Dark Lord? Oh you would like that, wouldn't you, becoming the next Voldemo—"

"Stop!" Malfoy shouted.

His clenched fists slammed against the arm of the uncomfortably hard chair he was sitting on.

"No!" Hermione screamed back.

Before she knew what she was doing, Hermione's hand went forward and slapped Malfoy right in the face. Caught unaware, Malfoy had no time to react and the force of her slap whipped his head to the side in a jarring manner. When Malfoy turned back to glare at her with an anger that matched her own, Hermione could see the split lip that her smack had caused and the blood that formed at the corner.

Appalled at what she had done, Hermione glanced down at her hands and realized for the first time that it was shaking terribly. In order to control herself again, Hermione got up from her seat and grabbed her suitcase. As she turned, her eyes met Malfoy's and she stared at him for a moment. There he was, the epitome of evil, looking like a lost dog because she just slapped him. But who knew for sure if he deserved it or not. In her mind, after all the things he put her through in school and during the war he deserved whatever ridicule he would be put through. There was no doubt about it.

"Granger…" Malfoy started. Anger and annoyance resonated in his voice.

"Don't you dare…" Hermione whispered. Her voice was now trembling as much as her hands. "Don't you dare tell me to stop when you never listened to the pleas of the countless muggles you killed! You hated me, always have, and all because of my blood. Don't you dare sit there and beg me to treat you like a human being when all you've done is spat at my feet every time I walked by."

"I merely wanted to know where you were going," was all Malfoy said before he wiped the blood off his lips.

"Away." Hermione replied back immediately. "I'm going away because people like you have made it their life's goals to kick me out and in all honesty I'm bloody tired of fighting it. My childhood was spent fighting your prejudices and now I…" She paused, trying to find the right words and failing. Tears welling up blinded her vision but she didn't seem to notice it. The look on Malfoy's face, however, indicated he did. When she spoke again, Hermione's voice broke. "I don't give a shit. You want your world? You can fucking have it. Good day Malfoy... And good bye."

With that, Hermione swiveled around and walked away. Like at the start of the day, she still didn't have a clue where she was going. But now she found a purpose and that was good enough. She heard Malfoy shout something back at her as she walked off but she didn't care enough to listen. She spent years listening to people like him and she was done. With him, people like him, and the world that he believed was his.

The British wizarding world wouldn't hear anything of Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age and friend of Harry Potter, for another three years.

AN :: Hi there, this is SleepandSheeps. This is the first chapter of my new fanfic called Moments of Clarity starring Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. I hoped you liked it. Thanks for reading and please stay tune for the next chapter. :D