W.E.L.C.O.M.E. T.O. T.H.E. W.O.R.L.D. O.F.
"IN VERY COLD BLOOD"
Preliminary notes :
This story is about a murder investigation. But please consider that I am no crime writer like some well-known authors. This won't be your typical police investigation. Just a bunch of teenagers/young adults trying to get answers.
- Hermione and Ron never developed any kind of feelings for each other
- Harry and Ginny dated but decided to remain friends after the War. You'll find out in the story anyway
- THIS STORY IS HEA (Happy Ending)
My writing style is : DESCRIPTIVE. Which means I can spend 200 words describing one's thoughts. Which means that I might specify what we smell, see and feel in a room before one of them gets to talk. My narration is : OMNISCIENT. Which means that I can get in everyone's heads and write what they think, but I mainly focus on Hermione.
If you notice some words that are maybe spelled weirdly, I apologize in advance. I have betas, but my French tend to sneak into my translation sometimes. Normally, everything should be in order. Be kind with me in that case :-)
This story contains some triggers. I will always try and tell them at the start of the chapter to warn you beforehand.
Here's a playlist I've created for this story : playlist/5d9lkLfm3otwkPidcGgXqv?si=83c38ea65e4049bf
This first chapter has been rewritten twice ! Yes, twice! I hope the first chapters are gonna be better than the original.
Love, Axiomea
"A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty."
Hermione Granger had read this sentence in a book whose title she had already forgotten. Since it had happened, she had found herself scanning Muggle library shelves, not really knowing which book to choose, and had leafed through a few self-help books about grief. She had come across this sentence and had closed the book with a sharp snap. She never went back to the library.
It has been nine days today. How do you celebrate the anniversary of someone's death? Why do we need to highlight whole time units: one week, one month, six months, one year? What about in between? Because, after all, grief is always there, especially in between. There, like the most morbid creature of all, lurking in every thought and emotion. Why do we never hear anyone say: "It's been 1243 days since"?
So. It's been 9 days today.
216 hours.
12,960 minutes.
777,600 seconds since Sam left.
Died.
Hermione shifted on her bed and pulled the blanket up over her nose. Her wild hair splayed out on the pillow soaked with dry tears. Her eyes darted back to the family photograph on her dresser. The wall clock ticked the seconds away with a ludicrously slow tempo. The face of death plastered its grin all over the walls of her room. She shivered. Her black dress was still in a little bundle on the floor in the same place she had thrown it when she had come back from the funeral two days ago.
There she had seen Harry, Ron and Ginny, the Weasley family and some of her Hogwarts friends. It was a Muggle ceremony, so the extended Granger family could attend, but her friends had come anyway, dressed plainly in black as Muggles.
She had shaken hands, received hugs, kisses, cards, flowers, but absolutely no one had given her the one thing she wanted. Him. In the flesh. It was ridiculous. How could anyone write in a card "He will always be in your heart"? That wasn't where she wanted him. She wanted him with her, beside her. She wanted to hear his teasing, she wanted to feel his hand ruffling her hair. His angry slaps on her shoulder when she annoyed him too much.
She finally looked at the sore scar that stretched from her little finger to her wrist. Still swollen. She closed her fist and ignored the painful sensation it caused in her entire hand. Her eyes returned to the family photo. Sam was there, handsome and tall. He had almost the same features as her. Messy hair, mischievous eyes, sharp nose. Imperfect. On his wrist hung the watch she had given him years before for his birthday. Now it was gone.
The watch was not the only thing her brother had taken with him after his death. He had taken all of her energy, her appetite, her oxygen. After the Final Battle against Voldemort at Hogwarts, she finally thought she was going to lead a normal, quiet life. The war had been over for a little over two months already. But by the beginning of July, tragedy had struck her family.
Hermione realised that her mouth was pasty and threw back her covers to get up. She didn't want to run into her parents, but never mind. She opened her bedroom door slightly to listen for any sound that would let her know if her parents were near, but she heard nothing. She silently slipped out of her room and into the bathroom on the same floor. The carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps. Good.
She opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and saw her father's antidepressants. She ignored them completely and grabbed an empty glass. She poured herself a drink without looking at her reflection once.
When she came out, her father was right in front of her. She hadn't heard him at all.
Her father seemed surprised and didn't know what to say. "Uh, hi…kiddo…" he finally breathed.
Hermione cleared her throat and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Hi," she said.
Her voice was dry, hoarse, cracked, as if she had spent a week in the desert without water. Which was not far from the truth. She didn't move, standing in the middle of the bathroom door frame, wondering if her father wanted to talk to her.
Finally, he nodded and motioned to the bathroom. "Uh... actually, I just..." he began.
She immediately stepped aside to let him enter the bathroom. "Yeah, of course," she mumbled.
Not knowing if anything else needed to be said, the two simply parted without another word. Hermione returned to her room slowly and closed the door behind her. It was time for lunch. But no one ate at regular times here anymore.
She walked over to her desk and looked at the many envelopes scattered on it. Condolence cards. Letters from her best friends. All of them asking her to give news. All asking if she needed to spend the rest of the summer break at the Burrow. They all wanted to know if she wanted their visits. But she didn't have the courage, or the strength, to answer them. Not yet. She stuffed the letters into a drawer.
When her eyes began to sting, she grabbed her jacket and her wand before rushing out. Her wanderings were one of the only things that kept her out of the house for hours. She could barely stand to stay in this house, haunted by her brother's presence. She would go outside and walk, or run, depending on how much energy she had, with no clear destination. She would walk until the sole of her feet ached. When that happened, she would drop into the nearest café, order her drink and her brother's favourite, but never drink either of them. It was all pretend.
Sitting alone at a table for two, with two drinks, she sometimes felt as if his ghost was sitting in front of her to sip his.
That's what she did today. She walked down Main Street, her street, to the central avenue, before turning left to head for the café where she always ended up. She stayed there for two hours. Or maybe three. Just as she was leaving the café, someone was about to enter and bumped into her. She fell backwards but the person, with good reflexes, caught her by the arm with one hand and the hip with the other, and held her up.
"I'm so sorry," apologized a male voice that Hermione didn't recognise.
She was about to mumble that it didn't matter and continue on her way without even looking at him, but he frowned before she could walk away.
"Wait, Granger?" he breathed.
Hermione finally looked up at the stranger and didn't immediately recognize who it was. She had seen him at Hogwarts, but it took her a second too long to say his name. The young man seemed to sense her confusion and placed a hand on his chest to introduce himself.
"Blaise Zabini," he said.
She cleared her throat. She didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. "I know who you are," she finally said, her tone a little disinterested.
Blaise Zabini had lived on Main Street for as long as she could remember. They'd run into each other a few times as children, had even spoken a little on occasion, but as soon as they'd been admitted to Hogwarts for their first year at the same time and placed in 'enemy' Houses, they'd never spoken again. They had never really been friends anyway.
"You're Malfoy's sidekick." she added.
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like he's the main character."
"Is there something I can do for you?" she cut in.
He seemed taken aback by the harshness of her tone and the tightness of her face. She had a look on her face that he had never seen before. Before he could respond with a slightly bitter remark or even a simple honest answer, she had turned her back on him and was striding away.
Maybe if I had called her by her first name? he thought.
A month since.
720 hours.
43,200 minutes.
Letters from Harry, Ron, and Ginny were piling up on her desk. She'd barely written them back. She knew that Harry and Ron had been busy all summer anyway with interviews at the Ministry about Voldemort's defeat, the Horcruxes, and whatever little secrets they wanted to tell them. She'd been summoned too, obviously, but hadn't showed up. Ginny kept her up to date with everything that was going on in her letters.
By the middle of July, the Malfoy family trial had begun. It was an ongoing investigation. The Wizengamot was examining the testimony of many wizards to testify in favour or against each member of the family. Lucius had already received the maximum sentence of imprisonment in Azkaban. But it was a grey area when it came to Narcissa and Draco. Harry had written her a letter saying that he and Ron had testified on their behalf. Harry had explained several reasons, mostly that Draco had refused to identify him at the Manor, and that Narcissa had lied to Voldemort when he asked if he was dead.
He had also invited her to testify in favor of them. But of course she didn't show up. The Malfoy trial was irrelevant to her, and just their "noble" name brought back too many horrible memories of her torture at the Manor only a few months ago.
Hermione was slowly preparing for her eighth year at Hogwarts. The seventh years had been individually contacted to inform them that they had the opportunity to retake their year to graduate — those who wanted to. An eighth year. All the other years were progressing normally according to the curriculum. Ginny, for her part, was going to be in the 'real' seventh year. Eighth year was not going to be exactly the same as seventh year, as the letter explained, but more focused on perfecting the magic, skills and knowledge necessary to pass the N.E.W.T.S. It was not going to be an easy year.
Fortunately, the reconstruction of the castle was going well. Everything should be in order before the students arrived on September 1st. Her year was going to be calm, quiet and normal. Just her and books. Just what she needed.
A week later, an owl knocked on her bedroom window, thumping loudly with its beak. Hermione recognised the green ink seal of Hogwarts and opened the thick envelope. McGonagall was telling her that she had been given the honour of being appointed Head Girl with an eighth year Slytherin student. Tucked into the envelope was a long contract, folded in thirds.
Honour? Slytherin and honour? Of course she was glad to be given that position at Hogwarts. But why, by Merlin, a Slytherin student? His perfect, arrogant, hard face and grey eyes flashed through her mind. She gritted her teeth. Parkinson, Bullstrode, Greengrass, Nott, but not Malfoy. She didn't even know the outcome of his trial, he might already be in prison and she didn't care, frankly.
And Zabini? she thought.
She found herself thinking that if he was the Head Boy, maybe this would be an opportunity to put something back together that had been broken so long ago. But she didn't know what had been broken exactly. All Slytherins were the same.
She stuffed the envelope into her drawer and flipped through the contract. The job required a lot of responsibilities, but she knew she could handle them. She had always dreamed of being Head Girl. She set the contract aside, knowing that she still had time to study it before school started, and examined the badge between her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her face. The first one in 53,280 minutes.
Hermione twirled her spaghetti around her fork with no real appetite, her cheek resting nonchalantly in her palm, elbow on the table. They were eating together, the three of them, like in the good old days. As if nothing had happened. Why did life have to go on?
Her mother, Jane, was serving another portion of salad to her husband. She pointed the salad-filled tongs at Hermione's bowl.
"Would you like some more, honey?" she asked.
The brunette kept her eyes fixed on her plate, a little deaf to all other sounds. Spaghetti was one of Sam's favourite dishes. A leaf of salad, soaked in dressing, fell to the table under the tongs.
"Hermione?" urged her mother.
Hermione flinched and blinked, before considering the salad-filled tongs waiting above her bowl. "I'm not hungry anymore," she said.
Jane sighed and put the tongs back in the big bowl, before leaning back in her chair and giving her husband a meaningful look. Of course they had noticed their daughter's terrible mood, and her lack of appetite, and her overall weight loss, but who could blame her?
Jane made big eyes at Philipp as she nodded subtly towards their daughter. He put down his fork and cleared his throat.
"Hermione?" he said.
She looked up at him with heavy eyes without lifting her chin from her palm. She knew her dad was serious when he used her name.
"Are you sure you should really go back to Hogwarts this year? After everything that's happened here —"
"What happened here is exactly why I have to go back," she cut in.
Philipp closed his mouth and Jane sighed. They didn't know what to say to her. They didn't know how to comfort her. Hell, they didn't know how to comfort themselves. How can you take care of someone when you can't take care of yourself?
"You guys won't be here anyway," Hermione added, rolling up the pasta for the umpteenth time on her fork, before setting it down in annoyance.
Jane quickly glanced at her husband. "You could come with us," she improvised. "You're only leaving in a week, we've got time to buy another ticket and —"
"I want to be at Hogwarts," she said.
Her mother suddenly looked very sad and her eyes welled up quickly. She put a cold hand on her daughter's and tried to catch her gaze. "Why, Hermione?" she whispered. "Why do you have to go back after everything that's happened?"
"I just told Dad," Hermione replied.
"Is it because you're going to be Head Girl?" her mother insisted. "Is it because of… a boy?"
Hermione, astounded by her mother's assumption, pulled her hand from hers. "A boy?" she exclaimed. "I don't want to have this conversation again, Mum!"
"Lower your voice with your mother," her father warned.
"What conversation?" her mother asked, her eyebrows furrowed. "We don't even talk anymore!"
"What is there to say?" whispered Hermione, with no bitterness in her voice.
Her mother didn't answer, and Hermione closed her eyes, before massaging her eyelids with her fingertips. Finally, she looked up at her mother with a tired expression. She didn't want to argue with her. That was the last thing they, the three of them, needed.
She offered her a very faint smile, tender but false. "Mum," she said softly. "Look at me."
Jane complied, her face broken with sadness and exhaustion. Grief had hollowed out her cheeks too.
"I want to have conversations with you," Hermione continued slowly. "We're going to keep having conversations. But that will come in time. When we're able to not... force them. I just... I don't know what to say."
She looked at her father. "Dad, I want to go back to Hogwarts because it's my second home. There are too many painful memories here. You've only recently regained your memories, but I know you need this trip together. Both of you."
Her father took his glass of water. "I understand. It's up to you."
"If that's what you really want," said her mother.
"It's what I want," Hermione replied, not quite convinced herself. "Can you drive me to the station next week?"
Her mother smiled a little.
On the morning of the departure to Hogwarts, Hermione had woken up several hours before her alarm. Even before dawn. She had silently dragged herself out of bed and decided to take advantage of the sunrise that would soon come. Putting on her shoes and a slightly warmer jacket, she went down the stairs slowly to avoid waking her parents and dashed outside.
The air was cool and foggy. She walked down the middle of her street. It wasn't the first time she thought she should go to the graveyard. But since his burial, she had not returned. She didn't know how she would ever face his grave.
As she listened to her soles clacking against the wet tarmac, she remembered how her brother used to challenge her to race. He used to say to her, "Four years older than you, four times faster!" He would start sprinting, shouting over his shoulder what the finishing line or object was, and she couldn't help but leap behind him, hoping to beat him every time. The older she got, the less of a lead he had over her.
Hermione, without realising it, had started to speed up. Dawn was beginning to break on the horizon, painting the lower layers of the sky pink and orange. Her breath came out in a long cascade of transparent mist. Now she was running.
She quickened her pace, letting the flaps of her jacket slap against her hips, staring straight ahead. If she concentrated hard enough, she'd be able to make out his cries of injustice at her back.
"Hey, you're cheating!"
"I wasn't ready, I was tying my shoe!"
His steps increased in speed. Her hot, choppy breath burned her throat and lungs, but she did not stop. She ran down Main Street, running right down the centre of the street. It seemed that she had never run so fast. Her hair whipped in the wind, and her cheeks, pinched by the cool wind, tingled. The faster she went, the faster Sam would try to catch up. A smile began to stretch her lips, already parted by her quick breath.
She finished her run by reaching the low wall that ran along the street perpendicular to the end of Main Street. She pressed her palms against the stone to catch her breath for a second and turned around, victorious.
"I won!" she exclaimed.
Her victorious cheers was met with silence. Her heart ached with the realization that she would never again get a chance to let her brother win the race. Her smile faded and she wiped her nose against the back of her hand before resting her palms on her thighs.
Why was this so difficult? Why did she feel so shattered?
She slowly made her way back to her house, walking up the entire street, letting the dawn gain life behind her. Once back in her house, she showered and finished the last few things she wanted to add to her luggage. She made sure to bring some Muggle medicine for headaches, stomach aches, and all sorts of other aches and pains, because she didn't feel like going to Madam Pomfrey every time she had a headache, which was often enough.
With her suitcase packed, she sat on her bed with a knot in her stomach. She hadn't seen her friends for months. How would they react? She completely forgot to tell them about the Head Girl thing… She skipped breakfast, which was no longer a rare occurrence in her daily life, and waited. She listened through her closed door to her parents' morning routine and the few words they exchanged. After an indefinite amount of time, her mother opened her door a few inches and slipped her head inside to look at her.
"Time to go, honey," she said.
Hermione sighed and grabbed her suitcase. Her mother left her and the door remained ajar. Hermione stared at it. She realised that her brother would not be accompanying her to the station this time. She left the room without looking back. The family photograph still sat on top of her dresser, left there as a dusty relic. Hermione said goodbye to her father and bid him a safe trip.
The car ride to King's Cross was quiet and long. Hermione let herself be swayed gently by the jolts of the vehicle as it hit a pothole or drove on a less than smooth road. Finally, her mother turned off the engine. The station was in sight, already crowded at this time of the morning.
"Do you have everything you need?" her mother asked.
Hermione swallowed. Everything but one thing. "Yes," she replied.
Her mother stroked her cheek. Her eyes, once again, were filled with an overwhelming sadness that Hermione couldn't bear. She probably reminded her mother of her brother's face every time she looked at her.
"Will you write to me, Hermione?" her mother whispered, her voice a little broken. "You promise you'll write to me?"
The brunette nodded. "I love you, Mum. Take care of yourself. And take care of Dad, okay?"
"We're lucky to have you," her mother smiled. "I love you."
Hermione left her mother after a last kiss and walked alone to the station. She crossed through the brick wall and found herself on Platform 9 ¾, feeling lonelier than ever even though it was crowded. She still had five minutes before departure. A bell rang, thundering, and a wisp of dark smoke rose from the train's mouth. She looked at the train as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She missed her brother. Fuck, did she missed him.
She wiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek, then sniffed. She didn't want to cry on her first day. Stupid Hermione. Get a grip. She shouldn't let her emotions get the better of her. Not now that she had responsibilities as Head Girl that would start as soon as she got on the train. She wondered where Harry, Ron and Ginny were as she walked towards the train.
She got on the train and started looking for them. She soon found them in a compartment. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville were all in the same compartment, chatting together. As soon as they saw her, Harry and Ron were the first to jump to their feet and they didn't look at her any longer before taking her in for a three-way hug.
Ginny sat on the bench and continued to watch her friend, trying to hide her own shock. Hermione was probably ten, or maybe fifteen, pounds lighter since the end of last year.
"We've missed you so, so much!" cried Ron.
"So much has happened," Harry continued, "we couldn"t —"
She cut them off before they could start feeling guilty about things she'd never asked them to do. "It's okay, guys. Don't worry about it."
They invited her to sit with them, and as soon as she was seated, next to Ginny, she hugged her. Luna and Neville were sure to greet her in turn, with that slightly fragile tone, as if everyone was afraid she would break.
"I'm here for you," Ginny whispered into her hair before breaking off their embrace.
Hermione gave her a smile, because that was what people wanted to see; her strength, her courage despite everything. That's exactly what she gave them. She pretended to be interested in Luna's summer break and her fishing for Pernicole Gnomes. The train took off. All the while she felt Harry and Ron's insistent gaze on her, who knew her better than anyone else, trying to read her face, her behaviour, her words. She did not like being interpreted.
After about fifteen minutes, the door to their compartment opened.
"Miss Granger?" said Minerva McGonagall. "Please come with me. You must go to the Heads' compartment. Bring your suitcase, please."
Hermione winced as she remembered that she had never told her friends. Their expressions revealed widespread surprise. Harry's eyebrows were furrowed and Ron's mouth was half open.
"You... You're Head Girl?" stammered Harry.
"Uh… Yes?" she squeaked, a little ashamed.
"Congratulations!" exclaimed Ginny, deciding to overlook the slight misunderstanding. "No one deserves it more than you."
The others congratulated her as well and Hermione thanked them, leaving the compartment. In the train corridor, once the compartment door was closed, McGonagall took a few steps away and turned to her.
"It's good to see, Miss Granger," she said softly. "Once again, I offer you my deepest condolences for this tragic event."
"Thank you, Professor."
Hermione wondered when was the right time to stop giving condolences to someone who had lost a loved one. For the moment, to avoid thinking about anything else, she was eager to dive into her responsibilities as Head Girl, and was looking forward to what lay ahead.
Professor McGonagall guided her to the appropriate compartment, mentioning a few details that Hermione was not listening to, too lost in her thoughts. McGonagall stopped in front of a compartment, larger than the others, with small red velvet curtains hiding the window.
"I'll let you... meet your partner," McGonagall said, lips pursed. "You will have a meeting with this year's Prefects an hour before we arrive at Hogwarts. Goodbye, Miss Granger."
Hermione thanked her, waved, and closed her eyes for a moment, hands resting on the compartment handle. She knew how to say hello to Zabini. She almost hoped it would be him. But as she opened the door, she found him.
Draco Malfoy.
Draco. Malfoy.
The compartment stopped vibrating, the sensations disappearing from the environment as she met his gaze. Hermione's cheeks turned pink with anger and disappointment. What the fuck? Why the fuck? Why was he back at Hogwarts? Why wasn't he in Azkaban? Why was he reading a fucking book like everything was fine? He was already changed into his wizarding robes, his badge plastered to his chest.
Draco looked at her and didn't let his gaze linger too long. He had immediately noticed something about her that he had never seen before. He couldn't put his finger on it. He didn't even greet her. Why didn't he look surprised to see her?
"Are you..." Hermione began. "Are you in the right compartment?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, this is the Heads' compartment," he replied dryly. "You're not dreaming. I, on the other hand, would rather dream than have to look at you standing there like a fucking idiot any longer."
She couldn't move, indeed "standing" in the middle of the entrance to the compartment, half in and half out. She couldn't understand what was happening.
She frowned and stammered. "B-But... Why? Why you?"
Why didn't she answer his insults? Why did she have to look so... lifeless? He closed his book sharply and threw it on the seat next to him. "Are you in or out, Granger?"
She opened her mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. She finally shook her head, sighing in frustration, and stepped into the compartment, careful to avoid bumping into the Slytherin's knees on the seat. She tried to put her suitcase on the railing above the bench, but couldn't. She wasn't going to ask him for help, though, so she decided to put her suitcase beside her. She took a seat by the window, making sure to avoid looking at him.
She couldn't help but feel terribly confused. Why had McGonagall chosen him? Had his trial ended well, then?
They didn't speak for a while, during which Draco really wondered why she hadn't reacted more than that. Scathing retorts, hateful repartees, that was all he knew with her. He did not know what to do or how to act otherwise. She had to start reacting, and fast.
He finally opened his mouth. "Someone needs to tell you what to do, Granger? Why aren't you changed? We have a meeting in... thirty minutes."
She shrugged, moody and lifeless. "I still have time. It's only a robe to put on."
Draco didn't answer. React, for fuck's sake! he thought. Do something, say something! Answer me as you used to do.
As the minutes ticked by, Hermione grew more and more puzzled. She started glancing at him briefly from the corner of her eyes, always making sure to return them to the window quickly. He didn't have the same snarky, mocking expression she knew him to have, even though his features were still harsh and closed. No, his face exuded a certain... weariness. A bit like her. She was surprised that he hadn't insulted her yet.
She started putting her robes on after a moment, making sure to turn her back to him even though she was fully clothed. She didn't like putting on robes in front of him with his cold eyes on her.
"Don't flatter yourself, Mudblood," he spat. "There is nothing to look at!"
"Don't call me that!" she shot back with fire, her robe finally on. "After everything that you and your family did, you have no fucking right to—" She gasped.
Draco had jumped on his heels and lunged to her, now only inches away. He gripped her wrist hard, a dangerous expression on his face. When he opened his mouth, every word was articulate, cold and low.
"But that's what you are," he growled. "A—" He shook her arm, "Mud—"He squeezed her wrist again. "Blood."
He released her with a sharp push, and Hermione had to take a step back. She massaged her wrist. He had touched the scar on her hand, which was still slightly tender, and small ripples of pain were now running through her arm, but she certainly wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Where's your dirty tongue, Granger?" he spat. "Have you lost it? You can count on me to —"
"Shut up!" she finally exploded, putting her hands against his shoulders to push him away, hoping to get past him. "You have absolutely no right to talk to me like that! We are partners now!"
He pushed her hands away savagely. "You'll never be my partner, Granger," he said coldly. "At best, you're just a critter with the same functions which I hope never crosses my path."
Hermione raised her eyebrows and almost laughed. "You know we'll have to work with each other, don't you?" she huffed dismissively. "Do you even know that, Malfoy?"
"We'll see about that."
He snorted sarcastically and when Hermione finally motioned to leave the compartment, he cut her off by walking directly in front of her, nearly shoving her. He didn't look back and Hermione made sure to close the door to their compartment. Her contract in her trembling hands, she followed Draco a few feet behind him, unsure of what mask she was going to have to display to all the excited Prefects waiting for them both to arrive.
Draco opened the large meeting compartment and went first. Hermione arrived a few seconds later.
"There's no one here yet," she grumbled. "You were really freaking out over nothing."
"Do me a favour and shut up," he said coldly.
She didn't want to "obey" him, but she didn't feel like answering him anymore. So she sealed her lips shut, sat down on the same side as Draco but at a great distance from him and walled herself in. They waited for the others to arrive. She looked at the ceiling, at the luggage rack. The table, screwed to the floor. She counted the little brown spots that dotted the compartment's wood. Staring into the void, she first saw the blood again. Then she imagined herself. With a bloody body like her brother's. The major wounds all over her.
She imagined her.
Leaving. She would give anything to be joining her brother, wherever he was now, if that was bloody heaven, hell, or even walking happily in fucking Narnia.
"And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed."
Sarah Waters
oOoOoOo
Also, can I apologize for this slow, cliché start ? I know this trope has been used over and over again BUT hopefully you'll see that it's unique along the way!
Love, Axiomea