World After Voldemort

by Donna Vito Frutti

After the War, many students return to repeat a year at Hogwarts, Hermione being one of them. The Ministry works with her to usher in new policies. Because who better than a War Hero. She seeks an ally among the Slytherins, especially Pure Bloods. And who better than their 'Prince' himself, Draco Malfoy. Each chapter is a glimpse into their lives. MAY NOT BE IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

9. Something Tangible

Something tangible

Wave after wave of panic and confusion washed over him. He desperately clawed at his shirt, until, thankfully, mercifully, it was open. His hands were shaking by the time he fumbled with the tap. Water, fresh and clear, gurgled as it ran into the basin.

And then he felt involuntary tears spilling down his cheek. He was crying without meaning to.

Stop, he told himself. Please stop, he begged. Except, it didn't work.

He splashed the water again and again on his face. Again and again. It was not enough, and he could already feel a certain tightening in his chest. A feeling as though he were dying.

Draco sensed her before he saw her. Through a haze, he looked up in the mirror to find Hermione standing only a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe, and her arms folded across her chest.

She stood perfectly still, unfazed. She watched him silently as though the episode in front of her was the most natural phenomenon in the world.

He focused on her . Her eyes didn't seem to be judging. Her smile didn't waver. Yes, a smile. She was probably the only living being awake in the entire castle, apart from him. In the land of the sleeping, they alone were awake. And she didn't seem to be judging him. And so he focused on her.

And then she quietly moved forward.

Draco followed her through the mirror with his eyes.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him immediately tense under her fingers.

"Easy," she said, softly.

"It's alright," Hermione was saying."Deep breaths." And for some reason, or perhaps because he needed to, he obeyed, never trusting to keep his eyes off her in the mirror, as though she were an apparition who would quickly vanish if he did.

Somehow that seemed to soothe him. The human touch. Something tangible in the web of intangibles. And he clung to it like a drowning man would cling to a floating debris.

He wanted to speak, then. Something, anything. He tried.

"Granger..." he croaked. His voice sounding foreign even to him. "I- I'm-"

"No," she said.

And then, she placed a flagon on the sink. "This will help," she said, before leaving.

Desperate,he made a mad grab for it, and upended it over his mouth. The warm liquid trickleddown his throat. It had an immediate effect on him. He felt himself relax. The constriction in his chest, in him, gone.

And then, sinking down against the wall, he sobbed quietly.