Hermione woke up to sunlight pouring into her room and a feeling in her stomach like she had swallowed rocks.
"What have I done?"
"What will I do?"
Despite feeling the least hungry she had ever felt in her life, she though that food would be a good idea, as she was weak and shaking. How long since she had last eaten?
She felt a pang at the thought of the lovely breakfast Mrs Weasley would have cooked for her.
She felt a pang at the thought of Mrs Weasley's disappointment once she realised Hermione, the ungrateful little witch, had left, taking her youngest son's heart with her.
Hermione gazed vaguely out of the dusty window as she picked at her pancakes. The alley was a shambles. Most shops were boarded up, or had smashed glass and nothing left inside. This dingy little restaurant was one of the few places open; the owner's eyes looked sad, even as he put on a cheerful façade, telling Hermione that "we just gotta get on with it." Business was not good, as most people were avoiding the outside world. How long until people became brave enough to continue their lives?
Hermione nearly vomited.
"What the fuck?"
For a blond head had just streaked past the window.
Malfoy.
Hatred rose in her, as hot as sure as the sun that rose, every single day.
Appetite very much gone, Hermione paid for her meal and walked out into the alley.
Her legs were still shaking, her heart was racing, her mouth was dry. She sat on a wall that was still half there.
"Come on, Granger. You've fought Voldemort. A nasty childhood bully should not affect you like this."
But it wasn't the taunts of "mudblood" that affected her; it was the fact that he had been a slave to the Hitler of Wizards. She knew that the Malfoys had changed allegiance, but was this real? Or was it just to keep out of Azkaban? There was constant anxiety at the back of her mind; yes, Voldemort was gone, but how long before Death Eaters forced underground attempted to rise back up and terrorise the Wizarding World?
It was inevitable. She thought of atrocities in the muggle world, in which she had spent most of her life. Hitler had been defeated decades ago, and yet, neo-Nazis still attempted to terrorise populations and get into governments.
Hermione sipped some of the anxiety potion she carried in her bag, and slowly made her way back to her hostel. She needed to figure out what she was going to do with her life from this point onward. She needed purpose. And she was determined to find it.