Here is the second chapter! Please please please leave feedback! I hope you enjoy so far.
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The former Hogwarts students stood staring at each other for a moment, stunned into mutual silence.
I-Malfoy?" Hermione spluttered, once the initial shock passed. As her brain struggled to catch up with her eyes, she realized that although it was undoubtedly Malfoy standing in front of her, he looked different than she remembered. He looked exhausted, actually, an eroded fragment of the hubristic, sauntering boy he'd been in his Hogwarts years. His already angular face was filed into gaunt lines, his skin barely stretching over his bones, and purple chasms etched beneath his eyes.
She searched back through her mental archives for the last time she'd seen him. She recalled seeing his photograph in a Daily Prophet article, his face wild and dark as he exited the ministry courthouse closely followed by his mother, who hovered over him protectively. Lucius Malfoy Given Life Sentence in Azkaban, the article had been headlined. Young Draco and his mother Narcissa, the piece had detailed, had been released under a year of probation. Hermione hadn't heard a word about him since the trials ended. That had been over a year ago. The last time she'd seen Malfoy in person had been far before that point, in far stranger circumstances. She hadn't expected she'd ever see him again.
But there he was, propped against the doorway of flat 206, as Hermione warbled in front of him, a plastic delivery bag in one hand and her glass of wine still in the other, clad in faded pajamas and cat slippers.
"May I ask what you're doing at my door?" Malfoy's tone was curt, clipped. His expression had smoothed over, recovered from its rattled expression like a pond smoothing over after a stone breaks its surface.
"Your door?" Hermione's head was reeling. He had the audacity to ask what she was doing here? What the hell was Draco Malfoy doing in Eriwald at all, let alone in the bloody flat across the hall from her. "Is this a bloody joke?"
"I was going to ask the same thing, considering you showed up at my door," Malfoy repeated frostily.
"I did not show up at your door!" Hermione shrieked, feeling rather hysterical. "I knocked on Declan's door because his food was mistakenly delivered to my flat." She held up the delivery bag meekly as evidence. Did she have the wrong flat? She was certain she'd seen Declan go into the flat directly across from her.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course you've already met Declan. All you sunshine and rainbows people always get to know each other so bloody quickly," he scoffed. "But before you start accusing me of trespassing, you should know that Declan's door happens to also be my door, considering he's my flatmate."
"Flatmate?"
That would mean… Hermione's brain, usually quick as any, struggled to make sense of her new situation. That would mean that Draco Malfoy was her neighbor. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't have traveled hours from London to start fresh, only to be living ten feet away from her childhood terrorize, who also happened to be a war criminal, regardless of the ministry's verdict.
"You're enrolled at Macmathans?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "You're training to become a healer?"
"That is the only track here, yes," Malfoy said drily.
"No. There's no way. No, no, no-" Hermione spluttered again, but was cut off as Malfoy disappeared back behind the door again, letting it slam behind him. Hermione blinked at the wooden door, debating retreating back into her apartment, trying to swallow down the wave of panic and horror that rooted her feet down to the wooden floors. Before she could muster a reaction, the door opened back up again, and Malfoy emerged with a plastic bag, identical to the one she was holding. "Declan's in the shower. Would you happen to have changed your name to Veronica?"
"My flatmate." Hermione, her body still struggling to process the situation, allowed him to stiffly exchanged their bags indicating with one hand to her flat across the hall.
"Your-wait." Malfoy's jaw went slack. "That's your flat across the hall?"
Hermione nodded.
"205? You mean-"
"Good of you to catch on," Hermione snapped. "We're neighbors."
Malfoy brought his free hand up to massage his temples. "Fucking hell," he groaned. "You can't be serious."
Hermione's eyes widened further, a flash of hot fury coursing through her. "I can't be serious? I've been on a pre-healing track since first year! You on the other hand. How did you even get accepted here? Why are you here?" The words came out as a bellow, echoing down the hall.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed, his frown tightening into a deep line. Emotion contorted onto his face, a pained expression that caught Hermione off guard. Before he could open his mouth to reply, the door to Hermione's flat cracked open.
"Hermione?" Veronica's head peeked out. "What are you doing, cooking a new meal out here?" she raised her eyebrows curiously at the display outside, her eyes flickering back and forth between the two.
"No, I'm ready." Hermione turned around on her heels, leaving Malfoy standing in his doorway.
"Who was that?" Veronica prodded, closing the door behind her as Hermione wordlessly unloaded the bag onto the dining room table.
"Nobody," Hermione insisted. She was determined for it to be true. She would not let Malfoy's presence get in the way of her dream to become a healer. As far as she was concerned, he wasn't there. She would just have to ignore him. She could do this. She could make it through the year without interacting with Malfoy.
When her alarm went off at 6 am, Hermione blinked the sleep out of her eyes momentarily confused by her surroundings. The room she was in was far too light to be the small, cozy room in the Weasley house, and the bed far too soft. As she glanced around at the soft green walls, and the fluffy white comforter, the day before came back to her. She was at Macmathans. It was her first day of classes. She jumped out of bed, grabbing her towel. She showered quickly, dressed in the simple, white training robes, and made herself a steaming cup of coffee, which she sipped as she color coded her schedule for the day.
"Shit, shit, shit!" She heard from Veronica's room, as her alarm went off for the fourth time, as Hermione poured her third cup of coffee. Hermione chuckled as the witch sprinted to the bathroom, towel in hand, turning back to her planner.
"How should I wear my hair?" Veronica asked frantically running out of her room with one side of her hair in a braid, the other clipped back.
"And which shoes?" she pulled up the legs of her robes to reveal two different boots.
"Uhh," Hermione said uncertainly, not confident in her credibility regarding choices of fashion.
"You're right, they're both terrible!" Veronica disappeared back into her room.
"We have to leave in five minutes," Hermione called after her.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she shouted back. "Fuck, I told myself I'd stop oversleeping once school started," she moaned. "So much for that."
Finally picking out shoes and sweeping her hair into a ponytail, they set off for the auditorium.
"You know, I really doubt you'll need every single book on the list for the first day," Veronica said, eyeing Hermione's bag skeptically. "Especially when you have them all memorized anyways."
"It can't hurt to be prepared," Hermione sniffed.
"You're going to have to use your new healing skills to put your back into place after lugging those all around!"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I can't wait to see Headmaster Callahan in person," Veronica continued. "She's made the top ten most influential wizards list for over 15 years in a row!"
Hermione nodded excitedly, perking up at this course of conversation. "I read a biography of her last month. Did you know she invented the goblin stitch on the spot fighting in the Scandinavian goblin revolt?"
Veronica shook her head in awe.
As they neared the center of campus, the sidewalks filled with other students in white robes, all streaming toward the auditorium. "I didn't realize how big Macmathan is," Veronica breathed.
When they reached the auditorium, both witches stopped short in awe. The closest resemblance Hermione could think of to the auditorium was a cross between a cathedral and a broadway theater. The space glowed with warmth, color streaming through the expansive stained glass windows, a kaleidoscope of light filling the space beneath the high, gold arches of the ceiling.
"It's stunning!" Veronica gasped. They moved to take seats in the rows of velvet seats, taking in their surroundings. A few rows in front of them, Hermione picked out the dark curls of Declan, next to the white-blond back of what could only be Malfoy's head. As if he sensed her gaze, Declan turned around, his eyes lighting up in recognition when he spotted Hermione, offering a wave and grin in her direction. Hermione smiled and waved back.
"Who's that?" Veronica hissed in her ear.
"Declan, our neighbor, remember?" Hermione whispered. "The one whose food we got. I met him when I was moving in yesterday."
"That's Declan?" Veronica's eyes widened appreciatively. "You failed to mention how incredibly hot he is."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Oh, come on," Veronica elbowed her. "Cut the act. You can't tell me you don't think he's ridiculously hot." Malfoy turned too, his gaze darkening when it landed on Hermione, turning back around immediately to face the front.
"Him too. In a totally opposite way, that tortured, edgy kind of way, but still, undeniably hot. Thank you to residential life for that."
"I am not thanking residential life for putting Malfoy next to us," Hermione said sharply. "He's a bad person. "
Veronica shrugged. "Whatever. Callahan must have seen something in him if she accepted him."
To this, Hermione had nothing to say, having had wondered how Malfoy had gotten admitted herself.
"Good morning, young healers." A thunderous voice echoed through the auditorium, immediately clearing the space of all sounds. A wiry older woman dressed in robes of deep emerald crossed the auditorium stage to stand at the podium, her arms raised in greetings. Though she was small and couldn't have been taller than 5'3", the power in her presence was palpable, and every single set of eyes was glued admiringly on her. Her hair was white as snow, held up in a sleek bun on top of her head, and her pointed chin was raised confidently.
"I would firstly like to extend a warm welcome to our new students," she began in a clear, sharp voice belonging to that of a much younger woman. "You have chosen an admirable profession to pursue, and if you work hard, your time here will equip you with the tools to save lives. It is no small feat, to have the lives of others in your hands, but you have all been admitted to the top healing institution in the world because you are accomplished, promising young people, and I have no doubt that each of you will rise to meet the expectations of this program over the next two years." She paused, letting her sharp green eyes float around the sea of faces. Hermione swore they lingered in the direction of Malfoy but couldn't be sure.
"Over the last two years in particular, the necessity of healing has been, unfortunately, made irrefutably clear. Throughout wizarding history, conflicts have led to bloodshed countless times, but it is our obligation as healers to alleviate the sufferings of others, and to remedy and restore health and hope to all in the face of destruction."
The room was silent, not even the creaking of a chair to be heard.
"But with that, I acknowledge that healing is no easy profession. I urge you all to lean on one another and to create support networks throughout your time here. They will serve you well. As first-year students, you will be required to take the fundamental courses of healing. Some of these will be more familiar than others from your secondary education. You will be mastering healing charms and enchantments, tinctures and elixirs, emergency and trauma, and anatomy. You should have all received your course schedules via owl. You have additionally each been assigned a student dean, according to your housing placements. Deans Pruitt, Orozco, and Kinley." She gestured in turn to the professors seated in the chairs facing the students.
"Now, I wish you all a wonderful start to the semester." With that, she vanished with a little burst of sparks, signaling the assembly's dismissal.
"I've got anatomy first, where are you headed?" Veronica asked, squinting at her own schedule as they filed out of the auditorium.
"Apothecary studies," Hermione recited from memory, a little disappointed not to have class together.
"Oh no," Veronica groaned. "Can't you just pretend to be in my classes?"
Hermione laughed. "I'll meet you for lunch. Let me know how Pruitt is, I've heard he's a hardass."
Veronica paled slightly as Hermione veered to walk towards the greenhouse. "Bye!"
"Hey, Hermione!" a familiar voice called from behind her. Declan ran up beside her, panting slightly. "Do you have apothecary studies first too? Thank Merlin!" An expression of relief crossed over his face. "I was not looking forward to walking in there alone." Hermione smiled, falling into step next to him.
"Also, thanks for bringing my food over last night, sorry I missed you."
It was hard to look at Declan, with his unfiltered enthusiasm, without smiling in return.
"So I guess you met my roommate, then. Not the friendliest, I'll admit, but I'm determined to get through to him." He smiled good-naturedly.
"I actually knew him already," Hermione said bitterly. "We went to school together. We… we weren't exactly the best of friends."
That was an understatement if there ever was one, but she was determined not to rehash her Malfoy history any more than possible. He's nobody, she reminded herself.
Declan nodded thoughtfully.
"He doesn't seem like he knows how to have friends."
Hermione considered this for a moment. She remembered Malfoy always being surrounded by people at Hogwarts, but they were always more like sidekicks than friends, now that she thought about it. "But what do I know, I only met the guy yesterday."
"Well, you should be careful around him. He's… unpredictable, and he's dangerous. You do know about his… his history?" Hermione asked carefully, not sure how much to disclose. Declan nodded somberly.
"I read all about it. I wasn't sure what to do when I saw that he was assigned to be my flatmate. I think they intentionally sent my assignment late, so I wouldn't be able to request a change. Given what I'd heard, he's not what I expected him to be so far. I haven't seen him at all, he's really just been in his room."
Hermione felt a pang of curiosity, wanting to probe further as to what it was like being placed in housing with Draco Malfoy, but they'd reached the large, bright greenhouse, surrounded by a garden that nearly took Hermione's breath away. Bordering a small, clear pond, where wildflowers and herbs grew freely on the banks, rows of plants sprouted all throughout the perimeter. A tall, willowy man who Hermione assumed to be Professor Kinley stood at the front, ushering the class inside like a mother duck.
Hermione sat at the desk next to Declan, and pulled out her extra-long scroll and quill, looking attentively up at the front of the room.
Although Professor Plunkworth drawled on about the nuances of different bandaging charms for nearly thirty minutes, losing at least half the class to naps or side conversations, Draco sat diligently in the back-left corner, keeping his head down as he jotted down notes.
At long last, the enchanted clock on the classroom wall chimed to mark the end of class, and students eagerly swept their papers into their bags to head to their next class. A girl bumped into Draco's elbow on the way out, and he flinched away instinctively, sharply. She gave him a vaguely offended look before whisking off in the other direction.
Nice going, he said to himself. You look like a maniac or a douche, or both.
It felt incredibly alien to be around people his own age again, after spending almost two years in the company of nobody except for his mother. It felt strange to be around anyone at all, or even just to be outside.
How bloody pathetic. Reacting to the brush of a shoulder as if he'd been burned, like some awkward first year. At Hogwarts, he'd had quite the reputation, having shagged half the girls in Slytherin- and some Ravenclaws by the time the war picked up and his forced servitude to Voldemort effectively eliminated his sex drive.
He felt the eyes of his peers bore into his back as he walked towards the main hospital, hearing whispers erupt as he passed by. Most of the looks were dirty glares, or worse, fear, but a few looked at him curiously, a few girls even shooting him suggestive glances.
"That's the death eater," he heard whispered audbily from behind him. "I didn't expect him to be so hot. Maybe bad boy is my type after all."
Draco's stomach crawled, but he didn't turn, just sped up his pace.
At the entrance to the teaching hospital, a tall, stern-looking woman of middle age stood with her arms crossed as students gathered around. As the next group of students entered, Draco's heart sank deeper into his stomach. If things got any worse he was convinced he'd feel it sink all the way to his balls.
Of course Hermione Bloody Granger was in his Trauma class. How utterly ironic. And of course she was walking in with his roommate, already on the merry road to friendship. Declan leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and she laughed a light, tinkling laugh like wind chimes.
He felt perspiration building beneath his arms. Granger's abrupt showing up at his door the night before had thoroughly rattled him. For a moment he'd been convinced he was having one of his recurring nightmares, frequently featuring his classmates, but she really was there, standing in front of him in her cat slippers, her hair slightly longer and face sharper, but otherwise the same as he remembered her. And she'd stood there, a golden beacon of righteousness, the very personification of morality and choices all made right, all in the form of one, small woman, and he could not take it. Her virtue reflected back to him everything he was not, every bad choice she'd made. And now it would be thrust in his face every time he opened his bloody door.
So much for moving forward, as McGonigal had assured him in that peculiar meeting of theirs.
He glowered as she pulled the obnoxiously thick textbook out of her bag, pushing her resistant curls out of her face as she squinted down at the text.
Declan, scanning the room, attempted to catch Draco's eye with a wave, but Malfoy pointedly avoided his gaze, fixing his gaze downwards at the desk. The last thing he needed was the sympathy of his dopey roommate, especially when he would likely soon hate him or be terrified of him, once Granger gave him a proper rundown of his track record.
At last, Professor Orozco signaled for the beginning of class with the raising of a strong hand.
Professor Orozco was a loud, gruff woman with a thick brow that she enjoyed furrowing at students when they said unintelligent things (which was surprisingly frequently, considering it was supposedly the best medical university in the world). Most of the students shrunk away when she crossed to their side of the room, but oddly, Draco found her significantly more tolerable than the wimpy, soft professors from Hogwarts. She was clear, to the point, and left no room for formalities, which was a tremendous upgrade as far as Draco was concerned. He hated people who cushioned the meaning of their words with pointless details. And there was nothing -nothing- he hated more than when a professor addressed the class as "friends," as Professor Plunkworth had taken to. But Orozco wasn't that kind of professor, thank Merlin.
Trauma and Emergency, Orozco had told them, was the closest they would get to performing real healing during their time as students, and the only course that took place in the actual hospital. They'd begin by learning basic skills and techniques, but, once they proved they were not completely inept -her direct words- they'd be shadowing the healers in the real emergency center.
At this announcement, the students were positively buzzing. Granger's ambitious eyes had stretched into excited saucers as if Orozco had just announced she was going to give them each a thousand galleons and dance the merengue.
"Now," Orozco shouted-well, she spoke in her regular voice, but it sounded like shouting- "who can tell me the spell that leads to the highest number of trauma center visits?"
Nobody raised their hands. Granger tore violently through her textbook, her forehead scrunched up frantically as she searched for the answer.
"The accio spell." Draco surprised himself by speaking the words out loud. The whole room turned to look at him as if he were a zoo animal who suddenly stood up on its hind legs.
Professor Orozco looked over at him, simultaneously approving and curious. "That's right. And why is that?"
"It's the result of people summoning objects that are too large for them to properly control, leading to injury," Draco muttered, squirming under the sudden attention. What had gotten into him? Apparently his old competitive know it all attitude died hard, even in shame.
Granger's jaw hung open in frustration, positively bursting with frustration.
"Very good." Orozco nodded once, then turned back to the class, and Draco shrunk further back into his seat, hoping to cancel out his outburst by retreating into invisibility for the rest of the class. The perspiration gathered again, and Draco felt his foot tap tap tapping against the floor compulsively.
When Orozco eventually dismissed them for lunch with a haphazard grunt, students began clotting together in little groups on the quad to flock to the university café, when Malfoy heard that windchime laugh again. Granger was walking with Declan and a petite Asian girl, who was emphatically gesticulating as she told a story that was making Declan and Granger erupt into laughter.
Not wanting to be spotted, Draco darted down a side path behind the hospital, trailing in the opposite direction from the café. He wasn't hungry anyways. He hadn't had much appetite at all in the past year, for that matter. He soon realized that he was heading towards the university library, a grand, Greek-style limestone building, with modest pillars around the front doors. As it was the first day, it seemed to be relatively empty, to Draco's relief. The first floor was the library's main attraction, with high, arched ceilings, and numerous long tables for working, but the open space made Draco anxious, and so he followed a sign for the basement stairs.
The basement of the library seemed primarily to be for archives, dimly lit and crammed with tall, mahogany bookcases. But to Draco, it was perfect, a haven, and he settled himself in a small alcove, where, finally assured of his solitude, he took out his book to read before next class, willing himself to relax enough for his leg to stop shaking.
After sitting quietly through two more classes, diligently note-taking without any more outbursts, he began his retreat back to Kinley Hall. The village was lively with students and villagers weaving in and out of stores, and Draco thought with a pang of when he'd visited Eriwald as a young teenager with Blaise. His healer dream still repressed to a shadow, he'd claimed he'd wanted to check out the vibrant nightlife of the town, and as he'd walked this very street, he'd imagined himself in those pubs and stores and nightclubs with friends as Macmathan student.
Now, he stalked back to flat 206 alone, keeping his head down as he walked. Unlike everyone else, he was firmly not on the merry road to friendship.
Flat 206 was a small, modest accommodation, one that a few years prior, he would've turned his nose up towards in disdain. Now, he was content to be anywhere but his family estate, haunted by portraits of past relatives every time he so much as went down the hall to take a piss, and was relieved by the simple privacy of his room, furnished with a cheap plywood desk and a cushy double bed with a slight sag. It was the antithesis of what he was used to, and that was why it was perfect.
Beginning to feel dangerously overstimulated by the day's events, he sunk on top of said cushy bed, covering his arms over his eyes, willing his body to keep the nausea and cold sweat at bay. He couldn't have slept more than 45 minutes the night before, his usual nighttime demons particularly persistent in the transition, and his brain felt like it had been muddled in a cocktail shaker.
Not for the first time, he questioned whether coming here had been a grave mistake.
What are you doing here? How did you even get accepted here? Granger's accusation from the night before reverberated through the mush. Not that he could blame her.
He would've been content to rot in his bedroom of the manor until he withered and died, had it not been for the surprise visit of a certain old professor of his- and not one, by the way, who'd not particularly liked him. It wasn't long after the trial, the reporters and owls still frequenting outside his home, when Minerva McGonigal had marched up the black onyx steps of the Malfoy Manor, requesting Draco's company. But lying with the lights off, fighting tremors in his hands, Draco feared the witch's optimism had misguided her. He wasn't cut out to be a healer. Anyone could see it. He was fooling himself by thinking for even a moment that he could ever redeem the unforgivable things he had done.
A knock on his door pulled him out of his wallowing and self-loathing. "What do you want?" he grumbled resentfully, not bothering to sit up. The door cracked open, and Draco peeked through the space in his arms to see Declan sticking his head in, as goddamn perky and jolly as ever, either ignoring or unnoticing Draco's venomous scowl.
"I'm chuffed. I was about to owl in some meat pies from that pub on the corner. I still haven't gotten around to going to the grocery. Do you fancy anything?"
"No," Draco grumbled response, pulling his arms tighter around his head in hopes that his roommate would leave him the hell alone, but his traitorous stomach growled audibly at that moment.
"Well, I'll order extras, anyways. I figure we'll eat them throughout the week." Declan stepped back out, leaving Draco to his privacy. "Join me if you'd like."
Despite resigning himself to wallow in his chambers -bedroom, he mentally corrected himself- as soon as the mouthwatering aroma of fresh meat pies wafted through his room, tender and sweet, his mouth began to water, his stomach pointedly reminding him that he hadn't consumed anything other than three cups of black coffee that day. Reluctantly, he gingerly set aside his pride and slinked out of his room, delicately taking the seat across from Declan at the table.
Declan said nothing, but Draco could have sworn he saw a faint smile play across his mouth. Draco opened his mouth to make a snide comment, but his usual cleverness evaded him, so he conceded to take a delicate nibble of one of the flaky pies.
Oh. He took another bite, and another. Oh my. Fuck. It was fucking delicious. It was the best thing he'd ever eaten. Maybe the best thing anyone had ever eaten. It could have been that he hadn't eaten a proper meal in God knows how long, his body's way of encouraging the behavior, but he was gobsmacked. He devoured the meat pie in mere seconds before reaching for another.
"They're good, right?" Declan said, taking another for himself.
His mouth full, Draco just nodded.
"So, how'd you find day one?" Declan asked, swallowing his mouthful.
Draco shook his head. "You don't need to do that."
"Do what?" Declan said, confused.
"The whole fucking thing. The formalities, asking about my day. There's no need. We're not friends."
"Well, couldn't we become friends?"
"No!" It came out as a roar, the unhinged edge coming through in his voice. "I know you know who I am, and all the fucked up things I've done, and anything you don't know you're sure to learn from Granger, so you should have realized by now that I'm not the kind of person who goes around looking for new friends." He was fed up with all the guileless Hufflepuf-like people, and their sunshine and rainbows fantasies. He reached into his pocket, and threw a galleon down on the table. "For the food. I don't need any fucking favors."
And with that, he stalked off to his room, slamming the door behind him, feeling the familiar woozy weakness sink back in.
"Assigning an essay already in the first week?" Veronica moaned, burying her face in her textbook. She was lying on the fluffy living room rug, a series of papers and books cocooning her. "On the first day? Orozco's going to be the death of me."
Hermione, who was curled up on the couch already proofreading a draft of said essay, which she'd cranked out after classes, rolled her eyes. "You sound like my Hogwarts friends. We are here to get an education, you know."
Veronica pouted. "But I'm too cute to have to work so hard. I should've just married a ministry banker and become a housewife! This school is going to age me prematurely."
"I'm sure you'll still be pretty even if you're all wrinkled up before the age of 25."
"That's not even funny. It could happen." She felt her face tenderly for any signs of wrinkles. "Maybe I should just use this as an opportunity to find a healer husband, and then I can drop out."
Hermione snorted. "I vaguely recall you declaring healing to be your lifelong dream hardly more than 24 hours ago."
Veronica threw a pillow at her, missing widely. "That doesn't mean I can't consider my options!" She settled back down on the floor, utilizing her emergency trauma textbook as a pillow. "Husband aside, at this point, I'd at least settle for a boyfriend."
"Aren't you meant to be writing your essay?" Hermione chided.
"Oh, humor me, I'm bored to death. I haven't had a good romance in ages. You seem like you could use a little too," she added mischievously.
Hermione chucked the pillow back at her. "I don't know if that's within my emotional capacity right now," she said, honestly.
"What about Declan? He's cute." Veronica prodded. "If you're into the nice guy type."
Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Declan's sweet, and I'm glad we're friends, but no. I've been with that guy before, the goofy, golden-retriever boy, and can't do it again." She thought back to her brief relationship with Ron, spurred by the emotional intensity of the war, and soon fizzled into a passionless, unmatched dynamic such that they'd called it quits quite soon. "I loved Ron, but we never really had that spark. That passion. I think we just fooled ourselves into thinking it was there because the war brought us so close. But in the aftermath, it's hard for the spark to last when you have to cut the crusts off someone's sandwiches every day." For once, she secretly wanted to be protected, and cared for, instead of the other way around. She loved caring for her friends, but she'd been spread so thin, she didn't think she had enough left for someone like Ron or Declan. She wanted something different.
"I get that." Veronica grinned. "That's why I only date assholes. You never get tied down." Her face sobered.
"What was it like, being in the war. My whole family went back to Hong Kong when everything started, but it sounded just unimaginable."
Hermione nodded, feeling the familiar sadness that always accompanied reminiscing of the war. "It was horrible. After it was all over, I wasn't sure how I'd ever manage to move on with life, after everything I'd seen and endured. I'm still not sure sometimes. It changed me, but sometimes I don't completely know who I am now. And we were all just kids. We still are." She chewed her lip.
"Are you gonna talk to that guy?" Veronica asked. "The one from Hogwarts, who was on, you know… the other side?" she whispered.
"I don't know," she answered truthfully.
When she lay down in bed, her eyes felt heavy with exhaustion, but her mind still wired. She sighed, making herself comfortable for what she already knew would be another sleepless night.
Unbeknownst to her, hardly 50 feet away, Draco Malfoy lay staring up at the same faded ceiling, not even bothering to count sheep.
