Hermione Granger walked through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, the air still humming with latent magic. She glanced around, her brown eyes absorbing every crack and corner, every shadow that seemed to whisper memories of the past year. The battle had left an indelible mark, not only on the castle but on the hearts of everyone who survived.
As she turned a corner, she collided with Draco Malfoy. For a split second, the ghost of their past animosities surfaced. But instead of the sneer she expected, Hermione saw something else—a flicker of sorrow, perhaps?
"Granger," Draco greeted her, his voice devoid of its usual derision.
"Malfoy," she replied cautiously, her guard still up. "How have you been?"
Draco's eyes flitted away, as if searching for something in the cobblestones of the floor. "I'm... here," he said, barely above a whisper. "Trying."
Hermione nodded, her own emotions a tempest. She wanted to believe that people could change, that they could be better, but Draco? Still, the war had changed everyone. She had to admit, he looked more human now, less the caricature of pureblood arrogance he once was.
They stood in silence, the weight of unsaid words hanging heavily between them. It was then that Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the corridors, announcing the beginning of the welcome-back feast.
Shouldering her apprehension, Hermione walked past Draco and into the Great Hall.
—
Hermione found herself sitting between Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, the Great Hall alight with enchanted candles and the murmur of reunited friends. Plates of rich food appeared before them, but her appetite was nowhere to be found. Harry and Ron were animatedly discussing Quidditch—again.
She glanced at her two best friends, feeling a pang of nostalgia. How many times had they sat like this, unaware of the dark days ahead? Now, everything was different. The shadows in their eyes mirrored her own.
"Hermione? You okay?" Harry's voice broke through her thoughts.
Ron looked up from his plate, concern knitting his brow. "Yeah, you've been awfully quiet. Everything alright?"
Hermione took a deep breath, staring at her untouched plate. "I ran into Draco earlier," she said quietly. The effect was immediate—Harry's jaw tightened, and Ron's fork clattered onto his plate.
"What's he up to now?" Ron scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Trying to steal our seats at the table, or just being an overall git?"
"Actually, he seemed... different," Hermione admitted, feeling the weight of their scrutiny. "He wasn't rude or anything. He seemed almost... remorseful."
Harry looked skeptical. "Malfoy? Remorseful? Are you sure it wasn't a trick?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. There was something in his eyes. I think he's genuinely trying to change."
Ron snorted. "I'll believe that when Malfoy starts hugging Muggle-borns and singing 'Ode to Joy.'"
Harry leaned in closer, his voice softer but serious. "Look, Hermione, you're one of the smartest witches I know. If you think he's changed, then maybe he has. But be careful. He's hurt you before, and old habits die hard."
Hermione nodded, grateful for Harry's understanding. "I know. I just wonder if people really can change after everything. If he can, then maybe there's hope for all of us."
Ron sighed, relenting a bit. "Just promise us you won't let your guard down too easily."
Hermione gave a small smile. "I promise."
The chatter of the Great Hall continued around them, but among the trio a comfortable silence fell, and Hermione found her thoughts drifting towards Draco.
—