Chapter 5: Shadows of What Once Was

Harry stood outside Hermione's door, his hand hovering just above the wood as he hesitated to knock. The air was thick with a kind of oppressive silence that weighed heavily on his shoulders, pressing down on him with the weight of all the things he wished he could say, but knew he never would. He was here, outside the door of his best friend, but he felt like an intruder, like someone who didn't belong in the life she was struggling to hold together.

Finally, he rapped his knuckles against the door, the sound echoing dully in the empty hallway. There was a pause, a moment of stillness, before the door creaked open. Hermione stood there, her eyes unfocused, staring past him as if she didn't even register his presence. She looked like a ghost, a shadow of the girl he had known during the war—pale, gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and endless worry.

"Hey," Harry said softly, his voice almost a whisper. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and watched as Hermione moved back to the couch, her movements slow and mechanical. She didn't say a word, just sat down, her gaze fixed on some point in the distance, lost in the abyss of her thoughts.

Harry's heart ached at the sight of her, at the sight of the girl who had once been so full of life, now reduced to this. He didn't know how to reach her, didn't know how to pull her out of the darkness that seemed to have swallowed her whole. But then again, he wasn't sure he could help her even if he tried—he was just as lost, just as broken, trapped in a life that felt like it was spinning out of control.

He sat down beside her, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. "Hermione," he began, unsure of what to say, of how to begin. But Hermione didn't respond, her eyes still unfocused, her mind miles away.

Harry sighed, leaning back against the couch. He wanted to tell her about Pansy, about the brief, unsettling encounter he had had in Knockturn Alley. But somehow, it felt like the wrong time, like that conversation belonged to another day, another life.

What really shocked Harry was the sight of George, walking down the stairs, buttoning his shirt. The two men locked eyes, and for a moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them—a shared sense of loss, of knowing that they were both clinging to whatever scraps of comfort they could find in a world that had taken so much from them.

Hermione's gaze flickered to George, and there was a look of thankfulness in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of what they had shared, of the fact that this was the last time they would be together. There was no need for apologies, no need for explanations. They all understood what this was, what it had always been—a brief respite from the loneliness that consumed them all.

George walked over to Harry, a sad smile playing on his lips. "You know, it's not too late to back out of the wedding," he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of resigned wisdom. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to settle for something that isn't real."

Harry chuckled, the sound hollow in the quiet room. "Since when did I ever take the easy way out?" he replied, trying to inject some humor into his tone, but it fell flat.

George shook his head, a knowing look in his eyes. "Just don't lose yourself, Harry. Don't let this take away the part of you that's still fighting." He glanced at Hermione, his expression softening. "We all deserve more than this."

He turned back to Hermione, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he stepped closer. He kissed her, deeply, passionately, as if trying to convey everything he couldn't put into words. Hermione responded, her hand reaching up to touch his face, to hold onto the moment, knowing it was the last they would share.

When George finally pulled away, Hermione's eyes were filled with tears, but there was something else there too—acceptance. She knew this was the end, that they had both reached the point where they couldn't continue down this path. She loved him, she did, but it wasn't enough, and they both knew it.

George left, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Hermione and Harry alone in the suffocating silence. Hermione lingered in the aftermath of the kiss, her fingers touching her lips as if she could still feel him there. But he was gone, and the finality of it hit her like a wave, leaving her adrift in a sea of emotions she couldn't name.

She turned to Harry, her eyes brimming with tears, and before she could stop herself, she started to cry. The tears came in a flood, and soon they turned to laughter—bitter, hollow laughter that echoed off the walls. Harry watched her, his own heart breaking at the sight of his best friend unravelling before him.

He wanted to comfort her, wanted to say something that would make it all better, but the words wouldn't come. He knew what she was going to say, knew that she didn't care anymore, that they were both too far gone to pretend that things would ever be okay again.

Hermione wiped at her tears, the laughter dying in her throat as she looked at Harry. She wanted to tell him about Malfoy, about the way she had bumped into him in Diagon Alley, how it had shaken her to her core. But today wasn't the day. They both needed a break from the darkness, needed a moment of light, even if it was fleeting.

So they talked—about anything and everything, the sun, the sky, the way the world kept spinning even when it felt like it should stop. They laughed, they joked, they let the moment carry them away from the pain that was always waiting just below the surface.

For a little while, they were lighter, happier, free from the burdens they carried. It wasn't much, but it was something. And for now, that was enough.