All day, I've tried to focus on Professor Sprout's homework. Some nonsense about rare plants that now blur like smoke across the page.
The words refuse to stick. The world feels muffled, like it's pressing against glass, and all I can hear is the pounding thrum of my own heart. Every thought, every flicker of breath, leads back to him.
Fred and George said the potion would work by dinner. They seemed sure. And I want to believe them. I need to believe that by tonight, this will all be over.
This ache. This desperate longing. This pull toward Draco Malfoy that clings to me like ivy around my ribs.
But what if it doesn't work?
What if the ache is permanent, woven into my skin, into my bones? What if I never get to feel this way again?
And worse, what if it does work?
What if I wake up tomorrow and he's gone from me, entirely? No ache. No longing. No heartbeat skipping at the sound of his voice.
No memory of the way his eyes softened, just for a moment, when they met mine.
That's what I should want. To be free. To be whole again.
But the truth is... I don't want it to work.
There's a part of me, small but relentless, that clings to every fleeting second we shared. The brush of his hand. The storm in his eyes. The silence between us that said too much.
What happens to that part of me when the potion takes hold?
Will I lose her too?
"Hermione?"
Ginny's voice jolts me back to reality. I look up, blinking.
"Are you coming to dinner?"
"Can I?" My voice sounds far away, like I'm asking permission from the air itself.
She tilts her head, arms crossed, but her eyes kind. "Fred and George said the potion would kick in by now. They're confident."
Confident. I should be too.
But I'm not.
She nudges my arm with hers, teasing, "Besides, we've got to test it, don't we? I need to see if you stop drooling over Draco Malfoy the second you see him."
I laugh, but it comes out brittle, hollow. Previously, I'd have rolled my eyes and called her ridiculous. Now... I can't deny it.
I would. I would fall into him again if he so much as looked my way.
"We need to prove it," I say, but the words feel foreign, as if I borrowed them from someone else. Someone braver. Someone who doesn't still dream of him.
We walk together to the Great Hall, and I feel my pulse ticking faster with every step.
The usual warmth greets us. Laughter, clinking silverware, roasted meats and soft bread, but it all feels distant. I scan the Slytherin table before I even realize I'm doing it.
He's not there.
Neither are Crabbe or Goyle.
I should feel relieved. I should take this as a sign that the potion is working.
But instead, I feel... hollow.
I take my seat among the Gryffindors, poking at my food like it might bite back.
"Hermione?" Parvati leans in, her brows pinched. "I thought you were still sick?"
"I'm better now," I lie.
She gives me a small smile, her voice gentle. "I heard you were crying this morning. Are you okay?"
My breath catches.
"You heard?" My voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
She nods, squeezing my hand. "I told Ginny to check on you. And for what it's worth... I still think you and Ron made more sense than he and Lavender."
Ron?
The name is foreign to my tongue. My mind can't hold onto him. Not now. Not when my entire soul is preoccupied with someone else.
Dinner passes in a haze, every moment haunted by the same burning question:
Will Draco show up?
Will I still ache when he does?
Will the potion erase him from me?
Or worse, what if it doesn't?
I try to eat. I try to listen. But my gaze keeps drifting back to the doors.
And then... nothing.
He never comes.
No Draco.
No closure.
No relief.
The ache remains, a storm beneath my skin.
I push back my chair too quickly. "I need some air."
Ginny starts to rise, concerned. "Hermione..."
"I'm fine," I cut her off, already halfway to the door.
The corridor outside is quiet. The cold hits immediately, sharp and sobering. I wrap my arms around myself and try to breathe.
Then I see him.
Draco.
And Astoria.
He's walking beside her like they belong to the same world. They look like a painting. Polished, effortless, untouchable.
And me?
I'm falling apart in a hallway.
I don't think. I move. Feet carrying me forward before I can stop myself.
I reach out and grab his sleeve. My fingers tremble against the fabric.
And when he turns to me, when his eyes meet mine, I forget how to breathe.
Because he doesn't look surprised.
He looks… unreadable.
Empty.
Like I'm not even there.
But I am. I'm here. I'm right in front of him.
I need him to see me.
Please, see me.
Before I know what I'm doing, I kiss him.
It's clumsy. Desperate. Not like the dream. Not like the apple. Not like anything I imagined.
It's cold. Firm. A wall.
There's no warmth in it. No pull. No tenderness. Just the shape of his mouth and the silence between us.
He doesn't pull me in.
He doesn't push me away.
But he doesn't kiss me back either.
He's just there.
Still. Frozen.
And in that stillness, something inside me breaks.
Because for half a second, just one half a second, I thought he was going to lean in. I thought he might return it. I thought he might want me too.
But he didn't.
He stood there like stone.
Like none of it meant anything.
I stagger back, breath catching in my throat, and his expression doesn't change. Eyes wide. Mouth parted. A flicker in his gaze, but it's too fast, too distant. I can't read it.
I don't want to.
Because in this moment, I already know the truth.
He didn't want it.
He doesn't want me.
The ache that's lived in my chest for days wraps its claws around my lungs. Tighter. Sharper.
I try to step away. Try to swallow down the wave crashing inside me.
But something is wrong.
The world tilts. The corridor stretches too far, the floor slides up toward me too fast, and I know, I know I'm not going to stay on my feet.
My legs give out. Everything goes dark.
And the last thing I feel is not his touch, or his voice, or any warmth at all.
It's the space between us.
Still. Cold.
Empty.