Chapter Text
Hermione slid into a train compartment, the laughter and chatter of her friends washing over her like static. She stared out the window, lost in thought before she could even realize it.
Summer had been brutal.
She had traveled to Australia, with Harry and Ron, to restore her parents’ memories. It had taken her three and a half months of blood, sweat and tears but she finally managed to crack the spell open, to erase every bit of the Obliviate spell from her parents’ minds.
Unfortunately, in the process of restoring their memory, something else had fractured. Her and Ron— well, there was no more “them”. Their whole relationship consisted of four months of constant tension: arguments whenever she got back late to their shared hotel room; whenever she lost herself into research for days at a time or whenever she gave more attention to Harry than to him. Their attempts at reconciliation had become sessions of mid sex that barely got Hermione satisfied.
Hermione had tried to make it work, she really had. After all, she had been desperately in love with Ronald Weasley since she was fourteen. But Ron had not been the same since Fred’s death. And even though Hermione understood his grief, his insecurities, she didn’t survive a war just to be diminished and stifled by an insecure man blinded by sorrow and pain.
So she ended things.
Quietly and with the kind of finality that settled deep into your bones and knocked breaths out of you. It was painful, both for her and for Ron. When she left their shared hotel room she found herself sitting on a bench on an Australian street, realizing she had no idea who she was anymore without the two boys— she was no one outside the Golden Trio, not even to herself.
So she wrote to Professor McGonagall, in hopes of being allowed to return to Hogwarts and do the one thing she knew how to do. School. Grades. Essays. Homework. She wasn’t certain the Headmistress would even consider her request to return, not after a year spent chasing horcruxes and leaving all kind of school responsibility behind.
Yet she had been granted a second chance.
And there she was now, in the Hogwarts Express, looking out the window and deep in thought about a freckled redhead boy and how-
“‘Mione! Hey!” A Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean hit her temple and fell to her lap. She turned around and found Ginny, Luna and Neville all staring at her. “Quit brooding, Head Girl. Your Head Boy is here and he looks super excited” Ginny giggled, while pointing with her thumb outside the compartment.
There stood Theodore Nott, with the biggest scowl Hermione had ever seen in her life. He looked different than she remembered, with deep bags under his eyes and new scars on his jaw and hands, clearly a consequence of the war. His brown curly hair was longer than it had ever been and his robes fit him but barely, clearly having outgrown them.
She blinked at Ginny. “He’s already here?”
“We’ve been on the train for four hours. Of course he’s already here” she gave Hermione a weird look. “You alright?”
“Right. Four hours” she straightened in her seat. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because I can tell Head Boy here to wait for you to end your emotional internal dialogue?”
Hermione flushed. “I wasn’t- I- I was not giving a monologue.”
Neville grinned. “Didn’t seem like it, ‘Mione. You were one sigh away from full-blown poetry.”
“Fine. I’ll go.” She stood up and tossed the bean to Ginny, who caught it with her mouth. She started cheering on her accomplishment while Hermione slipped out of the compartment.
“Theo” she stood right in front of him, back pressed against the door she had just closed. “Hi”
“Granger” his scowl softened just a bit as he locked eyes with her. “Head Girl. Congratulations”
“You too.” Hermione shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “How was- Um- How was your summer?”
He chuckled. “Not better than yours, for sure. How’s the weasel?”
She felt her throat tighten up and tears burning behind her eyes. She knew people would ask her about Ron. What she didn’t expect was to feel so pathetic about it. Golden Girl failing at something, who would’ve thought. Hermione felt angry for letting herself get caught in a situation like this. Especially after the public display that was her and Ron’s first kiss.
She lifted her chin and cleared her throat, refusing to let her voice betray her. “We broke up”
Theo’s eyes flickered over her face. “Huh. Shame” he said, voice unreadable. “All those years of tension for nothing.”
Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You say that like you were keeping score.”
“Oh, I wasn’t” he leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “But the entire school was. Well- maybe I threw couple galleons here and there.” He shrugged.
She crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes. “Of course they were.”
He stayed silent, watching her. Neither of them said anything. When Hermione was about to turn on her heel and go back to her friends, his voice filled the space between them. “I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been easy.”
She watched him, examining her tone. There was some hint of honesty buried in it, like someone trying to give comfort when they weren’t used to it. Hermione tilted her head. “It wasn’t. But it was the right thing to do.”
Theo studied her for a beat, then gave an approving nod. He pushed off the wall and began walking. “Come on. We’re supposed to lead the prefect's meeting, Granger.”
She fell into step behind him, glad he didn’t continue with the conversation. That was one thing she had always admired from Slytherins. They didn’t press when you were upset or gave you empty words. They were just… there. Constant. Present. And today, Hermione was grateful for that.
Hermione sighed and Theo looked back at her. His eyes drifted up and down, watching her. “You’ve changed”
She looked at him, surprised. “So have you, Nott”
He gave a low chuckle. “Change’s not a bad thing, Granger”
The prefects’ compartment was already half-full when Theo slid the door open. The chatter died instantly at the sight of them. Hermione recognized a few faces: the Patil’s sisters, Ernie Macmillan and even Daphne Greengrass, whose face was the perfect representation of absolute boredom. But it wasn’t until she spotted a tall blonde figure leaning against the far window that Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.
Draco bloody Malfoy.
She hadn’t expected him. No one had told her he’d be returning to Hogwarts, let alone as a prefect. It hit her like a Bludger to the chest.
He looked different. His hair was longer, falling over his brows, and there was a slouch to his posture that hadn’t been there before the war. He looked like someone permanently braced for impact. His grey eyes flicked toward her as she stepped inside.
Hermione froze. Her fingers instinctively reached for the hem of her sleeve, tugging it sharply over her wrist, right over the scar that spelled out ‘Mudblood’.
Her forearm burned, her heart felt like a bird trapped in a cage. He had been there that day, she knew he heard her screams and cries. Hermione could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting. She swallowed her, locked her jaw and marched forward like nothing had happened.
“Alright,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “Let’s begin.”
Theo dropped into a seat across from her, legs stretched out lazily while she remained upright, spine straight and professional.
“Let’s start with patrol schedules,” she said. “We’ll be implementing rotating shifts for late evenings, especially around Hogsmeade weekends and the Quidditch Cup. I’ll need two volunteers for Thursdays—”
“I’d rather not patrol with Gryffindors” Daphne’s voice cut through, her eyes looking at her manicure. “I’d prefer not to be hexed before breakfast”
Theo finally spoke. “Don’t flatter yourself, Greengrass. I’ve patrolled with you. You got lost in the second-floor corridor twice. For looking at yourself in a mirror and not at the actual corridor, may I add.”
A few people snickered. Hermione felt the corner of her mouth tugging upwards.
“Moving on…” she continued, dividing the schedule quickly. She announced the pairings she had drawn up based on past performance and coverage needs. It wasn’t until she had to assign Draco to a patrol partner that her composure faltered.
Don’t let it show, Hermione. Be the girl who outsmarted Bellatrix Lenstrange. Be the Golden Girl everyone knows, all Gryffindor pride and no weaknesses.
“Malfoy,” she said, voice neutral, “you’ll be paired with Padma for the first month. Ravenclaw and Slytherin patrols will cover the eastern corridors on Mondays and Wednesdays."
Draco didn’t flinch. Didn’t even speak. Just nodded once, hands folded in front of him. But still, she felt his gaze land on her again, heavy and unreadable.
And gods, she hated that it made her skin crawl.
Hermione cleared her throat. “Okay, that should be about it. Does everyone have any questions?”
A hand went up.. “Is it true we’re expected to supervise detention hours now too?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes. With the war over, the staff is stretched thin, and the Heads of House are leaning on us more heavily than before. That means extra duties, but also more trust.”
“And more chances to dock points from each other” muttered someone at the back.
Before Hermione could respond, Theo leaned forward. “Let’s not pretend prefect badges ever made us more civil to each other. If you’re here to throw jabs, you’re wasting Granger’s time. And mine.”
The silence that followed was longer this time. Hermione blinked again, this time looking at Theo with something just short of respect.
She cleared her throat. “Right. Patrol schedule and activities are being sent to your trunks tonight. There will be a mandatory briefing after the Welcome Feast in the prefects’ lounge. Don’t be late.”
Theo stood. “Meeting’s over.”
The prefects filed out slowly, voices rising again into conversation as they disappeared down the corridor.
Hermione stayed seated, hands clenched in her lap.
“Are you alright?” Theo asked, voice not mocking, but curious.
She glanced at him. “Yeah. Just… surprised.”
He nodded, following her gaze to the spot where Malfoy had stood. “Yeah. That one surprised me too.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I thought he was your friend?”
Theo tilted his head, lips quirking. “He is,” he simply said.
Hermione frowned. “Then why do you sound as if you didn’t know he’d be back?”
“Because I didn’t.” Theo leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest in a languid sprawl. “Malfoy doesn’t exactly… announce his movements these days. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
She tugged at her sleeve again, sighing. “I can’t imagine why he thought it would be a good idea to come back.”
Theo’s sharp eyes caught the motion, but—Slytherin that he was—he didn’t comment. “It’s not about good ideas, Granger. It’s about survival. Hogwarts may not be kind to him, but it’s still safer than the alternative. Besides” he gave her a look “you and I aren’t the only ones finishing our education. He’s got as much right to be here as you do. Plus, I am 95% sure he’s here just to calm his mother down.”
Her jaw tightened, eyes dropping to her wrist. “That doesn’t erase—“ She cut herself before speaking further. She couldn’t speak of it aloud yet, the way her screams had bounced off the walls of the Manor, the smell of the blood, the sharp feeling of steel against her skin. She couldn’t say it. Certainly not to Theodore Nott. Not yet, at least.
Theo’s gaze softened, weighing her like he did with everyone else. “You don’t have to like it,” he said, voice quieter. “But you do have to live with it. I won’t lie to you, Granger. He’s… different now. But whether that’s enough or not… That’s up to you to decide.”
She studied him, trying to decide if he was defending Draco, or defending her. Maybe both. Finally, she straightened her robes and exhaled through her nose. “Fine. I’ll manage. I always do.”
Theo smirked faintly, pushing off the wall. “That you do. Come on, Head Girl. Let’s not be late for the feast. We’ve got an example to set.”
Hermione followed him out of the compartment, but her mind lingered on the weight of that gray-eyed stare she’d felt across the room.
The rest of the evening was a blur in Hermione’s mind. It consisted on the stress of getting everyone out of the train and into the castle, the fact that prefects were still asking the same stupid questions that she had answered at least four times in the train’s meeting and the unsettling atmosphere Hogwarts had.
The castle was quieter than Hermione remembered.
No Peeves cackling through the halls, no thudding footsteps of first-years, no bursts of laughter from the tables at the Great Hall. The only sound filling her ear was the one of her own footsteps as she climbed the staircase to the Head Tower.
She reached the portrait guarding the entrance. “Password?” it asked.
Hermione frowned, digging through her memory. McGonagall had mentioned it briefly during the feast. Something about symbolism.
“…Phoenix Rising.”
The portrait gave her an approving nod and swung open. Hermione stepped inside.
The Head Tower was beautiful. It was too warm, too untouched by the war. A fire crackled in the hearth. Two large desks faced each other by the window, stacked with fresh parchment and new ink bottles. There were two doors on opposite sides of the common room, leading to their bedrooms. She felt out of place there, like her completely shattered sanity didn’t belong in a place so… calm.
Hermione turned slowly, taking it all in, until her eyes landed on Theo. He was on the couch, legs stretched out resting on the tiny table in front of him, a book in one hand and a half-eaten chocolate frog in the other.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
“I had prefects pulling me aside all through dessert,” she replied, setting her bag down near her desk. “Half of them want to swap schedules already.”
Theo snorted. “Give it a week. The fifth-years will form a union and try to overthrow us.”
She smiled faintly, toeing off her shoes. There was a pair of slippers tucked neatly near her door. Someone had laid out her things already.
“So,” he said, closing his book and finally looking at her, “we’re living together.”
Hermione blinked. “Don’t make it weird.”
Theo shrugged, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Just stating facts, Head Girl.”
She rolled her eyes, moving to the little kitchen tucked away in one corner of the room. “Want tea, Theodore?”
He chuckled. “Wow, we’re name dropping now, Granger? Though usually I’m easily swayed by chamomile or tea in its absence, I’m completely knackered.” He stood up. “Thank you, though.”
“Okay, Nott. Whatever you say” She said as she filled the kettle.
“You can have the bathroom for yourself in the mornings, Head Girl. As long as you let me have five minutes of brushing my teeth and glaring at myself, we’re good.”
Hermione chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll keep the mirror free for your brooding sessions”
A barely there grin tugged at his lips. “See you in the morning, Granger.”
“Night, Theo”
Hermione didn’t move when his door closed behind him. She just stood there, looking at the kettle until tea was done. She poured one cup and flopped down on the couch Theo had been minutes earlier.
A neat pile of parchment waited on the low table: patrol schedules, tutoring rotations, outlines for house-unity projects. Hermione gathered them into her lap, quill in hand, and tried to focus.
Minutes stretched into hours. The words began to blur together, ink bleeding into lines her tired mind couldn’t hold. She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes, just to rest before continuing the activity planning.
That was when she smelled the violets.
Hermione blinked. The common room was quiet, too quiet, the fire burned low. And yet the scent was unmistakable,as if someone had just walked past carrying fresh blossoms. She frowned, lifting her head, expecting to see the parchment. Instead she saw the letters slipping out of it, hitting the floor.
They formed kind of a haze around her. Mist.
Hermione blinked again. The common room was gone. The pale fog was curling around her feet. She looked around and found herself in something that looked like a forest, only illuminated by the moonlight and tiny violet lights coming from the edge of the trees.
The only thing she could hear was her own ragged breath. And then she heard footsteps.
She turned sharply, but the fog swallowed everything. Except she could see something. A figure. Tall, lean, broad-shouldered. The figure was one of a man. His hair glimmered almost white in the moonlight.
Her heart stuttered. She didn’t know who he was. Yet she did. It was strange, it felt like a deja-vu of sorts.
“Wait.”
The word cut through the haze. The voice felt familiar to Hermione, as if she had heard it before. She froze, breath snagging in her chest. He was closer now, the fog parting just enough for her to catch his eyes: storm-grey, haunted eyes that glowed faintly, almost resembling liquid silver.
Hermione stumbled back, pulse racing. She wanted to ask who he was, why he always followed her here, but her legs carried her away instead. The fog thickened, forcing her forward until she tripped over a vine. She pitched forward, falling to her knees.
When she looked up, he was there. Kneeling, close enough that she could feel the ghost of his presence. His hand hovered between them, not touching, just waiting.
She reached for his hand with trembling fingers, but didn’t take it. Hermione wanted to scream, to whisper to make any sound she could, but her lips were shut tight.
Before she could close the gap between her hand and the stranger’s, he spoke again, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Granger.”