The bright lights were unbelievably hot. They shone down on Hermione with a force that threatened to penetrate into her very soul, but in her mind, she was somewhere else. The material world could not touch her.

She had been unconscious when it happened. She remembered with harsh clarity the events beforehand, and the devastating shock afterwards, but as the climax of her life was happening, she was thought to be dead. And I might as well have been... she reflected bitterly.

***

Hermione awoke in a bright little room, too clean to be comforting. It was as if the white walls were concealing something.

She wanted to know what it was.

“Hello?� she tentatively called out. She couldn't even move her head to see if anyone else was in the room.

Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione's bedside was crowded with concerned, friendly faces. “Is she awake?� someone asked from the back of the room.

“Where's Ron?� Hermione asked the ceiling.

But there was no answer.

“Where's Harry?� she asked again as the tension mounted, grew unbearable. “Where are they?!� she shouted, and before she received any reply, she felt hot tears streaming down her face, as if she already knew the answer. She didn't want to hear it.

***

But she had heard the story, all of it that anyone knew, and she replayed it a thousand times in her mind's eye, wanting to get the details right. She couldn't decide whether Ron had died fighting, or if he had been killed without knowing what happened. The entire wizarding world had mourned Harry's death, and everyone knew how it happened. His sacrifice was unavoidable. It meant something. But no one could tell her exactly how Ron had died, and it seemed to make little difference.

All she knew was that Draco was at the heart of it. He hadn't cast the ultimate Avada Kedavra that did him in, but he might as well have. If the Order had refused to accept Draco, Hermione reflected, would Ron still be here?

The bright lights were burning deeper, harder. She felt faint from the heat, the numberless stares.

How did Draco falter? she asked herself. What distracted him, that he couldn't protect Ron? But the question that stung the deepest was, quite simply, Was he sorry? He had fled after the war – much like she had, as soon as she had recovered – into the Muggle world. She had so many questions to ask. Everything else was hearsay. Everything else was...

Meaningless, she thought, dejectedly. Three years in the Muggle world had not allowed her to forget, or perhaps it was just her, unwilling to let herself move on. She tried denying her past. She ran away from magic, she ran away from books, straight into the arms of everything she wasn't. If she could become someone else, could she learn to forget?

Then a booming voice echoed from the darkness beyond the little sphere of bright light that surrounded her, “And first place goes to Miss Hermione Granger!� Applause filled her ears – it was deafening – and she stood immobile. An anonymous shove from behind told her to walk forwards, toward the voice and the clapping.

“Congratulations!� shouted a neat, trim man in a neat, trim suit, as he clapped her on the back, and placed a flimsy tiara on her head. Hermione smiled obligingly, her mind still somewhere else.

You're beautiful now, a voice inside her head told her. Does it help?

***

Hermione walked off the stage and past her congratulators, barely hearing their words of praise. She had thought it would feel better than this, but the emptiness refused to leave her alone. She took a seat at the bar, wrapped up in painful thoughts and questions without answers.

“Hello there, Granger,� said a low drawling voice to her left.

Hermione, momentarily frozen, held her breath and stared straight ahead of her, unwilling or unable to face the owner of the voice.

“You're quite the beauty queen,� he continued with an apathy that both shocked and appalled her.

“Would you just stop the charade, Malfoy?!� she shouted, turning to face him with a fury that she could no longer conceal. “Quit pretending that nothing's happened to us!�

“If you're talking about the battle–�

“What else would I be talking about?� she spat. She turned around again, and stared blankly at the table.

“There are a few things I need to explain,� Draco began, and when Hermione made no acknowledgment, he continued on, regardless. “I don't know if you ever heard what happened, but I didn't mean for Ron to die. I was fighting with him – we were fighting together, Hermione! – and I saw my father walk towards us. He stared at me so coldly, and I couldn't move. Ron's attention was elsewhere – you know what it was like – and... Hermione, it was as if he didn't even know me. I thought... It was foolish of me, but I halfway hoped for some sort of recognition. But he didn't. He killed Ron before I knew what happened. I'm so sorry. In a way, it is my fault.

“But I want you to know that I didn't want any part of it. I don't know that I'm cut out for the good side, but I know I'm not one of the bad side, either. And that's why I had to leave, Hermione. That world, it... it wasn't for me.�

“It wasn't for me, either,� Hermione stated simply. “I wonder sometimes why I was put there at all. I could have lived my whole life in ignorance – happy, in this Muggle world – but... Everything was taken away from me. I don't understand why.�

“I know you don't believe that,� Draco countered. “You wouldn't reject seven years of your life for this.�

“No,� she answered. The bright lights burned and sparkled, but they couldn't erase. They couldn't change what had already happened. Hermione smiled, despite herself. She turned to Draco and continued, “No, I wouldn't reject them, but I can leave them behind.� It wasn't a happy ending, but it was right. She felt it instinctively.

“Do you think we can?� Draco asked her, taking her hand in his.

“I think we should.�