About Last Night

Two Halves of a Whole

[[[AN: Oh, God. How long has it been since I've updated this story? No one answer that. Please. I know I've been absolutely terrible. Luckily, after months and finally finding some free time to actually write, I give you a new chapter. Thank you so much for putting up with the super long hiatus and always saying the loveliest things. You are all amazing.]]]

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Hermione could feel their eyes on her, watching her every move. They got louder, talking about their growing and expected children, the state of the Chudley Cannons, Lavender's ugly selection of bridesmaid dresses in comparison to Pansy's stunning ones, George's new prototypes, the upcoming charity event, Kingsley's new boyfriend ("third one this year; who knew he was such a playboy? He should be thinking about settling down at his age."), new limitations on paparazzi Percy will be proposing to the council, Headmistress McGonagall asking Harry to teach a singular lesson of Defense Against the Dark Arts—yet through all of their noise, she heard the one question they were not brave enough to ask.

What happened?

She made a mistake. Not just the obvious one, but dragging them into the mess she was creating for the sake of proving she was not a mess. She saw the way they looked at her—with pity, like she was a foolish, young girl who closed her eyes and leapt off the edge, hope in her stupid heart that there would be someone there to catch her.

When no one had been there, Hermione hit the ground and shattered into a million pieces. And they looked at her like the wind had blown away some of her fragments and grieved what remained behind.

She could not stand it. She could not stand Mrs. Weasley giving her an extra tight squeeze, Fleur constantly reaching for her hand, Ginny's angry, revengeful expressions she often shared with Pansy, Harry and Ron's poor attempts at making her laugh, or Padma steering her clear from the ward whenever it was visiting hours with unbelievable, ridiculous excuses. She did, of course, appreciate their intent, but Hermione did not want them to remember her as this heartbreak—as this lie. So she used Jenna Flint's plot of revenge to prove that she could move on. That she was more than the broken pieces they desperately wanted to put back together.

While Draco Malfoy was not the ideal prospect to prove that, Hermione did not expect that they (after some arguing and prodding) would welcome him in.

Hermione did not expect Draco Malfoy (after some arguing and prodding) to want to be welcomed in.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry after she abruptly stood, making the others silence their conversations to look up at her, squinting really hard to see those shattered lines on her skin.

"I need some air," she said through clenched teeth. "I—" she was unable to continue, not without gasping and clawing at her chest from the sudden, sharp pain stabbing at her heart.

She pushed her chair back in a hurry, practically stumbling over Bill so she could reach the door leading to the backyard. She could hear the loud, penetrating silence they were in following after her, but soon as she opened the door, she ran from it.

"We knew this would happen," Ginny had said, inspecting the gold ring under the bright bathroom light like she had never seen it before, like she was trying to solve the mystery of its missing owner from its curve. "I hate to admit it, but Malfoy is intelligent. We knew there was a high chance he would figure it out before the month is up."

"I'm surprised he didn't blow this place up," Pansy said as she continued to fix her makeup, not entirely interested in the conversation Hermione had dragged her and Ginny into the women's toilets to have. "Then again, it is his own nightclub. It might cost him millions of galleons to fix it up just for throwing a fit."