Lost Causes and a Hopeless Case

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how. -- Friedrich Nietzsche

Whenever I go home, I see this book lying on my Dad's table: Everything I Needed to Know, I learned in Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum. The basic premise of this book is that simple principles learned during our elementary years (such as "share everything" and "put things back where you found them") can be translated into adult terms and therefore adapted into the adult world. If children can play fairly and clean up after themselves, so can society in general.

Some people obviously never attended kindergarten.

I learned a lot during secondary school, such as the inevitability of losing one's friends through hardships, the importance of standing up for one's beliefs, and most significantly, the importance of hope in all people and situations.

I've always been heralded as the class brain, a pretentious perfectionist, and an unrelenting know-it-all. Although they haven't always heeded it, Harry and Ron have turned to me time and time again for advice and a rational perspective. "Harry has too much determination to see clearly at times," Remus once told me after I'd despaired of my passive role in the war. "And Ron's passionate stance on issues causes him incurable shortsightedness. They need your sound guidance and practical reasoning to keep them grounded in a world where everything seems to be spiraling out of control."

I nearly lost my faith in logic and the mind after the end of my seventh year. More than a third of the Order members were dead, and a fair amount of them had gone missing or were confined to hospital rooms and mental entrapment. Yes, clever planning executed with bravery had won us the war, but at the cost of everything I knew and loved.

During Harry's funeral, Ron and I watched grimly as Harry's casket was lowered and swallowed silently into the earth. We stood unmoving for a long time before Ron finally spoke. "Sometimes I wish we'd never fought in the war," he mumbled. "I wish the Order had never assembled, and I wish we'd never found the prophecy."

"What?" I asked, surprised. "But Ron...if we hadn't fought, we wouldn't have won the war."

"If we hadn't fought, Remus, my mum, Charlie, George, Ginny, Neville, and hell, maybe even Harry wouldn't be dead," Ron seethed.

"Voldemort would've taken them all as prisoners and then executed them."

"We would have suffered together!" Ron exclaimed angrily, his face flushing as he spoke. "You and I would have lived and died with them instead of watching them blasted away one by one!"

"We didn't just fight for ourselves, Ron, we fought for the whole world," I answered wearily.

"Why make sacrifices for people we don't even know? For wizards who will eventually forget our names and muggles who will never even know them? It's not fair, Hermione! It doesn't make sense!"

I could think of nothing to say. There are some things you can't look up in books or figure out through spells. Life isn't consistent, nor events all linear, and there are some things go beyond human understanding. Things that start badly can turn out good, but there's no guarantee that they won't work the other way around.

I only wish I'd learned that earlier.

~

It was around the first week of April, two months before school let out. Ron and I had just come out of Transfiguration and were making our way to the Great Hall for lunch. "I still don't understand why you're bothering to study for those things," Ron remarked bemusedly, as I tucked my N.E.W.T. study guide into its folder. "After all we did in the war, we're practically guaranteed jobs in the Ministry."

"That's not the point, Ron," I scowled. "Failing the N.E.W.T.s wouldn't look good on our records. We'd look like two dunces who only have jobs because of the Ministry's obligation to us, not because of our skills."

"Like Lucius Malfoy?" Ron snorted. "Seriously, Hermione, no one's stupid enough to compare you to him."

"He might've been a rotten man, but you must admit he was very clever and skilled for his job," I protested. "He just didn't use those skills for the right cause."

"And now he's dead," Ron replied. "Which shows that it really doesn't make a difference how you got the job or not - you know you're good at everything and you're not going to become a neo-Death Eater anytime soon so it doesn't matter!"

"Think of it this way, Ron," I argued, as we sat down at the Gryffindor table. "If you ever manage to royally screw up a task, people will blame it on your failing the N.E.W.T.s."

"And if I didn't fail the N.E.W.T.s, then people would blame it purely on me," Ron replied, sounding bitterly gleeful. "So go ahead and study for your N.E.W.T.s, Hermione, but I'm going to spend the next few weeks relaxing by the lake."

Before I could answer, Dumbledore rose from his chair and motioned for us all to be silent. "Men and women of Hogwarts," he began, sounding more formal now than he'd ever had before this year. "As many of you remember, it has been exactly three months since Harry Potter defeated Voldemort and ended the Second War."

The students stopped eating. A few of them lowered their heads in commemoration. "Over the last three months, the wizarding community has been working slowly but surely to restore peace and order back into society. Minus a few hiccups here and there, the restoration in the community as a whole has been progressing quite well."

"Look at the Slytherins," Ron whispered to me, and I moved my vision sideways to see their table, which was second in emptiness over to ours. Some of them, like Pansy Parkinson, frowned and grumbled under their breaths, and others, such as Theodore Nott, wore looks of pure menace. Interestingly, only Draco Malfoy sat motionlessly, his face stoic except for the very subtle crease between his pale eyebrows.

"Some things never change," Ron muttered, and I shushed him so we could listen to Dumbledore.

"...but as individuals, only you can know how much work you've done personally to improve the attitudes and actions of our community," Dumbledore continued. "So this is my challenge to all of you: as the end of term draws near, and for some of you, as this is one of your last months as Hogwarts students, I urge you to reconcile with those you've hurt and been hurt by in the past. Restoration is about mending old wounds, rebuilding relationships, and striving to forge new ones. Together, we lived, worked, and died to fight Voldemort, and it is together that we must do the same to fight the old divisions that will only hinder our efforts to recover. Have the humility to recognize your faults and wrongdoing, and have the courage to approach those you need to reconcile with."

Ron turned to me as soon as Dumbledore had sat back down. "Brilliant man, bloody unrealistic expectations," he sighed, while gorging down a plateful of pot roast. "Just look at the faces of those Slytherins."

"Ron!" I exclaimed. "You're being just as bad by judging them that way. A lot of them lost their parents in battle, just like us."

"But unlike us, they're keeping a bad attitude about it," Ron said, frowning again. "Some people just don't know how to move on."

"Oh, and you do?" I snapped. "It's only been three months since the war ended, Ron, so don't tell me you're doing better than anyone else. You, of all people, should be one to follow Dumbledore's advice."

"You don't know half of what's been going on in my head for the last few days," Ron shot back. "So go ahead, reconcile all you want, but it's not going to happen. People will never be fully at peace with each other. Don't you think we've tried enough for, I dunno, the last ten thousand years? The problem with you is that you fight for lost causes, Hermione, and you never know when to stop. Maybe you should just leave things the way they are before anyone else gets hurt or killed through one of your rescue missions."

"The problem with me?" I said, nearly shrieking. "The problem with me? Don't let me even get started on the problems with you, Ron! At least I have things to hope for and goals to fulfill! Do you know the difference between you and I? My life has purpose and yours doesn't! So until our next class together, I'll be off doing something useful with my time while you sulk and forget all you learned about life during the last seven years!"

I left Ron gaping at me (with mashed potatoes practically sliding out of his mouth) and headed to (where else?) the library, my safest sanctuary. Once there, I flopped onto an empty table and went over my argument with Ron. Remus was right - that boy is shortsighted and is easily caught up in his impulses and emotions.

I'd just started to assemble my notes when I heard a too-familiar drawl and a shuffle of feet. "Studying for the N.E.W.T.s, Granger?" Draco Malfoy asked, his tall, lean figure towering over my stack of scrolls and note cards.

"What does it look like, Malfoy?" I replied, keeping my eyes on my Charms worksheet, which Malfoy quickly snatched out of my hands.

"So this is your purpose in life, Granger? To study for tests?" Malfoy drawled. "Some things never change."

I heard Ron's voice echoing that same remark as I glared at Malfoy for the nth time during my secondary school career. "You heard that?"

"Are you crazy? Everyone heard that," Malfoy replied. "I also heard you agree with all that crap in Dumbledore's speech and I think that for once, I have to agree with Weasley here. It's all useless in the end. Yes, maybe now we're more guarded against evil wizard dictator-slash-murderers, but next time it's going to be about money or land or dangerous spells."

"We're never going to reach peace if we don't try!" I argued, feeling the heat rising up into my cheeks. "Haven't you learned anything from the war?"

For a moment, Draco gazed at me emotionlessly; and then, sure enough, his lips twisted into his trademark smirk. "Granger," he said breezily. "I'll be blunt, as I always am anyway. You think you know so much, yet you know so little about yourself. You're what I'd call...let's see...a living paradox. A 'walking contradiction,' as they say. You rally for peace, yet you never hesitate to turn a difference of opinion into a full-blown argument. Yes, you want everything to be fine and dandy, but only if it happens your way. You search for logical reasons and time-tested solutions to everything, Granger, but what you don't realize is that the world doesn't work by your standards and it never will."

He handed me back my paper. "Goodbye Granger, and good luck in the real world."

~

After the war, the changes it wreaked in people became more obvious than ever. Fred Weasley's humor went from silly to simply satiric. Luna Lovegood regressed into a quiet, brooding version of her quirky self. Crabbe and Goyle began to think for themselves, and Ron entered an extended period of anger. The most surprising change, however, rendered itself in Draco Malfoy, who went from a popular leader to a despised pariah. After his father offered himself as a spy for the Order and was later caught double-crossing both sides, the family lost face in all of wizarding Britain. Lucius was killed by Voldemort himself not long after his exposure, and Narcissa Malfoy fell into a deep depression and holed herself up in the Manor. The Slytherins disowned Draco, and since no one else liked him anyway, he spent the rest of the year as a loner and a loser. He interacted with nobody, and nobody with him.

So why, you might ask, didn't the righteous "Golden Trio" try to befriend him? Why didn't I, idealistic Hermione Granger, recognize the good hidden away in him and try to nourish it?

The answer is simpler than it sounds. Malfoy had tormented us for years, called us names, and when he had the power to do so, branded us as insufferable goody-goodies and societal misfits. During the war, Malfoy was the least of our worries, and we made sure that he knew that. How pathetic it looked that even the old "school losers" wouldn't befriend the Slytherins' dethroned leader. While always unspoken, we carried out our deed in the spirit of true revenge, and at the time, it tasted very sweet.

~

The next time we met, it was Malfoy's turn to look surprised. "What are you doing here, Granger?" he asked, after I'd approached him sitting in that same table we'd been at just two days earlier.

"This table isn't private property," I replied coolly, sitting myself across from him. "I've been thinking about our last conversation and everything you said about me."

"So?"

"So let me finish!" I replied, trying to ignore the apathy settling onto his brow. "I don't agree with all of it, but it did make me realize that if I want change, I have to be the one that initiates it. If I have a problem with someone, then I need to do something to fix it."

"So your point is...?" Malfoy asked, looking more bored than ever.

"My point is, I think you and I have a lot of reconciling to do."

I swear, if there had been a better way to word that, I would've done it. I could just feel my tongue receding down my esophagus and into my stomach as the apathy in Malfoy's eyes quickly transformed into ecstatic merriment. "You and I have to...what?!" he sputtered. "Hahahaha!"

"Funny, I expected something more cruel and biting from you," I muttered, pressing my palms on the table, which shook in rhythm to Malfoy's hysterical laughter.

"What can I say, Granger, you render me speechless. Do continue."

I hesitated before speaking again. "Well, it's not like anything we didn't both already know."

"Of course I knew, Granger. Do you think I considered us best friends forever? But it was nothing I ever thought we needed to do anything about - I mean, my life was perfectly complete without - "

"For the seven years we've been attending Hogwarts, you've treated me no better than you would Hippogriff dung and I can't say I considered you any better. I think it's time for that to change." I breathed in deeply, then looked Malfoy straight in the eye. "Draco Malfoy....I've never done this before, but it's about time I told you how much of an effect you've had on my life."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline, and I felt stupider with every word that tumbled out of my mouth. "Honestly, secondary school wouldn't have been the same without you, but I don't mean that in a good way - that is, you've hurt me on several occasions and I can't say I'm fully healed."

"Once again...the point is?" Malfoy turned his glance from me and began picking at his quill. "Hurry up, Granger, you're only stating the obvious and I haven't got all day."

"Game over, Malfoy. Look, whatever I've done to offend you - I'm sorry. Maybe you only hated me in the first place because I'm Muggleborn and was a friend of Harry's, and I can't apologize for those because there's nothing wrong with being them. I won't even apologize for being obsessed with knowledge or having sound principles because those make up who I am. But I will say I'm sorry for using my strengths to bring out your weaknesses. I'm sorry taking advantage of what I know to show how little you knew in comparison to me. I'm sorry for humiliating you, and I'm sorry for not taking the time to understand." When I finished, I drew in a long breath and waited for the impending blow-off. But to my surprise, Malfoy didn't say anything, but instead continued picking at his quill. "Will you please say something?" I said almost pleadingly.

Malfoy sighed and lowered his quill. "First of all, I still don't know why the hell you're doing this. Secondly, in regard to what you said, I don't know whether to be insulted or grateful. My weaknesses? My lack of knowledge? You are two-faced, Granger, no matter how consistently black-and-white you profess to be. And thirdly, I don't know if that little monologue was you Gryffindors' sick idea of honor and courage, but as a Slytherin, I can sure as hell tell you that you have no tact." He stood up and levitated his things into the air. "I'm not buying it."

"I know you're lonely, Malfoy!" I called after him, as he turned and began walking toward the door. Madame Pince threw me an icy glare, but for once, I ignored it. "You care more than you show - or should I say, know! You needed to hear that!"

Malfoy paused before turning around and walking back to me. "I knew it," he uttered, his voice trembling with intensity. "I bloody well knew it the whole time, and by now, you should too, Granger. You know whether things are right or wrong, Granger, but you never bother to look into why you believe they are one or the other. To you, being sensible is apologizing to your tormentor. You think you're taking the high road, Granger, but you're not. You're not doing this for anyone but yourself."

"That's...not...true..." I seethed, but Malfoy cut me off.

"If trying to make up with me really was a selfless act, then why did you have to bring up the 'fact' that I'm a pathetic, lonely, Slytherin has-been who's sadly ranking below you in intelligence? You say I haven't changed even after the war, Granger, but you're wrong. You're very wrong. I learned a lot about people during those days. I learned that people fight without really knowing what they're fighting for. I learned that people will stand for their principles without knowing how to carry them out. Don't force your ideals on me, Granger, because no matter how hard you try, you're not going to 'redeem' me. You think you're doing this all for my sake, Granger, but it's bloody obvious that you're only doing this for yourself. After all of the fighting and confusion, I'm not the one who needs assurance - you are."

I couldn't let him get away with silencing me this time. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh ho, but I do," Malfoy laughed cynically, gripping me by the shoulders. "Trust me, Granger, I do. I've been watching you for years and all you ever do is catch people for not obeying the rules and undyingly impose your activism on many an unfortunate victim. What non-prefect ever catches not just her classmates, but her friends sneaking around during the night? What kind of muggleborn witch pushes for house-elf rights? I'll tell you what you are, Granger - you're a person who wants the world the work by her rules and you'll meddle in the lives of others to make sure that that happens. Well guess what, Granger - not everyone appreciates your random acts of goodness, nor will we ever change for your sake. Tough luck." He relaxed his hands and gave me a light shake. "Get a grip on reality, Granger, and please don't mess with mine."

~

Our next encounter occurred half a week later, and this time, I initiated it. "I don't care what you think about me or my motives, Malfoy," I told him, sitting myself down again. "But please know that I won't stop doing my part to mend our relationship. Maybe my motives are somewhat flawed (I am human, after all), but as someone told me, if things work out in the end anyway, the reasons won't matter that much. So please, Malfoy, just give me a chance."

Once again, Malfoy looked at me silently before speaking. And once again, he asked something I wasn't expecting. "Why?"

"Why should you give me a chance? Well, I - "

"No," Malfoy interrupted. "I mean, why are you doing this? Why do you care so much?"

"I thought you came to your own conclusions about that the other day," I replied coolly.

Malfoy lowered his eyes thoughtfully for a moment before looking up again. "You really don't have to, you know. School lets out in two months - I can make it till then."

"All the more reason we should try to mend things," I said quietly. "Malfoy...do you think we can be friends?"

"I don't know," Malfoy replied slowly. "Where's Ron?"

"He's outside, by the lake," I answered. "He's alone. He always is."

"Why?" Malfoy asked again.

I didn't need to say anything for the answer to register in his mind and to show itself in his eyes. "Please don't talk to me, Granger."

I stood up from the table without protest, but before I turned to leave, he spoke again. "At least...at least not now."

Neither of us said anything more to each other that day, but it was in that moment and the one before it that both of us acknowledged that we, as war-torn heroes and victims were all just a bunch of lonely people trying to find each other and ourselves. There's Ron, who lost hope in everything and who refused to play Quidditch because it reminded him of his lost friend and brothers. Then there's Draco, he resigned himself to quiet people-watching and everything life threw in his face. And then there's Hermione Granger, who still acts like a know-it-all but who, on the inside, clings desperately to knowledge and sensibility by only a thread.

~

The next time we meet, Malfoy is tolerable, but just barely cooperative. "Get your bushy head out of the way, Granger, I'm trying to study."

Sometimes I wonder if Malfoy is secretly forgetful, or if he just takes nothing to heart. "I was sitting here first, Malfoy, so if you're bothered, you'll have to move."

"Stubborn woman," he muttered, and hauled his stuff to the next table.

"Why so far away?" I asked, regretting what I'd said earlier.

"Don't panic too quickly, Granger," Malfoy said, smirking. He set his books on the next table and reclined in the chair behind me so we sat back-to-back. He didn't say anything, but I knew he was secretly gloating that someone still wanted to be within ten meters of him.

"You still hate me, don't you," I sighed, after a few minutes had passed.

"Touchy, aren't we," Malfoy muttered. "I've always hated you, Granger. You should be used to it by now."

"Didn't we agree to change things?" I asked, trying and failing to distract myself with Potions recipes.

"I don't see a difference in your attitude, Granger," he replied.

I whipped around and grabbed his shoulder so he faced me. "Look, Malfoy, I'm trying here. So far, you've refused to do anything in return, but could you at least accept my efforts and try to go a quarter of an hour without putting me down. We're friends, remember?"

"Unfortunately," Malfoy muttered begrudgingly, but I knew he felt a little sorry. "Now let go of me, I have an essay due by this afternoon."

I released my hand from his shoulder and we spent the next hour sitting back-to-back and not exchanging a word.

~

"After weeks of careful deliberation," I stated during our next meeting. "I've decided that it's impossible for us to have a normal conversation."

"Wait, what?" Malfoy asked with false concern. "Is this Hermione Granger, the one who has faith in all people speaking?"

"I may be an idealist, Malfoy, but I'm certainly not delusional," I continued. "We've tried for nearly a month and have failed miserably."

"Now that is one thing I never thought I'd hear come out of your mouth," Malfoy remarked. "Hermione Granger: World-Class Failure. Hand me a handkerchief, I feel so proud."

I gave him a playful swap on the arm and unloaded my books. "Shove it, Malfoy. You should know as well as I that old habits die hard. Seven years of dysfunction aren't going to correct themselves in two months."

"Come on, Granger, I'm totally capable of carrying a normal conversation."

"I wouldn't count on it."

For a moment, I thought he looked almost hurt. "You believed in me a month ago, Granger - do you still now?"

I sighed and relaxed in my chair. "Of course I do, Malfoy. It's just...it's just..."

"Then let's have a go at it. Seriously, the only reason I never tried was because I didn't think you cared that much."

I nearly sat up straight in my seat. Draco Malfoy...was willing to do something for me?

Malfoy took my silence as a yes. "So, Granger..." he mused. "Hmm...okay, what does Ron think about all this?"

"Why do you care?" I asked, and then regretted it.

"Hey, no personal jabs here, all right?" Malfoy said. "Remember your manners, Granger."

"Fine," I answered resignedly. "At this point, Ron really doesn't care about anything. I haven't told him anything officially, but I'm positive he knows - he's seen me with you and word gets around. All he does now is sit by the lake and well, reflect. No pun intended."

"Fair enough," Malfoy said, touching the end of his quill to his pointed chin. "I really don't give about Weasley anyway. So what about you, Granger? Why - "

"Hey, it's my turn to ask you a question. What are you planning to do after Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Malfoy replied. "I was thinking about finance."

I imagined the money swimming around the Malfoy account and decided to move on. "All right, now it's your turn again."

"Why do you always carry books around with you?" Malfoy asked, motioning toward the stack of textbooks resting on my lap.

"You never know when you'll have a spare moment to read or to study," I replied. "And with the N.E.W.T.s coming up, those moments become more valuable every day."

"You really think you'll need those books when meeting with me?"

"No," I stammered. "No, that's not what I meant at all...I mean....you know me, Malfoy, I'm a bookworm and a swot."

"That's no excuse," Malfoy drawled, sliding the books off my lap till his hands rested lightly on mine.

We sat like that for a few minutes before I finally spoke up - or should I say, coughed. "Er, Malfoy," I stammered again. "I..."

"Please don't say anything," he murmured, and leaned in till his lips were nearly touching me. He hesitated for a moment, perhaps waiting for me, but before he could do anything more, I moved my face upward and pressed my lips to his in a kiss.

I'll admit that I hadn't kissed many boys, and never as deep as this, but I knew a good kiss when I felt one. We continued at it for at least a minute until we broke apart, with one of my hands entwined in his hair and both of his around my waist. We stood like that for awhile, catching our breaths, before he finally spoke.

"Granger," he murmured, as I watched his pale eyelashes flutter above his unreadable grey eyes. "You're right. We're never going to have a normal conversation...but I don't think I really care."

~

We fought again two weeks before the end of our schooling. "Hermione," he said, running a hand through my knotty hair. "Why do you spend time with me?"

"I don't know," I replied, easing into his shoulder. "I just...I just want to." I knew it didn't make sense. Even now I struggle to make sense of it. How did Draco and I overcome nearly seven years of troubled history to reach an emotional level this high? Why did he start anything, and why did I give in? It troubled me somewhat, but at that point, it was something else to add to my list of things that I couldn't understand but didn't mind doing.

Moments of silence had, by then, become almost a tradition for us - and more often than not, it was Draco who broke them. "Hermione," he began. "Why did you befriend me?"

"Didn't I tell you? It's because you looked like you needed someone, and I was available."

"So you felt sorry for me."

"No...I mean...I did feel bad for you...but I didn't do it out of pity."

"Oh," Draco replied simply. "Hermione..."

"Yes?"

"Why did you help Neville Longbottom in Potions?"

"He was having a hard time," I answered, playing with two of his fingers. "And I knew I could help him."

"Is that the same reason why you tried freeing the house elves?" he asked detachedly. "Because they're helpless and you aren't?"

"They needed to know. Everyone needed to know."

"Oh," Draco replied again, and lowered his eyes. "Hermione...tell me honestly....am I a lost cause?"

"What?" I asked, alarmed at his question, though in retrospect, I shouldn't have been. "A what?"

"You heard me," Draco answered blandly. "Sometimes Hermione, I get the feeling that I'm just another pet project - something that needs to be fixed. You're a kind person, but hell, it's sometimes hard to appreciate that when you're just the subject of yet another good deed."

"You shouldn't think like that," I said, sitting up. "Draco, you're not a project. You're my friend...and I guess, even more than that."

"Why do you always do things because you feel like it's your duty?" Draco snapped. "All this time, it's been 'oh let's help poor Draco' and 'I believe in you, Draco, I really do.' You're only saying that because you believe in your skills, but not in me!"

"What is WRONG with you today?!" I snapped in return. "Think about what you're saying! If that's true, then why am I doing ... this? Why do I spend at least half of everyday sitting at your side?"

"I'm sorry," Draco replied, cupping his brow in one hand. "Look...I've gotta go. I need to pack up some stuff before we leave."

I knew I couldn't give up again. "You accuse me of treating you like charity work, but you aren't any better! You've been alone and gloomy for the last year - so what am I, a salve for your wounds? A glass of alcohol to numb the pain?"

"Think whatever you want to, but I need to go." He stood up swiftly and all I could do was watch him and wonder why things never went the way they were supposed to.

~

"I'm moving to Switzerland after school's over," Draco told me, three days later.

"What?" I asked, bewildered. "But..but I thought you were going into finances!"

"I am," Draco replied. "Just not here. There are too many...reminders....in this country. And people won't hire me because of my name. Did you know that my father was charged with embezzlement as well as treason?"

"People can't blame you for what you didn't do," I said quietly. "It's not fair. It's not right."

"'Sins of the father,'" Draco sighed. "They can't, but they will. Reality check, Granger."

"So I've heard, Draco. And the name's Hermione."

"Fine. Hermione," Draco said shortly. "Well...I've got more packing to do."

I watched the distance between us grow until he disappeared from view.

~

"Congratulations!"

I shook hands with Dumbledore as he handed me my diploma in exchange for my hat and graduation robe. "Off to the all-night party, Miss Granger?"

"I don't..." I began, and Dumbledore gave me a knowing look.

"This is a time for celebration, not for tears, Miss Granger," he said, smiling. "Go enjoy yourself."

It's strange sitting in a party knowing it'll be the last time you and the people left in your year are all together. We were the survivors of battle, the ones left behind, and after five months of having only each other, we would soon be separated for good.

Someone threw a bottle of Firewhisky into my lap. "Drinks?" a half-drunken Hufflepuff slurred before grabbing the bottle himself and chugging it down in one gulp.

It's funny, really, that I entered secondary school with a staunch belief in order and standards and left it with a day-by-day increase in absurdity. The first time I realized I'd done something without reason, I nearly went mad; and now, on the cusp of adulthood and a new life, the fact that I could almost care less scared me more than ever. In the past, my habits and daily cognition gave me a sense of self - was I to lose even that?

But even so, I had one goal that night. I scanned the room for any sign of that blond head; I picked myself up and darted between shadows and dying balloons for a glimpse of that pale, lonely figure, with perhaps a cold something in one hand and a pinched-up diploma in the other. Silently, I searched every crevice for him, and in between shallow small talk, I listened for the familiar drawl or impertinent "ferret boy" comment.

I'd always dreamt of connecting with a stranger on "some enchanted evening." Perhaps he'd pour me punch, and I'd comment on how it was likely spiked by some prankster. He'd laugh, and we'd slide to the floor, our backs resting on some uninhabited pillar, and discuss life and find love in time to the techno beats and flickering strobe lights.

The night came and went, and with the evening sky went my last chance to begin and end something in simultaneous rhythm. How rueful that moment was when I realized that with my schoolgirl dreams gone, all I had left to contend with was the reality of adulthood.

After a night of passive partying, I only felt tired during the drunken embraces and final teary farewells. Weaving my way through the crowd, I made it to the doorway at last and began to navigate these halls for what was surely the last time.

I saw him midway through the first corridor after the second flight of stairs. "Draco," I called after him. "Draco!"

He turned around crossed his arms. "Yes?"

"Why weren't you at the party?" I gasped out, making no effort to be subtle or eloquent.

"So you were looking for me?" he smirked acrimoniously. "Pity I didn't know beforehand."

"It wasn't the same without you there," I said quietly, still not walking closer to him. "I felt..."

"Lonely?" Draco piped up. "Like I said before...pity I didn't know beforehand. I could've kept you company, maybe had a go at giving the charity rather than receiving it."

How can you want someone so much yet be able to endure them so little? Living paradox, Hermione. "That wasn't it at all. I just...I just came here to say goodbye, Draco." I took a few steps toward him and thrust out my right hand. "Good luck in your future."

"So long," Draco answered back, shaking my hand firmly. "It was nice knowing you."

"Likewise," I replied, as our hands broke apart. I began leaving before he did, but not without turning around once to see him slowly recede into the darkness.

It's a funny feeling, regret. I promised myself to live life without it, but what do you know, there I stood,, a newly graduated student with so much to say and no opportunity to say it. There's nothing sadder than saying goodbye to someone you'd invested so much time, heart, and energy into and watching them walk out of your life forever.

I'd almost made it to the stairs when it occurred to me that Draco might just come chasing after me. "Wait, Hermione!" he'd yell, grabbing onto my shoulder as I froze in mid-pace.
He'd gaze deeply into my eyes and wipe the bewilderment from them with a....

No, Hermione, I scolded myself. Things only work that way once in a blue moon. Life isn't a fairytale - life has rules, it has order, it has...

It has chaos, I told myself, as tears began running down my cheeks. During our fourth year, when the local newspapers and ill-intentioned Slytherins tormented Harry with taunts and exaggerated claims, I'd told him to ignore them and move on. So why couldn't I do the same? I told myself not to care about Draco Malfoy - after all, I'd only really known him for two months. There is no way you can care so deeply about someone you once hated in such a small amount of time.

But if that were true, I asked myself, then why am I still crying for and about him? Why can't I stop?

Why can structures that took half a century to build be torn down in a fraction of that time?

If there's one thing I learned during the months after the war, it is that there are some questions that can't be answered. There are many events that can't be clearly categorized, and there are many others that can't immediately be placed into the natural order of things.

Will I ever see Draco again? Maybe I will, and maybe I won't - but until I find out, I'll be right here, waiting more patiently for him than I do for any lost cause.

End.