Diem Mortis | Dramione

One.

There was something about the aftershocks of the war that didn't sit right with Hermione.

Like that moment, as she walked the halls of Hogwarts with her books tucked against her chest. It felt as if nothing had happened. Like everything was as it once was.

Not an inch of stone was out of place. There was not one crack on the stained-glass windows. There was no longer blood on the grass and no stray fingers or toes.

Perfect. Clean. Usual.

Students continued to walk the halls while laughing and joking around with one another. Students who weren't there to see everything be destroyed just months ago. Students that didn't have to watch their friends die before their very own eyes or attend the funerals of every member of the fallen.

And it was moments like right then, as she turned a corner on the fourth floor, that she was reminded of everything that had happened. There was the small alcove in which Fred Weasley had lost his life, the ghost of his blood on the walls still echoing in her vision.

Then there was the stairway that was the demise of Tonks. The image of her falling after being struck with a curse by her own aunt replayed in Hermione's mind every time she placed her hand on the banister.

Everywhere she walked reminded her of death. It was like she was still running through the halls, jumping over dead bodies to try and flee for safety, but really, she was just walking to a class like Voldemort had never existed.

It shouldn't have felt so normal. Students shouldn't be going back to classes where friends had died. There should have been a longer period of mourning, Hermione thought. There should have been more memory for those who had fallen, but it felt as though the final battle had been swept neatly under the rug.

Hogwarts need to appear strong. Clean. Powerful.

Hermione took a deep breath before pushing open the door to the Potions classroom, moving towards her usual seat at the back and placed her book onto the table.

She was late. Everybody had already taken their seats, their eyes all trained to the professor at the front of the class.

Even in lessons, Hermione was reminded of the before. Because it wasn't Snape standing in front of the grand chalkboard, eyes scanning her like she was bile beneath his shoe, it was somebody else. Because Snape was dead. And Goyle wasn't sitting behind her throwing balls of chewing gum into her hair, because he was also dead.

And there was no Lavender begging the Professor for more classes brewing love potions, giggling with her hands against her chest, because she was dead too.

"Miss Granger?" Professor Slughorn's voice ringed through her senses. It took her a moment to realise she wasn't imagining it. "Could you tell me the main ingredient?"

It was silent, everybody had spun on their stools to look at her, eyes gleaming with positive judgement and anticipation.

"Which potion, sir, sorry?" Hermione's voice was rather small, getting caught beneath the sound of the rainfall against the windows.

"Tolipan Blemish Blitzer, my dear." Slughorn seemed slightly apprehensive to have to repeat himself. Especially to someone who was, who had been, his top student. "Acne clearing potion, as it's better known as."

"Oh-" She felt herself panicking and her cheeks grew hot.

She knew this elixir like the back of her hand. This was a potion she had taught herself to brew after Ginny's explosive acne breakout during Christmas of 1997 at the burrow. And it was rather simple with only a few ingredients. Yet she couldn't remember. Not like she used to.