Forget About It (Dramione)

24| History Repeats Itself

If you'd been on the outside looking in, it would've seemed like none of it had happened. As if they had never started meeting in the first place. As if she'd never gone down to the Three Broomsticks that night, never had her memory wiped, never broken up with Ron, never felt anything other than hatred towards Draco Malfoy. Things looked back to normal, the trio back together, Malfoy out of the picture, all of them hunting Voldemort, all three of them getting along. 

But things felt far from normal. 

The day after, Hermione woke up feeling probably the worst she'd ever felt in her whole life, and that was not just because of all the alcohol. As she groggily opened her eyes to their dorm's loud alarm wishing immediately she could close them again and go back to dreaming. All she could do was stare blankly at the floor beside her bed. Dread filled her up from her feet to the top of her head. The other girls were getting up and dressed, but she took as much time as she could, wanting to keep the distance between herself and the cold real world. 

At last, a good half hour later than she usually would, she pulled her head off the pillow and slowly sat up. This was when the hangover properly hit her, but she didn't care and barely noticed the headache and twisting stomach. She knew the spell to get rid of it, she'd cast it in the bathroom as soon as it was free for her to do so. 

Her head, aside from the ache, was filled with Malfoy. Unfortunately there wasn't a spell for that. 

She let the others leave for breakfast without her and went into the bathroom to sort herself out, knowing Harry and Ron would wait ten minutes, but go down without her eventually if she took too long. The events of the night before hit her once again, and she wondered if Ron would ignore her for the day. He probably would. 

Her reflection was atrocious. Her hair was all over the place, making her look like Bellatrix Lestrange's brown-haired cousin. She looked tired, with dead, pale skin that hung off her bones limply, and her eyes were framed by dark grey circles. Her forehead was glued in a permanent look of self-pity, a series of lines cemented there. She had to silently remind herself to relax before her face actually did, after which it only looked more lax and crestfallen, the last bit of emotion wiped. 

She took her wand and cast the spell Malfoy had taught her last week that he said completely removed hangovers. It worked immediately. Her headache disappeared, and she no longer felt sick to her stomach, but other than that, nothing changed. Her reflection still looked back at her with despair and regret. She still felt like she wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for as long as she could.  

Even though she was locked in the bathroom, alone, with nobody left getting ready for the day, she couldn't cry. Her eyes felt strangely dry, and she remembered how many tears had left them last night. She wasn't surprised that there were none left to come out.

Slowly, she breathed in and out, tearing her eyes away from her reflection. She'd gone and fucked everything. She hated herself for being so stupid as to trust Malfoy, to ignore her true feelings for Ron for an idiotic, blind mistake. She'd treated Ron so badly, running around behind his back with Malfoy, who she should've known was just using her. For the first time in her life, she very much did not feel like the cleverest witch of her age. She wanted nothing more than to go back in time and slap some sense into herself. 

A knock on her dormitory door made her almost jump out of her skin. Shit. There was nobody else left, it must be someone looking for her. Quickly she splashed some water over her face and smoothed her crazed hair. This wasn't fair. She wasn't ready for reality to hit, not yet. 

"Hermione?" Harry's voice called. At least it was him, she thought. She couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather look in the eyes. But at the same time, he might've been the worst person who could have been behind that door. He would be all hopeful that she'd finally be happy with Malfoy again, and she'd have to tell the whole truth. He'd have to know Malfoy had hurt her more last night than he had in six years of calling her a Mudblood and treating her like dirt. She'd have to tell him. 

"Ron's gone down with Dean and Seamus. I wanted to see how it went. It's just me, don't worry," Harry continued. His voice sounded disgustingly hopeful. 

Hermione smoothed her hair again, but nothing changed. She couldn't ignore Harry. She knew she had to, from right now, start putting things right, go back to where she belonged, hang out with her friends and not her enemies. 

"Coming. Give me a sec," she answered, brushing her teeth for a few seconds, walking slower than she should back into the dormitory, and shoving on her school uniform and robes before going to open the door to Harry. He was stood outside with one eyebrow raised, smiling. Hermione wished he wouldn't look at her like that. 

His eyes passed over her, taking in her messy hair, her thrown on robes, and her exasperated expression. "Merlin, you look..." 

"Terrible. I know, I don't care," she snapped, as even though Harry didn't deserve her anger he was just going to have to take a bit of it. 

She pushed past him and started heading down to the common room, Harry following at her heels. "Hermione? Is everything alright?" 

"Oh, Harry," she stopped suddenly, turning around to face him, eyes brimming. "Ron was right. Malfoy's an absolute prick. He didn't like me at all, he was just- his words- bored,"  she said, anger and hurt mashing together in her voice, cracking at the last word. "He told me he was only flirting with me because he was bored and I was tutoring him and because it was easy. And then he said he never wanted to go near me again. He hasn't changed at all. I've just been so, so stupid." 

Harry's expression was one of shock, anger and pity. He hated seeing his best friend this upset, especially when it was partly his fault for telling her to trust her instincts and go to Malfoy instead of Ron, who they all could trust. "Oh," he said stupidly, not sure how to respond. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. Honestly."

He would've done anything in that moment to put a smile on her face, but he could tell from her sunken eyes and melancholy expression that a smile probably wasn't going to happen today. "It's not your fault," she said quietly. "It's him. The absolute arsehole. I should never have broken up with Ron. I bet he hates me right now." 

Harry shook his head quickly. At least this was one thing he could be sure of, to make her feel better. "Of course he doesn't hate you! He was just hurt, and really shocked you would rather have Malfoy over him, but me and him had a long chat after you left last night, and he doesn't hate you at all. He's just upset, and he'll definitely need a bit of time and space, but you guys will be fine soon enough. I promise." 

She smiled, but it was empty, no substance, no happiness came out of it. Her eyes remained motionless. "Thanks. Guess we should go down for breakfast." 

Harry shrugged, not moving. "I mean, if you wanna stay in bed and say you're sick, I can cover for you?" He offered, but she shook her head. 

"No. It will only look worse if I hide up here. I don't want people to think I was up all night with Malfoy. I need to start getting rid of all the rumours, now," she said sadly, and the two of them headed downstairs. 

.

So that was that, Hermione thought. A couple of weeks later, it was exactly the same as it always had been. Her and Ron were speaking again, Harry was back to fussing over what Voldemort was about to do and now what Dumbledore wanted of him as well, and Hermione was back to studying in the library instead of the Room of Requirement, alone this time. 

The three of them once again avoided Malfoy like the plague, and he let them do it. Sometimes Hermione would catch his dull grey eyes staring at her in Potions, but she would simply turn away, wondering where the days had gone when she'd used to smile.