The Gloriana Set

Mine

The station was empty—a small stretch of wooden platform and a stone, peaked-roof building and a creaking sign: HOGSMEADE. Hermione landed with a thunk of her heels against wood, her trunk in one hand and a cat carrier in the other.

She had never really noticed the station before, the platform, the tracks, the creaking sign, the wooden benches painted in alternating colors of red, green, blue and yellow. She had always arrived by train, too busy frantically rechecking her bag and robes, gathering stray candy, quills and cards that Ron had dropped or forgotten. Then she'd be pushed into a swirling swarm of teenagers, borne helplessly toward the carriages and driven away. Not once had she ever looked back at the station, her eyes were always fastened ahead, heart pounding with excitement.

Not this time. She had chosen to apparate to the station instead, avoiding the train and the crowds. She was here to finish her education and sit for her NEWTs, not relive her Hogwarts days. She didn't feel like a student anymore, not even an "Eighth Year," the special class the new Headmistress had created for returning Seventh Years. She envied Harry, who'd chosen to enter Auror training instead of returning. Ron tried to do the same, but his grades weren't high enough—he needed NEWTs to qualify. He'd sulked for days over that letter from the Ministry. Hermione herself had no desire to become an Auror, although she'd received a personal letter from Shacklebolt inviting her into the training program.

She sat on the nearest bench, trunk and cat carrier settling obediently beside her, and tilted her head backwards to catch the warm sun. Odd, how clear and warm the weather was. Quite unlike Scotland. Odd to be at Hogwarts Station, sitting alone in a too-heavy uniform and robe, bathed in warm sunshine and silence ...

A loud crack shattered the stillness, and Hermione leaped to her feet, wand out, eyes wide. Another student, also in uniform, also holding one handle of a trunk. His back to her, he stood facing the tracks, head drooping, fists clenched. She knew that profile, that shock of blond hair, that long, thin frame. For a moment, the only sound was the creaking sign and the boy's—man's, really—ragged breaths.

She gasped, and now it was his turn to leap to attention, wild-eyed, wand out. Grey eyes fastened on her instantly, then rolled dramatically, and Hermione knew his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken out loud: Of course it was her, of course she'd be here, of course he wouldn't get two seconds alone to steel himself. ... She almost sympathized, since she felt the same. She hadn't purposely apparated herself here early so she could stand on the Hogsmeade Station platform with Draco Malfoy.

The light breeze from the mountains suddenly strengthened, carrying the faint call of a train whistle, and Hermione turned her head to see the scarlet engine burst out of a far-off tunnel and shoot toward the station with impossible speed. A fainter beating of wings from the opposite direction shifted her gaze back toward Malfoy, and the two silently watched a black line of skeletal thestrals wind down from the heights in single file, each pulling a black, low-slung carriage.

Another blast from the train whistle, this one almost deafening, and Hermione felt a strong urge to avoid the mob that would soon swarm the station. She walked down the platform, brushing past Malfoy, Crookshanks' carrier floating behind. Her trunk she left to be brought with the baggage. The thestral carriages were now lined up alongside the tracks, and she had her eye on the last and smallest one. Hopefully it would fill up quickly and whisk her to the castle with the least fuss.

Again, she wasn't the only one with such thoughts. Malfoy's long legs quickly outpaced hers, and he leaped inside the last carriage in one fluid motion. Then he leaned back, arm slung over the back of the seat, insufferably smug, looking at her over the carriage's folded-down top. Mine, his eyes said darkly, a familiar look for him. Mine, his eyes seemed to say, everything I want is mine, even after the war, after the failure and defeat, the destruction and the hatred, you are still a Mudblood, I am still a Malfoy, I am still free, and anything I want is still mine.