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Hermione dropped to her knees, her fingers brushing the faded metal where the Hogwarts Express had once traveled, long since silenced. The world had changed. The memories of that final battle, of Harry’s lifeless body hitting the ground, still haunted her every moment. She had seen the blood traitors spared, granted a chance to serve the new, twisted order, but she—she was a Muggle-born. And for her kind, there was no forgiveness.
The stories had flooded her ears in the months that followed: Muggle-borns paraded like trophies, mocked and slaughtered for the amusement of the Death Eaters. Others were kept as possessions, pets to be abused at the whim of their masters. Hermione shuddered at the thought. No, she couldn’t let herself be caught, not like that. She had to keep moving. There was still a sliver of hope—she would find the last Horcrux. It had to be in the castle. There was no other place. And if she couldn’t do it, then who else would?
Apparition was too risky; every movement, every misstep, could be tracked. She had no choice but to rely on her own strength, her own wits. The journey would take three days, perhaps four if the weather was bad—but her instincts, sharp and reliable, told her she could do it.
As she started to gather her rucksack, the familiar snap of an apparition rang in the air, freezing her in place. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she was quick. Her wand was already drawn, aimed with precision at the shadow that emerged before her.
A cloud of black smoke swirled around him before it dissipated, revealing the unmistakable figure. Tall, cloaked in dark robes, his silver mask gleaming faintly under the pale moonlight.
"Malfoy," she said, voice steady despite the rush of emotions flooding her chest. "What are you doing here?"
He stood still, his posture almost unnaturally rigid. “Stopping you from making a mistake you’ll regret.”
Her grip tightened around her wand. She had no time for this. No time to waste on words or distractions. She knew the stakes. "You can’t stop me," she said, her voice cold. "My mind is made up." Her eyes flickered toward the horizon, towards the castle she could almost see in the distance.
She kneeled, carefully pulling her rucksack from her back, unwilling to let go of the mission. She was already so far gone, so far from the girl who had laughed and loved so freely just a few years ago. She had no choice but to go on.
His voice was softer this time, but the pain was clear. "He will kill you," he said, a warning, a plea.
She froze for just a moment, the echo of his words cutting through her like a blade. She straightened her back, resolute. "He will kill millions of Muggle-borns," she said, her tone flat. "What does it matter if I’m one of them?"
“I don’t care about them,” Draco whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. His eyes, though hidden behind the mask, seemed to soften. “I care about you. Let me get you out of England."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The years, the battle, the endless running—it all disappeared in an instant. She blinked, a single tear slipping down her cheek. But she wiped it away quickly, her eyes hardening.
"You’ll stay with me? Or will you leave again, like last time?" Her voice broke as the words spilled out, the weight of past betrayals choking her.
“Hermione—” His voice faltered, his usual arrogance gone, replaced by something deeper, more desperate. His hands reached out for hers, shaking.
“No!” she cried, pulling away from him violently, her pulse racing. "Don’t call me that, Malfoy. Don’t you dare. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep hoping you’ll choose me, only for you to disappear when things get hard."
She turned away from him, the sting of his past actions still fresh in her heart. The pain of it all—a love that had never been, a life now destroyed—was more than she could bear. She had to keep moving. She had to finish what Harry had started.
Behind her, Draco remained kneeling, his hands trembling as he slowly let them fall to the dirt. He watched her retreat into the darkening distance, unable to make a move. He had failed her, and nothing he could say would ever change that.
"Hermione..." His voice was barely a whisper, the name slipping from his lips as if it were the last thing he could say, the only thing left that mattered.
But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She had already lost too much. There was nothing left for her here.
Her footsteps were steady, determined, as she disappeared into the night. The tracks stretched out before her, leading her toward the hope of something better, something more. The Horcrux was waiting.
She didn't dare turn back as she heard the faint crack of apparition, but she knew. He was gone.