Snap

It started on the platform. It was near enough 11, and yet there was an eerie emptiness. The usual rush for carriages was more of an uncertain exploration, as students gingerly accepted that they did not have their usual compartment fellows to share with. The platform, usually filled with overwrought, loving parents and siblings, seemed immense in its sparsity.

Hermione tugged the right sleeve of her jumper down once again, before following Ron through the sliding door of an empty booth, taking the shadowy corner seat by the window. Feeling the warmth of Harry's hand pushing to intertwine between her fingers, she accepted the small comfort readily. The trio sat, still and silent, as the hollow whistle blew and the doors were pulled shut.

As the train began to move, Seamus pulled the door open and asked to join them. It wasn't as if there weren't plentiful free carriages, but Hermione could empathise with his desire to be close to people. Dean and a sallow-skinned Luna followed him, and the carriage began a muted game of exploding snap. It was far from the rowdy affairs of previous years, but it was something they had thought they'd never experience again.

The trolley passed through the train, and as a chocolate frog explored their carriage, the box revealed only it's ornate delft and golden cardboard. There was no famous witch or wizard to collect. It felt incomplete. The Hogwarts Express had long delivered students bubbles of anticipation, but now it held a disarming dissonance. It was both as it should be, and as it never was. The closeness of the passengers only served to emphasise the heady mix of salted cockroach clusters and saccharine perfume throughout the train. Hermione stood to change elsewhere, keen to escape the queasy realisation of just how permanent the impact of the war was.

Finding a private carriage on the train that was more empty than she'd ever known it, she eased the blind shut and pulled her jacket down her arms. She nimbly unbuttoned her blouse and eased it down her left arm, then peeling her jeans off before taking a deep breath. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pulled the fabric off her other arm, leaving her standing in her underwear.

She quickly became uniquely aware of the reflective window of the carriage, as she stole a look at her body looking back at her. She saw the top of her now-toned thighs, the small, milk white stomach resting against her lace black underwear. She brought her hands to cover the scars across her emaciated ribs, still red and angry from Dolohov's purple flame. She rose her right hand again, to adjust the cup of the black material supporting her breasts, and gasped.

Mudblood.

Squeezing her eyes shut again, she drew the offending arm away from her and nimbly pulled on her white pressed shirt. The long sleeves would offer at least a temporary reprieve from the mark. Once dressed, she pulled on her robe and absentmindedly fondled the badge firmly attached to the lapel. Her thoughts were interrupted by a light knocking on the door, and she curiously opened the door.

"Hermione, I wondered where you'd gotten to!"

Neville. His warm smile seemed almost a world away, and she longed to be there with him. Then she was. Wrapped up in his strong arms, he pulled her against his strong chest and even went so far as to lean his face into her brown curls. She felt miniscule in his grasp, and when he released her, he noted that since the battle she had done little to soften the sharpness of her cheekbones and the severity of her jawline.

She was still beautiful, of course, there was no question of that. Yet the happy sparkle that he'd known to be behind her eyes seemed dulled somehow. Even as she stepped back into the carriage, allowing him to come in, there remained a guarded warmth to her expression. He sank into the bench opposite her, and eyed her Head Girl badge.

"Snap! I guess that means we'll be sharing a dorm this year then," Neville said gently.

She shifted in her seat. It wasn't Malfoy. It wasn't Zabini. It wasn't another battle. It was Neville. Comfortable, solid, dependable Neville. She hadn't given voice to her concerns when neither Harry nor Ron had received the Head Boy owl, but there was an unspoken wariness amongst the trio from that moment on. Neither had sought out the position, Harry had actively hoped it wasn't to fall on his shoulders, but there was the sensitive issue of living arrangements to be concerned about.

"Neville, that's fantastic. I hope you're not too disappointed it's me you're living…"

He interrupted her panic with a laugh. She was his friend, and had been for eight years now, refusing to let him be cast aside by others students. He simply couldn't fathom how she would believe he would ever be disappointed to work or live with her.

"I'm more than happy it's you, Hermione. I wanted to mention that if you want to give Harry the password to our dorm, it's completely fine with me."

She blushed slightly, hoping he wasn't insinuating… but no, his eyes were genuine. She appreciated the gesture, it had been a long time since she'd spent a night away from Harry, for both their sakes. She smiled back at Neville, and without further comment on the matter, began a discussion on the Prefect rota until they felt the train pull into Hogsmede.