It Started Out As A Feeling

Author's Note: I based this fiction on a song by Regina Spektor called The Call. I don't own the song or the Harry Potter series...(if only...but alas! It will only happen when Hell freezes over and BBC becomes nice...)

Hermione entered platform 9 3/4 hesitantly, still unsure if she made the right decision to accept the offer of returning for an eighth year to complete her training. She loved learning new things, but...this just didn't feel as though she was returning to home, like all the other years. This felt as shough she was returning to a battle ground.

As she walked briskly forward, she spotted Professor McGonagall, speaking to a trio of confused first year students. Hermione was told to meet her, so she approached cautiously, not wanting to disturb the group.

As she rattled off rules to the first years, saying that they would have to follow them even here, the professor saw Hermione and paused, letting a small but soft smile grace her otherwise sharp features.

"Professor!" Not even thinking, Hermione immediately dropped her bag and gave her a huge hug accompanied by a beaming smile. McGonagall was slightly taken aback, but hugged Hermione back after the initial shock wore off. As Hermione pulled back, McGonagall gave her a fond once-over, trying to determine how she'd been doing.

"Miss Granger, please meet me in the very last compartment after you put your trunk away; I must talk to all the eighth years about the new conditions surrounding this...unprecedented situation."

Hermione just smiled more, as she knew that McGonagall wasn't likely to say how she felt outright, and this familiar fact comforted her more than Harry or Ron could. At the thought of them, she frowned. They hadn't agreed to come back, opting instead for auror training and a fresh, more convenient start.

Her brow creased as she realized that even if Ron had wanted to come, he wouldn't have. And she felt like she was being punched in the stomach all over again.

"Why the hell can't I kiss you, Granger, you're my bloody girlfriend!"

"I don't very well care if you're mad at me, It's just a kiss!"

"You need to lighten up, I was just flirting."

"I don't care if kissing 'Constitutes as more than flirting, Ronald,' I just...you don't give me that look, like you know everything! You know what? I don't give a damn anymore. Go away, Hermione, get out. I don't want to see your filthy mudblood belongings anymore. We're done."

Hermione felt it all over, that pain, and she just wanted it to stop. He'd called her a mudblood. That didn't matter, it was the intent behind it that had. And, for the brightest witch of her age, she had no clue why it'd happened. She came home one day and had seen Ron snogging someone else, and it had hurt. She'd confronted him later, after she'd left and come back home wondering what more they had done., hoping to resolve the situation quickly, and it simply escalated. She didn't know where she'd went wrong.

As she fought the pain and the aching sadness, she saw a few familiar faces, each changed by the strain of The War. She saw Neville, very rugged and handsome, not looking a bit like the awkward boy she'd met years ago. There was Luna, that dazed look in her eyes as she and Neville held hands and talked about Herbology. And there was a pale blond-haired boy standing off to the side, not nearly the picture of self-confidence he used to be. Draco Malfoy.

As she debated going over to him and starting up a conversation, a Red-headed fireball popped up in her view.

"Ginny!" she hugged her friend, happy that she still had a tie to her old, wonderfully full life.

"Hermione, I've missed you! You never come to dinner anymore, the table's so empty, and Mum nags Ron to bring you over and..." Ginny stopped her mile-a-minute review of the Weasley family dinners as she saw the look on Hermione's face.

"You'll...tell me later?" She asked gently, trying to be a good friend. Hermione looked at her gratefully.

Ginny walked away, smiling a small smile she only reserved for her best friends. She went over to talk to Luna and Neville as Hermione stood forlornly among the crowd. As she realized that she wasn't the only one alone, her eyes swiveled back to Malfoy, and she approached him on a strange impulse. She thought she at least owed him that for being the only Death Eater that never killed anyone. And he saved your life. She didn't think those words. Not at all.

As she got nearer, he seemed to sense her, turning his head sharply. His eyes looked defeated, though his sneer said otherwise.

"Granger," he drawled,"Finally come to finish me off, eh?"

Hermione was trying to be civil, but she decided that he just wasn't worth talking to.

"Yes, Malfoy, I've come to finish you off. Not because you're a Death Eater, but because you just ooze crappy witicisms."

Malfoy sucked in a breath, not figuring Hermione'd be riled up so quickly. Also, he was trying not to laugh.

"Granger, I've always enjoyed your sparkling wit. Now please stop shedding on the ground I walk upon."

Hermione didn't grace that with a response, just raised her eyebrows and started to walk away. Before she got a mere step away, Malfoy grabbed her arm. She gasped, trying not to pay any attention to the strange feeling that ran through her arm. She felt Malfoy tense.

"Granger . . ." He didn't finish. He stood up straight and walked away, wondering what the hell was going on.

Hermione finished putting her trunk and such away and climbed onto the express, feeling strange. Opening the door to the last compartment, she saw the few eighth years there. There was Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, Blaise, and of course, the one and only Draco Malfoy. Professor McGonagall was there, and Hermione was grateful that she wouldn't be without a teacher with Malfoy. Sighing, she grit her teeth and stepped inside.