To Be Human

by Dannys_dungeon

Summary:

The color has been drained from the world. Her eyes searched for a hue of something, just a splash of purple or a drop of red. But everything good had been tarnished and stained with a gray sludge. The end of the world had ruined her, and she hated it. She was no longer herself but just a ghost floating around with no purpose. Doomed to spend the rest of her days searching for a light in the darkness. A torch to light her way to clarity. Something to make her feel real again, to feel human.

Who knew Draco Malfoy would be the one to bring color back into her life?

Notes:

Thank you for taking the time to read my fic, it means a lot. This is my first fic so try to be considerate. I got inspired by the movie, "Seeking a friend for the end of the world" and the song, "As the world caves in". Feel free to leave some comments and opinions on what you liked and didn't.

Chapter 1: Lost All Bearings

What does one do with only one month left to live?

Some might spend their remaining days with loved ones, family members, and friends; reminiscing of the 'good ol times'. Others might use the rest of their time to check off each and every bullet on their bucket list before the metaphorical bucket is eventually kicked. The mundane, ordinary, joyless folk might even seek adventure and thrill, going out with style and a bang. Of course, there will be those who just decide to sort out their affairs, grab a bottle of the best whiskey/wine they own, plant a chair on the lawn and watch the world cave in. And grimly, there is a portion of the population that will get a head start, and kill themselves before the theatrical event that is the apocalypse, happens.

Hermione had turned over and evaluated each and every option, even the latter, and could not come up with a decision. It seemed to be that she hadn't actually accepted the fact that she was going to die. Or maybe the full weight of it had not hit her yet. She knew it would happen, and happen it would soon.

The end of the world was upon her and yet she remained calm, cool, and collected. There was no urgency in her movements. Her behavior had not become frantic and erratic as it did for many others. No, if anything, she was lost. Confused about how it all came to this point. Where had the time gone, she thought. It felt as though just the other day she was side by side with her two best friends, fighting the darkest wizard known in history. However, that was not yesterday, that was 7 years ago.

Now at the age of 25, she has been yet again backed into a corner, forced to face another deadly, traumatizing event. Only this time she would not have the pleasure of making it out alive. Surviving was not an option, only a fantasy. How would it happen? What would it feel like? Would it be swift and painless? Or would it light every cell in her body on fire, sending her into an agonizing pain as the skin on her body melted right off the bone? She did not know which was more horrifying. Having gone so quickly that it does not even register in your mind that you have passed, easily wiped away from the planet's history, gone like you were never there, not important. Or having death feel like a dreadful feature-length film with no end in sight, waiting for the blissful release that is the end credits. She did not know.

But as of right now she stood in a catatonic state, staring out her window watching the world fold in on itself as a riot was on the cusp of breaking out in the street. A sight like this would have shaken Hermione two weeks ago, but the woman standing here today was not the same from before, merely a shell casing of what once was.

As of recently, she had become quite an emotionless sack of a human being. Nothing seemed to phase her; trying to get a reaction out of her would-be harder than trying to get professor Snape to crack a smile. The world was going to end, and due to that, everything seemed for lack of a better word, dull, lackluster. Her life had been cast in a gray hue, no color in sight. Her eyes, once full of light and signs of laughter, were reduced to nothing but a mute void. All the problems she had before, any event or moment seemed to just dissolve. None of it mattered anymore. She didn't have to care about what was going on in the world, it would all be over anyway.

She directed her attention back to the riot; her mind tended to wander these days, and pushed the curtains aside to get a better view of the chaos unfolding in the streets, feeling boredom ensue, wondering, questioning………..what's for dinner?

She slowly backed away from the window, disinterested in the savageness taking place out there, and slowly mooched her way to the kitchen and began browsing through what was left in her cabinets. She hadn't thought to buy any groceries for this week, too lost in the motion of things.

Around two weeks ago it was announced that the world would be ending on December 22nd (a great excuse for not buying Christmas presents, she thought). According to scientists around the world, including many wizarding astronomers and scholars, an asteroid roughly the size of France was headed for a direct course collision with Earth. It was all over the news, nothing else had been reported or televised other than the future apocalypse. When she first found out, her brain had shut down and was lit ablaze at the phrase "the end of the world", so she didn't really get the specifics, doing nothing but sitting in front of the telly in complete shock.

There was absolutely no way to prevent it and there was no way to survive it. She knew that deep down inside despite the news and everyone around her saying otherwise.

Everywhere she looked, propaganda and misinformation were being spread throughout the world. Yesterday she went out to dispose of the trash when the strangest muggle man approached her, preaching the idea that the government was behind all of this. “Those bastards!” he screamed his face centimeters from hers. She could feel the droplets of spit on her face. “Those bastards are to blame for this. They worked with the aliens and have gone and pissed them off!”. Concern was etched into her face. Concern for this obviously deluded man and concern for her safety. Thankfully, the man found it more interesting to harass a couple coming from the opposite direction and left her.

It wasn’t only the muggles that had lost their senses, the wizarding community was left hanging by a thread. When the news broke, the ministry tried its best to keep the lid on it and claimed it all to be a lie. They were trying to prevent any mayhem and knew that something like this would do just that, cause mayhem. Minister of magic, Hector Fawley, held daily meetings and briefings to tell the people that the apocalypse was a “hoax” and “fake” and to not believe anything they heard. Which she thought was ironic. Of course, newspapers like the Daily Prophet ate this up and spit it out on every edition they printed. And most wizard-folk believed every word of it. It wasn’t at all shocking that they were willing to lie to the public, and were in denial of what the future held. This wasn’t the first time that dark forces have threatened our existence and the ministry turned its back on the truth. She knew all about the ministries’ ignorance too well. She grew up with it.

Even though the ministry tried their best to keep information on lockdown, the people found out soon enough. Apparently, someone on the inside got tired of all the lies and deception and released documents, photos, and other kinds of irrefutable evidence proving the existence of the asteroid and its impending collision with earth.

The wizarding world was up in arms. People were quite literally losing their minds. She thought back on to the time during the war, back on the desperation and chaos that flowed through the wizarding world. It was nothing compared to the pandemonium of today. All rules and regulations were thrown out the window as wizards started to perform magic in front of muggles, exposing the wizarding community, and breaking many wizarding laws. What was the point if they were bound to die? It didn’t matter if muggles knew of magic; if they were going to die then they would die free and not hide the gift they have been given. They were tired and did not feel the need to keep up the front.

If it had been any other time, seeing wizards and witches perform magic might have shocked the muggles, it most likely would have caused some sort of commotion. But these were not regular circumstances. Most muggles didn’t even recognize people vanishing or appearing out of thin air. Or that strange people wearing odd clothing were making things float with the help of a wooden stick. No one really cared. Nothing would be as shocking and off-putting as the end of the world.

The world had gone mad, unrecognizable. Riots were regularly started; destruction spreading throughout the world. Garbage and filth had littered the streets. The subsequent apocalypse had royally fucked up the balance of things. Instead of people coming together, uniting as one to face such an event, they spent their last days spreading hate, bloodshed, chaos, and everything rotten. The crime rate since the start of all this increased by 100%. Civilians were being murdered, robbed, and sexually assaulted in their own homes. It was disgusting.

We allowed this to happen, she thought. We let it get this far. The human race let the end of the world consume us and rid us of anything good and our humanity before the bloody event even happened.

See, Hermione always knew that people reacted differently in situations like this. In the presence of evil or life and death, people tend to act in 3 different ways. They might cower and hide away until the light shines through once again. Others will stand and fight, not letting darkness take over, preserving the last bit of dignity they had left. And then there are people who will turn their back on the rest of us and use the darkness to shadow all of their nasty little secrets and the sins they have committed. They’ll use it as an excuse to act as they see fit.

She saw these people during the war. The fear-stricken, the fighters, and the exploiters. Each had their own way to cope, each vastly different than the other. But she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that people would use times like these for their own personal gain. Or how people could just hide in their houses and not face the truth wait for them outside. Maybe it was the Gryffindor in her, but the thought of letting the world turn to shit when there is a possibility she could help was something that sickened her.

And even now, as she stood in her kitchen, feeling time pass her by, lost and confused about how to feel, she would never stoop down to that level of inhumanity. It left a bad taste in her mouth to think people were out her acting like animals. Her faith in humanity, once full to the brim, spilling over, was now empty without a drop to spare.

She began to think, perhaps we deserved this. Maybe this was some form of punishment given by the universe for acting the way we do and being ungrateful for the chances we’ve been given. For poisoning the planet that gave us life and sheltered us from the dark void that is space. Maybe this is some sort of...cleansing. Riding the earth of all the dirty insects that crawl amongst the land. It happened to the dinosaurs, wiping out their entire existence which let in the new age, bringing life and flourishment. Hopefully, once we are all gone, and if the earth is still habitable, new life will grow and learn from the mistakes of the past. They will prosper and learn what it truly means to be alive and to appreciate life. A lesson she had lost the knowledge of.

She was unsure of what life meant. She had been reflecting on the topic for the past few days and came to no conclusion. What is the purpose of life? No one knew the answer, but she would continue to spend the rest of her short-lived existence trying to find it. To find a purpose. The reasoning for existing.

She made the attempt to discuss this with her friends but none found the topic rather interesting. Most people she knew were just trying to find ways to cope with their impending doom, whether that be partying, drinking, drugs, sex, or last-minute trips to Mykonos. All they were doing was distracting themself from what was right in front of them. Everyone thought they were being clever in masking their fear but Hermione could see right through the facade. They were manic and lost in a world that was abandoning them. Doing anything and everything to feel alive.

Hermione on the other hand had not been driven by panic and mania and had become quite dazed and oddly inert. In the beginning, it had been rough, to say the least. It was revealed on the 16th of November that the world would be ending. The papers, news channels, podcasts, radio shows, social media, and any other forms of communications with an audience were buzzing with shock and fear. At first, she thought it to be a joke. A colossal prank played on her, participated by people around the globe. It wasn't until she saw the evidence that she truly believed. She saw the charts, tables, and aerial photos taken of the asteroid now known as Osiris. She had wasted the first 2 days sobbing every second of every hour. The tears hadn’t stopped flowing as if someone left the faucet on in her eyes. Any thought of her untimely demise only made the tears flow harder. She would sit on the floor of her bathroom, silently crying as the tears slid down her face, onto her lips, and down her neck. The only thing she consumed for two days was her salty, bitter tears.
But eventually, her eyes grew tired of being a constant waterfall, and could not produce a single tear any further. She decided not to put too much thought into anything. It hurt to think lately. Thinking brought back the tears. But in the days that proceeded she had turned into what she could only best describe as a zombie, walking around mindlessly without any cause or purpose. Her brain stopped processing information and just sat there, taking a rest, as her body followed the regular routine movements of her day. It was like her body was on autopilot as her mind was off on a quest to find the true meaning of life.

The growling of her stomach woke her from her daze. One hand rested on the counter, the other loosely cradling the handle to the cabinet door, she stood staring at the empty cabinet. She had looked through all the drawers and cabinets and turned up with nothing. While she swung open the fridge she was smacked in the face with a stench so foul, it made her face screw up and her stomach flip, and not in a fun way. Hermione slammed the door shut, afraid she would vomit if it had remained open for any longer. It had been a while since she went food shopping, and she hadn't thought to throw out the now rotten food in her fridge.

Even though the smell made her gag, it did nothing to cease her hunger. It had become quite a bad habit of hers to skip meals or to not eat at all these days. Eating seemed to be too much work; too much effort put in such a pointless act. Her physique and health were not top priorities currently and because of this, tasks such as brushing her teeth, showering, washing her face, and basic hygiene were too much to ask. Working out was something she used to be fond of but now she could barely move a muscle. The combination of never leaving the house and never eating in the past two weeks had left her rather skinny and pale, but all those meals missed had finally caught up to her as she felt her stomach scream and howl for at least an ounce of calories. She decided it was best to just go out to the grocery store and pick up some things to hold her over for the next week and a half. She wouldn’t need any more food after that.

She walked to the front door and within minutes a coat was wrapped around her body, a beanie to protect her head from the cold (and to mask the birds’ nest that formed in her hair), gloves were placed on her slender hands, bunny ear slippers hugged her feet, and her wand snuggly fit between the band of her sweatpants and her stomach. She looked at herself in the mirror taking a mental note of how horrible she looked. She had never been one to fuss over her looks but had always sought out to be presentable and professional. Now she looked as if she had been sleeping under a bridge and taking her morning showers in mud. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her pajamas which consisted of an oversized, stain-covered white t-shirt that hung off of one of her shoulders, showing bare skin and a bra strap. And a pair of unflattering gray sweatpants with the words “Juicy” on the bum, that sagged in all the wrong places. At a quick glance, it looked like she had a diaper on. Her appearance was far from “juicy”.

As she walked over to the door, she bent down to pet Crookshanks and kissed him on the head, feeling the tickle of his fur on her nose. She grabbed the handle of the door, and with a deep breath, opened it and made her exit. When she reached the entrance to her building and was standing on the stoop she contemplated on whether or not she should apparate to the store but decided against it. While she hadn’t gone out much in the past two weeks, when she did she opted to walk the distance rather than using magic.

Before all of this, she had always taken the easy route, using magic for pretty much everything. But now she wanted to savor the little things. Like making breakfast without the help of her wand, or getting up to grab whatever she needed instead of a simple Accio. Walking to the store was another example of this, savoring the little things. It was surprisingly calming as she walked through her neighborhood. She had gone in the opposite direction of the riot and this side of the community was much more peaceful. The past few nights were the true definition of hectic, with fights, free-for-alls, and mayhem wreaking havoc in the streets. During the day, people are too busy finding ways to fill their time and keep their minds busy, but at night…is when the mind tends to wander. The night is the true enemy to a heavy conscience. When the moon is shining bright in the dark sky, is when the terror and chaos begin.

Winter made its presence known, as a cool breeze danced across her face, making the hairs on her body stand up. Christmas had always been her favorite, all the other holidays felt too childish and arguably pointless. But Christmas had always put a smile on her face and a warmth in her chest. It was a time when people came together, putting aside their differences and qualms in order to bring about peace. It was a time when family and friends would all snuggle up close and appreciate each other. Now, she saw it in a different light. Christmas was a time of death and destruction. Before she used to be able to see the flicker of the multicolored lights strung around as decoration. Each color so vibrant and bold, filling every home and lighting the streets with a fairytale-like quality. Such warmth and vibrancy, now reduced to nothing but a cold, harsh, gray pit. She couldn't see the colors anymore. It was all soulless. She tried to find them; even now, she looked around the street, at the houses who had attempted to bring some cheer and light into dark times like these. She stared at the lazily strung-up lights to find some color, just one color to prove that she had not gone blind. But she came up empty-handed. I must be sick, she thought, there is something wrong with me. Everywhere she turned, all she could see was a monochrome world, devoid of pigmentation. It was like she had turned color blind, everything had lost its shine and hue.

This is what scared her the most. The fact that she could no longer see the light, the color in the world. It had been one of her best qualities; finding the light in the uttermost dark. But now that's all she could see, the dark. She was drowning in it. Everything had become so very dingy and so very gray. Each day it got worse, colors she used to cherish slowly faded away into a dull tint. Its presence becoming stronger and stronger. She could taste it. This is partly why she slept so much. So afraid of what the dark would do to her mind. How it would twist her thoughts and feelings, infecting her like a disease. It made her want to keep her head down, avoiding eye contact with everything and everyone. She did not want to bear witness to the bleaching of a world she loved, lacking color and light.

Without even realizing it, she found herself standing outside of the grocery store. The windows were tinted so she could not make out whether or not there were people inside. She hoped there wouldn't be many because she did not have any energy to interact with fellow humans.

Her arm began to extend out towards the door when she got the slightest tickle in her stomach. It didn't feel like it was growling out of hunger, it felt more like a little tap-tap as if warning her of what awaits her just on the other side of this door. Hermione always had a good intuition and it never steered her wrong. In fact, that intuition plus her brains are what kept her alive and helped save the wizarding world. But why should she be cautious of a grocery store? She didn't know the answer, all she could think of as she opened the door and felt the rush of AC hit her was that, whatever it was, hopefully, it wouldn't be too much trouble. Maybe it will bring some clarity to the blurriness that has clouded her eyes.

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Summary:

Hermione is struggling to keep her wits about her as she ventures out to the local market.

Notes:

So it has been like 4 years since I first posted this lmao, and just never came back. I'm trying to get back to my love of writing and see this story through, so thank you to those who stick with me!

The bright fluorescent lights of the store made Hermione's eyes squint, wrinkling at the corners, and were threatening a headache. She was already regretting her decision to leave the house. As far as she could see, a few people were walking around the washed-out shop gathering supplies in their carts.

It had been roughly 2 weeks since she last spoke to or seen another person, and she hadn't prepared herself for human interaction. With all the riots and violence happening outside, Hermione had what she feared the most. The thought of anyone seeing her in this state made her sick.

Hermione had been known for being sensible, stoic, and a leader. But now? She actually didn't know who she was at all anymore. Certainly not the bony, pale, and frail creature she sometimes caught glimpses of in the mirror. No. That could not be the same golden girl of House Gryffindor who helped save the wizarding world. Or the brightest witch of her age who could take down any obstacle in her way. Her ability to persevere and push through was something she admired about herself. No matter what, she was able to see through whatever mess she was in and continue to the end by staying true to herself. Not once did she ever betray herself or her beliefs despite whatever issue she was facing. But now none of that was applicable.

The shame she felt was immense and weighed on her soul, making it feel like she had weights tied around her ankles, slowing down all her movements as she struggled to move forward. She no longer recognized herself and knew others would not either. Everything she stood on was abandoned, only for her to mope and stir in a pool of self-pity. Where was that courageous lion from all those years ago? She didn't want to be perceived in any way; while she used to love basking in the attention of others, she found herself shying away from it now. Like a dog cowering in the corner of its cage, hiding from its owner when it knows it's done something wrong.

Only a few things she told herself. She just needed to grab a few things, and then she could retreat to her cage.

At the entrance, she stood, extending her right arm out towards a stack of baskets that sat beside the doorway. As Hermione grabbed a basket to carry her items, faint murmuring snatched her attention, and she looked up. A man in his fifties with a head full of dark brown hair with streaks of gray was in a chair, slumped over the counter, sound asleep, and a half-empty bottle of scotch beside him. His brows furrowed, worry was etched in his face, and he appeared to be muttering something. He was clearly having some bad dream.

How curious it was to see someone having a nightmare, Hermione thought. Her past sleeps had been dreamless, a dark void. She didn't think it was possible to come up with something more terrifying than her current reality.

Slowly, she began to walk around the store.

Before leaving the house, she made a mental note of what she needed to get, most of it being junk food and none of it being anything you could make an actual meal with. Nutrition was not a top priority at the moment. Her desired items were Pop-Tarts, bread, jam, Aunt Bessie's bake-at-home Yorkshires, prawn crackers, and several bottles of alcohol. Hermione had never been much of a drinker, but there was really no time like the present to start.

As she started making her way towards the aisle of the junky breakfast foods, she took a moment to really assess her surroundings. Her eyes roamed over the space, and she saw all the faces of the customers that occupied the store. Every single one had a similar haunted expression on their face. Very much like her own, with dark bluish bags under their eyes like bruises, accompanied by a far off in the distance stare. A lost look in their expression, and a dark aura hung about them like a black cloud. Every person there seemed to be meandering around the store, not really shopping for a purpose but just to pass the time. It was eerie watching people moving about as if on autopilot, idly grabbing items off shelves and placing them into carts with a dazed manner.

Towards the beginning of the aisle, an older woman was pushing her cart towards Hermione's direction. This stranger had her hair wrapped up in curlers and was wearing a bathrobe. As the woman was passing Hermione, their eyes met, and it felt as though they could not break the contact. Both women searched the other's eyes for something. What, was unknown. Possibly reassurance that everything would be okay. But all they found were glassy orbs bare of life. Eyes that reminded someone of a haunted house, a place that possibly had been warm, inviting, and lively but now only held the ghosts and secrets of someone's past. Hermione shoved her head down, her chin close to her chest, and her eyes pointed directly at her feet. I need to keep to myself and not attract any attention, she thought. This proved to be a hard task for her.

In about ten minutes, she had almost everything she was looking for; all that was left was the liquor. She walked two aisles over to the alcohol section and began to browse through their selection. They had a variety of different beers, wines, whiskeys, vodkas, tequilas, as well as mixers and other items you would need for drinking. Hermione did not know what to choose as she had only ever really taken the occasional sip from Ginny's glass of wine when they used to go out. Alcohol and drugs were a vice that never tempted her. The constant need to feel in control of her mind and body outweighed any idea of letting loose. She wanted to be present in the moment. Now, Hermione just wanted to slip into an abyss and not feel anything.

A few small bottles of tequila and vodka were grabbed, as well as a wine she had once tried from Ginny that Hermione rather liked. The shelves were pretty scarce of alcohol; apparently, she wasn't the only one intending to drown their sorrows.

She was grabbing a bottle of Smirnoff when it happened. The bottle was farther back on the shelf, forcing her to stretch her arm deep into the space to grab it. Her fingers were wrapped around the neck of the bottle as she began to pull her arm back. In doing so, her elbow bumped into several bottles of very expensive whiskey. They all came cascading onto the floor. The sound was piercing and made her jump back, her heart beating rapidly from shock.

This unfortunate bout of clumsiness forced all heads to point in her direction, judging her for disrupting their sulking. She looked down at the floor, seeing the mess she had made. The bottoms of her pants were now wet, as well as the bunny slippers she now realized she was embarrassingly still wearing. Every step resulted in a squishy, wet slap against the floor. The dark liquid was beginning to slowly spread through the gravesite of the glass bottles. Hermione had the slightest temptation to throw a tantrum. To jump up and down, stomping her feet on the ground while whining that life wasn't fair. The need to regress into the state of a toddler usually came when she was embarrassed, constricted, or told she was wrong. Tears started to sting her eyes.

This was one of those moments where you realize that you've been building this tension in your body, every little mistake adding onto the gravity of it. And for a long time, you think you're okay until one day your jacket gets caught on the door handle or a drop of toothpaste gets on your shirt. Or maybe you drop 3 bottles of whiskey onto the floor. Innocent little mistakes, but they cause a melodramatic seismic shift to your reality, and now you're on the floor crying, screaming Why me and wishing the world would just go away.

She knelt on the floor, grabbed her basket, and gently picked up shards of glass to put them into said basket until she could properly dispose of them. A Scourgify would be the simple solution, but she wanted to feel the glass in her hands as she cleaned up her own mess.

As she knelt on the floor, she could feel her pajama pants soaking up the liquor. She hoped they wouldn't stain; these were her favorites.

"Merlin..."

She heard the rich gruff of a man's voice behind her, not recognizing it. It most likely belonged to the store clerk. She slowly turned her body when she caught a glimpse of who the voice originated from. A lengthy man dressed in all dark clothes with hair the color of platinum white and eyes like ice. Her stomach dropped. This day could not get any worse, she thought.

"Granger?" The man phrased her surname as a question, with one eyebrow raised like he couldn't believe it was her

Oh no.

"Malfoy..." she whispered as her cheeks flamed.

Draco Malfoy was standing before her while she sat in a puddle of spilt whiskey in her jammies and floppy bunny slippers.

This was not what she had planned for today at all.