As much as she wanted to break down, Hermione continued to soldier on. Harry and Ginny had tried fruitlessly to draw her from her cold apathy, inviting her to dinners at Grimmauld and the Burrow, trying to tempt her with promises of bookstore visits and library renovations. She resisted every attempt, as good-natured as they were, out of fear. She couldn’t stand the idea of seeing him unexpectedly, giving him any opportunity to shatter her resolve all over again. Work she could handle—it was part of the job—but on a leisurely trip to Flourish & Blotts? Or a run to Florean’s for ice cream? Or worse, anything that might prompt memories of the castle they’d rebuilt together? No, she couldn’t risk it. Hogwarts, always a place of comfort and innocence to her, was now tainted with the memory of their relationship. Fallen tree branches reminded her of their dalliances in the Forbidden Forest. The lingering ruins of Diagon Alley, the shops not fully patched up, transported her back to the rickety remains of the Great Hall that they’d rebuilt. His laugh would echo in her mind, the memory his featherlight touch along her arm would give her goosebumps, and she would fall apart. So no, she wouldn’t let her friends take her out, and she certainly wouldn’t make contact with him, no matter how much her heart yearned for it.