The Way Back Home

Vivienne Hale's POV

It's been weeks.

Weeks since I walked away from him in that alley. Since I turned down the one thing I've wanted every second of every day since I left.

And I regret it.

Not just the way I said no, but the fact that I said it at all.

Because no matter how many films I sign, how many glowing reviews I get, how many red carpets I walk down in borrowed gowns with borrowed smiles—nothing fills that hollow space in my chest.

That hole is Hogwarts-shaped. And nothing else fits.

I thought coming back to the Muggle world would help me breathe again. But it's louder here. Brighter. Harsher. The cameras never blink. The fans never stop asking where I've been, and I can't answer them. I can't tell them the truth.

I've been somewhere magic lives.

And I left it behind.

"Dad," I say quietly, coffee growing cold between my hands as we sit on the back porch of our little house, the one with creaky steps and a view of overgrown lavender, the one I haven't had the heart to leave yet. "Do you think I made a mistake?"

He doesn't look surprised. He just leans back, folding the paper in his lap. "About what?"

"Leaving."

He's quiet for a moment, then shrugs. "I think you're asking the wrong question."

I look at him.

"I don't think it's about whether or not it was a mistake," he says. "I think it's about whether or not you feel like you left something you were meant for." I swallow. Hard. "I was never meant for that place. I don't belong in their world."

"That's not what I asked," he says. "I said, do you feel like you left something you were meant for?" I look down at my mug.

I can still hear the laughter of my students. The applause in the Great Hall. The rustle of costumes. The way Thorne rolled his eyes but helped anyway. The way the first years clapped for each other like it meant everything.

The way Draco watched me, even when he pretended he wasn't.

I blink hard. "I miss teaching."

Dad nods like he already knew. "You always wanted to. You used to line up your stuffed animals and put on a whole lesson for them, remember?" I laugh weakly. "I gave them homework."

He chuckles. "Poor bear never recovered."

I shake my head, the ache rising again. "It's not just teaching. It's... the castle. The kids. The feeling that I was doing something that mattered."

I pause. He waits.

"It's Draco," I finally whisper, before I can talk myself out of it.

Dad doesn't even blink. "I figured."

"I never said I missed him."

"You didn't have to," he says. "Ever since your mom died, I've been your best friend. I know you." I bite my lip. "I know you love him," he adds gently. "And that scares you more than anything."

I nod, because I can't say it aloud. Because it's true.

And because I already turned him down once.

But that doesn't mean I don't want to go back.

It just means I don't know if I'll be welcomed when I do.

[][][][][][]

I spot her the moment I push through the door—Pansy Parkinson, of all people, tucked into a corner booth of the café like she owns the place. Hair glossy, nails sharp, expression unreadable behind a steaming cup of something painfully expensive-looking. She doesn't wave. Just tilts her head and lifts a brow, like I'm late even though I'm precisely on time.

"Vivienne," she says, tone smooth, but there's something soft beneath it. I haven't heard my name said like that in weeks.

"Pansy." I slide into the seat across from her, shrugging out of my coat. My hands still smell like acrylic paint and the cheap soap I stole from the countryside inn. I don't know why I came. Curiosity? Stupidity? The faint, masochistic desire to feel something again?

She studies me like I'm part of a very boring crossword puzzle. "You look thinner."

I snort. "And you look like you still judge people for existing."

"Oh, I absolutely do," she says, smiling. "But not you. Not today."

I glance down at the tea the barmaid sets in front of me. It's piping hot and smells like vanilla and oranges. Pansy definitely ordered it for me in advance. Witch.

"The castle's upset," she says after a beat. "You should hear how the floorboards groan when anyone walks past the Muggle Arts corridor. It's like the stones themselves are sulking."

I try to laugh. It comes out small and broken. "Well, I suppose I made an impression."

"You did. And not just on the castle." Her voice turns quiet. "Everyone's off. Even the portraits are grumpy. Luna's crying into her sherry, and Minerva's been assigning detentions like it's her personal coping mechanism."

I blink. "You came here to guilt-trip me?"

"No," she says, setting her cup down with a clink. "I came to say I'm sorry. I should have said something to Draco sooner. Or hexed him harder. Merlin knows he's been brooding like a widowed poet."

My breath catches. "You talk to him?"

She shrugs. "Talk at him, mostly. He mutters. Broods. Does that thing where he clutches the bridge of his nose like it personally betrayed him."

I look away. Outside, snow is beginning to fall in thick, lazy flakes. It's the kind of London day that's perfect for warm scarves, bad decisions, and butterbeer with friends. And I—

I miss it. I miss them.

"I don't know if I can go back," I whisper.

Pansy reaches across the table and places a hand over mine. Her nails are painted the color of stormclouds. "That's the thing. No one's asking you to go back. Just come by. Hogsmeade. Sit with us. Laugh a little. Lie and say your life's been thrilling."

She squeezes my hand.

"You made friends, Hale. Real ones. The professors, the students, all of us. And I'm not saying Draco didn't screw up—he did, in spectacularly Malfoy fashion. But don't punish the rest of us for his mistake. We're not asking you to forgive him. Just... let us miss you out loud."

My throat tightens.

"Think about it," she says gently, releasing my hand. "We're at the Three Broomsticks every Saturday now. Blaise said he'll bring that awful wine you like. Even Theo's promised not to bring his latest disaster date."

I don't answer.

But for the first time in days, I sip my tea. And it tastes like maybe—not today, but someday soon—I just might go back.

[][][][][][]

The moment I step into the Three Broomsticks, my heart clenches. It's quieter than I remember, but maybe that's just me. The pub still smells of butterbeer and damp cloaks. There's chatter, laughter, clinking glasses—but none of it reaches me. I don't even get the chance to look around properly before I'm pulled into a rib-cracking hug.

"Viv!" Thorne's voice is in my ear before my brain catches up. "You came back."

"I didn't—I'm not back, I just..." I stumble over the words as I wrap my arms around him. "I just missed it."

"You don't need to explain," he says, pulling away slightly to look at me. "Just... you being here is enough."

I barely have time to breathe before Hermione rushes forward. Her eyes are glassy, but she smiles through them. "We didn't think you'd actually come."

"I almost didn't," I admit.

"Good thing you did," says Ginny as she joins in, hugging me tightly and whispering, "You've been missed." Luna, dreamy and soft as ever, touches my cheek with both hands before hugging me. "I knew you'd come when the wind changed."

Ron follows, a little awkward but grinning. "Hogwarts has been unbearable without drama class. I've actually had to talk to Harry more." Harry smirks, then steps forward. "I told them you'd be back." He wraps his arms around me, firm and reassuring. "Glad you proved me right."

And then there's him.

Draco moves slower than the others. His expression unreadable. I brace myself.

When he finally steps close, he doesn't say anything—just leans in, and I do the same, our arms carefully winding around each other in what is, technically, a hug.

But it feels wrong.

Or maybe too right.

Like hugging someone who broke something inside you that never healed properly. Like hugging Scorpius, like hugging a hurt child. There's a weight in his silence, and I feel it sink into my bones. The boy in both of them—the boy who needed me and who I left behind—is still in there, aching. 

And I hate myself for ever walking away.

I pull back first, swallowing the lump in my throat. He doesn't look at me as he steps aside.

Theo swoops in, all theatrics and loud affection. "You realize, Miss Hale, you still owe me an autograph." Blaise nods solemnly beside him. "Two, actually. One for each pec."

Before I can laugh, they both yank their shirt collars down and puff out their chests. "Here—sign below the collarbone, would you?"

I blink, a breath of laughter escaping just as a sharp whack echoes through the pub. Draco smacks both of them on the head and then, not gently, grabs their ears and pulls them away from me like misbehaving toddlers.

"Grow up," he mutters.

"Not until she signs!" Blaise protests.

"Yeah, it's for charity!" Theo adds with a wince, rubbing his ear.

Draco doesn't dignify them with a response. But I see it—that tiny, grudging smirk.

I let out a real laugh this time. It's shaky, but it's real.

Maybe I'm not back. Maybe I'm just visiting.

But for the first time in months, it feels like a piece of me is home.