Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

‘Four hours and thirty-seven minutes until destination.’ 

No. 

‘Four hours and forty-two minutes until destination’, now the navigation had accounted for a road closure and rerouted. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d driven this length, but she’d make it work. As long as she got there in time, it would be worth it. 

If only the seatbelt didn’t threaten to cut off her circulation, that would be a valid excuse not to attend, right? 

No. 

She couldn’t put it off any longer. 

No more regrets. 

Leaving the confines of the coastal cottage and pulling on the main motorway was enough to give her an anxiety attack, or perhaps she was already anxious. She’d always been a nervous driver. You know, big metal objects travelling at ridiculous speeds in opposite directions of each other, why would anyone enjoy that?

He did though, once.

She kept imagining getting there only to be turned away. A snivelling glare or some type of comment made about what she was wearing. Oh God, but what does one wear to something like this? 

There was no dress code, because there was no invitation, because of course there wasn’t. But everything inside of her was telling her to go. 

For days now, she’d heard a voice just softly calling out to her when she’d least expected it, last night being no exception as she brushed her teeth for bed but then it stayed with her all night. She heard the lull of the voice, and she was sure there were nimble fingers stroking through the strands of her hair, a warmth encasing her back as she rested her head on her pillow, and then she was floating through silver clouds. A slight pearlescent glow to them, one that you’d miss if you weren’t looking so closely. She wasn’t scared or worried, she felt safe and seen.

Or maybe she was starting to lose her mind too. No, she shouldn’t say that. 

There was no information released in the Prophet article. Just a date and a time. It was almost like they were as baffled as the rest of the Wizarding World, or perhaps they simply did not see it as a monumental reason to give it enough of a dedication. Another reason why she had left it all behind after finishing her delayed eighth year. 

That world would forever be stuck in its prejudices and old ways, unable to embrace anyone different from them. Holding on to their refusal to modernise out of fear, even though they’d deemed the Muggle world inferior, yet it would move on with the times. It would grow, adapt and change. Sometimes for the good, and sometimes not. But that’s what made the world beautiful, wasn’t it? She believed it once. 

The thought still made her sad, though. She felt the judgment and disregard as the words leapt off the page right at her, and if she could feel it, so could anyone else that was equally as shocked by those so few letters that had been carelessly cobbled together in under twelve seconds. 

That’s all that was left, that’s all they could spare, and no one would know his story like she did.

He wasn’t the same person. He hadn’t been for a long time. His younger years were misunderstood, only to be wasted anyway. But people had been and always would be quick to remember one bad thing over a hundred good things, however small they were. 

She would remember the good things, though. Because somebody had to. He deserved that  and so much more, even if she was never brave enough to admit it at the time. 

In hindsight, their initial reunion wasn’t particularly frosty, but it hadn’t been all rainbows and sunshine either if she was being honest with herself. So naturally, that would have put them on the backfoot to begin with… 

“Bloody hell, you’d think with the fancy new rebuild they’d have opted for smaller bloody- AH!” And then suddenly, instead of opening the door, she was falling quickly through it, through the air, just to tumble onto the solid oak planks that had been laid out specifically, so very carefully, just for her to face plant. 

That was sure to leave a bruise. Brilliant. What a terrific first day back.

Still laying on her front, she blinked once, and then twice, until she realised she was eye level and staring directly at the toes points of dragonhide boots. 

“That was a graceful entrance, Granger.” 

She knew that voice above her. 

The drawl, the tone, the perfect pronunciation, but it was somewhat different to how she remembered it. It was still cold, but now it was tinged with a hint of something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Was it warmth?

If she glanced up, would he sneer at her? Would he laugh at her?

But then, a pale hand was in front of her, stretched out, with a minor tremble to it, and her heart stilled momentarily.

She looked up to see him bent over, his shocking white hair swooped to the side but a lock dropped over his eyes slightly, and his face indifferent. It was neither laughing or sniggering, but more, concerned? 

She continued to stare at his hand, the signet ring glimmering from where it sat on his long fingers until he finally spoke again. 

“I can get you a blanket if you’d prefer to lay on the floor.” 

That jolted her back into reality and she raised herself to her knees before standing up right, not thinking to take the hand that was extended out to her for assistance, but he didn’t highlight that fact. He just pulled it back and rubbed it along his trouser leg before placing it in his pocket. 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t get the door open,” she said timidly, even for her. 

They stood staring at each other for what felt like a lifetime, the only sounds surrounding them were the crackles of the fire and the slow exhale from each unwilling participant. 

“So this is your dorm, too?” Her voice went slightly higher toward the end of her question, and she didn’t know why, but she really wished it hadn’t sounded so unlike her, it came across so critical. 

She watched his face become resigned, almost like he had been expecting it, preparing for such a question to be asked to him. 

“It is, I had assumed they would have told whoever I was sharing with beforehand. But look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I haven’t even unpacked yet anyway, just in case.” Just in case? “I’ll be out of your hair in a few moments.”

And then he smiled at her, not out of joy or anything else, but more in a sad sort of way. Like he understood. Except he didn’t. 

“No, you don’t have to,” she rushed out, stopping him from turning to their two suitcases that had been stacked by the door in premeditation for the move in day, “I just wanted to make sure this was your room too. I’m fine with…” She paused and looked all around at the cosy space, a small living area with floor to ceiling stained wood panels, a creamy yellow sofa in the middle of it across from the fireplace and two other wooden doors at the end of the room next to each other, a sturdy bookshelf behind where he stood, before her eyes caught his, “this.” 

His eyes caught her off guard, dazzling under her gaze so much they almost looked like diamonds to her. She had no clue why she’d said it, perhaps hanging onto stolen glances accumulating to mere seconds from before and during the war had made her curious as to who he was now. 

“Honestly, Granger, after everything, I get it. McGonagall won’t mind moving me, I’m sure she’s accounted for this kind of scenario anyway.” 

But there was still no malice in his voice, no anger on his face and no coldness in his eyes. He was completely placid, almost kind. And she felt awful for making him think she thought he was anything but. 

“You could get a worse roommate than me, you know,” she crossed her arms, watching him quirk a brow at her response as she shifted her hips.

“Is that so?”

“Yep, the way I see it, I’m your best option. I don’t party, all I do is read and study. I really am the perfect roommate if you’re looking for a boring final year,” she continued, trying to make light of the situation they faced between them. 

His face seemed to have a bit of colour come back to it at that, a glimmer of life shone in his eyes for the smallest moment, his shoulders dropped and his body untensed as he visibly relaxed. Such an odd way to view him now compared to how he’d been: an uptight, little tw-

“Well, who could refuse an offer like that?” He chuckled lightly as they both stood there, the space around them easing with each minute that passed.

She didn’t think she had ever heard a chuckle leave his mouth before, and it caught her completely off guard, like she was seeing him in an entirely new light. Less harsh, more real, a version he had kept locked away for fear of it being torn apart.

She supposed he didn’t have to pretend anymore. he didn’t have anything to prove to anyone. He’d already lost everything just as had she in a way. Her friends had gone on to live their lives, while she was stuck in the past of everything that the war had taken away, and she imagined it was the same for him now.

They were ghosts of the war, just trying to find their way back to the living once more. And maybe she could show him that it was alright to live again. 

“Can I help you with your suitcase?” He asked hopefully, as something flashed across his face. It was just a glimpse, a small flicker of hope that she’d accept the act of kindness. A need to want to do something good, or to show that he was capable of it.

So she smiled back. 

“Sure.” 

‘Three hours and fifty-eight minutes until destination.’

God, this journey was going to drag. She’d left far too late, her mind had tried to betray her every hour leading up to her leaving the house, to sabotage what she had set out to do. Or perhaps it was trying to save her from what she wouldn’t be able to do. 

But she wouldn’t know until she got there. 

Even the radio wasn’t enough to distract her from her looping mind now Questions she’d long since kept in a cage were just dragging their way to the surface threatening to rear their ugly head. 

But she had to stay true to her heart. She had to make the journey, however detrimental, she owed him that much, she owed it to them…

“Granger, you’re going to be late.” 

A voice was pulling her out of her deep sleep, and someone was playing with her hair, just like her mother used to do. She felt the edge of her bed dip, almost like someone had been sitting there, close enough to touch.

The thought should have filled her with unease, but it hadn’t, she couldn’t explain it. Being around him had begun to feel so normal to her now. 

They were in opposing houses growing up in school, opposite sides of the war, and now they had been thrust together unceremoniously- a sun and a moon existing in the same time and space- and somehow the world had not imploded on itself. 

They’d successfully been living together a month, and neither had wanted to kill the other. Well, that she knew of anyway. 

In the beginning, the conversation between them had seemed strained, but little by little he had become an entirely different person. He was unguarded, his frosty exterior almost completely melted away as he was becoming somewhat human. 

But it had been peaceful, dare she say, comforting, to live with him. And she hoped he felt the same, even if he avoided her whenever they left their dorm.

In their classes, he sat at the back on a table on his own. Not a flick of his eyes in her direction should they ever have a period together. At meal times, he sat at the end of one of the furthest tables from her, silently eating before he’d return to their dorm. Some study nights, she’d see him hunched over a stack of books that never looked to meet their curricular, but he’d always be so focused and engrossed that she’d never disturb him. 

She didn’t know when she started worrying about him, but it had become a daily occurrence now. She worried his loneliness would consume him, that he would continue to wither away as the year went on.

But the moment she entered their dorm? They’d discuss each other's days, talk about what books they were reading, what ridiculous things had happened in each other's classes or in the halls, then in the confines of their dorm, they had built some semblance of a friendship. But outside, they were still strangers to each other. Perhaps it was his way of giving her space. 

Or perhaps he was embarrassed to be seen with her, contradictory to how civil he had been towards her behind closed doors. It must have been a culture shock for him, to now spend all his free time with the very type of person he had fought to eradicate. 

She blinked her eyes open to see him standing in the doorway of her room, his sweater folded neatly over his arm and his frame stood entirely straight, still watching her, and all she wanted to know was what he was thinking.

“Do we have any classes together today?” She asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes open, pushing her overactive mind back to its depths as she looked at his face. He seemed tired and tense. 

He nodded stiffly, “I believe we have two,” and then he was glancing away from her in the next breath, looking down at his shoes, almost as if his eyes were burning. 

She swallowed, trying to conjure the courage to ask what she had wanted to for at least a week. “Well, how about I sit with you for them?” 

“Sit with your friends, Granger.” Friends? She was all out of those. And so was he if her powers of observation were anything to go by. Yes, she had acquaintances with the returning members from her house before, but Harry and Ron had gone off on their quest for greatness, leaving her behind.

“Are we not friends, then?” At her question, she watched him twitch, he opened his mouth but then swiftly closed it again, letting the curve of his lips start to form a smile, but it appeared strained.

“I suppose we are.” He said flatly, never giving a hint of anything away in his tone. But still, it wasn’t unkind. 

“Good, because I was beginning to think the personal wake up calls meant something else entirely,” she returned as she raised a brow at him, and watched him flush slightly pink at her words. It was a new colour on him, one that almost made him appear handsome to her. 

“See you later,” he replied as he shook his head at her lightly, before turning to leave her room. 

She did see him in their class later, but he sat with a seventh year student, one of the Greengrass girls. She couldn’t explain why, but her heart slumped inside of her chest seeing him choose to sit with someone else, when she had offered herself so freely. 

Did he hate her?

Later that evening, as they sat in their shared living space on either end of the sofa, each reading something, she didn’t bring it up. She never said that it had hurt her, because she couldn’t even understand why it had. It was a stab of jealousy that confused her.

So she let the silence grow between them, but every so often, she’d steal a quick glance at him, just to see if she could make out what he was thinking. 

Sat with a book in his lap, he moved and stretched out his legs from his side of the sofa, his thigh brushing her calf as he knocked against her. She flicked her eyes up to him, to see he was already watching for her reaction, so she extended her own legs out, tangling herself up with his limbs as he raised his book above their legs to allow her to get comfortable. 

What she didn’t expect, was for his hand to clutch round her ankle in his lap as he lowered his book back down. 

It was the smallest of movements, the faintest trace of a circle, so delicate she thought she made it up. But she didn’t dare look at him while he did it for fear he would stop sending the warmth caress through her, so she let her eyes return to her page. Because this was normal, between friends.

Except he continued to draw the circle on her ankle for hours, as they sat and read in silence for the rest of the night, a stillness to him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

‘Three hours and ten minutes until destination.’

The further she drove, the more she realised how she’d locked away the memories they had created. Just small, fleeting moments. Nothing to brag or write about. If she had told anyone about any of it, she thought they’d say she made it all up in her head. But she hadn’t. 

They were real. Because he was real. He had let her in, over time he’d let her see the truth about it all, the truth about him. She knew she had been young and naive, both of them were, which is why she had left it in the past. She’d put any feelings she had for him away, because she had to in order to leave him behind. 

But she never knew she’d live to regret it for the rest of her life… 

She heard their dorm door creak open before she glanced at him slipping through the gap. He looked worn from the day, almost broken. But she saw his face light up the moment the door was closed once more and they were in their own small little world, away from anyone that didn’t understand them or the friendship they had built.

As the months continued to trudge on through the year, his mask continued to slip away. Slowly, she’d learnt how to disarm him until he had no defenses left. He was troubled, he was lonely, and he was in pain. But when he was with her, none of that would show.

In her eyes, he was healing. Just like she was. Slowly, they were healing each other.

“What on earth have you done in here now?” He laughed as he threw his book bag down by the door, right next to hers, and kicked his shoes off, bending over to move them next to her own that she’d placed by the door. 

She rummaged through the cardboard box that lay on their coffee table, pulling various clunky bits out, until she found the remote she had been digging for. She fiddled with the heavy black brick, shoving batteries into it excitedly before he got closer into their living space.

His face was curious but amused, and since they had started living together, it was her favourite version of him.

“This,” she walked over and slapped the back of the television lightly, wholly impressed with herself for the idea, “is the greatest Muggle invention ever made.” 

“It’s absolutely ghastly. Doesn’t it do something?” He arched a brow at her as he reached for one of the various pieces of junk that lay on the wooden table, turning it over in his hands in fascination.

“Oh, just you wait. Go and sit down.” She watched him raise his arm in a mock salute as he trailed over to their sofa, plopping himself down after a full day of schooling. 

She eyed him for a moment and thought of how easy it was to live with him, how simple it had been for them to exist together, how domesticated their lives had become when joined. 

She tried to cast her mind back to the moment it had all begun to shift, the moment she’d allowed him to take up so much space in her. And it made her think of her future, even for just a split second, a beautiful time lapse playing in her head, shimmering from the constraints of her mind, and it made her consider what her life might look like if she was coming home to him at the end of a long day. Because what if they could be more than just friends.

“Granger?” He looked at her puzzled as she stood with her mouth parted, his silvery grey eyes shimmering under the lowlight.

“Right, sorry,” she cleared her throat, remembering how this was supposed to be fun for him, “so this is a television.”

“Do I need to be worried?” 

“You might, because I highly suspect this will change your life,” she smirked back at him, as he sat laughing under his breath at how excited she was.

He did that a lot now–laughing, especially when he thought she wasn’t looking. Except she always was. He had a tendency to try and hide his smile behind his hand, almost as if he wasn’t used to the emotion, but it only drove her to bring it out in him more, because it made him beautiful, in a way.

“Let’s see, um,” she sat herself down next to him, subconsciously placing herself closer than she had been the nights before, pressing the remote furiously at the television. “Oh, this one is good. Alright, are you ready?”

She glanced to the side to see him entirely fixated on her, relaxed and open as his eyes traced her every move. 

“Change my life, Granger.”

The film was one hour and thirty-nine minutes long, but they had to pause it over twenty times so that she could explain various scenes and moments to him, all because he had asked her to. 

Little did she know that watching The Italian Job would make him so Muggle to her, to hear his shouts at the cars, to see his mouth hanging wide open at the stunts, to see his eyes blown so wide at the multiple scenes in the film. He was completely human to her now.

She made a mental note to make sure he would drive a car someday.

As she packed away the mess she had made, she felt him come up behind her before she heard him speak, his presence soothing and calming her. 

“What’s this Muggle invention?”

She turned to see he was holding her old Polaroid camera. Even though anytime she’d used it, the picture had never developed properly, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to part with it after it was the last thing her parents gave her while they still remembered her.

“It’s a Muggle camera, it creates a snap shot of the moment you choose and prints it instantly.” 

His eyes rose in curiosity, still fixated on the heavy piece of worn metal in his hands. 

“Let me show you,” she took the camera out of his hands and spun away from him but backed herself against his front gently, holding it out as far and as high as she could so it would point down at them. She couldn’t help but notice her heart fluttering at the fact he hadn’t moved away from her nearing proximity, but rather, welcomed it.

“Smile!” She said it cheerily, but as it left her, she felt his hand come around the front of her chest encasing her across her neck, and his chin pressed against the side of her head as she felt him almost murmur something she couldn’t make out into her hair.

The flash went off, startling them both until his arm was no longer snaked around her and he pulled away. She tried not to miss the warmth of the act, so took out the developing Polaroid, flapping it around wildly to distract from what she thought was a moment of intimacy, not that she had anything to compare it to. 

She blew on the polaroid over and over, gradually watching their forms come to life before her eyes, almost wanting to explain how people could take hundreds of photos looking for the perfect one, but they’d managed it the first time. 

An overwhelming fear began to fill her that time was against them, that eventually this world they had created in this space would cease to exist, that they would need to leave the confines of it soon. And she didn’t want to. The photo was a moment where time wasn’t against them, where she could capture how silver and pure his eyes were, where he was relaxed and in his element holding her against him.  

She held the photo out towards him, watching how he took it and cradled it delicately out of fear for ruining it. 

“See?” She smiled lightly at him, then she took out her wand and made a swift movement, tapping the corner of the polaroid and they watched it duplicate in his hands. 

“One for me, one for you,” she murmured, but he didn’t take his eyes off the photo, and she longed to know what he was thinking at that very moment. Perhaps friends could be something more one day.

Art commission done by @selenavarts

‘Two hours and thirty-six minutes until destination.’

Time was definitely moving against her. She’d relaxed into the journey now somewhat, the roads weren’t too busy now she was on country lanes and the passing landscapes seemed idyllic. It was almost a cruel irony that the surroundings leading to her destination were one of peace when she felt anything but that. 

His face continued to flash in her mind as she replayed every interaction they’d had in their last year, desperately trying to remember the contours of his jawline, the way his brow would tense as he was thinking, the way his eyes bore into hers on the odd occasion he’d let her witness such an event.

But it was the first time they’d slept together, slept next to each other that her heart would focus on now…

She was thrashing, her head pounding as she was held against the hard wood floor, whilst someone carved the flesh on her arm open for everyone to see. The smell of rancid breath crashed over her, wiry hair dangling on her skin, touching her repeatedly, the sharp pain each time the blade sliced and pierced her skin, all of it was her own personal hell which her subconscious would refuse to let her forget. 

Until that voice broke through the haze, his soft voice was calling out to her. He couldn’t save her before, but he was trying to save her now. He was trying to guide her soul back to reality, back to him, where she was safe in his arms.  

“Granger! I’m here, she’s gone,” his arms were all around her, holding her close like she was something precious to him. But was she actually precious to him, as precious as a friend could be?

She opened her eyes briefly to see him there, his silver hair reflecting off the moonlight, his eyes glittering from the shadows as they looked almost damp. Her chest was heaving in the air as much as it could, but she still couldn’t form any words. 

Instead, she clutched at the arms that held her, her fingertips looking for purchase against him to ground her, to keep her steady against him. 

“I swear nothing’s going to hurt you, come back to me,” he whispered against her forehead as she felt him shake holding her upright as she closed her eyes again, pressing her against his chest tightly. 

Time had stopped, his heavy promises and prayers lingered in the room, as she finally took a steady breath without panic drowning it. 

“I’m here,” she said raggedly, feeling the tension in him melt instantly at hearing her words. She could have sworn she felt his soul sigh in relief, a strange reaction to have for a friend. But she imagined he wasn’t used to seeing anyone in such a state. Not since the days of the war at least. It made her want to comfort him in response, but the episodes always left her weak and disoriented.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” 

She had enough strength to gently shake her head no at his question, before she heard him exhale above her. Then she felt the soft mattress beneath her once more, before the bed dipped next to her and arms cocooned her body, tugging her impossibly closer. Her mind was tired, almost broken, but she’s sure she heard gentle mumblings into her hair with whispers of protection and declarations of want. But that couldn’t have been possible, not between friends.

She’d read once that falling in love felt the same as falling asleep, slow and deliberate, then all at once. She couldn’t attest to the first part, but that night, she’d slept the most soundly she had all year, all because he lay next to her. 

A feeling she wasn’t used to, a feeling she knew she’d savour, and he had been the one to do that. 

So, as the light streamed through the drapes in her room, waking her the next morning, with arms wrapped tightly around her and a body warm at her back, she’d felt nothing but absolute peace. 

She blinked and looked down, seeing his signet ring on his hand and how it was splayed out across her ribs, it took everything in her not to shift and rotate. To just face him and see what he looked like whilst sleeping, but before she could question the urge, his arms started to loosen and slip out from around her, leaving her cold and hollow. 

He never said anything, never acknowledged it. He merely got up from her bed and softly padded his way out of her room before she heard the door click shut. Almost like he had never been there at all.

When she left her room not even an hour later, he was also leaving his, clearly freshly showered and ready for the day. And neither of them spoke of it. He simply tipped his head at her, handed her bookbag over, and held the door to their dorm open. Just like a friend would.

He wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. But perhaps they could be perfect for each other. Perhaps it could be real one day. But still, she bit her tongue, held her thoughts in, because she had to.

‘One hour and fifty-nine minutes until destination.’

She’d never had a friend like him, if she could even call him such now, after everything.

Her friendships with Ron and Harry had always been platonic, even when she had kissed Ron, there had never been anything romantic.

But for some reason, everything with him had been something completely different, something more, as much as she didn’t want to admit it months later. She was stuck in a cage of trying to move on from something that never happened, something that lived just in her head, something that was never acted upon. 

As much as she tried, it was never reciprocated, and that was the bitter truth of it all. 

Even now as the breeze blew through the car window, swirling bursts of air rustling her curls, she still thought of what could have been…

Their dorm was a mess. 

Late night reads had resulted in stacks and stacks of books scattered all over their living space, and it was driving her crazy. She was on edge, trying to navigate her friendship with him had led her to become somewhat obsessive in everything else she actually had control over, and that current fixation was now returning all their books to their rightful homes on the bookshelf in their shared living space. 

Glancing at the titles in front of her, organising them all alphabetically by title and then author, she still couldn’t help but wonder how they had got there. By day, they barely spoke if not in the protection of their dorm. But by night, it felt like something forbidden was happening between them, almost fateful in a way. 

She was addicted to it, and now she couldn’t sleep without him. Was that really what friends did? 

She stretched her arm out and over, leaning from the ladder to reach the furthest point of the shelf to place the next discarded book.

“And you, you need to go over here-” she shifted just that inch too far as she lost her stability and slipped from the ladder step. She squeezed her eyes closed as she fell from the height, before being caught by strong arms. 

“You need to be more careful,” he rumbled out, clutching her thighs and curving his hand around her lower back to her abdomen, sending shockwaves through her. She tried to control her breathing, a mix of panic of falling and the sensation of his touch, and she moved into him ever so slightly, until he lowered her to the safety of the floor again. 

“I wouldn’t say that, you always seem to be willing to save me,” she tugged her skirt back down and pulled her shirt straight, and she caught how wide his pupils went at the action, almost like he was bubbling with tension. 

“Is this a game to you?” He gripped her wrist, firmly yanking her towards him until they were heaving in the same air as she looked up into his glittering features. The world hadn’t been kind to him, but he still looked at her with such a softness behind a firm facade that made her melt. 

“I don’t know. Am I a game to you?” She delivered it with equal coolness as she watched him flinch at her question. His hold on her was minimising, she could feel the brush of his thumb against her wrist making her flush under his attention. 

“It’s getting late, we should go to sleep,” his tone was flat, his face a mixture of frustration and fatigue as she continued to look up into his eyes.

“Your room or mine?” She asked it nonchalantly, as if it was completely normal. But he looked at her forlorn for a moment, as if he contemplated pouring his soul out right before her. 

She worried he’d say no, that all of it had been a mistake, that friends don’t do that or shouldn’t do that.

But since he had come to know of her nightmares, they’d ended up sleeping in the same room every night since. Her body had become used to having him beside her, he shielded her from the demons in her mind, and she’d dread to think of the moment it would ever stop, the moment she’d miss his absence more than anything. 

Then when the sun would rise again every morning, he was gone from her bed as quickly as the darkness was, never acknowledging how he cradled her in the night, or how sometimes he would reach around and clutch her hands in his against her chest, or how he moulded his body perfectly against hers. Something in her had to tell herself that although he never spoke, although he never said good morning, the fact he was there every night made her believe she was the last thing on his mind before he went to sleep. 

The thought made the pain inside her chest swell that fraction more come each morning. But if this was all she could have, if this was all he would give, she’d take it. 

He stared at her intently, still holding her wrist, still impossibly close, and for a moment she was sure he was going to kiss her, until he blinked and his hand released the hold he had, turning on his heel and heading in the direction of her room…

“Yours.”

‘One hour and thirty-six minutes until destination.’

Goosebumps raised all over her arms as she gripped the steering wheel. At this point she’d convinced herself that she’d made peace with how they’d left things, but as the miles continued to rack up, she realised she was still very much where he had left her those few months ago. 

She realised she’d compartmentalised it all, shut it all off to keep him hidden, to keep her feelings hidden. But it was there all along, and slowly, he had chipped his way back into the forefront of her mind. 

Every conversation, every touch, every moment–it was all dragging itself back to the surface, and she felt everything. There would be no putting him back now. All she could do was stop fighting it… 

It had been one of those nights. One of those nights where again she had mentioned in passing to him about sitting together in a class, to find him sitting with the same Greengrass sister on her entry into the classroom. She’d quietly taken a seat on her own, took out her assignment booklet and bowed her head in disappointment. Allowing the thought of not feeling good enough to wash over her, wave after wave, letting her bitterness threaten to drown her.

Confusion and anger continued to wage war over her heart, but she was more frustrated with why she even cared so much. 

What did it matter? At the end of the day they were just friends, weren’t they?

Friends that shared hushed thoughts late at night. Friends that stole forbidden glances at the other. Friends that slept in the same bed–but not tonight. 

She’d retired to their dorm early that evening after the hellish day of watching him with another, praying to god he wouldn’t be sat on their sofa reading a book or watching a film like he had grown accustomed to doing with her in recent months, and to her sheer luck and relief, the dorm was empty and cold. 

She made an immediate beeline for her room, threw her bookbag down and whipped her wand out, locking her bedroom door behind her. Selfishly to ensure the odd habit they’d picked up of sleeping in the same bed wouldn’t occur that evening, to send a strong message to him that she was hurt, because she couldn’t put it into words that made sense even to her. 

She was just drifting off to sleep when she was certain she heard the door handle rattle, yet she rolled over and put it from her mind anyway. 

Until an almighty scream woke her. 

She bolted upright in her bed, the pained roars rattlingcontinuing to rattle the walls. In the next moment, she grabbed her wand and ran to his room, not caring for what awaited her as his desperate pleas continued to echo through their dorm. 

She flung his door open, unsure what to expect but all that was there before her was him. His torso gleamed in the moonlight, showing a sheen of sweat that was accumulating by the second, his silver fringe stuck to his forehead as his face twisted in agony and he clenched his eyes shut from the nightmare that was washing over him.

She froze at the sight before her. She’d never seen him, or anyone, look so vulnerable, and worry filled her gut at the situation.

“LET ME LIVE!” He shouted out as his body convulsed violently in his bed, breaking her from her panic as she dived over to him and perched on the edge of his bed.

“Wake up, it’s alright, you’re okay, I’m here,” she said as calmly as she could, wiping his tacky forehead and rubbing his arm. She wasn’t sure if touching him was going to hurt, but he was a deathly pale colour.

“Granger, what are you-”

“You were having a nightmare, I heard you and-”

Gasping, he clung to her desperately, pulling her down to him as she rested on top of his shaking body, trembling as though it might split apart if she let go. She tucked her arms around the back of his head as he nuzzled his face against her neck deeply as the pounding of his heart continued to jolt his ribcage beneath her.

One of his arms braced across the top of her back as his hand gripped her hair and the other was flung along her lower back, wrapping around her to keep her in place as he breathed her in. She felt like he was trying to consume her, to fill his senses with only her. Any other time she’d let him, but she could tell his body was failing him.  

She pulled her head back to look at his face that had morphed from porcelain white to a sickly grey, his pupils blown wide and his general shaking was enough to get her to spring into action. 

She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, still clammy from the fit he'd apparently just had, and it felt like his mortality was knocking on the door asking for entry. “Oh my god, you’re freezing!”

“It's okay, it’ll pass,” he tried to reason, attempting to pull her back down to him but she squirmed out of his hold. 

“No, it won't. Hang on,” she climbed off him and headed in the direction of his ensuite, assuming it would be the same as in her room. 

She opened his bathroom door and the bright light immediately illuminated the space as she walked over to the bath and began running the hot water. But as she turned back to head into his bedroom, her eyes caught on the copious amount of empty potion bottles stacked on the top of his basin. She picked one up and looked for any sign of what it was, a coloured drop or indication of what he’d apparently been taking so regularly, but before she could inspect it further, she heard him groaning from his bed again. 

She rushed back over to him, trying to pull him up to rest all his weight onto her. 

“Come with me,” she got him standing, taking the full force of his body as she moved his arm around her shoulders, “hold onto me, I’ve got you.” 

They stumbled back into the bathroom together as she placed him carefully to lean against something strong and steady so she could test the temperature of the water.

“I’m fine,” he rasped as he gripped the stark white basin tightly, hunched over as his body continued to convulse painfully.

“You’re not, you’re freezing and shaking uncontrollably, so hurry up and get in,” she stepped into the bath still fully clothed, the hot water coming up to her calves as she held out her arm towards him, “just trust me.”

She saw the struggle he was hiding, the pain he was trying so hard to mask, but the moment he grabbed her hand, he looked at her completely unguarded, like it was a silent cry for help, except she had no idea what she needed to save him from.  

He stepped in with her on shaky legs still with his sleep bottoms on, letting her guide him down into the heated water. She placed him in between her legs and positioned him to lay back against her as she wrapped her arms around his chest, gently rubbing her fingers over any expanse she could.

“Just breathe,” she whispered into his skin, “I’ve got you.” 

His heart was thundering, and she could feel every single beat of it pounding into her chest. She willed her panic and worry to remain in control, knowing it was important to calm him more than her own heart. 

“Tell me something good, something real,” he gasped out in front of her, taking one of her hands in his own as she cupped the hot water to drip it over his chest. 

She thought on what to say for a moment, her brain was awash with negative outlooks given the state he was in, but she swallowed it all down bitterly. It wasn’t the time. 

“My parents have a house by the coast, there’s nothing around but fields and woodland,” she murmured as she continued to brush water over his body, letting her fingertips glide over his skin. “There’s a creek not too far, in the summer the water gets warm enough to swim in,” he grabbed her hand as it trailed across his chest, and he pressed it against his heart.  “What if we just go and stay there, when school finishes, there are meadows of bluebells as far as the eye can see. I can pick some while you watch from the kitchen window.”

“That sounds nice,” he hummed back, his tone growing calmer as the colour returned to his body, allowing her to relax somewhat.

“There’s so much space, not as much as your manor,” she paused her words as she felt him flinch at the mention of his home, “but space if you want to stay in your own room-” 

“No, I want to stay with you,” he said quickly, almost needily. “Will you stay here with me? Now?” He gripped onto her hands tighter, panic clear in his plea. She had never pretended to know what life was like for him growing up, but seeing his development in their later years of school gave her some idea. He wasn’t innocent, but he had been a pawn in a terrible game, a product of what can happen if a wrong decision was made by the people that should have protected him.

She pressed her lips to the top of his head, continuing to run her hands over his skin, “Of course I will. Always.” 

This life they were talking about seemed within their grasp, so vivid, so real, and she hoped that feeling would continue beyond tomorrow, but she would be a fool for even believing it possibly could, because every beginning had an end. It was inevitable. 

But for now, she’d let them give in to this ideal dream they both seemed to long for. 

After a while, the water cooled and their fingers were pruned to the bone. He gathered what little strength he had and stood up, his soaking wet bottoms hanging heavy from the bath. He stripped himself bare, and she tried to avert her eyes to his muscular body as he bent to take fresh clothes out of the cabinet under his basin, feeling herself flush at seeing his naked body. 

He dressed quickly, and then faced her holding one of his t-shirts out, seeing as her sleep clothes were soaked through too. She took it and turned away from him, peeling the wet scrap of clothing off her and pulled the oversized t-shirt over her small frame.

“Can we go to bed now?” He said the words softly, but she knew what he meant. For some reason, he didn’t want them to sleep in his bed, he wanted to sleep in hers. If that was his comfort, if that was what he needed, she’d give it to him without question, whether it threatened to destroy her or not.

She took his hand and led him out of his room and back into hers, she pulled the covers back and let him settle there before climbing over him and tucking her back into him as he pulled her in close, letting a small spark of happiness creeping into her at the action. 

They never faced each other when they did this, and she wondered whether this was the clear cut line they needed to keep in place for fear of ruining the friendship. 

Maybe one day she’d ask him, but she had an aching wondering whether she’d be brave enough for that day to ever come.

“Always?” He whispered against her neck, the word making her heart sink at the promise she longed for desperately, but she had a terrible feeling it didn’t hold the same weight for him. 

“Always.”

‘One hour and seven minutes until destination.’

Now that she looked back on what had occurred, she knew the warning signs were all there. Whatever had happened, she knew she had been witness first hand to his downfall, and she knew that guilt would stay with her. 

She wanted to kick herself for not taking action, for letting him lure her into a false sense of security that all was well. In truth he knew her better than anyone. He knew how to disarm her and work around her.

If only she had listened to the signs… 

So many nights had passed since his nightmare, and it still weighed heavily on her chest. Whenever she tried to bring it up, it was dismissed instantly., Hhis avoidance for the topic clear every time he changed the subject. She didn’t push it, she never overstepped the line of her curiosity getting the better of her, but it didn’t mean it still didn’t eat away at her. 

It was spreading through her subconscious like a cancer, further burrowing inside and filling her with unsteady thoughts. Of course she had experienced her own nightmares with adverse side effects, all thanks to the cursed blade his dear old aunt had used on her, but she knew this was different. 

A nightmare shouldn’t leave you fighting for your life, or begging for it. It shouldn’t leave you with deadly symptoms for hours, even days after. Because what were the potions he was taking? And how often was it taking them? 

Whether he thought he was managing it or not, she knew it was slowly destroying him. But that same scenario hadn’t occurred since. They still slept in her bed every single night. No prior mention of it, no conversation discussed after. Just him holding her, facing away each time. 

The lines were beginning to blur, and she knew she was completely lost. Every night he came to her bed, but she couldn’t put a stop to it, as much as it was damaging the threads between friendship and something more, she needed it as much as he did. 

She was an accessory to their tether, aiding and abetting the growing bond and it was leaving her more confused than ever since neither would act upon it. She had her reasons, her naivety strongly coming into play being the main culprit, but then there was the fear surrounding it. 

Fear of rejection, fear of ruining everything that they already were. And it scared her more than anything.

So many nights she had laid in his arms wide awake just wishing she could turn over, summoning up the courage to face him and confess everything she had left unsaid for months now. But she couldn’t, because of the unknown, because a life not having him at all wasn’t an option for her now. 

Just as she was about to enter a new spiral of self doubt, a bundle of fabric landed on top of the book in her lap, startling her from her thoughts. She picked it up and unravelled it, revealing a thick wooly scarf. She turned her head to see him standing there, a hint of amusement on his face, a clever mask to anyone that didn’t know the truth like she did.

“Come on, get up,” he instructed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up from the sofa playfully as the scarf tumbled to the floor. 

“Its close to midnight, what are you-”

“Just wrap up warm, you have five minutes, and bring that book you’re reading.” He seemed excited, almost completely carefree. And it was jarring. 

Was he actually okay? Or was he just pretending?

“Where are we going?” She asked, picking as she bent down to pick the scarf up and wrapping it around her before he stepped into her, and continued to tie it across her chest himself., Hhis fingers brushing against her collarbone as she stared up into his deep pools of grey, except if she looked closely enough, flecks of sapphire scattered along the surface of his irises. 

Their nearing proximity did nothing to quiet her thoughts of hoping that maybe he saw her as more than a friend, of choosing to do something about it before the end of their year together, of wishing that this feeling she had would continue for the rest of her life.

“You’ll see,” he smirked. 

They walked and walked into the night, leaving Hogwarts in its wake, letting the howling wind and ominous shadows all around stalk them as they tread on., and she’d never felt safer than what she did with him at that very moment. 

“Bloody hell, it's cold tonight,” her teeth chattered as she said it, before he stopped them in their tracks and he began to unfold a blanket he carried under his arm.

“Here we are,” he said proudly, as she grew further confused.

“The hill overlooking the lake? You dragged me all the way out here to show me the same hill that we’ve probably walked over a million times since starting school? Are you having me on?”

He scoffed before shaking his head at her. “No, I’ve come to show you that.” She watched him point to the side where the moon hung from the stars, the craters of it clearly defined along its surface as it shone down brightly, but it was so much closer than she had ever seen, worryingly so in fact.

She felt his hand brush against hers where they stood watching the moon, and for a moment everything else had melted away. 

“Why does it look so much bigger from here?” She asked poignantly. 

“You see that mountain? Legend has it it was once home to fairies, their magic enhances its surroundings, so I’m betting this is just residual magic, making everything appear closer.”

“It's beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Me neither,” he whispered back as she turned to see his eyes were firmly on her now and not on the moon. The way he said it stirred something within her, further throwing their friendship into question.

“Why did you bring me out here?”

He sighed, his shoulders deflating at the question as he bent to sit on the blanket laid out. 

“There’s a story about how the sun loved the moon so much, she died every night just to let him breathe. But every morning, the moon dies too, just so the sun can shine. Each wanted to live but not at the cost of the other.” She sat down next to him accidently bumping his shoulder, the edge of her thigh brushing against his as she crossed her legs listening to him. “I just wanted to sit under the moon with you.” 

“That’s somewhat romantic,” her heart was fluttering, both in fear and anticipation, “who’d have thought all those years ago I’d be sitting here with you now.”

She turned her head to face him, to see his ever changing eyes already looking at her. It could have just been the magic in the air, the remnants of it intoxicating them both, but the way he was looking at her made her want to fold into him instantly. 

She passed him the book he said to bring, and he accepted it with a solemn look on his face. She watched him turn the pages before stopping on a poem and she saw the way his brow creased at the words. Still, he read it to her without conviction, but it placed a sense of fear in her gut at what he had chosen. 

It could have been a perfect moment for two people to declare what they’d hidden for so long. 

“Granger, I-” 

“Don’t-“ she’d been begging for something, anything, just a sign from him to show that he cared, that she wasn’t nothing to him. But now she didn’t think she’d be able to handle any sort of confession of the heart from him, for fear he’d only take it back once the sun rose again. “Don’t say anything.” 

She didn’t want this to fade, the moment he had created, because it just might be her favourite. She didn’t want a slip of the tongue to ruin this memory, she didn’t want her mood to sour if he didn’t say exactly what she wanted to hear. 

So it was better he didn’t say it at all. Instead they sat there, for hours, watching the night go by because it wasn’t bound by time. 

A week. Just seven days until it would all change, until their familiar existence with one another would no longer be a burden or a lifeline, and still, neither of them would admit how much they needed the other. 

But perhaps there was still time. 

Time for him to say it all if he still felt the same in the morning, but somehow she thought that intimate silence they’d become accustomed to would be the only sound she’d hear when the sun dared to come back up.

‘Forty-one minutes until destination.’

For the first time in her life, she thought she’d done everything wrong. If she had just trusted her instincts, if she had been more honest with herself and him, her heart wouldn’t hurt as much as it did. She felt the tears start to form as her vision on the road became blurry, wondering how they had got here, how she had let it play out this way, how she had become so unmoored to the point she had been lying to herself. 

If there was one thing that could be said about Hermione Granger, it would be that she was tenacious. Once she set her sights on something, she had to see it through. She had twenty-four hours, the shortest amount of time to finally cross that line they had put in place and blurred its jagged edge all year, to demolish that boundary completely and confess her feelings, all consequences be damned. 

She’d surmised the pros and cons in her head of every outcome she could possibly think of, the best one being he would finally find the courage to put her overthinking mind at rest and confirm he’d felt the same about her, the worst outcome being… Well, there were many, but she couldn’t let her mind focus on them now. 

She knew she just couldn’t end the year continuing to live in a constant state of what if, which is what led her to dropping in the chair next to his in McGonagall’s class that final day…

“What are you doing?” He hissed next to her as she rummaged around in her book bag for the relevant item she needed, acting like this occurrence was completely normal and not some unnatural phenomenon. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She shrugged back nonchalantly as she settled into her seat, suddenly feeling a little out of depth at how brazen she’d been. 

“But you-” he stammered next to her, his frustration clear in his voice as he ran his hand through his hair. “Your friends-”

“You’re my friend, so shut up and face the front,” she interrupted, fixing him with a glare as his mouth hung open at her firmness with him, a glimmer of something flickering in his eyes, almost that he was secretly pleased. 

McGonagall gave her lecture as they both sat there. Every now and then, her elbow would brush against his, she’d reach across to grab a new quill out of his pack, or he’d reach across her for some new parchment, and for a moment, it seemed all of their fears were irrelevant. 

“Copying me is going to get us both in trouble, you know,” he mumbled in a low tone, one side of his mouth twisted up in a smirk as she glanced at the page he was writing and then at him.

“I would never!”

“Then why are you looking at what I’m writing?”

“I just never noticed your handwriting before, it’s beautiful,” she said timidly before glancing away from him. 

“I don’t think anyone has called my handwriting beautiful before,” he replied, finally. 

“Another first with me, then,” she looked back at him as she said it, just in time to see a smile ghost across his face, and it gave her hope.

“Speaking of, we have the dance tomorrow…”

“Ah yes, the one where the punch will undoubtedly be spiked and someone lands a hex or two.” He sighed as he put his quill down, McGonagall’s voice still rattling out over them as she taught.

“As always. Are you going?”

“No, they weren’t really my thing before even when I had…” He trailed off from his sentence, but she knew what he was going to say, and the thought made her chest ache. 

“Will you go with me?” She asked hopefully, her heart racing at laying it all out on the table. 

“You don’t want me to go with you, Granger.” 

“I do, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” She lowered her voice further as she ducked her head closer to him. “Go to the dance with me, even if it's just as friends, it doesn’t have to be anything more than that-” 

“Miss Granger, I do hope all that yapping you’ve done in this class won’t hinder your final essay to be submitted in thirty-one minutes!” Headmistress McGonagall scolded, but when Hermione looked at her, her mouth curved upwards slightly, almost like she was pleased at what she was witnessing. 

“Dunno why she’s fraternising with that dirty Death Eater anyway-” 

“Mr Finnigan, that is enough!” McGonagall’s voice bellowed out even before she was marching over to the intended desk to fume at the Irish boy as Hermione watched the scene unfold in front of her.

But before Seamus could be reprimanded further, the seat next to her was already void and empty, leaving a lingering feeling of rage in his wake as he stormed out the classroom.

‘Twenty minutes until destination.’

Everything inside of her was screaming, the realisation hitting her of what had actually transpired between them becoming heavy on her chest. She’d left it all back there, in her dorm, back on that final night she’d spent with him, because her heart couldn't bear the alternative, the truth. She couldn’t accept how it had ended. 

She blinked back tears, her mind telling her to stop, to just drive back to a safe distance where she didn’t have to feel it any longer. But she couldn’t. She’d been a coward for too long, and look where it’d got her…

After he stormed off from their lesson, he’d locked himself away in his room for hours. He never ventured out for food, or to read with her that evening, so she decided to give him space. Until she felt her bed dip in the early hours and the firmness of his body at the back of her. 

When his arms wrapped around her, she gripped them in return, tightening her hold on him to give the smallest bit of comfort, even if he never asked for it from her. It was the same silence, the same routine of holding off each other’s nightmares, but it felt different to her. It felt more real, accepted. 

The next morning she raised it again, how celebrating their last night at Hogwarts with the dance would be a good way to end their year, and he said he would. He said he would go. He’d promised. And she never questioned whether it was a lie. But she should have. 

Even when she stepped out of her room, wearing the fitted red silk dress she’d bought especially, her rose tinted glasses were still firmly in place. Still living in the fantasy that she was going to get her happy ever after, like an utter fool. And that feeling was only further cemented as she stepped forward to see him standing by the mantle in his suit, another sign it was going to play out how she’d planned. 

But plans can always change.

“Hi, you,” he breathed out as he stared at her in awe, making her blush under his gaze. 

“Hi,” she squeaked back. 

“You’re exquisite, Granger.”

“I think you mean ‘you look exquisite.’” She let out a giggle.

“No, I meant the first one.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she watched him flush at that and quickly changed the subject. “Thank you for the corsage, it’s perfect,” she fiddled with the red aster flower sitting on her wrist. “So I’ll see you soon? At the dance?”

He never replied, he just nodded in her direction as he continued to look troubled, but still, she put it from her mind, thinking it could have been down to nerves.

Little did she know as she entered the Great Hall and mingled with the rest of her year, excitedly telling everyone her date for the dance was a surprise and would be there soon, that he wouldn’t actually show up, leaving her alone there in a sea full of people she didn’t want to be with. 

After two hours of waiting patiently on the sidelines of the dancing couples all around her, Hermione ended up resenting the bright decorations adorning the Great Hall and returned to her dorm. 

The moment she entered their space, a dark cloud followed her, swiftly bursting any bubble they had created in their own little world over the last year, making her hate the environment and everything in it. Including him. 

She waltzed in, seeing him standing at the amber fireplace with his arm propped up against the mantle. He faced her head on while wearing his usual lounge attire, looking like he had the entire world balanced precariously on his shoulders, but she didn’t care. He’d made her promise, and he’d taken a wrecking ball to it in record time.  

“Why didn’t you show?” She stalked forward, her arms crossed already in a defensive stance as she tried to hide the hurt in her voice, with no success. “I’m humiliated. You promised me you would come, and you never showed.” 

He pushed off from the mantle and took a step towards her, the action making her take a step back in response, and it almost made him flinch at seeing her reaction.  

“I wanted to, I did. I tried but I-” He raked a hand through his silver strands as he pleaded with her. “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you, Hermione, but I always knew I would.”

She scoffed a laugh, shaking her head as he stood before her. “I don’t care for your apologies, just tell me the truth.” She could feel the tears gathering as she stood firm in front of him, watching his face. “But you can’t even do that, can you?”

His face said everything his mouth couldn’t, or perhaps it didn’t want to. And it filled her with fear. Fear that she had everything wrong, that everything she felt was completely made up in her head. 

“Do you hate me?” A silent sob tore its way out of her chest as she whispered it into the space between them, the echo of her pain clear on her face as he looked at her startled from her question. 

“What? No, of course I don’t, why would you even think-”

“Because you act like you don’t know me outside of our dormitory. And I’m confused, I-” she tried to catch herself before breaking down into tears before him. “I don’t wake up on my own anymore, even though you sneak out when you think I’m still asleep. I don’t feel lonely when I’m with you, but you make me feel like I’m a secret.” She couldn’t stop it, the tears started to flow as the last of her composure broke, giving way to the desperation she had held in all this time. “You promised you would come.”

He crossed the space between them in an instant, reaching out for her as he did so but he seemed to freeze in front of her when she recoiled from his touch. She couldn’t bear it, to be comforted by him and not know whether it was real or not, to not know how he really felt. He was already torturing her heart to the point nothing made sense to her now.

“Dance with me? Now? Here? Let me give you this, before we leave tomorrow and this all comes to an end.” He held his arms out, pleading with her, his own eyes appearing to be swimming with pain as he begged for a fraction of forgiveness.

She wanted to say no, she wanted to let herself be hateful and deny him like he had her, she wanted to say she had given so many chances, she wanted to say that she didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let them cross that line, but she knew she was too weak to say of it, not when he looked at her the way he did. 

She took his hand hesitantly and he pulled her in close, letting his other hand circle her waist gently, and it felt a perfect fit. She couldn’t be the only one to feel it, this pull between them, a silent gravity tying them together, but he still said nothing. He just swayed them in the silence, letting it continue to swallow them as he held her and led her from foot to foot.

It was slow, and it was painfully sad. It wasn’t a celebration like the rest of their year would undoubtedly be having.

“Am I yours?” She asked muffled against his chest as he stopped whatever melancholic rhythm they were doing, he took her face in his hands so she could look at him as a blank stare emanated from his eyes, a storm gathering in his pupils but of what she couldn’t say, before he dropped his forehead to hers.

“No matter what happens after tonight, you’ll always be mine, Hermione,” his mouth parted at his words, air ghosting her own face as she closed her eyes and waited, just anticipating his lips to caress her own. She’d spent many nights thinking about what it would be like, if it would be slow and soft or hard and passionate, if it would take her breath away the moment they crashed into each other. But it never came. 

“It’s late, let’s get you to bed,” he’d said finally, holding her hand as she let out a disappointed sigh, almost half expecting he wouldn’t kiss her anyway. But some part of her still believed she had time, that he wouldn’t let her go tomorrow without telling her he felt it all too. 

She expected him to walk them to her room, the place where they had rested nearly every night of this year, but he didn’t. He led her to his room and stopped her at the foot of his bed, dropping her hand before turning to his drawers. 

She looked all around her in a daze, the majority of his furniture was void of any belongings or trinkets, except his polaroid placed on the bedside table, taking pride of place. She couldn’t remember if she had noticed if he had any belongings out the only other time of being in his room, but she supposed it didn’t matter now. 

Before she could think on it any further, he was back in front of her, standing so close that his arms reached around to her back easily even with space between them. She felt him lower the zip on her dress and then it fell to the floor, pooling at her feet until she stood bare before him, with only a thin scrap of material on her lower half protecting any modesty. 

His eyes were fixed on her, a fire in them she hadn’t seen before, and it only made her feel bolder. But she didn’t feel exposed under his gaze, she didn’t feel uncomfortable as she watched him swallow as he took her in, it all just felt right. 

“Lift your arms for me,” he said gently, and she obeyed the request willingly, lifting her arms above her before he was pulling his t-shirt over them and her head. She felt his hands ghost down the side of her breasts with the fabric, dragging his fingers down her ribs and abdomen before she felt his hand splayed across her stomach just holding her, or keeping her at bay, she wasn’t sure.

But she had to know. She needed to know. 

She brought her own hand across and placed it over his, linking their fingers together as she guided his hand lower, right to where she wanted him to touch her.  

“You’re testing my resolve here,” a hint of warning laced his whisper as his hands moved and stilled on her hips, his fingertips brushing along the bones there that conjured a warmth inside her that only he had been the one to cause.

“Give in then,” she goaded, she knew he was on the edge as heavy breaths left him, his chest rising and falling as it grazed against hers, until he pulled his head back and all hope left her.

He grabbed her hands, holding them in his between them as his eyes flickered with pain, before he led her the few steps to his bed. 

She was numb. The rollercoaster of the evening’s emotions had left her reeling and exhausted, so she laid down in his bed without protest as he positioned himself in front of her, facing her for the first time. He reached his arms around her body and pulled her into him, their bodies lying flush with one another like they were made to.  

She was wrapped in his embrace for a while, his eyes never leaving hers as the look on his face dragged an unsteady fear from the depths of her mind, a feeling that this was goodbye. If there was ever a time to be brave, it was now.

“I know I’m not supposed to say it, but I think I’m falling in love with you,” she whispered, finally daring to let the notion breathe out loud in the open space, and he tightened his arms around her at hearing the declaration, clinging to her body protectively, almost like he never wanted to let go. 

Except it was still a lie. She wasn’t falling, she had already fallen. But it was the closest to truth she could admit to. 

She watched as he scrunched his eyes closed, his fingers pressing harder against her skin, before he opened them and stared right at her. He looked like he had everything to say, and she wished he would. She wished he would pour everything out, to say he felt the same, that it hadn’t all been in her head, that he wasn’t going to let her slip away.

“You can’t love me, Hermione, I’m not good for you,” his voice cracked, and her heart sank at his words, watching his eyes glaze over as he held his own tears back.

“I know you, I know what’s in here,” she replied gently as she brought her hand up to place it against his chest, rendering him mute. He continued to just stare at her, shaking his head softly in an unbelieving way. She didn’t know, but she longed for the answer. But she still had until the morning, there was still a chance for him to reconsider before he let her fade her away. 

She thought the universe knew they needed each other, that in some twisted way, being who they were made it that much more important to prove it, not only to themselves but to the rest of the world. And she would. 

She’d choose him. But he had to choose her in return. 

“Don’t leave me,” she mumbled just as her eyes slid closed, exhaustion and emotion making her unconscious. She tucked her head into his neck, breathing him in, stoically aware of him whispering something in response, but her mind was too clouded to make it out. 

Hours later, Hermione woke up in his bed, cold and alone. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but he had left her there anyway. 

That was it, their last night together, and now it was done. She’d given him all of her, laid herself bare before him, only for him to abandon her in the end, like a coward. 

She’d been on her knees, begging for him to reciprocate it all, and he’d still denied her, after everything. She didn’t know it then, but the moment he had walked out and left her there in his bed, he’d taken half of her with him, forever tied to a man that didn’t want to love her, and she’d never be whole again.

‘You have reached your destination.’ 

So she had. 

The gates were open, but there were no people or vehicles around. She supposed many wouldn’t have used Muggle transportation anyway, but still, it seemed eerily desolate.

She got out of the car, sighing as she stood her tired legs on the sharp gravel beneath her looking up at the Manor erected there. Her body was wary from the drive, her heart exhausted from keeping thoughts of him at bay, for what little good it had done her thus far into the journey.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes loitered on the windows, desperately searching for any sign of a boy with platinum blonde hair peering back at her, even though she knew she wouldn’t witness such a phenomenon now.

The grounds and residence appeared manicured, but it still felt like only ghosts would opt to roam around the landscape there. She imagined something pretty, something striking, but all it did was fill her with something uneasy. 

Still, she relied on that bravery she once had, drawing any remaining power it held to take the marble steps one at a time and raise her fist against the solid door, for him.

The wood echoed as she knocked it, like thunder clapping in the near distance, announcing her arrival with more flare than she’d intended. She could still turn back, get in her car and drive away now, it was only fifteen steps away, but then the door began to crack open.

Through the gap, a small elegant woman manifested wearing onyx black just like her namesake, her eyes sparkling blue as they stared back at her with something crossing in them as she took her in.

“Hello,” she croaked out nervously, fiddling with her sleeve as she stood there awkwardly before the audience, “I’m Hermione-”

“Miss Granger, yes, I know who you are. What are you doing here?” The door fell open wider so the poised woman could inspect her further, but she was frozen on the spot. 

Hermione tried to think of the words, tried to string together some semblance of why she had come as she stared at the woman in front of her, noticing the red rimmed around her eyes and how hollow her face was becoming as the seconds passed.

“I saw the announcement, in the Prophet. There was just a date and a time. I’m slightly late of course, very late actually, I’m sorry for my tardiness-”

“Miss Granger, why are you here?” The woman's voice took a more stern tone as she stepped forward, and it immediately made her feel out of place. 

“We were friends, your son and I. We became close during our final year. And I-” she blurted out, practically pleading her case to the lamenting woman standing before her as she made to turn away. “You’re right, I’m a foolish girl, I shouldn’t have come.” 

“Hermione, stop.” The woman’s mouth twisted into something sad as she gripped her wrist, halting her escape. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all you, dear.”

“I should have sent an owl or something, but I just really wanted to be here for him, for me too, I guess.” She wanted answers, even closure, not that she could say it, because she wasn’t entitled to it, being only his friend.

“Thank you.” The woman stepped further into her, a silent sob of disbelief tearing its way from her throat as she gripped her close, an errant tear falling from the sad sapphires she held as eyes. “Thank you so much, Hermione.”

In the next moment, they were embracing, and all Hermione could do was hold a grieving mother as she tried to control her own cries, feeling they weren’t warranted enough due to their friendship. 

Whether his mother knew or not, she couldn't say, but something in the way she hugged Hermione felt familiar and warm. And she’d needed it desperately, selfishly.

She’d needed to feel any lingering connection left to him, and the woman had given it to her without question. His mother guided them into the Manor and through the open foyer. Everything was silent and cold, empty and void, which she supposed could be expected given the sombre circumstance. 

They walked past the room she had been in before, bleeding and broken, and noticed the scorch marks marring the wooden frame of the door. Fear came then for a moment she had long since buried, but it ended up being overtaken for the reason she had come back here in the first place.

The pain Hermione felt was nothing in comparison to the woman standing in front of her, but they were paired in their mutual grief. No parent should have to bury their child, and no person should have to bury their love. Grief was a strange thing, it wasn’t linear, it doesn’t wait for you to be ready, it always appears when you least expect it, and then it lays dormant, watching from the shadows, waiting for its next appearance. So there they were, just two people drowning in the weight that grief had delivered unceremoniously without remorse. 

“He’s outside in the gardens.” She looked at Hermione expectantly, but was still brave in the face of a stranger to her as she fidgeted with the buttons on her blazer. “Would you like some tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll take you to him now.”

Hermione followed her silently, softly treading behind as she dared to look at the surroundings she was being led through. Opulence and elegance adorned every surface visible, a perfectly preserved environment that held whispers of a family once, until they’d reached the outside terrace and it felt like she could breathe again. 

Being at the property was hard in itself, but being there for this reason was something else entirely. A heavy burden so that she could say goodbye, she supposed. 

They walked through the garden filled with low height bushes of some flowers Hermione had seen before, but the names escaped her. They were pretty and full of life, but she wished she could appreciate their beauty without grief hanging over her head. 

Turning a corner, she saw their intended destination ahead, and her heart sank immediately. The garden was completely empty.

“Where is-” she stuttered, wanting her gut feeling to be wrong. “Where is everyone else? His friends?” As much as she tried, she couldn’t hide the concern in her voice. 

“You’re the only one to come, dear.” His mother replied dimly, confirming her fear. She sniffed as she touched the top of the headstone, her dainty hand gently touching it in a comforting way, and it made Hermione want to curl up right there.

“I’ll give you some space.”

She felt his mother’s arm clutch her shoulder before turning to leave, her warm presence dissipating within a second as Hermione lingered in the open void, her eyes fixated on what laid before her. 

And there it was. The cold stark reality of her want, now nothing but a grey piece of stone etched with his beautiful name, a name that saying it out loud would dig open the deepest wound.

“Hi, you,” she whispered, catching the sob before it could leave her chest. “Sorry I’m late, but you know how I feel about driving.”

It hurt so painfully, to stand there, to even breathe, knowing he was six feet under her. To know his arms had held her so many times, to know his fingers had run through her curls to comfort her, to know that if she had been braver perhaps he’d still be here now.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” The reality of everything came crashing down all around her at once, he was truly gone, and she’d missed her chance. She couldn’t bear it, everything had come flooding back after attempting to protect pieces of her heart and soul away, as she realised she’d never left him in the past at all, she’d only delayed the inevitable, and now, she was breaking. 

Something inside of her had never stopped believing they were meant to be, holding onto some hopeless notion that at some point, he thought it too, which is why losing him now was that much more devastating, because they were more than just two strangers with memories together. It had to be more, she couldn’t put what she was feeling down to anything less.  

Before she let her emotions get the better of her any further, she turned and walked away from him briskly, not looking back because she knew he wasn’t going to stop her, he couldn’t. 

She tried to calm her breathing down as she approached the Manor, mumbling out loud to herself about making excuses and being polite so she could retreat back to her car and drive away like the coward she felt, but the moment she saw Narcissa open the door, she knew she was about to lose.

“Did you say everything you needed to, dear?” 

“Not exactly, sorry, it’s just overwhelming.”

“I know, I think he would understand though. You can always try again tomorrow, if you wanted,” Narcissa gave her hopeful smile, and she felt the guilt flow through her. 

“Tomorrow?”

“You’re more than welcome to stay, I keep his room made up.”

“Oh, that’s very kind, but I really should be getting back,” Hermione quickly rushed out, on the precipice of breaking down already holding what she could at bay as her grief threatened to drench her even further. 

“Of course, not to worry, Hermione.”

She heard the sadness in Narcissa’s voice, and it shook her to her core. She had been the only one to attend the funeral of her only son, there was no one else. Hermione had seen the announcement in the prophet, the same way the rest of the world had, yet she had been the only one to acknowledge his passing, and she couldn’t imagine how that must have made a mother feel, how bitter that pill was to swallow. 

No, she couldn’t leave Narcissa on her own, even if it would cost her the last of sanity. Not tonight, not when they had been the only ones wanting to say goodbye. 

“Actually, it is rather late.” 

“This was his room.”

Hermione stepped through the threshold, following his mother, taking in the surroundings. A sea of blankets strewn across his bed, a book shelf to rival her own collection and a desk lathered with trinkets. But then she cast her eyes up to the ceiling, becoming entirely overwhelmed at what she saw. 

“Clouds?” She asked, their familiarity knocking in her mind as she had seen them before in her dreams. They glinted in the low light, reflecting a glow that now felt empty the longer she stared at them.

“Since he was a boy, it was the only thing that would give him peace from nightmares.”

Hermione heard the sad smile his mother gave from behind her as she walked further into his sacred space. The poetry book she gave him that night at Hogwarts lay on the bedside table, with a smaller white square laying on top. She headed towards its direction, and picked it up hesitantly. 

It was the polaroid. A final blow to the remnants of the armour she had carefully erected to allow her to do this in the first place. 

Wrinkled at the edges, the photo paper creased and dented, as if he had pressed it a million times since it was taken mere months ago. Her chin wobbled seeing the happier time, the matching memory she had kept close to her every day since it was captured, one she wished she could go back to. She turned it over in her hands, seeing a small scribble on the back of it in his writing. 

Always.

Her heart sank at seeing it, she’d tell him everything there in that polaroid moment if she could, not wasting another second, not leaving it too late. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, swallowing her grief as she put it back to where he had left it before, and turned away to look at the rest of his room.

Luxurious emerald green curtains hung from the impossibly tall windows, but it wasn’t the fabric her eyes settled on. It was the fact that one side had a thick gold rope, intended to tie the heavy drape back, but the other side was missing the same rope, until she saw a frayed piece of it tied around the centre of the iron pole the curtains hung from.

She went entirely still, like her heart had suddenly stopped, but it was just breaking all over again as insurmountable dread filled her. She tried to keep her composure, but her mind was whirling, and it made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew he was broken, she just didn’t realise it was to the point beyond repair. 

“Can I ask you-” her voice cracked, the words getting cut off as she tried to form them. “What-” she tried again, holding all her sadness at bay, not wanting what she was seeing to be true. “What happened to him?”

Her voice was quiet, but it was all she could manage as she never took her eyes off the gold string that remained high up against black iron, the unspoken reason of his passing swallowing her whole, but she needed to hear it, to register it.

“I can’t explain it but after the war, he had changed. I tried everything, had the best mind healers, but,” she heard the frail woman’s breath catch behind her, before she cleared her throat, biting back the agony of a grieving parent. “But I’m afraid he just didn’t want to be in this world anymore. As a mother, you want to make sure your children outlive you, it would appear I failed in that regard, but I can’t help but think it was the loneliness that he couldn’t bear in the end.”

The loneliness. She thought she knew all his secrets, all except this one. The one thing that had brought them together, yet she still couldn’t save him from it, and that thought would torment her forever. 

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it, the image of him swinging from his neck swam into her focus, thinking of what he might of felt in that moment, thinking of what his last thought was until everything was engulfed in black, and the tears forming in her eyes felt like acid burning their way out.

“I’ll let you rest, Hermione, but I’m just across the hall if you need anything.”

The moment she heard Narcissa Malfoy close the door, she dropped to her knees and let the dam burst in the middle of his room, in the place he’d taken his own life. Endless tears dripped from her chin as she willed her heart to stop shattering inside of her, but it wouldn’t. 

Two people had died the moment he’d done it, but only one of them was still breathing. She cursed him internally for it, for making her love him, for making her grieve him, because now her love and grief would be forever intertwined, now she was more broken than she was before she had ever let him in.

Every emotion wracked through her body all at once as she clasped her hands over her mouth to quiet her anguish, but she knew it was pointless. Nothing could take away the breaking of her heart and all she wanted was to go home, to go back to the dorm they shared together, to go to the place where it was only them and nothing else.

He had become her favourite memory, but it destroyed her heart to think of him as just a memory now. The only thing she could think was if she had tried harder, could it have been different? Could she have saved him? Why had he done it?

She would never know. 

What hurt the most is that they were almost something more, that it could have been something real, but it hadn’t been enough to make him want to stay. It hadn't been enough to make him love her back. And that thought would haunt her until her own time came.

Hours later, with tear tracks still fresh on her cheeks and his polaroid and poetry book in her hand, she’d made her way down to the gardens that were bathed in glowing moonlight. As her feet carried her to him, the wind's cries echoed the sombre feeling on the estate, surrounding her as she focused on her destination, before her eyes fell on his headstone once more. 

She felt all the air leave her chest again, her body reliving the realisation of knowing he was really gone, knowing he wasn’t here anymore, and it hit her constantly over and over as she gasped to just breathe. 

She tried to remember who she was before her final year, but in truth, everything was blurred. The only thing she could remember was him. Every whisper, every glance, every touch… all of it she replayed in her head, refusing to erase him, holding onto every piece that she could, because he was all she knew. She’d given him the gun, let him hold it against her heart, and he had pulled the trigger, something she didn’t think she would ever move on from.

Her chest constricted in and out painfully as her emotions shook her entire body, so she knelt down before his gravestone, the fresh grass crushing under her knees as she sat back to stare at it, at him. 

Eventually, she managed to calm herself down, numb herself to a point that she could steal a glance at his name carved there without breaking down, even if the ache wouldn’t stop. 

“I wanted to come out here and be under the same moon as you again, but maybe you’re the moon this time,” she whispered gently, steadying her breathing as she clutched the polaroid over her broken heart. “Your mother is everything you ever said she was. I can see so much of you in her,” she trembled out as she tried to hold herself together, knowing it was pointless speaking to a grave, but she needed to get it out. She needed to say everything she had held back all this time, even if it was too late to say it to him, she had to say it for her, she had to let herself feel it all.

“How could you do this to me? How could you leave me behind? You knew it would break me, but you did it anyway,” she held back her tears as she said it, powerless to the anger she felt, letting it take over to try and hold the shattering of her heart in place.

“I wish we never played it safe, I wish you had just let me in. I’m meant to be smart, but I never knew how lost and hopeless you truly were, I would have done anything to make you feel safe, like you made me feel. And now I’ll be left wondering if things could have turned out differently between us, if perhaps you would have stayed…” she sniffed, feeling the cold tears drop from her eyes. “If I could have been enough to make you stay.” 

“If this is going to be the only time I’ll get to say it…” she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself. “I love you. I was in love with you the night you left me in that bed. I’ve loved you ever since we took that polaroid.” Sobs broke through her without mercy as her entire body trembled in her grief, echoing in the silence. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

She continued to lay there on the grass, right above where his body was laid, bracing her arm above her to continuously touch the cold stone of the last mention of his name, the need to feel as close as she could to him, and she thought back on every single moment they had shared. 

She grabbed the poetry book, opening it to the page he had last read to her the last time they were under the moon…

‘Though they go mad, they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea, they shall rise again,

Though lovers be lost, love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion.’

Her fingers traced over the last lines on the page as she recalled the night he had recited it, now realising why his face looked how it did reading it. He had already decided back then, he already knew what he was going to do. When he said she couldn’t love him, it was because he knew he wouldn’t be here to love her back, but at that point, it was too late anyway.

She had already given him the power to hurt her, her heart belonged to him and she feared it always would. She thought of the love she had given him, and what it had cost her, how it would always follow her for the rest of her life as a price. 

Perhaps one day, she’d try to fall in love again. 

She’d try to hold his hand as they walked through the park, and she would try not to think about the times that Draco had held her hands on those nights. She’d try to kiss him, and try not to picture what kissing Draco would have been like. She’d try to lose herself in the moment when he’d push inside her, and she’d try not to replace his face with Draco’s, just wondering what it would have felt like with him instead. 

She’d try to keep a smile on her face, to hide the guilt and shame of forever being in love with someone no longer here. She’d keep him in her dreams, keep him in the moments she’d close her eyes, because she knew she’d never outrun the memory of him and now she’d never know peace again.

She couldn’t unlove him, and no one would ever know that she even did. So she’d continue to love him the only way she knew how, silently and regretfully. Because they had run out of time.

Perhaps some day, she thought she might be able to let him go. 

“Oh, Draco,” she whispered up to the moon as it shone down on her, his name falling from her lips like a prayer, her breaking heart being the only sound to reply as she wiped at the tears tumbling down her face endlessly, “I should’ve kissed you anyway.”