Chapter 2
Time had lost its meaning. It stretched and shrank, coiling around her in a slow suffocation, slipping through her fingers like something she had never truly possessed. Each day arrived identical to the last—an endless procession of repetitions. She woke, she dressed, she attended classes. She spoke when necessary, answered when expected, and smiled when required.
It had all become mechanical. A grotesque pantomime of life.
The truth had long since settled into her bones, a weight pressing deeper with each breath she took. The weight of it pressed against her ribs, an unshakable certainty.
She was a corpse in waiting, a ruin in motion, going through the rituals of the living while counting the days until she could shed the pretense for good.
It wasn’t grief anymore. Grief implied something left to mourn. This was emptiness, a void carved so deep it had eroded the edges of her existence, swallowing every trace of who she had been. Nothing stirred within her now. No passion, no anger, no sorrow- just the dull weight of inevitability.
It would happen soon. That knowledge settled over her like a prophecy she had written for herself. She would finish her exams, she would give her goodbyes, and then she would disappear. No grand gestures, no letters, no explanations. Just absence. A quiet vanishing act, performed in the dead of night, unnoticed until it was too late to search.
A final kindness.
It seemed to be all she could think about the closer it loomed. Her secrecy was yet another favor to her friends, knowing how monotonous and tiresome the conversation would become if she had anything to do with it. She could practically hear them now - the excuse Ron would offer to abandon the topic, the newfound joie de vivre Harry would attempt to use as balm. Ginny would humor her, attempt to soothe the invisible wounds with genuine care. But she would also walk away burdened, worry and fear close consorts as she thought of Hermione.
None of it would be welcomed and so none of it would be allowed. They’d fought their final battle together, and this crusade would be hers and hers alone.
She let out a slow breath, fingers curling against the frost-bitten railing of the Astronomy Tower. The cold bit at her skin, but she barely felt it. It had been weeks since the sensation of warmth had meant anything to her, months since she had cared.
The castle sprawled beneath her, blanketed in a hush of snow, but the beauty of it was lost on her. Hogwarts had always been a place of wonder, but now it felt like a mausoleum, its stones holding memories she wished she could erase.
She exhaled, watching her breath dissipate in the freezing air, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined stepping forward. Just enough to let gravity do the rest.
She had thought about it often. More often than she should. The idea of vanishing into the wind, of letting herself slip into the kind of silence that wouldn’t be broken by whispered concerns or careful glances. No one would hear the fall. By the time they found her, she would be part of the snow, another piece of the past the castle was forced to swallow.
The quiet of the night stretched, unbroken, until the faint creak of a door echoed behind her. Footsteps followed - measured, deliberate. Not hurried, not hesitant, but unrelenting in a way that made her stomach twist. Someone was here.
She tensed, fingers curling against the railing. She wasn’t expecting company. No one sought her out here, not that they even knew to. Until now apparently.
A voice cut through the cold. "Granger?"
The name barely registered at first, the syllables strange against the wind. She turned, slowly, scanning the dimly lit space until her gaze landed on the figure standing near the door. Tall, lean, posture casual yet too still - like he was assessing, calculating. Theodore Nott.
Recognition flickered, but it brought no relief. Their interactions had been few, scattered across years where he had been little more than another name in a house of rivals. One of Malfoy’s many shadows. And yet, here he was, watching her with an expression that was neither intrusive nor indifferent. She sighed. "Did you need something?"
He hesitated, watching her the way one might watch a candle burning too close to the wick. "Are you okay?" he asked, and she almost laughed.
Of course, she wasn’t.
But she had become very good at lying.
She didn’t respond right away, letting the cold settle deeper into her bones, hoping he might take the silence as an answer. But Theo didn’t move, didn’t offer some flimsy excuse for stumbling across her. He just waited, eyes steady, expression unreadable.
Hermione turned her gaze back toward the snow-covered grounds. "What are you doing up here?"
Theo shifted slightly, the movement slow, calculated. "Needed air. Could ask you the same though."
She huffed a breath, not quite a laugh. "Same, I suppose."
He didn’t accept the deflection. "You looked like you were about to do something stupid."
Her fingers curled against the railing. "You don’t know me well enough to make that assumption."
"No," he admitted, "but I know what it looks like."
That caught her off guard. She turned, finally meeting his gaze properly. There was no pity there, no forced concern, just an unsettling neutrality. Like he wasn’t asking to help - he was just stating a fact. A simple, uncomplicated observation.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "That I was going to jump? That you interrupted something?"
Theo studied her, his silence pressing against her skin, waiting. "Would you tell the truth if I asked?"
Her throat tightened. No, she wouldn’t. She never did.
Instead of answering, she pushed away from the railing, stuffing her frozen hands into the pockets of her cloak. "There’s nothing to be asked. I’m fine."
"Yeah," he scoffed, tone dry. "That’s convincing."
She bit back the irritation rising in her chest. "I don’t need to be convincing."
Theo exhaled, the ghost of it curling between them in the cold air. "Right. Well. Maybe you just need someone who doesn’t believe you then."
Hermione frowned, unsure if it was meant to be a taunt or an offering. She wasn’t sure which she hated more.
She expected him to push further, to demand something from her, but he didn’t. Instead, he just leaned back against the stone wall beside the door, posture lazy, hands tucked into the warmth of his pockets. He wasn’t leaving.
She let out a slow breath, turning away from him, staring back at the empty expanse of white below. The weight of his presence should have irritated her, but instead, it just… was. Unintrusive. Steady.
Minutes passed, the wind biting against her skin, but she didn't move, and neither did he. The weight of his presence, strange as it was, did not press against her the way concern from others did. He wasn’t asking her to explain herself. Wasn’t trying to pull her back from the edge - only standing beside her, silent and unassuming.
She didn’t know what to do with that.
"So, what now?" she asked, voice flat, eyes still on the endless stretch of white below.
Theo shifted, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "Dunno. Do I need a reason to be here?"
Hermione pursed her lips before shrugging. "I suppose not."
He lit the cigarette with a flick of his wand, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling into the cold air. "You don’t talk much anymore."
"Neither do you."
He smirked faintly. "Fair. But people don’t expect it from me."
She glanced at him then, studying him in a way she never had before. Theodore Nott had always been quiet, existing on the periphery of things. Slytherin, pureblood, but never loud about it. Never quite woven into the part of the inner circle that had made life hell for she and her friends. He had always been something else - detached, watching.
And now, here he was again, watching. Waiting.
"You think people expect things from me?" she asked, arching a brow.
"They used to," he murmured, taking another drag. "You used to be…"
"Something else? Something brighter? More appeasing?"
He didn’t deny it. "I suppose so."
The words should have stung, but they didn’t. She had been something else once. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, full of fight. That girl had died in the war, left behind with the wreckage of everything they had lost.
She turned back to the night sky. "Well, they shouldn’t anymore."
Theo studied her, his cigarette burning down between his fingers. "No, I don’t suppose they should."
Another silence. This one didn’t feel quite as heavy.
She should leave. Go inside. Go anywhere but here, standing next to a near-stranger who seemed far too at ease with what he saw in her. But she didn’t move. Not yet.
Theo exhaled another slow drag of smoke, his gaze drifting over the castle below. "I was actually looking for Draco."
Hermione blinked, surprised by the admission. "Malfoy?"
He nodded, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette. "Yeah. He comes up here sometimes. Nights when he doesn’t want to be around people. Figured he might be here. Guess I found you instead."
Hermione frowned, something uneasy stirring in her chest. "Why were you looking for him?"
Theo shrugged. "He’s my friend, and sometimes he gets this look, and then he’ll disappear for awhile. Doesn’t happen so much anymore, but I’ve been coming up here to check on him since fifth year. Suffice to say I know what it looks like when someone doesn’t want to be anywhere at all."
The words settled between them, heavy in their quiet simplicity. He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t push. Just let the truth exist between them, unspoken but understood. A distant part of her mind conjured up the image of a fifteen year Draco seeking refuge in the isolation, but she banished it as quick as it came.
She looked back out at the snow, her fingers flexing in her cloak pockets. "Well, he’s not up here now."
"No," Theo said thoughtfully, gaze straying over to her. "He isn’t, is he?"
Hermione swallowed, throat suddenly dry. She should walk away. She should tell him to leave, that she didn’t need some half-stranger standing here dissecting her like a puzzle that needed solving.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she watched as Theo took another slow drag of his cigarette, his posture easy, like he wasn’t waiting for anything from her. And somehow, that made it easier to stay.
Mornings at Hogwarts arrived differently now. Lighter, somehow. As if it had yet to fully awaken, lingering in the quiet hush before the day settled into its usual rhythm. The Great Hall was half-full, its subdued murmur punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. Students moved through their morning rituals with a kind of thoughtless ease, their conversations light, familiar.
Draco Malfoy sat with his tea cooling between his fingers, watching the steam curl and vanish into the air. He had learned to appreciate these moments - the slow unraveling of the day, the space between obligation and expectation where he could just exist. There was something peaceful in it, in knowing that he had nothing to prove anymore.
Theo dropped into the seat across from him, exuding his usual air of effortless detachment. He was the kind of person who moved through life as though time bent around him rather than the other way round. A cigarette rolled idly between his fingers, unlit but familiar, an old habit he refused to break.
Draco arched a brow. "You’re not supposed to smoke in here."
Theo smirked, slow and deliberate. "And yet, here I am."
Draco sighed, setting his cup down. "You look like shit."
"That’s because I spent my night having riveting conversations in the dead of winter."
Draco frowned. "Conversations with whom?"
"Granger," Theo replied, almost idly, as if he were simply commenting on the weather.
Draco stilled, brow furrowed. "Granger? As in Hermione Granger?"
"Mm. The very same. Found her at the Astronomy Tower, was up there alone."
Something in Theo’s voice gave Draco pause. It wasn’t concern, not exactly, but there was an edge to it—something thoughtful, something that suggested he had seen something worth noting.
Draco studied his friend, the way he absently toyed with his cigarette, the way his fingers tapped a lazy rhythm against the table. "And?"
Theo exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable. "And nothing. I smoked and we had a chat."
Draco wasn’t sure why that stuck with him. It shouldn’t have. He barely spoke to Granger these days, barely spared her more than a glance in passing. And yet—
"You think she—"
"I think she’s standing on the edge of something," Theo interjected, voice light, but the words carried some sort of undercurrent. "Hasn't jumped yet, but I suspect she’s looking down. Trying to gauge the distance."
Draco took a moment to process that, trying to navigate his way through what would appear to be today's Theo-riddle. He himself wasn't unfamiliar with metaphorical cliffs or wondering what it might be like to step forward, just to see what would happen. But there was a difference between wondering and actually taking the step off.
Theo watched him with the lazy patience of someone who already knew the answer. "You've noticed it too, haven't you?"
He bristled at that, the insinuation an unwelcome one. He cleared his throat and sipped at his tea, summoning his composure. "Noticing would entail I bothered enough to pay attention, and I can't say I recall making Granger's mental or emotional status my concern."
The doors to the Great Hall opened, and without meaning to, his gaze flickered toward them. Hermione Granger entered with her usual purposeful stride, expression neutral, unreadable. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t glance around. Just moved through the space with the kind of focus that suggested she had no interest in being anywhere but where she needed to be.
Theo followed his gaze. "Still not your concern?"
Draco rolled his shoulders, forcing his expression into something indifferent. "Oh, piss off. She’s clearly not."
"Clearly," Theo repeated, amused. "You’ve always been so good at averting your attention to more pressing matters."
Draco sighed, glaring at the brown haired prat he considered one of his best mates. "It’s called minding my own business, Theodore. Perhaps you should study the concept sometime."
Theo simpered, eyes bright with mischief as he finally tucked the cigarette away. "I'll start right away, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco didn’t bother responding, but his gaze flickered back to Granger, just for a second. She had taken a seat at the Gryffindor table, speaking briefly to Ginny Weasley, her expression polite but distant.
Not quite lost. Just - adrift.
Draco exhaled slowly and turned back to his tea.
For the first time in a long while, he found himself paying attention.
***
Draco found himself in the library, not quite sure what had drawn him there. It wasn’t unusual - he spent plenty of time buried in books, carving out quiet corners where he could study in peace. But today, there was something else humming under his skin, something that made his usual routine feel slightly off.
He spotted her before he even realized he was looking. Granger sat at a far table, alone, books spread in front of her, though her quill lay motionless on the parchment. She wasn’t reading. Just staring, gaze unfocused, as though she had long since forgotten why she had come.
Draco hesitated. This was not his concern. He had told Theo as much. And yet, the weight of their conversation lingered.
She moved suddenly, rubbing a hand over her face before closing one of the books with a sharp snap. He watched her inhale slowly, deliberately, before exhaling just as carefully. Something about the movement felt practiced. Robotic, almost.
She didn’t look up as she reached for another book, flipping it open with distracted fingers.
Draco tapped his knuckles against the edge of a nearby bookshelf, considering. He had two choices: pretend he hadn’t noticed or acknowledge what was right in front of him.
His fingers brushed the spine of a book as he debated, lingering there for a second too long. Finally, he sighed and pulled the book free, making his way toward her table before he could overthink it.
"You’re staring at that page like it owes you something."
Granger’s head lifted, her brow furrowing at the sudden interruption. "Excuse me?"
Draco set the book down on the table, sliding into the chair across from her. "Just an observation. You haven’t turned a page in over ten minutes."
She blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. "And you were watching me for ten minutes?"
He shrugged, smirking. "I get bored easily."
For a moment, she just stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to dismiss him outright or ignore himself together. Eventually, she sighed, leaning back slightly. "And what exactly is it that you want, Malfoy?"
He considered that, tilting his head. His gaze drifted toward the stack of books beside her, one of which looked distinctly different from the rest - worn at the edges, its pages slightly dog-eared, the kind of book someone carried, not borrowed. Curious, he plucked it from the pile before she could stop him.
"Kafka?" He raised a brow, flipping it open. "Didn’t peg you for the existential type."
She snatched the book from his hands, setting it aside with more force than necessary. "You know Kafka?"
Draco leaned back, still smirking. "Surprised?"
Hermione folded her arms. "A little."
He shrugged. "My mother kept a collection of Muggle literature. Thought it was good for perspective."
She blinked, caught off guard by that, and for the first time, something in her gaze shifted. Not quite interest, but something close.
Draco gave a sly smile, satisfied. "Guess I’m not as predictable as you thought."
"I don’t think of you at all, actually."
Her tone was so flat and matter of fact it took him a moment to reel himself back in. This wasn't the biting wit of the Brightest Witch of Her Age he'd grown to know and loathe over their shared school years. No, this was some sort of voided replication.
Clearing his throat, he reinstated his smirk. "That’s a shame, Granger. I was just starting to think we were having a moment."
Hermione huffed out a breath, but there was no real venom in it. Rather there wasn't much of anything in it at all. She shifted slightly in her chair, reaching for her quill as though returning to her work, though her hand lingered over the parchment without moving to make progress.
Draco watched her, then tilted his head. "Do you ever go through a day and realize you don’t remember any of it?"
She stiffened just slightly before she caught herself. Her eyes flickered toward him, unreadable. "That’s a rather existential question."
"It’s a Kafka inspired question," he corrected, managing a small subdued smile. "Since you’re such a fan."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but this time, she didn’t move to push him away. "I'm sure everyone feels that way at some point."
"And you?" he asked, voice quieter now. "Do you?"
For a long moment, she didn’t answer. Then, slowly, she picked up her book again, fingers brushing against the worn cover. "It doesn’t really matter, does it?"
Draco exhaled through his nose, watching her carefully. "Maybe not. But some people like to think they’re more than just spectators."
She finally looked at him then, something flickering behind her gaze - something wary, something exhausted, something brittle. And for the first time, Draco realized just how much effort it took for her to hold herself together.
"Well," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "not all stories give you the chance to rewrite them."
Draco leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the worn wood. "Maybe not. But you’re still turning the pages. That has to mean something."
Hermione blinked, seemingly unsettled by the sentiment, but Draco didn’t let her linger on it. He stood, stretching slightly as he picked up his book. "Wasn't it your Kafka that said that a book should be the axe for the frozen sea within us? Maybe you just haven’t found the right one yet.”
He turned before she could reply, weaving his way back through the library. But as he reached the aisle, he glanced back- just once. Her fingers still rested on the book’s spine, unmoving, as if she were weighing something unspoken.
Maybe she’d forget this conversation by tomorrow. Maybe she’d pretend it had never happened at all. But Draco wasn’t so sure he would manage to do the same.