It had been three days since her last interaction with Malfoy, and neither of them had made any attempt to speak to the other. She didn't want to ask, but couldn't help the endless curiosity over whether he had owled his mother for the books from the Malfoy Manor library.
He also hadn't bothered to return the photographs.
Not that they would have changed or anything, and she didn't have any other information to help with research, but it was a matter of principle. Surely he'd had enough time to look through the book by now—and she was the one with a direct interest.
If she didn't know better, Hermione might have thought he was avoiding her. And she wasn't certain she knew better.
She never found him alone, not even during their restoration sessions, when he ordinarily worked alone. As she had approached him after dinner the night before, he rose and left the hall, looking pointedly in the other direction.
All day in the library she had sought him out, but it was as if he had vanished altogether. Or perhaps he had transferred to another part of the castle. Their work in the library had been moving along nicely, to the point that much of what could be salvaged had been.
But they hadn't yet been back at Hogwarts a month and there was still plenty to be done.
That evening Malfoy wasn't at dinner.
Maybe he had come down with something and was in the hospital wing for treatment. Not that it was her business or her place, but she just barely refrained from seeking him out. Instead, she drifted aimlessly through the corridors, pondering what the upcoming year would be like.
Harry and Ron didn't intend to return to complete their NEWTs, having been offered automatic entrance into the Auror training program. Neville, Dean, and Seamus would be returning, to her knowledge, along with Ginny and Luna. It wouldn't be the same, but maybe it would be nice to be able to focus on her studies for once, without the threat of impending death hanging over her head. Furthermore, she would be able to focus on her own studies, without feeling pressed to help Harry and Ron as well.
For a fleeting instant, she considered finding Malfoy's private quarters—all of the returning eighth years were along the same corridor, so theoretically she could find his room—but the thought passed with a shudder down her spine. She could only imagine his disdain.
Instead, she found herself wandering a familiar passage on the seventh floor that she had visited countless times during her previous years. An innocuous stretch of wall stood before her, and in her mind's eye Hermione could see vicious flames, searing and insatiable. She could still hear the roar.
A sharp exhale chased from her lungs as she stared at the wall, frozen to the spot. The Room of Requirement hadn't been listed in the restoration efforts, and she wondered whether its magical properties had been damaged beyond repair. Or perhaps the professors hadn't deemed it worth fixing.
Drawing in a long, steadying breath, Hermione lifted her chin. She couldn't allow the memories to grip her forever, and despite the tremble to her hands, she paced before the wall three times.
It was remarkable the stone walls weren't damaged, because a charred doorway slowly materialised before her, as if with too much effort.
A horrified gasp pulled from her lungs as she took a few steps into the Room of Hidden Things. The obnoxious scent of burnt pervaded her senses; the towers of items that had once existed were gone, rendered to small piles of blackened remains. The whole room was shades of black and grey; a haze hung in the air with nowhere to dissipate.
But the most startling thing was that she wasn't alone.
Along the nearest wall, sitting in the ash, knees propped up in front of him, and arms thrown over top, was Malfoy. He gazed out, unseeing, into the wreckage. Hoarsely, he asked, "Are you fucking stalking me now?"
"No," she whispered, her entire being vibrating at the shocking sight before her. "I just… ended up here. It must have been a coincidence."
Malfoy released a sharp, bitter, "Ha." Sweeping a hand through his lank hair, he said, "There are no such things as coincidences."
Hermione was reminded, in stark relief, of the last time they had both been in the Room of Hidden Things. When the flames of the Fiendfyre had licked up the towers, its animalistic forms devouring thousands of lost and hidden items—and one of his oldest friends hadn't made it out.
She recalled his words at breakfast a few days prior. That he had regrets he would carry with him for the rest of his life.
Collecting the depths of her courage, Hermione slid down the blackened wall to sit alongside him. He cast her a suspicious glance, as if she had come to mock him; from up close, she could see his eyes were bloodshot and glassy.
He sucked in a shaky breath, and turned back to face the room. "It wasn't a coincidence that you and I were in this room that day, either. I am well aware of the fact that I'm only here today because your friend is a better person than I am."
Malfoy was barely more than an acquaintance—they had never gotten on even remotely—but Hermione felt a tug at her heart and a sting at her eyes. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. About Crabbe."
He didn't react for a long moment. When he did, he shook his head slowly from side to side. "We all lost people—I know you did, too. But I lost Crabbe long before that day."
Uncomfortable silence fell across them, but Hermione wasn't given the indication that he wanted her to leave him alone. As she gazed out into the ruins, memories running through her mind of times when the room had been anything else, the space between them shifted.
It wasn't companionable but it was understanding.
At last, he blew out a long breath, and Hermione was sure he was going to leave, but he only dropped his head back against the wall. A thin coating of ash had settled in his hair. His voice was gruff but quiet. "Do you ever just fucking wonder, Granger?"
She cast him a glance. "All the time."
His lips twitched with an effort at a smirk but he sobered. "If you had taken one different turn in life. Stood up when you stepped back. Gone the more difficult path."
The words resonated, more than she would have expected. She admitted, "In our first year, I was in the loo when Professor Quirrell let that troll into the castle. I was… hiding out because my feelings were hurt."
Malfoy stared at her, agape and amused. "You were hiding. That's shite timing."
"Yes." To her surprise, a laugh chased out. "But Harry and Ron ended up saving me—and that was the day we became friends."
"So what you're saying," Malfoy drawled, waving a hand absently, "is that if a few kids hadn't decided to fight a bloody troll, Potter would have died years ago." A somber expression crossed his face and he looked away. "And the world would look a hell of a lot darker."
Hermione pulled her knees into her chest, propping up her chin. "Well, who knows how it all would have played out? Maybe we would have still become friends, at some point. Maybe the possibilities of the choices we didn't make are all playing out on alternate timelines."
Grey eyes slid sidelong to find hers when she glanced his way again. "You believe that? But you don't believe in Seers and tea-leaves?"
"I believe…" Trailing off, she released a harsh breath. For a fleeting moment, she wondered how the pair of them were having such a conversation. "I believe things happen as they're meant to. If Harry was meant to defeat Voldemort, and if I was meant to help him… it would have happened. Even if everything had gone differently, I think we still would have found one another."
Malfoy shifted on the floor, his expression unreadable. He pursed his lips, rummaging in the pocket of his trousers. With a wave of his wand, two small books enlarged to their full size in his palm. "Mother sent me these from the Manor library. I skimmed them, but I don't think you'll find the information you're looking for—with regards to reincarnation. While we're talking about all this."
"Thank you." Hermione accepted the books, tucking them into her bag. "I'll have them back to you as soon as I've read them." Then she hesitated, glancing at him. "Why are you even talking to me?"
Dragging a hand down his face, he blew out a long breath. "Because I'm tired, Granger." She felt the sentiment innately in her bones. "I'm tired of the hate and the anger… the war is over." Glancing away, he trailed his fingertips through the ash on the floor, drawing out a pattern on the hard stone. "And at some point, somewhere between believing my whole family was going to die if I didn't kill a man, and watching a snake eat a woman for her beliefs…"
Malfoy shook his head, sucking his teeth.
A stifling breath caught in Hermione's throat.
"At some point, I decided I wanted to think for myself."
His breathing was shallow to match hers, and neither spoke for a long moment, each staring into the destroyed remains of the room.
Finally, Hermione twisted her head to face him. "If it helps, Malfoy—I don't think we have to be defined by the decisions we've made in the past. Not if we make an effort to change the future."
He clenched his jaw, and for a brief moment, his eyes met hers, and something like desperation shone in their depths. Hoarsely, he breathed, "Thanks, Granger."
Sensing their time together had come to a close, she rose to her feet, dusting off her jeans. He was gazing out into the room again. "See you in the library tomorrow."
She didn't wait for a response before casting a final glance around the room and slipping through the exit.
By the time the weekend came around, it had been several days since Hermione had come across Malfoy in the charred remains of what had once been the Room of Hidden Things.
It was a beautiful summer afternoon and the students working on the restoration program had been granted leave to visit Hogsmeade.
Hermione opted to walk, the warmth of the sun beaming down on her. After so many hours spent poring over tomes in the library, it was nice to get some fresh air. Their efforts were nearing completion, and ahead of schedule.
Unfortunately, her other project was moving along with less expediency. The books Malfoy had lent her from the Manor library didn't have any information with regards to how the young woman from almost a thousand years ago looked like her.
One of the books contained a handful of mentions of reincarnation, but with no regard to the validity of the idea. All it claimed, as Malfoy himself had done, was that there was no irrefutable proof. Furthermore, it wouldn't have explained their matched appearances.
There was one ambiguous mention that had caught her eye and lingered in the back of her mind ever since.
In the rare case of those bound by two halves of one soul, certain strange occurrences have happened, but they are the exception and will not be discussed in further detail here.
It made very little sense, and did nothing to answer her questions.
Malfoy had still yet to return the book of photographs, despite having had it for a week already. She wondered whether he had simply forgotten about it, but that didn't align with the fact that he had gone out of his way to arrange for books to be sent from Malfoy Manor.
By the time she arrived in the village, it was almost eleven and Hermione decided to visit the small book store just in case there was anything that piqued her interest.
The shop was empty but for the proprietor when she arrived and she took her time browsing the shelves. She selected a new eagle feather quill and picked up a few other supplies, but none of the books caught her eye as something that might help.
"Let me guess." A pointed drawl came in her direction as Malfoy rounded the corner towards her, absently skimming the back cover of a book in his hand; she hadn't even noticed anyone else come in. "The content I lent you didn't help."
Folding her arms across her front, Hermione cast a furtive glance around the shop. "Not specifically, no. But I appreciate it all the same."
He gave a shrug. "I scanned them as well but nothing. Like I told you, you're looking for something that has never been proven. You can theorise all you like, but I don't think you're going to find a concrete answer."
Disappointment stirred in her stomach as she stared at him. Shaking it off, she tucked the book she'd been looking at back onto its shelf. "Are you enjoying your day?"
"Yes." Malfoy waved a flippant hand, as if he couldn't be bothered either way. "The village is the same as ever."
Hermione noticed the proprietor keeping a close eye on the pair of them and she shifted, uncomfortable. Her companion noticed as well and scowled.
Huffing a breath, he returned his own book to the shelf. "I'd better go before you get kicked out of here for talking to me." A self-deprecating smirk curled his lips but the humour didn't reach his eyes.
Startled, Hermione wondered what sort of backlash he received when in public.
"Malfoy, wait." They both blinked, surprised, at one another. "Have you eaten?"
After staring at her for so long she thought he hadn't heard her, he shook his head. "I have not."
In hindsight, it was a bad idea to invite Malfoy to join her for lunch. For the entire fifteen minutes since they'd placed their orders at a small cafe, conversation had been sparse, awkward, and stilted. Malfoy had spent most of the time gazing at the walls or ceiling, and it was starting to feel as if he didn't want to look at her at all.
But he had never been the type to spare her feelings, and if he didn't want to join her for lunch, he shouldn't have agreed.
Perhaps it was that the pair of them, seated at a small table for two in the quiet of the establishment, felt too intimate.
If felt like a date—though it certainly wasn't.
Although Malfoy had been tolerable lately, Hermione had no interest in him like that whatsoever, and she knew it was mutual. Which was likely why he was itching to get away from her.
She wished he hadn't agreed. It would have been preferable to sit and eat on her own than to be so uncomfortable.
Thankfully, the waitress delivered their meals, and Hermione was spared from attempting to carry the conversation any further. Some of the tension sank from Malfoy's shoulders as well, and she watched as he carefully dipped one end of a chip into his vinegar, letting it absorb, and then the other, before folding it in two and eating it whole.
She let out a low snort.
Chewing his bite, he fired her a scowl.
"Sorry," she announced, "I was only wondering whether you needed some chips with your vinegar."
His eyes on her tightened further, and he took a drink of his water before speaking. "Excuse you, I happen to enjoy chips and vinegar. You don't see me mocking your—whatever sort of sandwich that is."
"It's a cheese and pickle sandwich on rye."
"Cheese and pickles." He peered closer, lifting the top slice of bread from her sandwich; Hermione swatted his hand away. "Literally just cheese and pickles. It sounds rubbish."
"And here you are mocking my sandwich." Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Hermione shook her head.
"You invited it on yourself." But there was a bit of a smirk tugging at his lips, and his grey eyes shone with a hint of humour. "You ought to have kept your thoughts on my food preferences to yourself."
Huffing, Hermione took a bite of her sandwich and chewed carefully before swallowing. "For the record, it isn't rubbish."
Leaning back in his seat, he folded his arms and chewed his tongue. "Let's try it, then."
Hardly able to believe they were debating the subject, Hermione sliced a corner from the untouched half of her sandwich and spun the plate towards him, unwilling to deal with the grief he would give her if she touched his food. He picked up his fork and speared through the bite before eating the sandwich straight from the tines. Eyes narrowed on her once more, he chewed the bite before setting his fork down onto his serviette.
Hermione lifted expectant brows.
"Rubbish." His lips twitched again, and he even released a laugh. "It isn't terrible, Granger, I'll give you that."
Crisply, she proclaimed, "I will take it," before flashing him a smile.
Malfoy's eyes found hers across the table, and slowly, his lips dragged up into a crooked grin that she had most definitely never seen directed her way before. Pointing at her with a chip, he said, "You're ridiculous," before submerging the entire morsel in his vinegar and eating it.
She could smell the pungent scent of it on the air between them.
"And you," she began, fixing him with a pointed stare, "haven't returned my book of photographs."
'It's yours now?" He snickered, looking away. "I'm looking into something."
Surprised, she eyed him in silence for a moment. "What are you looking into? When will you be through?"
With an exaggerated sigh, he ignored her in favour of his meal. At last he answered. "Once you've forgotten all about it, so I don't have to keep fielding your inane questions about it. I gave you the books—didn't they tell you enough?"
Frowning, Hermione returned to her own sandwich, feeling disheartened. Maybe there really was nothing to be discovered.
And just like that, the light atmosphere between them vanished once more.
Despite Malfoy's words in Hogsmeade, Hermione was determined to figure out the truth of the matter. Even though it was likely irrelevant, and it had no bearing on her life currently, she couldn't help the niggling thought that the answer was out there. She wished she had the book of photographs to take a closer look for anything she might have missed, but she and Malfoy hadn't spent any time together in almost a week.
After the last time they had discussed the topic, she felt suitably chastened, and hadn't wanted to broach the subject again.
Their work in the library was nearing completion, and they would both be assigned to another part of the castle in the next day or two.
But in the evenings, she returned to the library, hoping that there was something she could find that had been restored and returned to the shelves that day, and had been simply missed. She didn't quite trust Malfoy to let her know if he'd found anything.
He hadn't returned the book, and then hadn't explained to her what sort of theory he was following, whilst discouraging her from her own.
So as far as she was concerned, they had no business together. Their time working in the library together was at its end, and soon they would once more be Gryffindor and Slytherin, with no more in common than they ever had.
Although he had been one of the only students to return with whom she'd spoken at all.
Something about the idea of going back to the way they'd always been left her feeling bereft.
"Granger." Releasing a sigh, he turned to stare at her as she hovered near his end of the table.
Edging closer, Hermione took a seat at the Slytherin table with a furtive glance around the hall. The last students had vanished through the door at the far end, and Malfoy was the only other person remaining after dinner, languidly perusing a book.
He stared at her from beneath pale brows, his expression blank. "What do you need?"
Folding her arms on the table, she offered a hesitant smile; Malfoy didn't react. "How is the third floor restoration going?"
"Tedious." Taken aback, Hermione recoiled and made to rise once more, but he huffed a sigh. "And you? Sixth, right?"
"Sixth floor, yes," she permitted. Almost unbelievably, it had been strange not to see Malfoy's scowling face every day in the restoration project. Once the library had been completed, their group had dispersed to assist with other regions of the castle.
Sucking on his teeth, he tapped the feathered end of his quill onto the open book before him.
She was anxious to get away; he was more mercurial than anyone she had ever met. "I figured I ought to return these books."
"So you're finally giving up," he mused, and Hermione felt herself deflate as he snickered. "I told you that you weren't going to find the answers you're looking for."
Waving her hands in defeat, she nodded. "I suppose you were right. I've read these books three times now and… nothing." His eyes met hers across the table, and she added, "Unless you've discovered something."
For a curious instant, so fleeting that if she had blinked she would have missed it, something faltered in his expression. But then it was gone and he offered a minute shake of the head.
But Hermione stared at him, agape. "You found something?"
"No," he snapped, frowning.
"What aren't you telling me?" When he only scowled in return, she leaned forward, her heart rate escalating in her chest. "Was there something else in the book of photos?"
"There is nothing else," he muttered, yanking back the books she had sought to return.
"Malfoy!"
His glare deepened as he shoved the books into his bag; Hermione flinched at his rough handling of them. Then he swung the shoulder strap over his head, rising from his seat and striding away from her.
Staring after him, she found a fluttering of surprise in her chest. He was always so droll and irreverent that it was startling to see him worked up over something.
It furthered her curiosity and she grabbed her own bag, chasing after him. She followed him from the Great Hall into the corridor that led towards the dungeons, until he spun on the spot, stopping dead.
Hermione nearly collided into his taller form, and she blinked up at him, her chest heaving a little with her hasty exit. His grey eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched, and anger shone in the lines of his face.
"Back the fuck off, Granger."
Despite the frisson of fear chasing down her spine, she knew him better now. "Just tell me what it is you learned."
"I didn't learn a damn thing," he said, staring down at her; he towered over her by several inches at least. "At least, nothing worth knowing."
From so close, she could see the shimmering of silver in his irises and a breath caught in her throat. She had never been so close to Malfoy, and he looked different somehow. Voice scarcely above a whisper, she asked, "Can I have the book of photographs back then?"
His upper lip curled with a cold sneer. "No." Despite the steely tone in his words, his eyes searched hers for a moment; his throat bobbed with a swallow. Something akin to desperation crossed his face, but again, it was gone before she could make anything of it.
Hermione whispered, "Please, Malfoy. Just tell me."
"I can't," he ground through his teeth, still close enough that her chest could have brushed against his if she shifted a step closer, and Hermione couldn't make any sense of the situation. She couldn't comprehend why her heart was racing a little faster, and it wasn't out of fear.
His lips parted as if to speak, but he only shook his head. "Trust me, Granger. It's nothing you want to know."
"You can't just—" Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she huffed a tight exhale through her nose. "You can't say that and expect me not to ask, Malfoy." Now there was a hint of desperation in her own voice and she couldn't wrap her head around any of it.
"I know," he conceded. Clamping his jaw shut again, he forced another swallow. His voice dropped to a breath. "But I'm never going to tell you."
That same something she couldn't identify crossed his face once more as he stared at her in silence, and then in a swift movement, he spun on his heel and strode away.
Heart pounding anxiously in her chest, Hermione only watched him go, feeling somehow emotionally spent.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for the incredible reception to the first chapter of this story! I was blown away by the interest, and your kind words made me so happy! I hope you enjoyed this second installment!
Alpha hugs to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta love to I was BOTWP.