It was another quiet weekend at the manor, with Hermione and Frank watching over Harry and Neville as they played in the garden. The late afternoon sun bathed the landscape in a warm, golden glow, and for a moment, it almost felt like everything was normal.

Almost.

The boys, as always, were full of energy, darting around the grounds with giggles and shouts. Hermione and Frank sat nearby, sipping tea and exchanging small talk about the week. But the calm didn't last long.

It all started with a harmless game of hide and seek. Harry, in his usual curiosity, stumbled upon an old, dusty artefact in one of the lesser-used rooms—a strange orb that shimmered faintly. Before Hermione could react, the boy reached out and touched it, triggering a magical surge that sent sparks flying across the room.

The orb glowed brightly, and suddenly, the manor was thrown into chaos. Furniture levitated, curtains twisted into strange shapes, and the walls seemed to warp and shift. Harry and Neville's giggles turned to shrieks of surprise as the magic swirled around them.

"Harry, Neville, get outside!" Hermione shouted, her instincts kicking in as she grabbed her wand and tried to counter the spell. Frank was right beside her, his own wand drawn, but the magic was unpredictable, and before they could regain control, they were both shoved into a nearby broom closet by a gust of enchanted wind.

The door slammed shut behind them with a loud thud, and in the blink of an eye, they were trapped.

Hermione pressed her back against the narrow wall, trying to catch her breath as the darkness closed in around them. She could hear the muffled giggles of the boys outside the door, clearly finding their predicament amusing.

"Well, this is… not ideal," Frank muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and amusement.

Hermione huffed out a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The tight space and the proximity of Frank's body next to hers only added to the tension. She could feel his warmth, smell the faint scent of woodsmoke and something distinctly Frank. It made her acutely aware of how close they were.

"I've had worse," Hermione replied, attempting to lighten the mood. "Though I can't say I've been locked in a broom closet with company before."

Frank chuckled softly. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose."

Silence followed, stretching between them as they both tried to think of a way out. But the quiet also allowed the tension to grow, and Hermione couldn't ignore the way her body seemed to hum with awareness of Frank's presence. It was ridiculous, she thought, to feel this way in a broom closet of all places.

"Do you think someone will come let us out?" Frank asked after a few moments, his tone light but with an underlying note of anxiety.

Hermione sighed. "Not likely. They're probably too busy laughing at us."

More silence followed, and Hermione realised they were avoiding the obvious. The space was too small, and the energy between them too charged to ignore. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to push away the thoughts swirling in her head—the thoughts of how close they were, how his arm brushed against hers every time one of them moved.

Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice even softer than before. "Hermione… about that night… I've been meaning to ask you." He paused, clearly choosing his words with care. "How do you… feel about it now? About… us?"

The question made her heart skip a beat. She had known it would come up eventually, but that didn't make it any easier to answer. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how to respond without revealing too much. The truth was, she still felt the sting of his rejection, the ache of wanting something more but knowing it wasn't possible. But she didn't want him to know that—not now, not when they were trapped in such an intimate space.

She forced a small, tight smile, though she knew he couldn't see it in the darkness. "It was… a moment, Frank. We both needed comfort, and it happened. But I think we both know it's better if we move forward as friends." Her voice was steady, but inside, she was anything but.

Frank didn't respond immediately, and she could feel his eyes on her, searching for something in her tone. She wondered if he could sense the lie in her words, the way she was still hurting, even though she was trying to bury it deep down.

"Right," he finally said, his voice strained. "Friends. That's… probably for the best."

They lapsed into silence again, the air thick with unresolved tension. Hermione could feel the heat of his body so close to hers, and it took everything in her not to lean into it, to find comfort in the warmth and familiarity of him. But she knew better. She had to protect herself, protect her heart from further hurt.

"So…" Frank's voice broke through the quiet, softer now. "How are you holding up? With Harry?"

Hermione hesitated. The question was simple enough, but the weight behind it wasn't. She could feel his gaze on her, even in the darkness. For a moment, she considered brushing it off, giving him the usual, "I'm fine," but something about the way he asked made her pause.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "Some days, I'm okay. Other days… it feels like I'm drowning. Like I'm constantly trying to keep my head above water, for Harry's sake. But… it's hard. I'm scared for him, for our future. For what happens next."

Frank was silent for a moment, and then he spoke, his voice low and careful. "I get that. It's… it's been hard for me too. With Neville. With everything. I keep thinking about Alice—about how I should have done more, been stronger. But instead, I failed her. And now… I'm failing Neville too. It's like… I can't move on, no matter how hard I try."

Hermione turned her head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light filtering through the cracks in the door. His words tugged at something deep inside her, a shared understanding of grief and guilt. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm in the confined space, a silent offer of comfort.

"You're not failing Neville," she whispered. "You're doing the best you can. And that's all anyone can ask of you."

Frank's breath hitched, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to shift. Hermione could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the closeness of their bodies making it hard to think clearly. There was a pause—a long, charged moment where it felt like something was about to happen.

She could almost see it—Frank leaning in, closing the distance between them. She could feel the pull, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering between them for weeks now. And for a moment, she let herself imagine it. His lips on hers, the warmth of his body pressed against her, the comfort of being held by someone who understood.

But then, just as quickly, she pulled back. No. This wasn't the time. It wasn't right.

She cleared her throat, breaking the tension. "We should probably focus on getting out of here."

Frank blinked, as if snapping out of a daze. He nodded quickly, his expression unreadable. "Right. Of course."

They both moved away from each other, the moment gone but the memory of it lingering. Hermione busied herself with trying to unlock the door, her hands trembling slightly as she worked. Frank stood close by, his own emotions clearly swirling beneath the surface.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and they stepped out into the chaos of the manor. The boys were still giggling, completely oblivious to the weight of the moment that had just passed.

Hermione smiled tightly at them, her heart still pounding in her chest. She felt Frank's presence beside her, and she couldn't help but wonder if things between them would ever be the same after this. Would they continue to dance around their feelings, or would they finally confront them head-on?

As they began to set things right, working together to restore order, Hermione couldn't shake the thought that they had come dangerously close to something more. And she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.