"Granger, can you see me?" His voice was low, almost cold, yet it carried a strange gravity that chilled her to the bone. It wasn't a plea or a complaint, just a statement of fact.

She took a shaky breath, trying to regain control of her emotions. But how could she stay calm? It was Draco Malfoy, dead, and yet... there, right in front of her.

"Yes, I can see you." Her voice was hoarse as if she'd caught a cold, and it sounded more like a grunt than a comprehensible answer. She had always been the girl who sought answers, who tried to understand the world around her with relentless logic. But here, faced with something beyond all comprehension, her mind struggled to fully piece things together.

He stared at her, his face expressionless, but there was something about the way his features were frozen, in the way his gaze seemed to pierce right through her. No smile, no usual sarcasm marked his lips. The coldness in his tone wasn't laced with his usual arrogance, but rather with a chilling weariness.

"Why?" she finally asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was a little firmer, though her heart was still racing with something akin to fear. "Why did you do it? Why did you jump?"

Draco lowered his gaze to the floor, where the diary still lay, half-open. She followed his gaze, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her. The diary... Malfoy's private thoughts she had stumbled upon by accident. She remembered every word she'd read, every passage where he had revealed a part of his despair, his disquiet, that she had never suspected.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I think you know why, don't you?"

Hermione bit her lip, unable to answer immediately. Of course she knew. She had read his thoughts, seen his despair in those pages. But it didn't take away her lack of understanding. Despite all he had endured, despite the darkness that seemed to surround him, she had never imagined that he would come to such an extreme.

"I..." She hesitated, then finally breathed out. "I thought I knew. But I don't understand... not really." She looked up at him, searching for an answer in his now distant face. "Why are you still here?"

His lips curled into a cold, almost cynical smile. "Believe me, Granger, I have no idea. This isn't really..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "This isn't what I expected. I shouldn't be here."

She frowned, a mix of curiosity and confusion in her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

He turned his head slightly, glancing at the faint stars above them. "When I... fell, I thought it would be... different. I thought everything would end. But... I'm still here." His voice was distant, almost detached, as if he were talking about something that no longer concerned him. "I didn't choose to stay. Not like them."

Hermione followed his vacant stare, her mind quickly making the connections. "Like the other ghosts, you mean?"

His head nodded in agreement. "Nearly Headless Nick, the Bloody Baron, the Grey Lady... they all made a choice. They refused to move on, out of fear or regret. But I- I never had that choice."

"You never had that choice?" She repeated, more to herself than to him. She remembered the history of magic lessons, the stories of ghosts and the reasons that kept them tethered to this world. But if Draco hadn't chosen...

"No." He replied coldly. "It's like I'm stuck here."

Hermione, with her habit of needing to understand everything, sat up slightly straighter. "And the others? The other ghosts, I mean. Do they see you?"

Draco shook his head. "No." He crossed his arms, a dark expression passing over his face. "I'm alone, Granger. Completely isolated, even among them."

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Being a ghost was something, but being a ghost that no one could see, hear, or feel, that sounded like a fate far worse.

"Why am I the only one who can see you?" she asked, her voice betraying her astonishment. She still couldn't understand why she, of all people, was the one who could perceive him.

He shrugged, looking perplexed himself. "I have no idea. But..." He looked at her intently, his pale eyes searching for something in hers. "What I do know is that you're the only one who can help me."

She swallowed, uncertain. "Help you? How could I help you, Malfoy?"

He remained silent for a moment, his gray eyes fixed on her with an icy intensity. He was different, terribly different from the person she had known, and yet, something deeply familiar radiated from him. The coldness in his words had nothing to do with the arrogance he had once displayed. He was detached, as if this spectral existence had drained him of everything, leaving only an empty shell behind.

"You're the only one who can help me because-" He stopped, searching for the right words, his eyes dropping for a moment to the diary still lying on the ground, its pages fluttering weakly in the night wind. "Because you're the only one who can see me. I don't know how or why, but it's you."

She stood frozen, her thoughts swirling. Help Draco Malfoy. Was she really ready to undertake such a task? She had spent years despising him, hating him for everything he represented. And now, he stood here, stuck between two worlds, asking for her help. But beyond the old resentment, she also saw a soul in pain, trapped in an incomprehensible limbo.

"Why are you stuck here?" Her voice had softened, despite the multitude of questions swirling in her mind.

He shook his head, as if brushing away an unpleasant thought. "I don't know," he finally admitted, his tone still neutral. "It's not like the other ghosts as you already know, the ones who chose to stay." His gaze drifted to the dark horizon, far above Hogwarts. "I didn't have that choice. It's like... something is preventing me."

Hermione felt a shiver run through her. The idea of being trapped between two worlds, unable to choose, terrified her. And yet, she couldn't help but want to understand. "It doesn't make sense," she murmured, more to herself. "Ghosts choose to stay, they have regrets and fears that prevent them from going to the other side."

"Believe me, Granger," Draco interrupted, his voice sharp as a blade. "That's not my case. I didn't choose. I didn't have that luxury."

The oppressive silence that followed weighed on them both. Hermione struggled internally against the flood of questions that assaulted her, while he remained frozen, as if every word tired him more.

"And what exactly do you want me to do?" She finally asked, her voice more assured despite the situation. "I don't know why you're still here. I have no idea how to... how to help someone get to the other side."

His gray eyes never left hers, but his gaze betrayed no emotion, no sign of weakness. "There must be a reason," he offers as an argument. "Something in my life, or in my death, that was left unfinished."

She frowned, trying to understand what he was implying. "Unfinished?" she repeated, uncertain. "Like what?"

Draco shrugged slightly, a look of weariness briefly passing over his face. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's blurry. It's like parts of my life are slipping away from me. Memories, sensations... I know there's something, but I can't access it."

Hermione adjusted her posture, cracking the bones in her back in the process. Her neck began to ache from looking at him sitting up, but she knew she was so shocked that she wouldn't be able to stand on her own two legs without flinching. Her investigative instincts overcame the pain as she saw Draco's translucent hand run through her hair. Even in death, he never lost that habit. She might be overwhelmed by the situation, but if one thing defined her, it was her ability to investigate, to dig until she found the truth. "You think it's related to a missing memory? To something you've forgotten?"

He nodded, his expression still as closed as ever. "Maybe. Or something I didn't accomplish... before I died." He looked at her insistently, as if waiting for her to understand before he even finished explaining. "That's where you come in. You're the only one who can help me figure out what it is."

A heavy silence settled between them again as Hermione trying to untangle the implications of what he had just said. How could she, of all people, help a ghost recover missing memories or fix mistakes from the past? And yet, she couldn't bring herself to leave him in this state. Despite everything he had been, despite everything she had felt for him, she couldn't ignore the suffering that emanated from him, even if it was hidden under a layer of cold detachment.

"Alright," she finally said, almost reluctantly. "I'll help you."

Draco looked at her, showing no surprise, but a flicker of intensity lit up in his eyes. "Thank you, Granger." It was just three words, spoken without warmth, but she knew it was sincere.

Unsure of what to say or do, she remained silent. This wasn't a simple mission, it wasn't a task she could resolve with a few hours spent in the library. It was more intimate, more complex. And the fact that it was Draco Malfoy, the boy she had hated for so many years, whom she knew nothing except his blood status, asking her for help, didn't make things any easier.

She felt a surge of uneasiness sweep over her. She had never been good at handling complicated emotions, especially those that came from others, and even less so from people like him. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. How could she comfort him? Promise him that she would find a solution? She had no idea, and it wasn't in her nature to make false promises.

Malfoy, for his part, continued to stare at her with that cold intensity, making everything even harder. His features were frozen, and Hermione couldn't help but notice how detached he seemed from everything. As if he wasn't really there anymore, as if he wasn't even really a person. It was disturbing, more so than encountering Nearly Headless Nick or the Grey Lady. Those ghosts had a certain liveliness, even though it was tinged with sadness or regret. Malfoy, on the other hand, was like a shadow frozen in time.

"Do you...," she hesitated, searching for the right words, "do you remember your death?" The question was straightforward, but she had to understand. There was no other way to start unraveling this mystery.

His face tensed imperceptibly, but his expression remained as hard as a rock. "Not really," he finally replied, his tone still as cold as ever. "I remember coming up here..." He cast a glance around the tower, as if trying to cling to a memory that eluded him. "I remember the wind, the feeling of the void. And then... nothing."

She raised an eyebrow, thinking deeply. "And after? When you... when you died, what did you feel? Did you see something? Hear something?"

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze drifting into the distance. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "Nothing. It was as if everything had gone out. As if I had been... swallowed by the void. There was no light, no darkness, just... emptiness." His words hung in the air, cold as ice, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. "And then, I was here." He looked at her, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that was almost painful. "Here, in this world. But... different."

She nodded slowly, absorbing his words, trying to make sense of them. "That doesn't sound like what the other ghosts describe. Nick, for example, once told me that—"

Draco cut her off sharply, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I'm not like them, Granger. I'm not here because I chose to be. That's the difference. They were afraid of the beyond, afraid of what they would find on the other side. I- I never had that option." He clenched his fists, his translucent hands tight against his sides. "Believe me, if I could have crossed over, I would have."

Hermione remained silent for a moment, processing his words. She knew Malfoy was telling the truth; he had never been one to hide behind pretense. Even when he was cruel, he had been openly cruel. But the idea that he hadn't had a choice troubled her deeply. Ghosts were supposed to be those who refused to leave, not those who were forced to stay. So why him?

"There must be a reason," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "There must be something that's keeping you here."

Draco didn't respond immediately. He continued to stare into the void, as if searching for answers he couldn't find. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward her. "Maybe," he said in a cold distant voice. "But I don't know what."

"If it's a missing memory, or something unfinished in your life, then we need to investigate. We need to find what's blocking you."

A faint smile crossed his lips. "Easier said than done, Granger. But you've seen my journal. I wasn't exactly at peace with myself before I died. There might be hundreds of things that could explain why I'm still here."

Arms crossed, it was a purely defensive gesture in response to his tone. "Yes, but you didn't have hundreds of lives, Malfoy. Your life was marked by certain moments, key events. If we start there, maybe we can find a clue."

His expression hardened, eyes remaining cold. "Where do you want to start, then?" he asked, almost disillusioned. "The horrors of the war? My family? Or my own mistakes?"

She stared at him for a moment, her mind racing. "Your family," she said finally. "The Malfoys have always been at the heart of everything. Their secrets, their alliances with dark forces... it has to be connected, somehow."

A heavy silence settled between them. He remained motionless, his eyes squinting as he stared into the distance. "My family..." he murmured at last, as if the words left a sour taste in his mouth. "Yes, maybe."

Her eyes rested on him, a slight tightness forming in her chest. There was so much left unsaid in those words, so much suffering hidden beneath that frigid exterior. She had always known he carried a heavy burden, but she had never realized how deeply it had marked him. And now, he was trapped in this incomplete existence, unable to free himself.

"There's something I don't understand," she revealed softly, breaking the silence. "If you didn't have the choice to stay, then why you? Why not others?"

He clenched his teeth, his face closing off even more, if that was possible. "I don't know," he replied, his voice tense. "Maybe it's a punishment. Maybe it's because I didn't deserve to cross over." He shrugged with feigned indifference, but she could see how much those words enraged him.

Hermione hesitated, searching for a way to respond without hurting him further. "I don't think it's a punishment," she finally countered, her voice as gentle as a touch. "That's not how it works. I think something is keeping you here because you still have a role to play, or something to accomplish."

A faint glint appeared in the gray eyes as they fixed on her in the darkness. "A role to play?" he repeated with a wry smile. "What role, Granger? The eternal coward? The unworthy son?"

She remembered what Harry had told her about Draco, how tormented he had been by his responsibilities, by the mission Voldemort had given him.

"I don't know," she admitted, honestly. "But I'm sure you're not here without reason. We just have to find out what it is."

He turned away, as if he could no longer bear to look her in the eyes. "And what if I don't want that reason?" he asked, and for the first time she heard fear.

Hermione finally rose from the floor with a tiny sigh. "You may not have a choice," she said gently, stepping a little closer to him. "But at least you're not alone. I'll help you."

Malfoy remained silent, immobile, like a statue of ice. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to respond, or if he was simply going to disappear into the night, leaving her alone here. But finally, he turned his head toward her, his cold gaze locking onto hers with a new intensity.

"Why?" His voice was low, but it carried a note of vulnerability she had never heard from him before. "Why are you doing this? After everything I've done, everything I've said to you... why are you helping me?"

Surprise flashed in her chocolate-brown eyes. To be completely honest, she wasn't entirely sure herself.

"Because I couldn't help you not to jump," she finally said, her voice betraying a clear sense of guilt.

He stared at her for a moment, his face still impassive, but she could see a flicker pass through his eyes. Gratitude.

Then, without another word, he turned slightly, turning away from her, his gaze once again fixed on the distant horizon. His contours became more blurred under the moonlight, as if he was already beginning to fade from reality.

"You should get some rest, Granger," he whispered, running his tongue over his pale lips.

Opening her mouth to protest, the words stuck in her throat. She knew he was right. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically from the night. So, she nodded slowly.

He took a step back, blending even more into the darkness surrounding the tower. "We'll start tomorrow," he said before disappearing completely, like mist dissipating under daylight.

She was left alone, her breath short, her thoughts in disarray. She lowered her gaze to the journal still lying on the ground, and leaned down to pick it up. His words echoed in her mind as she slowly opened it to a new page.

Her breathing slowed, became more measured, as her eyes skimmed over the lines scribbled in a hurried, almost angry hand.

November 29th

No one sees me. No one wants to see. I've become invisible, but even when they look at me, it's like they're staring at a facade. Inside, I'm rotting. Slowly. Every day pulls me down a little more, and I can't do anything to stop it. I don't even know if I want to stop it. Does anyone really care what happens to me? Would it make any difference if I disappeared tomorrow?

My mother... she tries. Sometimes she looks at me as if she knows. As if she senses something. But she's trapped, too. She's caught in the same web of lies, appearances, and duties. She's doing everything she can to save us, but she can't save me. She can't save herself either. I'm stuck in this role that's been forced on me, and each day, it eats away at me a little more. Even I no longer know where I end and where this mask I wear begins.

I can't talk to anyone about it. Not to her. Not to my father, obviously. He would only see weakness. And my so-called friends... they're even worse. They don't see anything, or worse, they don't care. Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle... they surround me, they laugh, they talk, but it's all fake. Every smile they give me is a facade, just like mine. No one cares about what I feel, because everyone expects something from me. That I be strong. That I be the Malfoy they expect me to be. But what if I collapse? What if I break? It wouldn't matter. They would go on without me. Nothing would make sense. Maybe it never did.

I'm alone. So alone. And it's killing me. Every day, I wake up with this feeling of freefall, as if I'm already sinking, and no one can stop me. No one wants to stop me. Because, deep down, no one really sees me. And I don't think there's anything left in me to save. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe it's easier to disappear slowly. To die before dying.

One of the lines was marked by a blurry spot smearing the black ink. Hermione squinted, trying to understand what she was seeing. The ink had spread, leaving a slightly irregular mark on the paper, and that's when she realized.

A tear.

Her own tears had soaked the page without her noticing. She blinked, surprised by this discovery, then wiped her cheeks quickly. She wasn't crying for Draco Malfoy, was she? That was absurd. She slammed the journal shut, holding it to her chest as if to protect herself from the tide of emotions threatening to engulf her.

She had been blind to this, like everyone else. They had all let him down, and now, it was up to her to find a way to help him.

But how?

Top of the class, Miss-I-know-Everything, as the blond often teased, Hermione Granger remained bound by the rules of this world. She knew nothing of the secrets of the dead. But now that she knew about him, she could no longer look away. There was no room for indifference anymore.

And that night, for the first time, though a little too late, someone finally saw Draco Malfoy.