The Room of Requirement had answered their need for comfort, transforming into their usual large four-poster bed adorned with green and silver linens. Hermione lay on her back, Draco beside her, tracing the lines of her palm absentmindedly as they spoke about the future.

"I think I'd like to manage the Malfoy estates properly," Draco mused, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Picture it: the manor thriving, every corner restored, the old ways of managing things done with care. I can see myself waking up in the manor, having breakfast with Mother and you—always you—before you head off to the Ministry to make those changes you're always so passionate about. Meanwhile, I'd be working in a wing I've converted to an office, maybe restoring old magical artefacts, something constructive, something quiet, not quite so... dark. Imagine it—a day where I meet with clients, work on restoring ancient, forgotten magic, and then when the day is done, dinner with you and Mother. We'd have the evenings to ourselves, wandering the grounds, no more hiding, no more war. Just us, building something worthwhile together." He turned his head to look at her, smiling. "It sounds perfect, doesn't it?""

Hermione flinched. "Some of those changes might not be very popular at the Ministry," she muttered. "Or with your mother."

Draco caught the flicker of doubt in her eyes and frowned. He propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. "Hermione, you don't need to worry about my mother. If I support you, she will too. She cares about what I care about. Besides, she already respects you more than almost anyone." He paused, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "She knows how strong you are. If anyone can do this, it's you."

Hermione swallowed, her heart pounding. "It's not just about that, Draco. Some things... some things are more complicated. And the Ministry—"

Draco tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "What is it you're researching, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. But beneath that smile, her thoughts were racing. She was terrified of his questions, of what he might think if he found out just how dark the magic she was researching truly was. How disappointed would he be? Would he still look at her the same way, or would he turn away, disgusted? The uncertainty gnawed at her, and the pressure in her chest built until she couldn't bear it anymore. She needed to distract herself—distract him—and she knew exactly how. Instead of answering, she pulled him down into a kiss, silencing his questions. Draco sighed against her lips, giving in to the distraction, and she knew that, at least for now, she had successfully steered them away from the dangerous territory of her secrets. The weight of hiding everything from him gnawed at her—she hated the deception, hated that she couldn't be honest with Draco. She worried about how he would react if he found out just how dark her research had gotten. Would he turn away from her? Would he be disgusted by what she had become? Where she planned to lead, he would follow, but what if he knew the real path she was on?

\

The next day, Hermione found Luna sitting by the lake, a book about aquatic creatures in her lap. The blonde looked up as Hermione approached, her ever-present dreamy smile softening into something more genuine.

"Luna, your necklace," Hermione began, gesturing towards the beautiful heirloom hanging around Luna's neck. "It's a Lovegood heirloom, isn't it?"

Luna nodded serenely. "Yes, it belonged to my great-grandmother. It's said to help ward off undesirable influences." She tilted her head, studying Hermione closely. "Why do you ask?"

Hermione hesitated. "I'm... researching pureblood heirlooms. Trying to understand their significance, especially those that hold enchantments." She felt strangely guilty, like she was intruding into Luna's world. But Luna simply smiled wider.

"It's a lovely project, Hermione. Heirlooms carry stories, you know. They carry a bit of the magic of every person who touched them and loved them."

That evening, Hermione sat in the dimly lit library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with ancient volumes. Her fingers danced along the spines of dusty tomes until she found the one she was looking for: The Histories of the Old Families. Settling at a secluded table, she opened the book, her quill ready to take notes. She needed to understand the significance behind pureblood family heirlooms—how best to order their use within the potion and spell work. In her mind, she was already categorising their weaknesses and their points of pride. She had the Prewitt's comb, Malfoy's cufflinks, and a few ideas how to source some more—including Luna's necklace. Her next step was the Weasleys—Hermione paused, wondering if the Weasleys even had an heirloom worth mentioning. She felt a twinge of guilt, pushing the thought away. The idea of exploiting her friends' heritage made her stomach twist, but she needed to be ruthless if she wanted to change the world. Could she really sacrifice her morals for the greater good? The guilt lingered, threatening to cloud her resolve, but she pressed on, determined not to falter. But was she sure this plan would even work? The spell she had found mentioned sharing the power of purebloods, but it was vague—what exactly did that mean? Could it backfire? Hermione frowned, uncertainty gnawing at her resolve. She couldn't afford mistakes, not now, but the ambiguity of the spell's outcome left her questioning everything. Was she truly ready to risk so much on a gamble?

Suddenly, a shadow fell across her notes. Hermione looked up to see Snape looming over her shoulder, his expression unreadable. He leaned in close, his left hand resting firmly on the desk in front of her, his right hand gripping the back of her chair. Hermione couldn't help but notice his hands—marked with scars from years of potion making and battles, so different from Draco's porcelain, pristine skin. They looked rough, capable of inflicting as much harm as they had healed. She gulped, her throat tightening, imagining how those hands would feel against her. The thought made her cheeks flush, and she quickly brought herself back to reality as Snape's breath brushed against her neck, his voice a low whisper by her ear.

"Miss Granger," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've heard the whispers, you know, about your nose constantly being in a book as you plan to fix the world. A word of advice: the best change is done in secret, without everyone knowing you're plotting it from the library. Perhaps make yourself a little less obvious? Unless, of course, you plan on announcing your revolution along with your mediocre NEWT results." At this he rose, turning away from her and adding, "Oh, and do try to keep some friends around—they might just come in handy. Or are you determined to push everyone away by graduation?"

Hermione flushed, swallowing her retort. He had a point, she grudgingly admitted. As much as she hated to admit it, Snape was right. Her plans were important, but so was maintaining appearances, keeping her grades up, and not pushing everyone away. She needed allies, and not just for the cause—she needed them because she couldn't do everything alone, no matter how much she wanted to prove she could. She watched him walk away, robes billowing, and reluctantly turned her attention back to her Transfiguration notes; she'd leave early tonight and spend some time in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione took a deep breath before pushing open the portrait hole. She spotted Ron across the room, hunched over a chessboard. He looked up at her approach, his expression stiffening.

"Hey, Ron," Hermione greeted, trying to keep her tone light. She sat down across from him, eyeing the chessboard. "Fancy a game?"

Ron hesitated, then gave a curt nod. They played in silence for a while, the clinking of chess pieces the only sound between them. Slowly, they began to talk, discussing classes, gossip about students, and even a few shared jokes. Hermione laughed as Ron told her about Seamus' latest attempt at a charm that backfired, covering half the common room in green sparks. "He never learns, does he?" she said, shaking her head.

Ron smiled, the tension between them easing slightly. "Yeah, it's like having a live fireworks show every other week," he said.

For a moment, Hermione thought they were getting back to the old days—until she casually mentioned Draco while moving her rook. "Draco said something similar yesterday," she commented offhandedly, glancing up at Ron to gauge his reaction.

Ron's face darkened instantly. He slammed his piece down harder than necessary, his voice turning cold. "Of course. Draco Malfoy. It's always either about your plans to save the world or your Death Eater boyfriend, isn't it, Hermione?"

Hermione's chest tightened at his words. The bitterness in Ron's voice stung, and she felt a rush of guilt. She wanted to snap back, but part of her knew that his anger was justified. How could she expect Ron to just accept Draco? It was unfair of her, and yet she couldn't change how she felt. The weight of Ron's disappointment felt like a stone in her chest, and she struggled to push it aside. She ignored the jibe about Draco—she knew that would take time for Ron to fully get over.

"I'm doing important work, Ron. I'm trying to make this world better for people like me—for Muggle-borns. You can't possibly understand the kind of pressure I'm under."

Ron stood abruptly, his face red. "People like you? Hermione, I've always been there for you. When you weren't a 'saviour of the wizarding world,' and just a swotty, friendless, muggleborn, I was there. But now you're too wrapped up in your world-changing ideas to see that you're losing us." His voice broke slightly.

"I'm having to make sacrifices, Ron." She pleaded, but his face had flushed red. "I knew you wouldn't understand." She sighed.

"You think that not everyone had to make sacrifices, Hermione?" The chessboard tumbled down to the floor as he abruptly stood, leaning over her, "What about my brother?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came. Ron shook his head, the hurt plain on his face, and walked out without another word.

Hermione awoke to find Ginny sitting on the edge of her bed, her expression closed off.

"Ron left," Ginny said simply. Her voice was icy, her eyes piercing as she stared at Hermione. "He said he only came back to Hogwarts to keep you company. But it's obvious he wasn't wanted."

Hermione's heart sank. "Ginny, I didn't mean for it to end like this," she whispered.

Ginny stood, her mouth set in a grim line. "I don't know how you could say those things to him, Hermione. Maybe you should figure out what really matters before you lose anyone else."

Hermione skipped breakfast, instead heading straight to the lake, her textbooks clutched to her chest. She found herself a secluded spot to study, avoiding everyone. Hours later, she looked up to find Neville Longbottom approaching, Draco trailing reluctantly behind him.

"You know, if you keep skipping meals, you're going to make yourself sick," Neville said kindly, handing her a wrapped sandwich.

Hermione smiled weakly. "Thanks, Neville."

They sat down beside her, neither of them pushing her to speak, just offering their quiet presence. After a few minutes, Draco scooted closer, brushing a thumb across her knuckles. "You worry me, you know," he said softly, his eyes searching her face. "You can't keep running yourself into the ground like this."

Neville nodded, a hesitant smile on his face as he added gently, "We just want to make sure you're alright, Hermione." He reached over, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze, his eyes filled with quiet concern.

Hermione sighed, the tension in her shoulders loosening a little. She took a deep breath, looking at the two of them. "Ron left," she admitted quietly. "We... we had a fight. He thinks I'm too focused on my work, that I'm forgetting everyone who was there for me before everything changed. He said some things, and I said some things I shouldn't have."

Draco frowned, his fingers tightening slightly around hers. "What did he say?"

Hermione hesitated, her eyes glistening. "He brought up Fred. He said I didn't understand what sacrifices meant. I—I hurt him, Draco. I think I've lost him for good."

Neville reached over, patting her shoulder. "Ron's angry, Hermione, but I don't think you've lost him forever. He just needs time. We all do sometimes."

Draco leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You won't lose me. Not ever," he murmured. "I'm right here. And I'll be here, whether you're researching, changing the world, or just needing a break."

Hermione gave a watery smile, her heart warming at their words. As they walked around the lake, she noticed a pocket watch glinting in Neville's hand. She raised an eyebrow, and Neville chuckled.

"It was my grandfather's," he explained, showing her the watch. "It's enchanted to always point to family. It's been passed down for generations."

Hermione's eyes widened as she admired it, her mind already spinning with ideas for her research.

The Room of Requirement had shifted into a cosy space, filled with pillows and blankets. Draco had his arms around Hermione, their legs tangled beneath the covers.

The room was warm, their breaths ragged as they both tried to calm down. They were out of breath, their skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Hermione let her head rest on Draco's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall as his heartbeat began to slow. There was a warmth and relaxation that settled over them, a fleeting moment of peace that she wanted to hold onto.

But Hermione's mind didn't stay relaxed for long. It began drifting, circling back to her plans. Luna's necklace—how could she get it without Luna suspecting? And Neville's pocket watch, an enchanted heirloom with a powerful history. She could almost see how they would fit into the greater puzzle. She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed when Draco began speaking, his voice cutting through her mental calculations. She flinched slightly, startled by the sudden intrusion into her reverie. Her body relaxed almost immediately as she recognized the familiar warmth of his voice, but the jolt had left her heart pounding. It took her a moment to fully return to the present, her gaze finally meeting him as she tried to make sense of his words.

"Are you going to tell me what's been going on with you?" Draco's brow was furrowed, his eyes soft as he looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Hermione blinked, her focus snapping back to the present. She smiled at him instead of answering, the mischievous glint returning to her eyes. She could see the concern etched across his features, but she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing him with the truth. Instead, she leaned in, pulling him into a kiss. Draco sighed but relented, deepening the kiss as they sank further into the pillows, the unspoken questions forgotten for now.

Later, as they lay together, Hermione's eyes long since closed with heaviness but sleep hadn't yet claimed her. She felt Draco shift beside her, and then heard him whisper, "I love you, Hermione. I hope... I hope I can find a way in to help you." He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Hermione's eyes stung with unshed tears. His words pierced through her, stirring emotions she had tried so hard to bury. She wanted to tell him everything, to let him in completely, but the fear of his reaction held her back. What if he couldn't understand the darkness she was facing? What if he turned away? The thought terrified her, yet the love in his voice gave her a glimmer of hope—a hope she didn't feel ready to embrace just yet. She kept her breathing steady, not ready to let him know she had heard him. Not yet.

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with chatter and laughter, a stark contrast to the isolated space Hermione had carved out for herself in the corner. She was perched on a cushioned chair by the window, quill in hand, parchment on her lap, as she watched Ginny and Neville from a distance. They were playing Exploding Snap, their laughter ringing out in joyful bursts. Ginny's gaze slid past Hermione without acknowledgment, but Neville caught her eye, offering her a hesitant smile. It was comforting, but fleeting, and the loneliness settled back in almost instantly.

Hermione turned her attention back to her parchment, dipping her quill in ink. She paused for a moment, the tip of her quill hovering above the parchment as she considered how to begin. With a sigh, she started to write.

Dear Harry,

I hope you're doing alright. I've been thinking a lot about Ron. Is he okay? I know I've messed things up, and I'm not expecting him to forgive me anytime soon, but it's really hard not knowing. I hate how things ended between us, and I hate that I hurt him. Please let me know if he's alright. I just want to know.

Aside from that, I've been working on something that I think you might find interesting. I've been researching pureblood heirlooms and the magic they hold. It got me thinking—what if we could create something similar for Muggle-borns? New heirlooms, something powerful to pass down, like 'family founders' for those who never had that kind of legacy. I know it sounds expensive and maybe even a bit pointless, but it's about creating a sense of history, of belonging. It's the kind of thing I think you'd love.

I was wondering if you had any object that I could investigate—something meaningful, something with a story behind it. Maybe there's something of yours that we could imbue with significance, make it powerful in a new way. I know this sounds a bit out there, but it's just an idea that's been in my head, and I could really use your thoughts.

Hermione paused, biting her lip as she stared at the words she'd written. She felt a pang of guilt, thinking of all the secrets she was still keeping from Harry. She was asking him for help, but she wasn't telling him about the true nature of her research, about the spell that she was considering. It wasn't fair, but the fear of his disappointment was too great. She needed to keep moving forward, and she wasn't ready to face that just yet.

I miss you, Harry. Things are difficult here, but knowing you're out there, doing what you do best, makes it easier. Write back when you can.

Love, Hermione

She folded the letter carefully, sealing it with a flick of her wand. She set it aside, her gaze drifting back to the lively common room. Ginny and Neville were still laughing, the warmth between them clear and genuine. Hermione felt the distance like a physical weight—she was on the periphery now, and perhaps she deserved it. She wasn't ready to rejoin them, not yet, but she hoped one day she'd find her way back.