He didn't speak.

Just stood there, watching me like I might change my mind.

I didn't.

I didn't even blink.

His gloves came off slowly, with a kind of reverence. First the left, then the right. I'd seen androids before, machines shaped like people, programmed to mimic humanity, but his hands startled me. They were nearly human, warm-looking, but faintly luminous beneath the skin. Faint circuit lines curled at the joints like constellations.

"Wait," I said, my voice breaking the silence. I had to ask, had to know something before this was done.

He looked at me, his expression unreadable, but I could feel him waiting.

"What's your name?" I asked, not sure if I'd ever truly get an answer. I needed something. Anything. Something to ground me in this moment.

For a second, I thought I saw a flicker in his eyes. Something like hesitation, but then it was gone. His gaze held mine steadily, unwavering.

"I know your name, Hermione," he replied, his voice quieter now, like the words were meant for me alone.

It wasn't the answer I'd expected. I opened my mouth, wanting to say something. Anything, but he stepped forward before I could speak.

He reached for my hand, fingers brushing mine, and the moment the contact was made, there was a spark. A jolt of energy surged through me, my breath catching in my throat as the pulse of something unfamiliar shot through me. My chest tightened, but this time, it didn't stop there.

His other hand came up, hovering near my shoulder… then sliding, deliberately, to the back of my neck.

I stiffened. "What are you-"

"You said you were ready," he said, and his voice was quieter now. Like it wasn't meant for the walls. Just for me.

I didn't move.

Then, his palm settled at the base of my skull, fingers spreading across my nape.

And the world fractured.

I couldn't even scream. The sound caught in my throat, swallowed whole by the rush. A pulse, no, a surge of something not mine barreling into my mind.

It wasn't pain. Not exactly. It was an intrusion.

Like my thoughts were being picked apart and catalogued. I tried to wrench away, but my body wouldn't obey. Every muscle was stiff, my heartbeat jackhammering inside my ears. And beneath it all, something whispered:

Link established.

Searching...

Syncing...

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His presence, his self, rushed through me like water breaching a dam. I could feel his memories pressing against the edges of my own, like static at the corners of my vision. Logic. Precision. Silence. Control.

But underneath it?

A flicker of something raw.

Unspoken.

Lonely.

He was alone in ways I couldn't comprehend. Alone in ways I recognized.

Then something clicked.

It wasn't just me opening to him.

He was letting me in, too.

In that sliver of connection, something else slipped through.

Tower. Shards of glass. Gnawing desperation.

A name, but blurred. Erased.

Crushing, clinical, programmed. But real.

I fell forward, knees hitting the floor, my hands catching the ground just in time. His hand stayed on the back of my neck, steadying me, grounding me as the surge slowly ebbed.

The voices, his thoughts receded, until it was just us. Linked. Threaded together by something that felt like electricity and memory all at once.

I gasped like I'd surfaced from drowning.

And he let go.

His hand left my neck.

I collapsed back against the wall, panting, my limbs trembling.

It was done.

I could still feel him.

Not physically, he hadn't touched me for several seconds, but in the space behind my thoughts. Like he was waiting there. Quiet. Watching.

"I…" I swallowed, hard. "I can feel you."

"I know," he said, standing over me, his expression unreadable. "And I can feel you."

I dragged myself upright, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry or scream or pass out.

"Is it always like that?" I rasped.

"No," he said. "You fought it."

I scoffed, shaky. "Of course I did."

He didn't smile, but something softened around his eyes.

"You're tethered now," he said. "It's permanent. You can move freely in the Upperworld without detection. But…"

"But?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"You can't undo it."

I stared at him. "Ever?"

He didn't answer.

My stomach churned. The idea of being tied to him for the rest of my life, of never being just myself again, it should've terrified me. And maybe it did.

But a louder voice said: If it means finding Ron… if it means surviving…

"I chose this," I whispered.

"You did," he agreed.

"Has anyone done this before?" I asked, my voice barely audible, as if the answer might change everything.

"Once," he said. "A long time ago."

"What happened to them?"

He didn't answer. His eyes. Silver, deep, still, just locked onto mine.

I knew the truth was buried there. But I also knew it was something I wasn't meant to hear. Not yet.

I pressed my fingers to the back of my neck, expecting to feel heat or pain, a scar or a mark. But there was nothing. Just skin. And yet, it felt different. I felt different.

"I said I was ready," I whispered, more to myself than him.

"You were."

I looked at him, really looked. Past the cold exterior, past the expressionless face and the stillness that didn't quite feel human.

And I felt a flicker.

Grief. That strange, quiet yearning that shouldn't exist in a machine. But it did.

And now, it existed in me, too.

"Can I still go back to the Underworld after this?" I asked, voice trembling despite myself.

"Physically, yes," he said. "But you may not want to."

I swallowed hard.

"And what about… me?" I asked. "What happens to me now?"

He didn't answer.

Because we both knew the truth.

I had changed.

I was no longer just Hermione Granger from the Underworld.

I was something else now.

Tethered.

Threaded.

Linked to a Sentinel who should've been my enemy… but now existed in the corners of my mind like a second heartbeat.

And I didn't know if I'd ever get myself back.

But I knew one thing.

I had to find Ron.

Even if it cost me everything.