Can't run from time

They weren't friends. Not really.But somehow, they kept ending up in the same empty corridors. The same library tables. The same shadows.And somewhere in the silences between arguments and glances, it stopped being about suspicion. And started to feel like something else.---It began with a conversation.Late one evening, after class, in the abandoned Tower. She found him leaning against the stone railing, staring out at the blackened sky like it had answers he didn't want.

Hermione hesitated at the doorway. "So what? Brooding in towers now?"

Draco didn't turn. "Old habits die hard."

She stepped closer, the wind pulling at her curls. "Why'd you do it?" she asked quietly. "Join him."

A long pause.

Then, finally: "I didn't think I had a choice."

Hermione studied his face. He looked older here. Less like the smirking boy she'd known. More like someone carrying things no one had taught him how to hold.

"My mother was terrified. My father was proud. And I—I wanted it to be simple. Right and wrong. Glory and legacy." He exhaled. "But it wasn't."

She sat beside him on the ledge. "Did you hurt anyone?"

He didn't answer at first. He was reluctant. She already knew he was the one to save her. If the dark lord found out then....

He looked at her and knew she wouldn't drop it so he replied "I tried not to. But yes. I have."

His voice didn't waver. But something behind his eyes did.

Hermione nodded slowly, swallowing. "I time travelled."

That caught him off guard. "Sorry?"

She laughed, once. Bitter. "Time turner. Accident. It was part of this bigger thing—prophecies and timelines and—you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

So she did. She somehow felt sympathetic towards him. And after meeting his grandfather she realised she didn't hate him after all.

She told him about the manor. Abraxas. The library with velvet curtains. The candlelit dinners where she pretended she wasn't terrified. And Tom. And the way he looked at her like she meant something. Before he ruined everything.

And Draco listened. Just as Abraxas had 50 years prior.

Didn't interrupt. Didn't mock. Just listened.

When she finished, her voice cracked. "He killed Ginny. And Fred. And Dean. I triggered him do it."

And to her surprise, Draco didn't flinch away. He just leaned forward, arms on his knees, voice rough. "You loved them."

She nodded, eyes glossy. "I did."

"And you loved him."

Her throat tightened.

"I don't know what I felt," she whispered. "But I don't know how to forget it."

They sat in silence for a long time, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing.

Eventually, he muttered, "My father used to talk about Abraxas like he was a god. Brilliant. Untouchable."

"He was kind to me," she said softly.

Draco glanced at her, expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to reply but instead, enjoyed sitting there, staring at the stars in silence.

After that, they... sort of... stuck together.In class, she found him already saving a seat beside him.

In the Great Hall, he sat across from her at the Slytherin end. She was so used to sitting on that side by now with.. tom.. that it was normal. Not for everyone watching her though. Ron almost fainted when he saw her.

In the library, he brought her books he thought she'd like. He'd never admit it out loud, but he did.

It was wrong. And weird.

And people whispered.

But when they talked, she felt like she wasn't drowning anymore.

Like someone else knew. Understood. Rather than judge her for what she did.

And that—maybe— just maybe...

Was enough.