Can't run from time

Malfoy Manor was quieter than she remembered.

The sky was grey as they stepped off the train and followed the winding road through the snow-covered grounds. The manor rose like a shadow from another life — tall and old and still steeped in something dark.

Draco didn't speak as they walked through the iron gate. He led her through the back entrance, through quiet halls, until they reached a grand staircase curling up into the older part of the house. Even though there was nobody home, Hermione could see how cautious he was.

The top floor smelled of dust and parchment.

At the end of the hallway, Draco paused before a heavy door. "He might not remember everything," he warned. "Some days are better than others."

Hermione nodded.

Draco pulled out a key and opened the door.

It was a study, dimly lit by the tall windows and a small fire crackling in the corner. Books lined every wall. There were inkpots, old drawings, scraps of ancient magical diagrams pinned to a board. And in a bed near the fire lay a figure she hadn't seen in decades.

"Abraxas?" she whispered.

The man coughed.

"You have to speak louder than that..." Draco rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked almost afraid when he said "Grandfather.." 

"There's someone here to see you.." he indicated to hermione to go forward. She walked up to the bed and he opened his eyes.

His face had aged — thinner, lined, softer — but the eyes were exactly the same. Pale, piercing, curious.

He squinted at her.

And then he smiled. A slow, dawning smile that lit his whole face.

"Well hello, sunshine," he said, his voice rasping but warm. "You haven't aged a bit."

Hermione's throat closed.

He reached out a thin, shaking hand. She took it, kneeling beside him. His fingers still had that ink-stained elegance, still bore the rings she remembered — just looser now, as if the years had thinned everything but the magic in him.

"You remember me," she whispered.

Abraxas chuckled. "I never forgot you. Even when they said I should. The clever little thing with the fire in her voice."

She smiled, eyes glassy.

He shifted, attempting to grab a book off the shelf. She got up to help but he managed. He adjusted his position again and lifted a faded sketchbook. He handed it to her.

 Inside were drawings — old inked portraits of her as he remembered her: sitting in the library, curled in a chair, reaching for a book. Her laugh captured in strokes of black and gold. There was also an earring. The one she wore at the ball. It fell onto her lap. She looked at the faded bronze colour and put it back in the book.

"I used to draw you," he murmured. "Before they told me to stop."

She held the sketchbook to her chest.

Draco stood quietly near the door, watching.

Abraxas's gaze flicked to him. "You brought her back," he said softly.

Draco said nothing, but a quiet sort of pride flashed in his eyes.

He reached his other arm out to Draco. 

Draco's eyes teared. He stayed still, ignoring his grandfather. Then his eyes met hermione. She smiled at him and signalled him to move. Draco slowly walked forward and put his hand in Abraxas's hand. 

"It's been a long time. Are you alright my little buttercup?" Abraxas said softly. Hermione let out a snigger at the pet name causing Draco to turn a bright shade of red. 

"yes im ok.." Draco whispered. 

Then came the sound of heels clicking down the hallway. Draco shot up and stared at hermione, his eyes wide. She saw the look of sheer panic on his face.

The door opened. 

Both Hermione and Draco flinched, expecting the worst.

Narcissa Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, tall and poised, her cool blue eyes falling on Hermione like winter wind."Well," she said, voice like silk. "This is unexpected."