The autumn breeze drifts through the open windows of the castle library, rustling the parchment spread out on the table. The scent of old books lingers in the air, mixing with the soft scratch of quills and the occasional whispered conversation. You sit across from Hermione, but your mind is elsewhere—lost in memories you haven’t quite figured out how to let go of.

"What happened with Draco?" Hermione asks, her voice careful, curious but not pressing.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of your textbook. It’s a simple question, yet answering it feels anything but simple. For a moment, you consider brushing it off, pretending it was nothing. But you’re tired of pretending.

"We used to be close…" You hesitate, the weight of it pressing against your chest. "But people can go… from people you know to people you don’t."

Hermione watches you, brown eyes flickering with something unreadable. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy. You’re not sure which you’d prefer. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, just nods as if she knows some things aren’t meant to be spoken about in full. Instead, she returns to her notes, leaving you alone with the silence.

---

On the other side of the castle, in the dim glow of the common room, Draco leans against the cold stone wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze is fixed on the flickering fire, but he isn’t really seeing it. Theodore sits nearby, watching him carefully.

"You alright?" Theo finally asks, his voice light, but edged with something deeper.

Draco exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before letting it drop to his side. His jaw is tight, like he’s holding something back. Maybe he is.

"And what hurts the most," he murmurs, "is people can go from people you know to people you don’t."

Theo doesn’t press. He just sits there, watching as Draco’s mask slips—just for a second—before he puts it back in place. Neither of them says anything after that. There’s nothing left to say.