Hermione Granger stands frozen in the London twilight, white dress catching the dim glow of a streetlamp, hand still gripping Draco Malfoy’s lapel like he’s the only solid thing in a world that just shattered.

He hasn’t let go of her arms.

Hermione’s breath hitches. Her fingers curl tighter into the silk of Draco’s jacket.

Then something shifts in his expression. A decision made in silence.

He steps forward, one hand sliding from her arm to the small of her back, pressing her firmly into the alcove beside the building’s entrance. Shadow swallows them both.