The Burrow was a welcome, chaotic symphony after the silent intensity of the dungeon. The smell of Molly's cooking, the clatter of pots, the distant thud of a gnome being thrown from the garden—it was all wonderfully, blessedly normal. Hermione felt her shoulders relax the moment she stepped through the door.
"Hermione, dear!" Molly enveloped her in a flour-dusted hug that smelled of cinnamon and love. "You're looking thin! Are you eating? That Ministry canteen is no substitute for a proper meal."
"I'm fine, Molly, really," Hermione laughed, returning the hug tightly.
In the sitting room, Arthur was tinkering with a Muggle electric kettle, muttering about the "ingenious, non-magical heating element." Ginny and Harry were curled up on the sofa, Ginny's head on his shoulder as they laughed at something George had just said. Ron was already there, a butterbeer in his hand, but he looked up as she entered, his expression a mixture of guilt and curiosity.
The guilt didn't last long. Over a heaping plate of Molly's famous chicken and ham pie, the inquisition began.
"So," George started, wiggling his eyebrows. "Ron tells us you're shackled up in a dungeon with the mysterious Cassian Thorne. Is he as much of a dark, brooding ponce as he sounds?"
"George!" Molly admonished, but she was leaning forward slightly, her knitting needles stilling.
"He's not 'shackled up' with anyone," Hermione said, spearing a roast potato with more force than necessary. "He's a colleague. A very brilliant one. And he's not a ponce."
"Brilliant, is he?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of food. "He seemed a bit full of himself."
"Says the man who once declared himself a Keeper prodigy after one decent save," Ginny shot back, grinning.
"That was different!"
"He's just very focused," Hermione interjected, trying to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. "The project is incredibly complex. It requires a lot of… concentration."
"Concentration over lunch, was it?" Ron pressed, a teasing glint in his eye that didn't quite mask his concern. "Looked pretty cozy to me."
Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm. "We were working. It's called multi-tasking."
"What's he like, though?" Harry asked, his tone genuinely curious and devoid of Ron's protective suspicion. "As a person, I mean. Not just as a curse-breaker."
All eyes were on her. She put her fork down, considering her words carefully. How to describe Cassian Thorne?
"He's… intense," she began. "Arrogant, yes. But it's not baseless arrogance. He's probably the most magically gifted person I've ever met. He sees things… feels things… in magic that I've only ever read about." She thought of the silent book, the shared vigil in the dark. "He's frustrating and condescending and he has the social skills of a flobberworm sometimes… but he's also… insightful. In a way that's surprising."
The table was quiet for a moment, processing this.
"Insightful how?" Ginny asked, her head tilted.
Hermione hesitated, then decided to share a little. "He said something about the Vault. That it wasn't a prison, but a tomb. And that grief is just love that has nowhere to go."
A profound silence fell over the Weasley kitchen. Molly's eyes glistened with sudden tears. Arthur stopped tinkering with the kettle. George's usual smirk had vanished. The words, simple and stark, had found their mark in a family that knew grief intimately.
"Blimey," Ron whispered, all the teasing gone from his voice.
"Yeah," Harry said softly, his gaze distant. "That's… that's it exactly, isn't it?"
The mood had shifted, becoming more somber, more reflective. The conversation moved on, to Ginny's Harpies, to George's shop, to Percy's latest Ministry memo, but the ghost of Cassian's observation lingered at the table.
Later, as Hermione helped Molly wash up, the older woman put a soapy hand on her arm.
"This man," Molly said quietly, her voice low. "He sounds… complicated."
"He is," Hermione admitted, scrubbing a plate with more vigor than it required.
"Just… be careful, dear," Molly said, her motherly intuition seeing far too much. "Brilliant, complicated men can be… captivating. But they can also leave the biggest messes."
Hermione didn't know what to say to that. The warm, soapy water suddenly felt cold.
On the way out, Ron caught her by the door. "Listen, Hermione," he said, shuffling his feet. "I didn't mean to… you know. Interfere. It's just… you're you. And he's… well, he's him."
"I know, Ron," she said, giving him a reassuring smile. "And I appreciate it. Really. But I can handle Cassian Thorne."
"I know you can," he said, pulling her into a quick, brotherly hug. "Just… don't handle him too much, yeah?"
She laughed and swatted his arm. "Go home to Padma."
Walking back through the garden towards the Apparition point, the cool night air felt good on her flushed face. The Burrow's warmth and love had been a balm, but the questions had stirred something up inside her. They had all seen it—the shift, the nuance in her description of him. They knew she wasn't just talking about a colleague anymore.
And as she Disapparated with a soft crack, the last thing she heard was the echo of Molly's words. Captivating. It was a dangerous word. And as she landed outside her dark, silent flat, she was forced to admit the most unsettling truth of all: it was the perfect word for him.