The silence in the chamber was no longer just an absence of sound. It was a held breath, a fragile peace after a psychic earthquake. Hermione's entire body trembled with a fine, constant vibration, as if her very atoms had been rearranged by the Vault's scream. The cold of the stone floor seeped through her robes, a grounding, mundane sensation against the supernatural horror they had just touched.
Beside her, Cassian was equally still, his breathing a slow, deliberate rhythm as he fought to master himself. The point where their shoulders pressed together was the only spot of warmth on her body, a tiny anchor in a sea of emotional chaos.
He was the one who broke the silence, his voice rough, scraped raw. "Are you hurt?"
The simple, practical question was a lifeline back to reality. Hermione shook her head, then realized he might not see the motion in the dim light. "No," she managed, her own voice a thin whisper. "Just… shaken."
"Shaken," he repeated, the word a dry, hollow echo. He let out a short, shaky breath that was almost a laugh. "Yes."
They lapsed back into silence. Hermione closed her eyes, but the feeling of that absolute desolation was waiting for her behind her eyelids. She snapped them open, focusing on the swirling, milky patterns in the Vault. It looked the same. How could it look the same?
"We have to tell Kingsley," she said, the thought forming with difficulty through the fog in her mind. "The probe was a success. The data is… unequivocal."
"Data," Cassian murmured, the ghost of his old smirk in his tone. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"What else would we call it?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and terribly serious. "A violation."
The word landed like a physical blow. It was exactly what she had been afraid of, what she had accused him of. But hearing him say it, with such stark self-awareness, twisted something inside her.
"We were careful," she argued, though it felt weak. "We had safeguards."
"We stuck a needle into a sleeping man's heart to see if it was still beating," he said, his voice low. "We found out it was broken. But we still stuck the needle in."
He looked away, back at the Vault, his jaw tight. "I was so sure I was right. That the curiosity was worth the risk. That understanding was a noble goal." He shook his head slowly. "That was… humbling."
Hermione stared at his profile, at the unguarded shame and awe etched there. In that moment, the arrogant, infallible curse-breaker was gone. In his place was a man humbled by the sheer magnitude of what they had encountered, wrestling with the ethics of their own ambition. It was more compelling than any display of power could ever be.
"It was necessary," she said, surprising herself with the conviction in her voice.
He glanced at her, skepticism in his eyes.
"It was," she insisted, sitting up straighter. The movement made her head swim, but she pressed on. "We thought it was a potential weapon. A threat. Now we know it's a… a memorial. A place of profound sorrow. That changes everything. The Ministry's entire approach must change. We can't treat it like a problem to be solved. It's a… a historical site. A magical tomb, like you said. It needs to be respected, not contained."
He watched her as she spoke, his expression shifting from doubt to a slow, dawning respect. "So you're not going to recommend wrapping it in bureaucratic caution after all?"
"No," she said, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. "I'm going to recommend we post a 'Quiet, Please' sign and leave a wreath."
A real, genuine smile broke through his solemnity, brief but breathtaking. It lit up his whole face, erasing the shadows of guilt and fear. "A wreath. I like that."
The shared moment of dark humor was a balm. The tension in the air began to ease, replaced by a weary, shared understanding.
"We should go," Hermione said softly. "The Hit Wizards outside are probably wondering if we've been vaporized."
Cassian nodded and pushed himself to his feet with a soft grunt. He then turned and offered her his hand.
This time, she didn't hesitate. She placed her hand in his, and his fingers closed around hers, warm and solid. He pulled her up with an easy strength, her body swaying slightly from the residual dizziness. He didn't let go immediately, his grip firming to steady her.
"Alright?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.
Her heart was pounding again, but for a completely different reason now. The echo of shared trauma was being slowly overwritten by the simple, startling awareness of his hand holding hers.
"Yes," she breathed. "I'm alright."
He held her gaze for a moment longer, his thumb brushing almost imperceptibly against the back of her hand before he released it. The spot where his skin had touched hers tingled.
They gathered their things in silence and walked out of the chamber. The two Hit Wizards looked at them with open curiosity, taking in their pale faces and shaken demeanors.
"Everything… secure in there, ma'am?" one of them asked Hermione.
"Yes," she said, her voice regaining some of its official firmness. "The situation is stable. We'll be filing our report with the Minister directly."
As they walked back through the corridors of Hogwarts, the distance between them felt smaller than it ever had. They didn't speak, but the silence was no longer charged with competition or uncertainty. It was the comfortable, exhausted silence of two people who have faced a dragon together and lived to tell the tale.
At the Apparition point, he paused. "I'll… see you tomorrow? To draft the report?"
"Of course," Hermione said. "Your… experiential data will be crucial."
He gave a short nod, a flicker of that old intensity returning to his eyes. "Until tomorrow, Granger."
He Disapparated with a soft crack, leaving her alone in the courtyard.
Hermione stood there for a long moment, the cool evening air doing little to calm the riot of emotions inside her. Fear. Awe. Humility. And something else, something warmer and more terrifying, something that had sparked to life in the dark, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder against a cold wall, his hand in hers.
Cassian Thorne was no longer just a colleague, or a rival, or a brilliant mind. He was the only person in the world who knew what it felt like to touch the heart of that ancient sorrow. And that shared secret felt like the most intimate thing in the world.