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He muttered, “I come here to think sometimes.”
As if embarrassed. As if admitting to a weakness that might ruin her opinion of his sanity.
“This is… this is beautiful,” she whispered.
The lake mirrored in their eyes — clear water wrapped in deep, dark evergreens, the sun sinking below the horizon and tinting the sky with golden copper.
She didn’t know how to thank him.
Sharing this place with her — a place he had always kept for himself alone — was more than trust.
It was opening a door into a world where he had always been alone.
She raised her head — and in her warm brown eyes he found a tenderness he’d forgotten existed.
Gratitude he would never have expected from anyone.
Before he could look away, she pushed up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.
A simple act.
No decision, no plan.
Just a quiet impulse that happened because it had to.
She felt his lips part for a moment, his head tilting slightly closer…
and then his whole body froze, as if his mind had suddenly caught up with his heart.
Her face flushed crimson. She stepped back, folding in on herself, eyes dropping to the ground.
“I’m sorry, that was…”
She wanted to say inappropriate, but the word stuck.
“That was… ill-judged,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
“Sunsets have a peculiar effect on certain woman brain cells.
Especially the ones that ought to stay rational.”
Her eyes snapped up — narrowed, lips tight with irritation.
“Just because I apologized doesn’t mean I regret it.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
He turned slightly, looking out over the lake.
The dark water trembled in the evening light, as restless as his thoughts.
Why me?
How could she possibly feel anything for someone who…?
Somewhere in the forest a blackbird sang — bright, cheerful, absurdly out of place.
For a moment the sound irritated him.
How could the world stay so calm when his balance had just collapsed?
After a long silence, he said — without bitterness, without his usual defensive edge:
“You probably should regret it. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“No, you’re not,” she shot back instantly.
“My dad’s sixty — though he doesn’t look it. Mum’s much younger.
It just took them a while to have a child. That’s why I’m an only one.
So as far as I know, you’re exactly seventeen years and three days younger than he is.”
She counted?
His head snapped toward her.
His gaze was so sharp it scattered Hermione’s thoughts in every direction.
Brilliant. Wonderful. You’ve just kissed your former professor.
Yes, yes — feminism, empowerment, girls can make the first move.
But why do I wish he had done it instead?
Because then I’d know he… wanted to.
Merlin, does he always look like that? Or only when someone kisses him? Or—
“If you were waiting for me to make the first move,” he said quietly, cutting through her spiralling thoughts, “you’d be waiting a long time.”
His voice sounded strange — not confident, not sarcastic, just honestly tired.
And that was what made her look up again.
He caught her gaze — and forgot to breathe.
Something inside him eased, a tension held for years.
He lifted a hand, slow and hesitant, as if asking permission.
His fingertips brushed a strand of hair from her face.
He paused. He could still pull back.
But his hand slipped lower, settling at the nape of her neck.
He leaned in.
Close enough that she felt his breath.
And in the last second, he changed the angle, exhaled softly, and rested his forehead against hers.
“I…”
He didn’t finish.
Only a look — deep, focused, a different kind of touch.
Legilimency brushed her thoughts with a gentleness she never would have expected from him.
He didn’t invade. He only touched the surface.
A thread of thought, a quiet whisper:
I forgot how to get close to someone.
It isn’t your fault.
I… need time.
They stayed like that, forehead to forehead, until their breathing fell into the same rhythm.
Then he slowly stepped back, as if even movement might shatter the fragile moment.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Oh God… is this how he feels all the time?
She blinked them away.
The eye contact broke.
The Legilimency faded so quietly he wasn’t sure it had happened at all.
She lowered her gaze — then reached out without thinking.
A light touch, uncertain but brave.
“I have plenty of time,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A faint smile flickered in her eyes.
“And you did say I’d have to stay here for a while… until we sort out that mirror problem.”
He didn’t answer.
He simply squeezed her hand — the only gesture he allowed himself.
Then let go, slowly, as if afraid he might get used to holding it.