There was something strange about touch.
Elias had spent years understanding things no child should. Magic. Memory. Laws of the universe. He dissected wand movements and redefined elements. He saw through lies, broke through illusions, understood things even adult wizards called impossible.
But he didn't understand Hermione's hand in his.
Not really.
Not until that night.
---
It was two weeks into Hogwarts.
Late September brought a storm — cold rain against the castle windows, thunder rolling across the hills like some ancient beast awakening in the sky. Most of Gryffindor Tower had gone to sleep after dinner. But Elias never needed sleep like the others.
He was in the library long after curfew, modifying a charm meant for reading damaged scrolls.
Hermione had followed him. Again.
She never said no to his quiet excursions — even when she didn't understand what he was doing.
Even when it hurt to watch him pull further and further away from ordinary human emotions.
Even when she hated how cold his eyes sometimes became.
She followed anyway.
Tonight, he collapsed.
---
The magic had snapped back at him — again.
Not as violent as last time, but enough to make his vision blur. He was on the stone floor before he realized it, hands trembling, blood dripping from his nose.
And then her hands were on his shoulders.
"Hermione—"
"Shut up," she said, her voice thick. "Don't talk. Just—just let me—"
She pulled him into her lap, her fingers threading into his hair, one hand pressing against the back of his head.
"You're bleeding again," she whispered, horrified.
"I'm used to it," he mumbled.
"That's not normal."
He opened his mouth to argue. She pressed her hand over it.
"No. You don't get to rationalize this. You don't get to pretend you're just studying harder than the others. Elias… you're tearing yourself apart. And for what?"
His breath slowed.
For once, he had no answer.
Not one that would satisfy her.
She slid down beside him on the cold stone floor. Her fingers entwined with his. They sat like that, in silence, for a long time.
The only sound was the rain on the windows.
---
When Elias finally spoke, his voice was softer than she'd ever heard it.
"I don't know why it matters so much. The understanding. The need to see deeper. I just… feel like I have to. Like if I stop, I'll fall behind something I can't name."
Hermione turned to look at him.
"You don't have to explain it to me," she said.
"But I want to," he whispered.
That shocked her more than anything.
And then she felt it again — that slow, terrifying joy that bloomed in her chest whenever Elias showed her something human. A crack in his perfect, cold mind. A flicker of need.
She squeezed his hand.
"You're not alone," she said.
And then—
He smiled.
Not the smirk he gave Draco.
Not the calculated grin he gave professors.
Not the polite nod he gave friends.
A real smile. Small. Fragile.
For her.
---
Later, back in Gryffindor Tower, he didn't go to his bed.
He lay on the common room couch, staring at the fire.
Hermione walked over quietly, wearing his spare sweater.
She sat beside him, pulled his hand into hers again, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
He didn't speak.
Didn't pull away.
Because her hand grounded him.
When the world began to spiral — when comprehension turned to madness and magic clawed at the edges of his mind — it was her fingers laced through his that kept him real.
---
They didn't kiss.
Not yet.
But when she finally fell asleep against him, he looked down at her face — lit only by the flicker of firelight — and for the first time, Elias Granger understood something no book could teach.
No rune could capture.
No spell could mimic.
Something he couldn't reprogram or rewrite.
This. Her. Them.
It was real.
And terrifyingly precious.
---
Somewhere deep in the castle, wards shifted.
Something ancient stirred.
But Elias didn't notice.
Not yet.
He was still holding her hand.
And in that moment, the universe could wait.