The first time Hermione smiled for real, it wasn't during a birthday party, or a family vacation, or when she earned her first gold star in school.
It was when Elias bled.
---
The day started quietly — too quietly.
Jean had taken a call from her dental clinic and rushed out early. Roger followed not long after. Hermione lingered at the window, waiting for the car to vanish down the street before locking the door manually, despite the wards Elias had installed last week.
He noticed, of course.
She was growing more careful. More precise in her rituals.
She didn't trust spells she didn't cast herself anymore.
Elias didn't mind. Observation was the first language of genius — and Hermione spoke it fluently when it came to him.
But today, he pushed her.
He had to.
---
"Come," he said, standing in the garden, wandless.
Hermione hesitated at the threshold. "What are you doing?"
"I'm testing a fusion between a reactive shielding concept and absorption theory."
Her brow furrowed. "You didn't finish that diagram—"
"I don't need to," he said flatly. "I understand it. I want to see how it feels in practice."
She stepped onto the grass cautiously. "Won't that hurt?"
He turned toward her, silver eyes sharp and brilliant in the morning light. "That's the point."
Before she could protest, he drew the sigil into the air with his finger — runes hovering, humming softly. Then, without a word, he triggered a minor cutting charm against himself.
The barrier activated.
But—
It failed.
The edge of the spell sliced shallowly along his shoulder, cutting through his shirt and skin alike. Blood beaded instantly, crimson against pale cloth.
Hermione gasped and ran forward.
She didn't scream. She didn't panic. She didn't call for help.
Instead, she touched the wound — tenderly — and her fingers trembled.
"You... let it hit you."
"It's data," Elias said, breathing steadily. "Pain is temporary. Insight isn't."
But he wasn't looking at the cut anymore.
He was looking at her.
The way her eyes had gone glassy. The way her lower lip parted slightly. She wasn't crying. She wasn't angry.
She was smiling.
The first real smile he'd seen from her.
It wasn't joy.
It wasn't victory.
It was satisfaction.
---
She bandaged him carefully, her hands light but possessive.
"You should've warned me," she whispered as she dabbed the edge of the wound.
"You would've tried to stop me."
"Of course I would," she said quickly, then softer, "But next time… tell me first. Please."
He nodded slowly.
Then: "Why did you smile?"
She froze. Her fingers paused on his arm.
"I didn't."
"You did."
Hermione looked down, flustered. "I… I was just glad it wasn't worse. That's all."
"That's not the kind of smile it was."
She didn't respond.
She didn't deny it again either.
And that told him everything.
---
Later that night, he left a slip of paper on her desk.
It was a spell he hadn't shared with anyone.
A warding array tied to emotional frequencies — it could detect shifts in intent, especially hostile or possessive ones. A modified "Mindsight" pattern, buried in a cascade of decoys.
Hermione wouldn't know what it really did until she studied it. But he wanted her to try.
Because it would show him whether she understood how far she'd gone.
How far she was going.
And when she found the true function — when she realized he had seen through her blooming obsession and still handed her the key — what would she do?
Control it?
Break?
Or dive deeper?
---
That night, she knocked on his door.
He opened it, expecting questions.
Instead, she stood in her pajamas, holding the spell diagram like it was a pressed flower.
She didn't say a word.
She just looked up at him, brown eyes wide and unreadable.
And then she whispered:
"Thank you for trusting me."
She stepped forward and hugged him — tight.
Too tight.
Her heartbeat was fast, her body too warm, and her breath stayed near his neck a second too long.
But he didn't pull away.
Not yet.
He needed to know just how deep the obsession ran.
And maybe, part of him wondered...
How far would he let it go?