HUNGER.

Month One

"Hannah, come on, you- you have to get up."

It was the third time that week he'd found her, curled with her knees tucked up to her chest, crying silently. He watched a silvery tear slip down her cheek and gather in a rivulet along her jaw. The collar of her robe was damp with them- he hadn't been quick enough this time. She'd been there a while.

When she glanced up, her hollow eyes meeting his, Nott saw a brief flicker of recognition there. "Why?"

Why indeed?

He faltered, wishing more than anything to trade his animagus abilities for legilimency, to break into her mind and soak up all the sadness like a sponge. He'd make her forget Tom, if he could. Anything to stop this. It was painfully clear that Hannah Grey was one strong breeze away from breaking apart entirely, ravaged by grief until there was nothing left of her he could piece back together.

"Because- because he wouldn't want you to mourn forever," Nott said eventually, sitting down heavily beside her. She shot him a resentful look, her features twisting into an expression that would have made him recoil, before. Right now, he was just grateful for the show of emotion- it was better than the numb silence that would radiate from her on the bad days.

"I'm not mourning," she snapped, "because he's not dead."

Dippet's words rang in his head.

"The boy is lost, I'm afraid. The darkest of curses waits there, filling the chamber. It would be unsafe, irresponsible, even, to retrieve him- even if he he still lives. No counter curse or wards could shield us from it, it is most potent and deadly, and it will take him eventually regardless. While I pray for him to pass quickly, I commend Mister Riddle for his sacrifice."

"No, I suppose he isn't," he mused, staring blankly ahead at a portrait of a shepherd, herding his lambs over the breach of a hill. He watched as the smallest lamb scampered away, slipping through a thin crack in the fence and disappearing from the painting. "But you can't carry on like this. Tom didn't do all this for you to just give up."

Her eyes flashed. Dangerous. "I tried to send a Patronus down to him last night," Hannah muttered, rapping her wand angrily against her knee until it sparked. Nott instinctively covered her hand with his, stilling her. "I couldn't even conjure it. He's in every happy memory I have- and I can't think about them. I really can't-"

"I know," he soothed. "I know. And I already tried the Patronus. Mine stopped at the entrance of the chamber. Couldn't get in, no matter how hard it tried."

Hannah let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I'm going to go down there. I don't care about the curse- if he's going to die, then I'll die down there with him."

His stomach lurched. "You absolutely will not."

Her face tightened. Still so stubborn, even now. "I don't have to listen to you," she said in a clipped voice, as if that was the end of the conversation. "And you can't stop me."

"Actually I can," Nott shrugged. "The school is closed. I'll follow you, sleep outside your dorm if I have to, and I'll immobilise you if you even so much as look at the second floor bathroom."

Hannah scowled, snatching her hand from his and pocketing her wand. But the fight had left her eyes, and she suddenly looked small again. Vulnerable. "Why?" she repeated softly, a tremor in her voice that twisted his heart.

Nott didn't dare rip his eyes from the portrait, fixing his jaw and glaring at it until the shepherd gave him a confrontational frown in return. "You know why," he said quietly. "And because if anyone is going down there, it's going to be me."