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Chapter Text

Hogwarts had changed.

The broken windows, the dilapidated towers, and the lingering scent of war and loss had all gone. In their stead stood a castle that had come to life again-a-bustling-with students, echoing corridors of chatter, quills scraping, and spells being uttered under one's breath.

Among the few moments in lifetimes was this-that Hermione Granger finally felt the warmth of the school.

All those students who had not been able to complete their last academic year were allowed to come back by the Ministry after the war and finish their schooling. The same seventh years-or eighth years as they were now-called because of their battle and battle scars-were scattered in their former houses.

They were lush, green scenery behind battle-tired faces. They were now learning with their former classmates. The Great Hall, once again full, pumped with the same energy it had in their early years. The staircases that once broke off were whole again, shifting unpredictably as they always had. Even the ghosts, who had been eerily silent in the months following the war, resumed their usual antics, with Peeves cackling down the halls and Nearly Headless Nick proclaiming with a cough about how it was less-than completely severed.

As always, Hogwarts remained Hogwarts.

And Hermione Granger, though she wouldn't own up to it, was quite satisfied with the town. Her classes had begun again, full and intense, yet with responsibilities were approachable—what a welcome diversion from it all. The eighth-years were divided into house colours but could much better understand each other, with no active rivalries or petty house grudges, only survivors rebuilding their lives one Transfiguration essay at a time.

Slytherins were really slow at integrating with the other students and even Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini could mostly be found at the library arguing over Ancient Runes translation. Pansy Parkinson, who everyone had thought would never budge from her stance, had actually, not without a fight, gone around apologizing to a view wronged by her before the war. And Draco Malfoy ...

Well.

Draco Malfoy was still Draco Malfoy.

His platinum-blond hair was no longer slicked in a perfect stroke back, but tousled as if he hadn't tried to comb it properly. The sharp aristocratic features of the face had long lost their boyish smugness but had been replaced by something much more refined—dangerously attractive, Hermione's traitorous brain whispered. He no longer strode around the castle in the air of superiority that was such a hallmark of his younger years, but now it was more commanding, if anything, over all that. Rather, he was quieter now, more watchful.

But his wit? His bloody smirks? Those had remained intact.

And to Hermione's chagrin, they were in classes taken together, with Malfoy always sticking right beside her in Advanced Arithmancy. He draped over her notes commenting on her equations, smirking back at her whenever she'd toss him an irritated stare.

He was infuriating.

But at least she knew where she stood with him.

What Hermione didn’t know, however, was that her world was about to crash and burn in spectacular fashion.

And it would all start with her broadcasted private journal at the official newspaper of Hogwarts.

The morning started as it always did.

Students pushed and shoved themselves into the Great Hall, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Some were already busy with talking amongst themselves while the enchanted ceiling presented a clearer field of an autumn sky. Wisps of golden sunlight stretched proudly through the hall. There were clinking plates, pumpkins quenching the goblets with their juice, and owls flying overhead delivering letters and newspapers.

Hermione was halfway through buttering her toast when Ginny Weasley plopped down beside her, her expression far too suspicious.

“Morning,” Ginny chirped, entirely too cheerful.

Hermione frowned. “You’re up early. That’s unusual.”

“I thought I’d enjoy a nice, relaxing breakfast with my best friend.”

Luna Lovegood, seated across from them, nodded serenely. “Oh, yes. It’s going to be very eventful today.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you two know something I don’t?”

Ginny had not hardly opened her mouth to utter something by the time that the usual early morning owls began swooping in and dropping their letters and parcels. Of course, there was an official and very familiar one—an old-school newspaper, the Hogwarts Herald.

One promptly landed right before her.

Hermione hardly bothered. Instead, she reached for her goblet.

Then she heard it.

A gasp.

A snort.

A very loud, unmistakable shriek of laughter.

The entire Great Hall erupted in whispers. Giggles. Shouting.

“Blimey, this is scandalous!”

“Wait, this isn’t real, is it?!”

“Oh Merlin’s beard, Malfoy, you absolute menace—”

Hermione froze.

And then, very, very slowly, she turned her head—just in time to see Draco Malfoy smirking at her from across the room.

Her stomach dropped.

With a sense of pure, unfiltered dread, she snatched up the newspaper—her own name staring back at her in bold, black ink.

“Steamy Secret: The Passion of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy Exposed!”

Her breath hitched.

Her hands shook.

And then she read.

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNAL OF HERMIONE GRANGER

"His molten silver eyes darkened as he backed her into the bookshelf, the scent of parchment and forbidden desire filling the air. Hermione's breath hitched as Draco's fingers ghosted along her wrist, his touch both hesitant and devastatingly confident. 'Tell me to stop, Granger' he murmured, his voice rough, needy. But she didn't. She couldn't. She wanted him too much—"

Hermione dropped the paper like it had assaulted her.

The Great Hall exploded.

Laughter. Shouting. Debates.

“Merlin, do you think this actually happened?!”

“Who wrote this?! Where did they get it?!”

“Did you see Malfoy’s face?! He looks so damn pleased with himself—”

And worst of all—Draco Malfoy was sauntering towards her table.

Hermione’s soul left her body.

Ginny choked on her pumpkin juice. Luna, ever unbothered, simply hummed.

Draco stopped beside her, arms crossed, expression entirely too smug. “Granger, I always knew you fancied me, but this?”

Hermione’s brain malfunctioned.

“Y-you—” She swallowed. “This is not— I didn’t—”

Draco tapped the newspaper. “Oh, come on. ‘Molten silver eyes’? Really?” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “I must say, I’m flattered.”

Hermione’s ears burned. “This is— This is fake! Someone stole my journal entry!”

Theo Nott grinned from behind Draco. “So you admit it’s from your journal?”

Hermione gasped.

Draco smirked wider. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

And just like that, Hermione’s peaceful, post-war school year had officially been ruined.

Indeed, I never wanted this to be. It started innocently-enough-well, almost. It caught me while I was busy organizing my books one late evening, after classes.

A dusty old journal.

It wasn't anything special; in fact, probably one of those journals that everybody had as a kid- the lock was broken long ago, filled with embarrassing doodles and half-hearted attempts at writing stories. This one caught my attention for some reason, though.

Maybe it was the way it seemed to call to me, or perhaps I just hadn't had a proper outlet for venting all my thoughts and feelings in an eon. Between the war aftermath still tugging its tether across, all my study assignments, and trying to navigate the other new awkwardness between my friends, quite a lot was swiping across my mind.

I had never kept anything like a diary before- too personal for me to want to go there. But something was different about that night. Something in me wanted to be written. So, without thinking too much about it, I opened the first page and began to write.

It began as a small, silly story. The type of story that nobody would take seriously, just a harmless little fantasy about a mysterious wizard, a man with the kind of cold, calculating smile that could melt even the strongest hearts. A man whose nature would be at once dangerous and alluring.

A man like Draco Malfoy.

I remember the first time I saw him differently; it was just after the war – things began to calm down. The tension had been thick between everyone – but finally, it was fading. We were all back at Hogwarts to complete our education, and somehow Draco and I had ended up in more than a few classes together.

He changed – more soft-spoken and quiet, less arrogant but with the sharpness he has ever had. There was something about him that almost seemed fragile, which intrigued me. The eyes that used to glare in contempt now seem darker, nearly haunted. And that upset me. I found myself looking at him in a way one cannot explain.

Not that it's my concern.

Draco Malfoy. The same Draco Malfoy who, day after day, had tormented Harry and Ron and had once favored his family with all his heart. The same Draco Malfoy who, despite all favors, had not spared a single occasion to make it clear that he could not stand being even near someone like me. The same Draco Malfoy who had supported the Death Eaters in their bid for power.

But then, through the darkness, it's something I can't call correctly. Was it loss or attraction or just thump headed confusion? Maybe a bit of everything mixed in one. Whatever the thing was, I was incapable of stopping it.

Uh-huh, the solitary thing that made him tick. Under that icy sheath, what lies? Maybe I was just a fool. But the more I see him with his cool collected walk down the halls or just sitting in classes, the more I realize beyond a shadow of doubt that I am indeed attracted to him.

I know, I know; it sounds ridiculous. 

For so many years I had resented, hated him even so, how could I now fall for him? A Malfoy. A Slytherin.

Yet, it was there. 

And the worst thing had to be that I had no clue what to do with it. Certainly, I could not talk to Ron or Harry about it. They would never understand. And Ginny? I do not think even she could help me with this one. Therefore, I did what any reasonable, hyper-analytical Hermione Granger would do: bottled it up and ignored it. Pretended it was not there. But the longing? The impossible dreams? They did not go away. Instead, I found refuge in a very strange place- My journal. I started it as therapy. To speak things that I would never admit. Scenarios where Draco and I would be characters in a world that was only our own. In those stories, we were neither enemies nor rivals but partners-two people who somehow found their way to each other in the most unexpected of ways. 

Moments of locking eyes across crowded rooms, moments when I would stand next to him, feeling his presence but still needing to be close yet terrified of the implications. I would write about us being trapped in a tiny corner of the library together, both of us brushing against each other as we reached for that same book. Heated arguments over ancient magic that ended in a soft, breathless silence because both of us were too stubborn to admit that they enjoyed the other one's company in secret. And there were more. So many more. But the most scandalous parts of my fantasies? Those were for me alone. I let my imagination run wild, creating situations where Draco was no longer just the aloof, misunderstood Slytherin; he became someone else entirely. 

Someone I could picture touching my skin, kissing me in the rain, his fingers tracing over the curves of my body as if he had known me forever. 

Well, there it was. 

I had never imagined anything like this before. It wasn’t just some innocent crush. It was raw—intense—unspeakable.

I told myself it was just harmless. It wasn’t like I could actually be with him. We were from two different worlds—two different sides of the same war. Even if he had changed, even if there was more to him than I had initially thought, there was no future for us.

So I let it all spill into my journal. The fantasy, the passion, the impossibilities. I poured every last one of my secret desires into those pages, and for a moment, it felt like a kind of freedom.

But I never meant for anyone to read it.

I never imagined it would leave the confines of that worn leather cover.

I never imagined that it would one day be published.

Now, as I sat in the Great Hall, eyes burning with shame and embarrassment, I wished I had never written a single word. But, of course, I had. And now everyone was reading it.

Including Malfoy.

Who was, of course, smirking.

The Gryffindor table was a mess of laughter, shouting, and horrified gasps as the news spread like wildfire.

Seamus was dramatically fanning himself with The Hogwarts Herald, Dean was struggling not to choke on his pumpkin juice, and Ginny looked far too entertained by Hermione’s misery.

Ron, however, was having none of it. "This is ridiculous!" He burst out, throwing his hands in the air. "Of all the people in this school, Draco Malfoy? Hermione, come on! You could’ve at least had the decency to pine over someone normal!"

"Ron!" Ginny scolded, though she was still grinning.

But Ron was just getting started. "I mean, seriously! He’s a pompous, slimy git! What’s next? Are you going to start writing poetry about how dreamy Snape was?"

Seamus let out a choking sound, coughing as he laughed. "Oh, Merlin, imagine that edition of The Herald! 'Ode to Greasy Hair and Billowing Robes'!"

Dean snorted. "Or 'My Love for Malfoy: A Tragedy in Four Acts'."

He had stormy expression as he would have flipped the entire table. "This is not funny! We are talking about Malfoy! The same boy who spent years of his life making ours miserable! The same who used to call you-" he stopped and gave a careful glance at Hermione before mumbling "-you know what, I'm not even going to say it."

Hermione was crimson-faced and buried her head in her hands. "Can we not have an immediate conversation about my poor life choices?"

"Poor life choices?" scoffed Ron. "This is worse than poor life choices! This is... you know what? It's an affront to Gryffindor pride!"

Harry, who had been leafing through The Herald, for once broke his silence. "To give fair dues, Ron, it's not like she actually dated Malfoy. It's just a... very vivid imagination."

"Oh sure, because that's so much better," Roy said groaning. "She isn't with him, she just writes about him like some sappy love-struck..."

"Ron!" Ginny hit his arm, looking annoyed now. "It isn't a crime to have feelings for someone even though they might be... unconventional."

"Unconventional?" asked Ron with his eyes wide. "This is Malfoy, Gin! The bloke who strutted around this school like he owned the place! The one who insulted Hermione at every opportunity! Now he is, what? Her leading man?" He turned to Hermione and crossed his arms. "Tell me, please, that this is just some weird phase and you actually fancy someone normal, like I dunno, literally anyone else."

Hermione groaned again. "I do not fancy Malfoy!"

Ginny smirked. "Well... you do write about him an awful lot."

Dean leaned in, grinning. "Yeah, Hermione, how many chapters are in that journal of yours, exactly?"

"I hate all of you," Hermione muttered.

Harry, sensing Hermione’s suffering, decided to redirect the conversation. He tapped The Hogwarts Herald with his index finger. "Let’s focus on the real issue here. How did this end up in the paper?"

At that, the Gryffindors sobered up slightly.

Seamus, still grinning, leaned back in his seat. "Ah, The Hogwarts Herald—our very own student-run tabloid of doom."

"The Herald isn’t always bad," Ginny pointed out. "It was originally started years ago as a proper student newspaper. It used to cover important school events—Quidditch results, club meetings, actual news—but then someone realized a scandal sells."

"Yeah," Dean added, smirking, "the moment someone published a 'Who Snogged Who' article, it was all downhill from there."

Seamus waggled his eyebrows. "It’s practically an institution now. Every scandal, every drama—it all finds its way into The Herald. It’s the fastest way to get gossip across Hogwarts."

Ron huffed. "More like the fastest way to ruin someone's life."

"Exactly," Hermione groaned, staring at the paper in misery. "And now my life is ruined."

"Not ruined," Ginny said cheerfully. "Just... publicly exposed for all to see!"

Ron scowled. "Whoever sent this in is dead."

"That’s the question, isn’t it?" Harry said thoughtfully. "Who actually submitted it?"

Hermione swallowed hard. That was what she wanted to know too.

And more importantly... why?

She seemed to be a woman on a mission as she sprinted through the corridors of Hogwarts. Students hardly had time to step aside as she stomped toward The Hogwarts Herald office-his wild curls billowing about by every step. 

It was all about knowing who had sent her journal entry. Someone had betrayed her, and if she didn't get answers soon, she would be hexing the next person who so much as snickered in her direction. 

"Oy, watch it, Granger!" said some random Slytherin as she almost ran into him. 

"Move!" snapped Hermione, glancing at him and moving on. 

Finally, she reached a wooden door tucked within a lesser-used corridor near the library. The Hogwarts Herald was engraved on a plaque beside it. Without bothering to knock, Hermione shoved the door open, her breathing a little uneven now. 

The office was messy with heaps of parchment and stacks of newspapers, with scattered quills all over. Its master, however, was sitting in the midst of this chaos: Daphne Greengrass, her immaculate nails tapping idly against the desk, smirking at Hermione's theatrical entrance. 

"Well, well," drawled Daphne, peering with amusement at the latest edition of The Herald. "If it isn't our star of the week. What do I owe the pleasure for today, my Miss Sensual Literature?"

Hermione seethed. "Who sent this in?" She slapped the newspaper onto the desk, pointing at the mortifying excerpt of her Draco Malfoy fantasy.

Daphne’s smirk widened. "Oh, come now, Granger. Surely you must appreciate the poetic irony of all this."

"Poetic irony? Are you kidding me?" Hermione’s voice rose, and she had to take a deep breath before she hexed Daphne’s perfectly curled hair into something less perfect. "Someone stole my personal writing—my private thoughts—and gave them to The Herald! I have a right to know who did it!"

Daphne sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her palm. "And I would tell you... except I won’t."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"It’s against our rules," Daphne said airily. "Our sources are confidential, and the sender explicitly requested anonymity."

Hermione’s jaw dropped. "Against your rules? Daphne, this isn’t some investigative exposé on Ministry corruption—it’s my personal journal! My very private, very humiliating personal journal!"

Daphne shrugged. "Rules are rules."

"You have got to be joking," Hermione hissed.

Daphne merely smiled.

Hermione let out a frustrated growl before stomping her foot—an act so uncharacteristically childish that even she was momentarily stunned by her own fury.

"If I ever find out who did this—!" she began, but she was cut off by Daphne’s amused voice.

"I imagine you will," Daphne said, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Eventually."

Hermione glared at her before whirling around and marching out. The moment she stepped back into the hallway, the whispers hit her.

"That’s her—"

"Merlin, the things she wrote—"

"Malfoy, of all people?"

"Wait, do you think it’s real?"

Hermione clenched her fists, lifted her chin, and stomped her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

This was war.

Hermione was marching down the corridor, fists clenched, cheeks still burning from the whispers trailing in her wake. She was nearly at Gryffindor Tower—her sanctuary—when, suddenly, a shadow moved in front of her, blocking her path.

"Going somewhere, Granger?"

Her stomach dropped.

Standing in her way, in all his insufferably smug glory, was Draco Malfoy.

His signature smirk was firmly in place, his stormy grey eyes gleaming with mischief. He was leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed, looking for all the world as if he had been waiting for her.

Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat.

She refused to make eye contact. Refused.

"Move," she said stiffly, trying to sidestep him.

But before she could escape, Draco moved.

In one smooth motion, he leaned forward, placing one hand firmly on the wall beside her head while the other rested in his pocket.

Hermione froze. Her brain, her breath, everything—froze.

Draco Malfoy was caging her in.

Her mind went haywire as she realized the position they were in—his tall frame looming over her, his face dangerously close, the scent of expensive cologne and fresh parchment invading her senses.

Merlin, help her.

Her back was flat against the stone wall, her hands awkwardly pressed against it as she tried to make herself smaller. But it was impossible to ignore how his body was just close enough that if she so much as tilted her head—

Stop. Thinking.

"You seem flustered, Granger," Draco drawled, tilting his head. "Something wrong?"

Hermione swallowed hard. "You are what’s wrong."

He let out a low chuckle, and oh dear sweet Circe, why did that sound unfairly attractive?

"Awfully defensive, aren’t you?" He leaned in closer, voice dropping just slightly. "Almost as if… you recognize this scenario."

Hermione’s stomach plummeted. Her eyes snapped up to his, and that was her first mistake. Because the moment their gazes met, Draco’s smirk widened.

"Ah," he mused, his voice practically oozing satisfaction. "So you do remember."

Hermione’s brain short-circuited.

No. No, no, no, no. He knew.

Her face ignited so fast she thought she might combust.

Because she did recognize this situation.

Because she had written a scene just like this in her journal.

A steamy, tension-filled moment between Fiercely Brilliant Heroine & Infuriatingly Attractive Rival.

A scene where Draco had pinned her against a wall, taunting her, teasing her, his voice low and rough as he whispered filthy things in her ear—

Dear Godric, I’m going to die.

"You—" Hermione spluttered, hating how her voice came out weak. "You—"

"Me," he confirmed, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"This—this is just—!" She flailed slightly, her hands hovering between pushing him away and grabbing onto him for stability.

He noticed.

And the bastard smirked harder.

"This is what, Granger?" he murmured.

"I—You—You read it!" she accused, her voice a mortified squeak.

Draco grinned. "Oh, I read it."

Hermione wanted to disappear. To sink into the floor, to become one with the castle walls, to vanish into thin air.

"And I must say," he continued, tapping his fingers against the stone beside her head, "I had no idea you were capable of such… imagination."

Hermione’s entire body felt like it was overheating. "Shut up, Malfoy," she hissed, her voice weak.

"But why?" he mocked, voice all smooth amusement. "It’s so interesting. I mean, tell me, Granger, what exactly inspired you to write such—how did The Herald phrase it?—lewd content about me?"

Her soul left her body.

"Draco Malfoy, if you value your life—"

He laughed. Full-on, thoroughly entertained laughter.

"I knew you fancied me," he teased, eyes practically dancing with mischief.

"I don’t," she snapped too quickly, her hands finally pushing against his chest—big mistake—because he was solid.

His smirk didn’t waver. "You do."

"I don’t!"

"Granger." He said, shaking his head. "You wrote about kissing me."

"That—That doesn’t mean—!"

"Passionate, desperate kissing," he added, his voice dropping in that dangerously teasing way.

She shoved him. "It’s fiction!"

"Mm. And yet, here we are."

"Malfoy—"

"Against a wall."

"Malfoy—"

"You, all flustered."

"Draco!"

He paused, clearly amused by her use of his first name.

Hermione took a very deep breath. "You are an arrogant, self-absorbed, insufferable ferret," she ground out.

Draco grinned. "And you, my dear Granger, are absolutely smitten with me."

"I AM NOT—!"

He took a step back, laughing as she nearly toppled forward from the sudden lack of support.

"Relax, Granger," he said, his smirk still firmly in place. "Don’t act as if everybody doesn't know about those filthy things you write about me."

"IT’S NOT FILTHY!"

"Lewd, then."

"STOP—"

"Or should I say romantic?" He waggled his eyebrows.

She let out a strangled noise of frustration before stomping past him, determined to escape his torment.

"Oh, Granger," he called after her.

She refused to turn around.

"Just one last question!"

"WHAT?!"

He grinned. "How does the next chapter go?"

She screamed in frustration, storming away as Draco’s laughter echoed down the corridor.

Chapter Text

Drab light from a candle flickered upon the stone walls of her dormitory, uniting it in their dance with the wooden furniture by throwing tall shadows. A cold wind blew through the cracks in the castle walls; she burrowed deeper into her wool blanket. This time Gryffindor Tower was a little cold, and even with a warming charm on her socks, Hermione still shivered.

Distant from the rumors, the looks, and most importantly, from the latest prediction of Hermione from the Herald—that had been her affairs lately—she turned the pages of her journal, seeking solace in her own words. Being the shame that was scored in maroon oxblood leather, the book always served as refuge for her-thoughts freed from judgment.

That was until now.

Her finger brushed over a passage she had written last week, and even unwelcome, a flashback came to her mind.

Draco Malfoy. 

She inhaled sharply—as if her heart threatened to jump against her better judgment. But no matter what, despite him, her traitorous quill had spilled ink about their most recent encounter. How his shirt clung to him after the rain. How his smirk was as sharp as a dagger. How he—

Hermione's face ignited. She slammed the book shut, fingers tightening around the cover. 

No, she wasn't doing this. She wasn't— 

But before she could change her mind, she grabbed her quill and began writing, initially hesitantly and then more fluently as the words poured forth in her loopy handwriting. 

"I hate how he always finds ways to infuriate me. The way he leans in too close, how he smirks as if he knows something I don't. The arrogance. The way his hair falls over his eyes when he's pretending not to care. It gets on my nerves."

Her quill hovered.

"And yet…"

Before she could finish, something caught her eye—a message she did not write appearing right below her unfinished sentence.

"I must say, Granger, your writing style is impressive. Bit dramatic, but I quite enjoy the way you describe my eyes."

Hermione let out a startled scream, her journal tumbling to the floor as she shot up from her bed, her heart hammering against her ribs.

No. No, no, no, no!

She scrambled to pick up the journal, flipping through the pages in horror. The ink was fresh, meaning—meaning he had written it just now.

Draco Malfoy had been reading her journal.

And worse—he had written back.

Her breath came in short gasps. How? When? He couldn’t have stolen it; she always kept it close. Unless…

Her eyes snapped to the corner of the page, where a faint shimmering rune flickered before disappearing. A linked enchantment.

Oh, that absolute bastard.

She didn’t know whether she wanted to scream or hex something—or both.

But one thing was certain: she needed to confront him.

Common room of Slytherin was much quieter than usual at that hour, with most of its inhabitants fast asleep or pretending to be. Dim emerald illumination spilled through the enchanted windows, casting eerie shadows across the stone floor, while the Black Lake outside gave the room an infinite depth. Hermione marched through the archway, the flickering torches scattering reflections in her narrowed eyes as she searched for him. Her being the Heroine has some perks that she didn't know she needed... like barging to the snake lair unannounced. 

It didn't take very long. Draco Malfoy lounged by the fireplace, his long legs stretched out, a book in his hands-although she very much doubted he was reading it. He looked up the moment she approached-his mouth already curving into a smirk.

"Granger," he drawled. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your late night visit?" 

Hermione slapped her diary down onto the desk beside him.

"You have some explaining to do."

Draco lifted an eyebrow, completely unfazed. He closed his book with a casual flick of his wrist and leaned back against the leather armchair.

"I assume this is about my literary contribution?"

"Literary—!" Hermione cut herself off, inhaling sharply through her nose. "You linked our journals."

"Hey! I didn't. I just saw your writings keep appearing in my journal and I just… commented on some of it." He tilted his head. "Took you long enough to notice."

Hermione bristled. "How dare you invade my privacy like that! That journal is personal, Malfoy!"

Draco sighed dramatically, feigning boredom. "Relax, Granger. It’s not like I read everything. Just the… juicy bits."

Hermione felt her entire face burn. "You—you—!"

"You should really work on your insults," he mused. "You’re usually more creative when you’re threatening my life."

"How about I hex you next week?"

Draco merely grinned, completely unbothered. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "Did you also tell the Herald about me?"

He blinked. "What?"

"The article," she snapped. "About that one passage from my journal. Did you tell them?"

Draco’s smirk didn’t waver, but there was something in his gaze—something amused yet also calculating.

"Now, Granger, what kind of Slytherin would I be if I confessed without evidence?"

"That is not an answer!"

He exhaled, shaking his head. "And here I thought you were smarter than this. If I had told them, I’d have made sure the rumors were much more entertaining."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but he suddenly moved—swift and effortless, closing the distance between them.

She barely had time to react before she found herself cornered against the cold stone wall.

Hermione’s breath hitched. He was too close. Again.

Draco leaned in slightly, his smirk still in place, but there was a glint in his eyes—one that made her pulse quicken.

"Besides," he murmured, his voice lower now, smoother. "If I wanted the Hogwarts Herald to write about us, I’d have given them something more scandalous to print."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She hated how easily he flustered her.

Summoning every ounce of defiance she had, she tilted her chin up. "You’re insufferable."

"And you’re predictable," he countered, his gaze flickering to her lips before returning to her eyes.

Merlin, she needed space.

But before either of them could say another word...

"OI! What the hell are you two doing?"

A booming voice echoed from down the corridor.

Hermione and Draco immediately turned, just in time to see the Head Boy marching towards them, his expression a mixture of exasperation and authority.

"It’s way past curfew! What are you two still doing in the halls?"

Hermione quickly stepped away from Draco, her face on fire.

"We—uh—"

Draco, of course, looked completely unbothered.

"Just discussing some… literary differences," he said smoothly.

The Head Boy scowled. "I don’t care what you were discussing. Get back to your dorms. Now."

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She spun on her heel, clutching her journal tightly as she stormed down the hall.

But just before she turned the corner, she caught Draco’s smirk out of the corner of her eye.

And she just knew—

This wasn’t over.

It had really been the most insufferable morning in the Great Hall. To make matters worse, as Hermione entered, whispers followed along with murmurs that barely concealed smirks and glances from students excited to gossip about her. At least three variations of the published account had been overheard-some exaggerated, others less so.

Heck, at the time when every eye was trained on her, one very dramatic Ravenclaw swooned in the middle of the hall as she clasped a hand over her chest and murmured, "Oh, Malfoy, your abs are just so... infuriatingly well-defined."

Hermione had almost hexed her right there.

And it was not better now as she entered the dimly lit Potions classroom, sinking into her seat next to Harry, again hurling her bag with unnecessary force.

Harry considered her malevolently. "So... no luck with the Herald then in telling where they got your personal writing from?"

Deep, tired sigh; rubbed her temples. "No. Just the very enthusiastic 'we protect our sources, Miss Granger!' and the door was shut in my face."

Harry frowned, tapping his fingers against the desk, which bore evidence of having survived many years: “Who could have had access?"

Hermione didn’t need to answer. They both knew.

The moment she heard footsteps and low chatter entering the classroom, her irritation flared to dangerous levels.

That voice. That insufferable, arrogant voice.

“Good morning, professor,” Draco Malfoy drawled, his trademark smirk evident even without looking at it. “Sorry for being late—I had to fight through lots of admirers. Somebody found my literary talent quite… inspiring".

His voice carried, such that half of the class could hear it. A couple of Slytherins snorted; Hermione gritted her teeth.

Harry exhaled sharply beside her. Merlin, he relish on it. 

Hermione turned, fingers clenched around her desperate quill. As expected, Malfoy stood directly in front of her, smirking like he had all the time in the world to lean against the desk. Crossed arms. That irritating smirk was all but directed at her.

He looked so obnoxiously entertained.

"Granger." His tone was far too amused. "You look tense. Long night? Spent dreaming about my abs again?" 

Behind him, a Slytherin almost choked on laughter. 

Hermione snapped out her wand so suddenly that several people flinched. "You absolute—" 

"Miss Granger," boomed Professor Slughorn's deep voice as he entered the classroom, belly bouncing with every step. "No dueling in my class, please."

She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to lower her wand, though her fingers itched to hex Malfoy’s perfect smirk off his face.

Malfoy, unbothered, leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Careful, Granger. Someone might think you’ve got… unresolved feelings.”

She nearly stabbed her quill through her parchment.

Harry, trying to keep the peace, coughed loudly. “Alright, Malfoy, you had your fun. Maybe go bother someone else?”

Malfoy turned his smirk on Harry. “Why would I do that when Granger is so delightfully entertaining?” He tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Besides, Potter, shouldn’t you be thanking me?”

Harry blinked. “For what?”

“For proving, once and for all, that your best friend here has excellent taste.” Malfoy gestured to himself, smirking. “Though, honestly, Granger, your descriptions were a little lacking. You didn’t even mention my arms.”

Hermione’s quill snapped in half.

The Slytherins around them laughed openly, and even some Gryffindors were covering their grins.

“Malfoy, I swear to Merlin—”

“Silence, please!” Slughorn clapped his hands, finally bringing some order to the room. “Today, we will be brewing Draught of Tranquility, a potion designed to calm the mind and relieve stress.”

A few Gryffindors snickered, clearly thinking Hermione should drink an entire cauldron of it.

“Perfect,” Malfoy said under his breath, casting Hermione a glance. “You could use it, Granger.”

She ignored him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

The class settled into quiet chatter as they gathered ingredients, and Hermione busied herself, grinding lavender petals with more aggression than necessary.

Unfortunately, Malfoy had no intention of letting her forget.

“Careful, Granger,” he murmured, standing beside her at the shared ingredient table. “With the way you’re handling that mortar, someone might think you’re picturing my face.”

She slammed the pestle down. “I’m picturing hexing you into next week.”

“Bit extreme, don’t you think? What would you do without me?”

“Sleep peacefully at night.”

Malfoy chuckled, grabbing a handful of dried chamomile. “Doubtful.”

Hermione exhaled sharply, trying desperately to tune him out.

Slughorn walked by their table, nodding approvingly at Hermione’s neatly crushed petals. “Excellent work, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor!”

Malfoy sighed dramatically. “And once again, favoritism reigns.”

“Oh, shove off, Malfoy,” Harry muttered.

Malfoy ignored him completely, turning back to Hermione. “Say, Granger… any plans to write more? Perhaps a sequel?”

She finally turned, eyes blazing. “I did not write that for public consumption!”

“Oh, I know,” he mused. “That’s what made it so brilliantly intimate.”

Her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

“Don’t look so furious, Granger. You should be honored. Not everyone gets to have their words immortalized.”

“I will literally kill you.”

He smiled, completely unfazed. “Now, now. If you keep threatening me, people will start thinking you fancy me.”

Before Hermione could retaliate, a Gryffindor girl a few seats down piped up, smirking. “To be fair, Hermione, it did sound like you were very… impressed in your journal.”

Laughter erupted around them.

Hermione let out a strangled noise of frustration, gripping her wand so tightly she thought it might snap.

Malfoy leaned in one last time, lowering his voice to a mocking whisper. “Next time, Granger, if you want to keep your fantasies about me private… maybe use a locking spell?”

Hermione whipped around—but before she could curse him into oblivion, Slughorn clapped his hands once more.

“Alright, class! Let’s begin brewing!”

Malfoy winked before returning to his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Hermione glared daggers into his back, already plotting her revenge.

Hermione slammed the door of her dormitory shut, her entire being enveloped in a shroud of exhaustion. It had been an unendurable day: Malfoy's smug face and repetitive, irritating remarks punctuated daylong taunts so that, hear one more insinuation about his 'immortalized abs', and she would be driven... to become a criminal.

She flopped into bed, sighing deeply, limbs subsiding into the mattress. Candles showed the flickering glow across the room and into the shadows formed against the stone walls. Beyond her door echoed the muted chatter of Gryffindor House, but she ignored it.

Only one thing was on her mind.

With no great restraint, she took her perfidious journal from the bedside and opened it.

If Malfoy wanted to read her, let him read her. He would read worth its weight in gold.

She pushed the pen aggressively into the parchment.

"I would hex Malfoy when he sleeps. Perhaps make him hang, dangling upside down, in the Great Hall, where all would see him. Or to make it even better, enchant his mouth so that it is permanently shut-no, no, turn his hair into a nest of angry doxies. That would be just."

She grinned, twirling her quill with her fingers. The mere idea of Malfoy flailing helplessly, his hair filled with biting creatures, proved to be deeply gratifying.

Just as she was about to close the journal, letters began to appear beneath her writing—sleek, silver script materializing against the parchment.

Hermione’s stomach dropped.

"I didn’t know you were this kinky, Granger."

Her quill slipped from her fingers.

For a full five seconds, she simply stared at the words, her brain short-circuiting.

Then—

“MERLIN’S BLOODY BEARD—”

She slammed the journal shut, chest heaving as if she had just faced a Hungarian Horntail.

Oh. Oh, no.

Oh, Morgana help her.

She snatched the book back up, flipping to a fresh page in a panic and then she scribbled very angry writings in her journal.

"STOP READING MY JOURNAL, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!"

Almost instantly, the silver script reappeared.

"Stop writing such entertaining things, and maybe I’ll consider it."

She let out a frustrated groan, gripping her hair.

Then, another line faded into view.

"I must admit, the visual of me tied up is rather… intriguing. Care to elaborate?"

Hermione launched the journal across the room.

The thud it made against the wall was not nearly satisfying enough.

Chapter Text

Though Hermione had spent many nights awake in the Hogwarts library before, she had never experienced such odd feelings of determination and irritation that she felt at present.

The cause of her disappointment was a leather-bound journal. Or, more precisely, Malfoy's journal.

After their last exchange, in which Hermione had rather forcefully threatened he, to which he had responded with annoying chuckles, she stormed off to the library, vowing to find out more about the journal that so embarrassingly connected their lives.

If she had to suffer through Malfoy's insufferable burbling, she at least wanted to understand how this had happened.

And so, Hermione found herself in her usual research corner, surrounded by teetering stacks of books, parchment rolls, and half-drained cups of tea, her fingers ink-stained from hours of furious note-taking.

It was very, very late, almost deserted in the library, except for the looming presence of Madam Pince, who was eyeing her like a hawk from behind the shelves, no doubt suspicious that she might be committing unspeakable crimes against the books.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples as she stared at her notes.

So far, she managed to weave together a pretty romanticized history of charmed journals-top secret objects used for covert wizarding correspondences through the ages. These had been made for the secret love affairs of some, others with high-ranking Ministry officials, and at least one for an especially forgetful wizard who tended to forget where he put his socks.

But nothing she had found so far explained why this journal—Malfoy’s journal—was connected to her own.

She reached for another book—Arcane Artifacts and Their Lost Uses—flipping through its musty pages until she landed on a promising entry:

"Such was the fate of owl-post: magical scholars of the early 20th century racked their brains trying to improve on their old horcrux-less ways of sending messages. One of their results had been an early version of enhanced two-way enchanted journals meant for instant wartime communication. These were then bound together with protective magics, through which the owners may exchange messages safely at long distance. However, the tangled threads of their magic bound some of them making their usefulness highly suspect in most cases, and in the end, many had to be consigned to oblivion."

Hermione scowled. "That sounded pretty much like her own problem but no real information. Complications? Unreliable-how?" Furiously, she jotted down notes, then flipped to another book, Forgotten Innovations of the Wizarding World.

"The Twin-Tome Correspondence journals were an experimental method of communication, intended to be paired with a single, magically linked counterpart. Unlike common enchanted parchment, these journals were bound using an intricate rune sequence, ensuring an unbreakable connection. Unfortunately, the pairing process was largely unpredictable, leading to unintended linkages. Reports indicate that several prototypes formed accidental connections across unrelated individuals, causing significant confusion before the project was ultimately abandoned."

Hermione paused.

Unintended linkages.

Was that what had happened? Had she, by sheer bad luck, stumbled upon one of these journals, only to have it link itself to Malfoy’s?

She sighed, shutting the book. The information was interesting, but it didn’t explain why Malfoy had it. Or where it had come from. Or why it had decided she was worthy of this particular brand of torment.

“Ugh,” she groaned, letting her head fall onto the table with a thump.

From somewhere among the shelves, Madam Pince shushed her.

Hermione huffed and sat up again, massaging the bridge of her nose. This was getting her nowhere.

She glanced down at the journal beside her, still as smugly unhelpful as ever. She almost swore it was mocking her, lying there in its pristine leather binding, probably filled with whatever irritating thoughts Malfoy was scribbling at that very moment.

For a fleeting second, she considered writing Are you awake? just to see if he would answer.

No. Absolutely not. That was what he wanted. She refused to engage in his nonsense.

Instead, she grabbed another book—Lost and Found: Forgotten Magical Objects and Their Resurfacing—and began flipping through the pages, scanning for anything that might shed light on the journal’s history.

Ten minutes later, she had found exactly nothing.

Fifteen minutes later, she had found less than nothing—if that were even possible—because now she was knee-deep in a section about sentient cauldrons and their unfortunate tendency to sing off-key whenever potion ingredients were mixed improperly.

Twenty minutes later, she was contemplating setting the journal on fire.

She sighed heavily, dropping her quill. This was hopeless. She had found pieces of the puzzle, but nothing that truly explained why the journal had chosen to link her to Malfoy.

And worse, she had no concrete evidence that the journal could be unlinked.

Just the thought of being permanently bound to Malfoy in a literary exchange made her feel vaguely ill.

She leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe she was overthinking this. Maybe this was nothing more than a fluke—a piece of abandoned magic that had somehow reactivated. Maybe Malfoy didn’t even know what he had.

Then again, this was Malfoy.

It was just as likely that he did know and was simply choosing to keep it to himself for the sheer amusement of watching her unravel.

The idea made her scowl.

"Infuriating ferret," she muttered under her breath.

Madam Pince, despite being at least three aisles away, shushed her again.

Hermione rolled her eyes and began packing up her things, feeling only slightly defeated. Fine. She might not have all the answers yet, but she wasn’t giving up.

She would keep researching. She would find the truth.

And when she did, she was going to make sure Malfoy regretted every single smug comment he had ever written in that blasted journal.

For now, though, she would settle for sleep.

Or at least, attempt to sleep.

She had the distinct feeling that when she opened the journal tomorrow, Malfoy would have written something thoroughly insufferable.

And she would not be pleased.

The Great Hall at Hogwarts was alive with the usual hustle and bustle of students having their breakfast. As she sat at the Gryffindor table with her friends, Hermione found no cheer in it all. The sun shone through the enchanted ceiling to give warmth and brightness, but all it did was draw her into deep thought, causing her to sigh intermittently over her pumpkin juice. She was more than aware that all this was due to Draco Malfoy. 

How she wished she could forget that wretched journal-the one on file with her deepest thoughts and confessions available for all to see...especially for him to see. How on earth could it even have come to be, that the one thing she never wanted anyone to know, be in the hands of Draco Malfoy? Another sigh escaped Hermione as she stared at the half-eaten toast on her plate, nudging it about with her butter knife, not really hungry.

"Alright, out with it," Harry said while peering at her with his usual concerned expression. "What's the deal, Hermione? You have been sighing like a baby since we sat down."

"I’m fine," she replied hastily, her voice just a touch too high-pitched.

Ginny, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow. "No, you’re not. You’ve barely touched your breakfast, and you're staring at your toast like it’s your worst enemy."

Hermione forced a smile. "I’m just tired, Ginny. Honestly, it’s nothing."

Ron, who had been shoveling food into his mouth, paused and glanced at Hermione with an exaggerated frown. "Come on, 'Mione. You can’t be tired from reading books already, can you?" He winked, thinking it was a harmless jest.

Hermione made a noise of frustration that sounded more like a groan than a word. Her eyes darted to the side, avoiding the knowing looks her friends were now exchanging. They really don’t understand.

"I mean, it’s just Draco Malfoy," Ron continued with a shrug. "I don’t get what the fuss is all about. You’re Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of our age. You can’t let some git like Malfoy throw you off your game."

Hermione’s grip on her fork tightened at the mention of Draco’s name. "He’s not a git, Ron," she snapped before she could stop herself. Her face flushed at her sudden outburst, and she quickly glanced down at her plate. "Sorry," she added, her voice softer now.

Ron blinked in surprise, and Harry shot her a curious look. Ginny’s lips twitched as if she were trying to suppress a knowing smile, but she held her tongue.

"Alright, something’s definitely wrong," Harry said, leaning closer. "What’s going on with you and Malfoy?"

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. "There’s nothing going on with me and Malfoy." Her voice was starting to sound defensive, even to her own ears.

"You sure about that?" Ginny asked. "Because, honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re acting like something's—" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "—bothering you. And I’m guessing it’s got to do with him."

Hermione sighed once again, her frustration mounting. "If you all must know, yes, it’s him. It’s... complicated, alright?"

Ron tilted his head in confusion. "Complicated how? You know how I feel about Malfoy, but if you're telling me you’ve got a secret thing for him, I’ll hex him myself."

Hermione blinked at him, horrified. "What? No! Of course not!" She could already feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "I don’t fancy him, Ron. I don’t even like him. He’s... just... annoying."

"Annoying how?" Ginny prodded, unable to hide her curiosity. "There’s more to this than you’re letting on, Hermione."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "You keep bringing him up. First the journal—"

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. "The journal. Hermione, what's the deal with that journal? Because the last time I checked, you were the one who insisted it was some kind of secret project. But now? Now it sounds like you're all caught up in something you can't detach yourself from."

Hermione winced at Ginny's directness. "It's... It's nothing that concerns you, alright?" She immediately regretted the harshness of her voice but it was all she could do to keep from snapping.

Ginny stared at her for a long moment, searching her face for truth. Finally, she spoke, softer, more understanding. "Look, you don't have to tell us everything. But if Malfoy's bothering you or doing something to get under your skin, we can help. You know that, right?"

Hermione shook her head, the pressure of her heart pounding in her chest. "He's not bothering me." Torturing me, she thought but keep the words tightly locked inside. "It's just... it's complicated."

Ginny pursed her lips and looked as if she knew that Hermione was holding back, but she wouldn't pursue the matter any further. She looked at Harry and Ron, and both had similar expressions of disbelief. Then, she looked back at Hermione. "We will drop it at that. But I think you are making a bigger deal of it than it is."

Hermione hung her head down and twisted the napkin in her lap. If only they knew that this journal-the journal-was the origin of her torment. How did her innocent thoughts about Draco turn out to be so... complicated? If she had known it would be like this-if she had known he would actually read her thoughts and enjoy it-then she would have kept her thoughts to herself.

She had never wanted him to see how her heart fluttered at his closeness, or how his teasing suddenly transformed into strange forms of affection inside her mind. She had never, ever, wanted him to have that journal, that power. But here they were, in a situation she could not untangle however hard she tried.

Thoughts swirled; she was increasingly losing count of how many things could make her lash out more. The worst part? She knew she couldn't tell anyone about it. The fact that the journal was taking over her whole life-that his existence was infiltrating each and every corner of her life.

"Honestly," Hermione said, her voice barely audible, "if I had known that writing all those plots about him would cause this much gossip, I never would have done it. I didn’t sign up for this kind of attention."

Ginny smirked. "And here I thought it was all about your 'secret project.' Looks like Malfoy’s in your head more than you realize."

Hermione shot her a glare. "Please, Ginny, don’t start."

"Don’t worry," Ginny teased, "we’ll be here for you, Hermione. Even if you’re secretly writing love stories about Malfoy."

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This is so much worse than I ever imagined.”

Hermione had finally managed to steer the conversation away from Draco Malfoy, and she was determined to keep it that way. She stabbed her fork into a piece of scrambled egg with unnecessary force, tuning out Ginny’s smug glances and Ron’s occasional grumbles about “Why Malfoy, of all people?”

Everything was fine. Everything was under control.

And then—because fate despised her—Draco Malfoy strolled past the Gryffindor table, moving at an obnoxiously leisurely pace.

She ignored him. Or at least, she tried to.

The moment he passed behind her chair, he leaned down, his voice a low whisper against her ear.

"I must say, Granger, I didn’t realize you had such a wicked imagination. If I’d known you fantasized about my hands on you, I would’ve gladly obliged."

Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice.

She coughed violently, earning startled looks from everyone at the table. Ginny patted her back with far too much amusement, while Ron just frowned at her like she’d grown two heads.

Meanwhile, Draco—the absolute menace—had already walked off, striding back toward the Slytherin table as if he hadn’t just whispered that in her ear.

Hermione’s entire body ignited with heat.

She whirled around, eyes wide in horror. "Excuse me?!" she hissed after him.

Draco didn’t even turn. He just waved a lazy hand over his shoulder. "You heard me, Granger."

Oh, she was going to murder him.

Ron squinted at her. "What was that about?"

"Nothing!" Hermione said too quickly, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Harry was now watching her closely, looking between her and Draco’s retreating figure with suspicion. "Hermione…?"

"Eat your breakfast!" she snapped, grabbing her cup and taking a long, very necessary sip of pumpkin juice to cool the fire in her cheeks.

From across the hall, Draco caught her gaze and smirked, mouthing, To be continued.

Hermione groaned into her hands.

She was never going to survive this.

Chapter Text

If Hermione Granger had learned anything in her years at Hogwarts, it was that knowledge was power. And yet, despite spending hours poring over books in the library, she still hadn’t found a single spell, charm, or curse capable of severing the wretched connection between her journal and Draco Malfoy.

She had tried everything.

The Severing Charm? No effect.

Finite Incantatem? Useless.

Obliviating Malfoy? Technically illegal and highly unethical, but tempting nonetheless.

To make matters worse, Malfoy seemed to be enjoying himself far too much. He had discovered the true power of the journal—not just the invasion of her privacy but the delightful (for him, at least) ability to reenact and quote her most mortifying passages whenever he saw her.

It was insufferable.

And the worst part? He looked entirely too good while doing it.

Ginny pursed her lips and looked as if she knew that Hermione was holding back, but she wouldn't pursue the matter any further. She looked at Harry and Ron, and both had similar expressions of disbelief. Then, she looked back at Hermione. "We will drop it at that. But I think you are making a bigger deal of it than it is."

Hermione hung her head down and twisted the napkin in her lap. If only they knew that this journal-the journal-was the origin of her torment. How did her innocent thoughts about Draco turn out to be so... complicated? If she had known it would be like this-if she had known he would actually read her thoughts and enjoy it-then she would have kept her thoughts to herself.

Hermione’s cheeks burned. "You are insufferable."

"And yet, you continue to grace me with such entertaining material," he said smoothly, leaning casually against a bookshelf. "Tell me, Granger, if I were to pin you against this wall—like in chapter four—would you swoon or hex me?"

She hexed him.

The bookshelf behind him exploded in a cloud of parchment and dislodged scrolls. Malfoy barely managed to dodge the spell, his reflexes honed from years of Quidditch. He stumbled back, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before his grin returned in full force.

"That was hardly fair," he said, dusting off his robes as a particularly thick tome landed on his foot. "Honestly, Granger, if you wanted me breathless, you could’ve just asked."

Hermione groaned, resisting the urge to hex him again. "I am going to fix this, Malfoy. I will sever this connection, and when I do, I will personally ensure you never get to read another word of my journal ever again."

"Now, now," he said, stepping closer, amusement dancing in his eyes. "That almost sounds like a promise. Should I write that in? ‘Draco Malfoy, his strikingly handsome features illuminated by the flickering candlelight, smirked as he closed the distance between them…’"

Hermione nearly choked. "I have never written that."

"I took creative liberties."

She glared at him, gripping her wand so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Get. Out. Of. My. Library."

"It’s everyone's library, actually—"

"Malfoy!"

Madam Pince, appearing as though she had materialized from thin air, loomed over them with the expression of someone moments away from unleashing a Howler. "If you two insist on causing a scene, I will personally see you banned for a month!"

Hermione gasped in horror. Malfoy, the absolute menace, only winked. "Terribly sorry, Madam Pince. Just engaging in some… literary discussion."

She sniffed, eyeing them both like a hawk. "Keep your literary discussions to a whisper, or I’ll see to it that neither of you set foot in here again."

As soon as she turned, Hermione hissed, "You see what you’ve done? You’re ruining my reputation as a model student."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Malfoy said with an exaggerated sigh. "If anything, I think I’m enhancing your reputation. Who knew you had such a flair for dramatic romance?"

Hermione stormed past him, collecting her books with more force than necessary. Malfoy followed leisurely, seemingly unbothered by her rage.

"So what’s next?" he asked conversationally. "Will you write about how much you miss me when we’re apart? Or perhaps a slow-burning realization that I, Draco Malfoy, have captivated your thoughts entirely?"

She spun around so fast he nearly bumped into her. "You are delusional."

"Oh, am I?" he mused, tilting his head. "Because according to chapter four, you seem rather… preoccupied with me."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off with a devilish smirk. "Don’t deny it, Granger. Your words are quite literally in ink."

Fuming, Hermione shoved past him and stormed out of the library, leaving Malfoy chuckling behind her.

"See you at dinner, Granger!" he called after her. "Maybe we can workshop other chapters  together!"

Hermione ignored him.

But Merlin, did he look good while dodging that hex.

Unfortunately, it was a fool's errand considering his very real existence and his extraordinary efforts to announce that existence. Hermione spent the rest of the evening pretending Draco Malfoy didn't exist. Deceptive, though, that irritation for all her cunning - he could disappear and reveal himself in his own time.

Everywhere he followed her, almost as if they had fallen into a trap of bad luck. The Great Hall? He would waltz by her table with his proposed drama throat-clearing as though waiting for the audience to gasp at the pomposity of a childhood poetry recital. The corridor outside her Charms class? There he was, leaning against the wall, book in hand, eyes twinkling with mischief as he muttered about "undeniable chemistry." 

And now, in what was supposed to be her sanctuary, the library, he found her again.

She glared at him over the top of Magical Manuscripts: A Guide to Enchanted Writing . "Malfoy, I swear—"

"Oh, relax, Granger. I’m just here for some light reading." He plopped down in the seat across from her, dropping a heavy tome on the table titled A Most Comprehensive Guide to Love Potions .

Hermione blinked. "Are you actually studying love potions?"

He smirked. "Not at all. I just thought the title was fitting, considering your literary themes."

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain calm. "I refuse to let you bait me."

"Bait you? Whatever do you mean?" he asked innocently, flipping through the pages. "I was simply wondering if you'd ever considered adding a love potion subplot. Maybe a dramatic misunderstanding where I—purely hypothetically, of course—accidentally ingest a potion meant for someone else and then profess my undying love to you."

"You do that already, just without the potion," she muttered, flipping her page aggressively.

Draco grinned. "That’s the spirit, Granger! Now, let’s talk about that scene in Chapter Four."

Hermione groaned. "I am not discussing this with you."

"I just think it’s important we stay true to the characters," he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. "For instance, when your version of me leans in, mere inches away, shouldn’t he say something truly swoon-worthy? Something like, ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you since third year’?"

She clenched her jaw. "You are impossible."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe, ‘You drive me mad, Granger. I can’t tell if I want to argue with you or—’"

"Malfoy!" she hissed, her face burning. "You are ruining literature itself."

"Am I? Or am I improving it?" He leaned back, smirking. "You know, if you really wanted me out of your journal, you could just write a scene where I meet a tragic, mysterious end. A terrible accident involving an overzealous quill, perhaps."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Don’t tempt me."

"But then you’d miss me," he said, feigning a look of deep sorrow. "Imagine it—no more Malfoy to edit your passionate prose, no more witty banter, no more undeniable tension—"

"The only tension here is my patience running out," she snapped.

"Now that should go in Chapter Five," he said, grinning. "I can see it now—'Hermione Granger, brilliant yet exasperated, found herself in a battle of wills with the devastatingly handsome, impossibly charming—’"

She slammed her book shut. "I’m leaving."

Draco stood up as well. "Oh, come now, Granger. At least give me a dramatic exit line. Something befitting your fiery temperament."

Hermione turned sharply, her bag slung over her shoulder. "Fine. Here’s one: ‘If Malfoy follows me one more time, he will become intimately acquainted with the business end of my wand.’"

Draco clutched his chest in mock anguish. "Brilliant. Simply brilliant."

She stormed out, determined to escape him once and for all. But as she rounded the corner, she heard his voice, light and teasing:

"See you in Chapter Five, Granger!"

Hermione had survived wars, Dark Lords, and the chaos that was Ron Weasley’s eating habits, but nothing— nothing —had prepared her for the relentless torment of one Draco Malfoy.

Avoiding him had proven impossible. Like a particularly persistent curse, he appeared when she least expected it, usually armed with a smirk and a dramatic reenactment of her own words against her.

And, Merlin, help her, it was only getting worse.

Breakfast was supposed to be a safe haven. A place of toast, tea, and pretending she wasn’t sharing air with people who actively delighted in annoying her. But, of course, Malfoy had other plans.

She had barely taken a bite of her toast when his voice rang through the hall.

" Granger! "

She ignored him. She was good at ignoring things. Like when Ron chewed with his mouth open, or when Harry insisted the Chudley Cannons still had potential .

Malfoy, unfortunately, did not take well to being ignored. He slid onto the bench beside her, entirely too close.

"Granger, quick question. In Chapter Seven —"

She nearly choked on her tea. " Chapter Seven hasn’t happened yet. "

"Oh, I know," he said, eyes glittering with amusement. "But I have ideas ."

Ginny, sitting across from Hermione, raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"

"Absolutely not," Hermione muttered.

Malfoy leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. "Picture this: stolen kisses under the Quidditch stands. Desperate, breathless—"

"Malfoy!" Hermione slapped a hand over his mouth.

Ginny blinked. "I do want to know now."

Malfoy, thoroughly entertained, gently peeled her fingers away. "What do you think, Granger? Too cliché? Should I go for the 'trapped in a broom closet' trope instead?"

Hermione glared daggers at him. "I think you should fall off a broomstick."

He grinned. "Ah, but would you catch me?"

Her wand twitched in warning. He took the hint and stood, winking before sauntering off.

Ginny watched him go, then turned to Hermione. "You are aware he’s flirting with you, right?"

Hermione groaned, letting her forehead hit the table. "I need stronger hexes."

The library had always been Hermione’s sanctuary. A place of knowledge, peace, and—most importantly— no Malfoy.

Which was why it was particularly unfair that he showed up there as well.

She had been flipping through an old text on magical enchantments when a very dramatic sigh sounded beside her.

"Granger, I have a confession to make."

She didn’t look up. "No."

"I think I might be falling—"

"No . "

"—for the woman whose words have enchanted me—"

"Malfoy!"

He smirked. "Oh, sorry. Was I interrupting your studying?"

She rubbed her temples. "What do you want ?"

"I need help with my research."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Since when do you ask for my help?"

"Since I realized you’re the second most well-read person in this castle."

Her eye twitched. "Second?"

"Mmm." He tapped her book. "I’ve been reading your little masterpiece , remember?"

She really needed to set that thing on fire.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, utterly unbothered. "Now, about Chapter Nine—"

"We are not talking about a chapter that doesn’t exist yet!"

He tilted his head. "Oh, but I have so many thoughts. Like, what if there was a dramatic duel? Maybe some accidental proximity? I fall, you catch me—"

"I drop you."

"You catch me."

" I drop you. "

He placed a hand over his heart. "Granger, that would break my heart."

She shut her book with a snap . "I’ll take that risk."

After The Library Disaster , Hermione had been determined to avoid Malfoy for the rest of the day.

She made it in two hours.

She had just stepped into the courtyard when she heard his unmistakable drawl.

"Ah, Granger!"

She stopped. Slowly turned.

He stood a few feet away, looking far too pleased with himself.

"What now?" she asked, exasperated.

"I was just thinking," he said, tapping his chin, "about our little story."

"It’s not our story."

"Details." He waved a hand. "I was considering adding a dance scene ."

She blinked. "A what ?"

Before she could react, Malfoy had grabbed her hand and pulled her close.

"Malfoy—"

"Shhh, Granger. Let the moment happen."

She was too stunned to hex him immediately. He held her hand in one of his, the other settling lightly on her waist.

"Now, imagine the music," he said, swaying slightly. "A slow, romantic waltz. Tension. Longing."

She tried to step on his foot. He dodged.

"Imagine," he continued, smirking, "that we’re trapped at a ball. Forced to dance."

"I imagine hexing you."

"Ah, but that would ruin the passion , wouldn’t it?"

She was about to retort when—of course—Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott appeared.

Blaise whistled. "Didn’t realize we were interrupting something intimate."

"We aren’t," Hermione said flatly.

Theo snorted. "Could’ve fooled me."

Malfoy twirled her, entirely unbothered. "Granger was just helping me refine my romantic instincts for her novel."

"It’s not —" She gave up.

Blaise smirked. "And here I thought you weren’t a fan of clichés, Granger. Dancing in the courtyard? Classic."

She finally wrenched herself away. "I hate all of you."

Malfoy winked. "Only a little."

Hermione sat on her bed, scribbling in her journal furiously.

New Goal: Hex Malfoy so effectively that he forgets my book ever existed.

Across the castle, in his own dormitory, Draco Malfoy leaned back with a smirk, flipping through the latest entries in their shared journal.

He tapped his chin.

"Maybe I should add a broom closet scene."

Chapter Text

The people stayed warm in their common room, the fireplace with its flickering flames mesmerizing them. Crimson and gold warmth hung around them. The smell of old parchment, burning log, butterbeer, and bodily remnants around the hearth was what spread at night.

Hermione lay sprawled on the couch, one hand concealing her eyes from the soft brilliance of the floating lanterns. Crookshanks curled against her side, his bushy ginger fur rising and falling with each slow, lethargic breath. She stroked his back, putting her fingers through the knots in his disobedient coat, most likely because her mind was somewhere detached and unable to unravel a few thoughts of her own.

Ginny sat watching her on the rug by the couch with a critic's eye. In the last few days, Hermione had spent too much emotion to wear out: her once nicely pressed uniform now looked a bit unkempt around the edges, her curls were a little less disciplined, and the ever-present sharpness in her eyes seemed dulled-as though weariness settled deep in the very bone marrow.-not least, the leather-covered journal that lay beside Hermione, old and battered with corners frayed from usage.

“You know,” Ginny began, picking at the hem of her sleeve, “I think it’s time you got a new one.”

Hermione cracked open one eye but didn’t respond.

“Honestly, Hermione,” Ginny continued, shifting to sit cross-legged. “That thing is practically falling apart. Half the pages are sticking out, and I swear I saw Crookshanks chewing on the spine the other day.”

At this, Hermione sighed but didn’t lift her head. “It’s still perfectly fine.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s barely holding itself together.”

“Hey! It may look worn out but the pages are still intact. I swear!” Hermione finally turned her head to look at her, her brown eyes weary but resolute. “It wouldn’t be the same,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers over the cracked leather as if comforting an old friend. “Getting a new one while this one still works… It's like replacing a friend. One that’s kept all my secrets, my fears, my thoughts. I can’t just abandon it.”

For Ginny, it was like a room filled with air, and the effect of it all was heavy but thrilling. When she looked again at Hermione, she found her fingers lingering on the tattered cover as though tracing the sacred lines and creases. It drew up a very faint smile on Ginny's lips, but of course, Hermione would see it like that. The girl who took pride in books, words, and knowledge of anything—she'd see and understand the journal more than mere paper and ink.

Crookshanks gave a satisfied purr and shifted very slightly as Hermione began to stroke his fur again and looked away from him into nowhere. The common room buzzed faintly with talk interrupted by occasional bursts of laughter and the crackling of fire. For Hermione, though, none of this seemed to touch her. She inhabited some other world, lost in contemplation, hiding in those pages harboring pieces of her heart for many years now.

Ginny breathed out a quiet sigh leaning back on her hands. "Fine, fine," she said in a light-fingered voice. "But should that thing happen to burst into a thousand pieces in the middle of class, don't expect me to help you collect the leaves."

Hermione huffed out a quiet laugh but didn’t argue. Instead, she pulled the journal closer to her chest, cradling it gently, as if reassuring it that she would never let it go.

The next day, Hermione dragged herself to class, her brain only half working as she shuffled through the corridors of Hogwarts. Today, the rapid pace at which she normally walks has melted into a weary crawl, and had it not been for the unexciting sense of responsibility, she might have easily missed Arithmancy altogether.

Her eye bags were unmistakable-dark smudges beneath her normally bright eyes, a definite sign that she had gotten very little sleep-and this is not as if anyone really cared to point it out diplomatically. At the moment she stepped into class, whispers flitted through the air like excited Nifflers hunting for gold.

“She still hasn’t said a word about it.”

“What do you think really happened?”

“Maybe she hexed someone and got away with it.”

“I bet Malfoy was involved. He’s always hovering around her lately.”

Hermione suppressed a groan: the incident; that incident. She was quite over it by now. It had been days, and still, Hogwarts was treating this like the biggest mystery after that of the Chamber of Secrets. Honestly, one would have thought that people had better things to do—well, focusing on their proper coursework, one would have thought! Instead, apparently, speculating about the life of Hermione Granger was a full-time job.

She thudded into her seat and let out a long breath. She thought about clearing up their ludicrous theories, but truthfully? Let them gossip. Let them perish with curiosity or whatever. She really had much better things to do than to furnish these people their need for drama.

At least, she thought she did.

Unfortunately, her peace was shattered the moment a familiar blond menace slid into the seat beside her.

“Morning, Granger,” Draco Malfoy drawled, far too awake for this hour. “You look—” He paused, tilting his head as if to examine her. “Like you lost a fight with an enchanted quill and then drowned in coffee.”

Hermione resisted the urge to smack him with her Arithmancy textbook. Heavy. Dense. Probably concussive. Tempting. Instead, she fixed him with a glare.

“Not in the mood, Malfoy.”

“That’s funny,” he mused, resting his chin on his hand. “Because I distinctly remember you being very chatty the last time we talked. Well, maybe not chatty, but you did yell at me, which was quite entertaining.”

Oh, she definitely wanted to hit him now.

And she would turn head a little away as if pretending he was nonexistent, which is difficult since he insisted so much on being there of late. She didn't know what for, but it seemed wherever she went through, Draco Malfoy followed her around. The common assumption would be assumption paranoia for it in the beginning, but it was really just-. The corridors. Library. During meals. During lessons. Always eying her with that infuriating smirk as if he knew something she didn't.

And maybe-maybe-she didn't mind entirely. 

Oh, bloody hell, what did she even think? 

Hermione shook her head, attempting to focus on Professor Vector's lecture, but her sleep-deprived brain betrayed her, and before she could stop it, she found herself slipping into a ridiculous daydream.

It got started innocently enough: an imagined scenario where Malfoy was actually not being a total prat for once. Maybe he would not say something sarcastic. Maybe-let's not hope against hope-that he would actually be nice-for once.

And then, suddenly, she wasn’t in Arithmancy anymore.

In her daydream…

She stood alone in the library, late at night, and the light came only from some little floating candles above those towering shelves. The air smelled of old parchment and the castle was quiet except for the occasional crackling sound of pages turning. She was reaching for a book on the highest shelf-something on ancient magical theory-when suddenly, a strong arm reached across her.

"Need some help, Granger?" 

It was Malfoy, of course, his voice low and smooth, his breath warm against her ear.

Hermione felt her face be on fire. "I can get it myself," she insisted, but when she tried to step back, her foot caught on the hem of her robe, and-oh, Merlin-she stumbled.

Before she could fall, however, Malfoy caught her more securely with his arms around her waist. Their faces were so close-he could have stolen a kiss from her straight away. His silver eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for some reason the air between them felt too much.

His smirk was softer this time, almost… fond?

“You should really be more careful, Granger.”

Hermione gulped. “I—”

And then—oh god, it got worse—his fingers brushed a stray curl behind her ear, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. Her heart definitely skipped a beat. Maybe two. Was she breathing? Was he?

He leaned in slightly, his lips hovering just near her temple, and whispered, “You’re blushing.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione blurted out—

Back in reality…

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione said out loud.

The entire class went silent.

Professor Vector stopped mid-equation, chalk frozen in the air. Every head in the room turned to look at her.

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror.

Draco, who had been lazily twirling his quill beside her, raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, that was interesting,” he murmured.

Heat flooded her face. “I— I didn’t— I mean—”

Ginny, from across the room, was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Professor Vector cleared her throat. “Miss Granger, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Hermione shook her head so fast she might have given herself whiplash. “N-no, Professor. Just—um—” Spontaneous outbursts? Sudden mental collapse? Excessive exposure to Draco Malfoy? “I’m fine.”

The professor gave her a long, skeptical look before sighing and returning to the board. The class, however, was not so willing to move on.

Whispers erupted around her.

“What was that about?”

“Did she just swear in class?”

“Is she okay?”

“Ten galleons says Malfoy was involved.”

Meanwhile, Malfoy was still watching her, his smirk wider than ever.

“You’re definitely blushing,” he said, voice low so only she could hear.

Hermione groaned, dropping her head onto her desk with a thud. I hate my life.

Malfoy leaned closer. “Care to share whatever that was about?”

“Absolutely not.”

But as much as she wanted to ignore him, her brain helpfully replayed her ridiculous daydream in vivid detail, ensuring that she stayed bright red for the rest of the lesson.

And, of course, Draco Malfoy noticed.

And, of course, he never let her live it down.

By the time Hermione escaped Arithmancy, she was convinced she needed a full memory wipe. Perhaps Obliviate wasn’t such a bad idea if it meant erasing the absolute humiliation she had just endured.

Unfortunately, magic could only do so much, and the damage had already been done.

The rumors spread at lightning speed. By the time she made it to lunch, half the school was whispering about Hermione Granger cursing in the middle of class for no apparent reason.

“She snapped.”

“Finally lost it.”

“I heard she had a vision—maybe she’s a Seer?”

“No, I bet Malfoy was involved.”

The last one was alarmingly accurate, and Hermione hated that.

Ginny was already at the Gryffindor table when Hermione dropped into the seat beside her. “So,” she said, barely hiding her smirk. “Want to tell me what happened back there?”

“No.”

“I mean, it’s one thing to swear, but in Arithmancy? That’s next-level.”

Hermione groaned, stabbing at her mashed potatoes with unnecessary aggression. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Ginny’s smirk widened. “Does this have anything to do with Malfoy?”

Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice.

“That’s a yes.”

“It is not a yes,” Hermione croaked, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “It’s—ugh. It was just a stupid daydream, and my brain malfunctioned. That’s it.”

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. “A daydream about Malfoy?”

“No, absolutely not, I refuse to entertain this conversation,” Hermione declared, reaching for her book in a desperate attempt to disappear behind it.

Ginny, being the menace that she was, snatched the book out of Hermione’s hands. “Oh, no, no, no. You don’t get to daydream about ferrets and then pretend it didn’t happen. Spill.”

Hermione hissed, “Keep your voice down!”

Ginny leaned in conspiratorially. “Okay, but seriously, what kind of daydream makes you blurt out that in the middle of class?”

Hermione felt her face heat up again. “I don’t know! My brain just… glitched!”

“Your brain glitched,” Ginny repeated, amused. “I didn’t know that happened to you.”

“It doesn’t! That’s the problem! I was just thinking, and suddenly—” Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate myself.”

Ginny cackled. “I don’t. This is gold.”

“Ginny.” Hermione peeked at her through her fingers. “If you love me at all, you’ll forget this ever happened.”

Ginny snorted. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Hermione groaned, but before she could launch into another round of Why Is My Life Like This, a shadow fell over the table. A very tall, very annoying shadow.

“Well, if it isn’t Hogwarts’ newest star,” came the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione stiffened. “Go away, Malfoy.”

“Now, now, Granger, that’s no way to greet your biggest admirer.”

Ginny was thriving. “Oh, do tell, Malfoy. What exactly do you admire about our dear Hermione?”

Malfoy smirked, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “Well, Weasley, for starters, I admire her creativity in class today. Who knew she had such colorful vocabulary?”

Hermione’s soul left her body.

“Maybe she was having a very interesting thought,” Ginny mused, not-so-subtly nudging Hermione.

Malfoy leaned against the table, silver eyes dancing with amusement. “Now, that’s interesting. Tell me, Granger, what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” Hermione’s voice cracked.

Malfoy’s smirk deepened. “It must’ve been something very exciting.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I really do.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Hermione clenched her jaw and turned to Ginny. “If I commit a murder right now, will you back me up?”

Ginny shrugged. “Depends. If you kill Malfoy, I lose entertainment.”

Malfoy placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Weasley, I’m hurt. And here I thought we were building a friendship.”

“You thought wrong.”

He turned back to Hermione, lowering his voice slightly, just enough to send an annoying shiver down her spine. “Seriously, though, Granger. What were you thinking about?”

Hermione stared at him, feeling the heat creeping up her neck again.

Absolutely not happening.

So, she did the only thing she could think of.

She grabbed her goblet of pumpkin juice and downed it in one go.

Ginny blinked. “Wow. That was dramatic.”

Malfoy let out a laugh—an actual laugh—and for some reason, that made Hermione’s heart betray her.

“Oh, this is fun,” Malfoy said, grinning as he straightened up. “I’ll see you later, Granger. Looking forward to your next outburst.”

With that, he sauntered off, leaving Hermione staring after him in mute horror.

Ginny gave her a look. “You’re doomed.”

“I know.”

“You like him.”

“I do not.”

“You so do.”

Hermione groaned, dropping her head onto the table. “Someone please Obliviate me.”

Ginny patted her back. “No can do. This is way too entertaining.”

Hermione internally screamed.

Somewhere across the Great Hall, Malfoy smirked to himself. Oh, he was definitely going to have fun with this.

Hermione was not having a good day.

Actually, scratch that—she wasn’t having a good week.

First, there was the Arithmancy incident. Then, Malfoy decided to haunt her every waking moment, popping up at the worst times with that smug smirk on his face. And now, she had an even bigger problem: her brain had decided to betray her.

Because she was not thinking about him. Nope. Not at all.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Ginny’s voice cut through her internal crisis.

Hermione blinked, snapping out of her daze. “What?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I was literally talking about how Colin Creevey tried to take an artistic photo of Filch’s cat, and now he’s in detention for ‘violating the cat’s privacy.’”

“Oh,” Hermione said, realizing she had completely missed that conversation. “That’s… unfortunate?”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Alright, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said far too quickly.

Ginny tapped her chin. “Let’s see… You’ve been weird since the incident, you’ve been spaced out, and you practically set a new world record for ‘fastest beverage consumption’ at lunch yesterday.” She smirked. “Sounds like someone’s having a Malfoy-related crisis.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please stop.”

“Why? I think this is fantastic.”

“It is not fantastic, Ginny.” Hermione peeked at her through her fingers. “It’s a problem.”

Ginny shrugged. “So you admit it’s a Malfoy problem.”

Damn it.

“No, I mean—ugh!” Hermione groaned again. “I don’t like him. I just—he’s annoying, and he keeps showing up everywhere, and he’s—”

“Ridiculously good-looking?” Ginny offered.

Hermione’s eyes twitched. “I was going to say infuriating.”

“You paused.”

“I did not pause.”

“Oh, you definitely paused.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but was mercifully interrupted when someone plopped down into the seat next to her.

Unfortunately, that someone was the reason for her crisis.

Draco Malfoy, looking as smug as ever.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite Arithmancy prodigy,” he drawled, resting his chin on his hand. “Thinking about me again, Granger?”

Hermione froze.

Ginny, meanwhile, was loving this. “Wow, Malfoy. You assume she thinks about you a lot.”

Malfoy smirked. “I don’t assume, Weasley. I know.” He turned back to Hermione. “So, what was it this time? Another daydream? Or did I show up in your dreams properly?”

Oh no.

Hermione absolutely did not blush.

Malfoy’s smirk widened. “Oh, I was right, wasn’t I?”

Hermione shoved her book into his chest. “No, you weren’t!”

Malfoy chuckled, leaning back lazily. “Granger, if you wanted to get physical, all you had to do was ask.”

Ginny wheezed.

Hermione hated him. She hated him so much.

She snatched her book back, gripping it tightly like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to sanity. “Malfoy, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t shut up—”

“What? You’ll hex me?” He smirked, tilting his head. “Please do. I’d love to see you get all worked up over me.”

Oh, for the love of—

Hermione turned to Ginny in desperation. “Help me.”

Ginny grinned. “Why would I do that? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Malfoy looked delighted. “See? Even Weasley thinks this is entertaining.”

Hermione clenched her jaw. “You’re insufferable.”

Malfoy leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make her spine tingle. “And yet, you can’t stop thinking about me.”

Hermione’s brain short-circuited.

Ginny actually fell off the bench laughing.

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione snapped, standing up so quickly that her book nearly toppled over. “I do not think about you, Malfoy. Ever. In fact, I’ll prove it!”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Hermione grabbed Ginny’s arm. “We’re leaving.”

Ginny wiped away a tear. “But I don’t want to leave.”

“I do not care,” Hermione hissed, dragging her away from the table.

As they exited the Great Hall, she could feel Malfoy’s amused gaze on her back.

This was a disaster.

She needed a plan.

Step One: Avoid Malfoy.

Step Two: Do not think about Malfoy.

Step Three: …Actually, she’d figure out Step Three later.

Unfortunately, as they walked through the corridor, Ginny cleared her throat. “Soooo…”

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“I know what you’re about to say, and the answer is no.”

Ginny grinned. “You soooo like him.”

Hermione groaned. “I do not.”

Ginny nudged her. “Admit it, Hermione. It’s okay. We all have our weaknesses.”

“He is not my weakness.”

“Really?” Ginny folded her arms. “Then why do you get all flustered when he talks to you?”

“I do not get flustered.”

Ginny smirked. “Then why did you basically flee the Great Hall?”

Hermione opened her mouth—then closed it.

Damn it.

Ginny cackled. “Face it, Hermione. You’re in denial.”

“I am not in denial.”

“You so are.”

Hermione groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Can we please talk about something else?”

Ginny hummed. “Fine. What do you think about Malfoy’s hair?”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

And that was how Hermione Granger spent the rest of her evening trying to convince herself that she absolutely, 100%, under no circumstances had a crush on Draco Malfoy.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t work.

Chapter Text

The lake near the forest had always been her escape. A sanctuary where she could finally breathe, away from the noise, the expectations, him.

Hermione Granger let out a slow exhale, settling onto a large rock. The water stretched endlessly before her, mirroring the overcast sky. It should have been peaceful.

But her mind was anything but peaceful.

Not after what had happened this morning.

A love story, perhaps, from one of our own? That would be a very beautiful romance, exquisitely written, full of portents between two rivals. An authentic tale of passion, yearning, and--dare we say?--an undeniable connection.

Excerpt: 

"He had her trapped against the cold stone wall, his breath ghosting over her skin. 'You ride me, Granger,' he murmured low, dangerously. His hands pressed on either side of her, caging her in, his body just inches from hers. She should have pushed him away. She should have walked off without looking back. However, when his lips brushed against her ear, her breath hitched. 'Say it,' he whispered. 'Say you don't want this."

Hermione had nearly died when she saw it in print.

Because she had written that.

In her journal.

A journal she had never shared with anyone.

And yet, there it was. Published. Mocked. Exposed.

The entire castle had been buzzing about it all day. The mystery author. The scandalous scene.

She hadn’t even realized it was hers at first. Because Hermione never reread her entries.

Her journal had always been a place to document fleeting thoughts. Little scenarios that played in her mind. Sometimes inspired by books, sometimes by stray emotions she couldn’t process aloud.

She never edited. Never reviewed. Just wrote and moved on.

But now, she had a very big problem.

Because if the Herald had somehow gotten hold of it…

Her stomach twisted. What if someone else had read more?

With shaking fingers, she yanked her journal from her bag, flipping through the pages.

And then—she froze.

There was extra writing.

And it wasn’t hers.

The ink was darker, the handwriting sharper—distinctly slanted.

Her breath caught.

Malfoy.

No.

No, this cannot be—

Rereading one of her many daydreams brought a trembling of her fingers:

"He stormed through the grand ballroom, his silver eyes dark with something dangerous. 'You should have known better than to test me, Granger.' The orchestra played on, unaware of the storm brewing between them. He caught her wrist, pulling her closer, until there was nothing but heat between them. 'Tell me to let you go,' he dared, voice velvet and steel. But she didn't. Because she didn't want to."

And under it,

" Granger, you really need to work on your dramatic tension. Why am I always brooding? Where's the fun? I demand a waltz battle. "

She clapped a hand over her mouth.

No. No, no, no—

She flipped faster, heart racing.

"The rain poured heavily, soaking them both as they stood on the cobbled street. 'I hate you,' she whispered. 'No, you don’t,' he countered, stepping closer, raindrops glistening in his pale hair. ‘Tell me to leave, and I will.’"

Draco’s sarcastic edits followed:

"'Tell me to leave, and I will.’—You should tell me to leave. My hair is getting wet."

"Also, why are we always in the rain? Do I have a phobia of dry conditions?"

Hermione whimpered.

He read it all.

Her fingers clenched the edges of the journal as she turned to another entry—one of her favorites, but one she would never admit to:

"He had her pinned against the corridor wall, his breath hot against her skin. ‘You talk too much,’ he murmured, fingers trailing down her arm. She swallowed hard. ‘And you—’ Her words caught in her throat as his lips barely brushed hers. ‘You like it,’ he finished for her."

Draco’s insufferable comments:

"Now this is good literature. Excellent work, Granger. Will be reading this one again."

Hermione let out an unholy shriek. That's how he knows it! The previous comments from him about Chapter 4 and 5… she thought he was just… making it up. And now… 

He had favorites ?!

She was going to die. Yes Merlin, kill me.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed behind her.

Her body went stiff.

No.

No, no, no—

She turned, horrified, as Draco Malfoy leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed, smirking.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Didn’t think I’d ever get officially published, but here we are."

"You—YOU—"

"Me," he confirmed, strolling toward her. "And you. Starring in quite the collection of romantic fiction."

Hermione burned. "You had no right to read that!"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Granger, you do realize we both own cursed journals, yes? I assumed you knew we could see each other’s entries."

"OF COURSE I DIDN’T KNOW!"

He smirked. "That explains why you’ve been writing such... intimate material so freely."

Hermione whimpered.

Draco sighed dramatically. "Though, if I may offer constructive feedback—your dramatic tension could use some work."

"Excuse me?!"

He flipped through his journal, casual as ever. "Take this ballroom scene. Where’s the banter? The sass? Why am I always the tortured hero? I have range, Granger."

She gaped at him. "Oh, DO YOU?"

"Obviously." He smirked. "How about a pirate? I’d make an excellent rogue captain."

"I hate you."

"Mm. That’s not what your last entry suggests."

"SHUT. UP."

He grinned, tucking the journal under his arm. "I rather enjoy our little co-authored moments. Might even start drafting my own entries—"

Her head snapped up. "DON’T YOU DARE."

Draco tapped his chin, looking utterly delighted. "Forbidden lovers? Assassins? Maybe something scandalous—"

"I AM GOING TO SET YOU ON FIRE."

He only chuckled. "Come now, Granger," he mused, turning to leave. "Let’s not pretend you won’t write another entry tonight."

"TRY ME."

"Mm. I will give you three days before you cave."

With that, he disappeared into the trees.

Hermione glared at her journal.

She hated him.

She HATED him.

…But she did have an excellent idea for an assassin theme.

And that was the worst part.

Three days.

Three.

Hermione had lasted exactly two and a half before she cracked. And only because she needed to vent.

She hadn’t written anything romantic, of course. Absolutely not.

Just some casual, harmless thoughts.

Mostly about how much she wanted to strangle Draco Malfoy.

That was completely reasonable.

Except now, flipping through her journal at the lake once more, she saw—

Additional edits. In his handwriting.

Hermione groaned. "I hate him."

But she read it anyway. Because of course she did.

Hermione’s Furious Rant:

Draco Malfoy is the most insufferable, smug, arrogant, toe-rag of a human being to ever exist. I wish I could hex that smirk off his stupidly perfect—NO. His stupid, IRRITATING face. He is a menace to literature and should be banned from speaking or, better yet, breathing near any written work ever again.

Draco’s added response:

" Granger, if you want to kiss me, just say so. "

Hermione screamed into her hands.

She flipped the page.

Hermione’s Complaint:

Also, the absolute nerve of him to suggest I write an Assassin theme. As if I would ever—

Draco’s annotation:

" …Be interested? Go on. Finish that sentence. "

Hermione glared at the journal like it had personally betrayed her.

She would not entertain his nonsense.

She would ignore him.

…Or at least, she would have, if she hadn’t turned to the next page and nearly dropped the entire book into the lake.

Because there, in his own handwriting, was a full-blown plot outline.

Title: To Kill a King

A Draco/Hermione Assassin  (Written by Draco Malfoy, the Clearly More Talented Author)

Summary: She was the deadliest assassin in the kingdom. He was the cold-hearted prince destined for the throne. Their fates were never meant to intertwine—until she was sent to kill him.

Excerpt:

"You were meant to kill me," he murmured, blade at his throat, but his smirk never faltered. "And yet, here we are."

She glared at him, fingers trembling against the dagger. "Don’t tempt me."

"Oh, but I do love tempting you, Granger."

Hermione read it once. Then twice. Then a third time just to fully absorb the fact that Draco Malfoy had actually written a full-blown romance scenario in her journal.

Her journal.

Her very private journal.

That he had now hijacked.

She snapped the book shut, face burning.

"MALFOY!"

A very amused voice came from behind her. "Ah, perfect timing. I was wondering when you’d find that."

Hermione whirled around to see Draco Malfoy, once again leaning against a tree, looking like he had absolutely no regrets.

"Are you insane?" she hissed, waving the journal at him. "You’re writing entire stories in my personal thoughts! That is not—you can’t just—"

Draco tilted his head. "Not bad, right?"

"Not bad?!" Hermione was fuming. "You literally took over my journal and—"

"Enhanced," he corrected smoothly. "Co-authored, if you will."

She gawked at him. "This is not a co-authorship, Malfoy!"

He smirked. "Could have fooled me. You were considering the Assassin theme."

"I was not—"

He stepped closer, hands tucked into his pockets. "Lying isn’t a good look on you, Granger."

Hermione gritted her teeth.

Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, he casually pulled out his own journal and flipped it open.

"Would you like to see your edits on mine?"

Hermione froze.

No.

No, no, no—

Draco grinned. "Ah. So you didn’t know I could see your comments too, then?"

Her stomach dropped. "I—"

"Let’s see…" He skimmed a few pages before stopping at one. "Ah, yes. Here’s one of my entries:”

"I hate how she bites her lip when she’s focused. It’s—distracting. And irritating. And I wish she’d stop."

Hermione stared in horror.

Draco smirked. "And here’s your helpful addition, written in your own handwriting:”

'You love it.'

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

Then:

"THAT WAS A JOKE!" Hermione shrieked, having a face shade with red that could rival the Gryffindor common room. "I—I WAS MESSING WITH YOU—"

Draco simply raised an eyebrow. "Were you?"

She wanted to die. Right there. Right now.

Draco chuckled, flipping the journal closed. "You know, I’m quite enjoying our little back-and-forth."

Hermione seethed. "You are enjoying this. I am suffering."

"Mm," he hummed, tucking his journal away. "We should make it a tradition."

"We will not—"

"Too late. Already a thing."

Hermione groaned, pressing her palms to her face. "You are the worst human being I have ever met."

Draco smirked. "Aw. That’s not what your last five entries suggest."

"GO AWAY."

"I will. But only because I have a new scene to write for our Assassin story."

She threw a pebble at him.

He laughed.

And to her absolute horror, she found herself wondering what his next entry would be.

Hermione Granger was not one for revenge.

No. She was mature. Rational. Above petty retaliation.

…But then she remembered Draco Malfoy had hijacked her journal and was now actively writing dramatic romance plots about them.

So.

She had no choice.

It was a war.

And if Malfoy wanted to play this ridiculous game, then fine. She would simply outwrite him.

Step One: Hit Him Where It Hurts

Hermione flipped open her journal, tapping her quill against her chin. Then, with a determined smirk, she began to write.

Title: A Study in Sappiness

A Draco/Hermione Regency Romance (Written by Hermione Granger, the Clearly More Talented Author)

Summary: She was an intelligent young lady of fine breeding. He was a scoundrel with a tragic past and a devastating jawline. They were never meant to fall in love.

Excerpt:

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said, lifting her fan to hide the furious blush painting her cheeks. "You must cease your advances at once."

Draco smirked, leaning in. "And if I do not, my lady?"

"Then I shall— I shall—" Her words faltered as he captured her gloved hand, his lips brushing over her knuckles.

"You shall what, my dear Granger?" he murmured, eyes dark with desire.

"…Cease breathing," she wheezed.

Hermione snickered to herself. "Oh, he’s going to hate that."

Satisfied, she shut her journal with a snap. Now, all she had to do was wait.

Step Two: Baiting the Snake

The next day, Draco Malfoy arrived at breakfast scowling.

"You," he said, dropping into the seat across from her at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione took a dainty sip of her tea. "Good morning, Malfoy. Lovely weather we’re having."

Draco ignored her. "Regency romance, Granger? Really?"

She smiled. "Why, whatever do you mean, dear Mr. Malfoy?"

His eyes twitched. "I refuse to be the tragic yet devastatingly handsome scoundrel in your ridiculous, overly flowery nonsense."

"Devastatingly handsome," she echoed. "So you agree?"

Draco nearly choked on air.

Hermione beamed.

"Merlin," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "You’re worse than I thought."

"That’s not what you wrote in our Assassin story," she said sweetly.

Draco groaned, snatching a piece of toast off her plate like an absolute menace. "I hate you."

Hermione’s grin widened.

Perfect.

Step Three: Malfoy’s Meltdown

By lunchtime, Draco had retaliated.

Hermione barely had time to sit down before her journal buzzed with fresh edits.

Suspicious, she flipped it open.

And nearly dropped it into her soup.

Title: Swoon-Worthy Shenanigans

A Draco/Hermione Regency Romance (Now Properly Edited by Draco Malfoy, the Actually More Talented Author)

Summary: She was an intelligent young lady of fine breeding. He was a devastatingly handsome scoundrel—her words, not his.

Excerpt (Malfoy’s Edited Version):

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said, lifting her fan to hide the furious blush painting her cheeks. "You must cease your advances at once."

Draco smirked, leaning in. "And if I do not, my lady?"

"Then I shall— I shall—" Her words faltered as he captured her gloved hand.

"You shall what, my dear Granger?" he murmured, eyes dark with desire.

"…Cease breathing," she wheezed.

"Oh no," Draco drawled. "Wouldn’t want that, would we?"

And then—

(Suddenly, a dramatic duel breaks out, and Malfoy is forced to swordfight a rival suitor, because I—Draco Malfoy—refuse to exist in a world without swords.)

Hermione gasped.

"MALFOY!"

Across the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy casually sipped his pumpkin juice.

She stormed over. "A swordfight?!"

Draco looked up innocently. "What? It improves the story."

"IT DOES NOT—"

"Listen, if we’re doing Regency, I demand at least one dramatic duel," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "And a carriage chase. Maybe a rooftop confrontation—"

"You are unhinged."

"You love it."

"I HATE YOU."

Draco smirked, licking a crumb off his thumb. "You keep saying that, Granger, and yet, here we are. Co-writing."

Hermione grabbed his journal off the table.

He let her. Which was his first mistake.

Because Hermione, gleefully fueled by vengeance, flipped open to the very first page.

"Well, well, well," she said, grinning wickedly. "What do we have here?"

Draco’s smirk dropped.

"Granger—"

"Ah, this one looks interesting—"

"Granger, don’t you dare—"

Hermione read aloud:

"I loathe the way she twirls her quill when she’s thinking. It’s unnecessary. Distracting. Makes me wonder what else those fingers could—"

Draco lunged for the journal.

Hermione sprinted out of the hall, cackling.

This war was far from over.

Hermione Granger had survived wars, Dark Lords, and NEWTs.

But nothing could have prepared her for the absolute menace that was Draco Malfoy with access to her inner thoughts.

Her romantic, fluffy, private inner thoughts.

And today, he was out for blood.

Hermione had just returned to her dorm, exhausted, ready to relax and recover from the trauma of knowing Draco Malfoy had read her daydreams.

She should have known peace was never an option.

Because her journal was waiting for her.

And when she flipped it open, she found—

A handwritten note.

From Malfoy.

Oh no.

She braced herself and read:

Dear Granger,

I must say, your literary skills are deeply concerning. Are you aware that your romance plots lack accuracy?

For example:

I do NOT brood handsomely in the corner like a tragic muggle hero. I smirk devastatingly, there’s a difference.

My ‘stormy gray eyes’ do NOT ‘harbor secrets of the universe.’ They harbor contempt for your terrible metaphors.

If you’re going to write about ‘Draco Malfoy pinning Hermione Granger against a wall,’ at least make it believable. For instance, you forgot:

The smirk.

The devastating hair flip.

The fact that YOU would definitely stammer incoherently.

Also, why are you so obsessed with me calling you ‘darling’?

P.S. This is hilarious. Please continue. I need more material to work with.

Sincerely,

Your New Editor

Hermione screamed into her pillow for ten whole seconds.

And then—

She grabbed her quill.

Hermione fights Back. She wrote immediately:

Dear Ferret,

First of all, you are a menace to literature.

Secondly, I have no control over my subconscious thoughts, and if my daydreams have made you ‘brood handsomely in the corner,’ well, that’s your problem.

Thirdly, I will not remove the ‘pinning against the wall’ scene. In fact, I am making it worse. Enjoy.

Excerpt:

"Malfoy," Hermione gasped, her back pressed against the cold dungeon wall. "This is wildly inappropriate—"

"Is it, darling?" he murmured, his lips grazing her ear. "Then why are you blushing?"

"I— I am not!" She lied.

Malfoy smirked, running a single finger down her arm.

"Admit it, Granger," he whispered. "You like this."

Hermione opened her mouth—to protest, to argue, to insist that she was definitely not enjoying this—but all that came out was a strangled squeak.

Malfoy chuckled darkly.

End scene.

P.S. You’re insufferable.

P.P.S. Don’t you dare edit this.

She slammed the journal shut, feeling triumphant.

Unfortunately, Malfoy did not back down.

Because the next morning, Hermione woke up to this absolute disaster of an entry:

It was from Malfoy.

Title: Granger’s Greatest Fantasy

(A Love Story, Properly Edited by Draco Malfoy, Unrivaled Literary Genius)

Summary: She had spent years in denial. But the truth could no longer be ignored. She was, undeniably, helplessly, irreversibly—in love.

Excerpt: "I cannot resist him any longer," Hermione whispered, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. "The way his platinum hair shines in the moonlight—it is like the very essence of poetry itself."

Draco Malfoy smirked, his devastating handsomeness nearly too much to bear. "Admit it, Granger," he purred. "You’re obsessed with me."

"Fine!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms. "I AM! I DREAM YOU EVERY NIGHT!"

"Obviously," he murmured, brushing a tender kiss against her forehead.

Hermione died.

Right then and there. Though she liked the forehead kiss scene…

Title: Hermione Granger’s Secret Obsession

(Edited by Draco Malfoy, Romance Extraordinaire)

Summary: Hermione Granger had a problem. A very serious problem.

Excerpt:

It started small.

A glance here. A lingering stare there.

Then it became worse.

*She started noticing his *perfectly tousled hair. His aristocratic smirk. The way his Quidditch robes hugged his figure in a way that was, frankly, unfair to the human population—"

Granger threw herself onto her bed with a miserable sigh. "Why is Malfoy so… so… ATTRACTIVE?"

She was doomed.

Hermione died on the spot.

Then—She marched straight to the Great Hall.

Draco Malfoy, public enemy number one, was waiting for her.

He had the gall to look smug.

"Good morning, darling," he greeted far too loudly.

Hermione slammed her journal onto the table.

"Malfoy. Remove. It. Now."

"Remove what?" he asked innocently. "Your deep, burning attraction to me? I can’t control your thoughts, Granger."

She turned red.

Harry and Ron looked up from their breakfasts, suspicious.

"What’s going on?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Hermione snapped.

Draco leaned in, smirking. "Oh, I don’t know, Potter," he mused. "Granger’s been doing some light reading—"

Hermione kicked him under the table.

Hard.

He winced. "Feisty."

Ron squinted. "You two are acting… weird."

"We’re fine," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

Draco smirked. "Just discussing literature, Weasel. Turns out Granger enjoys a good romance novel—particularly when it stars yours truly."

Hermione choked on air.

"Excuse me?" Ron spluttered. "You— what?!"

Draco tapped his temple. "We’re connected," he said dramatically. "Our minds, our thoughts, our deepest, most embarrassing desires—"

Hermione stomped on his foot.

"OW— Granger, you violent gremlin—"

She grabbed his stupid, smug face, leaned in, and whispered menacingly:

"I. Will. Destroy. You."

Draco, despite all logic and reason, grinned.

"I look forward to it, darling ."

Chapter Text

Hermione was almost at the conclusion of her solitary wander by the lake; autumn's brisk air was filling up her lungs as she inhaled deeply, finally feeling that calm for which she felt she had been craving the entire week. The sound of the rustling leaves soothed her; those very quiet ripples in the lake's surface, soothing melody to her ears, were hers alone—her me time—away from the endless hustle and bustle of the tournament and the strange tension she still felt in the air with some unnamed individuals.

That was when she heard it.

A faint crunch of footsteps steadily got more pronounced until it was joined by a voice painfully familiar.

"Granger, do you really think this is the best spot for someone like you?"

Hermione groaned inwardly. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was: the all-too-perfect, utterly infuriating voice of Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy," she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance, but still managing to keep a neutral tone. "This is my time. Do you have a reason to ruin it?"

She turned just as Draco swaggered toward her, his usual smug grin plastered on his face.

"You're standing alone by the lake, in the cold," he said, looking her over in mock concern. "What exactly do you think you're accomplishing here, Granger? All I see is a prime opportunity for someone to sneak up on you."

"Of course," Hermione retorted, narrowing her eyes. "Because that’s definitely something that could happen in the middle of a crowded Hogwarts, right? I’m sure you could be the one to save me.”

Draco smirked, clearly unbothered. "You underestimate me. I could save you from anything—even your overdramatic assumptions."

He sat down next to her, stretching out in the grass without waiting for permission. Hermione huffed but didn’t move, trying to stay calm despite his presence.

"Do you have an actual purpose for interrupting my time, or are you just planning to annoy me to death?" she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, I thought I’d offer my company," Draco replied casually, "but it seems you’re more intent on sulking than enjoying the finer things in life. So, I’m here to offer a bit of... creative inspiration."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Creative inspiration?"

"Indeed," Draco said, pulling out his wand and flicking it lazily. "It’s come to my attention that your journal lacks a certain... flair."

"My journal? What are you on about now?" Hermione asked, more out of curiosity than annoyance at this point.

"I’ve been thinking," Draco continued, "you need some steamy additions to it. I could help, of course. I am quite adept at... creating memorable moments."

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, and she shot him a glare. "Are you suggesting—"

"Not suggesting," Draco interrupted smoothly. "I’m offering. Some steamy scenes, you know? A bit of romance, perhaps some intensity. A dash of drama."

She stared at him, incredulous. "Are you out of your mind? My journal is for personal thoughts, not your nonsense."

Draco leaned closer, his voice lowering in a way that made Hermione’s pulse race slightly. "But imagine it. You, me, a beautifully romantic setting. Maybe a moonlit evening... and, well, the rest can be up to your imagination. I’m quite good at inspiring people." His eyes glinted with mischief.

Hermione's eyes widened and her cheeks turned slightly pink. "You are impossible."

"Stop pretending you're not interested, Granger," he teased, a smug grin curling at the corner of his lips. "I've seen that look in your eyes before: a little excitement, a little danger... who knows what might happen?"

He stood up abruptly and huffed, "I'm not sure what you're trying to achieve with this, but I'm not going to play along with whatever ridiculous scheme you're planning." 

So Draco stood up too, his hands at ease in his pockets. "Not a scheme, Granger. An opportunity," he paused, giving air to some silence between them. "But if you'd like not to take it, fine by me; I'll just go away... though it really seems a pity to me."

"Go ahead," Hermione said, waving him off. "I’m sure the world will keep spinning without you interrupting my peace."

Draco smiled, his eyes never leaving her as he began walking away, a teasing gleam still in his gaze. "I’ll be here when you change your mind. And I have plenty more ideas."

Hermione watched him leave, but she couldn’t deny the small fluttering sensation in her chest. What exactly had that been?

A little while later, Hermione sat in the library, pretending to study, when she felt a familiar presence near her table. Without looking up, she knew who it was.

"Are you really following me around now?" Hermione asked dryly, still not raising her eyes from her book.

"Following you?" Draco’s voice was laced with amusement. "No, Granger, I’m merely offering to make your study sessions more enjoyable."

She did actually flip the page of her book without even bothering to reply. An instant later, a parchment slipped to her desk, inscribed by Draco's flicked wand. It was a spitting image of her journal page, embellished with very ludicrous illustrations of her as some heroine, trapped in scintillating scenes wherein Draco played the dashing savior.

Hermione groaned and ran her fingers through her hair. "Oh, Malfoy, seriously?"

Draco, leaning casually on the desk, pretended as though he hadn't just produced a magnificent piece of art. "I think it's excellent. Imagine the potential, Granger. You will want it for your journal, so it might as well be worth the time."

Hermione blinked for a second, then inhaled deeply. "This is ludicrous. I do not require your... help."

"Of course you do not," Draco said, a smirk dancing upon his lips as he stood up." But you will return. Everybody eventually finds their way around to thinking like I do."

The rest of the day passed in much the same way, with Draco popping up unexpectedly, making suggestions, and keeping his teasing tone aimed squarely at Hermione’s nerves. But despite her irritation, she found herself, against her will, entertained by his antics.

At the end of the week, Hermione was, however, confused as to whether to laugh or scold him. What she did know was that whenever Draco happened to be around, her mind never seemed to dwell as it should.

And he sat next to her at the library once again, this time with a teasing smile and a bit of glint in his eyes, and Hermione was almost sure that he hadn't begun to worm his way into her thoughts ... and maybe into her heart.

As Hermione sat at the library table, absorbed completely in her book, the only things breaking the silence were the sounds of quills scratching paper and pages turning. That was until she sensed the familiar presence of Draco Malfoy once again.

"Granger," his voice was soft, but it was impossible to ignore.

Sighing, she did not raise her eyes from her work. "What do you want now, Malfoy?"

"Just thought you might want to take a break from reading... maybe find some real inspiration." He plopped down beside her with an exaggerated sigh, clearly taking his time to settle in, all while making sure to catch her eye.

She ignored him, but only just barely. Draco had a way of making her acutely aware of his presence, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise. The soft scratch of his quill against paper made her want to smack him with her own.

"How’s your journal coming along?" he asked innocently, his voice dripping with amusement. "Getting the steamy additions you so desperately need, I hope?"

Pretending to be studious, Hermione narrowed her eyes and set the quill down slowly. "Malfoy, seriously, I told you. No."

"You say that now," Draco said, his grin never faltering. "But give it a few more days. I have a feeling you're going to be begging for my expertise." He gave a dramatic sigh as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "I could make your journal a bestseller in the wizarding world. Think about it—Granger's Guide to Romance."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a small tug at the corner of her lips that she couldn't suppress. "And what would you be, the ghost writer?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased that he’d struck a nerve. "I prefer to think of myself as the... muse. You’re going to need someone as charming as me to make your pages sizzle."

She snorted and finally turned to face him. "Sizzling? Is that what you call your... brilliant writing ideas?"

Closer, he said then, dropping his voice to almost a whisper as though telling her the greatest secret ever. "Oh, Granger, you don't even know. I could paint the perfect picture. Just imagine: cold winter's night. Dark brooding hero...and a heroine who desperately tries to ignore the chemistry between them. Sounds like a classic, doesn't it?

Hermione felt the flush creeping into her cheeks, but she quickly stamped out the reaction. "You're unbelievable," she said and turned back to her book.

But Draco was not finished. He leaned in even just a little more, his breath warm on her ear. "I'd even write the part where you, the heroine, find yourself questioning everything you thought you knew about your own emotions. Your heart is pounding with anticipation. Your eyes locked onto the hero's, feeling the tension build, and then—" He paused, lips brushing the side of her ear as he whispered, "he pulls you closer."

Hermione jolted at the sudden proximity, her breath catching in her throat. She quickly stood up, feeling a mix of annoyance and something else that she absolutely refused to acknowledge.

"Malfoy, you really need to stop," she said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. There was no hiding the rapid pace of her heart now.

"Stop?" Draco raised an eyebrow, his voice practically purring with amusement. "I’m just getting started. You know, I could help you with your creative process. We could brainstorm some ideas together. A little... partnership."

Hermione, still flustered, crossed her arms. "If I even dare to consider your so-called help, I’d be—"

"Your best decision yet," Draco finished smoothly, his grin widening. "Trust me, Granger. You know I’m always right."

She stared at him, then muttered under her breath, "You really are insufferable."

"And you love it," Draco said with a wink.

Hermione's cheeks flushed once more, and she quickly turned away from him, heading toward the nearby shelf to grab a book in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over the situation. Draco followed her, however, never too far behind.

"Tell me, Granger," Draco started, his tone more serious now, "have you ever thought about... what if?"

She glanced at him, confused. "What if what?"

"What if we actually took a break from the tournament for one night?" Draco's voice was quieter now, almost as if he were testing the waters. "What if we had a night off, no rules, no competitions? Just... us."

Hermione blinked, unsure of what exactly he was suggesting. "What are you on about now?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Just... What if we didn’t have to be rivals for a change? No one’s watching. We could pretend we’re normal students, have some fun without the stakes hanging over our heads."

Hermione’s heart beat a little faster at his words, though she quickly shook her head, dismissing the thought. "You’re mad if you think I’d let you anywhere near my “me time” outside of classes or whatsoever…"

Draco grinned. "Okay, Granger. Go ahead and pretend." He leaned in once more, lowering his voice. "But deep down, you know I could offer you more than just a steamy journal entry." He fixed her with a daring eye, daring her to deny the electric charge building between them.

Hermione swallowed, not able to hold his gaze. "You don't know what you're on about," she almost muttered before she turned away and pretended to look at the book she had picked up.

Draco wasn't letting go, though. He sat watching her from the opposite side with an intensity that made her heart flip with each emotion within it.

"Granger," he said softly, teasing, an octave lower in his voice. "One day you'll come to know that all this is just the start of the real thing."

Hermione felt it press on her at the very moment she gave him an ignoring presence by trying to concentrate on the printed pages in front of her. However, as his unchanging gaze stood for long, she could not help but fill herself with a slight tugging, an attraction that she had been trying to ignore for far too long.

The following morning found Hermione ensconced in the library with heaps of books cluttering her usual quiet corner, for all the reading she had intended to give them. She wasn't alone today, though. Draco Malfoy lounged next to her, his face sporting an unreadable grin. He has been oddly persistent lately—showing up at the most random times, stalking her as though it were normal.

He had even taken it upon himself, just a few days ago, to "assist" her with her journal even when she had not offered her permission. She'd shrugged it off as a one-time nuisance. But now, flipping the page, a chill ran through her as she neared the next entry.

The words in her journal weren’t her own.

Her quill had written the first part—her own, sensible, controlled thoughts. But as she continued reading, the writing became unfamiliar, the script taking on a bold, almost daring flair.

Her fingers trembled as the heat between them grew palpable, their eyes locking with unspoken promises. She could feel his breath on her neck, his hand sliding closer, tugging at her robes, revealing the pulse that raced through her veins...

Hermione's face went beet red, and she recoiled from the journal, nearly knocking over her inkpot in the process. Her eyes darted to Draco, who was watching her with an unmistakably smug expression.

"Malfoy!" she hissed, her voice shaky. "What did you do?"

Draco casually leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Oh, you know. Just a little... creative input." His voice dropped to a near-purring tone. "I thought your journal could use a little spice, Granger. Honestly, you should be thanking me."

"Spice?" Hermione sputtered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She quickly flipped through the pages, only to find more of Draco's influence—each one more graphic, more intimate, and far more detailed than anything she'd ever imagined writing herself.

In one scene, the two characters were locked in a passionate kiss, their bodies pressed against each other as the heroine's breath quickened. The words grew more daring, more personal, more... exposing.

Her heart raced, and she felt a flurry of emotions—anger, humiliation, but also an undeniable, unfamiliar warmth that spread through her chest.

"You—you," Hermione spluttered, not knowing whether to laugh or shout. "This is—this is absolutely inappropriate."

Draco, however, only chuckled, his grin never wavering. "Oh, don’t act so surprised. You’re not really mad, are you? Admit it, Granger. You’re enjoying this. And I think it’s about time you embrace your... wild side."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. The very thought of Draco writing these things about her, about their characters... it made her stomach do flips.

"You—you're impossible," Hermione muttered, her voice trembling. She slammed the journal closed with a loud snap, though her hands were shaking slightly from the adrenaline that had coursed through her at the realization of what Draco had done.

Draco leaned closer, his eyes glinting with mischievous amusement. "Am I? I’m just helping you, Granger. In fact, I think I’ve done a fantastic job." His lips curled into a knowing smile. "You should’ve seen your face when you read it. That expression? Priceless."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. What could she say? He had crossed a line, yes, but she couldn't deny the heat that had flooded her body when she'd read those words. The way he had captured the tension, the fire between the characters—it felt too real, too... close to what she hadn’t allowed herself to admit about her feelings for Draco.

"You’re completely mad, Malfoy," she finally said, her voice low. "I can't believe you did this."

Draco shrugged, nonchalantly running a hand through his hair. "What can I say? I’m a master of the craft. Consider it... inspiration." His voice dropped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And if you ever need more... suggestions... just let me know."

Hermione’s breath hitched at his words. He was being far too casual about this—too comfortable with the fact that he had just inserted himself into the most private part of her life. The journal, her safe space, had become tainted with his presence.

She let out a shaky breath, trying to regain control of her emotions. "I—I need a break," she stammered, standing up abruptly. She started walking away, but Draco’s voice stopped her.

"Granger, where are you going?" His tone was light but held a slight edge of something more... expectant.

"To clear my head," she called back over her shoulder, her voice tight. "You stay away from my journal, Malfoy, or I swear—"

"Or what?" he called after her with a smirk. "You'll ask me for more inspiration? I think we both know you’re far too curious to stay away for long."

Hermione could feel his eyes on her as she exited the library, the tension still thick in the air. The pages of her journal—his words—kept replaying in her mind. The characters. The stolen glances. The heated touches. It was all so vivid, so... real.

And Draco Malfoy had written it all.

As Hermione took a breath outside the library, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her, she knew that the playful teasing and banter with Draco had crossed a new, more dangerous line. The line between annoyance and... something else entirely.

Would she confront him? Would she destroy the journal? Or—did she secretly want to keep it, with all its heated, seductive details?

Only time would tell... but Draco Malfoy certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

Chapter Text

As they walked down Diagon Alley, Hermione's hand brushed momentarily against Draco's. The sun spilled bright warmth on the cobbled streets. The cacophony of shoppers droned much further in the distance, and they walked side by side. She had always imagined Diagon Alley as a place very much full of adventure and intrigue, but today felt different—calm, almost serene as though there was nothing in the world that might disturb this moment.

Draco's hand was an iron bound around hers, fingers intertwining with hers in a way that was quite possessive and tender. He turned to her, smiling the softer kind of smile she usually saw-the one that lit up his otherwise scowling face. His eyes, usually filled with some kind of intensity, were kindled with an affection she once thought was well beyond his reach. He looked at her like she was the most important thing in his world.

"You look beautiful today," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

Hermione felt her heart explode within her at the sincerity of the words. She raised her eyes to his, seeking something of his impression, but found only warmth and admiration. Draco Malfoy, the one hardly ever thought of it, could be this way-gentle, open. It hit her like a wave filling her with an incredible sense of ease. All her life she had known him to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but here he was now, at this time, not carrying the world but carrying her.

Before she could respond, Draco stopped in front of her, gently cupping her face with one hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek. His touch was light, tender, as if he were afraid to break the magic of the moment.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers. "You and me, Hermione."

Her breath stuck in her throat, and his words hung in the air. He leaned in, slowly, as if to give her a chance to pull away, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to. The distance between them shrank until there was no space left, and their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first but soon turned into one in which both of them seemed to be trying to deliver every unspoken word and feeling they had kept hidden for so long.

This was a kiss full of longing and need, promises that neither had yet made but both knew to be true. When they finally drew apart, Hermione felt warmth spread through her chest--she couldn’t put a name to it, but she recognized it for what it was: love. Draco was still looking at her as if she were the only person in existence--that warm, raw, and vulnerable gaze making her heart swell.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered against her lips.

The world outside them faded out more and more, as Draco pulled her nearer, wrapping his possessive arm around her waist, as if to say he would never let go. She rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her ear, and for the first time, she allowed herself to believe in this—them.

For a moment, they existed only in the two of them. They lost themselves in their own little universe: one that could not possibly tear them apart, where they existed neither with fear nor doubt.

"Draco..." Hermione murmured and stared at him. "Is this real?"

His smile widened, and he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it partly. "Yes," he said, though his voice sounded a little hoarse. "This is real."

But as she stood there against him, that niggling feeling, that strange black moth flying around at the back of her mind, refused to be silenced; from just one slight shift in the air, a change in the atmosphere, the feeling began to grow stronger. 

Now it all started fading all around her like she was losing consciousness and gaining it again, and Draco's burning embrace began to disappear slowly.

She blinked, and in an instant, the world around her shattered. The cobblestones of Diagon Alley, Draco’s smile, the kiss—they were gone.

Hermione’s eyes flew open, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she lay in her bed, her body tangled in the sheets. The dream, so real and comforting, slipped away like sand through her fingers.

She groaned, feeling the ache of Draco’s touch still lingering on her skin. But before she could even indulge in her lingering thoughts, something jumped onto her bed with a dramatic thud.

Crookshanks, of course.

The half-Kneazle was sitting at the edge of her bed, tail flicking irritably, eyes narrowing in that overly judgmental way of his. He stared at her like he was the one who had been interrupted, letting out a loud, indignant meow that sounded like he was scolding her for daring to sleep peacefully.

“Crookshanks, not now,” Hermione muttered, rubbing her eyes, still half in the dream. “Can’t you see I was—”

Meow!

Crookshanks wasn’t having it. He launched himself onto her lap, then proceeded to make himself comfortable by kneading her stomach with his claws, purring like he was the most important being in the room. Hermione winced as his claws snagged her nightshirt, but it didn’t stop him.

“Honestly, you’re ruining everything,” Hermione grumbled. “Some of us are trying to have a moment here.”

But Crookshanks was in that blissful dream state, utterly oblivious as to the damage he was doing. He sprawled out on her chest, his tail flicking back and forth in a very smug sort of contentment- as if to say, I’m here now, deal with it.

Hermione sighed and glanced down at the cat, who had decided that all the time in this world was likely to be spent sleeping or dreaming. A long, drawn-out meow tickled her ear, and she could pretty much hear him saying, Why would you want to a dreamy kiss from Draco Malfoy when you have me?

She rolled her eyes and worked her fingers into Crookshanks' coat, saying, "You're a terrible cockblock," although some small part of her was smiling because this was so stupid.

As if to emphasize the point, Crookshanks promptly curled up and let out a very satisfied sigh before grooming his tail as if that were his most important task of the day. Hermione, still caught up in the disrupted dreamy state, couldn't help but snicker softly. Only Crookshanks could ruin the most perfect moment, she thought.

With an exasperated sigh, she closed her eyes again, knowing perfectly well that this time, her dream consisted of nothing but dreaming about Draco Malfoy.

At least for now.

Hermione Granger was in trouble.

Not the detention for hexing Malfoy kind of trouble, nor even the accidentally brewed the wrong potion kind. This was much, much worse.

She was staring. And not only that-the stares were now going toward the lips of Draco Malfoy more often than would ever be legally allowed.

That had started in the morning, when she caught him smirking at something Blaise had said at breakfast. Not towards her at all, but how the corners of his mouth curved, how his lips parted just slightly before he spoke-Merlin, almost dropped her fork.

The next time was in the library. She had been slumped over a pile of books, madly flipping through pages of spell-breaking theory, when the sound of paper rustling reached her ears from across the room. Without a second thought, she had looked up-only to find him rolling his quill between his fingers, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration as he read something.

She had stared. Again.

For a solid ten seconds.

“Something wrong, Granger?” Draco had asked without even looking up, and she had nearly slammed her book shut in panic.

“Nothing,” she had snapped, far too quickly, then practically buried her face back into the pages, as if that could erase the way her ears burned.

This had to stop. She had never had this problem before.

Sure, Draco Malfoy was attractive—anyone with working eyes could see that—but that didn’t mean she should be noticing things like the way he licked his lips before speaking, or how his voice was deeper in the mornings, or how the damn library lighting made his hair look even silkier.

This was a disaster.

So, like any rational person avoiding an inconvenient truth, Hermione threw herself into distractions.

Distraction #1: Her Assignments

Hermione obsession with studying is now more pronounced than ever. She maintains meticulous notes, revises chapters no one-ever assigned her, and rewrites essays just for fun.

And yet, none of it worked.

Because, of course, Malfoy was always there.

Sometimes sitting across from her at the study table, sometimes lounging lazily in a chair nearby, twirling his wand between his fingers. Sometimes—Merlin help her—leaning over her shoulder to look at something she was working on.

It was during one of those instances that she made the grave error of hurrying to turn her head and accidentally found her face inches away from his.

Her gaze, once again, dropped to his lips.

This was bad.

Hermione had jerked away so fast she nearly knocked her inkpot over. “Don’t do that!” she had hissed.

Draco had only raised an amused eyebrow. “Do what, Granger? Exist?”

And because she was absolutely not going to have that conversation, she had scowled, muttered something about personal space, and left the room before her heart could beat any louder in her chest.

Distraction #2: The Linking Spell

Another great way to avoid thoughts focused on a problem, hyper-fixate on one. And what better problem than the very thing that forced them into the other's proximity in the first place?

The Linking Spell was still unbroken.

So Hermione junked all that. She ransacked advanced spell books, cross-referenced ancient magic theory, even tried a few experimental counter-charms—though that had nearly set Malfoy's sleeve on fire once.

“What the hell, Granger?” he had snapped, batting out the tiny sparks on his robe.

"Oops," she had said flatly, not sorry at all.

But the trouble was that, even with her newfound determination, any progress she made was very slow indeed. And worse—worse—she was beginning to feel less urgency about breaking the link. Not because she wanted to stay stuck with Malfoy, of course, no, that would be ridiculous. But… well… It's not like he was the worst company.

Somehow that thought was even more dangerous than the lip-staring problem.

Distraction #3: Muggle Music

This was, by far, her best tactic yet.

Hermione had retrieved her old Muggle music device from her trunk—a small, enchanted MP3 player that her dad had given her years ago—and she had never been more grateful for its existence.

Whenever things got too much—when Malfoy stretched lazily in front of her, or when his shirt rode up slightly to reveal a sliver of pale skin (absolutely unfair)—she would shove her earbuds in and disappear into the world of music.

It was a perfect plan.

Until she made the mistake of singing along.

She hadn’t even realized she was doing it at first. She had been scribbling in her notebook, music playing in her ears, quietly mouthing along to a song. Then humming. Then, apparently, full-on singing.

It wasn’t until Malfoy’s voice cut through her concentration that she realized what was happening.

“Granger, are you serenading me?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide in horror.

There he was, sprawled in his usual chair, smirking at her like he had just won the lottery.

“I—what?”

“You were singing,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Something about—what was it?—hopelessly devoted?”

Hermione’s soul nearly left her body. She had been listening to that song.

Her mouth opened and closed, completely useless. “I—I wasn’t singing for you! I was just—”

“Oh, I think you were,” he said smugly. “Didn’t know you had such a lovely voice, Granger. Please, continue.”

She ripped her earbuds out so fast they nearly yanked her hair. “I will not.”

Draco chuckled, leaning back as if this was the best entertainment he’d had in years. “You know,” he mused, “if you like staring at me so much and singing me love songs, you could’ve just said so.”

Hermione nearly exploded.

“I DO NOT—”

But she couldn’t even finish the sentence. Because in her absolute, undeniable bad luck, her gaze flickered downward.

To his lips.

Again.

And he noticed.

“Oh Granger,” he drawled, lips twitching in amusement. “Are you—are you looking at my mouth?”

She shot up so fast her chair nearly toppled over. “I HAVE TO GO.”

And before he could say another word, she grabbed her books, her MP3 player, her dignity—what was left of it, anyway—and bolted from the room.

Draco’s laughter followed her all the way down the hall.

Hermione had developed a new skill.

It wasn’t something she was particularly proud of, but it was necessary for her survival.

She had, after many trials and errors, perfected the art of not looking at Draco Malfoy.

This was an advanced technique. A carefully crafted method designed to ensure she did not, under any circumstances, fall into the disastrous cycle of—

• Looking at Malfoy.

• Realizing how unfairly attractive Malfoy was.

• Panicking.

• Getting caught.

• Malfoy smirking.

• Suffering.

So, she had taken matters into her own hands.

When he spoke, she looked past him.

When he laughed (which, annoyingly, he had started doing more), she pretended not to hear it.

When he leaned in close (which he absolutely did on purpose), she kept her eyes glued to her book, her quill, her parchment—anywhere but him.

It was working. Or at least, it had been.

Until today.

Because today, Malfoy was testing her patience.

Hermione was studying.

That’s all she wanted. A peaceful afternoon with her notes, free from distractions. But, of course, Malfoy was sitting across from her.

That was fine. She had trained for this.

She focused on her book, flipping through the pages like a model student, ignoring the way he tapped his quill against the table.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She ignored it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She clenched her jaw.

Tap. Tap—

She snapped her head up. “Malfoy, for the love of Merlin—”

And then she froze.

Because he was smirking.

And worse—he was holding her favorite quill hostage, twirling it lazily between his fingers like he had all the time in the world.

Her very expensive, perfectly balanced quill.

"Something wrong, Granger?" he asked, voice far too innocent.

Hermione inhaled sharply. Do not look at his mouth. Do not look at his mouth. DO NOT—

She looked.

And then immediately regretted it, because Malfoy noticed.

The smirk deepened. “You really have been staring a lot lately.”

Her brain went into full panic mode. “I—I haven’t—”

"You sure?" He spun the quill again. "Because I think you have."

She stood up so quickly her chair scraped against the floor. “Give me back my quill.”

Malfoy tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I could.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Malfoy.”

“…But,” he continued, ignoring her warning tone, “you might have to say please.”

Hermione gasped. “Are you serious?”

"Dead serious."

The absolute audacity of this man.

She huffed, crossed her arms, and glared. "Malfoy, if you don’t give it back this instant, I swear—"

"Oh, come on, Granger," he drawled, twirling the quill again. "What’s the harm? Just a little please?"

Her eyes twitched.

Her quill—her beloved, very expensive quill—was at stake.

So, with every ounce of dignity she had left, she forced out a very reluctant, " please ."

Malfoy grinned. "Good girl."

And that was it.

That was the final straw.

Hermione turned bright red, snatched the quill from his hand, and stormed out of the library.

She did not look back. And she absolutely did not hear Malfoy’s soft chuckle as she left.

After the library incident, Hermione needed a new tactic.

So she turned to Muggle music.

Music was perfect. Music kept her occupied. Music meant she didn’t have to listen to Malfoy’s stupid comments or notice the way his hair always somehow looked effortlessly perfect.

Her new routine became simple:

• Wake up.

• Avoid Malfoy.

• If forced to be near Malfoy, put in headphones.

• If Malfoy still tried to talk to her, pretend not to hear.

• It was a great plan.

Until Malfoy started messing with it.

Hermione was sitting on the couch, fully immersed in her music, when she felt a presence next to her.

She sighed, not looking up. “Go away, Malfoy.”

Nothing.

No response.

She frowned and glanced over—

Only to find Malfoy staring at her with a knowing smirk.

She quickly pulled out her earbuds. “What?”

He tapped his chin. “So, Granger…”

Her stomach dropped. “No.”

“…what exactly were you mouthing along to just now?”

Oh no.

Her blood ran cold.

Because she had been mouthing the lyrics.

And—judging by Malfoy’s face—he definitely saw.

She scrambled to remember what song was playing. What was it? What was it?

And then—

Oh.

Oh no.

“ So Kiss Me… ”

Her soul left her body.

Malfoy grinned. “Well. That’s interesting.”

Hermione panicked.

“I—I was not singing along to that—”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No!” she practically shrieked.

“Right, right. You were just silently mouthing "you want to snog me, then?”

She wanted to die.

This was it. Her final moment. She was going to self-destruct.

Instead, she did the only thing she could—

She shoved him off the chair.

With an undignified oof, Malfoy hit the floor.

And Hermione ran.

She could still hear his laughter as she fled up the stairs, her face burning hotter than the Hogwarts kitchens.

Chapter Text

It had been such a long time-of-months when Hermione got used to constant haggling with Draco, such that it had become habitual and annoying but in a strangely stimulating way that neither of them wanted to give it a break. Whatever the case might have been, it was no longer the same. Draco was no longer a buck with horns and his occasional barbs these days did not inflict so much damage. Almost as if he were bored of panda-like verbal arrogance. Or cut down by academic engagement, she probably did not really notice.

Final brewing project for Advanced Potions kept piling up. Slughorn teamed Hermione with Evan Brown, Lavender's cousin from Ravenclaw, a decision that, surprisingly to her, didn't bother her at all. Evan was, unlike Draco, not always searching for ways to put her in a bad mood. Sharp and quick-witted, he is far less of a nuisance.

“You know, Granger, I think Slughorn might have finally gone senile,” Evan mused as they set up their cauldron in the dimly lit Potions classroom.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Pairing me with you, obviously,” Evan said with a grin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. I get to coast on the brilliance of the brightest witch of our age.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “If you think I’m doing all the work, you’re sorely mistaken, Brown.”

He placed a hand to his chest in feigned offence. "Hermione, you wound me. I shall have you know that I am quite proficient at using a cauldron."

"I'll believe it when I see it," she retorted, turning the pages of her notes.

The potion assigned to them was a modified version of Felix Felicis, a luck potion that has temporary and targeted effects. Unlike the original, that potion needed to be brewed for six months; this version would take three weeks if you were meticulous. A very challenging task, no doubt; however, Evan proved to be an unexpectedly good partner. Brilliant, concentrated, and - best of all - he made her laugh.

It was an exhilarating change from the omnipresent tension she usually had with Draco around.

Speaking of Draco, she hadn't thought of him much, which was both relieved and strange. She wasn't particularly missing bickering with him, but the aspect of absence of his usual presence was... noticeable.

“Pass me the powdered moonstone,” Evan said, snapping her out of her reverie.

She handed it over, watching as he carefully measured the fine silver powder before adding it to the simmering potion. The mixture shimmered briefly before settling into a molten gold color.

“Perfect,” she murmured.

“I told you, I’m not just a pretty face,” Evan quipped.

Hermione smirked. “Debatable.”

At best, they continued working together, and at last, for the first time in a long time, she felt some genuine comfort. No pressure, no vicarious frustration—just the pure joy of working with someone who doesn't cause her to want to hex them every five minutes.

As they finished packing for the day Evan leaned against the desk, taking his time with her and gazing at her as if wearing an appraising look. "You know, you've seemed a lot different lately."

Hermione blinked. "Different how?"

"Less... tense," he said, tilting his head slightly. "No offense, but you and Malfoy used to go at it like a pair of dueling hexes. Now it's like he's-what's the word? Mellowed out."

She shrugged this off, pretending it didn't get to her. "Maybe he finally realized he has better things to do than antagonize me."

Evan smirked. "Or maybe you've just found someone else to occupy your time with."

She shot him a pointed look, but he only laughed, throwing his hands up in submission. "Relax, Granger. I'm just saying, maybe the reason you don't notice Malfoy being a pain is because you've got me to keep you entertained now."

Hermione shook her head but then again, there was some truth in what he said; she was so engrossed with him that she had not cared enough about Draco, and the more she thought about it, mostly all the thoughts drove her mad on account of how odd that was.

Draco Malfoy was not the kind who could break off with much ease from their endless bickering; so what made him do that now?

That question lingered in her mind while she returned to the common room of Gryffindor that night. She told herself that she didn't care. If Draco had indeed given up on her, it was good. She had no desire to miss his self-satisfied smirk or remember how he had always managed to push all buttons just right.

Yet, as she sat by the fireplace and gazed into the dancing flames, that feeling that something was rotten would not let go of her.

The next day, she found her answer.

As she walked into the Potions classroom, her eyes instinctively flickered to Draco’s usual seat. He was there, of course, but something about him seemed… different. He was quieter, less restless. His expression was unreadable as he absentmindedly twirled his quill between his fingers.

Before she could stop herself, she approached his table. “Alright, Malfoy. What’s your deal?”

He looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to address him. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been unusually well-behaved lately,” she said, crossing her arms. “No snide remarks, no childish taunts. Should I be worried?”

Draco’s lips curved into a smirk, but it lacked his usual arrogance. “And here I thought you’d be celebrating my newfound silence.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “It’s suspicious.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Maybe I just got bored, Granger. Ever consider that?”

She studied him, searching for any trace of insincerity. But for once, Draco Malfoy was unreadable.

Before she could press further, Evan appeared beside her, slinging an arm over her shoulder in a casual, familiar gesture. “Come on, partner. We’ve got potions to perfect.”

Draco’s gaze flickered to Evan’s arm, then back to Hermione. Something passed through his expression—something fleeting and indecipherable—before he looked away.

Hermione hesitated, but Evan gently nudged her forward. “Let’s go, Granger. You can psychoanalyze Malfoy some other time.”

She allowed herself to be pulled away, but the feeling of unease remained.

Draco Malfoy was up to something. She just didn’t know what yet.

Hermione tried to shake off the odd feeling that had settled in her chest, but it lingered long after she and Evan had returned to their potion. There was something about Draco’s reaction that bothered her—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It wasn’t as if she cared what he thought. That would be ridiculous.

And yet, she found herself replaying the moment in her head, analyzing the way his gaze had lingered on Evan’s arm around her shoulders, the barely-there flicker of something in his expression before he’d looked away.

Annoyance? Disinterested? Amusement?

No. It wasn’t any of those things.

“What’s got you so distracted?” Evan asked, flicking a stray piece of dried billywig stinger at her.

Hermione blinked and turned to him. “What?”

“You keep staring into space,” he said, tilting his head. “That usually means one of two things: either you’re mentally compiling a ten-page essay, or someone has gotten under your skin.”

Hermione scoffed. “I was just thinking about our potion.”

Evan gave her a knowing smirk. “Right. Because Felix Felicis is so thought-provoking.”

She huffed. “It requires precision.”

“And yet, here you are, standing still while I do all the work.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is this about Malfoy?”

Hermione froze for half a second before shaking her head. “Why would it be about him?”

Evan smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Because I saw the way he looked at you earlier.”

She frowned. “How did he look at me?”

“Like he was debating whether to hex me or pretend he didn’t care.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” Evan asked, lazily stirring the potion. “It’s not like he’s ever been the type to give up a fight, but lately, he’s been weird. You must’ve noticed.”

Of course, she had.

But just because Draco was acting differently didn’t mean he was jealous. The idea was laughable. Draco Malfoy didn’t get jealous. He was arrogant, stubborn, and maddeningly infuriating, but jealous? Over her ?

No. It was far more likely that he had simply gotten bored. Maybe he had grown tired of their endless bickering. Maybe he had found new ways to amuse himself that didn’t involve antagonizing her. Maybe she was overthinking all of this.

Still, the idea refused to leave her mind.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Draco’s voice cut through the air from across the room. “Oi, Brown. Try not to let Granger blow up the classroom, would you?”

Hermione turned sharply toward him, ready to fire back a retort, but Evan beat her to it.

“Jealous, Malfoy?” he drawled.

The entire classroom seemed to pause. Even Slughorn, who had been busy explaining the next step to a pair of Ravenclaws, glanced up with mild interest.

Draco leaned back in his chair, utterly composed. His smirk was lazy, unimpressed. “Of what, exactly?”

Evan shrugged. “That I get to spend all my time with our dear Hermione while you sit there twiddling your thumbs.”

Hermione groaned. “Really, Evan?”

But he ignored her, grinning as he watched Draco’s reaction.

For a moment, there was nothing. Draco didn’t scowl, didn’t sneer. He simply held Evan’s gaze with a look that was far too neutral to be normal.

And then he scoffed. “Please. If anything, I’m relieved.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Oh, really?”

Draco turned his gaze to her, his smirk widening. “Absolutely. It means I don’t have to suffer through your incessant lectures about proper potion-brewing techniques.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So you are bored.”

“Maybe,” he said easily, shrugging. “Or maybe I just have better things to do with my time now.”

Evan chuckled under his breath, clearly entertained, but Hermione found herself studying Draco a little more closely.

There was something calculated about his response, as if he had chosen his words carefully. He wanted her to believe that he didn’t care. That much was obvious.

But why?

Was he really indifferent? Or was this some sort of elaborate act?

She couldn’t tell. And that annoyed her more than anything.

“Well,” Evan said, nudging her back toward their table, “as much fun as this has been, we do have a potion to finish.”

Hermione hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning away, determined to focus on the task at hand.

But as she and Evan resumed their brewing, she couldn’t help but notice that, every so often, a pair of cool grey eyes flickered in their direction.

Hermione would be a fool to admit that she missed Draco Malfoy’s presence—the incessant teasing, the sharp quips, the way he always managed to get under her skin like no one else. It had been months of relentless banter, of pushing and pulling, and now that he had decided to step back, she should have felt relieved.

She should have.

But instead, she found herself hyper-aware of his absence.

The first few days, she had convinced herself it was nothing. She was just too busy with their final potion project, and Evan was good company—witty, charming, and surprisingly easy to work with. It was refreshing, really.

But then she caught herself searching for Draco in the Great Hall, her eyes instinctively darting to the Slytherin table before she even realized what she was doing.

And then, during class, when she made an offhand comment about an incorrectly chopped ingredient, she found herself waiting for Draco to sneer at her and call her an insufferable know-it-all.

But he didn’t.

Because he wasn’t paying attention to her anymore.

That was when it hit her—like a cauldron tipping over, spilling its contents in a disastrous, irreversible mess.

She missed him.

She missed Draco Malfoy .

It was a horrifying realization.

“Oh, no,” she muttered under her breath.

Evan, who had been adjusting the flame under their cauldron, glanced up. “What’s oh no?”

Hermione snapped her head toward him, eyes wide. “Nothing.”

Evan narrowed his eyes. “That didn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”

She shook her head furiously. “It’s nothing, Evan.”

His smirk was infuriating. “Is it about Malfoy?”

“No!” she blurted out, far too quickly.

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning against the desk. “Granger, you do realize you’re incredibly easy to read, don’t you?”

Hermione huffed. “I am not.”

“You are,” he countered smoothly. “And judging by that tragic little expression on your face, I’d say you just came to a rather unfortunate realization.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, turning back to their potion with more force than necessary.

Evan hummed, watching her closely. “You miss him.”

Hermione’s stirring faltered for half a second before she quickly regained her composure. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

She turned to glare at him. “Even if I did—which I don’t—why would that even matter? He’s been completely insufferable for years.”

Evan shrugged. “And yet, you’ve spent the last few months bantering with him like it’s your favorite pastime.”

“I—” Hermione opened her mouth to argue but immediately closed it.

Because, well… he wasn’t wrong.

The realization settled uncomfortably in her chest. She had spent so much time arguing with Draco, rolling her eyes at his arrogance, snapping back when he tried to get a rise out of her. And yet, in some strange, twisted way, it had become a part of her daily routine—an expected exchange, a rhythm she had unknowingly fallen into.

And now?

Now he has stopped.

He had simply decided she wasn’t worth the effort anymore, and that was what bothered her most. Not because she wanted the argument—no, it wasn’t about winning—but because she had never realized how much she enjoyed it.

How much she had enjoyed him.

Oh, Merlin.

She liked him.

She liked Draco Malfoy .

Oh, no.

“I need air,” she muttered, stepping away from the cauldron.

Evan chuckled as she rushed toward the classroom door. “Try not to have a crisis, Granger.”

Too late.

Hermione didn’t know where she was going.

Her feet carried her aimlessly through the castle, down familiar hallways, past bustling students who barely registered her presence. Her mind was too loud, too full—thoughts crashing into each other at an alarming speed.

How had she let this happen?

When had Malfoy stopped being just an annoyance and started being… whatever this was?

When had she started looking forward to their arguments? When did his presence become so necessary?

She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples.

This was ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

“Careful, Granger, you might overthink yourself into oblivion.”

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

She turned sharply, and there he was—Draco Malfoy, leaning casually against the corridor wall, arms crossed, looking at her with an expression she really didn’t have the mental capacity to decode right now.

Her pulse stuttered.

He looked good. Annoyingly, unfairly good.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a little breathless.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Hermione hesitated. “I just needed some air.”

“Air,” he repeated, unimpressed. “Right.”

She scowled. “Why are you here, Malfoy?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I got bored.”

Her breath hitched. Bored.

Was that it?

Was that all she was to him? Some fleeting amusement, something to pass the time?

Something inside her twisted uncomfortably.

“Well,” she said, forcing herself to sound unaffected, “I suppose it’s good that you’ve finally moved on from making my life miserable.”

Draco tilted his head slightly. “Is that what you think?”

She frowned. “Isn’t it?”

His lips curled into the smallest smirk. “If you say so, Granger.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there—heart pounding, mind reeling, and entirely unsure of what had just happened.

Hermione stood frozen in the corridor long after Draco had disappeared around the corner.

Her heart was still racing.

He had been bored, he said.

That shouldn’t bother her as much as it did.

But it did.

Merlin, help her.

Groaning in exasperation, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the Potions room, fully prepared to act as though nothing had happened. That she had not just come to the realization that she had feelings for Draco Malfoy. That her heart had not nearly jumped out the window when he had looked at her as if he were waiting for her to figure something out.

No, she refused to think about it.

She shoved the thoughts aside and pushed open the door to the classroom. 

"Evan looked at their cauldron, a sly smirk already curling at their lips. 'That was quick. Did you have your drill?'"

Hermione shot an irritated glare back at him as she slid into her seat. "There was no emergency," she declared defensively.

He snorted. “Uh-huh.” He paused, watching her carefully. “Let me guess—you ran into Malfoy?”

She bristled. “That is not relevant.”

He let out a low chuckle, stirring their potion with lazy amusement. “So that’s a yes.”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

Evan smirked. “You’re really struggling with this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He hummed. “Of course not.”

Silence stretched between them, the bubbling of their potion filling the space where words should have been. Hermione tried to focus on the liquid swirling in the cauldron, but her mind betrayed her—flashing back to the way Draco had looked at her in the hallway.

Like he knew. Like he had been waiting.

“Do you think Malfoy—” She stopped abruptly, snapping her mouth shut.

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Do I think Malfoy what?”

Hermione hesitated. Do you think Malfoy was jealous? Do you think he’s been avoiding me on purpose? Do you think he—

“Never mind,” she said quickly.

He sighed, setting down his stirring rod. “Granger, if you’re asking whether Malfoy has been acting weird around you, then yes. He has.”

She frowned. “He has?”

Evan gave her a look. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

He rolled his eyes. “The way he watches you when he thinks no one’s looking. The way he reacts whenever I get too close. The way he stopped annoying you.”

Hermione swallowed.

“He’s not bored,” Evan said, watching her carefully. “He’s conflicted.”

Her stomach twisted. “That’s ridiculous.”

He smirked. “Is it?”

She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell Evan that he was wrong, that there was no way Draco Malfoy—the same boy who had spent years antagonizing her—could possibly feel conflicted over her.

But she couldn’t.

Because the idea didn’t seem as absurd as it should have.

Because deep down, she wanted it to be true.

She swallowed hard, turning back to the potion, pretending she wasn’t spiraling.

He watched her for a moment before chuckling under his breath. “You’re in trouble, Granger.”

Hermione didn’t look up. “Shut up, Brown.”

He laughed.

And Hermione?

She was starting to think he was right.

That night, Hermione lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing herself not to think about Draco Malfoy.

It didn’t work.

Her mind replayed everything.

The way he had avoided her. The way he had looked at her. The way he had smirked, like he knew exactly what was going through her head.

And worst of all—the way she had missed him.

She turned onto her side, groaning into her pillow.

This was a disaster.

She was supposed to hate Malfoy. She was supposed to not care if he was bored, or indifferent, or avoiding her for no reason at all.

But she did care.

And maybe—just maybe—she liked him a little more than she should.

Chapter Text

For the past few weeks, Hermione has been in Advanced Potions with Evan Brown. Honestly, he's been quite a decent partner for her; he's really intelligent, and quite adept, and he seems to have no qualms about letting her take the reins if she's clear about her intentions for a particular assignment. However, someone has not been too happy about things at all.

Draco Malfoy was really watching. Watching always. 

At first, it was very subtle-- Hermione and Evan's tenor whispers about potion ingredients would always conclude with fingers tapping impatiently every time Draco caught them in an embarrassing post-laughter recount. Yet along the way, his signs became increasingly more obvious. Smirks became sharper, and comments, more clipped. Then, there were the interruptions: 

One afternoon, when Hermione and Evan were standing over their bubbling Draught of Peace, Draco casually strolled over to their table. "Careful, Granger," he drawled, infuriatingly smirking as he picked up her stirring rod, "Wouldn't want your potion as bland as your partner here." 

"Excuse me?" Evan scoffed. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched the rod back. "Ignore him," she told Evan before turning a pointed glare at Draco. "Don't you have your potion to sabotage?"

Draco leaned on the table, far too close for comfort. “Oh, I do. But it’s far less entertaining than watching you babysit Brown.” His stormy grey eyes flickered toward Evan, lips curling slightly. “He does seem rather helpless without you.”

Evan, who had been the picture of patience until now, let out a small laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Malfoy.”

“Am I?” Draco tilted his head before looking back at Hermione. “Tell me, Granger. Does he let you do all the work, or does he just stand around looking pretty?”

Hermione huffed, ignoring the warmth creeping up her neck. “If you must know, Evan is a perfectly capable potions partner.”

Draco’s jaw ticked. “Is that so?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.”

For a brief moment, something flashed in Draco’s expression—something raw and unguarded. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual smirk. “Of course. Why would it be my business?” His tone was mocking, but the underlying tension in his voice was impossible to miss.

Hermione stared at him, heart hammering. Was he…jealous?

Before she could press further, Professor Slughorn's voice rang across the classroom to cut the moment. Draco straightened, giving Evan one final glance, before sauntering back to his own station, hands jammed in pockets. Hermione let out a sharp breath. What in Merlin's name was that? The next few days didn't help easy things. 

For sure, Draco came again from being a bully... no, he actually became much more insufferable this time. 

Not that she likes having his attention again. Always, he had this reason to be near her constantly-a sarcastic comment in the library where Evan studied with her or a needed interruption when she and Evan were reviewing notes in the Great Hall. He wasn't outright mean-no, this was something different. 

A quiet lingering aura. 

A tension built each time he looked at her and pretended he didn't care. The straw that broke the camel's back came when Hermione was on her way out of Advanced Potions, her textbook shoved against her chest. Evan had walked ahead, leaving her alone in the corridor-until Draco, as if lying in wait, suddenly fell into step beside her.

“So,” he began, voice deceptively light. “Brown, huh?”

Hermione sighed, not in the mood. “Not this again.”

Draco ignored her protest. “I’m just curious. You spend an awful lot of time with him. Thought you preferred more…intellectually stimulating company.”

She stopped walking, turning to him with crossed arms. “And what exactly are you implying?”

He advanced a little closer, close enough that she could see the crease of his lips and see his fingers twitching as though they wanted to snatch something up from the air-his wrist, his book, his attention. “I’m implying,” he said slowly in a voice now lower, “that it’s kind of funny how all of a sudden you’re spending so much extra time with Brown, how you that laugh with his stupid jokes, how you let him sit too close.”

Hermione's breath hitched. "I don't -"

His eyes shifted to hers, and inside her, something twisted. "You do," he murmured.

She swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of just how close he was. The tension crackled between them, thick and unrelenting. For a moment, Hermione was sure he was about to say something more—something that would change everything.

But then, as if realizing just how vulnerable he had let himself become, Draco scoffed and stepped back. “Forget it.”

He turned to leave, but Hermione wasn’t about to let him slip away that easily.

“Wait.”

He froze.

Hermione hesitated, then took a step forward. “Are you—” She faltered, then forced herself to say it. “Are you jealous?”

Draco’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around immediately, but when he did, his smirk lacked its usual arrogance. “Jealous?” He let the word roll off his tongue as if testing it. Then, after a beat, he leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “Would it matter if I was?”

Hermione’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

For once, she was speechless.

Draco watched her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a soft, almost smug chuckle, he straightened and strolled away, leaving Hermione standing there, pulse racing, mind spinning.

Oh…

Oh.

It really is making a difference in the noise of the halls; it is no longer filled with the usual gossip but has all added a new lease to talking about gowns, dates, and last-minute invitations. The Yule Ball was fast approaching, and it was even more unbearable for the whole student body. Well, almost everyone. As for Hermione Granger, that wasn't enough to get her to feel even a crumb of it.

She had actually resolved that she wouldn't attend. The very thought of dressing up and making insipid small talk-or even dancing in a crowded room-sapped her strength before she'd set foot in the Great Hall; far more appealing sounded an evening spent alone with a good book in the peace and silence. 

Still, she couldn't hide from all of this gossip: Each corridor, every class, and even every meal in Great Hall-they were all now repeating identical conversations: Who was going to whom? What would they wear? Which professor would be chaperoning? Even the library, usually her sacred retreat, had become an unsafe zone for avoiding discussions about the Ball.

Hermione tried to block it out, but some moments were impossible to ignore. Like when she walked into the common room just in time to see Harry Potter nervously rubbing the back of his neck, standing in front of Ginny Weasley. Ginny looked up at him expectantly, her freckled face filled with a mix of hope and amusement.

“Ginny,” Harry started, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Would you—do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Ginny blinked, then grinned. “Took you long enough, Harry Potter.”

Harry let out a relieved chuckle as Ginny nodded. The two of them exchanged easy smiles, and Hermione felt a warmth in her chest at seeing them so happy.

She barely had time to register that sweetness before she heard a shriek from the other side of the common room.

“Ronald Weasley!” Lavender Brown’s high-pitched voice rang through the air. “I am not taking no for an answer!”

Hermione turned her head just in time to see Ron looking utterly terrified, his ears bright red, as Lavender gripped his wrist with unrelenting determination.

“Lavender—”

“Nope! I already told Parvati, and she thinks we’d look so cute together. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?” Lavender pouted, her eyes twinkling.

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked toward Hermione for help, but she simply raised an eyebrow at him. If he wanted to refuse, he would have to do it himself.

Finally, with a long, suffering sigh, Ron muttered, “Fine.”

Lavender clapped her hands together in delight, completely missing the way Ron slumped onto the couch as if he had just agreed to his own doom.

Hermione shook her head, exhaling softly. She was grateful that she didn’t have to deal with all this fuss.

Or so she thought.

Because then, in hushed tones, she overheard Parvati whispering excitedly to a group of girls near the fireplace.

“Did you hear? Malfoy asked Astoria Greengrass to the Ball.”

Hermione felt her stomach clench.

Of course.

Draco Malfoy-upright, narcissistic, and certainly her most insufferably persistent tease - was actually taking on a proper date for the evening. Astoria was just everything a pure-blood wizard such him would take to a formal gathering-elegant, poised, beautiful. Perfectly suitable.

And Hermione did not know why this made her feel so peculiarly tight in the chest. It wasn't that she'd ever expected him to ask. Sure, he teased her every chance he got, sure, he had an uncanny ability to show up and infuriate her seemingly out of nowhere, sure, she thought he was the jealous type... or was he? Sure, he made her feel kind of like he was alpha about the same as her-but that meant nothing. Nothing at all.

Hermione sighed and plopped on the couch, stretched her legs out, and put her enchanting music player beside her. Soft Muggle music filled the air, with soft melodies that felt like an oasis in her chaotic surroundings. 

For that one second, she let herself close her eyes and breathe.

A Yule Ball's Eve landed a puff of enthusiasm into the students of Hogwarts.

Hermione, as promised, remained in the common room, all cuddled up in front of the fireplace with an enormous book in her lap and a hot mug of tea beside her. The castle felt strangely empty, with most of its students absent at the Ball. Not even Gryffindor common room was full, as its silence was disturbed only by the sounds of flames crackling and the soft rustle of Hermoine as she turned her book pages.

She ought to have been happy. It was what she craved, after all.

But then, her heart was still not at peace. Her eyes wandered toward the window; far away, the lights from the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling twinkled. Echoes of laughter and faint music drifted through the stone hallways.

Before she had a chance to talk herself out of it again, she found herself standing, padding softly toward the portrait hole.

What could it hurt to sneak a quick peek inside? 

Hermione padded down the dim-lit corridors, slippers making no sound in the chill stone, until she was close enough to the entrance to the Great Hall that she could pause in the shadows and peer inside.

Glistening, that's how it looked as the golden rays from the chandeliers fell warmly upon the elegantly-dressed students who danced to their hearts' content across the wide floor. Softly from above, the snowflakes fell from a whimsical ceiling, melting into droplets before they could settle onto the ground. This had all the hallmarks of a fairy tale. 

And at the center of the ballroom stood Draco Malfoy. 

He was looking just like the composed and proud wizard she had always known him to be, standing in his tailored dress robes. Astoria stood next to him in her silver dress sparkling under the lights. She was smiling, saying something to him, but his unreadable expression could not betray anything to her. 

"I don't know why I'm still hanging around here," Hermione thought. 

He knows why he lingers. The answer lies in his own feeling of jealousy. 

Of course, you’re jealous! You’re into him! Alright, maybe you like him a lot more than you could have ever admitted to yourself. Great. She didn't go to the ball, and now she keeps watching what is probably the hottest couple in all of Hogwarts . 

It's just that being in such pain for seeing him dance with someone else really pains one. 

As she was about to turn away to save herself from this jealousy and pain she's going through, his gaze suddenly lifted-directly to where she stood.

Their eyes met.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Malfoy’s lips quirked up into something almost—soft. Almost amused.

Hermione’s breath hitched, and before she could think better of it, she stepped away from the entrance, retreating into the shadows. Her heart pounded, though she wasn’t sure why.

She hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, slipping inside just as the clock chimed in the distance.

Sinking onto the couch, she pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaling deeply.

It didn’t mean anything.

And yet, as she stared into the flickering flames, she couldn’t quite convince herself of that.

Except for crackling fire in the hearth and the soft hum of Hermione's Muggle music still playing beside her, the common room was silent. She had curled deeper into the couch, hugging her knees to her chest and trying to convince herself that she wasn't thinking about him.

But she was.

Her mind kept going back to that moment when Malfoy met her gaze across the ballroom, the flicker of something unreadable in his silver eyes. She shouldn't care. It shouldn't mean anything. And yet, the feeling followed her that something had changed, something unspoken hanging in the air between them.

Heavy sigh left her lips and she reached for the tea, only to remember that it was already cold. 

Serves me right for being lost in thought. Just as she was about to stand and head to her dormitory, the portrait hole creaked open. Hermione glanced up, expecting one of the younger Gryffindors sneaking in past curfew. Instead, she froze. Standing at the entrance was Draco Malfoy, dress robes slightly disheveled, his usually pristine composure looking slightly undone. His platinum hair was somewhat tousled, as though he had run his fingers through it one too many times. The dim firelight was throwing flickering shadows across his face, highlighting sharp angles of his jaw and unmistakable exhaustion in his expression.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione finally managed, keeping her voice steady despite the sudden racing of her heart.

Malfoy took a few steps inside, glancing around the common room as if seeing it for the first time. “Potter let me in.” His voice was quieter than usual, lacking its usual arrogance.

Hermione frowned. “Harry’s still at the Ball.”

Malfoy smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alright. I may have used some… persuasion on the Fat Lady.”

Hermione’s mouth parted slightly in disbelief. “You bribed our portrait?!”

“She drives a hard bargain,” he mused, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ended up promising to compliment her singing for a week.”

Despite herself, Hermione let out a soft chuckle, but then quickly shook her head. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

Malfoy hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. Then, to Hermione’s surprise, he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.

“I needed to see you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “See me?”

He nodded, stepping closer. “You weren’t at the Ball.”

Hermione swallowed, her heart thudding. “And why does that matter to you?”

Malfoy huffed, as if frustrated. “Because it does, Granger. Because I spent the whole night thinking about you.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, as warmth crept up her neck. “You… what?”

He took another step closer, and Hermione could suddenly feel the heat radiating off of him. His gaze softened, something vulnerable flickering in his silver eyes. “I danced with Astoria, I spoke to a dozen people, but none of it felt right. Because the one person I actually wanted to be with wasn’t there.”

Hermione felt her heart stutter, her breath hitching in her throat. “But… why did you ask Astoria when… you…”

Malfoy just sighed, then did something completely unexpected. He reached out, fingers brushing against hers, testing, hesitant. And when she didn’t pull away, he slowly took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers.

“I want to confirm something…” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what this is but I do know that I didn’t want tonight to end without seeing you.”

Hermione’s lips parted slightly, her pulse racing. It was the first time she had seen him like this—unguarded, sincere. And Merlin, help her, it made her heart ache in the most unexpected way.

Slowly, cautiously, she squeezed his hand in return. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

Malfoy let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. “I know.”

For a moment, they simply stood there, the fire casting golden light between them, their hands still entwined. And for the first time that night, Hermione felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Gryffindor common room was silent, the only noise being the occasional pop of embers in the fireplace. Hermione was still holding Draco's hand tight; her heart was beating wildly against her ribs.

It felt surreal: him standing here, looking at her with that raw intensity, fingers interlaced as if he wasn't completely sure he should be doing this but didn't want to let go.

She should have pulled back. Should have said something-anything-to break the tension. But she couldn't. She didn't want to.

Draco was the first to move. Slowly, gently, he lifted her hand, absentmindedly tracing its back with his thumb. Hermione shivered at the warmth of his touch.

"You are cold," he murmured, his voice lower than usual.

"I'm fine," Hermione managed, though, by the way her breath betrayed her. Draco huffed, smirking slightly, though his usual arrogance was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was something else in his expression-something softer, something hesitant.

"Liar." Hermione's lips opened, but before they could form her retort, Draco had tugged her gently toward the fireplace.

This was the first light flame creating gold shadows across his sharp cheekbones and stormy gray eyes that glinted with something unreadable.

He didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he sat down on the couch, tugging her down beside him. Hermione blinked in surprise, stiffening for a brief second before, somehow, she found herself relaxing.

“You should have gone to the Ball, really.” he murmured after a long pause. “You missed a lot of happenings there.”

Hermione exhaled, glancing at the flames. “I didn’t feel like going. And, I can definitely read whatever happens in Hogwarts’ Herald.”

Draco was quiet for a moment. Then, “I wouldn’t have gone either. If I knew you weren’t going to be there.” He paused for a bit and then he continued. 

Her heart stuttered. She turned her head, meeting his gaze, and found no trace of deception there. His confession was quiet, but it carried weight. Her chest tightened at the admission. 

“Silly, you just told me you want to confirm something…” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Draco let out a short chuckle, though there was no real amusement in it. “Indeed and here I am. You’re the one I wanted to be with, tonight.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. It might have been that warmth emanating from the fire, but more likely it was the way he was looking at her that made warmth spread across her skin and creep up her neck.

He shifted slightly, shouldering her, and it sent an electric jolt down her spine. His face would be redder than with whatever words came from his lips. "I look forward to maybe dancing with you again, not at having Theo and Blaise being cockblockers."

Hermione laughed thinking about that but then blushed at the thought of how his hands perfectly rested on her waist and made her feel small and fragile.

It was broken by hearing him speak. "Granger," he intoned with an even lower tone now, "why do you have to take everything and make it so hard for me?"

Hermione's frown deepened as she tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Draco sighed, raked a hand through his hair. "I mean you're in my head, all the time. It's bloody infuriating."

Hermione swallowed hard. "You-" she hesitated, shaking her head. "You can't mean that."

Draco waited for a long moment without saying a word but slowly, he reached out, diverting a stray curl from her ear. Hermione felt an increase in her pulse from the touch's gentleness, especially on the way his fingers took just a second longer than necessary.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured, his voice almost strained.

Hermione’s lips parted, her throat suddenly dry. “Then why are you?”

Draco let out a breathy chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “Because I can’t help it.”

He was close now—so close that Hermione could see the flickering firelight reflected in his silver eyes, and could feel his breath ghosting against her skin.

Her heart pounded. She knew she should say something, should break the moment before it crossed into something irreparable. But she didn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

Draco’s fingers lingered just below her jaw, his touch featherlight, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to do this. Hermione’s breath hitched, her skin burning where his fingertips brushed. The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something neither of them dared to name.

“I should go,” Draco muttered, but he didn’t move. His hand remained where it was, his thumb grazing just below her ear.

Hermione swallowed hard. “Then why aren’t you?”

Draco’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t his usual smirk. It was softer, hesitant. “Because, Granger, you make it impossible for me to think straight.”

Her heart stuttered. He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at, like he had been fighting this feeling for far too long. She wasn’t sure if it was the warmth from the fire or the fact that Draco Malfoy was touching her like this, but her whole body felt like it was aflame.

“You’re insufferable,” she whispered, though there was no bite to it.

Draco chuckled, low and deep. “And you’re exhausting.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but before she could fire back, Draco tilted his head ever so slightly, his nose brushing against hers. It was the lightest of touches, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Would you rather kiss me or just stare at me like that?” she said before she could even stop herself from saying it. Her voice ended up being quieter than she expected, even a bit breathier.

Draco's breath had hitched. For a moment, she thought she had stunned him into silence. Then, however, a slow, lazy smile crept across his lips. "Granger, did you just ask me to kiss you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, face burning. "It's nothing."

But before she could pull away, Draco caught her wrist and, with one motion, closed the distance between them. His lips touched hers, hesitant at first as if waiting for her to push him away but she didn't. She couldn't. The second she brought her mouth closer, Draco deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding to the small of her back so he could pull her closer.

It's just so unfair how good he was at this. How he kissed like it meant something, like he was just as much waiting for this as she had been.

Finally, when both were out of breath, Draco rested his forehead against hers, wearing his smirk again. "Was that to your liking, Granger?"

Hermione huffed, but she couldn’t help the giddy smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose it was acceptable.”

Draco let out a low chuckle, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re infuriating.”

Draco grinned, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on her wrist. “And yet, here we are.”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed herself one more moment of reckless indulgence, leaning into him just slightly. Just enough to let him know that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t mind if this happened again. And he didn't kiss her again.

What a bummer .

Draco’s smirk softened into something gentler, something real. “I should really go now.”

Hermione hummed, tilting her head. “And yet…?”

He chuckled. “And yet, I don’t want to.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling too wide. “You should work on your self-control, Malfoy.”

Draco exhaled dramatically. “You ruin all my self-control, Granger.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she finally stepped back. “Goodnight, Draco.”

He blinked, as if caught off guard by the way his name sounded coming from her lips. Then, with one last smirk, he turned toward the portrait hole. Just before he left, he glanced over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, Hermione. Try not to dream about me too much.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade even as the portrait closed behind him. With a sigh, she flopped back onto the couch, pressing her fingers against her lips.

She was in so much trouble.

Chapter Text

The Hogwarts Herald was practically on overtime in the days after the Yule Ball. A buzzing rumor trail ran through every corridor, each common room had its take on events, and each student seemed to have an opinion on what transpired that night.

To crown it all was Lavender Brown's display of affection as she snogged Ron Weasley in front of half the school. Hermione had missed it, and it was rather a loss because it sounded like something straight out of a very silly novel. The way Ginny described it-"like watching some bewitched octopus latch onto a very startled starfish"-made Hermione cackle. She would like to see it herself, but honestly, she had been far too busy. After all, she got her kiss. From Draco Malfoy, of all people.

That insufferable git.

Who kissed like a God.

Who, unfortunately, also looked entirely too handsome even when his hair was a tousled mess.

And to make matters worse, Draco had the audacity to act like nothing had changed.

Oh, he still bantered with her, but now it was different. Now, his words carried a teasing lilt, an undercurrent of something undeniably flirtatious. It was as if he had taken that kiss as permission to fully lean into his charm.

"Granger, are you following me?" Draco smirked as he turned a corner, only to find Hermione heading the same way. "Bit obsessed, aren’t you?"

Hermione scoffed, clutching her books tighter. "Yes, Malfoy. I spent all night plotting my route just to coincidentally walk the same way as you. It’s a grand scheme, truly."

He tsked, shaking his head. "A little desperate, don’t you think? First, you throw yourself at me almost everywhere, and now this?"

"I threw myself at you?" Hermione’s voice pitched in outrage. "You kissed me!"

"Oh, did I?" Draco drawled, leaning in slightly. "Must’ve been because you were looking at me like you wanted to—"

"Finish that sentence, and I will hex you," she interrupted, though her face was considerably warmer than before.

Draco chuckled, pleased with himself, and stepped ahead of her. He walked backward, hands tucked in his pockets, watching her reaction with amusement. "It’s adorable how flustered you get, Granger. Almost as if you actually enjoyed kissing me."

Hermione rolled her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

They continued their usual back-and-forth over the next few days, but the problem was that Draco was far too good at slipping in flirtation amid their usual bickering.

"You’re staring again," he remarked one morning at breakfast.

"You have jam on your face," Hermione deadpanned, pointing at the corner of his mouth.

Draco wiped it off with a napkin, unconcerned. "Bet you’d love to lick it off, wouldn’t you?"

The sound of Hermione’s spoon clattering against her plate drew multiple curious looks from their peers. She inhaled sharply. "Merlin, you are unbearable."

"And yet, you keep sitting near me. I think that says more about you than me, Granger."

Even Ginny was starting to notice.

"He’s flirting with you," she whispered as they sat in the library one evening, watching Draco from across the room as he talked to Theo and Blaise.

Hermione scoffed. "He’s annoying me. There’s a difference."

"Oh, sure, of course," Ginny said airily. "He’s just constantly finding excuses to talk to you, teasing you, and staring at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room. But yes, clearly, that’s just him being annoying."

"He does not stare at me."

As if on cue, Hermione’s gaze flicked up and met Draco’s. He smirked. She quickly looked away.

Ginny grinned. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

The teasing didn’t stop there. One evening, Hermione was making her way back to the Gryffindor common room when Draco appeared beside her out of nowhere.

"Fancy seeing you here, Granger."

Hermione sighed. "This is literally the only way to my dormitory."

"Oh, I know," he said smoothly. "Just thought I’d escort you. You know, since you seem so fond of my company."

"Fond is a strong word."

Draco smirked. "Yet here we are. Walking together. Again."

"Because you won’t leave me alone!"

"Semantics."

At that moment, Peeves the Poltergeist swooped down and loudly proclaimed, "Drakie and Grangie, sneaking off for a midnight snog! Naughty, naughty!"

Draco, ever the menace, immediately went along with it. "We’ve been caught, darling. Might as well make it worth the trouble."

Hermione smacked him with her book, causing Peeves to cackle before zooming away. Draco, rubbing his arm dramatically, grinned. "Feisty. I like it."

Hermione groaned. "I hate you."

"That’s what they all say before they fall madly in love with me."

"If that happens, Malfoy, feel free to hex me into oblivion."

Draco smirked. "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?"

Hermione nearly screamed.

The biggest surprise came when Pansy Parkinson cornered Hermione outside the Great Hall.

"I need to talk to you," she said, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Hermione blinked. "Is this about Malfoy?"

Pansy scoffed. "Obviously. I’m just here to say that whatever is going on between you two is ridiculously entertaining and a complete disaster waiting to happen, and I, for one, cannot wait to watch."

Hermione huffed. "Nothing is going on."

"Right. And I suppose if I asked Malfoy, he’d say the same?" Pansy’s smirk was infuriating. "See, the thing is, Granger, Malfoy doesn’t play around when it comes to girls. If he’s flirting with you, it means something."

That night, as Hermione sat in her dorm, attempting to focus on her Arithmancy essay, she found her thoughts straying back to what Pansy had said.

Did it mean something?

Did she want it to?

As she pondered this, an owl tapped at her window. She opened it and was promptly smacked in the face by a letter. Scowling, she unfolded it, only to find three words in neat, slanted handwriting:

Sweet dreams, Granger.

Hermione stared at it, pulse skipping, before she let out a long, dramatic groan and collapsed onto her bed. He should have just written it in their linked journal yet, he used an owl.

That insufferable git.

Hermione had always found their linked journal to be a practical, efficient way to communicate. It had started subtly. A simple, " Good morning, Granger. Miss me yet? " sprawled across the page in his signature elegant handwriting. She had rolled her eyes and ignored it.

That is, until Draco Malfoy decided to turn it into his personal playground of shameless flirting and absurd doodles.

It started innocently enough. A simple message from him appearing in neat, slanted handwriting:

Granger, have you finally admitted to yourself that you enjoyed the kiss?

Hermione rolled her eyes, dipping her quill in ink.

I’ve admitted that I regret every life choice that led me to that moment.

Draco’s response came immediately.

Liar.

She scowled, preparing to write back, but before she could, new ink bloomed across the page. A small, wobbly stick figure appeared. It had messy hair and a smirk somehow represented by a single curved line. Opposite it was another stick figure with a mess of scribbles meant to be her hair. The Draco figure was handing the Hermione figure a flower.

Hermione blinked.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, a caption appeared beneath it:

You blushed just looking at this, didn’t you?

Hermione could feel the heat rushing to her face.

What are you, five?

Draco’s response was immediate.

Five and absolutely charming, clearly. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be smiling at this right now.

She slammed the journal shut.

"Granger, are you ignoring my heartfelt art?" he wrote the next day. "I spend minutes on these masterpieces. The least you could do is appreciate them."

Hermione took a deep breath and responded, "Your definition of ‘masterpiece’ is as questionable as your taste in cologne. So musky …"

His reply was immediate: "Ah, so you have been sniffing me. Knew it."

She nearly threw the journal across the room.

Unfortunately, that did not deter him. If anything, it encouraged him.

The next day, between her Transfiguration and Ancient Runes classes, she hesitantly flipped open the journal, only to find an entire page dedicated to stick figures Draco and Hermione holding hands, surrounded by floating hearts. In the corner, a dramatically oversized stick-figure Pansy appeared to be rolling her eyes, while a stick-figure Ron was depicted wailing in the distance.

Romantic, isn’t it? Draco had written below. Our love story, illustrated beautifully.

Hermione groaned so loudly that a passing fourth-year gave her a concerned look.

Determined to put a stop to his nonsense, she grabbed her quill and wrote back furiously.

One: You are insufferable.

Two: This is not a love story.

Three: If you draw one more ridiculous doodle, I will hex your eyebrows off.

Draco, as expected, did not take this seriously.

Moments later, new ink appeared.

One: You adore me.

Two: This is absolutely a love story.

Three: You’d miss my eyebrows too much.

Hermione barely had time to process the sheer arrogance of that statement before another doodle appeared—a stick-figure Draco, now with exaggeratedly thick eyebrows taking up half his face.

She snorted before she could stop herself. Then she scowled because no , she would not be amused by Malfoy’s antics.

She refused to respond.

Days passed before she opened it again and found an elaborate, well-done drawing of two stick figures standing below a tree. One labeled "Granger" above it, the other labeled naturally "Malfoy." In the tree, Draco had the words " Draco + Hermione = Best Couple Ever " delved into the heart. Hermione stood gaping at it as heat seeped across her neck. 

"I think you should be more of an artist, Malfoy," she said dryly. "The world just needs more delusional painters."

He simply shrugged and doodled again. This time, it was a stick figure version of himself swooning dramatically while a mini stick Hermione chased him with her wand. "Granger, you wound me," it said. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. This is getting ridiculous. That night, she hesitated as she was writing in the journal, wondering if she even wanted to engage with his nonsense anymore. But she flipped the page around, and there was another drawing. It was slightly different.

It wasn’t a joke or a ridiculous cartoon. It was a small, simple sketch of a girl reading a book, hair falling into her face. Beside it, he had written, " This one took me longer. Don’t tell me it’s not accurate. "

Hermione stared at it for a long moment before writing back, " It’s surprisingly decent. "

A pause. Then his response came: " High praise from the great Hermione Granger. I’m honored. "

She smiled despite herself, shaking her head. The insufferable git.

The next morning, she opened the journal absentmindedly while sipping her tea and nearly choked on it.

Scrawled in large, loopy letters was: " GRANGER, YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL. "

Hermione slammed the journal shut so fast that she startled Ginny, who was sitting beside her in the common room. "What in Merlin’s name—"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Hermione squeaked, her face practically glowing red.

Draco, wherever he was, was probably laughing himself sick.

Later that night, after mustering the courage to open the journal again, she scrawled back, " Are you trying to embarrass me? "

His response was instant. " Oh, Granger. I don’t try. I succeed. "

But he didn’t stop.

Every night, new messages appeared, along with an array of doodles that ranged from ridiculous to alarmingly sweet. There was one of stick-figure Hermione reading a book while stick-figure Draco leaned on her shoulder with exaggerated Zzz marks above his head ( Because you bore me, Granger, but I still find you adorable ). Another showed Draco dramatically fainting while Hermione rolled her eyes ( My tragic reaction to your lack of affection ).

Then, one night, as Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, she opened the journal to find something different.

A single drawing.

It wasn’t a stick figure this time.

It was a delicate, surprisingly well-drawn flower. Inked with careful, precise strokes, it took up half the page. Beneath it, Draco had written:

For you. Since I can’t hand you a real one.

Hermione’s heart did something odd in her chest.

For several minutes, she simply stared at it, fingers hovering over the paper, tracing the edges of the petals. This was different. This wasn’t just teasing, it wasn't just an attempt to fluster her.

This was… thoughtful.

Why a flower? she found herself writing before she could think better of it.

Draco’s response came after a long pause.

Because you deserve something beautiful.

Hermione sucked in a breath, feeling warmth spread up to her ears.

Then, before she could overthink it, she hastily scribbled:

You’re ridiculous.

Draco, true to form, wrote back almost instantly.

And yet, here you are, still blushing.

Sure enough, Hermione had survived a lot during her breathing years, from the darker forces through basilisks and Death Eaters to Malfoy's irritatingly smug smirks. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for an unholy alliance with Ginny Weasley and Pansy Parkinson cornering her right next to the library.

It was innocent enough. She was just coming back from returning a few books when Ginny joined arms with her and began tugging her towards an empty corridor. That is the first glaring red flag. This was even among the second-the terrifying Pansy Parkinson, standing there with crossed arms and a disturbingly smug-looking face.

Thus, Ginny and Pansy cornered Hermione at the library, flanking her like two prisoners ready to pounce. Hermione had not made herself comfortable in her chair when Ginny thumped her books onto the table, while Pansy just crossed her arms and smirked.

"All right, spill," said Ginny with an assertive bent of her body towards him. "What in Merlin's name is going between you and Malfoy?"

Hermione blinked, caught completely off guard. "What? Nothing!"

Pansy scoffed. "Oh, please. You two have been practically undressing each other with your eyes in the Great Hall. It’s disgusting, really."

Ginny waggled her eyebrows. "And adorable."

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands. "You’re both ridiculous."

Pansy leaned forward, a knowing gleam in her eyes. "You know what’s ridiculous? Malfoy drawing stick figures in your linked journal. With hearts, no less."

Ginny gasped, slamming her hands onto the table. "Hearts?!"

Hermione's face turned crimson. "How do you even know that?"

Pansy looked entirely too pleased with herself. "Because I stole Blaise’s journal and forced him to check Malfoy’s. I needed confirmation. And oh, Granger, was it worth it."

Ginny practically vibrated in her seat. "Tell me everything."

Pansy smirked. "Little flowers, love notes—he even attempted to draw her curls once. It looked like a deranged mop, but still, effort."

Ginny gasped dramatically. "Hermione, you minx! What have you done to that poor boy?"

"I have done nothing!" Hermione hissed, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. "Draco Malfoy is just… annoying. And insufferable. And—"

"Madly in love with you," Pansy finished for her. "Honestly, the entire Slytherin common room is placing bets on when you’ll finally snog him in public."

Ginny snorted. "Oh, that's genius. I want in on that."

Hermione buried her face in her book. "I hate both of you."

Ginny grinned. "So, when are you going to admit you like him back?"

"I don’t—"

Pansy cut her off with a deadpan stare. "Granger, please. Your face turns as red as a Quaffle every time he so much as smirks at you."

Hermione scowled. "I do not."

Ginny and Pansy exchanged a knowing look before Pansy leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "So, when’s the next journal entry?"

Hermione groaned. "I am not discussing this anymore."

"Fine," Ginny said sweetly, "but just know that we’re not letting this go. And when you do finally admit you like him, I fully expect to be the first to know."

Pansy smirked. "Second."

"You guys are the worst," Hermione muttered, but she couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at her lips.

Pansy and Ginny shared a victorious high-five, already plotting their next interrogation session.

Chapter Text

The sky above the Black Lake stretched endlessly, a canvas painted in hues of twilight as the last traces of daylight melted into the horizon. A gentle breeze carried the scent of autumn, rustling the golden leaves that framed Hermione’s favorite secluded spot by the water’s edge.

She exhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs, relishing the rare moment of solitude. Between Draco’s relentless teasing and Ginny and Pansy’s never-ending commentary on her love life—or lack thereof—Hermione needed to escape.

Sliding her wand from her pocket, she tapped the tiny Muggle music player nestled in her palm. The soft hum of static preceded the opening notes of a familiar song, the melody trickling into the still evening air like ripples on the lake’s surface.

"Kiss me beneath the milky twilight…”

Hermione’s voice, smooth and warm, wove seamlessly into the song. She sang softly at first, as if afraid to disturb the peaceful embrace of dusk, but soon, the words carried with them an unbidden warmth, a secret lingering on the tip of her tongue.

"Lead me out on the moonlit floor…”

The burning feeling in her cheeks came from the image that flashed in her mind-unbidden-the silver eyes fixed upon hers and the ghost of a smirk in soft lips, a kiss that stole the very breath from her lungs. Draco. She faltered and parted her lips, as if the memory had taken tangible form before her eyes: the way he had kissed-her possessively yet tentatively, as if discovering something he never meant to let go of; how fingers had threaded through her curls, warm and firm against hers.

Hermione pressed her palm against her cheek as though that would cool it. "Merlin," she muttered at a pitch less than a whisper. 

"You know, if you wanted to sing me a love song, Granger, you could have just asked." 

Hermione felt as though her heart leaped from her chest upon hearing his voice.

The music stuttered as she fumbled with the device and turned abruptly to find Draco leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed, his smirk as insufferable as ever.

“Draco!” Her voice pitched embarrassingly high. “How long have you been standing there?”

He pushed off the tree and strolled toward her, hands in his pockets, hair slightly tousled by the wind. “Long enough,” he drawled, “to hear you serenading the lake like some lovesick mermaid.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I was not serenading the lake.”

He crouched in front of her, tilting his head with mock curiosity. “No?” His smirk deepened. “So you were thinking about me, then?”

She glared at him, but it was hopeless. The memory of their kiss still lingered, wrapping around her like the very melody she’d been singing.

“You’re unbelievable, ” she huffed, attempting to shove him away, but he caught her wrist, his thumb brushing lightly against her pulse.

“And you,” he murmured, his voice softer now, teasing yet sincere, “are adorable when you’re flustered.”

There was a pause in her breath. There was something about the way he looked at her, indefinably real behind all that arrogance. Quite soft in grip, warm in touch, grounding as though her heart was about to flutter away like leaves in the wind. 

Draco unclasped but just before he could drag that featherlight touch all the way down to her fingertips. "Go on, then," he said, reclining against the tree beside her, arms folded behind his head. "Sing it again. I quite liked it." 

Hermione groaned rather more dramatically than seemed necessary, but, despite herself, she smiled. 

The music picked up, and when she sang this time, she let her voice go free into the night without any regard for who might be listening. 

Soft, sweet song played, lilting strumming of guitar strings filling that quiet space between them. Hermione sat near the lake, the only place she allowed herself to escape from the malicious taunting and deluge of chaos in her life. Moonlight shimmered through the thin film of water, casting everything in a silvery glow. A thin, crisp evening breeze rustled the leaves, but she hardly noticed-this place had always been her sanctuary.

She closed her eyes, letting the melody carry her, and began to sing.

"Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight…"

Her voice was soft, honeyed, and full of emotion she wasn’t ready to name. Singing had always been something personal for her, a moment where she could exist without expectations.

But she wasn’t alone.

She felt the shift in the air before she even opened her eyes. The quiet crunch of footsteps on the grass. The familiar scent of expensive cologne, a crisp mix of cedarwood and something warm, like vanilla.

Draco.

Hermione opened her eyes just as he lowered himself onto the grass beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. His presence was steady, like he belonged there beside her, as though this moment had been waiting to happen.

She hesitated for only a second before continuing her song.

"Lead me out on the moonlit floor…"

Draco didn’t say anything. He just listened, his gaze fixed on her, watching the way her lips moved, the way her voice wove through the night air like a spell.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat under his stare, but she kept singing.

"So kiss me…"

The words slipped through her lips like a whisper—like a wish.

And before she could fully process it, Draco moved.

His hand cupped her cheek, fingers featherlight, and then—his lips were on hers.

The world stopped.

Testing unspoken waters, the kiss came softly, unsure as it was. His lips, warm, fitted hers so effortlessly that it turned her dizzy. Hermione sucked in sharp breath, fingers tightening against the grass beneath her, grounding herself. But she did not pull away. Draco lingered and finally pulled back, forehead lightly resting against hers. Their breaths collided in the cool night air, hearts thumping in rhythm. 

The kind of breath she got was hardly enough in between to form incoherent stutters when Draco's face leaned toward hers again. This time harsher, more sure; it slid to the nape of her neck, brushed his thumb against her jaw in a way that only sent chills down her spine, instantly warming everything up and curling deep inside her chest as though something falling into place after years of resistance. 

When he finally pulled away, Hermione's heart was racing and her body, it was entirely awash with warmth.

Silence stretched between them, heavy with something fragile, something new.

Draco swallowed, his fingers still resting against her skin as he murmured, “You sing like that, and you expect me not to kiss you?”

Hermione blinked at him, still dazed, still breathless. Then, reality came rushing back.

“What… What are we, Draco?” Her voice was quiet, but firm. She searched his face, trying to decipher the truth behind his actions. “If this is some kind of game to you, if you’re just toying with me—stop.”

Draco stiffened. His usual smirk—the one he always wore when teasing her—faltered.

“You think I’d kiss you just to mess with you?” His voice was different now. Not teasing. Not smug. Just… sincere.

Hermione held her ground, her lips pressing together. “I don’t know. You tease me all the time. You drive me mad, and then you—” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You can’t just kiss me and expect me to pretend like it doesn’t mean something.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. “Granger.” His tone was softer now, less guarded. “Do you think I go around kissing people for fun?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Draco leaned in again, his hand still cradling her face. His expression was uncharacteristically earnest, his silver eyes watching her carefully. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t mean it.”

Hermione’s breath caught.

The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. He was telling the truth—she could feel it.

Still, a part of her hesitated.

“What does it mean, then?” she whispered.

Draco’s lips quirked, just slightly, before he brushed his thumb against her cheek again. “It means that you drive me mad too. And that I think—no, I know —I don’t want to fight this anymore.”

Hermione’s heart stuttered.

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Draco, ever the impatient one, sighed. “Granger, if you need me to spell it out—”

“You do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco chuckled, shaking his head before leaning in once more, his lips ghosting over hers.

“I like you, Hermione,” he murmured against her lips. “And I’m not playing games.”

Hermione’s chest aches in the best possible way.

She should’ve been cautious. She should’ve questioned it more. But the way he was looking at her, the way his voice softened when he said her name, the way his fingers trembled just slightly against her skin—it told her everything she needed to know.

So this time, when Draco kissed her again, she didn’t hesitate.

And maybe, just maybe—she didn’t want to fight this anymore either.

The kiss lingered; Hermione had lost her breath and was busy reeling under the rush of emotions whirling within her. The soft touch of Draco's lips felt both like the end of something and the beginning of something else all at once to her. Even now, she could feel the heat of his touch, how his fingers had cupped her face so tenderly, as though he feared she might shatter under the weight of his feelings.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, searching his eyes for any trace of doubt, any hint that he might be second-guessing himself. But what she found instead was nothing but sincerity, raw and unguarded.

Draco didn't break the silence immediately. His thumb traced a line down the edge of her jaw, and his touch ignited fires along her skin. She had not looked for this—this sweetness, this bitterly ironic vulnerability in a boy who had tormented her. But it inspired faith. And yet, Hermione found herself frozen, unsure of what to do next.

Such was the sensing of hesitation by Draco, and the look of his face feasted with warmth melted into uncertainty, as if he, too, were battling the very intelligent bridging that had just happened. He breathed out to break the very silence between them.

“So, what now?” he asked, voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe? Or was it something else?

Hermione swallowed hard, her thoughts a jumbled mess. The question hung in the air between them, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was asking more than just what came next in the moment. He seemed to be asking about them, about the two of them.

Her heart raced as she tried to find the right words. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice small. “I didn’t expect this, Draco. I didn’t expect you to feel this way.” Her gaze drifted to the ground, avoiding him. “I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

Draco’s fingers gently lifted her chin, coaxing her to look at him again. “I get it,” he murmured. “But Hermione, I need to know—do you feel the same way?” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid of her answer.

That question was like a wave; it hit her hard and suddenly. Did she really feel the same way? She spent so much time thinking it was nothing and denying herself the little spark of attraction she felt towards him. She set up walls around her heart and told herself that it was better without him in her life—until this moment. 

But now, as she stood there with his hands gently cupping her face, beholding her in that same way, something inside her shifted. That feeling, well, she couldn't deny it anymore. There was something there for him—and it was growing stronger by the second.

She swallowed, gathering the courage to speak. “I don’t know when it happened, Draco,” she began, her voice shaking slightly. “But yes. I think I feel the same way.” Her heart thundered in her chest as she said the words out loud, finally admitting what she had been too afraid to confront for so long.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of their words settling in the space between them. Then, a smile tugged at the corner of Draco’s mouth, something soft and genuine that made Hermione’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” Draco whispered, his voice low and earnest. He leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. “I’ve been a bloody idiot, haven’t I? Teasing you, pushing you away when all I wanted was this.” He shook his head, his smile turning rueful. “I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat as his words sank in. She had always assumed Draco would never take her seriously, that he saw her as nothing more than a challenge. But hearing him admit his own feelings, hearing the vulnerability in his voice, made something inside her soften.

“I didn’t think I would feel the same either,” she whispered, her hand finding its way to his chest, her fingers brushing the soft fabric of his shirt. “But here we are.”

Draco’s hand slid to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing gently over her skin as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “I’m not perfect, Hermione. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of. But I swear to you, this”—he gestured between them—“is real.”

Hermione closed the gap between them just slightly, resting her forehead against his. The warmth of his breath mingled with hers, and for the first time in ages, she felt like she could let her guard down. She didn’t need to figure it all out right now. They didn’t need to have all the answers. The only thing that mattered was that they had this moment—this connection that neither of them had expected but both needed.

“I believe you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

And before either of them could say anything else, Draco closed the small distance between them once again, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was tender, unhurried, as if he were trying to savor the sweetness of this moment. It was nothing like the teasing, playful kisses from earlier. This was real—this was them .

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads still touching as they shared a quiet, contented moment. Neither of them needed to speak; their silence was enough. In that instant, they both knew that whatever came next, they would face it together.

“I guess we’ll figure the rest out as we go,” Draco murmured, his voice still hushed but filled with warmth.

Hermione nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I think we will.”

And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel so afraid of what the future might hold.

Hermione pulled back slightly, the tension between them still buzzing in the cool evening air. Draco was right there, standing so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him, despite the chill of the wind. She could feel her pulse racing, but not from panic—no, it was something entirely different. Something that made her stomach flutter in ways she wasn't used to.

She cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. “So… that happened.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into that half-smirk that always made her heart race. “It did, didn’t it? Seems like I’m full of surprises tonight.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, her voice slightly breathless, still trying to steady herself. “Not sure I was prepared for that one.”

“I’m full of surprises, Granger,” Draco said, his voice low, teasing. “You should know that by now.”

Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “And I’m sure you love reminding me of that, don’t you?”

Draco shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Well, you don’t seem to mind too much.”

“Oh, I mind,” she said with a dramatic sigh, though she couldn’t stop the smile creeping up her lips. “I definitely mind.”

Draco leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice, his breath warm against her ear. “Then why are you standing so close, hmm?”

Hermione froze, her breath hitching for a moment. She fought the urge to step back, her heart beating a little faster, but instead, she tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze squarely.

“Maybe I just like to keep you on your toes,” she replied, her lips twitching into a smile.

Draco chuckled softly, a rich, almost intimate sound. “Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s exactly so,” she said, stepping away just enough to put some space between them. She knew she was teasing him, but a little part of her enjoyed seeing him so disarmed by her presence.

“You always know how to get under my skin, Granger,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of something more underneath.

Hermione smiled, tapping her chin as though pondering. “Well, I suppose you do make it so easy.”

“Easy?” Draco scoffed, feigning offense. “I’m not easy, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, stifling a laugh. “But you do tend to throw yourself into situations that make it difficult for anyone to ignore you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, stepping closer again, this time making her hold her ground as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against her ear in that all-too-familiar teasing way. “I think you like it, Granger.”

Hermione’s breath caught, but she didn’t let him see her reaction, instead tossing her hair over her shoulder, playing it cool. “I like nothing about this. I just like seeing you squirm.”

“Oh, you’re playing that game now, huh?” Draco said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, stepping even closer. “Well, if it’s a game you want, I can certainly give you one.”

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to contain the flush threatening to creep up her neck. She suddenly felt the need to put some distance between them—just for a moment, just to rethink what was happening between them.

“I think,” she said, backing up a little, “I’ve had enough of your games for one night, Malfoy.”

Draco raised his hands in mock surrender, an amused smile on his face. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you a break. For now.”

But then, before she could fully pull away, he reached out, quickly pulling her back to him in a surprisingly gentle hug.

Hermione froze for a moment, her body stiff in his arms, but the warmth of his embrace soon melted her hesitation. She could feel his heart beating against hers, strong and steady, as if he wasn’t trying to play any more games.

“Didn’t think you’d actually hug me,” she murmured, her voice teasing.

Draco’s chuckle vibrated against her, his arms tightening around her waist just a little. “Well, you’re lucky, Granger. You don’t see me offering this to just anyone.”

“I’m very lucky,” she quipped, her voice softening as she let herself relax into the hug, even if just for a moment.

There was something almost… comforting about it. Something that made her heart flutter, like it was finally starting to make sense.

They stood there for a while, the cool night air wrapping around them as the sound of the lake lapping gently against the shore filled the space between their breaths. Draco’s hands were still lightly holding her, but the tension had dissipated, leaving only a quiet understanding.

“So, what now?” Hermione asked, looking up at him, her voice still playful but tinged with something more.

Draco raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into another one of those crooked smiles. “Well, you know, I’m not one to back down from a challenge.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” Hermione shot back, her fingers tracing the edge of his sleeve, as if she was considering something she hadn’t quite figured out. “But don’t think you’ve got me all figured out just yet.”

“I never said I did,” Draco replied, his voice laced with amusement. “But I’m curious, Granger. Do you want me to figure you out?”

Hermione hesitated, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Maybe,” she said slowly, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’ll let you try.”

“Good,” Draco said, his hands gently releasing her, but only just enough to allow their fingers to brush once more. “But I warn you, Granger. I don’t plan on letting you off the hook that easily.”

Her smile deepened, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “We’ll see, Malfoy. We’ll see.”

As they walked back to the castle, side by side, their banter continued, but this time it was different. It wasn’t just playful jabs or teasing remarks. There was something deeper now, something that neither of them could ignore. Something that made them both realize—whether they were ready for it or not—that the line between their rivalry and something more was no longer as clear as it had once been.

And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly where they needed to be.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger sat there like a statue, her gaze as fixed as the stone upon the front page of the Hogwarts Herald. There would be an image of her and Draco Malfoy at very intimate moments at the lake, very much enjoying a kiss in full-color splendor. Her stomach turned, and her cheeks flushed fiery red. She blinked rapidly, willing herself awake from what felt like the most terrible nightmare, yet the newspaper was still there with the bold-looking headline: Malfoy and Granger—A Forbidden Love Blossoms? . 

"Who on earth would publish this?" she muttered to herself, fingers trembling above the page. One looked at the article standing by Astoria Greengrass, with eyes narrowed at something between disgust and curiosity. 

"HERMIONE GRANGER!" she stepped forward closer, voice dripping with venom. 

"Tell me, Granger, did you use a love potion on Draco to manipulate him into this... this farce?" Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Astoria's words cut deeper than she ever expected. How could Astoria accuse her of such a thing? 

"What -?" Hermione stuttered, trying to find words, while the entire room seemed to sink into an oppressive silence. All the students turned their eyes towards the two of them, waiting for some sort of explanation. Hermione felt as if every stares was cementing her shoulders to the ground, suffocating her.

And Astoria would not relent, her voice grow louder at any slur. "You're telling me this is just a mere coincidence-that drugs are not worlds apart in the kiss? That there isn't any craftwork behind this in order to get him to betray me, his supposed to be wife,?" she finished, hissing the last word and stretching out her hands as if to thrust Hermione out of the scene into some confessing confession she had no intention of making.

Hermione had a heart that was pounding like crazy and did not know how to respond. Love potions would be absolutely ludicrous, as would be any form of deception that would have Draco being manipulated in any way. But right now, there was Astoria, spewing venom, and that fact alone drew her into the cruel game. People gasped as they spread the whispers around the entire hall.

Thus Ginny Weasley, who stood some paces away, narrowed her eyes at Astoria. "Enough!" she snapped, stepping forward and shoving Astoria's arm away from Hermione. "What are you even talking about? Do you think Hermione would do something like that? 

Pansy Parkinson, who was standing right next to Ginny, had folded her arms across her chest, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Astoria, you really are unbelievable. Are you seriously accusing Hermione of that? Just because Draco has more sense than to get tangled up in your petty jealousy?" she shot back, her voice dripping with disdain. 

But Astoria was not going to be deterred. Her eyes blazed with rage as she shoved past both Ginny and Pansy and now was not looking at either of them but at Hermione. The look in her eyes crackled with such tension that it almost seemed possible for the air between them to explode.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she spat. "You’ve humiliated me—betrayed me—publicly. And all for what? A few moments of fame with him ?" Her finger jabbed in Draco’s direction, who had been standing near the fireplace, watching the scene unfold with a tight, unreadable expression. “I am not sorry for revealing your dirty tricks! The whole school should know…how desperate you are for his attention!”

"Astoria, you're out of line," Draco said finally, his voice calm, though there was a hard edge to it. He stepped forward, but Hermione, flustered and still in shock from the accusation, stepped back.

"No," Astoria snapped, turning to him with a wild look in her eyes. "You don’t get to play the hero now. You’ve been manipulated just as much as I have, Draco. Tell her. Tell everyone. Did she use a love potion on you, or did you truly fall for her?"

The words hit like a slap across Hermione’s face, and her heart skipped a beat. She knew the accusations were ridiculous. She knew Draco—he would never fall for someone under the influence of a potion. But the looks in the room, the hushed voices, the way everyone was waiting for Draco to confirm or deny… it made her feel small, like a spider caught in a web of lies she hadn’t woven.

Astoria’s eyes narrowed, a cruel smile creeping onto her lips. "Well then," she continued, her voice lowering in a challenge. "If you’re so sure this is real, Draco, prove it. Prove that you're not under the effect of some potion. You kissed her in public, didn’t you? Go ahead, kiss her again, and let everyone see that it’s your real feelings for her."

A stunned silence fell over the room. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and she stared at Astoria in disbelief. How could she be so brazen? How could she push for such a public spectacle?

Ginny and Pansy exchanged glances, then looked back at Draco, who stood there, unmoving, his jaw tight. The tension in the room reached its peak.

Pansy let out a soft, amused chuckle, and Ginny smirked. "Well, if it’s a show Astoria wants," Ginny said with a raised brow, "then it’s a show she’ll get." She looked at Draco, then Hermione, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Go on, Malfoy. Show her exactly how real this is."

"Mission accomplished," Pansy muttered under her breath, and both girls clapped their hands in mock applause, as if daring Astoria to keep up her act.

Astoria’s smile faltered slightly at the unexpected turn, but she quickly masked it with feigned confidence. She stood her ground, her eyes glinting with a new challenge. "You think this is some game, Ginny? Draco is breaking pureblood laws, breaking his marriage contract by associating with someone like Granger," she sneered, casting an icy glance at Hermione. "This isn’t just about a kiss, Draco. It’s about your reputation, your entire future."

But before Draco could respond, a voice interrupted. "She’s right, Astoria," said Theo Nott, stepping forward with an air of authority. "Blood status doesn’t matter anymore. You may have forgotten, but this isn't the same world we grew up in. People can be with who they want, regardless of blood."

Blaise Zabini, who had been silent until now, stepped forward too, his voice calm but firm. "Theo's right. The pureblood laws are outdated. Draco’s not breaking anything by kissing Hermione. In fact, you’re the one breaking the rules by trying to control him," he said, his tone sharp. “And as far as I have known, Draco’s not betrothed to anyone.”

Astoria’s face twisted in fury, but she couldn't find a retort. The room buzzed with the weight of the moment, the students watching as the pureblood traditions, so long upheld by people like Astoria, began to crumble under the pressure of evolving ideals.

Draco looked back at Hermione, his eyes softening as he stepped closer to her. She held her breath, unsure of what was about to happen, but before she could react, Draco reached out and cupped her face gently in his hand. The room seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed her—this time, slowly and with intention.

It wasn’t like the impulsive kiss by the lake—it was tender, filled with an unspoken promise, and it shut down every whisper, every doubt, every accusation in the room. The kiss was proof, not just for Astoria, but for everyone watching, that Draco Malfoy’s feelings for Hermione Granger were real, and nothing would tear them apart.

Astoria stood frozen, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, as Draco finally pulled away from Hermione. There was no shame in his gaze, no hesitation. Only certainty.

"Astoria," Draco finally spoke, his voice cutting through the tension, "I’m not yours and will never be. If you don’t understand that by now, then nothing I say will change it. So, I suggest you leave." His stare is very cold, almost sharp and dangerous. “And do not command your elf to rammage on my things ever again.”

Astoria’s mouth opened and closed as if searching for words, but she said nothing more. With one last glare at Hermione, she stormed out of the room, her high heels clicking sharply on the stone floor.

As the door slammed shut behind her, a collective sigh seemed to escape the students in the room. Ginny and Pansy exchanged satisfied looks, while Theo and Blaise shared a nod of approval.

Draco turned to Hermione, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. The weight of the situation was still there, but now, it was just the two of them standing amidst the drama, standing against the world.

Hermione's cheeks were flushed, but there was a sense of calm settling over her, as though, for once, she didn’t have to fight alone.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible.

Draco nodded as he hold her hand, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held something deeper—something that said words were unnecessary. 

The dramatic confrontation unfolded, and the tension in the room began to fade. Astoria dramatically left, leaving behind an odd silence amongst the group. It was more of a release of quiet then a silence that made everyone feel on edge. It was like a storm had passed, and the calm had finally come. But the whispers still lingered in the background. 

Theo Nott leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk on his face as he caught the eye of Draco. "Well, that was...something," he said dryly amused. "Astoria was practically foaming at the mouth. But in the end, who is the real winner here?" 

Blaise Zabini, who had not contributed much to the argument, raised an eyebrow and chuckled slightly. "You are not having fun in this drama, Theo?" He shook his head, lips curling just slightly at the corners. "But seriously, I think it's pretty clear who has won this round. And that's me. Now give me the galleons, Nott!"

Theo just snorted, passing some galleons on Blaise who raised his fist triumphantly. 

Draco, standing tall with his chest puffed out, just shakes his head at the hilarious actions of his friends, casting a proud glance in Hermione’s direction. “Clearly,” he said, his voice a mixture of satisfaction and arrogance. “I think it’s safe to say that Hermione is very off-limits .” His eyes gleamed, as if he was savoring every bit of the triumph. “But I can defend her, really. You guys  stole my spotlight!”

Hermione blushed at his words, but there was something in his tone—something possessive—that made her heart flutter. She didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or smile at how Draco seemed to relish in the fact that he had marked his territory, so to speak.

“Oh, he’s definitely enjoying this,” Ginny quipped, a mischievous grin on her face as she walked up to the pair, her arms crossed and a twinkle in her eye. “Just look at him. Proud as a peacock.”

Pansy, who had been watching the scene unfold with an amused expression, joined in. “You should’ve seen the look on his face when Astoria started trying to corner Hermione. Like he was about to rip her head off.”

Ginny laughed and nudged Draco’s shoulder. “Did you think you were being subtle there, Malfoy? You looked like you were ready to declare Hermione your property right then and there.”

Draco flashed a smirk, unbothered by their teasing. “I don’t need to be subtle when the message is clear, do I?” His gaze shifted back to Hermione, his eyes softening for just a moment. “She’s mine, and I’ll make sure the entire school knows it.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Draco wore his pride like armor. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible, but charming,” he retorted, a playful glint in his eye. “And I’m not the one who’s been hiding in the shadows. That’s all you, Granger.”

Pansy snickered, then shot Draco a teasing look. “She’s right, though. You’ve been practically broadcasting it to everyone now. Not exactly subtle, Draco.”

Draco rolled his eyes, clearly enjoying every second of it. “You think I care about subtlety? No one’s going to question who I’m with. They’ll know, and they’ll keep their distance. Besides, Astoria should’ve figured it out by now. She’s a little slow, I suppose.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re talking about making Hermione your girl to an entire room of people who are dying to gossip, right? Do you think you’re the first one to stake a claim?” Her grin widened. “Everyone’s going to be talking about it for weeks.”

“Exactly,” Blaise chimed in, his tone casual. “And by next week, no one will bat an eye when they see the two of you together. They’ll just accept it, as they should.”

Theo gave a knowing look. “I’m just surprised it took you two this long to make it official. It was clear to everyone else ages ago.” He paused, as if recalling something. “But now, at least it’s out in the open, and no one can deny it.”

Draco shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on Hermione’s shoulder. “We like to keep things interesting,” he said, leaning in toward her. “Don’t we, Granger?”

Hermione, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in her chest, rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“But you love me anyway,” Draco said confidently, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Ugh, don’t make me regret saying that,” Hermione muttered, her cheeks flushing despite her attempt at resistance. She was thankful that her words were lost in the group’s laughter.

They carried on teasing, while Ginny, Pansy and the rest cackled and joked. The delightfully intelligent young Draco plainly appeared in his element; he was obviously finding great enjoyment in it. Yet Hermione felt an odd sort of comfort in playfulness. She was unused to the attention being solely hers, but with Draco standing there, feeling as though it might be... normal. 

Pansy leaned toward Hermione with an evil grin. "I think about him liking you a bit too much" in an air of conspiracy, as she turned slightly to Draco, now smil-ing at something Theo had just mentioned.

Hermione, still feeling a bit overwhelmed, raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, please,” Pansy replied with a smirk. “The way he looks at you? He’s practically declaring war on anyone who even looks in your direction. He’s definitely in love with you.”

Ginny nodded, her tone light but sincere. “And you’re not exactly complaining, are you? Not that I blame you, of course. You two look… well, you look good together.”

Hermione felt her face heat up again, but there was no denying the warmth that spread through her chest at their words. She hadn’t expected the teasing to feel so comfortable, but it did. Maybe because, at the end of the day, no matter what everyone else thought, Draco and Hermione had something real.

“And that,” Draco said with an exaggerated gesture, “is why you’re all still here. You need to see just how right this is.”

Theo and Blaise exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. “Right,” Theo said with a chuckle. “But, if we’re being honest, the whole ‘claiming Hermione’ thing? It’s already well-established. You’re not exactly making it subtle.”

Draco grinned. “Good. I don’t plan to.” He looked at Hermione again, his gaze full of a certain pride that made her heart skip a beat. “She’s mine. And everyone will know.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really are impossible, Draco Malfoy.”

“Impossible? More like inevitable,” he countered, the pride in his voice making her smile.

The afternoon sun dipped slowly below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the Quidditch pitch while players dismounted from their brooms, adrenaline still gushing from practice. The air was thick with laughter, chatter, and the occasional teasing remark. The rest of the team began to scatter towards the locker rooms, except Hermione and Draco, who stayed at the edge of the field with their friends. Draco lay sprawled on the bench, arms across the back of it, draped lazily in all Quidditch kit and seemed relaxed. 

Alongside that, there was a slightly crimson tinge on Hermione's cheeks from the earlier drama. Despite toning down the teasing, there was something pretty comforting about being in Draco's company, mostly as his presence was a constant comforting, grounding force within the child. 

Pansy, Ginny, Theo, and Blaise argued on something hotly, concerning the very latest news in Hogwarts' Herald. Apparently, it was all Astoria, who poured all that stuff from the journal to the picture by the lake; that is how she was referred to as the biggest gossip ever, but Hermione barely heard them at that moment. She got lost in her thoughts, fingers tracing the edge of the bench absently as she tried in vain to wrap her mind around all that had just happened.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching pulled her from her reverie. She looked up just as Harry and Ron appeared at the edge of the group, their faces unusually serious.

“Hermione!” Harry called, a look of concern etched on his face. Ron, walking just behind him, glanced between the two of them before finally speaking up.

“We heard the commotion from the castle,” Ron said, his voice a bit more wary than usual. “Is it true? What’s going on with you and… him?” He gestured vaguely in Draco’s direction, clearly unsure how to phrase the question without starting another row.

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes, but before she could respond, Draco cut in with that all-too-familiar drawl.

“Is there a problem, Potter? We’re just trying to enjoy some peace and quiet after practice,” Draco said, his tone dripping with mock sweetness as he subtly intertwined his fingers with Hermione’s, pulling her closer to him. His smirk never faltered as he looked at Harry and Ron.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as she instinctively squeezed his hand, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort from his boldness. It was as if Draco had silently declared that this was no longer a matter for discussion, and if anyone had a problem with it, they’d have to take it up with him.

Harry shot Draco a look, but it wasn’t one of anger or frustration—it was one of disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite process what he was seeing. “What are you talking about?” Harry asked, clearly confused. “We’re talking about you and Hermione, Malfoy. Are you really going to act like nothing happened?”

Draco smirked even more, pulling Hermione’s hand to his lap, his fingers still tangled with hers. “Oh, I’m sure Hermione’s perfectly capable of speaking for herself, Potter. But since you seem to be so concerned, I’ll spare her the trouble.”

Ron narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Draco. “Cut the act, Malfoy. We’ve seen the pictures. Is it true or not?”

Draco leaned back on the bench, nonchalantly draping his other arm over the back of it. “The pictures? Oh, you mean the ones from the lake?” He raised an eyebrow, looking almost bored by the question. “Yes, it’s true. I kissed Hermione. And I’m not sorry about it.” His voice carried the confidence of someone who had long since made peace with the fact that their actions were unapologetically their own.

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances. “Wait, what ?” Ron blurted out, clearly taken aback. “You’re saying you’re... together?” He shook his head as if trying to wrap his mind around the concept. “But—Hermione, you didn’t say anything. Why didn’t you—?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” Draco interrupted smoothly, his tone sharp as he turned to Ron, his hand tightening around Hermione’s. “Hermione doesn’t owe you an explanation for her personal life, Weasley.” His gaze flicked over to Harry, who looked slightly uncomfortable but still processing the situation. “Neither does she owe you anything, Potter.”

Hermione, feeling Draco’s grip on her hand, gave him a sideways glance, surprised by how easily he took control of the situation. For a moment, she simply stared at their intertwined fingers, trying to steady her racing heart. She hadn’t expected Draco to speak up on her behalf like this—especially not with so much certainty.

Harry, after a few moments of silence, finally spoke, though his voice was softer than before. “I didn’t expect this, Hermione,” he admitted, though there was a flicker of something that resembled understanding in his eyes. “But if you’re happy…”

“I am,” Hermione replied, squeezing Draco’s hand in return, her voice firm and resolute. “I’m happy, Harry. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She turned to Draco, her gaze locking with his, a subtle but confident smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Ron huffed but said nothing more, though his expression softened slightly. “Well, I guess if you’re happy, then… whatever,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t fully convinced. He glanced back at Draco, his eyes still wary. “Just… don’t hurt her, Malfoy. You won’t like me if you do.”

Draco’s eyes glittered with a touch of menace, but it was brief. “You don’t have to worry about that, Weasley,” he said, his voice a little too smooth. “I take care of what’s mine.” He gave Hermione a possessive glance before adding, “Now, if you’re done checking up on us, I think it’s time you two skedaddle.”

Harry, finally sensing the tension dissipating, nodded reluctantly, though his eyes still lingered on Hermione. “Alright, alright. Just—take care of her, Malfoy.”

“I always do,” Draco replied, smirking at both of them.

As Harry and Ron, now joined by Ginny, made their way back toward the castle, Draco leaned back against the bench with a satisfied grin, pulling Hermione closer until her head rested against his shoulder. “See? I told you this was all going to work out. They’ll get used to it, eventually.”

Hermione, her cheeks still a little warm from the entire exchange, smiled up at him. “I didn’t realize you were so… possessive,” she teased, her voice light.

“Only when it comes to you,” Draco said, his smile softening as he kissed the top of her head. “And I plan on making that perfectly clear to everyone.”

Chapter Text

The lake is peaceful, but its peace was punctuated by the soft rustling of the trees surrounding it. This was their place; the only safe haven where they could spend time together without prying eyes from others or the responsibilities of the world hanging over their heads. The only place where they could be themselves. 

Hermione dips her toes into the cold, clear lake. Soon, the sun will sink beneath the horizon; now, it's casting that honeylike golden glow upon the surface of the lake. Her gaze is lost beyond the rippling surface, her mind far away. To get to this place of warmth and love with Draco Malfoy, her lover, had indeed been quite a journey. 

Now she looked back at how it started and how things changed between the two of them. It felt eons ago, though it was truly a matter of sparsely sounding months. 

Initially, she was mad at the very thought that Draco was intruding into her privacy. That night he had found her journal—where she poured all her thoughts, fears, and dreams—and that had nearly sent her off the cliff. And yes, she could still vividly remember the look that had crossed his face at his mention of reading it. The endless teasing smirk that danced across his face, the smugness of his voice as he teased her into a frenzy. It felt as if he had sullied her deepest, most intimate musings, making violation seem like one word to her. How dare he in her mind then.

But then… things changed.

Draco was a born tactician who could turn even the cruelest, most raw reality into something bearable. But this had become their exposure, his own journal, almost the mirror image of hers. He was teasing, yes, but tenderness was there that she had not anticipated. He bled himself slowly, word after painful word, onto paper. His arrogance and wit, his vulnerabilities and insecurities-all flowed out into the paper, and slowly, so slowly-she began to understand him in a way like never before. 

Increased times of mutual playful banter turned teasing into communication. It was no longer about defense; no longer, did he try to annoy her. It became their thing-the way they shared laughs over his cheeky remarks or the petty arguments that drove them back together-all their words grew to more, to deeper. 

Then it happened that evening; the words of their journals stirred with truth. Both had watched from the edge of the lake, where they usually met, the sound of the trees whispering about them. The weight of many unsaid things had lingered between them for too long, yet it had been Draco who had made the first move.

Hermione smiled to herself and remembered how he had kissed her, slowly at first, testing the waters, his lips just a whisper against hers. After the kiss was finally over, it lingered long beyond that moment. Breathless, it left her heart pounding in her chest. The kiss put reality to what both had felt toward each other but had not said to one another, so familiar in the tension, in the unspoken desire, and the love that had lain quietly building between them. 

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled Hermione from her reverie. She turned to find Draco walking towards her, his silver-blonde hair glinting away in the fading light. He flashed her one of his trademark smirks, the same one that used to annoy her, but now made her heart flutter.

“What’s that smile for?” Draco asked as he sat beside her, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“Oh, nothing,” Hermione replied, her voice soft but teasing. She nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Just reminiscing.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Reminiscing, eh? Care to share what’s going on in that clever little mind of yours?”

Hermione’s smile grew wider as she looked out over the water again, the reflection of the sun casting a gentle glow over the surface. “Just thinking about how things have changed. How we’ve changed.”

Draco leaned back, crossing his arms, clearly amused. “Oh, I can only imagine. From you hating me to, well, you know…” He trailed off with a suggestive glance.

Hermione blushed, her cheeks coloring at the memories of their earlier banter, their flirtations, their growing connection. “I didn’t hate you,” she said, her voice low but certain. “I was just… frustrated. You didn’t make it easy to like you.”

“I make it difficult for everyone,” Draco remarked with a chuckle. “But here you are, all mine.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the words. “I suppose so.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze playful. “So, when did it happen, Granger? When did you start fantasizing about me?” His smirk deepened, his tone teasing. “Was it love at first sight, or did I have to wear you down?”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, a rosy blush creeping up her neck. She looked away, the thought of her feelings for Draco being put into words suddenly making her feel vulnerable. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup. “I didn’t start out liking you like that. It just… happened.”

Draco’s laughter rang out, warm and genuine. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You’re adorable when you blush like that,” he said, his voice softer now, a tenderness she rarely heard in his words.

Hermione’s heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, and the way he made her feel like the most important person in the world. “I’m not cute,” she muttered, though she couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips.

“You are,” Draco insisted, his voice filled with affection. “And you’re mine, all mine.”

She tilted her head to look at him, their eyes meeting, and for a moment, everything seemed to stand still. “I’m glad I’m yours,” Hermione whispered.

Draco’s smirk softened, and he leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. The kiss was slow, lingering, full of everything they had built together—the teasing, the banter, the love that had grown between them. And as they pulled apart, he murmured against her lips, “And I’m glad you’re mine, too.”

The soft breeze of the evening stirred around them, but for that moment, it was just the two of them—together, in their secret place by the lake. Where everything had started and everything was still unfolding.

And they were both more than willing to let the story continue.

The moonlight fell softly over the skating lake creating a peaceful atmosphere, which caressed over these two souls snuggled up in its carpet of grass. Draco and Hermione now sat in silence, spellbound in such a particular moment, an absolute hush of the world, as though in its breath it waited for such a rare indication of peace they had found together.

Draco's fingers dancing along hidden something into folds of robes. Then turning to Hermione, he had a faint hesitancy smile on his face, a trait most unlike him slowly fading into quite a bit of a raw vulnerability. 

"I have something for you," he said.

His voice was slightly softer on occasion.

Curiously raising her eyebrow as she moved forward to look at what he was drawing out, Hermione gazed at a small but artistically folded piece of paper. The fold gave Draco an impression of heckling, challenging: it may take her a moment to recognize the shape as a flower—an intricate one, with sharp, detailed folds that could only have been made with immense patience and skill.

She held it in her palm, turning it over gently. "Is this...?" 

A nod passed from Draco, his face extraordinarily sheepish. "It's an origami flower," he said, voice low as he made eye contact with Hermione. "I... spent hours making it." 

He fell quiet as he searched her eyes for a response.

Hermione blinked, feeling a warm flush between her cheeks, realizing how much he seemed to have poured his heart into these words. The little creases in his fingers, where he had folded each piece of paper, spoke volumes of the more extensive obsession he may have carried about her-and of the time he had dedicated to such art even under the heavy burden of everything else that had happened to him in the recent past.

“I’m sorry it’s not a real flower,” he continued, his voice tinged with regret. “I can’t go home yet, and, well, with everything that’s happened—our family’s wealth is frozen… I haven’t exactly had access to the usual... luxuries.” His words were laced with frustration, but also with the vulnerability of someone who was still adjusting to a life that wasn’t the one he’d known before.

Hermione’s heart softened at his words, and she quickly reached for his hand, her fingers brushing against his palm. “Draco,” she said gently, her voice firm with affection. “You don’t have to apologize for any of that.”

She placed the origami flower in his hand and leaned closer, her gaze intense. “This—” she touched the delicate folds once more, “—this means more to me than a bouquet ever could. The time, the effort you put into this… it’s perfect. It’s thoughtful, and it’s beautiful. Don’t ever apologize for something like this again.”

Draco’s eyes softened as she spoke, his chest tightening at her words. He hadn’t expected her to react like this, and the sheer sincerity in her voice made his heart swell.

“Really?” he asked, his tone almost disbelieving, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “You actually like it?”

Hermione smiled, her eyes twinkling with affection. “More than you’ll ever know. It’s not about how grand the gesture is. It’s about the thought behind it—the fact that you cared enough to make something for me.”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat at her words. She had this incredible ability to make him feel seen, to make him feel that, even in his most vulnerable moments, he mattered. It was a sensation that was foreign to him, and yet, it felt so natural with her.

“I just… I wish I could do more for you,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “You’ve given me so much, and I just want to make you feel as special as you are.”

Her fingers tenderly caressed his cheek as Hermione's smile softened at him with a warmth that made his chest tighten. "Draco," she said softly, “You already do.” She leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, one that was full of meaning—of everything they’d shared, everything they’d become. 

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against his for a couple of seconds before she softened her eyes. "And I'm grateful for everything you do for me, every little thing," she whispered, choking up. "You don't have to prove anything to me. Just being here, with me, means the world."

Draco closed his eyes as well, letting the warmth of her words wash over him. For the first time in ages, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. It wasn’t about wealth, or status, or all the things he had once thought defined him. It was about this moment, this feeling, and the person beside him who had managed to see past all the walls he’d built around himself.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “I… I don’t deserve you, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes soft and unwavering. “You’re wrong,” she said, her voice firm but tender. “You do deserve me. You’ve earned this. You’ve earned us .”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at her words, his chest swelling with something deep and unnameable. He kissed her forehead lightly, holding her close as they lingered in the stillness of the evening, the moonlight their only company.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them, the quiet intimacy they had carved out in the midst of chaos, and the simple, beautiful truth that they had found in each other.

Hermione walked through the Gryffindor common room, her heart still fluttering from the warmth of Draco’s embrace and the tenderness of the flower origami he had made for her. Her fingers lightly traced the delicate paper tulip, the shape and precision reminding her of his dedication to the small gesture. She hadn’t expected this—Draco Malfoy, the same Draco who used to tease her relentlessly, is now doing things like this for her. It still felt surreal.

As she entered the room, she spotted Ginny sitting comfortably by the fire, sipping from a cup of tea. The moment Ginny caught sight of her, her face lit up with a knowing grin.

“Well, look at you,” Ginny said with a teasing lilt in her voice, raising an eyebrow as she set her cup down. “All smiley… and blooming.”

Hermione couldn't help the smile from tugging at her lips. Ginny was definitely going to be figuring everything out already. She probably even knew that already three weeks back; judging Ginny and how observant she can be. Still, it always gave Hermione a small rush of embarrassment to see the flower in her hand. "Ginny," Hermione started, biting her lip, "I can't help it. Is this… the feeling of being in a relationship with someone?"

The grin changed to a wide smirk as Ginny leant back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "Of course, my dear! Oh, I know exactly how this feels. But this"-she pointed at the tulip in Hermione's hand-"this is something new. I didn't even know Malfoy was this much into it. I mean, talk about next-level swooning right here, Hermione."

Hermione chuckled, and warmth surrounded her from the words of Ginny. "He was here doing it for hours, you know," she said softly, laced with fondness. "Maybe he was thinking that might not be enough since he couldn't get me real flowers." She tightened her fingers just a little around the flower. "I just… I don't even know what to say to that kind of effort."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "Wait, so you're telling me Draco Malfoy made this for you and he's been pouring it all into stuff like that?" The tone was a medley between disbelief and amusement. "Well, I'll level with you: I did not see that coming. I honestly thought he was the last person on earth to get sappy."

Hermione blushed and shrugged, feeling her heart warm at the thought of Draco’s efforts. “He’s changed, Ginny. A lot. And I don’t even think he realizes how much he’s changed. But I love it. I love the effort, the thoughtfulness.”

Ginny gave her a soft, knowing look, her expression turning more serious. “You are indeed… fallen in love.” she said, gently smiling.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t deny it. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think I am.”

Ginny’s smile softened. “It’s not so surprising, really. I mean, Draco’s always had potential underneath all that bravado. But I didn’t think he’d come around this much, especially to someone like you.” She gave a small chuckle. “I guess I can’t blame you. If I were you, I’d be pretty smitten with the effort he’s putting into all of this.”

Hermione laughed along, the sound light and relieved. “It’s just... it’s a lot to take in sometimes. I never expected this to happen, but here we are.”

Ginny’s smile shifted into something a bit more teasing. “Well, welcome to the world of being in a relationship with a guy who suddenly gets all romantic. It’s strange at first, but you’ll get used to it. Just don’t let it go to your head too much,” she added with a playful wink.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking at Ginny curiously. “You make it sound like you’re an expert. How’s life with a boyfriend? Are you still making those little ‘love notes’ with Harry?”

Ginny’s face softened into a smile as she thought of Harry. “Life’s good. Harry’s been amazing. I mean, sure, there are days when we drive each other mad, but that’s just part of it. You get used to the quirks, and when he does something sweet, it makes the hard days worth it.” She met Hermione’s eyes with a knowing glint of her own. “As for the love notes— maybe I’m a little guilty of that too,” she admitted with a cheeky grin. “But it’s the small gestures that count, right?”

Hermione chuckled, thinking of how Draco had given her this beautiful flower, even when he was unable to buy her real ones. It made her appreciate everything even more. “I guess that’s true. It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?”

Ginny nodded, her face softening as she regarded Hermione. “Exactly. So, here’s my advice to you, ‘Mione: Just enjoy it. Don’t overthink it. Relationships, they come with their ups and downs, but when you have someone who’s really trying and who genuinely cares, that’s the important part. And Draco’s definitely showing you that. I can tell just by looking at you two.” She winked. “Plus, those little sweet things? They add up.”

Hermione’s heart swelled at Ginny’s words, her fingers lightly brushing the petals of the flower. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m just... so glad I have you to talk to about this. It’s nice to have someone who gets it.”

Ginny smiled warmly, squeezing Hermione’s shoulder. “Anytime, Hermione. You know that.”

The two of them sat together, chatting about the future, about love, and about what had changed for each of them. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace knowing that no matter how complicated things got, she had both Draco and Ginny in her corner. And as the conversation drifted from one topic to the next, she couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of Draco, the tulip in her hand, and the future that lay ahead.

Hermione sat curled up on her bed, the glow of her wand illuminating her open journal. She absentmindedly twirled her quill between her fingers, a small smile playing on her lips as she traced the edges of the delicate tulip Draco had made for her earlier.

Just as she was about to write, her journal shimmered. Words appeared on the page, ink swirling to form his familiar handwriting.

“ Hermione .”

Hermione rolled her eyes, already anticipating his usual teasing.

“ Did you make it back safely, or did you trip over your own thoughts on the way? ”

She scoffed and dipped her quill into ink.

“I gracefully walked back to my dorm, thank you very much.”

His response came instantly.

“ Miracles do exist, then .”

She shook her head, biting back a laugh. But before she could think of a sharp retort, another paragraph formed on the page, his writing more careful this time.

“ Listen, I wanted to ask you something before you go to sleep. And no, it’s not whether you dream of me at night—though, let’s be honest, we both know you do. ”

Hermione flushed, pressing her lips together in exasperation.

“ You’re ridiculous, Draco.”

There was a pause, and then, beneath his words, something new appeared—a doodle.

A small, somewhat smug-looking sketch of Draco sat on the parchment, arms crossed, and next to him, a tiny doodle of her with what he probably thought was her hair (it looked more like an explosion). The Draco doodle held up a little sign that read:

“ Spend the holidays with me? ”

Hermione blinked, her heart skipping a beat.

And beneath the doodles, his next words appeared, a little more hesitant than usual.

“ Mother wants to meet you. Officially. I know things aren’t the same anymore, and I can’t exactly give you the grand Malfoy holiday, but... I’d really like you to come .”

Hermione smiled softly.

But instead of answering right away, a mischievous thought crossed her mind.

She tapped her quill to the parchment and wrote:

“ Oh, Draco, that sounds lovely, truly... but I might already have plans for the holidays .”

She barely finished writing before ink spilled rapidly across the page, forming an exaggeratedly large crying face with dramatic teardrops.

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her giggle, but she couldn’t contain her amusement.

Another scribbled message appeared beneath the drawing.

“ Hermione, NO .”

She let him suffer for a few seconds longer before finally writing:

“ Kidding. Of course, I’ll come .”

There was a pause.

Then, under the crying face, appeared a very smug doodle of Draco, arms crossed and looking victorious.

“ Good. You made me worried there, woman .”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head as she picked up her quill one last time.

Just beneath his doodle, she sketched a small version of herself holding up a parchment that read:

“ You’re stuck with me now, Draco .”

For a moment, the page remained still.

Then, in elegant script, his final response appeared:

“ Brilliant .”

Hermione closed her journal, hugging it close to her chest, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face. As she drifted off to sleep, she found herself already looking forward to the holidays—spending them with him.

Chapter Text

The corridors of Hogwarts burst with students who say goodbyes and drag trunks as they leave at the end of the term. A thick carpet of snow covered castle grounds and glittered at the soft light from the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. The smell of roasted chestnuts filled the air while laughter and warm hugs shared the space.

Near the entrance, Hermione stood with her trunk, her fingers curled tightly around the handle. She was nervous—no, beyond nervous. Spending Christmas at Draco Malfoy's house, even if it wasn’t Malfoy Manor, was still something she had never expected to happen in her lifetime. She adjusted her scarf, exhaling a visible breath in the cold air.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Ginny’s voice broke through her thoughts. The redhead stood beside her, arms crossed as she eyed Draco with a warning glare. Harry and Ron flanked her, equally skeptical.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ginny, I’ll be fine.”

Ron scoffed, shifting uncomfortably. “I still don’t get how this happened. You, Malfoy, spending Christmas together?” His face scrunched as if he’d swallowed a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean of the worst kind.

Harry, ever the peacekeeper, sighed. “Look, Hermione, we just—” He hesitated before glancing at Draco. “We just want to make sure he treats you right.”

Draco smirked, his arms folded. “Oh, don’t worry, Potter. I’ll treat her like a queen.” His eyes glinted mischievously. “Can’t have her running back to you a lot, complaining, can I?”

Ron groaned. “You’re impossible.”

Ginny stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Just—write to us, alright? If you need anything.”

Hermione softened. “I will.”

Draco, growing impatient, tapped his foot. “Alright, say your goodbyes before we miss the bloody train.”

Ginny gave Hermione one last squeeze before stepping back. “Enjoy your Christmas,” she said, though her narrowed gaze at Draco clearly meant ‘You better not ruin it for her’ .

With a final wave, Hermione turned and followed Draco toward the carriages.

The train ride was quieter than usual. Hermione sat beside Draco, her thoughts occupied with the reality of where she was going. She hadn’t met Narcissa Malfoy outside of brief, unpleasant encounters during the war. And while she knew the woman had saved Harry in the end, there was still an intimidating air about her.

Sensing her unease, Draco nudged her arm. “Stop overthinking,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’ll be fine.”

Hermione let out a breath. “Easy for you to say.”

Draco tilted his head, studying her. “My mother already likes you.”

Hermione frowned. “She doesn’t even know me.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “She knows enough.”

Before she could question him, the train gave a final lurch as they arrived at King’s Cross. Draco led her off the train, weaving through the bustling crowd. Then, just ahead, she spotted her.

Narcissa Malfoy stood tall, her elegant robes swaying slightly as she scanned the crowd. When her eyes landed on Draco, a small, rare smile softened her face.

Draco’s grip on Hermione’s wrist loosened as he stepped forward. “Mother.”

Narcissa’s expression warmed as she pulled her son into a brief but firm embrace. Then, her gaze flickered to Hermione.

Hermione swallowed.

And then, in a gesture that stunned her, Narcissa Malfoy stepped forward and pulled Hermione into a hug. A real, warm, motherly hug.

Hermione stiffened at first, unprepared for the sensation. Then, something in her cracked. She closed her eyes, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla and something floral. It had been so long since she had felt a mother’s embrace.

When Narcissa pulled back, she touched Hermione’s cheek lightly. “Welcome,” she said simply, her voice smooth but genuine.

Something burned behind Hermione’s eyes. She blinked quickly, clearing her throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Call me Narcissa,” she corrected, then turned to Draco. “Shall we?”

Draco nodded and took Hermione’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before leading her toward the awaiting carriage.

The Malfoy house was not the Manor.

That much was obvious as Hermione stepped through the grand entrance. While still impressive, it lacked the overwhelming, cold grandeur of Malfoy Manor. Instead, it was warm, decorated in soft, rich colors, and adorned with elegant but welcoming Christmas decorations. A beautifully decorated tree stood in the parlor, its golden ornaments glistening under the candlelight.

Hermione took in the sight, exhaling softly.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted.

Draco smirked. “Told you it wouldn’t be that bad.”

Narcissa appeared beside them, removing her gloves. “Draco, take her things upstairs. Hermione, would you like tea?”

Hermione hesitated before nodding. “Yes, please. That sounds lovely.”

As Draco begrudgingly carried her trunk upstairs, Narcissa led Hermione into an elegant sitting room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow. An elf appeared with a tray of tea, and Narcissa poured them each a cup.

Hermione wrapped her hands around the warm porcelain, still feeling a bit out of place.

“You’re nervous,” Narcissa observed.

Hermione glanced up, startled. “I—”

Narcissa’s gaze was calm, but piercing. “I imagine it must be odd, being here.”

Hermione hesitated before nodding. “A little.”

Narcissa took a sip of her tea, studying her. “Draco speaks highly of you.”

Hermione blinked. Draco Malfoy? Speaking highly of her?

“I—he does?”

A knowing smile tugged at Narcissa’s lips. “Of course. He wouldn’t have invited you otherwise.”

Hermione’s fingers tightened around her cup. She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

After a moment, Narcissa set her tea down. “I lost my sister, you know,” she said suddenly.

Hermione stiffened. She knew, of course.

Narcissa’s gaze remained distant. “Family is… complicated. And while I may not have agreed with Andromeda’s choices, I see now that love and loyalty are not things to be tossed aside so easily.” She turned her eyes to Hermione. “Draco has made his choice. And so long as he is happy, I will respect it.” 

After placing down the tea cup at the table, she holds Hermione’s hand, as she says, “I heard about your parents, and that's so brave of you. I hope you may treat me as your own mother too, as I know, you're already part of our family.

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling the warmth of Narcissa’s sincerity.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Narcissa nodded once, then stood gracefully. “Now, dinner should be ready soon. Draco will show you to your room.”

As if on cue, Draco strolled in, hands in his pockets. “All settled?”

Hermione stood, giving Narcissa a small smile before turning to Draco. “Yes.”

He smirked, nodding toward the hallway. “Come on, Hermione. I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

As they walked down the corridor, Hermione exhaled slowly.

Maybe, just maybe, this Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Upon entering the room, her breath stilled a little. 

Warm and welcoming, not in the least what she expected from Malfoy property. Walls were painted soft cream color with lovely dark wooden furniture. A fireplace crackled in one corner, spreading the golden light across the plush emerald and silver blankets draped over the large bed. One whole side of the room was lined with bookshelves filled perfectly arranged items which tell how much the Malfoys love reading. A small set of seats was placed next to the window that opens to the snowy scenery as moonlight reflected beautiful across frosted trees.

She turned her gaze toward Draco, raising an eyebrow. "This is quite... unexpectedly cozy."

Draco smirked, dropping onto the bed with a lazy stretch. “Did you expect dark dungeons and snake-themed décor?”

Hermione snorted. “Something like that.”

He patted the space beside him. “Well, now you know I have excellent taste.”

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless sat on the bed, her fingers gently stroking the fabric of the soft blanket. She was just about to express her thoughts on how much better this felt than she'd imagined when suddenly Draco was tugging on her wrist, pulling her down beside him. 

“Draco!” she shrieked, laughing as she bounced onto the bed.

Smirking, he responded, “It’s my room too, Hermione; you’re not escaping me.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes playfully. “I could have had my own room, you know.”

Resting on his elbow with a sly smile, Draco said, “And yet, I refuse to let you be all alone on cold winter nights. What kind of boyfriend would I be?”

Hermione let out a dramatic sigh. “A reasonable one?”

Draco scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Before she could respond, he grabbed a pillow and smacked her lightly on the shoulder.

Hermione gasped. “You did not just—”

Another pillow hit her square in the face.

That was it.

It was just the usual pillow fight. The girl giggled loudly as she hurled the pillow on him as he dodged it with reflex quickness. That made Draco want to launch again, but Hermione tackled him first, sending them both crashing down on the mattress.

As they wrestled, feathers burst from the tore pillow into the air like snowflakes, while Hermione laughed pinning his arm down only for him to twist suddenly, flipping them over.

Now, Hermione was under him.

They ceased to laugh as their gazes locked.

Draco's weight pressed into her, his hands caressing her on either side of her head. Heaving chest warm against hers, some strands of wild curls fell loose to cover her face, and maybe without thinking, Draco reached out, gently brushing them away.

Hermione’s breath hitched at the tender gesture.

His fingers lingered against her cheek, his touch featherlight. His stormy grey eyes softened as he took her in, as if memorizing every detail.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

Heat rushed to Hermione’s cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled—soft, real, entirely captivated by the moment.

Draco’s gaze darkened, something shifting between them, something deeper, more intense.

Then, he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in the faintest ghost of a touch before pressing fully, claiming her in a kiss filled with fire and hunger.

Hermione melted into him, her hands instinctively threading through his platinum-blond hair, pulling him closer. His body pressed flush against hers, his warmth seeping into her, chasing away the winter cold.

Draco groaned softly as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers with urgency, like he had been waiting for this moment forever. His fingers trailed down her side, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

Hermione responded in kind, matching his intensity, letting herself get lost in him.

This wasn’t just a kiss.

This was a promise.

A declaration of something unspoken, something undeniable.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Draco rested his forehead against hers, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against her hip.

Hermione let out a small, breathless laugh. “Well… that escalated quickly.”

Draco smirked, his voice husky. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her lips.

Draco tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “You should get some rest. We have a long holiday ahead.”

Hermione hummed, content. “As long as you don’t hog the blankets.”

Draco scoffed. “Please, you look like the one who steals them.”

She shot him a mischievous look. “Then I guess we’ll just have to share.”

Draco’s smirk softened into something fonder. He pulled the covers over both of them, wrapping an arm around her waist. “That, I can live with.”

Hermione rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For the first time in a long time, she felt completely, utterly at home.

Hermione stirred, the scent of something warm and delicious pulling her from the depths of sleep. Blinking groggily, she stretched, only to pause when she spotted Draco standing at the foot of the bed, balancing a tray in his hands with an uncharacteristically smug grin.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he drawled.

She sat up, pushing her wild curls out of her face. “What is this?”

Draco set the tray down on her lap with a dramatic flourish. “Breakfast in bed, of course.”

Hermione blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the carefully arranged meal—golden toast with strawberry jam, perfectly scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and a steaming cup of tea just the way she liked it.

“You… made this?” she asked, looking at him suspiciously.

Draco scoffed. “Of course not. Elf-made, but still.”

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest only grew. “Then why the sudden romantic gesture?”

Draco smirked, crossing his arms. “Apparently, Muggles are fond of this sort of thing. Creevey mentioned it.”

Hermione’s lips parted slightly. “Creevey? Colin Creevey?”

He scowled. “Yes, him. I ran into him in Diagon Alley a while back—don’t ask why I even entertained a conversation. But he went on about how ‘Muggle romance’ involves things like breakfast in bed, flowers, and—ugh—public hand-holding.” Draco shuddered theatrically.

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “And here I thought you hated anything Muggle.”

Draco huffed. “I don’t hate it. I just don’t see the point of most of it. But,” he leaned closer, his voice lowering, “if it makes you happy, then I suppose I can tolerate it.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat, a soft blush creeping onto her face. She wasn’t used to Draco being openly affectionate like this, and despite his usual teasing, she could tell he meant every word.

Her heart swelled.

Without thinking, she reached for him, cupping his face before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

Draco hummed in approval, his hand coming up to rest on her waist as he deepened the kiss just slightly. But before things could escalate, Hermione pulled back, her eyes shining.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Draco smirked. “I should have Creevey give me advice more often, then.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled as she picked up her fork, finally digging into the meal. The food was warm, comforting, and delicious—whether elf-made or not, it was perfect.

As she ate, Draco settled onto the bed beside her, stretching his legs out lazily.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, sounding almost casual, “Mother went to Gringotts this morning. Something about retrieving funds from the unfreezing of the Black family’s accounts.”

Hermione raised a brow. “The Black family’s accounts?”

Draco nodded. “After the war, some of the Black fortune was frozen due to certain Dark Lord affiliations.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But since the Ministry has finally stopped poking their noses where they don’t belong, she was able to access them again.”

Hermione chewed thoughtfully. “So… she’s getting money.”

Draco smirked. “And shopping.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. “I can’t picture your mother shopping like a regular witch. What does she even buy?”

Draco leaned back against the headboard. “Knowing her? Probably expensive silks, enchanted jewelry, and whatever ridiculously overpriced perfume Pure-blood women fawn over.”

Hermione giggled. “And here I thought she was more practical.”

“Oh, she is,” Draco said easily. “But even she can’t resist a good spending spree after having her assets frozen for years.”

Hermione shook her head, finishing the last of her tea. She glanced over at Draco, who was watching her with an expression that was both fond and expectant.

“What?” she asked, raising a brow.

He smirked. “What’s your plan for today?”

Hermione stretched her arms. “Well, I was thinking of reading for a bit, maybe walking around the gardens—”

“No,” Draco interrupted smoothly.

She blinked. “No?”

Draco gave her a slow, lazy smirk. “My plan for today is to accompany you. Wherever you go, whatever you do.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “You really are clingy, you know that?”

Draco shrugged unapologetically. “You should consider yourself lucky.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.

Perhaps she really was lucky.

Snow drifted gently outside the grand windows of the Malfoy estate, the world beyond covered in a thick coating of shining white. Within the sitting room, warmth filled by the crackling fire created a soft glow over the elegant yet surprisingly cozy space. In the corner was a great Christmas tree, decorated with delicate silver and green ornaments, twinkling softly, like tiny stars, from its fairy lights.

Hermione curled up on the plush couch, her fingers wrapped around a cup of hot cocoa, the rich scent mingling with the pine and cinnamon that filled the room. She had never imagined spending Christmas at the Malfoys'—not in a million years—but here she was, wrapped in the serenity of a quiet celebration, her heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth.

He rested next to her, his arm flung lazily over the sofa, abandoning an unimportant cup of cocoa on the table. On the opposite side of the couch, Narcissa Malfoy, ever serene and graceful, sipped tea from her porcelain cup, her pale hair almost golden in the light of the crackling fire.

For the first time, Hermione saw her not as the cold, distant woman from her past, but as a mother—a mother who had endured so much, yet still sat here with soft eyes and a peaceful smile.

The quiet hum of the Christmas atmosphere wrapped around them like a comforting embrace, and Hermione let herself sink into it.

Narcissa set her tea down, glancing between the two of them. “Shall we exchange gifts now?”

Draco smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hermione giggled as Narcissa gracefully reached for a small, elegantly wrapped box and handed it to her. “This is for you, dear.”

Hermione hesitated before accepting it. “Oh, Narcissa, you didn’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Narcissa said with a slight shake of her head. “Consider it a welcome gift.”

Hermione carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a pair of delicate earrings—silver, with small emerald stones that sparkled under the light. They were subtle yet exquisite, elegant but not overbearing.

“They’re beautiful,” Hermione breathed, touching them with careful fingers.

Narcissa smiled. “Try them on.”

Draco, ever the impatient one, plucked them from the box and leaned forward, brushing Hermione’s curls aside to fasten them in place. His fingers lingered just slightly against her skin, and when he pulled back, he tilted his head, appraising her.

“They suit you,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something more tender.

Hermione blushed, reaching up to touch them. “Thank you, Narcissa. Truly.”

Narcissa inclined her head. “You’re very welcome.”

Hermione quickly reached for the neatly wrapped package she had set aside for Narcissa. “This is for you.”

Narcissa took the gift with mild curiosity, unwrapping it with the same careful elegance she did everything else. When she revealed the stack of Muggle romance novels, her eyes widened ever so slightly.

Draco groaned. “Merlin, don’t encourage her, woman.”

Hermione grinned. “I heard from someone that you’ve developed a fondness for love stories.”

Narcissa actually chuckled, a light, pleasant sound. “Did Draco tell you?”

Hermione cast Draco a knowing glance. “He may have mentioned it.”

“Well,” Narcissa said, running a gloved hand over the book covers, “I suppose it’s only fair that I expand my reading collection.” She gave Hermione a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you. This is quite thoughtful.”

Draco handed his mother a long, slim box next, his smirk betraying his excitement.

Narcissa lifted a delicate brow as she unwrapped the gift, pulling out a luxurious emerald green shawl, its edges lined with tiny pearls that gleamed in the firelight.

She held it up, her fingers tracing the fine fabric. “Draco… this is exquisite. Where did you find such a thing?”

Draco leaned back with an air of nonchalance. “I have reliable friends.”

Narcissa’s sharp gaze flickered to him, but instead of questioning further, she simply smiled knowingly and draped the shawl over her shoulders.

“It’s perfect,” she said softly, adjusting it. “Thank you, darling.”

Draco only smirked, but there was a hint of warmth in his expression as he turned to Hermione.

“And now, for you,” he said, fishing something out of his pocket.

Hermione blinked as he handed her a small, ornate silver key, its intricate design gleaming in the light. She turned it over in her palm, her brow furrowing. “What’s this for?”

Draco’s smirk widened. “The key to the Malfoy library.”

Hermione’s breath hitched. “You—what?”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I know how much you love books, Granger. And since my family owns the first edition of almost everything, I figured you’d appreciate unlimited access.”

Hermione gasped. “You’re giving me access to the Malfoy library?”

Draco shrugged. “Technically, I’m trusting you not to reorganize it like a madwoman, but yes.”

A squeal escaped Hermione before she could stop it, and in the next instant, she launched herself at Draco, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her with ease, chuckling as she buried her face against his shoulder.

“Thank you so much!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled.

Draco smirked, rubbing small circles on her back. “Told you I’m the best gift-giver.”

Hermione pulled back, her face glowing with excitement. “This is amazing. I—oh, Merlin, I can’t wait to explore it!”

Draco chuckled. “I figured as much.”

With a beaming smile, Hermione reached for the gift she had saved for last.

She handed Draco a small, unassuming box. Unlike the extravagant wrappings of the other presents, this one was simple—almost humble. Draco took it, intrigued, and unwrapped it with care.

Inside was a bracelet.

It was a men’s bracelet—worn, but sturdy—made of dark braided leather with a small silver clasp. The moment Draco lifted it, something about it felt… different.

He glanced at Hermione, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

“This was my father’s,” she said softly. “It’s the only thing I have left of him.”

Draco stilled.

His fingers ghosted over the band, his throat tightening. He could see it—the significance of it. This wasn’t just a gift. This was a piece of her past. A part of her family that she was giving him.

Slowly, he slipped it onto his wrist, where it fit perfectly.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised, his voice quieter than usual.

Hermione gave him a small, watery smile. “I know you will.”

Draco reached out, cupping her face as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her skin.

Hermione closed her eyes, exhaling softly.

The fire crackled beside them, the warmth of the room wrapping around them both.

And for the first time, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger felt like Christmas wasn’t just a holiday.

It was home.

The moonlight filtered softly through the windows into the bedroom, its silver brushstrokes painting the lovely sheets. The snowflakes fell gently, unhurriedly, as they were being weighed against the pace of Hermione's gentle breathing in; slip-slide, rise, and fall.

Her head nestled into Draco's forearm; bodies lovingly intertwined as if this had been desired. Here resided warmth between the two, whilst outside was the crassness of winter; neither had made any motion to depart, as they would have done so only to break the calm of such a stolen moment.

Draco let out a deep sigh, his fingers idly tracing the curve of Hermione’s spine. “You know, if someone told me a year ago that I’d be spending Christmas in bed with you—not in a scandalous way, mind you—I’d have hexed them for spouting nonsense.”

Hermione laughed softly, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his shirt. “You probably would have. And I would have called them mad for even suggesting it.”

Draco smirked, tilting his head so he could look at her properly. “And yet, here we are. Who would’ve thought, Hermione? All it took was an enchanted journal and my devilish charm.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. “More like your relentless teasing and shameless smutty remarks.”

Draco chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent warmth spreading through her chest. “Ah, yes. My finest work.”

She swatted his chest lightly. “Honestly, Draco, did you really have to corrupt my journal like that?”

Draco feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Corrupt? I merely enhanced it.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face against his shoulder. “You doodled on my notes! And don’t think I forgot the time you charmed that little version of yourself to waltz around the pages, whispering suggestive things.”

Draco grinned. “Oh, you mean the miniature me that made you blush furiously in the middle of class?”

Hermione groaned. “Yes! That one! Do you have any idea how difficult it was to explain why I suddenly slammed my book shut in the middle of McGonagall’s lecture?”

Draco laughed, tilting her chin up so he could see the lingering amusement in her eyes. “You loved it, though.”

Hermione huffed, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “I tolerated it.”

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh? So you didn’t keep those pages? Because I distinctly remember you refusing to erase my doodles.”

Her face turned a light shade of pink, and Draco’s smirk widened.

“You did keep them,” he accused, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Hermione sighed in defeat. “Fine. Maybe I liked them. Just a little.”

Draco grinned in triumph. “Knew it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of shared memories lingering between them.

Hermione traced lazy patterns over Draco’s chest, her fingers memorizing the contours of his skin. When she finally looked up, her expression was softer—more vulnerable.

Draco noticed the shift immediately. “What?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

Hermione bit her lip for a brief moment before inhaling deeply. Then, with unwavering sincerity, she whispered, “I love you, Draco.”

Draco froze.

For the first time in his life, his mind went completely blank. He stared at her, his usual quick wit utterly failing him.

He had imagined this moment before—perhaps with grand confessions, some dramatic gesture, or after a heated argument—but not like this. Not in the quiet of the night, wrapped in each other’s arms, with no audience but the stars outside.

And yet, it was perfect.

His heart pounded against his ribs as his lips parted, but no words came out. He swallowed thickly, his fingers tightening around her waist as he tried to process.

Hermione frowned slightly. “Draco?”

Draco finally snapped out of his trance, blinking rapidly before muttering, “Bloody hell.”

Hermione laughed, though there was a nervous edge to it. “That’s not exactly the response I was expecting.”

Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair. “No, wait. I—” He exhaled sharply, finally meeting her gaze. His voice softened. “I love you too, Hermione.”

A slow, radiant smile spread across her face, and Draco felt something in his chest ache—a fierce, all-consuming feeling that he wasn’t quite sure he could put into words.

So, he didn’t try.

Instead, he leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that spoke of everything he couldn’t say.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire—raw and unrestrained, filled with the passion and hunger of years spent dancing around each other, of battles fought with sharp words and stolen glances.

Hermione responded with equal fervor, her hands tangling in his hair as he rolled them over, pressing her into the mattress. Their breaths mingled, hearts racing in sync, as if making up for all the time they had wasted.

Draco deepened the kiss, his hands mapping every inch of her, as if to reassure himself that this—they—were real.

When they finally broke apart, Hermione’s forehead rested against his, her breath still unsteady. She opened her eyes, watching him in the dim glow of the room.

A small, knowing smile curved her lips. “You know,” she murmured, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “you really did edit my life, Malfoy.”

Draco pulled back slightly, raising a questioning brow.

Hermione sighed, her eyes holding nothing but warmth. “You started with my journal—scribbling on my notes, doodling in the margins, sneaking in comments just to annoy me. And now…” She swallowed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Now, you’ve rewritten everything. My life isn’t the same as it was before you barged in.”

Draco was silent for a moment, taking in her words. Then, he smirked, though his gaze was softer than usual. “Well, I am an excellent editor.”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. “A meddlesome one, more like.”

Draco leaned in again, brushing his lips against hers. “Meddlesome, charming, and utterly irresistible,” he murmured.

She rolled her eyes but kissed him anyway.

And as they held each other in the quiet of the night, Hermione knew—without a doubt—that she wouldn’t change a single thing.

Chapter Text

Hermione let out an amused huff as Draco’s hands carefully guided her through their shared bedroom. The warmth of his palms against her arms was comforting, though the blindfold wrapped around her eyes made her more aware of every movement, every shift in the air around her. She could feel Draco’s presence close—his breath ghosting near her ear as he muttered soft reassurances.

"Draco, what are you up to?" Hermione asked, her voice holding a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

He only chuckled, deep and rich, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

“You ask too many questions, woman. Just trust me,” he murmured, his tone filled with an undeniable tenderness.

Hermione sighed, but there was no real protest in her. Trust. It was a word that had taken years to rebuild between them, and now it stood as the foundation of what they had—something far more profound than she ever thought possible.

She focused on the sounds around her. The slight creak of the floorboards, the hush of the evening wind filtering through their open window, the faintest rustle of fabric as Draco shifted. And then silence.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, fighting the urge to pull off the blindfold and end the suspense. But Draco had asked her to trust him, and so she did.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. “Alright, you can remove it now.”

Hermione didn’t waste a second. She reached up, fingers fumbling with the knot at the back of her head before pulling away the soft fabric. The sudden brightness made her blink, her vision adjusting.

And then she saw him.

Draco was kneeling in front of her, one knee pressed against the wooden floor, his usually sharp gray eyes softened with something unreadable yet so utterly Draco. But what caught her breath—what made her heart lurch in her chest—was the delicate ring in his hand.

It was beautiful.

An emerald-green gemstone rested at the center, its depth resembling the rich hues of the forbidden forest at dusk. Tiny silver vines curled around the band, as if protecting the precious stone, making it look like something crafted from magic itself.

Hermione’s breath hitched. Her fingers trembled slightly as she brought them to her lips.

"Draco… what is this?" she whispered.

Draco swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he held her gaze. Then, with a slow breath, he began.

"This isn’t a proposal," he started, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable emotion beneath it. "Not yet. Not because I don’t want to marry you—I do. But because I know it’s still early, and you deserve more than a rushed moment."

Hermione could only stare, her chest tightening.

“This,” Draco continued, holding the ring up slightly, “is my promise to you.” His eyes burned into hers, filled with devotion and something raw, something fragile yet unbreakable. “A promise that no matter what happens, no matter where life takes us, I will cherish you. I will love you, protect you, and stand by your side for the rest of my life.”

A shaky breath escaped her lips.

“I don’t need a legal binding to know that I belong to you, Hermione. I already do. And I want us to be bound—not by parchment or law—but by something stronger. By us.”

Hermione felt her heart swell, emotions pressing against her ribcage with an intensity she wasn’t prepared for. Her hands trembled, but not out of hesitation—out of overwhelming, uncontainable joy.

Draco inhaled sharply, as if he, too, was struggling to keep his emotions at bay. "Will you wear this? As a symbol that we are already something more? Something permanent?”

Tears blurred her vision as she nodded—frantically, desperately—words failing her.

“Yes,” she choked out, a wet laugh escaping her lips as she wiped at her eyes. “Yes, of course, Draco.”

His shoulders loosened in relief, and with a slow, reverent movement, he took her left hand in his.

His fingers, steady despite everything, slid the ring onto her finger. The cool metal met her skin, fitting perfectly, as if it had always belonged there.

Hermione let out a breathless laugh, marveling at the sight of it on her hand. "It’s beautiful," she whispered.

Draco exhaled, watching her carefully, gauging her reaction as his thumb brushed against her knuckles. "You deserve the best, Granger."

That name—Granger—spoken with such affection, such familiarity, made her heart clench. He always did this. Made her fall deeper even when she thought it was impossible to love him more than she already did.

Overcome, Hermione surged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Draco let out a muffled grunt, but he melted into it, his hands finding purchase at her waist as he steadied them both.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips.

Draco kissed her again, deeply, reverently, before pulling back just enough to whisper, "I love you more."

Hermione let out a breathless laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then the bridge of his nose.

“I love you,” she said again, between each kiss. “I love you. I love you.”

Draco chuckled, his arms tightening around her. “Alright, alright, I get it.”

But Hermione wasn’t done. She continued pressing tiny, urgent kisses all over his face, making Draco groan in protest even as he tilted his head slightly, indulging her.

“Merlin, woman, you’re relentless.”

Hermione grinned. “You love it.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned in, capturing her lips in another slow, intoxicating kiss.

When they finally broke apart, Hermione traced the silver vines on her ring with her thumb, marveling at the way it glowed under the candlelight.

“You really mean it, don’t you?” she whispered.

Draco didn’t hesitate. “Every single word.”

Hermione bit her lip, eyes glistening as she tilted her head. “Then I’ll hold you to it, Draco.”

A smirk curled at his lips. “Wouldn’t have it any other way...”

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the world felt just a little bit lighter.

Because this—this was their forever.

That very night, the room was bathed in the soft, golden glow of candlelight, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the walls. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavier, every heartbeat louder. Draco Malfoy, who just came from his study, stood frozen in the doorway, his sharp gray eyes widening as they landed on the vision before him.

Hermione Granger sat perched on the edge of their bed, her posture languid yet deliberate. She was a masterpiece of temptation, clad in an exquisite set of emerald green lingerie that seemed to have been crafted just for her. The delicate lace hugged her curves like a second skin, the plunging neckline teasing the swell of her breasts, while the high-cut bottoms accentuated the length of her toned legs. Over her shoulders, she wore his Slytherin coat, the dark green fabric stark against her warm, honeyed skin. The contrast was intoxicating—her brilliance wrapped in his colors, a union of fire and ice.

Draco’s throat went dry as his gaze traveled over her, his pulse quickening with every second. “Hermione,” he said, his voice a low rasp, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

Hermione tilted her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I just thought of making one of your smutty suggestions in our journal into reality …” Her eyes, usually so full of intellect and determination, now burned with something far more primal. She crossed her legs slowly, the movement deliberate, and leaned back on her hands, the coat slipping slightly to reveal the smooth curve of her shoulder. “Ready to open your real gift?” she purred, her voice dripping with promise.

Draco’s breath hitched, and he took a step forward, then another, until he was standing before her. His fingers itched to touch her, to claim her, but he forced himself to wait, to savor the moment. He knelt down, his hands resting on her thighs, the heat of her skin searing through the thin fabric of her lingerie. “You’re always full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His fingers traced slow, teasing patterns along her legs, his touch feather-light but electric.

Hermione’s breath caught, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” she whispered, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine. With deliberate slowness, she slid his Slytherin coat off her shoulders, letting it fall in a pool of green around her on the bed. The sight of her bare skin, illuminated by the candlelight, was almost too much to bear.

Draco’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush against each other. His lips found hers in a searing kiss, full of pent-up desire and longing. Hermione responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against his in a dance that was both familiar and thrillingly new.

His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. Every touch was deliberate, every caress designed to elicit a reaction. Hermione arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips as his fingers found the clasp of her bra. With a deft movement, he undid it, letting the fabric fall away and leaving her exposed to his hungry gaze.

Draco’s lips left hers, trailing down her neck, her collarbone, until they found the peak of her breast. He took her into his mouth, his tongue swirling around her nipple, and Hermione gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Draco,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

He didn’t stop, his hands and mouth working in tandem to unravel her. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her lingerie, sliding them down her legs and tossing them aside. He kissed his way down her body, his lips brushing against her stomach, her hips, until he reached the apex of her thighs. Hermione’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as he settled between her legs, his hands gripping her hips to hold her in place.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and sending a jolt of pleasure through her. And then his tongue was on her, slow and deliberate, teasing her until she was writhing beneath him, her hands clutching at the sheets.

Hermione’s moans filled the room, each one driving him wild. “Fuck, Draco…” He ate her out with increasing fervor, Draco’s own arousal grew more pronounced as he buried his face very deep within Hermione’s warmth. He could feel her trembling, her body coiled tight like a spring, and he knew she was close. He increased the pressure, his tongue flicking against her in just the right way, and she came undone, her back arching off the bed as she cried out his name.

Draco didn’t give her a moment to recover. He kissed his way back up her body, his lips claiming hers once more. Hermione could taste herself on his tongue, and it only heightened her arousal. Her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. When she finally pushed it off his shoulders, she ran her hands over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles.

Draco groaned as her hands moved lower, undoing his belt and trousers with practiced ease. He kicked them aside, his boxers following soon after, and then there was nothing between them but heat and need. Hermione bit her lips while looking at his length, girthy and very much angry. She then positioned herself closer, before licking the precum from his cock. Her hands find their ways to Draco's length, stroking it before she engulfed it inside her mouth. 

Oh Merlin, he looks so hot while he groans and extra hot while he grips her hair as he fucks her mouth. “Shit Hermione, so good…”

Hermione kept sucking his length, with eagerness and hunger. She wants him to cum inside her mouth. Her actions were slutty, as her eyes very leave his sight while she sucks him or licks every piece of skin he has. 

“Hermione… if you keep doing that, I-I might cum.” He pleaded, too much hormonal as he watches her mouth being fucked. 

She then stops with a pop, a smirk lingers on her face as she pushes Draco on their bed. Hermione then crawls on to him, now sitting at his stomach. “Are you a good boy this year?” She asked, with a hint of playfulness.

“Y-Yes… I am.” 

“Liar.” She shot back, voice still sultry making him more horny with her. “I shouldn't have awarded you but since you have a very pretty face, I'll make an exception.” She then adjusted herself while sinking his cock inside hers. They both moan with the feeling of bliss and warmth. “Say those words first… I might indeed consider… move.” 

“You're so wet and warm, Hermione…” Draco moans while his hands grips on Hermione’s waist. He hesitates to do her request, saying those words but he does know it has a different effect on her this time. “Feel so good… you filthy mudblood .”

“D-Draco…” she moans in a very slutty way as she moves her hips sinfully. Oh how she loves this position now. His fat cock fits perfectly deep inside hers and those words he just said, it made her more hungry for his touch.

Hermione keeps swaying her hips, sometimes bouncing, creating a lovely friction. 

Draco, flexing his strength, changes their position, now Hermione laying on the bed. 

He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locking with hers. “Tell me if its uncomfortable.” he asked, his voice strained with restraint.

Hermione nodded, her eyes dark with desire. “Go on,” she whispered, her voice firm despite the tremble in her body.

Draco pushed into her slowly, savoring the way she stretched to accommodate him. Hermione’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders as he filled her completely. He stilled for a moment, letting her adjust, before he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate.

The room was filled with the sounds of their passion—soft moans, whispered words, the rhythmic creak of the bed. Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Draco groaned, his pace quickening. He could feel her tightening around him, her body coiling once more, and he knew she was close.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, but she held his stare, her heart pounding in her chest.

Draco’s thrusts became more frantic as he chased his own release. Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper inside her.

“Fuck, Hermione,” Draco groaned, burying his face in her neck. “You feel so fucking good.”

Hermione moaned in response, her nails digging into his back as she urged him on. “Harder, Draco,” she gasped. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

Draco growled at her words, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He could feel the familiar tightening in his lower belly as he neared the edge.

With a few more powerful thrusts, Draco came with a loud groan, spilling himself deep inside Hermione’s welcoming heat. He buried his face in her neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps as they rode out the aftershocks together.

They lay tangled together on the bed afterwards; both breathing heavily and basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking…

“Happy Christmas, Draco.” Hermione murmured sleepily against Draco’s chest. “I love you…”

He chuckled softly; pressing a kiss to the top of her head… “The best gift I ever received on Christmas.” and pressing now a kiss on her lips. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

The Hogwarts Express had barely pulled into the station when Hermione felt an arm snake around her waist.

"Finally," Draco huffed dramatically, pulling her close. "I thought they'd keep you on that train forever."

Hermione barely managed to roll her eyes before Draco pressed a quick kiss to her temple, sighing as if he'd been separated from her for months instead of a mere train ride.

"Draco," she said patiently, adjusting the strap of her bag. "You do remember that we spent the entire holiday together, right? Every single day. In fact, I recall you being so attached to me that I couldn't even go to the loo without you knocking on the door to ‘make sure I hadn’t been kidnapped.’"

Draco scoffed. "Well, excuse me for being concerned about your safety. My father’s house is massive. You could’ve gotten lost in the east wing and never been found."

Hermione gave him a flat look. "Draco, you dragged me to the east wing."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Well, you were eager to see the library though and… That’s beside the point. The point is," he said, squeezing her waist, "we were separated for an entire train ride, which is absolutely too long after spending two weeks being utterly inseparable."

Hermione sighed but allowed herself to be pulled even closer. "You were the one who had to sit with Blaise and Theo."

Draco scowled. "That was against my will. I was forced."

"Forced?"

"Yes, forced! Blaise said, and I quote, ‘Mate, we haven’t seen you in two weeks because you’ve been too busy snogging Granger under the mistletoe, so you owe us some time, or we’re revoking your friendship privileges.’ I had to go."

Hermione smirked. "Oh, how tragic."

Draco groaned. "And what’s worse? While I was suffering through Blaise and Theo’s endless questions about my private love life, you were out here, completely unsupervised, surrounded by—" He hesitated, eyes darting around the crowded Entrance Hall before he lowered his voice as if saying it out loud was offensive. "Other people."

Hermione snorted. "Other people? Draco, it's just our classmates."

"Exactly! Suspicious classmates!" His gaze flickered across the room before landing on a specific figure. His entire body tensed. "Especially him."

Hermione turned her head to see Cormac McLaggen strolling through the hall, looking smug as ever.

"Oh, not this again," she muttered.

Draco’s hold on her tightened. "I don’t like the way he’s looking over here."

"Draco," she said slowly, placing a calming hand on his chest, "I literally spent Christmas at the Malfoy Mansion. With you. We exchanged gifts, you spoon-fed me chocolate cake at midnight, we fell asleep by the fire—"

Draco perked up slightly. "That was nice."

"Yes, it was. So why on earth would you be jealous of McLaggen?"

Draco scowled. "Because he's an idiot who keeps thinking he has a chance with you! I saw him ogling you on the train platform. He was standing too close. I think he was breathing in your general direction."

Hermione let out a long-suffering sigh. "You are ridiculous."

"You love that about me," he countered, kissing the top of her head.

Before she could reply, Harry and Ginny approached, looking amused.

"Malfoy, you look horrible," Ginny teased.

"Gee, thanks, Ginevra," Draco muttered.

"No, really," she continued. "Are you okay? You look like a man who just spent two weeks with his girlfriend and is somehow still acting like she’s been stolen from him."

Hermione snickered. "That’s exactly what’s happening."

Harry smirked. "Ah, the Malfoy-level clinginess has returned, I see."

Draco glared. "I’m not clingy. I’m just… making up for lost time."

Harry raised a brow. "What lost time?"

Draco hesitated. "…The train ride."

Ginny laughed. "The train ride? That’s, what, five hours?"

Draco pulled Hermione even closer. "Exactly. Five unbearable hours where she was away from me, completely unsupervised, in the presence of suspicious individuals."

Hermione shook her head, exasperated but fond. "You're acting like I was stranded in the Forbidden Forest."

"I should have just hidden in your luggage," Draco muttered.

Hermione patted his arm. "Next time, I’ll just glue you to my side. Will that help?"

Draco perked up. "You promise?"

Ginny burst out laughing while Harry just shook his head.

"We should get to dinner before Malfoy actually starts attaching himself to you like a barnacle," Harry joked.

Hermione smiled. "Come on, love . Food."

Draco sighed but reluctantly let go of her waist, only to immediately grab her hand instead. "Fine, just because you used that word. But I still don’t like McLaggen breathing in your direction."

Ginny grinned. "You know what, Malfoy? You are cute when you're jealous."

Draco scoffed. "I’m not jealous! I’m—"

Hermione squeezed his hand. "You’re adorable," she finished for him, tugging him toward the Great Hall.

Draco huffed but didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in and whispered, "You belong to me, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. "Of course, Draco. Now let’s eat before you get even clingier."

And so, they walked hand-in-hand into the Great Hall, where Draco kept a suspicious eye on every male student who so much as glanced in Hermione’s direction. Because clingy and jealous or not, one thing was certain—Draco Malfoy was utterly and hopelessly smitten.

And, honestly? Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dinner at the Great Hall should have been uneventful. Should have been.

But Hermione should have known better.

Because Draco Malfoy was on a mission.

A mission to stake his claim.

And that meant three things:

Zero personal space. Hermione had exactly one second to sit down at the 8th year students  mixed section of the Great Hall before Draco slid onto the bench right beside her. And when she scooted slightly to get comfortable? He scooted right along with her.

Excessive and unnecessary touching. Draco kept his arm draped over the back of her seat, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her shoulder. And when she reached for the mashed potatoes? Draco took the spoon and served her himself.

"I can serve myself, Draco," Hermione huffed.

Draco tutted. "Nonsense, love . I’ve missed taking care of you."

"You were literally doing this yesterday."

"Exactly. I have a system, and I refuse to let it be ruined by one measly train ride."

Death glares at anyone within a five-foot radius. Draco barely ate, too busy glaring daggers at anyone who even looked in Hermione’s direction.

It started with Ernie Macmillan, who had the audacity to ask Hermione about her holiday.

Draco immediately leaned in, casually but very clearly whispering, "Granger spent the holidays with me, Macmillan. Not that it’s any of your business."

Then Terry Boot tried to ask Hermione about their Arithmancy homework.

Draco? Immediate response. "She’s busy," he drawled, voice smooth but deadly. "Ask someone else, Boot."

Terry frowned. "Busy with what?"

"Me," Draco said smugly, wrapping an arm around Hermione.

By the time Cormac McLaggen strutted past with his usual cocky grin, Draco was already prepared.

"Cormac," Hermione said politely.

McLaggen flashed a grin. "Good to see you again, Granger. You look—"

Clink.

McLaggen froze.

Draco had casually placed his knife down on the table, staring at McLaggen like he was something stuck to the bottom of his dragonhide boots.

"Finish that sentence, McLaggen," Draco said, lips curling into a very unsettling smirk.

McLaggen hesitated. "Er—never mind."

Draco grinned. "That’s what I thought."

Hermione sighed. "Draco, really?"

"What?" Draco asked innocently, stabbing a piece of chicken with far too much force. "I’m just making sure everyone understands that you’re mine."

Ginny, sitting across from them, snorted. "Hermione, if he gets any clingier, you’ll have to start carrying him around on your back."

Draco smirked. "Brilliant idea. Can I get a piggyback ride, Granger?"

Hermione gave him a look. "You’re six feet tall, Draco."

"So?"

"So, no."

Draco huffed. "Fine. But I am walking you to your dormitory tonight."

Hermione sighed, but she didn’t argue. Because as ridiculous as he was being, she secretly… kind of loved it. Besides, it wasn’t like she could stop him.

Later that night, Draco became the ultimate Koala.

"Draco," Hermione said, exasperated, "you cannot sleep in the Gryffindor common room."

Draco, who was currently leaning against the Gryffindor portrait hole, arms crossed, scowled. "And why not?"

"Because it’s against the rules?"

Draco waved a dismissive hand. "Ridiculous rule. They should make an exception for boyfriends who miss their girlfriends too much."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "Draco. You saw me all evening. You walked me here. You are being unhinged."

Draco gasped, placing a hand over his heart. "Me? Unhinged?"

"Yes."

Draco sighed dramatically. "Fine. But at least let me hold your hand until you’re inside."

Hermione gave him a look but extended her hand.

Draco grinned, taking it and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her knuckles.

"I’ll miss you," he murmured, brushing his lips against her fingers.

"It’s just until breakfast," Hermione reminded him, but her heart was already doing very inconvenient things in her chest.

Draco sighed. "The longest eight hours of my life."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled, squeezing his hand. "Goodnight, you absolute menace."

Draco smirked. "Goodnight, my Granger."

And with one final dramatic sigh (and maybe a little bit of longing staring), Draco finally, finally let go.

Hermione shook her head fondly as she climbed through the portrait hole.

Merlin, help her.

Her boyfriend was a complete disaster.

And she loved him for it.

Draco Malfoy had exactly one problem.

He missed Hermione Granger.

Terribly.

He had lasted an entire—what?—forty minutes before the ache in his chest became unbearable. He had tried everything.

He had taken a very long, very dramatic bath in the Prefects’ bathroom, hoping the warm water would relax him.

He had tried reading a book—Hermione’s book, no less—but that only made him miss her more.

He had even attempted to summon Crookshanks from the Gryffindor Tower in hopes of getting some comfort. But the stubborn cat had completely ignored him.

So now he was lying on his back in the Slytherin common room, staring at the ceiling, sighing like a Victorian maiden.

And Blaise Zabini had had enough.

"Alright," Blaise drawled, closing his book with a loud snap. "I cannot listen to another sigh. Theo, intervention time."

Theo Nott looked up lazily from where he was sprawled across an armchair, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Finally. I was about to hex him just to shut him up."

Draco gasped dramatically. "You two are absolutely heartless."

Blaise gave him a very unimpressed look. "Draco, you just spent twenty minutes talking about Hermione’s hair."

Theo nodded. "Twenty minutes, mate."

Draco sat up, scowling. "What’s wrong with that?"

"What’s wrong," Blaise said, exasperated, "is that you’ve been insufferable. You act like she’s disappeared forever when she’s literally sleeping one floor above us."

Draco huffed, crossing his arms. "But I miss her."

Theo gave him a flat look. "It’s been less than an hour."

"An agonizing hour," Draco corrected.

Blaise and Theo shared a look. We have to do something before this idiot loses his mind.

Blaise sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, here’s what we’re not going to do—you are not breaking into the Gryffindor common room, Draco."

Draco immediately looked way too guilty.

"…Draco," Theo said, narrowing his eyes. "Have you already tried?"

Draco coughed. "I—well—I may have considered it."

Theo groaned. "Unbelievable."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Draco sighed. "The Fat Lady wouldn’t let me in."

Theo snorted. "Of course not."

"And then Professor McGonagall caught me loitering outside and gave me a very suspicious look, so I ran," Draco admitted.

Blaise smirked. "You ran?"

"Well, I walked very quickly in the opposite direction," Draco muttered.

Blaise and Theo lost it.

Theo was practically wheezing. "Oh Merlin, you’re hopeless."

Draco scowled. "You don’t understand! She’s my Granger. I’ve gotten used to her being around all the time. And now I’m alone, and it’s awful."

Blaise shook his head, chuckling. "You are so far gone, mate."

Theo grinned. "It’s actually embarrassing."

Draco sniffed. "I refuse to be ashamed of my love."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Fine. But please, for all our sanity, go to bed before you do something reckless."

Draco crossed his arms. "Fine. But if I die of loneliness in the night, I want you both to know—it’s your fault."

Theo smirked. "I’ll be sure to write that on your tombstone."

Draco tried.

He really did.

But at two in the morning, he found himself standing outside the Gryffindor common room once again.

The Fat Lady sighed. "Oh, not you again."

Draco put on his best, most charming smile. "Good evening, lovely lady. Might you be willing to—"

"No."

Draco scowled. "You didn’t even let me finish!"

"You Slytherins have no business being here at this hour!"

Draco sighed dramatically. "I just miss my girlfriend."

The Fat Lady looked unimpressed. "That is not my problem."

Draco groaned. "Can’t you make an exception?"

"No."

"Just this once?"

"No."

"Not even if I—"

"NO."

Draco growled. "Stubborn portrait."

"Hopeless snake," the Fat Lady shot back.

Draco grumbled. "Fine."

But just as he turned to leave, the portrait hole swung open.

And Hermione stepped out.

In her pajamas.

With her wild curls all over the place and sleep still in her eyes.

Draco froze.

Hermione blinked at him clearly. "Draco?"

Draco immediately forgot all of his suffering. Because Merlin, she was adorable.

"Granger," he breathed, "you’re here."

Hermione yawned. "It’s my common room, Draco."

Draco grinned sheepishly. "Right."

She squinted at him. "What are you doing here?"

Draco shuffled his feet. "I… may have missed you."

Hermione blinked, then sighed. "Draco, you saw me literally four hours ago."

"Yes, and they were the worst four hours of my life."

Hermione shook her head, but she was smiling.

And then—to his absolute delight—she reached for his hand and laced their fingers together.

Draco melted.

Hermione smirked. "Come on, you ridiculous Slytherin. I’ll walk you back before you get caught again."

Draco grinned. "You’re the best girlfriend ever."

Hermione laughed, tugging him along. "And you are a disaster."

Draco leaned down, pressing a soft, sleepy kiss to her temple.

"But I’m your disaster," he murmured.

Hermione’s face went pink.

"Yeah," she muttered. "You are."

And just like that, Draco Malfoy’s suffering was officially over.

For now.

The classroom was buzzing with the usual mix of students taking notes and whispering quietly to their neighbors. Hermione, sitting in the middle of the row, was completely engrossed in her textbook, barely noticing the occasional sideways glance from Draco, who was sitting just a couple of seats away.

It was a Monday, the first day back from holidays, and Hermione was determined to dive back into her studies with fervor. Of course, she had spent most of her holidays with Draco, but now that they were back in Hogwarts, she needed to focus. She scribbled down notes, muttering quietly to herself about the spells they were learning today.

Draco, however, had other plans.

In the seat beside her, he was quietly plotting his next move, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of his journal. He could already feel the familiar tug in his chest—Hermione hadn’t so much as glanced at him since the bell rang.

What happened to our holiday chemistry? he thought. Why is she so absorbed in that book?

With a barely-contained sigh, Draco pulled out his journal. It was linked to Hermione’s—something that started out as a joke but now seemed to be his favorite tool for getting her attention. As he opened it, he noticed she was scribbling away with no idea he was about to completely derail her focus.

He smiled to himself and began writing.

Draco Malfoy’s Latest Entry (Bold and Over the Top) :

Granger, do you know what the worst part of class is? The fact that you're not looking at me.

He paused, chuckling to himself at the thought of her reading this. He could practically picture her confused expression when she saw the note later. Not wanting to stop there, he quickly added something more to the journal.

Draco Malfoy’s Dramatic Doodle (For Maximum Effect):

The next part of the page was filled with a drawing—a picture of Draco with a sad face, holding his hand up as if to wave to someone who was completely ignoring him. A giant, exaggerated tear fell from his eye, while tiny, perfect words next to the doodle read: “ I’m right here, Granger. ”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class, but Draco was not finished. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, and Hermione, still engrossed in her work, hadn’t noticed a thing.

So, he added one more flourish to his masterpiece.

Draco Malfoy’s Final (Admittedly Ridiculous) Plea :

If you keep ignoring me, Granger, I might just have to sit at the back of the class with the Ravenclaws, where they actually appreciate me. Don't make me do that.

Satisfied with his work, Draco closed his journal and waited. Hermione, still deep in her book, continued to write, her quill scratching against the parchment as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Draco leaned back in his chair, watching her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to smile too much.

Finally, Hermione began packing up her things, the bell for the next class ringing. She was the first to get up from her desk, distracted as usual, and as she reached for her bag, she glanced at the journal she’d been writing in earlier.

Draco’s scribbles immediately caught her eye. She flipped it open with a frown, scanning the words. She didn’t even try to hide her amusement when she read his latest plea for attention.

Draco Malfoy’s Entry (Ahem, For Hermione's Benefit) :

I am absolutely not waiting for you to look at me, but if you did, I might just reward you with something special.

She couldn’t help but laugh softly under her breath. Draco Malfoy, the drama king of Hogwarts, had once again outdone himself. She read the doodle, the exaggerated tear falling from his eye, and she shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Without a second thought, Hermione grabbed her quill and scrawled an answer, right beneath his note:

Hermione Granger’s Response (A Bit Amused, but Not Quite Impressed):

You are completely ridiculous, Draco. Did you seriously draw yourself crying over my “neglect”?

As soon as she finished writing, she quickly closed the journal, tucked it into her bag, and left the classroom. Draco followed suit, but his mind was racing. He had clearly made his point. Hermione had noticed him. And he was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be able to ignore him for much longer.

Later that evening, after dinner, Hermione was sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, re-reading some of her notes for the upcoming test. Draco was nowhere in sight—or so she thought. As she pulled out her linked journal to jot down a few more thoughts, another entry appeared.

Draco Malfoy’s (Only Slightly Sarcastic) Update:

Granger, I know you're busy, but you can’t keep avoiding me forever. I’m feeling abandoned, you know?

But I guess I’ll have to live with it… until you decide to come and make my life less tragic.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She read it again, more carefully this time. She snorted loudly at the words, drawing the attention of some of the nearby students.

“Everything okay, Hermione?” Ron asked, leaning over from his spot near the table.

Hermione looked up and grinned. “Oh, yeah. Just Draco being… Draco.”

After a few seconds, she scribbled a quick response back:

Hermione Granger’s Response (Mockingly Caring):

You poor thing, love. I’m so sorry for not giving you enough attention. Maybe if you didn’t make such a fuss about it, I’d notice you more.

With that, she closed the journal, fully prepared to deal with his next round of antics. He always came back, after all.

And sure enough, that evening, when she was ready to go to bed, the next entry appeared:

Draco Malfoy’s Final (Pathetically Adorable) Note:

Fine. I’m going to sulk. But just know, Granger… I’m still here, waiting for you to save me from this tragic existence.

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She grinned, closed her journal, and muttered, “I’m coming for you, you dramatic fool.”

Chapter Text

Draco had always been meticulous, but the covert planning of Hermione's birthday celebration was proving to be an entirely different kind of challenge. He had a tightrope to walk—he had to make sure everything was perfect, but Hermione could never suspect a thing. And so, the scheming began.

One crisp afternoon, while Hermione was studying in the library, Draco quietly slipped out of the common room and made his way to the hall. He had already enlisted the help of her closest friends, but now it was time to make some final arrangements.

First on his list was Harry. The best time to catch him would be when Hermione wasn’t around, which made the library the perfect setting.

“Harry,” Draco called in a low voice, moving closer to him as he browsed through a row of books.

Harry glanced over at Draco, raising an eyebrow, but didn’t seem surprised. “What is it now, Malfoy?”

“I need a favor,” Draco said, keeping his voice casual as if they were discussing something unimportant. “Hermione’s birthday is coming up. I want to plan a surprise for her. You in?”

Harry studied him for a long moment. “I’m not sure about you planning something for her, but she deserves it. What do you need?”

“I’ll need you to keep it quiet,” Draco muttered, glancing around to ensure Hermione was still lost in her books. “Get Ron and Ginny to help too. You can help distract her the day of the party, right?”

Harry gave a nod of agreement. “Yeah, I can do that. As long as I don’t have to pick out the decorations.”

“Trust me, you won’t have to worry about that,” Draco smirked. "I'll take care of everything, but you’re helping by being there."

"Fine. Just... make sure it’s something Hermione will actually like. No flashy fireworks or anything. She’ll hate that."

Draco rolled his eyes. “I know better than that, Potter.”

With a plan in place with Harry, Draco turned his attention to the next crucial task: finding a gift. To make it special, Draco needed help from someone who knew Hermione better than anyone. That was where Ginny came in.

The next day, Draco found Ginny alone by the window in the common room, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. When Hermione excused herself to go to the loo, Draco seized the opportunity.

"Ginny, I need your help," Draco said, lowering his voice, not wanting anyone to overhear.

Ginny gave him a knowing look. “Planning something for Hermione, are you?”

"Yeah," Draco said, a slight grin appearing on his face. "It’s a surprise. What would be the perfect gift for her?"

Ginny thought for a moment. “She’s difficult to shop for. But if you’re really going all out, I’d say something meaningful. Maybe a locket or a bracelet. She loves sentimental things.”

“Perfect,” Draco said, mentally noting it down. “Something personal. I’ll get it. Any ideas on what she might want at the party?”

Ginny shrugged. “She’s not the type for big crowds, so keep it small—close friends. And lots of books, maybe? You know she loves those.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks,” Draco said, giving her a small nod of gratitude.

Then, he had a final task: enlisting Pansy’s help for the guest list and organizing the venue. Hermione was notoriously fond of being in control, so Draco had to sneak around her without raising suspicion. Pansy was always reliable for these kinds of things.

Draco found her in the hallway later that afternoon, just as Hermione was slipping out of the common room to grab a snack.

“Pansy, can we talk?” Draco asked, his voice low.

Pansy, as always, raised an eyebrow. “Is this about that surprise you’re planning? I already know, you know.”

Draco narrowed his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. “Good. I was hoping you could help me finalize the guest list. We don’t want to invite too many, but I was thinking—Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Theo…”

“I’d suggest leaving out some of the more… boisterous students,” Pansy added with a smirk. “We don’t want to overwhelm her. But definitely include Luna. She’d help Hermione feel more at ease.”

“Agreed,” Draco said. “Now, how about the venue? I’m thinking somewhere private… the Manor, maybe?”

Pansy grinned. “I think it’s the perfect choice. She’ll love it.”

With everything in motion, Draco finally felt a surge of anticipation. Hermione would never see it coming. She’d have the most memorable birthday of her life, surrounded by the people she loved—while Draco made sure that it was a celebration to remember.

The day after finalizing the guest list and ensuring everything was falling into place, Draco found himself standing outside a small but charming shop on Diagon Alley, staring up at the sign: Madam Morrow’s Trinkets and Curiosities . He had been here before—years ago, in fact—but this time, he wasn’t here for anything as trivial as school supplies. He was on a mission to find the perfect gift for Hermione.

Draco pulled open the door, the little bell above it ringing as he entered. The dim, cozy shop smelled faintly of lavender and parchment, and the walls were lined with all manner of oddities—quaint necklaces, glistening bracelets, enchanted objects, and odd trinkets he could barely comprehend. There was no shortage of selection, and that made the task all the more daunting.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, welcome back,” Madam Morrow’s voice chimed from the counter. She was a woman of a certain age with sharp eyes, always making you feel like she knew everything about you, even the things you didn’t want her to know. “What brings you here today? Looking for something special, I presume?”

“Actually, yes,” Draco replied, his voice guarded. He had spent the better part of the last few weeks racking his brain, trying to find something Hermione would truly love. He had no intention of letting anyone see his vulnerability—especially not Madam Morrow. “I’m looking for a gift. Something… meaningful.”

She gave him an appraising look. “For a lady, I imagine?”

Draco nodded, though he didn’t exactly like how much she seemed to know already. “A special occasion,” he added, trying to sound casual, as if buying a gift for Hermione was just another trivial errand.

Madam Morrow leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with interest. “Something sentimental, I would say. I’d suggest something that speaks to the heart.”

Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't respond immediately. He could already feel the pressure mounting. He wasn’t just shopping for any gift; this was for Hermione, and he needed it to be perfect.

The shopkeeper beckoned him to follow her as she moved through the cluttered shelves, tapping her wand on various objects. “Ah, here we are.” She stopped in front of a display case filled with intricate jewelry, including silver necklaces, delicate earrings, and various bracelets. Draco’s eyes immediately went to a particular piece—a silver locket, its surface gleaming in the dim light, etched with delicate vines and a small crescent moon.

“This,” Draco said, nodding toward the locket. “How much?”

Madam Morrow smiled knowingly, clearly aware of the significance of what he had chosen. “That’s a special one, Mr. Malfoy. You have good taste. But, for such an exquisite piece, it comes at a price.”

Draco didn’t flinch, already reaching into his pocket for the galleons his mother had given him. He had expected the price to be steep. Anything worth giving to Hermione had to be worthwhile. And this locket—simple, elegant, and timeless—felt just right.

“I’ll take it,” Draco said with a calm nod, not needing to see the price tag.

The shopkeeper, pleased, carefully wrapped the locket in a soft velvet cloth, her fingers brushing the edges with care as if it were something far more valuable than gold. “A wise choice. I’m certain she’ll love it.”

Draco held the package tightly in his hands, already thinking about how he’d present it to Hermione. He could already see her reaction—her eyes would light up with that warm, soft smile of hers that melted his every time.

With the gift secured, Draco felt the need for one last errand. He couldn’t leave without something a bit more personal. After all, Hermione’s love for books was something he’d come to understand over time, and perhaps a thoughtful addition to her vast library would be the perfect complement to the locket.

He quickly made his way to Flourish and Blotts, scanning the shelves for something that might spark her interest. He had seen Hermione read everything from ancient magical texts to the newest bestsellers. But something stood out to him as he approached the section for rare and limited-edition books— The Art of Magical Charms , an old tome he had never seen her reference before, though it seemed like it would be a perfect fit for her extensive collection.

Draco reached for the book, his fingers lingering on the cover. This, he thought, would be the ideal gift to accompany the locket—a piece of her world and a piece of his.

The book was expensive, but Draco didn’t care. He would pay whatever it took. This was for Hermione, after all.

The shopkeeper at Flourish and Blotts handed him the book with a knowing smile, and Draco left the store feeling like the most important thing in the world was in his hands. Hermione would love it. She had to.

The day of Hermione’s birthday had arrived, and Draco couldn’t contain his excitement, though he worked hard to mask it. It wasn’t just any celebration—it was her celebration. The one she would never see coming, the one that would completely surprise her, and most importantly, the one that would be as special as she was.

Draco woke early, the weight of the day’s events already on his shoulders. He had spent weeks planning, buying gifts, securing a location at the Manor, and coordinating with Hermione’s friends. He could already feel the fluttering in his chest as he thought about how she would react when everything unfolded.

His room at the Manor was decorated with soft, glimmering lights that set the mood just right, and he had arranged for dinner to be served at precisely seven o’clock. He had gone all out, from the enchanted candles floating above the table to the elegantly laid-out meal. The house-elves had prepared a feast, and every detail had been meticulously planned. But nothing could compare to the moment Hermione would walk through the door.

It was nearing dusk when Draco made his way to the common room, adjusting the hem of his robes and making sure everything was in place. He had asked all of Hermione’s close friends to be there before her, so the place was already filled with guests. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Theo, Pansy, and a few other familiar faces waited by the large fireplace, murmuring in quiet excitement. They all knew that Hermione would be stunned, and the anticipation in the air was thick.

"Everything’s set?" Draco asked Harry as he entered the room.

"Yeah, mate," Harry nodded. "We’re all ready."

"Good. Remember, no one says a word when she walks in," Draco added, his voice low but firm.

As the hour approached, Draco's nerves kicked in. He couldn’t help but glance out the window, waiting for Hermione’s inevitable arrival. She had no idea what was coming. Her birthday had always been understated, and she never wanted attention drawn to herself, so this surprise would be an absolute shock to her.

Finally, the moment came. Draco stood by the door, waiting for the signal. Harry, who had been keeping Hermione occupied in the common room, had given him the nod—Hermione was on her way up the stairs.

"Everyone, get into place," Draco murmured, a sudden calm settling over him.

The door creaked open, and Hermione entered the room, her eyes squinting against the soft candlelight that filled the space. She didn’t immediately notice the gathered crowd, but the instant she did, her breath caught in her throat.

"Hermione," Draco said, stepping forward, his voice tinged with affection. He had put a lot of thought into how to say it, how to make it meaningful. "Happy birthday."

The room erupted into applause, and Hermione froze, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"Draco," she whispered, looking at him as though she had just been hit with a burst of confetti. "What… what is this?"

Draco couldn’t help but smile, watching her shock melt into something closer to awe. "It’s your birthday party," he said, his tone playful, but there was a softness there too. "Surprise."

Hermione's gaze flitted across the room, taking in all the familiar faces who had gathered in her honor. "I—I had no idea!" she said, a laugh escaping her lips, though it was laced with surprise and genuine warmth. "You planned all this?"

"Of course," Draco said smoothly, trying to act as if he did this sort of thing every day. "I know you don’t like a fuss, but this is a special day. And you deserve something special."

A blush crept onto Hermione’s cheeks as she moved further into the room, still looking at everyone with a mix of astonishment and gratitude. "I don’t know what to say," she admitted, her voice a little shaky from the overwhelming nature of it all.

"Don’t say anything," Ginny teased from the side, her smile wide. "Just enjoy it. It’s your day."

Draco watched as Hermione made her way toward the table, where a cake topped with fresh roses waited to be cut. "Thank you," she said softly, turning to him. "This is… this is more than I ever could have imagined."

"You deserve it," Draco replied, his voice quiet but sincere. "You’ve always been there for everyone else. It’s time someone did something special for you."

The conversation turned to laughter and shared memories as they all sat down to dinner, and the evening passed with the kind of ease and joy that only comes when you’re surrounded by friends who truly care for you. Hermione didn’t hesitate to express her gratitude again and again, her eyes sparkling as Draco occasionally caught her gaze across the room.

Finally, after dinner, Draco led her to the corner of the room, where he presented her with her gifts. Hermione’s eyes widened when she unwrapped the locket, running her fingers over the intricate design.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You really didn't have to…"

Draco took a step closer, watching as her fingers traced the delicate metal. "I wanted to," he said simply. "I thought it would be something you could wear, something that reminds you how much you mean to me."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes glistening with something that made Draco's chest tighten. She blinked quickly, and Draco realized she was fighting back tears.

"Thank you, Draco," she said, her voice soft but firm. "This means more to me than you’ll ever know."

And for the first time in his life, Draco wasn’t trying to hide his emotions. His heart was full, watching Hermione in this moment. He had succeeded in giving her the birthday she deserved.

Later, as the guests slowly started to leave and the candles burned low, Hermione turned to Draco with a grateful smile. "This was perfect," she said. "You’ve really outdone yourself."

Draco only smiled in return, his thoughts filled with the joy of having pulled it all off. "Anything for you, Hermione."

As they stood in the quiet aftermath of the party, Draco found himself just glad to have made her happy. This day, this moment, it was exactly how it was supposed to be. Hermione would never forget her surprise birthday bash, and neither would he.

The night had wound down, the last of the guests had departed, and the Manor had returned to a quiet hum. Hermione stood near the grand window, still in awe of the evening’s events, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the delicate locket Draco had given her.

She felt overwhelmed—not just by the party itself but by the effort Draco had put into making it happen. It was so unlike him, or at least unlike the version of him she had known for years. But this Draco—the one who planned a surprise party, who watched her reactions like they meant the world to him—this was the Draco that made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t explain.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

Draco stood there, his usual cool demeanor slightly faltering as if he was debating whether he should be here. But in his hands, he held something unexpected—a bouquet of freshly picked roses, their petals still dewy from the night air.

"For you," he said, almost shyly, holding them out to her.

Hermione blinked, startled. "Roses?" she asked, her fingers brushing the petals as she took them. "But… it's not the season for roses."

Draco smirked, his gaze flickering away for a brief moment before returning to her. "Yeah, well," he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, "I cheated the seasons a bit."

She frowned, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"

There was a flicker of hesitation in his expression before he spoke again. "Remember when I told you Mother sent me to handle some family matters a few months back?"

Hermione nodded slowly, recalling how he had disappeared for a day or two without much explanation.

"That was a lie," he admitted, his voice softer now. "I wasn’t handling anything for my mother. I was planting these." He nodded toward the roses in her hands. "I wanted to grow tulips, but they were out of season. So I went with some kind of rose, Francois Rabelais , instead."

Hermione stared at him, stunned into silence. "You—Draco, you planted these?"

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, well with the help of Mother," he muttered, suddenly looking embarrassed. "It was… stupid, I know. I just thought it would be nice. Something that would last. I made sure they’d bloom just in time for your birthday."

A warmth spread through Hermione’s chest, making her grip the bouquet tighter. She wasn’t used to gestures like this—not from Draco Malfoy. And yet, here he was, standing in front of her, confessing that he had secretly grown an entire rose garden for her.

"Draco," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."

He let out a soft chuckle, though there was a nervous edge to it. "Don’t go soft on me, Granger," he teased, but his usual arrogance was missing. Instead, there was something deeper in his eyes, something vulnerable.

Hermione took a step closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. "You did all this… for me?"

Draco swallowed, looking down at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I did."

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward—it was charged, filled with a thousand unsaid things.

Hermione smiled, lifting the roses slightly. "They're beautiful," she murmured, her gaze locked with his. "Thank you, Draco."

He gave her a small, almost relieved smile. "Happy birthday, Hermione. I love you..."

And she hopes a kiss may say how she is deeply thankful for all the efforts he gives to her.

Chapter Text

Hermione paced back and forth in her study, her fingers tapping against her chin. She had never been the type to rely on fate, yet here she was, desperately looking for a sign. A real, irrefutable sign that proposing to Draco was the right decision.

She decided to test fate the Muggle way—by asking for signs.

"Alright," she muttered, standing in front of her bookshelf. "If the next book I pull out has anything to do with love, then it's meant to be."

Reaching out blindly, she grabbed a book at random and pulled it from the shelf. Her heart pounded as she turned it over to see the title. Magical Bonds and Timeless Love .

She let out a breathless laugh. "Okay... that's one."

Later that day, she took a walk through Diagon Alley. As she wandered past a small flower shop, an elderly witch accidentally bumped into her, nearly dropping the bouquet she was carrying.

"Oh! My apologies, dear," the woman said with a warm smile. "This bouquet is for my husband. We've been married for fifty years today. Can you believe it? He still makes me feel like the young girl who first fell in love with him."

Hermione swallowed thickly. "That’s beautiful," she murmured, watching as the woman disappeared into the crowd. Another sign.

She made her way to a Muggle café she occasionally visited and ordered a cup of tea, still mulling over her decision. Just as she sat down, the song playing over the speakers caught her attention—an old Muggle love song her parents used to play when she was little. The lyrics spoke of lifelong commitment, of choosing each other over and over again.

Hermione stirred her tea absentmindedly. Is this another sign?

As she walked back home, she stopped at a park bench to sit and gather her thoughts. A young child ran past her, laughing, as her parents strolled behind. "Mummy, Daddy, tell me again how you knew you wanted to be together forever!" the girl squealed.

The couple exchanged a loving glance. "Because we couldn’t imagine life without each other," the mother answered simply.

Hermione felt her chest tighten. Wasn’t that exactly how she felt about Draco?

Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the sky. "Alright, universe. That’s enough. I hear you."

With renewed determination, she hurried home, her heart set on the proposal. It was no longer about finding signs—it was about knowing, deep in her heart, that she had already made her choice.

Hermione had rehearsed the conversation in her head dozens of times, yet as she stood before the grand Malfoy Manor, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of nervousness. Narcissa Malfoy was an intimidating woman—poised, elegant, and fiercely protective of her son. If there was one person whose approval meant everything in this moment, it was her.

As the house-elf led her to the drawing room, Hermione took a steadying breath. Narcissa was already seated gracefully on a chaise lounge, a cup of tea in her hand. She looked up at Hermione with a slight, knowing smile.

"Hermione," she greeted smoothly. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Hermione stepped forward, clasping her hands together. "Narcissa, thank you for seeing me. I actually came because... well, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

Narcissa gestured to the seat opposite her, her sharp blue eyes watching Hermione with curiosity. "I had a feeling this was not a casual visit. Please, sit."

Hermione did as she was told, feeling the warmth of the crackling fireplace nearby. She hesitated only for a second before deciding to dive straight in.

"I want to propose to Draco."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to Hermione’s surprise, Narcissa let out a soft chuckle. The composed, ever-elegant woman before her seemed momentarily lost in thought, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

"I see," Narcissa murmured, taking a small sip of her tea. "How times have changed."

Hermione tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "Did you ever consider proposing to Lucius?"

Narcissa let out another chuckle, a faraway look in her eyes. "Oh, no. That would have been unheard of in our time. But had I done so, I have no doubt Lucius would have been just as taken aback as Draco will be."

Hermione let out a small breath of laughter, the image of a young Lucius Malfoy at a loss for words amusing her. "What was it like? Falling in love with him?"

A delicate pause stretched between them before Narcissa placed her teacup down with a light clink. "Lucius was relentless," she admitted, amusement evident in her tone. "Malfoy men always are. When they love, they love with an intensity that is unmatched. He pursued me in a way that left no doubt in my mind that I was his choice. Every decision, every action, every whispered word—it was all meant to show me that he would do anything for me."

Hermione listened intently, mesmerized by the rare insight into Narcissa’s past. "That sounds... overwhelming."

Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Oh, it was. But there was never a moment I doubted him. That is what a Malfoy man does, child. He does everything in his power to protect and cherish the woman he loves. And Draco is no different."

Hermione’s heart clenched at those words. She had seen it firsthand—the way Draco cared for her, looked after her, put her before himself without hesitation. But hearing it from his mother somehow made it all the more real.

Narcissa studied her closely before speaking again. "You proposing to him... it is unconventional. But it is also very you. And I daresay, Draco will adore you even more for it."

Hermione smiled, a small but grateful curve of her lips. "I just wanted to make sure that... he'd be okay with it. That it wouldn’t be something he resented."

Narcissa shook her head. "Draco has always walked his own path. And if there's anyone who could turn tradition on its head and make it beautiful, it's you."

Hermione exhaled slowly, relief washing over her. "Thank you, Narcissa. That means more than you know."

Narcissa gave a graceful nod before picking up her teacup again. "Now, tell me—how exactly do you plan to surprise my son with this proposal?"

Hermione chuckled, feeling lighter than she had in days. "Well... I suppose I could use some advice."

Hermione sat in the dimly lit lounge of a wizarding pub, her fingers wrapped around a warm mug of butterbeer as she stared across the table at Draco’s closest friends. Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, and Pansy Parkinson watched her with varying degrees of amusement and curiosity. She had summoned them here for one reason, and one reason alone—to tell them of her plan to propose to Draco.

“So, let me get this straight,” Blaise drawled, leaning back in his chair, swirling the firewhisky in his glass. “You’re planning to break tradition and ask Draco to marry you?”

Hermione lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes.”

Theo grinned, shaking his head. “That’s bold, Granger. I respect it.”

Pansy smirked, crossing her arms. “I have to admit, I didn’t see this coming. But then again, if anyone could shake up the Malfoys’ age-old traditions, it would be you.”

Hermione exhaled, relieved that they weren’t laughing her out of the pub. “I know it’s unconventional, but Draco has done so much for me. He’s fought for me, stood by me, and I don’t want to wait around for him to ask. I want him to know I choose him just as much as he chooses me.”

Blaise chuckled, setting his glass down. “You do realize Malfoy’s been planning to propose to you, right?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What?”

Theo smirked. “Oh, come on. He’s been talking about it for months. We all know he’s been planning some elaborate proposal, probably with candlelight, a scenic view, and a ridiculous amount of effort. That’s how he is.”

Hermione groaned, running a hand through her curls. “Of course he has. But that doesn’t change how I feel. I want to be the one to do this. To surprise him.”

Pansy tapped her fingers against the table, considering Hermione’s words. “You really think he’ll like being proposed to instead of the other way around?”

Hermione nodded. “I do. Because it’s not about who asks. It’s about us choosing each other.”

Blaise smirked. “Merlin, he’s going to be speechless.”

Theo laughed. “For once in his life.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Do you have the ring already?”

Hermione pulled out a small velvet box from her pocket, opening it to reveal a sleek, elegant ring with delicate engravings of runes along the band. The three of them leaned in, examining it.

“Classy,” Blaise admitted. “Very Malfoy.”

Theo grinned. “Oh, he’s going to love this.”

Pansy, surprisingly, reached out and gently closed the box, giving Hermione an approving nod. “Then go for it. Knock him off his feet.”

Hermione smiled, feeling more certain than ever. “I intend to.”

Hermione had never been particularly sentimental when it came to anniversaries. She appreciated them, of course, but grand gestures were not her style. Yet, as she sat curled up in the dim glow of her study, a small velvet box resting in her palm, she realized that this one was different. This was Draco. The man who had rewritten not just her story but her heart. The man who had fought for her in ways no one else had. The man who, despite his past, had proven time and time again that love was not just a fleeting feeling but an action—one he chose every day.

She thought back to the countless ways he had shown his devotion. The way he always made sure her tea was brewed just right, with the perfect amount of honey. The way he stayed up with her on nights she couldn't sleep, reading to her in that slow, drawling voice until her eyelids grew heavy. The way he touched her—soft but certain—as if reminding her that he was there, always.

This anniversary, she wanted to give him something that spoke of permanence, of devotion, the way he had given himself to her so completely. A ring. But not just as a gift. As a proposal. She wanted to break the norm, to show him that love wasn’t about traditions—it was about choice. And she chose him.

The next evening, Draco returned home to find Hermione pacing in front of the fireplace, her hands wringing together. He tilted his head, setting down the stack of papers he had been editing for work.

"Something wrong, love?" he asked, stepping toward her.

Hermione turned to face him, biting her lower lip. "No, not wrong. Just—well, I have something for you."

Draco's brows lifted in intrigue, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione pulled the small velvet box from her pocket and sank to one knee. Draco's eyes widened, his mouth slightly parted as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. All of her plans were gushed like a flood, this is not how she envisions her proposal is, but she can’t lie to Draco, he knows her too well.

"Draco Malfoy," she began, voice steady but her heart pounding, "you have been my best friend, my greatest challenge, and the love of my life. Every day with you is an adventure I never want to end. So, against every convention and expectation, I’m asking you—will you marry me?"

Draco stood frozen, staring at her in stunned silence. His gaze darted between her earnest expression and the ring she held before him. Seconds ticked by, and Hermione felt her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

"Say something," she urged, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco let out a breathless chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell, Hermione, you just—do you have any idea how much you’ve just caught me off guard?"

She smiled nervously. "Well, I hoped to surprise you. Not on the plan that I am envisioning…"

Draco kneeled down to her level, his silver eyes filled with something she could only describe as awe. "You never cease to amaze me," he murmured, reaching out to cup her cheek. "You’re serious about this? You really want to marry me?"

Hermione swallowed hard, nodding. "With everything in me."

Draco exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. "You absolutely insufferable woman. Of course, I love it. But more importantly—yes, Hermione. A thousand times, yes."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her lips curling into a radiant smile as Draco pulled her up and into his arms.

He took the ring from the box, slipping it onto his finger with a reverence she rarely saw from him. "It’s perfect," he said, examining the intricate engravings before looking back at her with a smirk. "Though, I must admit, I always thought I’d be the one proposing."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Oh, you did, did you?"

"Yes," Draco drawled, slipping his arms around her waist. "I had this whole elaborate plan, a romantic getaway, candlelight dinner, and the works. And now, you’ve completely ruined it."

Hermione laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Well, I suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you somehow."

Draco tilted his head. "I can think of a few ways."

She swatted at his chest playfully before sighing contentedly. "I just didn’t want to wait. I didn’t want you to think for a second that I had any doubts about us."

Draco’s smirk softened into something more tender. "I never doubted us, Hermione. Not since the moment I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without you."

She felt her throat tighten with emotion. "I love you, Draco."

He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead before murmuring against her skin, "I love you more."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the warmth of the fire flickering around them, Hermione knew she had made the right choice. It wasn’t about who proposed to whom. It was about the love they shared—one that defied expectations, traditions, and the past itself.

"Happy anniversary, my fiancée," Draco whispered, his lips brushing against hers.

And with that, he kissed her, slow and deep, sealing the promise she had given him in the most Draco Malfoy way possible—with possession, with love, and with the absolute certainty that this—she—was his greatest gift of all.