Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The hottest love has the coldest end.”

Heartbreak isn’t what I thought it would be. It isn’t something I could have prepared for. It isn’t loud or shattering like glass under pressure. It isn’t screaming matches or books thrown across a room. It isn’t dramatic declarations or cinematic endings punctuated by the final slam of a door.

No—it’s quiet. So quiet, it almost tricks me into thinking it’s not real.

But it is. So very real.

It came silently, crawling in slowly. Slipping into the empty spaces between heartbeats. Sinking into my bones like a sickness. It seeps into me like ink through parchment, filling every corner of my chest until I can’t breathe. My heart aches—not in a poetic sense, not metaphorically, but physically. As if it’s forgotten how to beat without him. Every inhale feels thin, shallow, like the air is filtering through cotton. It’s dull and steady, like a weight has been fastened to my ribs, pulling me under.

I’ve survived worse—haven’t I?

I’ve known loss. I’ve known war. I’ve faced death and torture and endured things that fractured me in ways I never thought could be repaired. I thought I understood pain. I thought I had built armour thick enough to keep it out.

But this… this is different.

This is intimate.

Personal.

This isn’t battle—it’s absence. A quiet vanishing. The slow realization that something precious had slipped through my fingers while I wasn’t looking. It’s the echo of a voice that used to say my name like it meant something. Now, it makes me feel like a fool.

It didn’t just steal what I loved.

It stole the version of me that believed I was safe.

It erased the future I’d so carefully mapped in my mind—

And left behind nothing but blankness.

I can’t think straight. My mind—usually sharp, organized, disciplined—is a storm of broken logic and what-ifs. I replay everything: every glance, every word, every night I thought we were safe. Was there a moment I missed? A sign I didn’t see?

This is grief without a body to bury. A slow unravelling of everything I thought I could count on.

And worst of all… I never even saw it coming.

I had believed in him. In us.

I clung to every word, every look, every lie disguised as reassurance. I trusted—stupidly, recklessly. And now I’m left standing in the wreckage, clutching the pieces of something I thought was real. Something I would’ve fought for with every last part of myself… if only I’d known I was losing it.

This isn’t just loss.

It’s theft.

The cruel kind of heartbreak that doesn’t even give you the chance to scream. It just takes. And leaves behind silence. Not peaceful silence—no, this silence howls. It presses into my ears and settles in my throat, making it impossible to speak. It follows me everywhere. In the corners of the library. In the stairwells. In the empty seat beside me in the Hall where he used to sit.

I can’t breathe.

I try to distract myself. I bury myself in books, in logic, in routines. But nothing helps. The ache is constant. A ghost I can’t banish with reason or willpower.

I always thought I’d see it coming. That I’d prepare. That I’d brace myself for the fall.

But I didn’t.

It struck without warning.

It undid me without mercy.

And now I’m left with questions that will never be answered, and a pain I cannot explain.

Because the worst part isn’t the heartbreak itself.

It’s the silence that follows.

The kind that lingers.

The kind that never lets you forget.

The kind that tells you—you were never enough.

And that kind of silence…

Is the cruellest thing I’ve ever known.

Chapter Text

“ New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings."

I’d finally accepted it: I was different now.

Not just older or wiser or sadder, though I was all of those things. I was… other. The war had peeled me open, layer by layer, until the girl I used to be had evaporated. Something new remained, raw and brittle. Sharp in places, hollow in others. And even though I stood in the same skin, surrounded by the same people, I no longer fit the world I’d once belonged to.

The summer had dragged on in a haze of grief and painful attempts at healing. I attended more ministry events and galas than I ever cared to do again. Ministry officials delivered polished speeches, their voices full of mourning and pride but empty of any true understanding. We’d attended ceremony after ceremony, war memorials held under marble arches and golden domes, our names echoed in reverent tones. Survivors. Heroes.

I’d hated every second of it.

Harry had stood tall, trying to embody the peace they all expected from him. Ginny had gritted her teeth and smiled for cameras. Ron had leaned into it—flashing the crooked grin that made strangers call him charming, basking in the attention like it was sunlight. I watched them all with a kind of distant awe. How did they do it? How did they move forward with such ease?

The space between Ron and me had been growing for months, until even pretending became exhausting. We’d tried. Merlin, we’d tried. Dated for three uneasy months, clinging to the safety of what had once made sense. But love forged in wartime doesn’t always survive the quiet. And when the noise finally stopped, so did we.

We didn’t fight when we broke up. Not really. I told him I needed time. I told myself the same thing. Time to understand who I was now that I wasn’t hiding in forests or casting protective enchantments around tents or wiping blood off my hands.

But the truth was, I’d outgrown what we had.

And I hadn’t said that part out loud.

None of us had really said what we were feeling. The Trio—once so bound together—had started to splinter, a slow unravelling we were too afraid to acknowledge.

The same had happened with Harry and Ginny. Despite everything they had been through, they simply weren’t the right match in the long run. Their relationship had thrived in the chaos of war, but in peacetime, their differences were impossible to ignore. Ginny was ambitious, independent, and focused on her Quidditch career, while Harry was still figuring out who he was beyond The Chosen One. There was no explosive fight, no dramatic heartbreak—just a quiet understanding that they weren’t meant to be.

So when we boarded the Hogwarts Express that September morning, it felt more like a funeral procession than a journey back to school.

The compartment was quiet. Too quiet. Four of us—Harry, Ginny, Ron, and me—sitting stiffly with the kind of awkwardness that comes when people who used to know everything about each other now don’t know what to say.

Ginny sat beside Ron, legs curled beneath her, staring out the window like she couldn’t bear to look at any of us. I sat across from her, next to Harry, who kept fidgeting with his sleeve.

The silence was suffocating. It settled like a weight on my chest, pressing down until I had to shift in my seat just to breathe. I twisted my hair around my finger—a nervous habit I’d picked up after everything with Voldemort.

The train clattered softly beneath us, and outside, the countryside rolled past—green hills and fading summer trees slowly giving way to hints of autumn. It should have felt nostalgic. It didn’t.

I tucked a curl behind my ear and stared at the passing scenery. Anything to avoid the silence pressing in around us like a second skin.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat. “So… back to Hogwarts.”

Ron leaned back, arms behind his head. “Yeah. Feels mental, doesn’t it?”

Ginny gave a noncommittal hum.

The silence returned like a tide.

I glanced at them, then down at my lap, where my hands twisted in my robes. “The last time we saw the castle…” I began, voice low, “was the night of the battle.”

Nobody answered. I looked up.

Ginny was still facing the window. Harry gave a slight nod. Ron shifted uncomfortably.

“I keep thinking,” I continued, not sure why I was even speaking, “that it’ll look different. Feel different. Like it’s still holding its breath, waiting for another fight.”

“Hermione,” Ron said flatly, “don’t start.”

I blinked, startled. “I’m not starting anything. I’m just—”

“Talking about the war again,” he cut in, louder. “Bringing it up. Like you always do.”

A sharp sting prickled behind my eyes. “I’m not trying to bring it up. I’m trying to understand how we’re all supposed to walk back into that place and pretend it’s just a school again.”

Ron scoffed. “Because it is a school. And we’re here to finish it. End of.”

“It’s not that simple,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “There are… memories. Things I can’t unsee. Don’t you feel it too? That tension? Like we’re returning to a graveyard instead of a home?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “I don’t. I feel relieved. I feel like maybe we can finally have a year without being chased or hunted or—whatever. You don’t have to make everything about what we lost.”

My hands stilled. “I’m not making it about anything, Ron. I’m just saying—”

“You always say something, Hermione,” he snapped. “You always have to analyze everything to death. Maybe some of us just want to move on.”

His tone lit a fuse in my chest. But I bit it back.

“For some of us, moving on isn’t as easy.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron muttered. “Not this again.”

I felt heat rise in my throat. “Not what, Ron?”

“You, acting like you’re the only one who suffered. Like you’re the only one with scars. We all went through hell, Hermione.”

“I know that,” I said, voice cracking slightly. “I’ve never said otherwise.”

“Then stop acting like you carry it alone!”

“I do carry it alone sometimes!” I snapped before I could stop myself. “I wake up screaming! I see bodies when I close my eyes! I can’t walk past someone in a dark cloak without flinching! And all you ever say is ‘move on’ like grief is a staircase I’m too slow to climb!”

The compartment fell silent.

Harry watched us with wide, wary eyes. Ginny had turned from the window, her gaze sharp.

Ron leaned forward. “At least you didn’t lose anyone,” he said bitterly. “Your parents are alive. You still have your family.”

I stared at him, heart stopping mid-beat. “You think that means I didn’t lose anything?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The damage was done.

“I erased myself from their memories,” I said, voice trembling now. “I made them forget they ever had a daughter. I did it to protect them. And I’ve been trying to fix it ever since. Trying to find my way back into a life they don’t remember me being part of. So don’t tell me I didn’t lose anything, Ron. I lost everything and then had to pretend I didn’t.”

He looked away.

I stood slowly, every inch of me shaking. “I’m going to find another compartment.”

“Hermione—” Harry started, reaching for me.

But Ginny stood at the same time. “I’ll go with you.”

We left without another word.

The corridor was quieter. My chest still heaved, my eyes stung, and I hated how loud my emotions felt. I hated how easily Ron had chipped away at me until everything I’d tried to keep bottled just poured out.

We found an empty compartment near the back. Ginny slid the door shut behind us and sank into the seat across from me.

“He didn’t mean it,” she said quietly.

“I know,” I replied. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

We sat in silence for a long while. The train rumbled beneath us, a soft, hypnotic sound that almost made it easier to breathe.

Outside, the sky had turned pale grey, clouds bunching together like sheep on the horizon. The light shifted as we passed through shadows, and in that strange gloom, the trees seemed to blur and dance.

“I don’t feel ready,” I said finally. “To be back. To be seen.”

“You’re not alone in that,” she said. “But maybe being there—being together—will help.”

I nodded, but doubt still curled in my stomach.

I let myself settle into it, the quiet, the stillness. It had quickly become the only thing i could tolerate, the only thing that didn't feel too overwhelming.

I kept my eyes on the window the rest of the way, the sharp lines of the past hour softening into silence.  I watched the world blur past, and the steady, constant motion of the train brought me a bit of comfort. It felt like a moment of peace. a small, fragile escape from the chaos of everything. I let myself get lost in the scenery.

After what felt like an hour of silence, Ginny finally spoke, her voice soft but certain as it cut through the noise in my head.

“Are you worried about going back?”

I glanced over at her, still idly pulling at a loose thread on the cuff of my jumper. The fabric had already started to fray, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I thought about her question for a moment before answering.

“A bit,” I admitted. “I’m hoping being there helps me get back into some kind of rhythm. Like maybe if I walk the same corridors, sit in the same classrooms… I’ll start to feel like myself again.”

Ginny nodded, her gaze distant. “Yeah. I get that. It’s been a long time since anything’s felt even remotely normal.”

I gave her a small, crooked smile. “According to Hogwarts: A History, this is the first time they’ve ever offered something like this—an optional return year. It’s almost like a Muggle university, in a way.”

Ginny let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I think they feel guilty that none of us really had a proper education the last few years.”

I sighed with her, the weight of it all settling in my chest again. “I hope it’s more than guilt,” I said. “I hope this year isn’t just about patching up the old holes. I hope it’s something new… something better. A place where we can be more than what we were turned into.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to. The silence that followed spoke louder than anything she could have said.

I let my thoughts drift. “I wonder what they’re going to do with all of us. They must have expanded the dormitories… hired more staff…” My voice trailed off as my mind filled with the practicalities, always the planner. “There were so many people on the platform—I don’t think I’ve ever seen it that crowded before.”

Ginny shrugged, curling her legs beneath her on the seat. “I’m sure they’ve got it all figured out. Maybe routine is exactly what we need.”

Her words lingered. I turned them over in my head like smooth stones, wondering if routine could possibly fix something this broken. The truth was, I didn’t know if I wanted routine. I hadn’t had the energy for anything structured in months. Some days, just getting out of bed felt like an accomplishment.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I murmured, giving the fraying thread another tug.

The train began to slow, the rhythmic hum beneath our feet giving way to a high-pitched screech as metal met metal, grinding against the tracks. We were pulling into Hogsmeade Station.

I closed my eyes and let out a long, steady breath, trying to brace myself.

Hogsmeade on arrival day was always chaos—echoing voices, thundering carriages, owls screeching as they flapped above a sea of trunks and swirling robes. The moment the train began to slow, I felt the flutter of nerves tighten in my stomach. Stepping off meant stepping back into a world I wasn’t sure I belonged to anymore.

I gathered my things and stepped onto the platform. The cool autumn air rushed to meet my face, biting at my cheeks and settling the edge of the tremble in my hands. I paused, letting myself take in the familiar scene—the worn stone façades of the shops, the cracked cobblestones lit by flickering lanterns, and, beyond the trees, the towering silhouette of Hogwarts casting its long shadow over the hills.

I wanted to let the nostalgia warm me, to find comfort in the memories I used to carry so proudly. But instead, all I could see was blood. The Great Hall turned into a morgue, bodies lined like offerings across the stone floor. The courtyard where we once laughed, now etched with the silence of death. Friends. Classmates. Ghosts.

I shivered and shoved the thoughts aside. First step to being normal, I reminded myself, was to act like it.

I did miss Hogwarts—at least, some part of me did. But that affection was tangled in guilt. I had the privilege of returning when so many never would. This place had once been home, once felt like the safest place in the world. Now, it felt hollow. Haunted.

I boarded one of the carriages, slipping into the worn seat as students milled around outside. Many paused to pet the Thestrals, their once-invisible forms now clearly visible to most of us. Another silent reminder of the war—nearly every student had seen death up close.

The ride was quieter than I expected. Only the rhythmic creak of an old carriage wheel broke the silence, joined by the whisper of leaves rustling in the wind and the soft, deliberate clop of the Thestrals’ hooves against the dirt path. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to conserve the last of my body heat before the cold seeped deeper into my bones.

At the castle gates, Professor Slughorn stood beaming, holding up a large wooden sign that read, in elegant swirling letters: 8th Years. I drifted toward the small group forming around him, nudging a loose stone with the toe of my boot while I waited.

“Welcome, students,” Slughorn began, puffing his chest with theatrical pride, “to the Hogwarts Institute for the Noble and Keen Yielding of Proficiency in Unrestricted & Nuanced Knowledge—or HINKYPUNK, as we’ve taken to calling it.”

He chuckled at the abbreviation, clearly quite pleased with himself.

“This program is an unprecedented opportunity,” he continued, “for each of you to refine your talents, to specialize, to explore magic beyond the confines of the standard curriculum.”

He explained that for the first term, we’d all attend core classes—Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense—so they could assess our levels before guiding us into more advanced, personalized studies. While we’d still be housed in the castle, our days would look very different from those of the younger years.

“No houses to divide you,” Slughorn added warmly. “Just a new path forward. Together.”

They were assigned to separate boys’ and girls’ dormitories, but without the familiar division of Houses. The absence of House colours or common rooms left a strange silence in the air—no friendly rivalries, no familiar hierarchies. Everyone stayed unusually quiet, as though afraid to be the first to speak, the first to act too normal.

Slughorn finished his speech with a jovial nod and began to lead them up toward the castle. This wasn’t the familiar route to the common rooms or dormitories. Instead, he turned down a newly built corridor that branched off from the main entrance—a part of the castle none of them had seen before.

“This way, this way—don’t lag behind!” he called as students craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the new wing.

Slughorn ushered them quickly into a vast ballroom, clearly eager to unveil the first impression of the new Institute. The moment I stepped inside, I was struck by how warm and inviting it was—an intentional contrast, perhaps, to the palpable unease hanging over everyone.

The ceiling was enchanted like the Great Hall, reflecting a star-speckled sky with silvery clouds drifting lazily across its surface. It gave the illusion of endless space, but it couldn’t quite ease the knot tightening in my stomach. Everyone was still clutching their bags too tightly, avoiding eye contact just a little too deliberately. The trauma of the past year clung to us like a second skin.

Elegant navy and gold banners lined the walls, each bearing the Hogwarts crest intertwined with a new emblem—the seal of the Hogwarts Institute for the Noble and Keen Yielding of Proficiency in Unrestricted & Nuanced Knowledge. It was a mouthful, and more than a few students had started referring to it only by its nickname: HINKYPUNK.

Floating lanterns glowed overhead, casting a soft, golden light that flickered gently, reminiscent of the Great Hall’s welcoming ambiance. The rich, velvet-lined chairs were arranged in neat rows, all facing a grand podium at the front of the room. Behind it, a shimmering banner unfurled itself midair with a flourish, displaying in bold, curling script:

WELCOME TO THE HOGWARTS INSTITUTE FOR THE NOBLE AND KEEN YIELDING OF PROFICIENCY IN UNRESTRICTED & NUANCED KNOWLEDGE

Despite the warm light and soft music that began to hum through the air, the tension didn’t ease. We were back—but nothing felt the same.

A long refreshment table was set off to the side, draped in a deep navy cloth and adorned with trays of delicate pastries, steaming goblets of mulled cider, and polished pitchers brimming with pumpkin juice. The polished wooden floor gleamed beneath the shifting light, while magical orbs floated above, glowing a warm amber before slowly fading to a tranquil blue and back again.

I scanned the room, searching for something—someone—to ground me. Toward the front row, I spotted Luna and Neville sitting together, an empty seat beside them. Relief flooded me like a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I made my way toward them and sank into the chair, wrapping them both in a quick hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said softly, meaning it more than I could say.

Neville offered a lopsided smile, his eyes warm and familiar. “You too, Hermione. Feels strange being back, doesn’t it?”

Luna tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping the room with that faraway look she always had, as though she were seeing something the rest of us couldn’t. “Not strange,” she mused, “just different. Like Hogwarts has been waiting for us to return.”

I smiled at that. Luna had a way of finding magic in places no one else thought to look.

“I suppose,” I murmured, glancing around at the other students filtering in. Some faces were instantly familiar—Parvati, Dean Thomas, the Slytherin boys clustered near the back. Others took me a moment longer to place, their features subtly changed by time, grief, or both.

At the front of the room, Professor Slughorn stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat loudly, his round face glowing with enthusiasm. The low murmur of conversation faded into silence.

“Welcome, welcome!” Slughorn beamed, spreading his arms as if greeting old friends. “What a joy it is to see so many bright young minds returning to Hogwarts. You are the first students to embark on this very special chapter in the castle’s long and prestigious history.”

I folded my hands tightly in my lap, trying to focus on his words, but my mind was already spiraling. The last time I was here, surrounded by these people…

“Now, as you know,” Slughorn continued, “you will not be housed in separate Houses, but rather together in Eldritch Tower. A fresh start, if you will.” His eyes crinkled with a tight smile. “Your coursework this term will be foundational—assessments will determine where you stand before moving into more specialized studies next term. And, of course, you’ll be expected to uphold the integrity and discipline of a Hogwarts student.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Integrity and discipline had been luxuries during the war.

A scoff rang out behind me. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Fresh start,” drawled Draco Malfoy. “How very sentimental of them.”

My hands curled into fists in my lap. I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly through my nose. Of course, he was here. Of course, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Luna, entirely unfazed, turned slightly in her seat. “It is, isn’t it?” she said dreamily. “Sentimentality is important for healing, after all.”

I bit back a smirk as Malfoy fell silent.

Slughorn clapped his hands together, his rings glinting in the enchanted starlight. “Well then! With that, let us begin our feast. I trust you all to make the most of this new opportunity.”

The room buzzed instantly, students breaking into nervous chatter as they adjusted to the strange new reality of their ‘fresh start.’

I stayed close to Luna and Neville, trying to blend into the noise and avoid the one person I wasn’t ready to face.

But, as if summoned by my thoughts, Ron appeared in front of me. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, his eyes darting around before finally settling on mine.

“Mione…” His voice was cautious, tinged with something like regret. “I’m sorry. About what I said… about your parents.”

I stared at him for a long moment, searching for sincerity in his face. Maybe it was there. Maybe it wasn’t. But it didn’t matter. My heart was still too raw, too bruised to care.

Finally, I spoke, my voice low and steady. “Just leave me alone, Ron. You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t like the person I’ve become.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

After far too much forced conversation and food I could barely taste, I finally made my way to the dorms.

The Eldritch Tower stood proudly at the far end of the castle, a new yet seamlessly integrated addition to Hogwarts’ ancient architecture. Constructed from the same weathered grey stone as the rest of the castle, it loomed high against the night sky, its many windows casting a warm, golden glow. Unlike the other rounded towers of Hogwarts, Eldritch Tower had sharper, more angular lines, lending it a modern twist while still respecting the castle’s medieval charm.

A grand archway marked its entrance, adorned with swirling runes that shimmered faintly under the torchlight. Stepping inside, I found the main hall vast and inviting, with high vaulted ceilings that showcased intricate carvings of magical creatures and historical figures. Floating lanterns provided a soft, ambient light, flickering as though caressed by an unseen breeze. Enchanted tapestries lined the walls, depicting famous scholars and spellcasters throughout history; their eyes seemed to follow us as we passed.

The common area, just beyond the entrance, was a spacious lounge filled with overstuffed armchairs, towering bookshelves, and enchanted fireplaces that adjusted their warmth to the seasons. Unlike the house common rooms, this space was designed for all post-graduate students, promoting an atmosphere of collaboration and open discussion. Large bay windows overlooked the Black Lake, offering a breathtaking view of the moonlit waters.

I followed a grand, winding staircase up to the dormitory floor. The hallway to the left was for the girls’ dorms, and to the right, the boys’. I walked until I found the door marked with my name, my belongings already waiting for me at the door. Panic still tugged at the corners of my mind—so much was unknown. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe I did need to try and pretend a bit. Pretend the war didn’t happen. Pretend I wasn’t definitely dealing with PTSD.

As my thoughts spiralled, I collected my things and opened the door—only to find Ginny sitting on the bed opposite mine, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Ginny?” I asked, brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Professor McGonagall let me move up,” Ginny beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Said it was a bit unfair, considering everything I went through, you know?” She shrugged. “Wanted to be with friends since you lot are all older than me.”

I blinked in surprise, a smile creeping onto my face. “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, setting my things down. “It’ll be nice, having someone familiar around.”

Some of the panic ebbed away. It was comforting, having someone who understood. I began unpacking, falling into easy small talk with Ginny. I was grateful I didn’t have to share with someone like Pansy Parkinson or one of the Greengrass sisters. That would have been unbearable.

Padma Patil popped her head into the open doorway just as we finished unpacking. “Party up at the Observatory!” she called, her voice bright with excitement. “Some of the boys ran out to Hogsmeade for a booze run!” And just like that, she vanished again, darting down the corridor to the next room.

Ginny raised an eyebrow and shot me a look. “Care for a pint?” she asked, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

I laughed nervously, weighing my options—stay in bed and mope, or try to fit in, go through the motions until it felt natural.

“I suppose,” I said with a sigh. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

We stepped into the hallway, the noise from the Observatory faintly echoing—bursts of laughter, distant voices, the hum of something carefree and normal. As we walked toward the staircase, my mind wandered. I wasn’t sure I was ready to let go of the walls I’d built, but the thought of a night with no expectations—no war, no survival, no plans—felt strangely comforting.

“Coming?” Ginny asked, glancing back at me.

“Yeah,” I replied, a small smile forming as I followed her down the corridor.

It was time to embrace the freedom—if only for one night.

Chapter Text

“There are moments when the walls between us grow thin enough to let us touch each other.”

The observatory buzzed with a low hum as we filtered in, the heavy wooden doors creaking shut behind us. The room was vast, the enchanted dome above offering a perfect, uninterrupted view of the night sky. Stars shimmered in the glass like scattered diamonds, and floating candles drifted lazily overhead, casting a soft, flickering glow across the cold stone floor.

The scent of alcohol hit me before anything else—firewhisky, butterbeer gone sharp with something stronger, pumpkin juice spiked beyond recognition. A long table near the back was already a mess of half-empty bottles and mismatched glassware. Some were overflowing with strange concoctions, others sat beside uneaten sweets, left abandoned like afterthoughts. Around the room, students leaned against the walls or curled into worn cushions tossed haphazardly across the floor, murmuring in quiet clusters.

A few were already well into their drinks, slurring softly through half-laughed stories. Others, like me, kept to the edges—watching. Listening. Everyone seemed to understand this wasn’t really a party. Not in the traditional sense. It was a pause. A breath held between the past and whatever came next. There was something heavy in the air tonight—unspoken, but understood. A strange kind of grief, maybe. Or the cautious hope that maybe we could still pretend to be normal, even just for a night.

Ginny nudged me, nodding toward the drinks table. “Ready for this?” she asked, her voice low, lips curled in a grin that was almost convincing.

Ginny had picked up a habit of drinking to feel normal after the war. I didn’t judge her—God knows I had my own odd coping mechanisms. If it helped her feel something close to normal, who was I to take that from her?

I glanced around the room. I didn’t feel ready. I didn’t feel anything, really. But the thought of sitting alone with my thoughts felt worse than a drink. “As I’ll ever be,” I muttered.

She handed me a cup filled with something amber and warm-looking. We clinked them together in a quiet cheers, and I brought it to my lips.

The burn was immediate—fiery and sharp, scorching my throat all the way down. I coughed hard, pressing a fist to my chest, and Ginny let out a laugh beside me.

“Well, it’s not Polyjuice,” she said. “So we’re already off to a good start.”

I let out a breathy laugh of my own, surprised by the sound of it. It felt strange. Good, almost. Like stretching a muscle I hadn’t used in a long time.

Across the room, someone turned up a charmed Wireless, and the soft strumming of a wizarding folk song drifted through the air. I let myself sink down onto one of the cushions, the cup still warm in my hands. For once, I wasn’t trying to prove anything. Not to McGonagall. Not to Ron. Not even to myself.

Just for tonight, I was here. Just a girl under the stars, trying to remember what peace felt like.

Ginny smiled, her eyes gleaming. “Time to relax, Mione.”

I took a breath, wincing at the lingering burn. But even through it, a small, reluctant smile pulled at my mouth. “Relax, right,” I rasped. “I’m not sure that’s physically possible with that in my system.”

She laughed again and bumped her shoulder against mine. “You’ll get used to it. It’s the only way to survive nights lately..”

I glanced around. The observatory was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache—tall arched windows overlooked the castle grounds, the lake glinting far below in the moonlight. The soft thrum of music and conversation surrounded me, not loud enough to drown anything out, just enough to cushion the silence.

I took another careful sip. This time, the firewhisky didn’t burn as much. It didn’t make me forget, but it dulled the sharp edges of the day.

Ginny leaned in, her voice quieter now. “You okay?”

Her question caught me off guard. I looked at her, at the honest concern in her eyes, and for a second, I wasn’t sure what to say.

No, I wanted to admit. I’m not. Not really.

But I nodded instead, because it was the best I could do.

My gaze drifted back to the group of students gathered across the room. Some were deep in conversation, heads tipped close, others curled up on cushions, laughing over inside jokes I wasn’t part of. A small part of me wished I could join them—really join them—let the laughter and the warmth soak into my skin until I felt something other than tired. But another part of me—the part that still flinched at loud noises, that woke in the middle of the night expecting curses and screams—just wanted to disappear.

Ginny must’ve sensed the shift in me. She didn’t say much, just reached out and gave my back a light pat, her hand warm through the fabric of my jumper. “Let’s try to enjoy the night, yeah?”

I gave her a faint nod and took another sip. Then another. The firewhisky burned a little less each time, its warmth pooling in my stomach, spreading outward like a slow-moving fog. The thoughts I’d been dragging around like chains all day—the guilt, the grief, the constant sense of being slightly out of step—began to loosen. Not vanish, but blur at the edges.

Ginny kept my cup full, and I let her. Each refill was stronger than the last, but I stopped caring. Maybe that was the point. Maybe if I was lucky, the firewhisky would finally drown the part of me that hadn’t known how to breathe properly since May.

Somewhere between my second and third drink, Harry and Ron showed up.

I hadn’t noticed at first—too caught up in the music and the slow, spreading warmth of the firewhisky—but then I caught a glimpse of familiar figures slipping into the room. Ron’s shoulders were tense, his brows drawn together in that way they always were when he was unsure of his place. Harry, quiet as ever, scanned the space with those tired eyes of his and gave me a small nod before sinking onto a cushion beside Ginny.

They didn’t say where they’d been. And none of us asked.

We were all good at that now—leaving things unspoken, smoothing over the cracks with awkward jokes and half-hearted games. Ginny had pulled out Truth or Dare, a game I’d introduced back in fourth year when things were simpler. It had seemed like a decent way to pass the time, but the more we played, the more it felt like we were performing a version of ourselves we no longer fit into.

Harry groaned every time it was his turn, clearly uninterested. His answers were clipped, the same tired tone he used when people asked him if he was “settling back in.” His dares were even worse—ridiculous things like, “Pretend you’re a frog for five seconds,” said without even cracking a smile.

Ginny laughed, nudging him in that way she does, but even her laughter felt like a mask. Like we were all just playing a part in a scene we didn’t believe in anymore.

Ron was… well, Ron was still in that bitter, slightly combative stage where everything felt like a personal dig. Every truth became a test. Every dare, a challenge. He dared Ginny to drink an entire cup of firewhisky without flinching—she did. He dared Harry to summon his Patronus indoors—he refused. When I tried to steer the game somewhere lighter, he rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t really fun. It was just something to do. A way to fill the silence. A way to pretend we hadn’t all been changed in ways we couldn’t talk about yet.

And maybe wouldn’t. Not tonight.

I took another sip of my drink, letting the firewhisky burn its now familiar path down my throat. Around me, the others laughed and tossed half-hearted dares across the circle, but the game had long since lost its charm. We should’ve picked something else—something easier, something lighter. But maybe there was no easy left for us anymore.

Since coming back to Hogwarts, everything had felt… off. Not in any dramatic way, but in the quiet, jarring dissonance of trying to fit back into lives we’d outgrown. The castle hadn’t changed, but we had. And no game could smooth over the cracks that had formed between us.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Harry,” Ron said, rolling his eyes as Harry shrugged off another truth or dare.

“I’m not kidding,” Harry replied, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll take a truth.”

I leaned forward slightly, my voice calm but curious. “Alright then. What’s your biggest regret?”

He stilled. The question hung there between us, heavier than I intended it to be.

For a moment, no one said anything. Even the laughter in the background seemed to fade. Harry stared into his glass like it held the answer, then looked around the circle—Ron, Ginny, and finally me.

“I regret a lot of things…” he said slowly. “But right now? I regret not asking for help sooner. When everything was falling apart, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t ask any of you. And I should have. I should’ve leaned on you more.”

His voice wasn’t emotional, exactly. Just honest. The kind of honesty we didn’t allow ourselves very often anymore.

The room was quiet. Not uncomfortable—just still. Like we were all finally acknowledging the weight we’d each been carrying in silence.

I gave a slow nod, the words catching in my throat before they could make it out. Because I understood. I hadn’t asked for help either. Not when I couldn’t sleep, not when the memories came back like a tide. Not when I’d sat in the library for hours pretending to read, just to feel normal again.

We had survived the war, but none of us had really healed from it. Not yet.

Ron shifted in his seat, jaw tightening as though he had something to say but couldn’t find the right words—or maybe didn’t want to risk saying the wrong ones. The silence stretched a beat too long, teetering on the edge of discomfort.

As always, it was Ginny who rescued them.

She leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye and raised her cup. “Alright, enough of that heavy stuff. We’re here to drink, not get all philosophical. Hermione, your turn.”

I let out a soft laugh, grateful for her timing. The tension loosened, just a bit, like a held breath finally released. It felt like the old days—familiar and warm—but it wasn’t quite the same. Still, I clung to it anyway.

“Alright then,” I said, doing my best to sound playful. “Truth or dare, Ginny?”

She smirked. “Dare. But make it good, Mione.”

I glanced around the room, pretending to consider, though the idea had already formed the moment she’d said ‘dare.’ My eyes landed on Theodore Nott, leaning casually against the far wall, a drink in one hand and his usual bored expression on his face.

“I dare you to…” I paused dramatically, watching Ginny narrow her eyes in anticipation. “Smack Nott’s arse.”

We burst into laughter, and I watched Ginny arch a brow, that familiar, fearless smirk playing at her lips. Without missing a beat, she drained the last of her drink, stood, and sauntered across the room with the kind of boldness I could only ever admire from a distance.

The room practically held its breath as she approached the group of Slytherins clustered in the center. Theodore Nott was mid-sentence when Ginny reached him—and without a second of hesitation, she wound up and smacked him square on the arse.

The sharp crack echoed through the observatory, louder than it had any right to be.

Nott spun around, clearly startled, his face going an impressive shade of crimson. “What the hell, Weasley?” he sputtered, equal parts horrified and trying to maintain what little composure he had left.

Ginny only winked, utterly unbothered. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and sauntered back like she’d just returned from the loo. “That was fun,” she said breezily, collapsing onto the floor beside me.

I hadn’t meant to laugh as hard as I did—but it spilled out of me, warm and unexpected, loosening something tight in my chest. For a moment, I wasn’t thinking about battle scars or buried grief. I was just here.

The laughter still hung in the air when the Slytherins followed Ginny back, curiosity—or perhaps indignation—guiding their steps. Theo sauntered over, still rubbing his backside like it might save his pride, while Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson flanked him. Draco Malfoy brought up the rear, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

Pansy’s gaze swept the circle like we were a mildly interesting exhibit. Her lip curled, smug and amused. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here,” she drawled. “The Golden Trio plus the Weaslette.” Her voice dripped with sugary venom. “What an honour it is to be in your presence.”

I sighed inwardly. So much for lightening the mood.

I rolled my eyes, unfazed by the jab. I took another sip of my firewhisky—the burn no longer a deterrent, but a kind of fuel. It loosened something in my chest—something sharp and simmering. And before I could stop myself, the words slipped out, smooth and biting.

“Well, well, well,” I said, arching a brow. “Isn’t it the Slytherin slut herself? Tell me, Pansy, which one of them are you sleeping with this week?”

Pansy’s jaw dropped.

The silence cracked wide open with laughter. Theo and Blaise nearly doubled over, and even Malfoy let out a surprised snort. It was rare—almost sacred—to see Pansy Parkinson caught off guard.

“Granger,” Theo wheezed between laughs, “you may just be my new favourite person in this room.” He stepped forward, extending a hand, his grin crooked but not unkind. “Theo Nott. I don’t think we’ve ever properly met.”

I blinked at the gesture. Of all the reactions I’d expected, friendliness hadn’t even been on the list. But I took his hand anyway, the firewhisky still buzzing under my skin. “Hermione Granger,” I said, returning his smile with cautious warmth.

Pansy, still visibly flustered, shot Theo a murderous look but said nothing. I half-expected a snide comeback, something sharp and petty. But the silence from her felt like its own kind of surrender.

The atmosphere shifted—tilted, really—like someone had turned the room on its side and all the old dividing lines weren’t where they used to be.

“What are you playing?” Blaise asked, eyeing Theo with clear amusement. “And why did he get smacked like a common trollop?”

Ginny grinned. “Truth or dare,” she said breezily. “It’s a Muggle game.”

“I know what it is,” Blaise replied, and I blinked at the casualness in his tone.

Blaise Zabini, pureblood extraordinaire, familiar with Muggle party games? I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Why don’t we join you,” Malfoy said then, voice smooth and deliberate, “and show you how to play the Slytherin version?”

His eyes locked on mine, and something in his expression—equal parts curiosity and challenge—made me straighten in my seat.

“I don’t want to play anything with you, Malfoy,” Ron spat, his ears turning red as his anger flared.

Draco laughed—low, cruel, and infuriatingly amused. “Probably for the best,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself. Besides…” His gaze slid lazily to me, smugness thick in his voice. “A swot like Granger wouldn’t have the bollocks.”

The heat surged in my chest, sharp and sudden. My Gryffindor temper snapped free, loosened by the firewhisky and the sheer nerve of him. I straightened, lifting my chin.

“I’ll play,” I said coolly, the words sparking in the air like a lit match. “Gin?”

Ginny’s grin was instant. “Hell yes, I’m in.”

Ron scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he muttered, his eyes darting between us before he turned on his heel and stormed toward the exit. His footsteps echoed, louder than necessary, like they wanted to leave a mark.

Harry lingered for a moment, clearly torn, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and concern. “Sorry about that,” he said softly, his eyes flicking between me and Ginny. “I’ll go after him. You know how he gets.”

I nodded once. I did know. Too well.

He gave me a fleeting, almost weary smile before jogging after Ron, his voice trailing into a low murmur as he slipped through the door.

The room shifted again, settled into a new rhythm. Quieter. But somehow more electric.

The Slytherins moved in like they owned the space—Theo with his easy grin, Blaise trailing behind with that calm, unreadable indifference, Pansy looking faintly amused now that the dust had settled. And Draco, of course, walked in with that maddening confidence that made my spine lock on instinct.

He took his usual place like the seat had been waiting for him, eyes still locked on mine, that damn smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” he said, lounging back like a king surveying his court. “Shall we begin?”

And just like that, the game began.

To my absolute astonishment, we learned that Blaise had a secret crush on Rita Skeeter.

“Yes, that Rita Skeeter,” he said, deadpan. “I like dangerous women.”

Ginny nearly snorted her cider. “Hermione despises her,” she laughed. “Ask her what she did to her in fifth year.”

I smirked into my drink. “Locked her in a jar.”

Theo blinked. “Come again?”

“She was an unregistered Animagus,” I said casually, swirling the firewhisky in my glass. “A beetle. I trapped her in a magically sealed jar for… what was it, Gin? A few weeks?”

Ginny was already cackling. “Long enough for her to miss the Prophet’s biggest stories.”

Theo looked between us like he wasn’t sure if I was joking. “You actually imprisoned a journalist?”

“She was illegally spying on underage students,” I shot back, unbothered. “Frankly, I went easy on her.”

Blaise let out a low whistle. “Damn, Granger. That’s cold.”

I shrugged. “She had it coming.”

Draco locked eyes with me, the firelight catching in the pale silver of his irises. A smirk played on his lips—lazy, confident, irritatingly unreadable. There was something else in his expression too, something just beneath the surface. I couldn’t name it, not exactly, but it made the back of my neck prickle.

He looked… impressed. Maybe even intrigued. Like he was seeing me properly for the first time.

I held his gaze, unwilling to be the first to look away.

His smirk deepened just slightly, and I had the strange, fluttery sense that I’d just agreed to a challenge I hadn’t meant to accept.

Then it was Theo’s turn. “I have an undying love for nifflers,” he declared, hand over his heart.

“They’re just so precious,” he insisted when we laughed. “Go on—look me in the eye and tell me they’re not the most adorable creatures you’ve ever seen.”

Even I had to giggle at that one. It was oddly charming.

Then came his question. Theo leaned back, eyeing Pansy with an evil glint. “Alright, Parkinson. Who was the best lay?”

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically as she accepted the vial and downed it like a shot. For a moment, she looked unaffected—until the word flew out of her mouth like a curse.

“Draco.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief. Blaise let out a low whistle. Theo howled with laughter.

Draco just raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Pansy turned red from the neck up. “I hate this game,” she muttered.

And despite myself, I laughed again—something real, unguarded. Maybe it was the whisky, or maybe it was that for the first time in what felt like years, we weren’t soldiers. We were just… students. Flawed. Messy. Laughing.

If only for now.

Theo grinned, clearly thrilled with the chaos he’d just unleashed, while Blaise and Draco chuckled lowly beside him, both looking far too amused. Pansy, on the other hand, looked positively mortified—her cheeks flushed, arms crossed, suddenly very interested in her shoes.

She recovered quickly though, her eyes narrowing as she reached for the vial and swirled the remaining Veritaserum before passing it to me.

“Fine then,” she said with a venomous lilt, her gaze locking on mine like a dare. “Granger. Who was your best lay? And Merlin, please don’t say the Weasel.”

My stomach dropped.

The moment the potion hit my tongue, I felt it work its way through me—cold, precise, inescapable. My heart thudded against my ribs like it was trying to flee my body. I tried—gods, I tried—to clamp down on the answer, to hold it in, to keep something for myself.

But the words ripped out anyway, ungraceful and sharp:

“I’m a virgin.”

Silence.

Absolute, suffocating silence.

Heat bloomed up my neck and across my face, spreading like wildfire under my skin. Mortified, I slapped my hands over my face, willing the universe to reverse time or open the floor beneath me—anything to undo what I’d just blurted in front of an entire room full of half-drunk peers and Malfoy.

The seconds dragged on, each one louder than the last. I could feel their stares pressing into me, feel the red on my cheeks deepen until I was certain I’d combust.

And then—soft, quiet, undeniably smug—a chuckle.

Draco Malfoy.

Of course.

It slipped out of him like smoke, subtle and cutting. I peeked through my fingers just in time to see the corner of his mouth twitching upward, his eyes glittering with something unreadable.

Not mockery, exactly. Not pity either.

But interest.

And somehow, that was worse.

I shot a desperate glance at Ginny, who looked like she was about to burst with laughter. Theo and Blaise were both watching me with raised brows and matching smirks—but to my surprise, there was no judgment in their expressions. Just mild amusement, like they hadn’t expected it but weren’t the least bit bothered.

Pansy, of course, couldn’t help herself.

“A virgin, Granger?” she drawled, eyes gleaming like she’d just discovered her favourite bit of gossip. “Merlin, that’s a shocker. Should’ve guessed though. All that bookish nonsense—no time for anything fun.”

Her voice was syrupy with sarcasm, but for once, there wasn’t any real venom behind it. Just… mischief.

Theo leaned forward, looking intrigued. “You never slept with Ron?” he asked, eyes flicking between me and the door Ron had stormed out of earlier. “Or Harry?”

I could barely look at anyone as the heat rushed back to my cheeks. “No,” I said quickly. “Ron and I only dated for a few months, and Harry’s always just been… my best friend.”

That landed like a stone in the circle.

The silence stretched for a few long, awkward seconds, and I was already bracing for another round of uncomfortable commentary—until Ginny, bless her, broke through it like sunlight through fog.

“Well, Harry was my best lay,” she said breezily, swirling the drink in her hand. “And I don’t need Veritaserum to admit that.”

The group erupted—Theo let out a bark of laughter, Blaise actually choked on his drink, and even Pansy snorted. I pressed a hand to my mouth, torn between horror and hysterics.

Ginny shot me a cheeky wink, clearly pleased with herself. “What? It’s true,” she added, leaning back with the confident smirk of someone who knew exactly the effect she’d had. “He may be the Boy Who Lived, but he’s also the Boy Who Can Fuck.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Not the small, polite kind, but a real, relieved laugh. The tension bled out of the room, and with it, some of the tightness that had curled in my chest all night.

Ginny had once again pulled me back from the edge without even trying.

“More than just a saving-the-world complex,” she added with a smirk, raising her glass.

Theo let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee. “That’s a first—hearing Ginny Weasley talk about Harry like that. You two are full of surprises.”

Pansy snorted. “I can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation. Slytherins and Gryffindors, sitting in a circle, swapping filthy secrets like old friends. Merlin, what’s next? A group hug?”

There were a few chuckles, but the group had settled into something that felt strangely natural. The lines that usually divided us—House, history, war—had blurred. Tonight, we were just young adults trying to remember what fun felt like.

Draco, who had been mostly quiet since the last round, shifted slightly in his seat. He leaned back, arms crossed loosely, watching the group with that maddeningly unreadable expression. A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crossed his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Then, for a breath, his eyes met mine.

It wasn’t smug. It wasn’t cruel.

It was something else. Quiet. Considering.

And he said nothing.

I looked away first, my heart giving a strange little jolt. The firewhisky had dulled the usual sharp edges of my thoughts—but that one look cut through clean.

The game pressed on, slipping into a rhythm that felt easier now. Embarrassment had given way to laughter, hesitation to mischief. The alcohol had done its job—everyone was looser, bolder, a little freer.

Still, I couldn’t shake the question forming in the back of my mind. Why had Malfoy looked at me like that? What was it about my answer that shifted something behind those cold grey eyes?

But then Ginny cracked a joke about Dean’s hair, and the room dissolved into laughter again. The question would have to wait. For now, it was enough to be part of the noise—to laugh, to be normal, to forget. Even if just for a little while.

“Malfoy,” Ginny said, her tone light but laced with challenge. There was a glint in her eyes that dared him to dodge it.

Draco raised the small vial of Veritaserum, his fingers steady. He paused for just a second—just long enough for the air to thicken—before tipping it back and swallowing. He set it down with a quiet clink, his gaze fixed firmly on Ginny’s.

“What are you most afraid of in this world?” she asked, her voice playful… but not gentle.

Theo let out a low whistle, sitting back slightly. “Uh oh,” he muttered, sensing the shift.

Everyone leaned in.

Draco’s expression didn’t flinch. His jaw was tense, shoulders rigid. Then he said it—quick, sharp, like the answer had been sitting on the edge of his tongue for years.

“My father.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that sucked the air from the room.

Even the background noise from the rest of the observatory seemed to fall away, like the tower itself was holding its breath. The floating candles flickered faintly, casting soft shadows under Draco’s eyes. He wasn’t looking at any of us—his gaze was fixed somewhere just beyond the circle. Far away. Unreachable.

No one laughed. No one sneered. Even Pansy blinked, her mouth slightly open.

I stared at him, unsure if I was more shocked by the answer or by the weight it carried.

It wasn’t just a confession.

It was a scar.

And something about the way he said it—so casually, like it didn’t matter anymore, but still haunted him—settled deep in my chest like a stone.

For once, Draco Malfoy wasn’t performing. He wasn’t smirking or sneering or trying to win. He was just… telling the truth.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, that rattled me more than anything else that had happened tonight.

The silence lingered—thick, uncomfortable, almost suffocating—as his admission hung in the air like smoke.

My gaze flicked between him and the rest of the group. No one moved. No one spoke. The words my father echoed in my head, sharper than I expected. I’d always known—abstractly—that Draco’s relationship with Lucius was complicated. Strained. Toxic, even. But hearing him say it aloud, under Veritaserum, made it feel… different. More real. More human.

It wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t a plea for pity.

It was just truth.

And it was raw.

Ginny was the first to break the silence, her voice softer than before. “Well,” she said gently, “that’s… honest.” She gave him a small, tentative smile—part understanding, part truce.

Theo let out a low breath, raising an eyebrow toward the vial. “Didn’t really leave him much of a choice, did it?” he muttered, guilt threading faintly through his voice.

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his jaw tight. “No,” he said, his voice colder now. Sharper. “It wasn’t a choice.” His eyes flicked to Theo with a glare that didn’t quite land—less angry than resigned. The truth was already out. There was no pulling it back.

I tightened my fingers around my glass but stayed silent, watching him. This wasn’t the Draco I’d known—the boy who mocked my bloodline, who sneered in hallways and wore his father’s shadow like armour. The one sitting across from me now, bathed in candlelight and too much honesty, looked like someone trying to peel off his skin just to breathe.

And for a fleeting moment, I felt something I hadn’t expected.

Not sympathy.

Understanding.

Blaise, ever the diplomat, lifted his glass and cleared his throat. “Alright, alright,” he said lightly, forcing a smile. “No need to get too deep. Let’s get back to the fun, yeah? We’re not here to make anyone miserable.”

A few people laughed. A few nodded. The tension began to loosen its grip on the room.

But I didn’t join in.

I just glanced across the circle—at him.

And this time, when our eyes met, neither of us looked away.

Ginny, always quick to read a room, clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough doom and gloom,” she said, brightening her voice with forced cheer. “Let’s have a proper dare this time—something actually fun. No more family trauma, yeah?”

Laughter rippled through the circle, tentative at first, then growing. Drinks were lifted again, the tension dissolving into the low hum of music and soft conversation. The game resumed, lighter now—like we’d all silently agreed not to go too deep again.

But Draco stayed quiet.

The usual smirk was gone, replaced with that cool, unreadable mask that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t throw out any quips or lean into the chaos like the others. He just sat a little straighter, his gaze fixed somewhere past the edge of the group—like he was already miles away.

I sipped from my cup, watching him carefully.

I wasn’t sure what I expected—defensiveness, irritation, maybe even some cutting sarcasm to cover the crack that had formed. But he gave me nothing. And somehow, that said more than anything else could have.

The potion hadn’t just revealed his fear.

It had revealed that he had one at all.

That beneath all the polished control and sneering arrogance, there was still a boy who had been raised in a house full of shadows—and hadn’t quite figured out how to live outside of them.

I swallowed hard and looked away.

But the question lingered, curling at the edge of my thoughts like smoke:

What else are you hiding, Draco Malfoy?

The game finally wound to a close, the circle breaking apart as laughter gave way to scattered conversations. People moved—refilling drinks, drifting into smaller groups, leaning into the haze of alcohol and candlelight.

I stood, a little unsteady—not just from the firewhisky, but from the strange cocktail of tension and emotion still twisting in my chest. I murmured something to Ginny, some excuse I couldn’t even remember, and slipped away toward the bar at the far end of the observatory.

My fingers drifted along the edge of the counter, the cool stone anchoring me while my thoughts spun. I reached for the firewhisky bottle, my hand just brushing the glass—when another hand reached out beside mine.

My breath caught.

“Need a refill?” Draco’s voice was low, smooth—too casual. But there was an edge beneath it. Something sharp and unreadable.

I glanced sideways. He was standing far too close. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him, like static against my skin.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to match his tone, keep my voice even. “Figured I earned it.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me. Not mocking. Not cold. His eyes were… focused. Curious. Like he was trying to read between the lines of everything I wasn’t saying.

And if I was being honest, maybe I was doing the same.

I poured my drink, hands steady despite the flutter in my chest, and risked a glance up.

He was still looking at me. Still too close.

The air between us felt different now—tighter. Warmer. Like something had shifted, subtle but undeniable, and neither of us was ready to say it out loud.

I cleared my throat, trying to cut through the strange electricity crackling between us. “So,” I said, my voice a little too careful, “you didn’t look exactly thrilled with the Veritaserum question.”

Draco’s lips twitched into a faint, dry smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No,” he said simply, the word soft and sharp. “But I suppose that’s the risk of drinking anything around a group of Gryffindors.”

I glanced down at the glass in my hand, tightening my grip around the cool rim. “It has a way of making people say things they wouldn’t otherwise.”

“Seems like it,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Though I wasn’t the only one with a few inconvenient truths tonight.”

Our eyes met—fully, deliberately—and something shifted. The air between us felt thicker, charged with something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t hatred. Not anymore. But it wasn’t trust, either. It was something in between. Unspoken. Unexplored.

I opened my mouth, reaching for a witty retort, a subject change—anything—but nothing came. My breath caught, just slightly.

Then he stepped closer.

Just enough to tip the balance.

I could feel him now—his presence, his heat. And his scent, gods—clean and sharp, something expensive layered over something darker, more elemental. Smoke and leather and the faintest trace of pine. It made me dizzy. Made my heart stutter against my ribs.

We were close enough to touch, and for one terrifying, thrilling second, I wondered if he was going to. If he would close the distance completely and do something reckless.

If I would let him.

My pulse roared in my ears.

But he didn’t move again.

He just stood there, watching me with that maddening, unreadable expression—like he could see straight through me.

And I hated that I didn’t want to look away.

I swallowed hard, my eyes flicking from his for just a second—and that’s when it hit me.

When had he changed?

His features were sharper now—cheekbones more defined, jawline more severe. His platinum hair was tousled in that infuriatingly perfect way, like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times without caring how good it looked. And his eyes—still that cold, stormy grey—had lost their boyish arrogance. They were something else now. Focused. Watchful. Dangerous.

He’d grown taller, broader through the shoulders. The cut of his dark clothes was tailored, clean, intentional. The boy who used to sneer at me in corridors was gone. In his place stood someone quieter. Heavier, somehow. Like the world had pressed down on him, hardened him, and he’d let it.

He was—Merlin help me—fit.

The realization hit me like a jolt to the spine. It wasn’t just the firewhisky. It wasn’t even that he’d aged well.

It was the quiet confidence now. The shadows that clung to the corners of his mouth. The burden in his eyes that mirrored something in mine. He looked like someone who’d seen too much, lost too much, and come out the other side wearing armour made of guilt and sharp edges.

And I hated that I noticed. Hated that my stomach gave the faintest flutter just being this close to him.

Absolutely not, I told myself. Not Malfoy.

But when I glanced back up at him, he was still watching me—like he knew exactly what I’d just realized.

And worse? He looked like he was smirking.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, letting the silence stretch. The air between us thickened, pulsing with something unspoken. His gaze held mine—cool, unreadable… but charged.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

And then—his eyes dropped to my mouth.

Just for a fraction of a second—but it was enough. My pulse lurched, thudding in my ears, drowning out the noise of the party behind us. All I could hear was my own heartbeat, pounding like a war drum in my chest.

Draco’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer, like he was enjoying every second of watching me come undone.

“Careful, Granger,” he said, his voice low and smooth, curling around my spine like smoke. “You keep looking at me like that, people might think you’ve forgiven me.”

I blinked, thrown completely off balance. But before I could scrape together a single coherent reply, he stepped back—smooth, effortless, like he hadn’t just knocked the ground out from under me.

“And we can’t have that… can we?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Just turned and walked away, disappearing into the shifting crowd of students like nothing had happened at all.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my drink still clutched in my hand, thoughts spinning so fast I couldn’t catch a single one.

And—Merlin help me—I was shaking.

My heart pounded, my thoughts a whirlwind. The moment had passed as quickly as it came, but it left behind a trail of static—unsettling, electric, impossible to ignore. My mouth was dry, the taste of firewhisky still lingering on my tongue, but it was nothing compared to the slow burn crawling across my skin.

What the hell was that? A tease? A dare? A warning?

I was flustered, and I hated how easily he’d managed to shake me. My composure—the walls I’d spent months rebuilding—had cracked under the weight of one look, one line, and his damn smirk.

Draco was already gone, swallowed by the crowd, but the imprint of him lingered—like a shadow at the edge of my thoughts. I could still feel the echo of his gaze, like it had branded me.

I tipped back my drink, hoping the alcohol might dull the edges of my spiralling thoughts. But it only seemed to sharpen them. Each one louder. Clearer. Impossible to silence.

What the hell just happened?

And why—Merlin help me—did it feel like something had shifted?

Something important.

Something dangerous.

Chapter Text

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

The morning came far too quickly.

I groaned, burying my face into the pillow as my head throbbed in time with my heartbeat. The remnants of the night before clung to me like cobwebs—snatches of laughter, the sting of Firewhisky, and his voice—low and smooth, curling around my memory like smoke.

Draco Malfoy.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will the memory away. But instead, it surged back stronger—the way he’d looked at me, the flicker of his gaze to my lips, the slow, deliberate words that had left me breathless. It was maddening how easily he’d wormed his way into my thoughts, how little sleep I’d managed because of him.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I winced as a sharp throb pulsed behind my eyes. The room was dim, the early morning light muted by the heavy curtains. From across the room, Ginny groaned, rolling onto her side and yanking the blanket over her head.

“Kill me,” I muttered, pressing my palms to my temples.

Ginny let out a muffled laugh from beneath the duvet. “Not before breakfast.”

Breakfast. The thought made my stomach twist, but not from the hangover. Worse than the nausea was the certainty that I’d have to face him again. That cool, smug expression. That voice.

I inhaled deeply and forced myself upright. I was Hermione Granger, and I was not going to let Draco Malfoy—of all people—get under my skin.

He was probably just taking the piss, I told myself as I shoved my feet into my slippers. Just another game. Another performance. And I refused—absolutely refused—to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to me.

By the time we reached the Auric Hall—the newly designated Great Hall for eighth years—I had mentally braced myself. But the moment the doors opened, I was hit with a wave of nausea. The too-bright morning light, the overwhelming scent of eggs, toast, and bacon, and the low hum of conversation all slammed into me at once.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself forward, Ginny trailing beside me. We found a spot at one of the long tables, and I dropped into my seat, barely mustering the energy to lift a piece of toast. I tore it apart absently, reducing it to a pile of crumbs I had no intention of eating.

I was so lost in my fog that I didn’t notice the pale hand until it set a small green vial beside my plate.

“Drink up, Granger,” Malfoy said smoothly, his voice laced with mock concern. “You look like hell.”

I blinked down at the vial, then slowly turned my gaze upward. A hangover potion. From Draco Malfoy.

My brow furrowed. “No thanks,” I said flatly, not even bothering to mask my suspicion. “It’s probably poisoned.”

He scoffed and slid into the seat beside me like he belonged there. “Please, Granger,” he drawled, propping an elbow on the table. “If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t waste a perfectly brewed hangover cure.”

I narrowed my eyes. Still skeptical. But the pounding in my skull made me reconsider. I hesitated, fingers hovering over the vial before I finally snatched it up. With one last glare, I uncorked it and knocked it back in a single swallow.

Warm relief spread through me almost immediately. The sharp ache behind my eyes dulled, the nausea settled, and the pressure in my temples began to ease. I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms to my forehead, trying to chase away the lingering exhaustion.

“Told you,” Malfoy said with that signature smirk.

I groaned. “Don’t be smug, Malfoy.”

“That’s like asking the sky not to be blue, Granger.” He leaned back slightly, looking far too pleased with himself.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my demolished toast. Bits of the night before flashed through my mind—Ginny’s antics, Theo’s ridiculous love for nifflers, the sharp weight of silence after Malfoy’s confession… and the way he had looked at me before walking away.

My stomach twisted again.

It had to be the alcohol.

He stood abruptly, smoothing an invisible crease from his robes. “See you in class, Granger.”

And just like that, he was gone—leaving behind nothing but the faint trace of his cologne and the disorienting feeling that something between us had shifted.

As the noise of the Hall buzzed around me, I found myself staring blankly at my empty cup, my fingers absently tracing its rim. The hangover potion had worked almost instantly—my headache had dulled, the nausea had passed—but the fog in my mind remained. Malfoy’s words from last night echoed in my head, and worse than his voice was the look he’d given me before he walked away.

Ginny, ever the hawk when it came to reading me, leaned across the table, one brow raised. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I mustered a half-hearted smile and shrugged. “Just not quite awake yet.”

She wasn’t buying it. “You’re thinking about last night, aren’t you?”

My face went hot. “What? No—I mean, it was just a stupid game.”

Ginny gave me that smirk—the one she used when she knew she was right. “Yeah. A stupid game where you accidentally confessed you were still a virgin—”

My hand hit the table with a loud thud, startling a few nearby students. “Ginny!”

She raised both hands in surrender, laughing. “Okay, okay! I won’t say another word.”

But her grin told me this wasn’t over.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Merlin, I am never drinking again.”

“You say that every time,” she said, reaching over to steal a piece of toast off my plate. She took a slow, obnoxious bite before adding, “So… why were you and Malfoy looking at each other like that?”

I peeked at her through my fingers. “Like what?”

“You know like what.”

I stiffened. “There’s nothing to say. He was just… being Malfoy. Arrogant. Infuriating.”

“And a little bit fit?” Ginny said casually, like she wasn’t detonating a bomb right in the middle of my morning.

I glared at her. “Absolutely not.”

She snorted. “You hesitated.”

“I did not,” I snapped, but I could already feel the heat crawling up my neck again.

“You did. Which means you’ve noticed. And if I noticed you noticing, then I guarantee you he’s noticed you noticing.”

I groaned again and dropped my head to the table. “I hate everything.”

Ginny laughed and patted my back, way too smug for my liking. “You don’t hate him nearly as much as you want to.”

I didn’t answer. Mostly because I didn’t trust what would come out of my mouth if I tried.

My stomach twisted with discomfort, and I sat up, shaking my head as if I could rattle the thought loose. “No way. He’s a complete—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The prat. But come on, admit it—you can’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Ginny leaned back in her seat, looking far too pleased with herself, like a cat who had just cornered a mouse.

My thoughts whirled for a moment before I could stop them, and—Merlin help me—a small, reluctant part of me whispered: He’s not bad looking.

Immediately, my cheeks burned. I cleared my throat and forced myself to look anywhere but at her. “I don’t— I don’t think that’s the point.”

Ginny raised a knowing eyebrow. “Sure, if you say so. But you’re not fooling me.”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” I muttered, stabbing at the crumbs on my plate like they’d personally offended me.

Ginny smirked. “Just remember, I was the one who warned you about him. When this all ends in chaos and passionate betrayal, I want it on record that I told you so.”

I shot her a sharp look. “There’s nothing to warn me about. It was a look. A stupid, smug look. That’s all.”

“A smouldering look,” she corrected, wiggling her eyebrows.

I groaned and dropped my head to the table again. “I hate you.”

She grinned. “You don’t. You’re just mad I’m right.”

I didn’t reply. Mostly because I was too afraid she was.

I made my way to my first class of the day—Advanced Potions. It was one of the few things I still found comfort in. Predictable, structured, logical. There was something reassuring about carefully measured ingredients and cause-and-effect outcomes. Emotions couldn’t derail potion-making—at least not if you were good at it.

As usual, my hair refused to cooperate. I held my wand between my teeth as I twisted the wild mass of curls into a bun, pinning it in place with a flick. No amount of Sleekeazy’s or taming charms ever did the trick quite like brute force and stubborn determination.

I slid into a seat near the back of the classroom, letting the familiar scent of parchment and crushed herbs settle over me. My textbook opened with a soft thud, and I began reading the chapter Slughorn had assigned for the term—something on potion stabilizers and their effect on long-term magical compounds. I barely noticed when someone sat down beside me.

A light tap on my shoulder pulled me from the text. I looked up to find Harry lowering himself into the seat next to me, hair a mess as usual and eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said, his voice low but warm. There was a tired smile on his face, and I returned it automatically.

“Hey,” I replied, pushing the lingering fog of last night to the edges of my mind. “Tough night?”

He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye and nodded. “Didn’t sleep much. Head’s still spinning from… everything.”

I understood. Completely.

“At least it’s Potions first,” he added, glancing around the room. “Not a bad way to start the day, right?”

I gave a soft laugh. “It’s one of the only classes I actually feel prepared for. Let’s hope it’s not too chaotic.”

Harry shrugged. “Knowing Slughorn? He’ll probably try to ease us in with something deceptively simple and then spring a challenge by midweek.”

I nodded. “Wouldn’t surprise me. As long as we don’t get any cauldrons exploding before breakfast, I’ll consider it a win.”

We both smiled at that—just a small moment of normalcy. It felt good.

Harry laughed at the memory of their disastrous second-year Potions class. “You never know with Slughorn. Anyway, you feeling okay?”

I hesitated. The easy answer was yes, but my mind betrayed me—flashing back to that strange moment in the Observatory. The way Malfoy had looked at me. The way his voice had curled around his words like smoke. It wasn’t just the alcohol—I knew that much. But I wasn’t ready to unpack any of it. Not now. Not with Harry.

“Yeah,” I said finally, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

Before Harry could respond, the classroom door creaked open. Professor Slughorn entered with his usual theatrical flair, robes billowing slightly behind him as he made his way to the front of the room.

“Good morning, students!” he boomed, his mustache-less face beaming as he gave the class a jovial nod. His eyes landed on me for a moment, and he smiled—perhaps recalling a few of my more memorable potions from years past.

“Today,” he announced, clasping his hands dramatically, “we’ll be attempting a potion of considerable complexity. The Draught of Living Death.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the room. The name alone was enough to set nerves on edge.

Slughorn’s tone shifted, dropping the theatrics for a rare note of seriousness. “This potion is not to be trifled with. One wrong measurement—one missed stir—and the effects can be… problematic.”

I straightened in my seat, already flipping to the appropriate page in my textbook. Despite the tight knot of nerves still lingering from last night, this was my territory. Potion-making required focus, precision—two things I could still count on when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

Harry’s already flipping through his textbook by the time I glance up. He looks at me, a silent question in his eyes: Ready?

I nod once and pull my wand from the messy bun at the back of my head, letting my curls fall as I place the wand neatly beside my cauldron. Today demands focus—no distractions, especially not the kind with sharp grey eyes and too-smooth words.

I push Draco Malfoy from my thoughts and straighten my posture.

Focus.

Harry and I slip into a familiar rhythm, our movements quiet, practiced. The room fills with the gentle clinks of glass, the low bubbling of cauldrons, and the occasional muttered spell. There’s something comforting about potions—its structure, its certainty. If I do everything exactly right, it will turn out just as it’s meant to. Not like people. Not like feelings.

As I carefully slice valerian roots, Harry speaks softly beside me.

“Hermione,” he says, not looking up from his work, “even though things are weird with you and Ron right now… you’re still my best friend.”

I freeze for half a second, caught off guard. My eyes lift to meet his. He’s focused on his ingredients, but the sincerity in his voice is clear.

A warmth spreads through my chest. “Thanks, Harry,” I say, and I mean it. “That really means a lot.”

I pause, watching the potion swirl clockwise before continuing. “I just… I wish things could go back to how they were. But I don’t think they can. Too much has happened. We’ve changed. Everything feels… off.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Yeah. But maybe that just means we have to get to know each other again. Like we did the first time.”

I let out a small breath, my fingers slowing as I stir. He’s right. We’re not the same people who boarded the Hogwarts Express seven years ago. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Still… I’m not sure I know who I’m becoming now.

My fingers stilled on the stirring rod. That thought—that maybe we could begin again, not as the people we were, but as who we were becoming—settled over me like a balm. And for a fleeting moment, I let myself hope that Harry was right.

The idea of starting over, of rediscovering the bonds that had once come so easily, felt… comforting. Maybe we could find our way back, even if things would never be exactly the same.

“I suppose you’re right,” I murmured, offering him a small smile. “It’s just… everything feels so much more complicated now. With Ron. With us. With… everything.”

Harry shrugged, focused on weighing powdered root with steady hands. “Complicated doesn’t mean impossible,” he said. “You and Ron will work it out. You always do. And whatever happens—I’m not going anywhere.”

My chest tightened, emotion catching in my throat. After everything—the war, the losses, the long, hollow summer—it meant more than I could say to hear that he was still here. Still my constant.

“Thanks, Harry,” I whispered, my voice thick with gratitude.

He glanced up, a warm smile curving his lips. “Anytime.”

We fell into a comfortable rhythm again, the quiet bubbling of our potion soft and steady as we worked in sync. But even as I focused on slicing the next set of ingredients, a shadow lingered at the edge of my mind.

Draco Malfoy.

The thought of him—his eyes, that maddening smirk, the heat behind his words the night before—refused to leave me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the lingering tension of that encounter… or the way it had made me feel.

Suddenly, unsettlingly aware of myself.

The door creaked open just as I measured out the powdered moonstone, and out of habit, my eyes flicked upward.

Of course.

Malfoy strolled in, ten minutes late, like he owned the bloody place. His usual arrogant swagger carried him past the rows of desks, not a trace of apology on his face. Even the way he held his satchel irritated me—careless, like he didn’t need to try, like everything would be handed to him regardless.

Slughorn raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem particularly bothered. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy,” he called out, half-chiding, half-charmed. “Late on the very first day—let’s hope that’s not a habit you plan to keep. Though I suppose brilliance has never been especially punctual.”

I rolled my eyes and forced myself to look back down at my cauldron. He wasn’t going to take up any more space in my head. Not after last night. Not after that look, that voice, that—

I cut the thought off before it could form.

Focus, Hermione.

I moved through the next steps with precision, trying to lose myself in the rhythm. Stir clockwise five times, counterclockwise three. The repetition helped, grounding me, reminding me that I could still rely on my mind when everything else felt tangled and messy.

Until I felt it: the soft drag of powdered moonstone slipping just slightly too fast through my fingers. My concentration snapped for a split second—just long enough for the mixture in my cauldron to darken a shade too deep.

Damn it.

I bit the inside of my cheek, staring at the potion like I could will it back to perfection. I’d been so close. One stupid moment. One stupid distraction.

Across the room, Malfoy had already caught up—of course he had—and was working with maddening calm, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. I refused to look at him for more than a second, but somehow, I could feel him there, like a pulse under my skin.

As Slughorn made his rounds, offering his usual enthusiastic encouragements and half-hearted critiques, he eventually reached Malfoy’s station.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn said, voice practically beaming. “Now this—this is exemplary work. A perfect Draught of Living Death, first try. You’ve truly outdone yourself today.”

A slow, smug smile curled on Malfoy’s lips.

I didn’t need to look to know.

I could feel it like a splinter.

Slughorn offered him a pat on the shoulder and moved on, barely glancing at mine as he passed. I sat back in my seat, teeth clenched, my fingers itching to throw something across the room.

Malfoy was late. And still better.

And worse—he knew it.

I fought the urge to slam my cauldron down onto the desk. The rational part of me—the part that had survived countless battles, brewed antidotes under pressure, and kept calm in the face of war—knew better. So instead, I focused on packing up my things with brisk, clipped movements, trying not to let the sting of Slughorn’s praise for Malfoy settle too deep in my chest.

Behind me, Slughorn was still lavishing Malfoy with compliments, his voice full of that nauseating warmth he reserved for students he deemed “brilliant.” I could practically hear the self-satisfied smirk in Malfoy’s silence.

My fingers curled tightly around the clasp of my bag as I shoved my textbook inside. It was just another win for him. Another perfect mark. Another smug little triumph to add to the ever-growing pile.

But I couldn’t understand why it got under my skin so much.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t always been good at Potions. He was. I knew that. Everyone knew that. But something about this—about today—felt personal. Like the air between us still hummed with the energy of last night’s encounter, like he was still in my head, and now he had this perfect potion as just another way to twist the knife.

It wasn’t even the potion.

It was the look.

The way he had stared at me last night like he knew something I didn’t. Like he was daring me to admit it.

And now here he was, strutting in late and still walking out ahead of me.

I hated how much that bothered me.

I hated that I even noticed.

And more than anything, I hated that somewhere, beneath the sharp flare of irritation… there was something else.

A pull I didn’t want to name.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, my mind doing its best to stay tethered to the material in front of me. But no matter how hard I tried, there was always a shadow in the corner of my thoughts—him. Draco Malfoy, ever-present, ever-irritating. It was as though he had managed to weave himself into the very fabric of my day without even trying.

At least I had friends in my classes—Neville in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Luna in Magical Theory. They offered a quiet comfort, a reminder that not everything had changed. Still, it was impossible to ignore that Malfoy was in two out of three of my Monday classes. Apparently, fate had a cruel sense of humour.

By the time DADA rolled around, I had already braced myself. I knew what was coming. I could feel it before I even stepped into the classroom—the tension, the weight of unspoken rivalry that simmered whenever we were in the same room.

At first, class went smoothly. Professor Sinistra—who had taken over the course for the year—was sharp and attentive, and I appreciated her practical, hands-on approach. But as soon as dueling practice was announced, everything shifted. The moment our names were paired—Granger, Malfoy—the air around me turned electric.

We faced each other, wands raised, and without a word spoken, it began. No snide remarks, no smug comments. Just spell after spell, parried and countered, clean and elegant, neither of us willing to falter first.

Draco was, infuriatingly, a brilliant duelist. Sharp, calculated, efficient. He moved like someone who had spent years refining his technique—not out of passion, but necessity. And it showed. But I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand. Not here. Not now.

It wasn’t about winning.

It was about not losing to him.

We weren’t just sparring. We were making a point—to each other, to the class, maybe even to ourselves. That we were still sharp. Still capable. Still standing.

When the duel was called to a close by Professor Sinistra, the silence that followed was louder than any applause. Neither of us spoke. We simply lowered our wands, nodded stiffly, and returned to our corners.

My heart was racing.

And I hated that I couldn’t tell if it was from the magic… or from him.

By the time class ended, my mind was spinning. Whether it was the duel, the relentless energy between us, or just the constant effort of pretending I wasn’t affected, I couldn’t say. All I knew was that I was exhausted—bone-deep, emotionally frayed, and absolutely over it.

The bell rang, and I bolted for the corridor, slinging my bag over my shoulder like it weighed ten stone. Supper would help. Maybe. At the very least, it would put space between me and him.

The Hall was already buzzing by the time I arrived, a blur of chatter, clinking cutlery, and warm, familiar smells. The noise wrapped around me like a too-tight cloak, but it was better than silence. At least here, I could pretend to be just another student. Not Hermione Granger: war veteran, emotional disaster, or—apparently—Malfoy’s personal duelling rival.

I made my way toward one of the long oak tables, deliberately keeping my gaze fixed ahead. But that didn’t stop my eyes from catching the side of the room where he sat. Of course he was there. Of course he was lounging like he owned the place, surrounded by Zabini, Nott, and the rest of them, his smirk firmly in place like he hadn’t just spent the entire afternoon pushing every last one of my buttons.

I scoffed internally. I absolutely hate this man.

I slid into a seat between Ginny and Luna. Luna gave me a serene nod before returning to whatever dreamy thing she was saying about moonstone energy and seasonal auras, and Ginny—well, Ginny was in the middle of a full-blown row with Ron.

Harry sat across from them, his expression a portrait of quiet suffering as he poked at his shepherd’s pie.

“So, Gin, what now?” Ron snapped, his voice rising just enough to make a few heads turn. “You’re one of the snakes now?”

Ginny crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, piss off, Ron. It was a game.”

“With Death Eaters!” Ron hissed, and the nearby conversation fizzled to a hush.

My appetite vanished instantly.

“And you, Mione,” Ron continued, his voice sharp and accusatory as he turned to me. “After what he did to you? After his aunt carved mudblood into your arm, and you just sit there—what? Like he’s some reformed saint now?”

I went cold. The blood drained from my face.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was sure everyone could hear it. The scar—that scar—burned beneath my sleeve like it had been freshly carved all over again.

Ron’s words hung in the air like smoke—thick, suffocating.

After what Malfoy has done to you… after his aunt carved mudblood into your arm…

The word clawed through me like broken glass. I froze.

The entire Hall seemed to fall silent, or maybe it was just that I had stopped hearing anything. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My skin prickled with heat as I felt every pair of eyes on me—some curious, some shocked, some just watching like it was entertainment.

I didn’t talk about it. I never talked about it. I had buried that moment deep, where it couldn’t reach me. Where no one else could reach it. And Ron just yanked it out like it was nothing. Like it belonged to him.

I tried to speak. “Ron…” The word barely escaped my lips, a whisper already breaking. But I couldn’t finish the thought. I didn’t even know what I would have said.

“You’re out of line, Ron,” Harry’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, and for a moment, I was grateful. Grateful he saw it. That someone saw what had just happened.

But it was too late.

The damage was done.

My fingers shook as I reached for my bag, grabbing it without care. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the noise around me. I felt the sting behind my eyes, the burn in my throat. I didn’t want them to see me cry. Not here. Not like this.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and stood, the scrape of my chair echoing loud and jarring in the quiet. The Hall was still watching. I could feel it. I could feel them all wondering—what did he mean? What happened to her?

They didn’t know. They’d never understand what it felt like—screaming in that drawing room, held down by magic, Bellatrix laughing as she dragged that cursed dagger over my skin. How helpless I had been. How I had truly believed I was going to die.

And now Ron had handed that story to a room full of people like it was nothing more than gossip.

I didn’t look at anyone. I just kept walking.

Out of the Auric Hall.

Down the corridor.

Faster. Just keep going.

My footsteps echoed off the stone, and only when I rounded a corner did I let myself stop. I leaned back against the wall, my breath ragged, my chest aching. I pressed a hand to the scar through my sleeve, as if I could hold it in place. As if I could make it less real.

But it was real.

And now everyone knew.

And I felt like I might be coming undone.

When I finally reached my room, I collapsed to my knees.

Carved in with an unrelenting hand, the word had burned into my skin like an open wound—a permanent reminder of Bellatrix Lestrange’s cruelty.

Her laughter still echoed in my head. Cold. Unhinged. The way her voice dropped to a whisper as she told me I needed to learn my place—that she was going to teach me a lesson I’d never forget. And she had.

The memory hit like a curse: the cold stone floor of Malfoy Manor beneath me, my body trembling from pain, my screams ignored. The press of Bellatrix’s wand as she dragged it across my arm with deliberate cruelty. The sting. The blood. The word.

Mudblood.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The pain wasn’t just in the past—it lived in me. The scar wasn’t just carved into my skin; it was carved into my soul.

The shame of it. The helplessness. The fact that I had survived but had no idea how to live after that.

I couldn’t breathe. It felt like the world was pressing down on me, drowning me in guilt, in fear, in something I couldn’t name. Why couldn’t I forget? Why couldn’t I outrun it?

Sobs took over before I could stop them. My body curled in on itself as if I could somehow make myself smaller, disappear entirely. And Ron’s voice echoed through the pain—accusing, cruel, dragging my trauma into the light and using it like a weapon. It felt like another cut, deep and personal.

After everything…

The word was still there. Bellatrix’s voice was still there. “A mudblood will always be a mudblood, no matter how much they pretend.”

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, trapped in the memory. Long enough for the sky to darken. Long enough to forget where I was.

There was a soft knock at the door. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

A pause, then the sound of it creaking open. Ginny didn’t speak. She didn’t ask. She just waited.

And then Harry came in too, quiet and gentle. He didn’t try to fill the silence. He just sat beside me.

“I’m sorry for what Ron said,” Harry said after a while, his voice low and thick with regret. “He didn’t mean it like that. He was angry, but that’s no excuse.”

My breath hitched. I wiped my face with a shaky hand, still unable to meet his eyes.

“It’s not just Ron,” I whispered. “It’s all of it. I—I don’t want people to know. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

The words hung between us, bare and fragile. Harry didn’t say anything right away. He just stayed beside me, solid and steady, the way he always had. On my other side, Ginny shifted closer, wrapping a quiet arm around my shoulder. Neither of them pushed. Neither of them looked away.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself lean into it—into them.

The warmth of their presence dulled the sharp edges inside me, and as the fire crackled low and the room dimmed, the weight in my chest eased just enough to breathe. I didn’t even realize my eyes had closed until the world began to slip away—muted voices, the rustle of fabric, the soft, steady rhythm of breathing that wasn’t mine.

Wrapped in the quiet comfort of the only two people who truly  knew what it had cost us all, I drifted into sleep.

When I woke, the light in the room had changed. It was softer now, muted by the clouds outside the window, casting a grayish hue over everything. My head throbbed dully, but it wasn’t the kind of pain a hangover potion could fix. It was the kind that lived behind my eyes, in the hollows of my chest.

The kind that came from too much feeling.

The kind that never really went away.

I blinked up at the ceiling for a long time, too numb to move, too raw to pretend it didn’t still hurt. My throat was dry, but I didn’t reach for the water Ginny had left. I didn’t want to move. Moving would mean starting the day, facing the people, stepping back into a world that now saw me differently—like something fragile. Like a story someone else told without asking.

I hated that most of all.

I sat up slowly, every muscle stiff from lying still for too long. The blanket pooled around my waist, and I clutched it like it could keep me from falling apart again.

Ginny’s bed was empty, the covers half-thrown back in her usual hurry. But a note sat on my nightstand in her messy scrawl:

Didn’t want to wake you. I hexed Ron. You’re welcome. – G

I let out the softest laugh, barely a breath, but it was something. I folded the note carefully and slipped it into my drawer like it was something precious.

But it wasn’t enough to stop the ache creeping back in.

The scar on my arm felt hot, even though I knew it wasn’t. That was the thing about trauma—no matter how much time passed, it could still trick you. Make your body feel things your mind couldn’t control. I ran my fingers lightly over the place where the letters had been carved. The skin was smooth now, healed by magic, but I still felt every curve of every letter. As if Bellatrix had branded them into my bones.

M U D B L O O D

I swallowed hard, closing my eyes against the memory. Against the shame. Against the voice in my head that whispered maybe Ron had a point. That maybe I had let myself forget who Draco Malfoy was.

But it wasn’t forgetting.

It was trying to live.

Trying to believe that I was allowed to move on. That I didn’t have to carry every terrible thing forever. That I was more than that scar, more than the war, more than the frightened girl screaming on the drawing room floor.

But the moment Ron said those words—after what his aunt did to you—I had felt her wand on my skin again.

And worse… I had seen the way Malfoy’s eyes flicked toward me when Ron said it. Just for a second.

Pity.

It burned worse than the scar ever had.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes, the only way to find peace is to be forced to sit beside the chaos.”

I spent the next several weeks with my head down—buried in books, in essays, in anything that kept me busy enough to forget how hollow everything still felt. I chose silence over small talk, solitude over companionship. It was easier that way. Safer. The last thing I needed was more attention, more whispered conversations trailing in my wake.

At first, the stares followed me everywhere. I could feel them crawling over my skin like a rash. People didn’t always speak, but their eyes did. Pity. Curiosity. Judgment. I became familiar with the look that said, She’s the one he yelled about. The one with the scar.

But slowly, the whispers began to fade. Maybe they got bored. Maybe someone else did something scandalous enough to draw attention. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for it. I could breathe a little easier, walk the halls without feeling like a cracked mirror everyone was afraid to touch.

Even Malfoy had disappeared from my peripheral.

He wouldn’t look at me anymore.

In class, he took the farthest seat from mine, always silent, always distant. It was as if he’d built a wall around himself—and me—and refused to let anything pass through. At first, I welcomed it. It made everything simpler, cleaner. No smirks. No snide comments. No lingering gazes that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to think about.

But as the days passed, the silence between us started to feel too loud.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated that I missed the tension—the way we challenged each other without saying a word. The push and pull. The unspoken dance we pretended wasn’t happening.

Now, there was nothing.

I told myself it was a good thing.

And I almost believed it.

Ron, too, had been keeping his distance. He hadn’t spoken to me much since that night in the Auric Hall, and I couldn’t tell whether it was because he was angry, ashamed, or simply trying to process everything in his own way. Maybe all three. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Some part of me wasn’t ready to open that door again—not after the way it had slammed shut.

But what I did notice—what I clung to—was the change in the air.

The first true bite of autumn had arrived, and it brought with it something I hadn’t felt in a while: relief. The mornings were crisp enough for scarves, the afternoons warmed by just enough sun to keep the chill from settling in. Around the castle, the trees had begun their slow transformation, leaves catching fire in every shade of gold, amber, and crimson. It was like the entire world was exhaling, letting go.

It felt like permission to do the same.

I’d always loved autumn. It was the season of jumpers and tea, of quiet mornings by the window with a book and the soft rustle of leaves underfoot. There was comfort in the change, in the way everything around me shifted so gracefully. As if nature itself understood the art of becoming something new.

The Forbidden Forest looked almost enchanted—no longer dark and looming, but glowing with warm color. Even the lake mirrored the sky more gently now, reflecting the soft clouds and their pale gold edges as though they, too, had started to let go.

And maybe that was the message the season was trying to send: change didn’t always have to hurt.

Sometimes, it could be beautiful.

For once, I found myself smiling as I walked across the grounds, the golden light of the setting sun casting long, graceful shadows across the courtyard. The air was crisp, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of autumn—damp earth, dry leaves, and something faintly sweet, like woodsmoke. I breathed it in deeply, letting the cool breeze fill my lungs, feeling, at last, like I could exhale.

It was… nice. Strange, but nice. To feel still. To not be bracing myself for the next blow or tensing under the weight of memory. For the first time in ages, I wasn’t consumed by the past, or anxious about what was coming. I could simply be. Think about nothing more than the sound of my boots on the stone path and the way the sun hit the tops of the trees, setting them ablaze in gold and crimson.

I made my way to Ancient Runes, taking the long route—around the greenhouses and through the training grounds—just to stretch the quiet a little longer. The castle loomed behind me, but for now, it wasn’t ominous. It was just… Hogwarts. A little older. A little quieter. Like the rest of us.

The breeze tangled in my curls, tugging gently at my scarf. I  didn’t mind. The world felt calm. I felt calm.

By the time I reached the classroom, the weight pressing on my shoulders didn’t feel quite so heavy. The walk had done what I’d hoped—it cleared some of the fog in my head and let the quiet settle into my bones. I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of parchment, ink, and old stone.

Professor Babbling was already at the front of the room, her spectacles sliding down her nose as she shuffled through a stack of parchment with the frantic energy of someone trying to wrestle a lesson plan into order. The room buzzed with low conversation and the sound of students sliding into seats. It was the kind of noise that could’ve been grating, but today, it felt strangely grounding.

I made my way to my usual seat near the front, taking a little more care than necessary as I unpacked my things. There was something comforting about the weight of my old textbook, the familiar frayed corners of Ancient Runes: A Comprehensive Guide. I ran my fingers along the edge before laying it gently on the desk. I was ready—or at least pretending to be.

The door swung open in front of me, and instinctively, I looked up.

Malfoy.

He stepped into the room with his usual slow confidence, his robes immaculate, blond hair catching the low afternoon light like it had been designed to glow. His expression was unreadable, his gaze sharp. I took him in—and I felt it. That strange, unwelcome jolt low in my stomach.

I looked down immediately, scolding myself. It was ridiculous. It was just Malfoy. Arrogant. Infuriating. A distraction I couldn’t afford.

I didn’t look up again.

The silence that followed his entrance only made the atmosphere feel heavier. I didn’t have to look to know that every pair of eyes had flicked to him. The tension between us—silent, thick, and impossible to ignore—hung in the air like fog. It hadn’t lifted in weeks. If anything, it had settled in deeper.

Professor Babbling, ever cheerful and seemingly oblivious to nuance, beamed from behind her desk. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy!” she called in her high, chirping voice. “Lovely of you to join us. Please, do take a seat!”

I didn’t have to look to know where the only empty chair was.

I looked anyway.

And our eyes met.

It was the first time in three weeks. My breath caught, just slightly—not enough to show, but enough to feel. His expression was unreadable. Detached. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—recognition? annoyance?—but it was gone before I could decipher it.

He gave the smallest nod in acknowledgment. Then, without a word, he made his way to the seat beside me.

I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just focused on keeping my posture straight as he sat down. His presence was like static—buzzing at the edges of my awareness, impossible to ignore. I heard the faint rustle of his robes as he settled, the quiet clink of his quill tapping once against the desk. It was nothing, and yet it grated on my already-frayed nerves like nails on glass.

I stared down at my notes, but the words blurred together, refusing to take shape in my mind.

“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Professor Babbling clapped her hands, her voice cutting through the low buzz of conversation. “For your next project, you’ll be partnering up with the person beside you. Each pair will research and present on a specific ancient rune. I expect deep analysis, historical context, and—of course—practical application. You’ll be working together for the next two weeks, so choose wisely.”

My stomach dropped.

Partner work was never my favorite to begin with. I preferred independence—control. But now, with Draco Malfoy seated inches from me for the first time in weeks, it felt like the worst possible outcome. The very idea of coordinating research, discussion, and—Merlin help me—presenting with him made my skin itch.

Around me, students were already shifting in their seats, leaning toward friends, whispering names and plans. I made a point not to look at him. I didn’t want to see if he was already planning his escape.

I exhaled, slow and steady, bracing myself for the inevitable.

“Granger and Malfoy,” she said, scanning her parchment with a satisfied nod. “You’ll be covering the Eiwaz rune—protection, transition, and spiritual awakening. A fascinating one.”

I closed my eyes.

It figured.

The universe clearly had a sense of humor.

Beside me, Draco didn’t say a word. I risked a glance his way. He sat perfectly still, jaw tight, his expression unreadable. No eye roll, no scoff—just that same cold detachment that had marked every glance for the last few weeks.

Fine. If he didn’t want to work with me, I didn’t want to work with him either.

I turned my attention back toward the front, clenching my jaw.

Two weeks. I could survive two weeks.

Probably.

I spent the remainder of Ancient Runes class scribbling furiously in my notebook, doing everything I could to ignore the uncomfortable heat of Malfoy sitting beside me. The tension between us was thick—almost suffocating—and no matter how hard I tried to focus on the lecture, I couldn’t block out the awareness of him.

But I refused to let it affect me. This project mattered, and I wasn’t going to let him derail my academic success.

By the time the bell rang, I had nearly three pages of notes filled with translation theories, historical references, and possible angles for our presentation. It gave me a small sense of control, a grip on something stable—something that wasn’t shifting beneath my feet like everything else had lately.

As the class packed up around me, I glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of my eye. He was already standing, slinging his bag over his shoulder without so much as a glance in my direction. Of course. He was going to pretend I didn’t exist now. How convenient.

I hesitated, then stood abruptly. If he thought he could avoid me, he was sorely mistaken.

“Malfoy,” I called after him, keeping my voice steady.

He turned halfway, giving me a look that was all cool indifference. “Granger.”

I stepped closer, clutching my notebook against my chest. “We need to decide when we’re meeting for the project.”

He shrugged, already turning away. “Whatever works. Just send an owl or something.”

That was it. No effort. No engagement. Just… apathy.

It shouldn’t have bothered me. Merlin, I wished it didn’t. But something about the way he couldn’t even look me in the eye—after everything—ignited a slow, simmering fury deep in my chest.

I stood there for a beat, watching him walk away like none of this mattered.

Fine, I thought bitterly. If he wanted to pretend it didn’t affect him, then so be it.

For the rest of the afternoon, I buried myself in the library, determined to make headway on the Ancient Runes project without him. My table was piled with reference books, parchment, and ink-stained notes. I flipped through page after page, cross-referencing rune systems and historical uses, refusing to acknowledge the growing knot of frustration in my chest.

I told myself I didn’t need him.

But no matter how focused I tried to be, my thoughts kept drifting back to Malfoy. The way he’d brushed me off without a second glance. The way he refused to even look at me. It was like I’d done something wrong—like I was the one who should be ashamed.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

I snapped my current book shut, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet library. A few students glanced up, but I didn’t care. My hands were shaking, and I could feel the heat rising in my face.

“Why is he acting like this?” I muttered under my breath, glaring down at the closed book as though it held the answer. “What is his problem?”

Of course, the books didn’t answer. And I was done waiting for one.

I shoved my notes into my bag, nearly snapping my quill in half in the process, and stormed out of the library with one goal in mind: I was going to find Draco Malfoy.

And he was going to explain himself—whether he wanted to or  not.

I already knew exactly where to find him.

Ginny had mentioned earlier that the usual Friday night gathering was happening in the observatory—now the unofficial party spot for our year. Loud, warm, chaotic. Malfoy wouldn’t miss it. He never did.

By the time I reached the top of the winding staircase, the sounds of laughter and music had wrapped around me like a fog, pressing in from all sides. The room buzzed with bodies and movement, enchanted lanterns hanging low and casting soft golden light across the stone floor. It should’ve felt inviting.

It didn’t.

I headed straight for the drinks table, my nerves too high-strung to bother with conversation. The clink of bottles and glassware was familiar, grounding in a way I desperately needed. I reached for a goblet—but stopped short, hand hovering in the air. I didn’t want to sip my courage tonight.

I grabbed the bottle instead.

The Firewhisky burned as it slid down my throat, sharp and fast. But it worked. My shoulders loosened, my pulse steadied, and the edges of my frustration dulled—just enough. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, ignoring the sting in my chest, and turned toward the crowd.

My eyes scanned the room, already knowing what they were looking for.

A flash of platinum blonde.

It didn’t take long.

There he was, standing near the window, surrounded by a small group of students. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the set of his mouth, the maddening calm in his posture. My heart thudded hard against my ribs. Maybe it was the Firewhisky. Maybe it was the weeks of silence. Or maybe it was just the way he acted like none of this mattered.

The frustration I’d bottled up all day surged forward.

I stormed across the room, my hand landing on my hip with a force I didn’t entirely intend. I cleared my throat, loud and pointed.

He turned, brows drawing together in surprise. His grey eyes flicked over me, taking in the look on my face. Confused. A little wary.

“We need to talk,” I said sharply, my voice low but firm. “Privately.”

Draco blinked, clearly thrown by my sudden appearance. He glanced around—probably weighing his options—but I didn’t wait for him to decide.

“Now,” I added, each word laced with the kind of steel that left no room for argument.

I turned on my heel and stalked toward the corridor, not checking to see if he followed. But I could hear his footsteps behind me, slow and reluctant. Good. He owed me this much.

We reached a quiet stretch of hallway just past the stairwell, dimly lit and mercifully empty. I stopped and spun around, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

He stopped a few feet away, expression unreadable.

I met his eyes, unflinching. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“What?” he said flatly, like the word had slipped out before he could filter it.

I crossed my arms, digging my nails into my sleeves. “Why have you been acting like that?” I demanded, my voice low but steady. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Not a word. Not a glance. Just sitting there in class like I don’t exist. What’s going on with you, Malfoy?”

He didn’t answer at first. His expression tightened, unreadable, and for a moment, I thought he might just walk away. His jaw flexed. His eyes dropped to the floor. And then, slowly, his fists clenched at his sides—tightly, like he was holding something back with everything he had.

That almost unnerved me more than if he’d shouted.

But I was done being patient. The project was due in two weeks and I was not going to let him ruin it just because he was in the mood to be emotionally constipated.

“You better spit it out,” I said, my tone sharpening. “We have a project to finish, and if you don’t start cooperating, I’ll go straight to McGonagall. Don’t think I won’t.”

My voice rang out louder than I’d intended, echoing slightly in the empty corridor. I could feel my heart pounding, more from exasperation than anything else. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

His eyes locked with mine, and for a brief second, something flickered there—anger? Resentment? I couldn’t quite tell. But whatever it was, it hit like a punch to the ribs.

“I don’t need your threats, Granger,” he muttered, his voice low but tight, like every word cost him something. “I just don’t want to deal with this. You.”

The words landed harder than I expected, and for a heartbeat, I froze. Not because I hadn’t anticipated resistance—but because he’d said it like he meant it. Like being near me was somehow too much.

I forced my voice steady. “Well, too bad. You don’t have a choice. We’re partners whether you like it or not, and I am not about to do all the work because you’ve decided to be moody and silent.”

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. The air between us felt like it could crack.

I took a step forward, just enough to make my point. “So you’re going to talk to me. You’re going to show up. And you’re going to do your part. Got it?”

Something in his jaw shifted. He looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to snap back or walk away. And for the first time, I wondered if there was something deeper going on than just avoidance.

Draco’s gaze flickered, his pale eyes narrowing as if he were silently weighing my words. He crossed his arms over his chest, his whole posture rigid, like he was bracing himself against something only he could see. For a brief moment, I thought he might actually say something real—but then his walls went right back up, thick and impenetrable.

“Why do you care, Granger?” he said at last, his voice cold and sharp, but there was something underneath it—an edge of frustration that he didn’t quite manage to hide. “It’s none of your business how I act.”

I felt heat rush to my cheeks. “Because you’re being a stubborn arse!” The words burst out of me, my voice louder than I intended. “You’re acting like a child—avoiding me, ignoring me. We have a project due, Malfoy. And you’re making it impossible.”

He raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I ruin your perfect little world? Did I not live up to the great Hermione Granger’s expectations?”

The sarcasm dripped from his words, and I clenched my fists at my sides, breathing hard. I hated how quickly he could get under my skin, how effortlessly he made me feel like I was the irrational one for demanding the bare minimum.

“You don’t get it!” I snapped, my voice rising despite myself. “This is about cooperation, not some petty rivalry you’re still clinging to for no reason!” The frustration bled into every word, sharp and bitter. “I’ve put aside everything I should hate you for—everything you’ve done to me—and I’m still trying to work with you.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “Why do you care so much, huh?” he shot back, his voice like ice. “Why the sudden concern, Granger? You’re so self-righteous. Always trying to fix everything. It’s pathetic.”

My breath caught in my throat. He was trying to make me feel small. But I wasn’t going to let him.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but no less cutting. “You never did.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides. My chest rose and fell too fast. “I don’t know anything about you?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “Maybe that’s because you keep running away from everyone who wants to know you. Maybe if you stopped being such a bloody coward—”

Draco stepped forward so fast I barely had time to react before his lips crashed into mine, cutting off my sentence—cutting off everything.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was all fire and fury, like he was trying to burn the fight out of both of us. One second, we were hurling words like hexes, and the next, he was kissing me like it was the only way he knew how to make me stop.

My breath caught in my throat, every nerve lighting up in confusion. His lips were demanding, insistent, like he needed this more than he could say. There was nothing careful about it. No pretense. Just heat. Frustration. Something unspoken finally breaking loose.

And, I didn’t pull away.

I couldn’t.

Because even through the chaos of it—of us—something in me responded. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, my hands frozen where they’d been mid-gesture, the world around me dissolving into a blur of heat and shock and sensation.

What the hell was happening?

Draco’s hand found my jaw, firm and unyielding, pulling me closer like he couldn’t stand the space between us. His kiss was unrelenting, all sharp edges and desperation. There was nothing gentle about it—no romance, no softness. Just heat. Just fury. Just the weight of everything we hadn’t said, crashing into me all at once.

A shiver ran down my spine.

It wasn’t a kiss of affection. It wasn’t sweet or hesitant. It was something else entirely—raw, furious, and far too real. The kind of kiss meant to end a war or start one.

For a split second, my body froze.

Should I push him away? Slap him? Scream?

But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The taste of him—bitter with firewhisky, familiar in a way that made no sense—clung to my lips. His breath tangled with mine, and the warmth of it, of him, threatened to unravel something in me I wasn’t ready to face.

And just when I thought I might kiss him back—

He pulled away.

Abrupt. Cold. Like the moment had never happened.

I stood there, stunned, blinking up at him, my breath caught halfway between a gasp and a word I couldn’t find.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

Because I had no idea what I could say.

His face gave nothing away, but his eyes… his eyes were wild. Untamed. Like something had snapped inside him and neither of us knew what it meant. Then he turned, without a word, and walked away—like it hadn’t just happened. Like he hadn’t just kissed me like he was trying to erase everything else in the world.

I stood frozen, completely breathless, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

What the hell just happened?

My thoughts scrambled, crashing into each other, no order or reason to any of it. That hadn’t been a mistake. That hadn’t been a joke. That had been… something.

Something real.

Something I wasn’t ready for.

I lifted the firewhisky to my lips again and took another swig, hoping the burn would ground me. Hoping it would make the chaos go quiet. But it didn’t. If anything, it only made the buzzing in my head louder, sharper.

None of this made sense.

Why now? Why me? Why like that?

I stared down the empty corridor he’d disappeared into, my lips still tingling, and knew—no matter how badly I wanted to forget it—there was no going back.

Draco Malfoy—Draco—the boy who had spent years sneering at me, who had spat slurs like they were second nature, who had watched me scream and bleed on the floor of his bloody drawing room… had kissed me.

And worse—worse—I had liked it.

The thought alone made my stomach twist. A wave of nausea rose up in my throat, and I stumbled back against the wall, gripping the cool stone for balance as if it could anchor me to reality. His mouth on mine, the heat of his breath, the raw edge of desperation in that kiss—it replayed in my mind with cruel clarity. I could still feel the ghost of it, like it had branded itself into my skin.

No. I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I wasn’t supposed to want anything to do with him, let alone this. Not with someone who had spent years making me feel less than human. Not with someone whose silence had been complicity when I was screaming for my life.

What kind of person did that make me?

I dug my nails into my palm, trying to snap myself out of it. I’d survived a war. I had spent my entire life being logical, rational, disciplined. And yet one kiss—his kiss—had left me unraveling like I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to rewind time and not follow him down the corridor. But most of all, I wanted answers.

Why did he do it? What did it mean?

And why—why—did some broken, reckless part of me want to kiss him back?

I turned on my heel and strode out of the hallway, my pace brisk and uneven, like I was running from something. From him. From myself.

The corridors blurred around me as I walked, my mind spinning. I replayed it again—the way his lips crashed into mine, the way his hand had held my jaw like he needed the contact, like he couldn’t help himself. The way I hadn’t stopped him.

Why didn’t I stop him?

I should’ve shoved him away. I should’ve hexed him. I should’ve done anything but feel something.

But I hadn’t. And that fact clung to me like guilt—sharp, sour, undeniable.

And worse still… the kiss had felt nothing like I thought it would. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t repulsive. It was hot and confusing and so full of something I couldn’t name that I wanted to scream.

Why was my brain still stuck on him?

My feet carried me forward on instinct alone, turning corners, passing students whose faces I barely registered. I was spiraling, and I knew it. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

I pushed open the door, instantly hit by the usual cacophony of laughter, music, and the lingering scent of firewhisky in the air. Floating lanterns swayed gently above, casting flickering shadows across the room. My eyes scanned the space until they landed on Ginny, perched on the edge of one of the wide windowsills, deep in conversation with Theo and a few familiar faces.

The moment she saw me, her smile faded, replaced by a look of immediate concern.

“Hermione?” she called, already moving toward me. “Everything okay?”

I didn’t answer. I just reached for her arm and tugged her away from the crowd, out of the lantern light and toward the far corner of the observatory. I couldn’t say it in front of everyone—I could barely say it at all. My heart was racing, my thoughts in complete disarray, but I knew if I didn’t tell someone, I was going to lose my mind.

Once we were out of earshot, I turned to her, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Ginny… he kissed me.”

The words left my lips in a rush, shaky and surreal, like saying them out loud might make them real—or undo them altogether.

Ginny froze mid-step, her expression tightening with shock. “What? Who?” she asked, her voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Hermione—who kissed you?”

I could barely get the words out. “Malfoy,” I breathed, my throat tightening. “Draco Malfoy.”

Ginny’s eyes widened, her mouth parting slightly, but she didn’t speak. I turned away and began pacing in quick, agitated circles, my arms wrapped around myself as if I could hold the chaos in.

“I—I don’t know how it happened,” I said, the words tumbling out faster now. “We were fighting—arguing about the project, about him being impossible and selfish and—everything. And then all of a sudden, he just—he kissed me. And I didn’t stop it, Ginny. I didn’t pull away.”

The admission left a bitter taste in my mouth. I stopped pacing and pressed my palms to my temples, trying to quiet the storm inside me. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

““It was—unexpected. And confusing. And now… everything feels like a blur. I couldn’t even tell if I hated him or if I…”

“You what?” Ginny prompted gently.

“I don’t know!” I burst out, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t know if I’m angry or just… completely unhinged. I don’t even know if I want him to explain. I don’t know why I didn’t pull away. But I didn’t. And I—” My breath hitched, and I had to swallow hard to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t hate it.”

Ginny didn’t flinch. She just looked at me, quiet for a moment, then said, “Hermione… this is Draco Malfoy.”

I let out a bitter little laugh, nodding. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“But…” she continued slowly, “he fought with us at the end. Not willingly, maybe, but he didn’t stand by them. The war changed all of us. Maybe it changed him too.”

I blinked at her. That wasn’t what I expected her to say.

“And he’s hot,” she added with a shrug and a small grin. “That doesn’t hurt.”

I gave a choked laugh, a half-sob, half-scoff. “Ginny.”

“What?” she said innocently. “I’m not saying you should run off and snog him again, but… maybe don’t torture yourself over one kiss. Especially if part of you didn’t hate it.”

I stared at her, the tension in my chest loosening just enough for me to breathe. She wasn’t judging me. She wasn’t trying to talk me out of it.

She was just… here.

I brought the bottle back to my lips and drank fast, desperate to blur the edges again—of the night, of my thoughts, of him. The firewhisky burned its way down, but I welcomed it. I needed something to drown out the confusion clawing at the inside of my chest. Something to silence the memory of his mouth on mine.

Ginny didn’t say anything at first. She just watched me with that same quiet, steady look she always gave when I was unravelling—like she knew I’d come back to myself eventually, and she was willing to wait.

I set the bottle down a little too hard on the floor beside me and let my head fall back against the cold stone wall. The whisky was working quickly now, softening everything, dulling the edges just like I wanted.

“I’m not saying anything’s going to happen,” I mumbled, more to the ceiling than to Ginny. “I just… I needed to say it out loud. That it happened. That I let it happen.”

Ginny slid down next to me, pulling her knees to her chest. “The war changed all of us, Hermione. Some more than others. You don’t have to explain anything—not to me.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to. We just sat there for a while, the noise of the party continuing on behind the heavy doors, muffled and distant. For the first time in days, I let myself stop thinking.

And in the quiet, I promised myself I’d sort it out tomorrow.

Just not tonight.

Chapter Text

“We reveal ourselves in the moments we lose control.”

I woke with a hangover—again. At least it was Saturday. No class, no obligations… just a full day to wallow in self-pity.

I kept my eyes closed, trying to ignore the dull pounding in my head and the familiar weight settling in my chest. The room was still, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards and the soft rustle of wind outside the window. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to think. But I did.

Of course I did.

My mind, traitorous as ever, drifted to Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy—snarky, insufferable, cruel. The boy who’d made it his mission to torment me for years. The same boy who took the Mark in sixth year. The one whose choices had led him down a path he clearly hadn’t been prepared for.

And yet, some part of me had always felt sorry for him. Even when we were children, when his insults were still childish and his arrogance more laughable than malicious. He was just a boy—raised in a house where bloodlines meant everything, where love was conditional, and cruelty was expected. He was taught to believe he was superior, but I think… somewhere along the way, he started to question it.

But by then, it was too late. He was already trapped. In too deep. He never really had a choice.

My thoughts shifted to the drawing room. That cursed night.

I could still feel the floor under my back—cold, hard, unrelenting. I could still hear the sound of my own screams tearing from my throat until it was raw and useless. I remembered my fingers clawing at the wooden planks beneath me, nails bending, breaking, bleeding.

And I remembered him.

Standing there.

Watching.

His face a perfect mask. Jaw clenched. Eyes downcast. He never met my gaze—not once. Back then, I thought it was disgust. That he couldn’t bear to look at me.

But now… I wasn’t so sure.

Maybe he couldn’t look at me because it was breaking him. Because everything he’d been taught was unraveling in front of him, and he didn’t know how to stop it. Maybe it wasn’t hatred I saw that night—but shame.

Maybe he couldn’t bear to watch a seventeen-year-old girl be tortured on his floor because he finally realized what side he was really on.

When had he changed—from a small, stubborn little boy to a tall, handsome, infuriatingly alluring man? Mysterious. Sharp. Quiet in ways that made you want to lean in and listen closer.

I scoffed out loud, immediately hating myself for the thought.

That was enough.

I threw back the blankets and forced myself upright, the chill in the room biting at my bare arms. I needed to get out of my head, out of this room, away from the way his presence clung to my thoughts like smoke.

I dressed quickly and grabbed my bag, shoved a few books inside, and headed for the library. If I couldn’t make sense of the mess in my chest, I’d at least bury it in coursework. I would drown in ancient runes and potion theory until there was no space left in my mind for Draco Malfoy.

By the time supper rolled around, I had written an essay for Professor Slughorn that wasn’t due for another two weeks, finished all the mandatory reading for Ancient Runes for the term, and outlined a detailed report on complex forms of defensive magic for DADA. My mind—finally—felt quiet.

The library was nearly empty when I glanced up from my notes. The sun had long dipped behind the mountains, casting the windows in deep blue shadows. My stomach growled in protest, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since morning.

I packed up my things and made my way toward the Auric Hall, scanning the crowd for a flash of fiery red hair.

I spotted her near the far end of the table—Ginny. But it wasn’t just her. She was seated beside Theodore Nott, of all people. I blinked, surprised. Her face was lit with laughter, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling as she leaned slightly toward him. He was saying something that clearly delighted her.

I hesitated for a moment, suddenly unsure of what I was walking into.

I approached and cleared my throat softly, hovering just beside the table. Ginny looked up immediately, her expression shifting from amusement to something a little more guarded—but still warm.

“Hermione,” she said, smiling, though I noticed the quick glance she exchanged with Theo. “You’re out of the library. I was starting to think you’d moved in.”

I offered a small smile in return, clutching my books a little tighter to my chest. “Almost did. But my stomach staged a rebellion.”

Theo leaned back slightly, his posture casual, but his eyes curious. “Granger,” he said with a nod. His voice held none of the drawl I’d expected—just quiet acknowledgment, a kind of ease that caught me off guard.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked, gesturing toward the empty space beside Ginny.

“Of course not,” Ginny said, scooting over to make room.

I slid onto the bench, setting my books down beside me and doing my best to ignore the way Theo’s eyes lingered for just a beat too long. The three of us sat in a comfortable, if slightly awkward, silence as I filled my plate.

“So,” I said, glancing between them as I picked up my fork, “what are you two up to?”

Ginny gave me an innocent look, but the slight flush in her cheeks gave her away. “Oh, you know—just class.”

“Right,” I said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I don’t remember you ever laughing like that in any class.”

Theo smirked, resting his elbow casually on the table. “That’s because your friend here has a terrible habit of ignoring anyone in green robes.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’ve been giving him a chance. You’d be surprised how many of them turn out to be tolerable.”

I arched a brow, my appetite momentarily forgotten. “Is that so?”

Theo met my gaze evenly. “We all fought the same war, Granger. Some of us just had to fight it from the wrong side.”

His words silenced me—not defensively, but thoughtfully. I hadn’t expected him to say something like that. I hadn’t expected him to say anything real at all.

Ginny nudged me gently with her elbow. “Let’s just say people are complicated.”

My eyes drifted down the table. That was true—people were complicated—and I realized I was in a lot more trouble than I thought.

Because I was starting to realize Draco Malfoy might be one of the most complicated people I’d ever met.

Ginny and Theo jumped right back into their conversation, leaving me alone with my thoughts. They were talking about Charms and Professor Flitwick—something about how he nearly fell off his stack of books during a particularly animated demonstration on Banishing Charms. Theo was flirting with her, that much was obvious. And Ginny… well, she knew it too. I could tell by the way her eyes lit up when he spoke, by the slight shades of red creeping up her cheeks.

It was strange, watching it happen right in front of me—unexpected, but oddly sweet. I’d never seen Ginny like that before. Not with Harry. Not even really with anyone. But she was leaning in now, her smile softer than usual, her teasing edged with something warmer.

I stabbed at the food on my plate, not really hungry anymore. The hall felt too loud, too bright. I suddenly felt like an outsider looking in.

After a few more minutes of animated chatter, Theo stood up, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“I’ll see you both in Charms on Monday,” he said with a casual grin, eyes lingering a beat longer on Ginny. “Don’t be late, Weasley.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I’m never late.”

“Mm, debatable,” Theo shot back, then nodded at me. “Granger.”

I gave him a polite nod in return, watching as he disappeared through the archway with that easy, loping stride of his.

The moment he was out of earshot, I turned to Ginny with a sly grin.

“So,” I said, dragging the word out, “Theo Nott, huh?”

Ginny’s cheeks deepened to a dangerous shade of pink. “What? No. Don’t start.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re blushing.”

She scowled at me half-heartedly. “It’s warm in here.”

“Sure,” I said with a teasing lilt. “And I’m Head Girl.”

Ginny shoved a piece of bread into her mouth to avoid answering, and I just laughed, the sound catching me by surprise. It felt good to tease her, to talk about something that wasn’t life-or-death. To just… feel normal again.

After supper, we wandered out of the Auric Hall together instead of heading straight back. The air outside was cool and fresh, the last traces of daylight fading into a dusky blue. Neither of us said it aloud, but we both seemed reluctant to return to the quiet of the dormitory just yet.

So we took the long way around.

The path along the courtyard was scattered with fallen leaves, and the faint rustling under our boots filled the silences between our conversations. The lanterns lining the castle walls flickered softly in the breeze, casting golden halos that shimmered against the stone.

We didn’t talk much—just a few murmured jokes, an offhand comment about the weather, or the way Hagrid’s pumpkins had grown to ridiculous proportions already. But it was enough. It was peaceful. Easy.

By the time we made it back to Eldritch Tower, the castle had settled into that quiet stillness it only ever seemed to find at night. I yawned as we climbed the steps, my legs heavy and my mind buzzing with the kind of tiredness that didn’t come from physical exhaustion.

When we reached our room, Ginny collapsed onto her bed with a sigh. “That was nice,” she said into her pillow. “I forgot what it felt like to just… be.”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. Me too.”

She grinned sleepily and rolled over. “Night, Mione.”

“Night.”

But sleep didn’t come easily.

I lay there, curled under the covers, staring at the canopy overhead while my thoughts spun wildly around the same orbit. The courtyard. The kiss. Malfoy.

The more I tried to shove it out of my mind, the more intrusive it became—his eyes, the way his fingers gripped my jaw like he was trying to hold on to something he wasn’t allowed to want. The silence afterward. The space he’d left me in.

I turned over, pressing my cheek into the pillow, willing my brain to stop racing.

It was just a kiss.

It didn’t mean anything.

Except… it had.

And I hated that I didn’t know what to do with that.

Sunday passed in quiet, golden slowness.

I spent most of it in the courtyard, bundled in a knit jumper, curled beneath one of the ancient stone arches with a thick book in my lap and a charmed flask of tea beside me. The autumn air was cool, crisp, and the wind occasionally swept in with enough bite to make me hug the book tighter to my chest. The leaves drifted down like embers, brushing the stones at my feet in shades of amber and rust.

It should have been peaceful. It should have been perfect.

But my mind wouldn’t stay still.

Every few pages, my eyes would glaze over the words. I wasn’t reading—I was thinking. Thinking about the way Ginny had laughed with Theo the night before. Thinking about the way he’d looked at her, like she was something warm and worth holding onto.

And worse—thinking about Draco.

The kiss had happened two nights ago, and yet it lingered like smoke on my skin. Every time I blinked, I saw the way he looked at me just before it happened. The way he walked away like he hadn’t just completely shattered my sense of reality. It gnawed at me in ways I couldn’t explain. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to care. But I did.

I hated that I did.

By the time the sun had started its descent and shadows stretched long across the grass, I had reread the same paragraph seven times. I finally shut the book with a sigh, staring across the courtyard like it might offer answers.

What was I even supposed to do now?

Monday came and went in a blur. Draco was still avoiding me at every possible turn—taking different routes to class, sitting as far away as he could, barely even glancing in my direction. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up all week, though. We had Ancient Runes together on Friday, and he’d be out of places to hide.

Ginny and Theo had started sitting together more often, and by Wednesday, it was clear that it wasn’t just a passing thing. It wasn’t often just me and Ginny anymore—it was Ginny, me, and Theo.

And surprisingly, I didn’t mind.

I was starting to like Theo—not in the way Ginny clearly did, of course—but in the way you grow fond of someone who makes you laugh when you need it, who knows how to read a room and doesn’t take himself too seriously. He was funny, thoughtful, and, perhaps most importantly, he hadn’t spent the last seven years making my life miserable the way some of his housemates had.

By the time Friday came around, I was almost looking forward to Runes—if only to finally confront Draco about our project. I wasn’t expecting a warm reunion, but I was done tiptoeing around him. He was going to talk to me, whether he liked it or not.

Ginny, Theo, and I entered the classroom together, still mid-discussion about an enchantment theory Professor Flitwick had gone on about earlier that morning. Ginny was bright, her laughter easy, and Theo kept sneaking glances at her like he couldn’t believe she was actually talking to him.

As we reached our usual seats, Theo nudged Ginny lightly with his elbow. “Hey,” he said casually, “what are you doing this weekend?”

Ginny shrugged, sliding into her seat. “Probably the usual. Homework. Maybe dragging Hermione out to the courtyard if it’s nice.”

He grinned. “Well, I was thinking… maybe we could go to Hogsmeade.”

She looked up, curious. “Yeah? That sounds nice. Hermione, want to come?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Theo cut in quickly—too quickly. “I mean… she can come if she wants. No offence, Hermione,” he added, flashing me a sheepish smile. “But I was kind of hoping it could be… just the two of us.”

Ginny blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. Then her eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”

I tried—and failed—not to smile.

Theo scratched the back of his neck. “You know, like a date.”

Ginny’s cheeks flushed, but she nodded, her voice softer now. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

I raised an eyebrow at her and she shot me a look that said say a word and I’ll hex you, but I could see the corner of her mouth twitching.

Before I could make any remark, the door creaked open and the atmosphere shifted. Draco strode in, cool and silent, as if he hadn’t made a habit of pretending I didn’t exist for the past week. His eyes scanned the room briefly before flicking toward me—then past me—as he took the empty seat at my side without a word.

Class started as usual, with Professor Babbling giving a long-winded lecture about the evolution of Ehwaz and its connection to ancient magical transportation methods. I tried to focus. I really did. But it was hard with Theo cracking jokes and Ginny giggling beside me, it was hard not to get swept up in their lightness and of course Malfoy sitting not two feet from me and acting like I didn’t exist.

Professor Babbling dismissed the class to talk and discuss the lesson amongst our tables “So,” Theo said as Professor Babbling scribbled something on the board in ancient script, “hypothetically—if Ehwaz can be used to link physical spaces, does that mean you could, say, apparate between two enchanted wardrobes?”

“That’s not how it works,” I muttered, half amused. “It’s symbolic linkage, not physical. You’d have to enchant both spaces as mirrors of each other, which would be more like a blended version of Ehwaz and—”

“Oh Merlin, she’s off,” Ginny said, grinning at Theo.

“You started it,” I shot back, elbowing her gently.

“Honestly,” Theo said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, “I’m glad we’re friends now. I get all the answers and a history lesson.” Ginny smiled at him so longingly it make me feel like i was intruding on a private moment.

“You’d think they were already dating,” I muttered, scribbling down the rune on my parchment.

Theo leaned forward across the table. “We could double-date, Granger. If you can find someone who doesn’t cry after talking to you.”

Ginny choked on her laugh. I rolled my eyes. “You’re hilarious, Nott.”

“Thank you. I try.”

Draco shifted beside me, finally speaking for the first time that lesson. “Nott’s been unbearable since you started giving him attention, Weasley.”

I turned toward him, surprised—and annoyed—that he was suddenly participating. “Oh, look who found his voice.”

He didn’t even look up from his page. “I speak when there’s something worth replying to.”

The dismissal was sharp. Too sharp.

I leaned in slightly, heart already thudding. “Funny. You didn’t seem to need a reason when you—”

He smirked, finally looking at me with that infuriating gleam in his eyes. “When I what?”

There was a challenge in his voice, one I wasn’t prepared for. My stomach flipped.

He leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t just thrown a match into a pile of tinder. “Relax, Granger. Maybe it meant more to you than it did to me.”

And that was it. The edge.

I snapped.

“So you’ll kiss me,” I blurted, far too loud, “but you won’t talk to me?”

The room went dead silent.

Theo blinked. Ginny’s eyes widened. Professor Babbling had turned away from the board slowly, chalk hovering midair.

Draco blinked, his smug expression faltering for the first time. I could see the exact second he realized I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. That I was just… tired. Angry. Humiliated.

Professor Babbling cleared her throat. “Miss Granger… Mr. Malfoy… is there something we need to discuss?”

“No,” I said quickly, heat surging to my cheeks. “Sorry, Professor.”

She held our gaze for a moment longer before turning back around.

I didn’t dare look at Draco again. My hands trembled as I picked up my quill, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the murmuring that had returned to the room.

Whatever we were pretending hadn’t happened—well, I’d just made sure no one could ignore it anymore.

The rest of the class dragged like molasses, every minute ticking by in painful, breathless silence. I could feel Draco next to me, solid and unmoving, but he didn’t say another word. Didn’t even glance my way. I tried to keep my eyes on my parchment, on the textbook, on anything that wasn’t the fact that I’d just outed myself—and him—in front of half the eighth years.

When Professor Babbling finally dismissed us, chairs scraped and books slammed shut in a rush to escape the awkward tension still hanging in the air.

Theo slung his bag over his shoulder and leaned a little closer, his tone light but curious. “Wait, hold on—when did Malfoy kiss you?”

Draco was already on his feet, his jaw set so tightly it looked carved from stone. He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at any of us.

He just walked out of the room.

No—stalked.

I stood frozen at the table, watching his retreating figure disappear through the door.

Theo gave a low whistle. “Well, that explains a lot.”

Ginny elbowed him, hard. “Theo.”

“What? I’m just saying—there’s clearly some unresolved tension.”

I barely heard them. My chest was too tight, my thoughts too loud. This wasn’t how it was supposed to come out. Not like that. Not in front of everyone.

I packed up my things quietly, the weight of what I’d said—and what I hadn’t—settling heavy on my shoulders.

Whatever strange line Draco and I had been walking before… I had just obliterated it.

And I had no idea what waited for me on the other side.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes the heart speaks in whispers the mind refuses to hear.”

I decided I wouldn’t be doing any extra socializing.

After everything with Draco in Runes, I was done. Finished. I didn’t need the drama, and I certainly didn’t need more confusion or sideways glances across a classroom.

Of course, that didn’t stop Theo from being in our dormitory every single day. He had a habit of appearing without warning, flopping onto our armchair like he owned the place, always ready with a smirk and some offhand comment that was equal parts irritating and charming. He teased me relentlessly—about books, about my study habits, about “the way I furrowed my brow like I was trying to summon Merlin himself.”

I didn’t hate it.

It was almost comforting, the way he filled up the space with his noise and jokes, giving me something else to focus on. Something other than the memory of that kiss. The silence that followed it. The fact that Draco still barely looked me in the eye.

Ginny, of course, was no help. She’d started this thing with Theo—whatever it was—and she was too busy pretending not to have a crush to be a reliable buffer. If I left them alone for more than five minutes, I’d return to find them laughing over something ridiculous, eyes sparkling like they hadn’t a care in the world.

I envied that—how easy it all seemed for them.

Because nothing about what I was feeling felt easy. Not anymore.

“You know you’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” Theo said casually, leaning back in the chair he’d unofficially claimed as his own.

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered, not looking up from the parchment I wasn’t actually reading. “This project needs to get done, and he’s being a complete arse.”

There was a pause. I could feel Theo watching me.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” he offered. “Get him here to work with you? Gin and I could be the mediators—stage a diplomatic intervention or something.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “A diplomatic intervention? What are we, a Ministry task force?”

Theo shrugged with a grin. “Could be. You’ve already got the brooding stubborn one and the morally upright hero. All we need now is a dark secret and a Ministry badge.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Thanks, but no. If he wants to act like a child, he can do it on his own time. I’m not chasing him around the castle for a group project.”

Theo didn’t press, but the silence that followed said he didn’t quite buy my indifference. I hated that.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t just angry. I was… hurt. Confused. And every time I thought I was over it, over him, some stupid memory of that kiss crept back in—like an echo I couldn’t shake.

“Alright,” Theo said finally, raising his hands in surrender. “No intervention. But if he doesn’t show up by Friday, I am dragging him here by the collar. For academic purposes, of course.”

I gave him a tired smile. “Of course.”

Ginny emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around her head and eyebrows arched like she already knew something was up.

“You two arguing about Malfoy again?” she asked, flopping down onto her bed across from mine.

“More like plotting,” Theo replied with a grin.

I rolled my eyes. “Theo wants to host a diplomatic summit between us.”

Ginny snorted. “Good luck with that. You’d have better odds getting the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick to sit down for tea.”

She tucked her legs under herself and leaned forward a little. “Speaking of unresolved tension and general idiocy… Ron’s heard about what happened in Runes.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

She nodded grimly. “Seamus told Dean, Dean told Pavarti, and—well, you know how fast it spreads. Apparently Ron cornered Harry about it this morning. Wanted to know if it was true.”

“And?” I asked, voice tighter than I meant it to be.

Ginny’s expression softened. “Harry said he didn’t say anything. Just told him to grow up and stop asking about things that aren’t his business.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Great. So now Ron thinks there’s something to ask about.”

“Well, to be fair,” Theo said, stretching out on the floor like this was the most entertaining thing he’d heard all week, “there is something to ask about.”

I threw a pillow at him. He caught it with a laugh.

Ginny tilted her head, studying me. “What do you want, Hermione? From Malfoy, I mean.”

I sighed and stared down at my hands. “I want him to stop acting like a child and speak to me. That’s it.”

Theo let out a low whistle. “That’s what you’re going with?”

I shot him a look. “We have a project. It’s academic. It’s important. I don’t care about the rest of it. He kissed me, fine. He’s ignoring me now, whatever. But this silent treatment is pathetic, and I’m not doing the entire bloody thing alone.”

Ginny exchanged a glance with Theo, then gave me that look—the one that said she wasn’t buying a word of what I’d just said but knew better than to press it.

“Right,” she said slowly, twisting the ends of the towel around her hair. “So just to be clear… you’re not upset he kissed you, you’re just upset he’s not helping with homework.”

“Exactly.”

Theo smirked but held his hands up in surrender. “You got it. All about the Runes.”

I threw myself back onto my bed and groaned into my pillow. “I hate both of you.”

Ginny laughed. “We know.”

The room lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, but the thoughts didn’t quiet. I could lie to them all I wanted—hell, I could lie to myself—but somewhere deep in the corner of my mind, I knew this wasn’t just about Ancient Runes.

Later that day, I found myself in the far corner of the library, tucked behind a high shelf of books on translation theory. It was quiet, dim, and blissfully empty. Just how I liked it. My notes were spread out in front of me, quill tapping against the parchment as I reread the same paragraph for the third time without absorbing a single word.

I wasn’t thinking about him.

Absolutely not.

I was focused. I was productive. I was—

A chair scraped against the stone floor across from me.

I looked up slowly, already knowing who it would be before I saw him.

Draco Malfoy.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just dropped his bag onto the floor with a soft thud and sat across from me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I blinked at him. “Did Theo send you?”

He didn’t meet my eyes. “No.”

Right.

We sat there for a long, awkward moment. The silence wasn’t the good kind. It was thick, buzzing with unsaid things.

I cleared my throat. “You know, for someone avoiding me, you’re doing a pretty poor job.”

That got him to look at me. His expression was unreadable, all sharp lines and restraint. “I’m not avoiding you.”

I scoffed. “You haven’t said a word to me in over a week. You haven’t looked at me, spoken to me, acknowledged that I exist—”

“You yelled at me in front of an entire class,” he interrupted flatly.

“You kissed me in the middle of a corridor!” I shot back, a little louder than intended.

His jaw clenched. “And I’m sorry.”

That stilled me.

I hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

I stared at him, heart thudding a little too hard in my chest. “Then why did you do it?”

His eyes flicked down to the table, to my ink-stained notes. “I don’t know.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The library seemed too quiet, like it was holding its breath.

Finally, I leaned back in my chair. “Well. We still have a project to do. So… maybe we start there.”

He nodded, slow and deliberate. “Right. Work.”

But when our eyes met again, I knew we were both thinking the same thing.

This wasn’t just about the project anymore.

We spread the books out in silence, the only sounds between us the rustle of parchment and the occasional scratch of a quill. I kept my eyes on the text, refusing to look at him unless absolutely necessary.

He sat stiffly across from me, flipping through The Evolution of Nordic Rune Structures like it personally offended him. Every movement was measured, forced, like he didn’t want to be here any more than I wanted him here—but we both knew we didn’t have a choice.

I pointed to a passage halfway down the page. “This section mentions a transitional rune that bridged Elder and Younger Futhark. We should start there.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just made a mark in his notebook.

“Malfoy,” I pressed, sharper than I meant to. “Did you hear me?”

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “I heard you. I’m not deaf.”

I bit my tongue. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His mouth twitched, like he was suppressing a smile—or a sneer. “Maybe if you didn’t bark orders like we’re in the middle of a battlefield, I’d be more inclined to respond.”

I let out a breath through my nose and turned back to the book. “This isn’t about inclination. This is about passing a class.”

“Relax, Granger,” he said, flipping the page lazily. “I’m not going to sabotage your precious academic record.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I muttered.

He stilled. I didn’t look up to see his reaction.

The tension sat between us like a third person—silent, ever-present, and suffocating.

By the end of the hour, we’d managed to put together a rough outline for the project. We hadn’t laughed. We hadn’t spoken about anything personal. We hadn’t even made eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time.

It was awful.

But it was a start.

The rest of the week passed like molasses—thick, heavy, and painfully slow. Each day, Draco and I met in the library, always at the same time, always at the same table, and always under a strained silence that bordered on unbearable.

We worked efficiently, if nothing else. Our shared notes grew, the outline took form, and I hated every minute of it.

He never asked personal questions. Never brought up the kiss. Never even so much as hinted at the moment in the hallway, like it had been wiped clean from his memory. And the worst part?

I let him pretend.

It was easier that way. To act like nothing had happened. Like it didn’t keep me up at night, replaying over and over in my head, that raw, confusing press of lips that shouldn’t have felt the way it did.

Theo still teased, of course—about everything. The project. Draco. Even the way I organized my notes. He’d taken up a semi-permanent seat next to Ginny in nearly every class, and by Thursday, I was no longer “Hermione and Ginny,” I was the third wheel.

But I didn’t mind. Ginny was happier than I’d seen her in weeks, and Theo, despite his incessant commentary, had a way of making everyone around him feel a little lighter.

Friday arrived with a chill in the air, the first real sign of winter creeping in.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Ginny asked as we climbed the stairs to Eldritch Tower after our final class.

I hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” she nudged my shoulder. “You need to get out of your own head. Just a few hours. One drink. Maybe a little dancing.”

I gave her a look. “Have you ever known me to dance?”

“You kissed Malfoy, Hermione. At this point, anything is possible.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Please don’t bring that up.”

She only laughed, looping her arm through mine. “I’ll be leaving at nine. Don’t make me drag you.”

And that’s how, by half-past nine, I found myself in the observatory again—dimly lit, smoky with candles and firewhisky, the windows misted over from the warmth inside. Music floated through the room, lazy and low, and students were already clustered in corners or sprawled on cushions.

I spotted Ginny immediately—Theo had her in stitches, her head thrown back as she laughed at something he whispered in her ear.

I watched them for a moment, and for the first time all week, I let myself smile.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

At least, that’s what I told myself before I saw him.

Draco.

Standing near the back, drink in hand, watching me like I was something he’d both expected and dreaded.

I hadn’t expected to drink so much, but all the tension and anxiety eating at me all week had other plans. I was already four drinks in when Ron found me.

The music was thumping beneath the floorboards, the stars twinkling through the enchanted glass ceiling above, and I was just beginning to forget how miserable the week had been. Ginny was off talking to Theo, her cheeks pink and her laugh bright. I had finally let myself lean back into the cushions, a drink in one hand, a little dizzy, a little warm, but okay.

Until he showed up.

Ron’s face was tense, and he barely glanced at Ginny as he marched toward me. “We need to talk.”

I blinked. “Ron—what?”

“Really, Hermione? Draco Malfoy?” he hissed, his voice low but still sharp enough to cut through the chatter around us. “Everyone’s talking about what happened in class.”

Heat crawled up my neck. I sat up straighter. “That’s none of your business.”

“You’re my friend. It is my business when you start kissing people like him.”

I stood up, too quickly, the alcohol making my vision tilt for a second. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to decide who I talk to, or who I—”

But I didn’t get to finish.

"She doesn’t owe you an explanation," a voice said sharply.

Draco.

He stood behind me, his arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes met mine for a flicker of a second before turning back to Ron.

"She’s capable of making her own decisions. You treating her like some fragile extension of your ego isn’t helping anyone."

Ron turned on him, fists clenched. “This doesn’t involve you.”

Draco’s expression didn’t waver. “It does when you corner her in the middle of a party and try to guilt her for something that was never yours to control.”

Silence fell around us. People were watching. Ginny was on her feet now, making her way toward us, concern tightening her features.

I took a step back, breath shallow, chest heaving.

“Ron, leave me alone,” I said quietly. “I mean it.”

He looked at me, then at Draco, and back again—then shook his head and pushed through the crowd without another word.

I didn’t look at Draco. I just sank back into my seat, my drink trembling slightly in my hand.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” I said, a little more firmly than I intended.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’m not going to stand here and let someone shout at you like you’re the one who’s done something wrong.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

The tension stayed with me long after the confrontation was over. And so did the weight of Draco’s voice in my defense, lingering like smoke in my lungs.

I stayed where I was, surrounded by music and laughter that suddenly felt distant, like it belonged to another world. My drink sat forgotten in my hand, the warmth of it doing nothing to ease the cold knot tightening in my stomach.

Ron’s face still burned behind my eyes—hurt, angry, betrayed. Maybe he had a right to be. Maybe we were both just too broken from the war to know how to be kind to each other anymore.

But it wasn’t his voice echoing in my head. It was Draco’s.

‘I’m not going to stand here and let someone shout at you like you’re the one who’s done something wrong.’

I didn’t understand it. Why he’d said it. Why he’d done it.

Why it mattered so much to me.

I took another sip of my drink, but it didn’t go down easy. My mind was still replaying the look in Draco’s eyes—something sharp and fierce, not quite anger, not quite something I could name.

It was easier when I hated him. Easier when I didn’t have to think about what might be behind the masks he wore.

Ginny slid back into the seat beside me a few minutes later, casting a quick glance in the direction Ron had stormed off.

“You okay?” she asked, nudging my knee with hers.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I meant it. “Yeah. Just… need a second.”

She didn’t push. Just reached over and took my hand, squeezing it once before turning her gaze to the dance floor. I was grateful for that—for her.

The rest of the party blurred around us, but I didn’t drink again. I just sat there, trying not to look for him. Trying not to think about the heat that had rushed to my cheeks when he stepped in. The way my pulse had skipped in the worst possible way.

Ginny, Theo, and I walked back down the steps in silence, the cold night air sobering all of us more quickly than I would have liked. I still felt flushed, but it wasn’t from the firewhisky anymore.

Theo was the one to break the silence. “Well, that was a hell of a party,” he muttered, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He glanced at me, then at Ginny, then back again. “Didn’t know Malfoy was the chivalrous type.”

I said nothing.

Ginny, of course, didn’t let it go. “You should’ve seen your face,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “When Draco stepped in like that? You looked like someone hit you with a Confundus Charm.”

“I didn’t ask him to,” I said stiffly, but even to my own ears, it sounded weak.

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t want him to,” Theo chimed in.

We walked in silence for a few more steps.

“Look,” Theo continued, his tone more serious now, “I like you, Granger. And I think you’re smart enough to know your own mind. But you should know something.”

I glanced at him, wary.

He sighed. “Draco’s not the dating type. He doesn’t do relationships. Whatever that moment was back there—don’t let it fool you into thinking he’s suddenly going to start bringing you flowers and holding your hand at breakfast.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. That I didn’t care? That I wasn’t interested in him like that? That it hadn’t meant anything?

Except all of it would be a lie.

Ginny shot Theo a look but didn’t contradict him.

“You’re not wrong,” she said gently, turning to me. “But maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing either. The war changed all of us.”

I nodded, but my throat felt tight.

Back in the dorm, I sat on the edge of my bed while Ginny and Theo chatted, their voices low. I barely heard them. I just sat there, staring at the wall, wondering when everything had gotten so damn complicated.

And why, despite all my better judgment, I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy I was supposed to hate.

I sank down onto the mattress, curling my knees to my chest as Ginny handed me a cup of tea. Theo plopped down in the armchair across from me, looking unusually serious.

“So,” he said, drawing out the word with a slight smirk, “are we going to talk about it, or are you going to keep pretending that you’re unaffected?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow and leaned in beside me. “Because you’re not, Hermione. And that’s okay.”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire off some tired denial, but the words caught somewhere in my throat. I closed it again, swallowing hard.

Theo folded his arms. “You like him.”

“I don’t,” I said automatically.

“You do,” he countered, his voice softer now, not mocking—just certain. “That’s why it’s messing with you. And if you don’t want to admit it, that’s fine. But… just don’t lie to yourself.”

Ginny gave my hand a squeeze. “You don’t owe anyone anything. Least of all him. But you owe it to yourself to be honest.”

The fire cracked gently behind us, casting warm flickers across the walls. I stared into it, letting the silence stretch.

And then I said it, barely above a whisper. “I think I do.”

Ginny smiled, like she’d known all along. Theo just nodded, like it confirmed what he already believed.

I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t need to.

Because admitting it—finally—was enough for tonight.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t know I was standing on a fault line until it broke beneath me.”

I woke with a headache and a heavy feeling in my chest.

The kind of ache that throbbed behind the eyes and settled heavy in the chest. Not quite from the Firewhisky—though that hadn’t helped—but from the memories.

Ron’s words.

Draco’s defence.

Theo’s warning.

And my own voice, small and unsteady, admitting the one thing I’d refused to acknowledge for weeks.

I liked him.

Merlin, I’d said it out loud. And the worst part? I’d meant it.

The dorm was quiet, save for the soft rustling of Ginny’s blankets as she slept. She looked peaceful, completely unaware of the storm still turning over in my mind. I envied her for that—how easily she could let go of the weight. I had never known how to do that.

I slipped out of bed, pulled on a thick jumper over my sleep shirt, and crept quietly into the corridor, letting the door click softly shut behind me. The early morning chill bit at my skin, but I welcomed it. Anything to cut through the fog still hanging over me.

The common room was empty, bathed in soft gold light from the enchanted sconces lining the walls. I padded barefoot to one of the tall bay windows and curled up on the ledge, tucking my knees to my chest. The Black Lake stretched out far below, quiet and still, reflecting the faintest sliver of dawn.

What was I doing?

What was he doing?

Draco Malfoy was not someone I had ever imagined wanting to understand, let alone… feel anything for. But last night, he hadn’t mocked me. He hadn’t ignored me. He had defended me. And it wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them. The way he looked at Ron like he would’ve cursed him on the spot. The way his voice didn’t shake.

The way it made me shake.

And then there was Theo, kind and infuriatingly observant Theo, telling me flat out: Draco’s not the dating type.

I pressed my forehead to the cold windowpane and closed my eyes.

I wasn’t the foolish girl I had been in fourth year, daydreaming about Viktor and hoping Ron would notice. I didn’t chase boys who didn’t want me. I didn’t fall for men who couldn’t love anyone. And yet… here I was. Falling anyway.

And I had no idea whether Draco was going to catch me—or let me hit the ground.

By the time I made it down to the Auric Hall for breakfast, I’d already walked several laps around the grounds. I needed the air. I needed to be alone with my thoughts.

The tables were already filling. I spotted Theo and Ginny near the end of one, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. The sight made something soft and warm flicker in my chest.

I slid into the seat across from them without a word.

Ginny looked up immediately. “You alright?” she asked, her voice low but concerned.

I nodded, reaching for a piece of toast I didn’t want. “Fine. Just tired.”

Theo gave me a once-over. “Liar,” he said lightly, sipping from his tea. “You didn’t sleep?”

I didn’t answer, and they didn’t push. But the weight of last night still hung around me like a heavy coat. I could feel it in the way my body sagged against the bench, in the way I couldn’t stop running my thumb over the rim of my teacup.

Ginny and Theo kept chatting—something about Sprout’s new Greenhouse demonstrations—but it all blurred in my ears. I just nodded occasionally, eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table in front of me.

I felt him before I saw him.

Draco.

A chill raced down my spine as he walked in, like my whole body was responding to his presence before my brain caught up. I didn’t even have to look to know where he was. It was like some invisible thread had tied me to him the moment he walked into the room.

But I did look.

He was standing across the hall, flanked by Blaise and Pansy, one hand in his pocket, the other curled loosely around a cup. His hair was slightly mussed, and his eyes—those sharp, unreadable eyes—were fixed on me.

I froze.

He didn’t look away.

He just watched me. Not with amusement. Not with contempt. Just… quietly. Carefully.

Something in his expression shifted, just barely, like he’d noticed something was off. Like maybe I didn’t look like the girl who had shouted at him in class or kissed him back without meaning to.

I dropped my gaze before I could read too far into it. Before I could start hoping for something I had no business wanting.

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice pulled me back. “You sure you’re alright?”

I nodded again. “Yeah,” I said softly.

But Draco was still watching.

The library was quiet except for the soft shuffle of pages and the occasional scratch of quill on parchment. I was seated at my usual table by the arched window, its glass mottled with autumn rain. I had three texts open, a stack of notes beside me, and yet I hadn't written anything in ten minutes. My quill hovered, unmoving. My mind, as much as I hated to admit it, was not on school work.

The chair beside me scraped quietly against the stone floor. I didn’t need to look up. I knew who it was.

He didn’t say anything. He just sat.

I kept my eyes fixed on the page, willing myself to breathe normally. I could feel his presence beside me, the way he tapped his fingers absently against the spine of his book, the slight creak of his chair as he shifted.

A book slid toward me, fingers brushing mine.

The page I’d been straining to reach without success.

I glanced up, just briefly.

"Thanks," I muttered.

He didn’t respond.

I kept my gaze low. But I didn’t move away.

We worked like that in silence until it was time to leave for class. When I stood to gather my things, Draco fell into step beside me without a word.

At first, we just walked. The corridor stretched ahead, quiet but for the faint sounds of footsteps echoing off stone. I braced myself for some sarcastic comment, but it never came.

Instead, after a beat, he asked, “Are you alright?”

I glanced over, startled by the question. “What?”

“Last night,” he said, his tone surprisingly neutral. “You and Weasley.”

The knot in my chest pulled tighter. “I’m fine,” I replied, a little too quickly. “It was just… stupid.”

He gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. “Most fights are.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t mocking me. He wasn’t smirking. If anything, he sounded… genuine.

We walked a little farther in silence before he spoke again, this time lighter. “You know, I thought for sure you were going to hex him.”

I let out a faint breath of laughter. “I thought about it.”

Draco smirked—not his usual arrogant curl, but something quieter, more amused. “Next time, let me know. I’ll bring popcorn.”

I shook my head, but the corner of my mouth tugged upward despite myself.

When we reached Defense Against the Dark Arts, the classroom felt colder than usual—or maybe that was just me. Our desks were pushed together, side by side, and I could still feel the low hum of something between us. Not quite tension. Not quite comfort.

Draco was quiet. No sarcastic remarks. No smug looks.

Until I made a mistake.

“Your k is more of a j,” he murmured, leaning slightly over to peer at my notes.

I shot him a glare. “And your handwriting looks like it was done by a flobberworm.”

He only smirked, entirely unbothered.

Later, when I paused over a particularly dense passage, my brain fogged with frustration, he nudged a slip of parchment toward me. One word. Neatly penned. A correction.

I didn’t thank him.

But I didn’t cross it out, either.

We didn’t speak again after that—but we didn’t need to. The silence between us had shifted, no longer brittle but cautiously tolerable. Focused.

By the time Wednesday arrived, the courtyard was slick with mist, strewn with crisp leaves that clung to our shoes. Ginny, Theo, and I sat near the sun-warmed stones by the fountain, laughing over Theo’s disastrous attempt to transfigure a quill into a duck.

Draco passed through the archway, hands tucked into his pockets, his gait casual in that way he did too well. His eyes flicked to our group—just for a second—but it was enough. Then he was gone.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “He’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

“Who?” I asked—too fast, too flat.

She just smiled, slow and maddeningly smug, like she knew something I hadn’t admitted yet. I dropped my gaze to the teacup cradled in my hands, watching the steam curl and fade.

The Observatory was quiet that evening. Not a party—just a handful of students scattered in corners, murmuring, half-asleep. Ginny and Theo were off somewhere, leaving me near the massive, curved window that overlooked the grounds.

My drink sat untouched in my hand.

Footsteps approached behind me.

Draco.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the wall beside me, his gaze fixed on the dark stretch of sky beyond the glass.

“You’ve been quiet this week,” he said eventually.

I kept my eyes forward. “Maybe I’ve run out of things to say to people who don’t want to listen.”

He turned, looked at me. Really looked.

I waited for the quip. The smirk. The usual armour.

But it didn’t come.

He only nodded—once. And walked away.

And yet, somehow… he stayed with me.

The week dragged on with an unusual heaviness. I kept my head down, quieter than usual, more withdrawn. I wasn’t avoiding anyone in particular, and yet it felt like I was avoiding everyone. Especially him.

Draco.

Our interactions during study sessions had shifted—still quiet, still guarded, but not cold. There were moments, subtle and fleeting, where something softer slipped through. A glance. A shared smirk. Once, he passed me a correction on a passage without a word, and I didn’t roll my eyes or snap back. I just accepted it.

We met twice in the library and once in an empty classroom, always under the pretense of finishing the Runes project.

“You’ve been quiet this week,” he’d said, but he hadn’t pushed. No teasing, no mockery. Just a nod, like he understood more than he let on.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because I didn’t understand it. Him. Any of it. Something in me still hesitated to pull at the thread of whatever this was between us, afraid it would unravel everything else along with it.

But he noticed.

He watched me in class, when he thought I wasn’t looking. In Potions, I felt the weight of his gaze as I scribbled down notes. In Defense, I caught him glancing over during a partnered exercise, his jaw tightening when I laughed at something Theo said. He didn’t speak, but I felt it. The air between us had changed.

It wasn’t just tension. It was tension with teeth.

Ginny noticed, of course. She always did. She didn’t say anything at first, just gave me that look—the one that meant she was waiting for me to talk when I was ready. Theo was more obvious, asking pointed questions and dropping hints like breadcrumbs, clearly enjoying the growing discomfort between Draco and me.

One afternoon, I passed Draco in the hallway. We brushed shoulders. Not violently, not even enough to count as a shove—just the lightest contact. But it sent a jolt through me. He paused too, just for a second, like he felt it too.

I looked back.

So did he.

Our eyes met, and the whole corridor seemed to fall away. There was something in his expression I couldn’t read. It wasn’t the usual smugness or superiority. It was quieter, sharper. Unspoken.

But then he turned and kept walking.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I lay in bed with the curtains drawn, my thoughts tangled like string. I replayed every moment—every look, every word, every silence. And still, there were no answers. Just more questions.

Because I didn’t know what to make of him.

Draco Malfoy: sharp, unreadable, sometimes kind in ways that didn’t make sense. Sometimes distant in ways that hurt more than they should.

He was different this year. So was I.

But I couldn’t tell if the space between us was something building—or something waiting to collapse.

And maybe that was the problem.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

By Saturday, the tension was unbearable. Ginny finally convinced me to go back to the Observatory party that night.

"You need a distraction," she said simply, and I didn’t have the strength to argue.

Saturday passed with a quiet trip to Hogsmeade and a stop at Tomes and Scrolls for some new reading material. I went alone. Ginny and Theo were off doing Merlin knows what, and I just wanted space—to be alone with my thoughts and take in the autumn sights at my own pace.

I spent nearly an hour browsing the cramped, dust-scented aisles of Tomes and Scrolls. The shop was blissfully quiet, save for the occasional creak of floorboards and the rustle of parchment. I ran my fingers along worn spines, savouring the comfort of titles I didn’t yet know and the promise they held.

Eventually, I chose three—one on post-war magical theory, another on ancient protective enchantments, and a slim volume of translated Norse runes that looked far too expensive, but I didn’t care. I needed the distraction.

The shopkeeper gave me a polite nod as I tucked the books into my bag and made my way toward the door, eyes lowered, lost in thought.

And then I walked smack into someone.

My shoulder hit solid chest, my bag nearly slipping from my arm as I stumbled back.

“Watch it—” I started, annoyed, but the words caught in my throat.

Of course it was him.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, one hand still raised as if to catch me, a faint look of surprise crossing his face.

“Granger,” he said, voice smooth but not unkind. “Should’ve known you’d be loitering in a place like this.”

I rolled my eyes, heart still pounding from the collision. “Sorry for daring to appreciate literature.”

He smirked. “No need to apologize. I always assumed if you were going to assault someone, it’d be with a book.”

I huffed a breath, brushing past him toward the door. “Well, I’ll try to aim better next time.”

I was halfway out into the cool afternoon air when I heard him behind me.

“Granger—wait.”

I turned, surprised.

He stood just inside the doorway, hands in his pockets, a rare flicker of hesitation in his expression. “Are you heading back now?”

I blinked. “Yes… why?”

“I just need to grab a book,” he said, nodding back toward the shop. “But if you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll walk with you.”

Of all the things I thought he might say, that hadn’t made the list.

I studied him for a beat. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t teasing. Just… asking.

“I suppose I can spare a minute,” I said, folding my arms.

He gave a small nod—grateful, almost—and turned back inside.

And I stood there, confused all over again, wondering what on  earth I was doing.

He didn’t take long. Barely two minutes later, he reappeared with a slim book in hand—dark green cover, no title on the front.

We fell into step without speaking at first, the steady crunch of leaves beneath our shoes filling the silence. The air was cool and crisp, the kind of autumn chill that hinted at winter just around the corner. I kept my eyes ahead, not trusting myself to look at him too long.

It was strange—easy, somehow. Not quite comfortable, but not strained either. The kind of quiet that felt like it didn’t need filling.

“You always come here alone?” he asked after a while, voice casual.

I glanced at him. “Sometimes. Ginny and Theo usually drag me into Honeydukes, and I needed a break.”

He gave a soft hum. “Never figured you for the ‘needs a break’ type.”

I shrugged. “Lately, I’ve needed more than I’d like to admit.”

We walked a few more steps.

“You and Weasley,” he said, careful now. “Is that… done?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “It’s been done for a while. We just didn’t know how to stop pretending.”

He didn’t say anything right away, but I could feel him listening. Not judging. Just… listening.

“I get that,” he said finally. “Pretending’s easier. Until it’s not.”

That surprised me. I looked over at him again. “You’ve done your fair share of pretending?”

His lips twitched into something almost like a smile. “Haven’t we all?”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure I needed to.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, but it was different now. Not the brittle kind. Not the kind that begged for something to be said.

It was the kind of silence that felt like it meant something.

By the time the castle came into view, the sky had started to shift—soft streaks of gold breaking through the clouds, casting long shadows across the lawn. We didn’t speak again, but the silence between us had settled into something surprisingly bearable. Not quite friendship. Not quite anything I could name.

Just… something.

As we crossed the courtyard, I spotted Ginny and Theo sitting on the low stone wall near the entrance steps, a half-empty bag of Honeydukes sweets between them. They were mid-conversation, but both of them looked up at once.

Theo’s eyebrows shot up. Ginny’s eyes darted from me to Draco and then back again. Slowly.

“Well, well,” Theo drawled, grinning like a cat with cream. “Look who decided to escort our dear Hermione home.”

“Didn’t realize we were doing walk-backs now,” Ginny added, far too innocent.

I felt my face heat as I shot them both a glare. “Don’t start.”

Draco, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He just gave them a nod, almost bored, and turned to me. “I’ll see you later, Granger.”

There was something in the way he said it. Low. Even. Maybe a little warmer than necessary.

And then he was gone, disappearing up the steps and into the castle without another word.

The second he was out of earshot, Theo let out a low whistle. “You two looked suspiciously not-hostile.”

Ginny elbowed him but didn’t disagree. “Was it a pity thing? Or are you finally admitting he’s fit?”

“I hate both of you,” I muttered, brushing past them, though the corner of my mouth tugged upward despite myself.

And I didn’t answer the question.

Because I didn’t know the answer.

Not yet.

When we arrived in the observatory, the room buzzed with familiar energy—floating lanterns, low music, bursts of laughter. Theo joined us quickly, offering me a drink before falling easily into step beside Ginny. I stood a little apart, watching the glow of the firelight dance across the faces of our classmates.

I didn’t realize Draco was there until he was beside me.

“Didn’t expect to see you up here,” Draco said, his voice low and even. “Figured you’d be buried in one of those new books you picked up.”

I didn’t turn to look at him right away. “I could say the same for you.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just stood beside me in silence. I could feel the weight of his presence—not heavy exactly, just… present. Not demanding anything from me. Not pushing. Just there.

After a long pause, I glanced over at him. “You always sneak up on people like that?”

His mouth twitched. “Only the ones who look like they’d hex me if I announced myself.”

I huffed a soft, surprised laugh and shook my head. “Wise.”

More silence. Not awkward, just… uncertain. Like we were both waiting for the other to say something first.

Finally, he spoke again. “How’s the project coming along?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden normalcy of the question. “Fine,” I said slowly. “I’ve drafted a few translations. I was going to send them over to you.”

“I’ve been working on some of the historical context,” he said. “Nothing groundbreaking. Just… background.”

I nodded. “That’s good. We’ll need it.”

We both looked back out the window.

It felt strange, talking to him like this. Like we weren’t enemies. Like we hadn’t spent years on opposite sides of everything. And stranger still, it felt… easy.

“You’re different this year,” I said before I could stop myself.

He turned his head slightly. “So are you.”

I met his eyes, startled by how honest his expression was.

Neither of us said anything else.

But somehow, in the quiet between our words, something had shifted again.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was standing.

“What do you mean I’ve changed?” I asked, keeping my tone light, but I was genuinely curious. Or maybe I just wanted to hear how he saw me now.

He didn’t look away. “You used to be louder,” he said after a pause. “More certain. Now… I don’t know.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I was expecting.

“I suppose war does that,” I said softly. “Takes pieces out of you. Replaces them with something colder. Something quieter.”

Draco was quiet for a beat. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“I know,” I replied. And I did. There was no mockery in his voice. No smugness. Just observation. Maybe even concern.

We didn’t speak for a few beats, but neither of us moved to leave. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, sure, but not uncomfortable. Just… full.

After a moment, Draco nodded toward a quiet alcove behind one of the tall stone pillars lining the tower. “Do you want to sit?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

We sank onto the cool stone ledge, the hum of the castle far below us. The sky outside the windows was deepening into evening, streaked with amber and violet, the last light catching in the dust motes floating lazily through the air.

“I like it up here,” I said, voice low. “It’s… quiet.”

He gave a soft sound, not quite agreement, not quite surprise. “Didn’t expect you to be the hiding type.”

“I’m not hiding,” I said automatically, then sighed. “Maybe I am. I don’t know. It’s easier up here.”

He leaned back, one arm draped along the stone behind him. “Easier than what?”

I didn’t answer right away. “Everything.”

He didn’t press. Just let the silence stretch between us again, this time softer.

“I come here when I need space,” he said. “Which is… often.”

I turned slightly toward him. “From what?”

He looked out at the horizon. “Depends on the day.”

That made me almost smile. Almost.

“I used to go to the Viaduct Bridge during sixth year,” I said, surprising even myself with the confession. “When everything felt like too much. It was quiet. No one followed me.”

Draco glanced sideways. “You mean no one dared.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Maybe.”

He leaned back against the wall, arms folded—not in that defensive, closed-off way I was used to, but more like he was holding himself steady. “I used to go to the astronomy tower,” he said. “Late at night. When I couldn’t sleep. It was the only place I didn’t feel like I was being watched. Judged.”

I looked at him then. Really looked.

There was something different in his face when he wasn’t performing—when he wasn’t on guard. He looked tired. And young. And very, very human.

“I always thought you had everything figured out,” I said quietly.

He let out a low breath, not quite a laugh. “Funny. I always thought you did.”

We sat like that for a while. Two people who used to hate each other. Two people who had seen too much.

Then Draco stood, brushing his hand along the edge of the stone bench. He looked toward the corridor, then back at me.

“Come on,” he said softly.

I blinked. “Where?”

He didn’t answer—just waited.

So I followed.

We moved through the quiet castle, neither of us speaking, the halls echoing with our footsteps. It wasn’t until the cool air touched my skin and the stretch of the viaduct bridge came into view that I understood.

He led us out onto the stone walkway, moonlight pooling at our feet, the valley below lost in shadow.

He stopped near the middle, resting his arms lightly on the railing. I came up beside him, the silence between us gentle now, not strained.

“You said this used to be your place,” he said, not looking at me. “In sixth year. When things felt like too much.”

I swallowed. “I did.”

“I thought maybe it felt like too much again.”

That hit harder than I expected. Not because it was dramatic—but because it wasn’t. Because it was quiet. Observant. True.

I stared out across the grounds, the cold biting at my fingers. “It does.”

We stood there in silence, the wind tugging at our sleeves, the world below quiet and still.

The words came before I could second-guess them.

“Were you scared?”

He turned, just slightly, his profile sharp in the moonlight. “When?”

“Sixth year,” I said. “When you were on the other side of everything. Did you ever—” I hesitated, then forced the question out. “Did you ever think you might not make it out?”

He was quiet for so long I thought maybe he wasn’t going to answer.

Then, finally: “Every day.”

The honesty in his voice wasn’t dramatic. It was bare. Plain. It sank deep in my chest.

“I used to lie awake at night,” I admitted, eyes fixed on the dark stretch of forest in the distance. “Planning how I’d survive. What I’d do if everything went wrong. And still… everything went wrong.”

Draco let out a slow breath. “I didn’t make plans. I just waited for the worst to happen.”

I looked at him then. “Why are you telling me this?”

He met my eyes. “Because you asked.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy.

It was fragile.

Something unspoken passed between us in that stillness, and I didn’t know what to do with it. So I said the only thing that felt true.

“It all feels different now.”

Draco glanced at me, his brow furrowing just slightly.

“Not just the people,” I added. “The castle. The way the air feels. The quiet in the halls. It’s not comforting anymore—it’s… hollow.”

He didn’t speak.

The quiet stretched long between us—thick and unyielding. Not uncomfortable, but charged, like the pause before a storm.

I gripped the edge of the railing a little tighter, letting the wind whip my curls around my face. It was easier to focus on the cold in my lungs than the weight of everything unsaid.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his jaw clench.

And just for a moment—just long enough—I didn’t see the carefully reconstructed version of him he showed the world.

I saw something raw.

Something younger.

Something real.

And my chest tightened like it couldn’t hold everything inside it anymore.

Draco turned toward me then, his expression unreadable—but his eyes, gods, his eyes were something else entirely. Not cold. Not guarded.

Just tired. Like mine.

We didn’t speak after that.

There was nothing else to say.

But somehow, standing there beside him, I didn’t feel quite so haunted.

Chapter Text

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

I didn’t fall asleep right away.

Even after Draco walked me back to the entrance of the dorms—quiet, unhurried steps echoing in the empty halls—I lay awake far too long. The castle felt still in a way that made every breath louder. Every thought harder to ignore.

When we reached the door, he didn’t linger. Didn’t make a joke. He just looked at me with that same unreadable expression he always wore now, and said, “Goodnight, Granger.”

Soft. Steady. No edges.

It shouldn’t have stuck with me.

But it did.

Now, afternoon light was bleeding through the curtains, golden and warm against the stone. I stayed in bed longer than I should have, staring at the ceiling and pretending I wasn’t still thinking about him. About the way he’d stood beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. About how, for once, I hadn’t felt like I needed to explain myself.

Eventually, I pulled myself out of bed and into clothes, trying not to read too much into the lingering ache behind my ribs. It wasn’t anything. Just a strange night. That was all.

The common room was half-empty by the time I wandered in. Theo and Ginny were curled into one of the armchairs, deep in quiet conversation and halfway through a plate of toast.

Theo looked up first. “Look who finally decided to join the living.”

Ginny grinned. “Sleep well?”

I arched an eyebrow as I dropped into the chair across from them. “Fine, thanks.”

Theo leaned forward with mock innocence. “You went out last night.”

Ginny added, far too casually, “And wouldn’t you know it—so did Malfoy.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you two monitor everyone’s whereabouts now?”

Theo shrugged, popping a grape into his mouth. “Only when it gets interesting.”

Ginny nudged him, but she was smiling too. “Come on, Hermione. You disappeared. So did he. You came back looking like someone read you poetry under the stars.”

I rolled my eyes, but I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “It was nothing. I just… needed some air.”

Theo gave her a pointed look. “That’s what they all say.”

I tried not to smile. Really, I did. But something about the way they looked at me—teasing but not unkind—made the tension ease just a little.

It was too early to name whatever this was.

But maybe it wasn’t too early to admit that something was starting.

By the time we made it to lunch, the Great Hall was already buzzing with noise—plates clattering, laughter echoing, owls swooping overhead with late mail. I slid into my usual seat beside Ginny, Theo across from us, already halfway through a pumpkin pasty.

“So then,” he was saying, gesturing with half a sandwich in hand, “McGonagall gave me that look, you know the one—like I’d personally offended the entire lineage of Transfiguration professors.”

Ginny snorted. “You did try to turn a stool into a kneazle.”

“I stand by it. Creative innovation should be rewarded, not scowled at.”

I was laughing softly into my tea when I noticed him.

Draco.

He stepped through the doors alone, like usual, his hands in his pockets and his expression carefully bored. But then he paused. Scanned the room.

And for one absurd second, I thought he might actually leave again.

But then his eyes landed on us.

On me.

And instead of turning away like he always did, he started walking.

I straightened slightly, the warmth in my chest immediately giving way to nerves.

Ginny noticed first. “Well,” she muttered, “this is new.”

Theo leaned back, one eyebrow raised. “We expecting company?”

Draco didn’t ask to sit. He just did, sliding into the empty seat beside Theo like it wasn’t the most confusing thing he could’ve done.

He reached for a roll. Calm. Like he belonged here.

Like this wasn’t weird at all.

Theo blinked. “What, did all the brooding tables fill up?”

Draco smirked, buttering his roll without looking up. “Yours looked adequately insufferable.”

I felt Ginny’s eyes flick between us, but to her credit, she said nothing.

Theo, of course, had no such restraint. “So, what did I miss? Has everyone started befriending their ex-enemies while I was stuck in Arithmancy?”

“No,” I said, a bit too quickly.

Draco didn’t even pause. “Yes.”

Theo grinned, clearly delighted. “Fantastic. I love chaos.”

Ginny bit back a smile and returned to her soup, like she wasn’t storing this entire exchange for future interrogation.

I kept my eyes on my plate, but I could feel Draco beside me—solid, quiet, and completely at ease. It was disorienting. Comforting. Strange.

We didn’t talk about the bridge. Or last night.

But when he passed me the salt without a word, our fingers brushed—and neither of us pulled away.

It was nearly 9 by the time I curled into the corner chair by the window, a half-read book resting in my lap and a mug of lukewarm tea in my hands.

I wasn’t reading. Not really.

My eyes kept drifting across the same paragraph, but the words refused to settle. They blurred, reassembled, vanished.

Because no matter how many times I told myself to stop thinking about it, my mind kept circling back to lunch.

To him.

Draco Malfoy sitting across from me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Making sarcastic comments with Theo. Eating toast like he hadn’t spent the better part of our adolescence mocking everything I stood for.

And I’d let him.

Worse—I hadn’t hated it.

If someone had told me a year ago that I’d share a meal with him without wanting to hex him, I would’ve laughed. Or scoffed. Or both.

But today, when our fingers brushed over the salt… I didn’t flinch. I didn’t recoil.

I just—let it happen.

And he had too.

That should’ve been the strangest part. But somehow, it wasn’t.

The strangest part was how easy it felt.

Like something had quietly shifted and neither of us had the energy—or the desire—to shift it back.

I sighed, letting my head fall back against the chair. The castle was quiet, the fire low. Shadows danced lazily across the ceiling, flickering in time with my pulse.

You said this used to be your place, he’d told me last night. When things felt like too much.

He’d brought me there. Walked me back. Said goodnight like he meant it.

I closed my eyes, the memory slipping in easily—uninvited, but not unwelcome.

And for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn’t feel quite so heavy.

The next morning came quickly.

There was a bit of a bounce in my step as I walked to the Auric Hall, and I hated how obvious it felt. But I couldn’t help it—I was almost looking forward to the day. The air was crisp and clear, and for once, I didn’t feel like I was carrying the weight of everything all at once.

Of course, that feeling didn’t last long.

Ginny and Theo were already at our usual table by the time I arrived, their heads bent together over two cups of coffee and an impressive pile of toast. They both looked up when they saw me—and immediately stopped talking.

Never a good sign.

I sat down slowly. “What.”

Theo blinked, all faux innocence. “What do you mean, what?”

“You were talking about me.”

Ginny smirked over her cup. “Observant this morning, aren’t we?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Just tell me.”

Theo leaned back dramatically in his seat. “Alright. Let’s talk about yesterday’s breakfast.”

I frowned. “What about it?”

“You don’t think it was a little… noteworthy,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “that Draco Malfoy—Mr. I’m-Too-Broody-For-Friends—sat with us. For the entire meal.”

Ginny nodded. “He didn’t even pretend it was an accident. Just sat down like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

Theo added, “And you didn’t seem the least bit surprised.”

I went still. “Because I was surprised.”

“Right,” Ginny said dryly.

“I was.”

Theo tilted his head. “But you didn’t look it. You just carried on like this is your new morning routine.”

“It’s not.”

Ginny crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “So nothing’s going on?”

I hesitated—too long.

Theo grinned. “She hesitated.”

“I didn’t—!”

“You so did.”

Ginny leaned in. “Just admit it. Something’s going on. You don’t have to call it a thing, but something’s happening.”

I looked down at my plate. I wasn’t sure what to say. Because the truth was… they weren’t wrong.

I didn’t hate that he’d sat with us.

I hadn’t hated walking back with him the night before that, either.

And that was starting to feel like something I wasn’t ready to name.

Not yet.

I was still trying to form some kind of response when I felt the shift in the air.

Ginny noticed first. Her eyes flicked up, then darted to me, one brow lifting. Theo glanced over his shoulder—and grinned.

Draco was walking toward us.

Again.

Same unhurried pace, same hands-in-pockets posture, like he had all the time in the world and nothing to prove.

He reached the table, nodded at Ginny, then at me, and dropped into the empty seat beside Theo like he belonged there.

Like this was his seat now.

Theo blinked, then leaned his elbow on the table, turning toward him. “Alright, Malfoy. I need to ask—has something broken in your brain?”

Draco poured himself some tea, completely unfazed. “Not recently.”

“Because you’ve now sat with us two days in a row,” Theo said. “Which means this is either a cry for help or some kind of secret dare.”

Draco finally looked at him. “I didn’t realize I needed an invite to sit with my best mate and his girlfriend.”

Theo made a wounded noise. “I’m touched.”

Draco didn’t even blink. “Don’t be.”

Then—his eyes flicked to me. Just for a second.

“And my…” He paused, almost imperceptibly. “…friend.”

My stomach did something unhelpful.

Ginny didn’t speak, but I felt her glance land on me like a weight.

Theo, of course, smirked. “Oh, so this is a routine now?”

Draco sipped his tea, unconcerned. “I’m considering it.”

I stared at my plate, willing my heartbeat to behave.

Because friend shouldn’t feel like a loaded word.

And yet, here we were.

Draco didn’t leave after a few bites, like I half expected him to.

Instead, he stayed.

And worse—he started talking.

Not in that cold, clipped way he used to. He actually joined the conversation.

Theo made some crack about the ridiculous number of footnotes their Runes professor required, and Draco responded smoothly, “If she wanted a dissertation, she could’ve just assigned one and saved the trees.”

Ginny snorted into her tea.

I didn’t know what to do with it—this version of him. Relaxed. Dry. Almost… likeable.

Then, as I reached for my cup, brushing a stray curl behind my ear, Draco said—casually, like it wasn’t about to detonate the entire table—

“You always look more awake in the mornings than anyone else here. It’s… unnerving.”

I froze mid-sip.

Theo’s fork clattered against his plate.

Ginny actually gasped.

I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Draco didn’t even flinch. Just took a slow sip of his tea like he hadn’t just said something vaguely flattering in front of two of the nosiest people I know.

He met my eyes—cool, unreadable, but there was the faintest glint of amusement there. “It wasn’t an insult.”

“Oh, we know,” Theo said, sounding positively delighted. “We heard.”

Ginny leaned forward, barely containing her grin. “Did you just compliment her face?”

Draco didn’t look at either of them. “I complimented her alertness.”

“You complimented her face,” Theo repeated, utterly gleeful.

I opened my mouth—no idea what I was planning to say—but absolutely nothing useful came out.

“Okay,” Ginny said, sitting back and folding her arms, “I give it one week before you two are sharing a library carrel and pretending it’s not weird.”

I glared at her. “We are not—”

“We will not—” Draco said at the exact same time.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

Theo was practically vibrating. “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in weeks.”

I set down my tea and looked at Draco. He didn’t look smug. Or sarcastic. He just looked… composed. Steady.

But I could see it—just there, at the corners of his mouth.

The day moved in a blur after breakfast, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About him.

About the way he said it. You always look more awake in the mornings. Like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t just casually said something that made Ginny spit out her tea and Theo declare the end of the world.

I kept telling myself it wasn’t a compliment.

But I also hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

By the time Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around, I’d almost convinced myself I was over it.

Until Professor Sinistra said, “Pair off—same partners as last week.”

I didn’t even have to look. I felt him moving toward me.

I took my place beside him, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Draco replied smoothly, pulling out his wand. “It’s not my fault you’re still flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“Of course not,” he said dryly. “You just get pink in the face from the thrill of magical academia.”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

He grinned—actually grinned. “Was that a real laugh? From Granger? Alert the Prophet.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t quite smother the smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Still. It’s nice to see.”

“What is?”

“You smile,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. Less teasing. “You don’t do it much anymore.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because they were true. Maybe because he noticed.

I looked down at my hands. “War tends to ruin the mood.”

He didn’t make a joke out of it. Just nodded, like he understood something I hadn’t expected him to.

Professor Sinistra called out the day’s drill—disarm and counter in timed rounds—and we moved automatically into position.

We traded spells back and forth, crisp and practiced, but the air between us was charged. Tense in a way that wasn’t exactly tense. Warm. Unspoken.

“You’re faster today,” he murmured as I knocked his wand aside with a twist.

“Maybe I’m not distracted anymore,” I said, breathless.

He arched an eyebrow. “Pity.”

I smiled again—just a little. “Try not to whine when you lose.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We exchanged light disarming spells, just enough force to test each other. But it didn’t stay serious for long.

He feinted left, then grinned when I blocked it too quickly. “Show-off.”

“Sore loser,” I shot back.

I hit him squarely with a soft knockback jinx, and he stumbled a step—then grinned like it was the most fun he’d had all week. “That one was rude.”

“I’m capable of rudeness,” I said primly.

“I’m starting to believe it.”

We moved faster, spells ricocheting, wands flashing, laughter slipping in between the impacts. It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t awkward. It was fun—and I’d forgotten how that felt.

When Sinistra finally called the class to a close, I was flushed and breathless, my hair half-falling out of its tie. Draco looked just as winded, but there was a spark in his eyes I hadn’t seen since before the war.

He glanced around the room, then back at me. “You free?”

I blinked. “For what?”

“A walk,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been told it’s good for the nerves after getting thoroughly humiliated in class.”

“You’re not humiliated.”

“I might be,” he said. “Hard to tell. I’m emotionally repressed, remember?”

That pulled a laugh from me. I didn’t mean for it to, but it escaped anyway.

He smiled, softer this time. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“Your laugh,” he said. “You should use it more.”

I looked at him, really looked at him—and nodded.

“Alright. A walk.”

And when we left the classroom side by side, it didn’t feel like anything strange.

It just felt… easy.

The corridors were quiet as we walked—late afternoon light pouring in through the high windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. We didn’t talk at first. There was no rush. Just the soft sound of our footsteps echoing down the hall, the occasional murmur of other students behind closed doors.

It was peaceful.

Almost.

But the question had been clawing at the back of my throat for weeks, and now—with him beside me, warm and real and not pushing me away—I couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Why couldn’t you talk to me?”

He slowed slightly, but didn’t stop walking. His gaze stayed forward. “When?”

“You know when.” My voice was quieter now. “The first few weeks. Every time I tried, you looked through me like I wasn’t even there. Like you were angry I existed.”

He let out a breath. Not sharp. Just tired.

“I wasn’t angry at you.”

“Then what?”

He was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching between us like a held breath.

“I was ashamed,” he said finally.

I blinked. That hadn’t been the answer I expected.

He glanced over at me—just once—then looked away again, jaw tightening.

“What Weasley said… about Bellatrix. About what happened to you.”

I felt the breath catch in my chest.

Draco stopped walking. We stood at the edge of the viaduct bridge again, the same place he’d taken me when everything had felt too heavy. He leaned on the railing, fingers curling around the cold stone.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said quietly. “I was there—but I couldn’t watch. I turned away. And when I saw you again, and Weasley said it out loud…”

His voice trailed off. He shook his head, jaw tight.

“I couldn’t look at you,” he said. “Because I knew who put you there. Not just her. Me. My family. That house. That name.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t stop it either,” he said, cutting me off—but there was no anger in it. Just the bare, flat weight of guilt. “I stood in that room and did nothing. And you screamed, and I did nothing.”

The words hit like a punch. Not because they hurt me—but because it was clear they’d been killing him.

“I hated myself for it,” he added, barely audible. “Still do.”

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

I just stood there beside him, heart tight, the wind tugging at my sleeves.

And then, slowly, I reached for his hand.

I didn’t know why.

Maybe because I needed to.

Maybe because he did.

He didn’t pull away.

He just stood there, hand in mine, staring out into the quiet, fading light.

“I thought you were disgusted,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “That I’d been in your house. That I didn’t belong there.”

His grip on my hand tightened—just barely. “No.”

I looked at him.

He was still staring straight ahead, jaw tight, voice low and steady. “I was disgusted with myself. For letting it happen. For turning away. For being too much of a coward to stop any of it.”

A pause. Then—softer, almost like he hated himself for saying it:

“I think about it more than you’d believe. And if I could take it back—every second of it—I would.”

He finally turned his head, eyes meeting mine.

“I would take all of it back, Granger.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The wind lifted the edges of my sleeves, the dying light catching in his eyes.

Then—slowly—he leaned in.

And I didn’t stop him.

Then—slowly—he leaned in.

And I didn’t stop him.

My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear the wind anymore. Just the rush of blood in my ears and the impossible closeness of him. His breath was warm against my skin, steady but hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do this—even now. Even after everything.

And then he kissed me.

Gently. Like he was afraid I might break.

His lips were soft and tentative at first, barely brushing mine, a whisper of contact that sent a shiver racing down my spine. I froze for half a second, every nerve ending lighting up at once—and then I moved.

I kissed him back.

The pressure deepened, slow and uncertain and so painfully careful, as if we were both terrified to wake up and realize we’d imagined the whole thing. His hand left the railing and ghosted lightly against my jaw, fingers trembling just slightly where they touched me.

He tasted like mint and tea—something clean and sharp, something distinctly him. There was nothing rushed, nothing messy about it. Just warmth. Intention. An ache that had been buried so long it forgot how to breathe.

And Merlin, it felt right.

It didn’t feel like crossing a line or breaking a rule.

It felt like something that had been waiting to happen.

I pressed in just a little closer, like I could steady myself with him, like if I leaned in enough, the world might go quiet for a moment.

And for that moment—it did.

Everything else fell away.

No war. No names. No guilt. Just the press of his mouth, the warmth of his skin, and the thunder in my chest.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless. So was he.

Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.

He looked at me like I was something he couldn’t believe was real.

And I looked back—still shaking, still stunned—and thought,  Maybe I can be, just for him.

We didn’t speak as we left the bridge. There wasn’t anything left to say—not yet.

Draco walked beside me, his hand brushing mine every so often like he wasn’t sure if he should reach for it again. I didn’t offer. But I didn’t pull away either.

The halls were dim now, empty in that late-hour way where every sound echoed a little too loud. My heartbeat hadn’t slowed since the kiss. It thudded steadily in my chest, every step amplifying the truth that something between us had changed.

And somehow, the silence wasn’t awkward. It was something else entirely.

When we reached the corridor that led to my room, I stopped outside the door. He stopped too.

Neither of us moved to leave.

He looked at me—really looked—and I felt it again. That heat, that pull. The air between us was still tight, still charged. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. I don’t think he did either.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured finally. “About wishing I could take it back. All of it.”

I nodded, throat tight. “I know.”

A pause.

“I don’t want to go back to pretending it didn’t happen,” I said quietly. “Any of it.”

His eyes flicked to my mouth—and that was all it took.

He leaned in, just slightly, just enough to tip us back into that gravity again. I tilted my chin up. One more breath, and we’d fall right into it again—

The door burst open.

I stumbled back instinctively, and Draco straightened like nothing had happened—but his eyes darted away, just once.

Theo blinked at us, holding an apple in one hand and looking far too pleased with himself.

“Well, this is cozy,” he said brightly.

Behind him, Ginny appeared in the doorway, squinting. Her eyes bounced from me to Draco and back again, and then she smirked. “Oh, we interrupted something.”

Draco gave the faintest shake of his head, already turning away. “You’re imagining things.”

Theo grinned. “Are we? Because Hermione looks like she just walked through a thunderstorm.”

I opened my mouth—nothing came out.

Draco glanced at me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Then he said, calm as anything, “Goodnight, Granger.”

And he walked away.

Leaving me standing at the threshold with my heart pounding and absolutely no idea what to say.

Theo stepped aside dramatically. “After you, Miss Not-At-All-Flustered.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I was flustered.

And he knew it.

They both knew it.

Chapter Text

“I knew I was in trouble when I felt at home in the silence between us.”

The door hadn’t even clicked shut behind me before Ginny rounded on me like a Niffler in a vault.

“Well?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

Theo was sprawled across the nearest armchair like he’d been waiting there all night, legs dangling over one side, an apple in hand and a look on his face. “You were gone so long I thought we’d have to send a search party. But then we opened the door and, well… no need?”

I froze. “Excuse me?”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, don’t play innocent. We opened the door and found the two of you staring at each other like a badly written romance novel.”

“Tragic lighting and everything,” Theo added. “All that was missing was rain and a dramatic betrayal.”

“We were talking,” I said, carefully. “Talking is a normal human function.”

“You were hovering,” Ginny corrected. “Inches apart. Eyes locked. Breathing like you’d run a marathon.”

Theo leaned in. “So? Did it happen?”

I stared at him. “What?”

“The kiss. The kiss.” He gestured dramatically with his apple. “Did you or did you not finally lock lips with the brooding prince of passive aggression?”

I paused just long enough.

Ginny gasped. “You did.”

I sighed, heading for my bed. “I’m not discussing this.”

Theo grinned. “Which means yes. Was it terrible? Please say it was awkward. Or that he missed. Or that he tried to narrate it in Parseltongue.”

I stopped at the edge of the bed and turned slowly. “Actually… it was great.”

The word felt too small, too flimsy for what it had been. But I didn’t know how else to describe it. I could still feel the imprint of his touch on my waist, the echo of his breath on my skin. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything around it. The tension, the pull, the way he’d looked at me like I wasn’t something to conquer, but something to keep.

Silence.

Ginny blinked.

Theo stared at me like I’d just declared myself the next Dark Lord.

“Great,” I said again, folding my arms. “He kissed me, I kissed him back, it wasn’t weird, and I liked it. There. Happy?”

Ginny gave a low whistle. “That’s a big shift from he’s insufferable and morally bankrupt.”

“Not mutually exclusive,” I muttered.

Theo sat up, the grin fading into something more thoughtful. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

He tilted his head, studying me in a way that made me nervous. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“About?”

Theo’s voice dropped, just a bit. “I’ve known Draco a long time. I’ve seen him fake things, manipulate, charm, sneer, scowl—you name it. But I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he was looking at you tonight.”

Ginny’s eyes widened slightly. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Theo said, gaze still fixed on me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say my boy’s in trouble.”

My pulse quickened. I wasn’t used to being seen—not like that. Whatever had passed between Draco and me in that hallway still felt fragile, like it might disappear if I said the wrong thing out loud. I didn’t want to name it. Not yet.

I sat down hard on the edge of the bed, pulse spiking.

Ginny grinned like she was thrilled someone else had finally caught up. “Told you this was getting good.”

I buried my face in my hands. “I hate both of you.”

“You’ll thank us at the wedding,” Theo said cheerfully.

And I wanted to say it was ridiculous.

I wanted to say it was just one kiss.

But I couldn’t.

Because Theo might have been joking—but I was starting to  think he wasn’t entirely wrong.

He sat with me every chance he got that week.

Defense, Charms, Magical Theory—even meals when he could get away with it. Always calm. Always quiet. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like this was just normal now.

By Wednesday, people were starting to notice.

It began with whispers. A few stares in the corridors. A flicker of confusion when I walked into Magical Theory and headed straight for the seat beside him without hesitation.

Draco was already there, lounging back in his chair with the kind of practiced ease that said yes, this is mine. He looked up when I approached—didn’t smile, didn’t speak—just watched me like he had every other time this week. Like he knew I’d come.

I sat, and for a moment, all I could hear was the low hum of parchment shuffling and quills scratching.

And then I felt it.

The pause.

The silence.

Two girls near the front of the room glanced back, wide-eyed and whispering. A boy at the far end leaned over to mutter something behind his hand. Even Professor Royston faltered when he walked past us, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long.

Apparently, we weren’t subtle.

Draco leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only me to hear. “They’re staring.”

“I noticed.”

“Maybe they’re jealous,” he said smoothly. “Or maybe they’re just confused that the war didn’t end with me swearing a lifelong blood feud against you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You did. You’re just late.”

He smiled, and I hated how warm it made my chest feel. “Better late than never.”

A few more students filed in, still looking our way. One girl actually elbowed her friend when I leaned in to grab my ink pot. They both turned around again immediately when Draco glanced in their direction.

I sighed. “They think something’s going on.”

He didn’t look at me. Just uncapped his ink and dipped his quill. “Maybe something is.”

I turned sharply.

He kept his eyes on the parchment.

My heart gave a traitorous little lurch.

Professor Royston finally launched into the day’s lecture—a dense breakdown of spell theory involving layered incantation structures and magical intention thresholds. Normally, I would’ve been scribbling furiously, ready to devour every word.

Today, I couldn’t focus.

Not with him beside me.

Draco didn’t move much. He sat with his shoulders slightly turned toward me, posture loose, wand resting on the desk like it didn’t matter if class had started or not. He wasn’t even doing anything—and yet every part of me was aware of him.

The space between us felt charged, in a way I didn’t have words for. Like his presence altered the very air. I could feel him even when I wasn’t looking—like my body was tuned to some frequency only he broadcasted.

It wasn’t nerves, exactly.

It was… gravity.

Something quiet but undeniable pulling at me. Making me notice the way his fingers curled around his quill, the way his hair caught the light, the way he exhaled—slow and even—like the chaos of the war had never touched him.

And maybe that was the part that undid me most.

Because I knew it had.

And still, he sat here like it hadn’t broken him.

And maybe, sitting beside him… I didn’t feel broken anymore.

Like some part of me had been quietly off-kilter for months, maybe longer, and sitting beside him—just breathing in the same rhythm—aligned something. As if my body had known before my brain did that this was where he belonged now. Close. Constant.

It should’ve felt wrong. Unfamiliar.

It didn’t.

It felt like falling into step with someone who already knew your pace. Like remembering a song you hadn’t realized you’d forgotten.

I wasn’t sure what that meant.

Only that I didn’t want to move.

It felt like the first real breath I’d taken in weeks.

Then his parchment slid slightly in my direction.

I didn’t look at him—just lowered my gaze like it didn’t matter, like I wasn’t already holding my breath.

A single line, penned in neat, elegant script:

Granger, you’ve got that look again. The one where you pretend you’re listening while plotting five murders.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. The corner of my mouth twitched anyway. I didn’t dare glance sideways.

Instead, I dipped my quill, hands steadier than I felt, and wrote:

You’re number three, if you must know.

He didn’t respond right away. I could feel him reading it, though. The soft shift of parchment. The deliberate silence between us.

Then his quill scratched across the page.

Only number three? Now I’m insulted.

I rolled my eyes and scribbled back,

If you keep distracting me, you’ll move up.

There was a pause—just long enough to be noticeable. And then:

Worth it.

My fingers hovered over the parchment, his words blooming under my skin like heat. Not from the flirtation itself, but from the easy familiarity of it. The quiet confidence. Like he knew me—really knew me—and still wanted to be this close.

I was used to admiration that came from performance. From achievement.

This was something else.

Something that made my pulse skip every time his hand moved too close to mine.

Professor Royston suddenly called my name, yanking me back into the room with a jolt.

“Miss Granger—what’s the incantation offset when adjusting for elemental resistance in stacked layering?”

“Differential incantation, with variable pacing to preserve magical fidelity,” I answered automatically.

From beside me, Draco murmured, “Show-off.”

“You’re welcome,” I muttered, cheeks burning.

A few heads turned. One of the girls in the second row whispered something behind her hand, her eyes flicking between us. Her smile was sharp.

I kept my eyes on the parchment. On the ink still drying.

I felt him shift beside me—just slightly. His knee brushed mine under the desk.

Not enough to draw attention. Not quite accidental.

But enough for me to feel it.

When the class finally ended and students began to pack up, I reached for my books slowly, trying to breathe around the strange new pressure in my chest.

Draco didn’t move to stand.

As I slid my notes into my bag, his hand brushed against mine—just briefly—as he picked up his quill. Barely a touch. But deliberate.

I glanced at him, uncertain if I was supposed to say something. He didn’t look at me, not directly. Just calmly gathered his things, perfectly composed.

Then, as he stood, he said simply, “I’ll see you later, Granger.”

Not loaded. Not flirtatious.

Just even. Certain.

And then he was gone, slipping out of the room with his usual ease—like he hadn’t just sat next to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe that was the part I couldn’t stop thinking about.

That somehow, it was.

By the time I packed up my notes and stepped into the corridor, the hallway was nearly empty.

Except for him.

Draco was leaning against the wall just outside the door, arms crossed, ankles casually stacked, like he’d been there a while—but wouldn’t admit it if asked. His head tilted slightly when he saw me, like I was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

Which made my stomach flip in a very unhelpful way.

I blinked. “I thought you left.”

He shrugged, casual. “Changed my mind.”

My chest tightened. Not from nerves. From something quieter. Gentler. It was the way he said it—like the answer had always been obvious. Like waiting for me wasn’t a question.

“You waiting for someone?”

“Maybe,” he said, voice light. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you want company.”

The words hung between us. Unrushed. Unassuming.

And I hated how much I wanted to say yes.

I hesitated—just for a moment—then nodded. “Come on.”

We fell into step like we’d done it a hundred times. No plan, no conversation. Just… walking. Together. His shoulder brushed mine once, not quite an accident. I didn’t move away.

We walked in silence at first, our footsteps echoing through the corridor like they were part of something rehearsed. Like our bodies already knew how to fall in sync—even when our minds hadn’t caught up.

The air between us wasn’t awkward. Just… charged. Too much unsaid. Too much felt.

I stole a glance at him.

The sharp line of his jaw. The way his hands sat in his pockets like he didn’t care about anything, but I knew better now. The soft blonde strands of hair that kept falling into his eyes.

It was absurd, the way just looking at him made something flutter in my chest. My stomach. My throat.

Butterflies.

Not nerves. Not fear. Something entirely different. Warmer.

I’d never had that with Ron.

Ron was… safe. Predictable. Familiar in the way an old jumper was—worn in, full of comfort, but not excitement. Not electricity.

Ron had never made me feel like I couldn’t breathe if I got too close. Never made my skin hum with awareness before he even touched me. Never made me forget entire conversations because I was too busy noticing the way his lips moved when he spoke.

I used to scoff at the sound of Draco Malfoy’s name.

Now, my heart jumped every time I heard it. Every time I said it.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

I didn’t know what to do with him.

Draco glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and my pulse betrayed me again—rising fast, sharp.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His presence alone felt louder than most conversations.

I folded my arms across my chest, if only to anchor myself. “You know,” I said, half to break the tension, half to convince myself this wasn’t real, “you’re not exactly easy to figure out.”

His smirk was almost lazy. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

And still—he was watching me.

I looked away before I could forget how to walk properly.

“Do you think they’ve started yet?”

He glanced sideways. “Ginny and Theo?”

I nodded.

His lips twitched. “Oh, absolutely. The question is whether it’s a debate or a full-blown dramatization.”

“I give it even odds,” I said. “Last time it was over the moral implications of pineapple on pizza.”

“That one got violent,” he said solemnly. “I feared for my life.”

A laugh escaped me—small and startled.

And the way he looked at me then—soft and satisfied, like hearing me laugh was a kind of victory—sent a rush of warmth through my chest I didn’t know how to handle.

We turned the last corner toward Auric Hall, the light from the enchanted sconces washing the corridor in gold. The faint clatter of dishes and muffled chatter drifted toward us—normal sounds. Ordinary sounds.

And yet, nothing about this felt ordinary.

Ginny and Theo were already at our usual table, positioned near the edge of the hall, half-lost in whatever ridiculous debate they were currently having. Ginny was mid-gesture—arms flying, eyebrows fierce—while Theo leaned back in his chair, all smug ease and casual contradiction. I couldn’t even hear the words yet, but I already knew the rhythm of it.

“I was right,” Draco said under his breath.

“Dramatization?”

“Obviously.”

“You only say that because you’ve never seen her debate.”

He smirked. “I value my life.”

He didn’t wait for permission. Just walked to the table like he belonged there—like this was his place now—and dropped into the seat across from them. His casualness was so practiced it almost distracted from the way he glanced at me, just once, as if making sure I’d follow.

I did.

I sat beside him, close enough that our knees brushed beneath the table.

Ginny blinked at our arrival. Theo’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t say anything. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was saturated. Thick with meaning. With realization.

Theo, of course, didn’t bother pretending to be subtle.

He propped his chin in one hand and looked between the two of us with all the smug satisfaction of someone who had made a very long bet and just watched it start to pay off.

“So,” he said, far too casually, “lovely evening for a shared walk through the castle, isn’t it?”

I ignored him and reached for the bread.

Ginny, to her credit, didn’t flinch. Just sipped her pumpkin juice with the kind of restraint that screamed I am being polite but we are talking later.

Draco, beside me, picked up his fork like he hadn’t heard a thing.

“I’m just saying,” Theo went on, the glint in his eyes unmistakable, “it’s becoming something of a pattern. First the library, now classes, now romantic meandering strolls before dinner—”

“We didn’t meander,” I muttered.

“Of course not,” Theo said smoothly. “You strode with purpose and sexual tension.”

I dropped my fork.

Draco didn’t even blink. He just glanced over with that cool, faintly amused look he’d perfected over the years. “I’m glad you’re so invested in our movements,” he said. “Though I’d argue you’re too busy working out your own unresolved issues.”

Theo blinked, mock-affronted. “What issues?”

Draco tipped his head toward Ginny. “The endless bickering. The dramatic declarations. The spoon gesturing. It’s very intense.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him.

Draco sipped his water, then added evenly, “It’s basically foreplay.”

Theo choked on his drink.

Ginny turned bright red. “Excuse me?”

Draco didn’t even look up. “You’re excused.”

I stared down at my plate, torn between horror and hysterical laughter.

Theo recovered first, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Alright. That was uncalled for.”

“You’re the one narrating people’s dinner walks like it’s a romance novel,” Draco said calmly.

Ginny looked between them. “You realize you just admitted it’s a dinner walk?”

I closed my eyes. “Can we all just eat like normal people?”

Theo grinned. “Define normal, Hermione.”

I didn’t answer.

Mostly because I wasn’t sure I knew anymore.We’d just started eating when the air shifted.

I felt it before I saw him—like a draft down the spine. A sudden hush near the entrance of the Auric Hall. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to.

Theo glanced up and groaned. “Oh, no.”

Draco didn’t look up. Just kept slicing into his roast chicken like he had no idea Ron Weasley had just walked into the room.

But I did.

Ron’s voice came sharp and loud. “Seriously?”

I turned in my seat.

He was standing just inside the hall, jaw clenched, red-faced in that way he got when anger came before logic. His eyes landed on Draco—then on me—then flicked between us like he couldn’t decide who to explode at first.

“Is this a joke?” he snapped, striding toward the table.

Theo sat back in his chair. “And here we go.”

“Ron—” I started.

He ignored me. “You’re having dinner with him now?”

I stood up. “I’m not going to do this with you in front of everyone.”

“Why not?” Ron shot back, gesturing around wildly. “They’re all thinking it.”

Draco still hadn’t looked up. Still cutting his dinner like nothing was happening.

Which only made Ron angrier.

“This what it is now?” Ron spat. “You’re spending your nights walking through hallways and playing study buddies with Malfoy like you’ve forgotten who he is? What he’s done?”

Draco’s knife clinked softly against the plate.

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I said, voice steady but rising.

Ron’s eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “Right. Of course you haven’t. You’re just—what? Playing both sides? Pretending you’re still better than the rest of us while cozying up to a—”

Draco finally looked up.

The look on his face wasn’t smug. It wasn’t angry.

It was cold.

Dangerous.

“Careful,” he said evenly.

Ron turned fully toward him, laughing without humour. “Oh, that’s rich. You going to glare me into silence now?”

Theo muttered, “He’s really doing this.”

“Maybe she likes it,” Ron kept going, stepping forward. “All that darkness. Maybe that’s your type now, Hermione. Is that it? Some kind of twisted saviour complex?”

“Ron—”

“Or maybe you’re just a death eater’s slag after all.”

Everything stopped.

I felt the words hit like a slap to the face. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Theo froze.

Ginny dropped her drink.

Draco stood up.

And then he hit him.

It wasn’t a warning punch. It wasn’t theatrical.

It was fast and brutal and landed with a sickening crack across Ron’s jaw. Ron staggered backward, crashing into the edge of the table behind him, nearly sending plates flying.

Gasps erupted across the hall.

“Draco!” I shouted, reaching for his arm, but he wasn’t moving—just standing there, chest heaving, fists clenched, face white with fury.

Ron wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, eyes wide with shock.

“I told you to be careful,” Draco said, voice like steel.

The entire Auric Hall had gone silent.

Ginny was by Ron’s side in seconds, dragging him away before he could lunge again. Theo stood slowly, eyes flicking between us.

I reached for Draco’s wrist, but before I could say anything, he turned—

—and grabbed my hand.

Firm, but not rough. A silent question wrapped in motion.

I didn’t pull away.

Without a word, he started walking—straight out of the hall, past the stunned faces and half-finished meals and all the heavy, hanging silence.

And I followed.

Because I couldn’t do anything else.

Because my hand was in his.

And he didn’t let go.

The moment we stepped into the corridor, I yanked my hand from his.

He stopped walking.

I turned to face him, chest rising and falling too fast, pulse still pounding in my ears. “You didn’t have to do that.”

His jaw tightened. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” I snapped, trying to catch my breath. “You didn’t have to hit him. You didn’t have to grab my hand like—like that. Now everyone—”

“He called you a death eater’s slag,” Draco said, his voice low and sharp. “What exactly was I supposed to do?”

I flinched at the words, more from the memory than the tone.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” I said, quieter now. “I can fight my own battles.”

“I know,” he said again. But this time, there was something different in his voice.

He stepped closer, not touching me—but near enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him. His eyes searched mine, steady and unreadable and furious in that way that had nothing to do with anger.

“I know you don’t need me to,” he said, his voice lower now, the words scraping along the edge of something fragile. “But I wanted to.”

I didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because I was too busy staring at him.

His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run through the corridor. Not fast, but deep—like he was holding something back and didn’t know how much longer he could. His fists were still clenched at his sides, knuckles pale, jaw taut with restraint. But it was his eyes that undid me.

Wide open.

No masks. No sarcasm. No calculation.

Just something raw and aching and almost unbearable in its sincerity. A kind of desperation, not loud or theatrical, but quiet—tired—and honest. Like he had been carrying something for too long and had finally decided to set it down at my feet.

And I didn’t know what to do with it.

Didn’t know how to hold something that felt so real.

He kept going, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve been pretending I don’t feel something for you,” he said. “Pretending like I don’t—like I don’t care. Like I can hear someone talk about you like that and not want to tear them apart. That sitting next to you in class, walking with you after dinner, talking to you like it’s nothing—it’s all a game. It’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

I stared at him, stunned. The heat in my chest spread like fire under my skin.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said, almost like it hurt. “I know I’m not the person you should want. But I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t mean anything. I made the mistake of not defending you once,” he said, voice rough. “And it’s the single worst regret I’ve ever lived with. I will never make that mistake again.”

That was it.

That was the moment something in me snapped.

Because I saw it then—not just the fury. Not just the guilt. But the depth of feeling he was barely keeping contained. The way his hand trembled slightly at his side. The way he was looking at me like I was both a relief and a punishment.

I stepped forward before I realized I was moving.

He looked at me like he wanted to say something else—maybe stop himself.

But I didn’t let him.

I kissed him.

And gods, it wasn’t soft this time. It was a crash, a collapse. It was all the anger, all the longing, all the heat that had been simmering between us for weeks.

His hands found my waist, gripping like he was afraid I’d disappear. Mine curled into his shirt, dragging him closer, closer, like I couldn’t get enough of him. My body pressed against his, and the world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on mine, the warmth of his breath, the way he kissed me like it had been burning inside him for years.

I’d never felt anything like it.

It wasn’t clean or controlled—it was chaos. It was everything we weren’t allowed to want and took anyway.

When we finally broke apart, I was breathless, lips tingling, hands still fisted in his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For before. For all of it.”

I nodded, barely.

Because I was shaking. From the kiss. From the heat. From the want that hadn’t gone away—only sharpened.

And for once, I didn’t care who saw.

His forehead rested against mine, our breaths tangled in the space between us, the echo of the kiss still pulsing through my body like magic gone wild.

Neither of us moved.

Then—so quietly I almost didn’t catch it—he whispered, “You’ll be the undoing of me, Granger.”

I felt it like a spell, like something ancient settling under my skin. My breath caught.

He pulled back just enough to look at me—really look at me. His grey eyes were wide open now, and there was nothing guarded in them. No snide remarks. No defenses.

Just that aching, terrifying truth.

I didn’t say anything.

I kissed him again.

This one was slower—no fury, no fire. Just warmth. Just ache. Just the quiet, unbearable weight of finally.

His hands slid around my waist like he didn’t know how to let go. I pressed my forehead to his again as we broke apart, both of us breathless.

“I don’t know what this is,” I murmured. “Or where it goes.”

His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist. “I don’t either.”

He looked at me then, really looked, his voice barely above a breath.

“But I know what I want.”

My chest tightened.

He gave a small, almost hesitant smile. “It’s you, Granger. If you’ll have me.”

And for once, I wasn’t scared.

Because his hand was in mine.

Because he kissed me like it meant something.

Because—for the first time since May—my heart was full.

Chapter Text

“I’m not telling you it’s going to be easy. I’m telling you it’s going to be worth it.”

When I woke, the sunlight was pouring in too bright through the curtains, and for a moment, I forgot.

I forgot about the punch.

About the silence.

About his hand closing around mine in front of everyone.

About the way he kissed me like it meant something.

For a single, suspended second, I was weightless.

And then it all came back.

My breath caught as I turned onto my side, staring at the crease in my pillowcase like it could anchor me.

It had happened.

Draco Malfoy had punched Ron in the middle of dinner.

And then he’d kissed me—twice.

And I had kissed him back.

But even that—his mouth on mine, the way my fingers curled into his collar—wasn’t the thing that haunted me.

It was the way it made me feel.

The way my heart had gone quiet, not racing, not panicked—just silent. Still. Like for a moment, everything in me had gone calm and certain and desperately, dangerously hopeful.

And now, in the pale morning light, all of that was gone. Replaced by the gnawing ache of uncertainty. Of wondering what would come next.

Because I’d kissed Draco Malfoy. And maybe the worst part was that I didn’t regret it.

But that wasn’t even the part I couldn’t stop thinking about.

It was what came after.

The way he stood in that corridor with his chest still heaving, eyes dark and wild and not with fury—but with feeling. The way he said he wanted me. Not because I needed anyone. But because he did.

Because pretending not to care had become impossible.

Because whatever this was between us, it meant something to him.

And somewhere between the rage and the silence and the way his voice cracked when he said he would never make that mistake again—I believed him.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

I sat up slowly, heart already pounding, my chest tight with something I couldn’t name—too much to be called fear, too sharp to be called hope.

I pressed a hand to my sternum.

It still felt full. Dangerously full.

The room was still, morning light filtering in soft and slow. Ginny’s bed was empty—already made, already gone.

A deep, horrible flush crept up my neck as I pulled on my clothes. I could already picture the stares in the corridor. The way the whispering would rise and then stop the second I entered a room. Granger and Malfoy. After everything.

And worse—Ron. What would he say? What had he already said?

My hands shook slightly as I buttoned my blouse.

This was what I’d been afraid of all along, wasn’t it? Not the kiss. Not even the feeling.

But the fallout.

The moment where the world caught up to us and asked, What the hell are you doing?

A knock rattled the door.

I jumped.

Theo’s voice came muffled from the other side: “I’ve got your coffee. Also, Ginny said if I don’t come up and check on you, she’ll ‘hex my eyebrows off,’ so… good morning.”

I closed my eyes.

It had begun.

I opened the door slowly.

Theo stood there holding two steaming mugs, one in each hand, his eyebrows lifted in that I-know-everything-and-I’m-going-to-make-it-your-problem way he’d perfected.

He handed me the mug, “For the girl who detonated Auric Hall and still had the nerve to walk out hand-in-hand with the arsonist.”

I took it, muttering, “Thanks.”

He wandered in uninvited, collapsing into Ginny’s desk chair with a groan. “So. Eventful night.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“You are, actually,” he said cheerfully, stretching out like he owned the place. “Ginny and I flipped a coin, and I got the win-slash-death sentence of being the first to talk to you about it.”

I sipped my coffee.

He gave me a long look. “What’s going on with you two?”

I froze, breath catching. “What do you mean?”

Theo shrugged, too casual. “He punched your ex in the face and dragged you out of the Great Hall in front of half the school. Not exactly a subtle move.”

I stared down at the coffee. “It wasn’t planned.”

“I’d hope not,” he muttered. “Though it was dramatic, I’ll give you that.”

A pause.

“But I didn’t ask if it was planned,” he said more gently. “I asked what’s going on.”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Everything just… spiralled. One second Ron was shouting, and then Draco—he just—”

“Snapped,” Theo finished for me. “Yeah. I’ve seen that look on him before. Just… never for someone else.”

That pulled my eyes up.

“He doesn’t fight like that, Hermione. Not unless it matters.”

My chest felt tight, but I couldn’t tell if it was panic or something else.

“I don’t know what to do Theo,” I admitted quietly, settling on the edge of my bed. “It’s… complicated.”

Theo made a thoughtful noise. “Complicated’s fine. Just don’t lie to yourself and call it nothing.”

I looked down at the mug in my hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He tilted his head. “And yet it very obviously did.”

I let out a slow breath. “Everything just… escalated. One second I was furious. The next—I don’t know. It’s like something cracked open and all of it came out at once.”

He nodded, more serious now. “Look. I’ve known Draco my whole life. He doesn’t let people in. Not really. Not even me.”

I glanced at him.

“But lately?” Theo went on, voice quieter now. “He’s different. Lighter around you. Less like he’s bracing for impact. Whatever this is—it’s real. For him.”

My chest ached.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he added. “Or to Ginny. But you do need to figure out whether this is something you’re going to run from… or into.”

I swallowed hard.

“Because,” Theo said, rising from the chair with a stretch, “he’s not going to be the one who walks away first.” Finishing his stretch and brushing imaginary lint from his jumper. “Right. Come on then.”

I blinked. “Come on where?”

“The Hall. Breakfast. Food. Social reintegration. Pick one.”

I didn’t move.

He paused in the doorway and looked back at me. “Ginny is waiting for us. She’s already stolen my seat and half my toast.”

I hesitated, fingers tightening around my mug. “Is… is everyone talking about it?”

Theo didn’t even pretend to hesitate. “Absolutely.”

I exhaled slowly, stomach sinking.

“The punch was solid, by the way,” he added. “Excellent form. Full follow-through. Really did the Weasel in.”

I gave him a look.

Theo softened—just a bit. “They’re going to talk no matter what, you know. You showing up doesn’t change that. It just proves you’re not afraid of them.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” I said. “I just… I don’t want to deal with it yet.”

He nodded once, then stepped fully back into the hall. “Suit yourself. I’ll tell Ginny you’re alive. But she’s going to march up here in ten minutes and force emotional intimacy on you, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

Theo just lifted his mug in salute and disappeared down the corridor.

And I sat there in the quiet, trying to ignore the fact that the idea of seeing Draco again made my hands shake.

Not from fear.

From something much, much worse.

Wanting.

That was the word I kept choking on.

Because wanting was dangerous. Wanting meant admitting there was something—someone—I didn’t want to lose.

And I had done that before. I’d let people in. I’d loved them, trusted them. And then they’d looked at me like I was too much or not enough or too broken to hold onto.

What if Draco did that too? What if I was just another thing he wanted until it got too hard?

The dorm was too quiet.

I hadn’t moved from the bed since Theo left. My half-drunk coffee had gone cold beside me. The sun had shifted across the floor and taken its warmth with it.

I knew I should go downstairs.

I knew hiding only made it worse.

But I couldn’t.

I wasn’t ready to walk into that hall and see the looks—curious, judgmental, pitying. I wasn’t ready to see him, either. Not with everyone watching. Not when the memory of last night was still seared onto my lips like a brand.

So I stayed.

Folded in on myself. Silent.

Until a knock came at the door.

I closed my eyes. “Theo, I told you I’m not—”

Another knock. Lighter. Slower. Not Theo.

Ginny, then. I sighed, standing and smoothing down my shirt, steeling myself for an interrogation wrapped in sisterly concern.

I opened the door.

It wasn’t Ginny.

It was him.

Draco stood in the hallway, hands in his pockets, eyes shadowed with something unreadable.

I froze.

For a full second, neither of us moved. The corridor stretched long and quiet behind him, the air between us charged and far too still.

“I thought you might be here,” he said finally, voice low.

My throat tightened. “How?”

“You weren’t at breakfast.”

I leaned against the doorframe, trying to calm the wild thrum of my pulse. “So you came looking for me?”

My voice came out steadier than I felt.

Because he was standing there like a question I didn’t know how to answer. And I didn’t want to let him in.

Not because I didn’t want to. But because I did.

I remembered how it felt—his mouth on mine, his voice in the dark, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing holding him together.

And now he was here. And I didn’t know if I could do it all again without coming apart.

He nodded once. “I figured if I were you, I’d be hiding too.”

I arched a brow. “So flattering.”

His lips twitched—barely. “You know what I mean.”

I did.

He looked tired. Not physically. Just… carrying something. And that something was heavy. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. Or the quiet ache of wondering if what happened between us was real.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

He hesitated. Then took a single step forward, close enough for his voice to drop into something softer.

“I just wanted to see you.”

The words landed like a spell. Simple. Honest. Nothing to hide behind.

My grip on the door faltered.

For a moment, I wanted to close it. Not to shut him out—but to keep the world out. To pretend we were still in that quiet hallway after the fight. That it was still just us, breathing too close. Wanting too much.

Instead, I stepped back.

And let him in.

He stepped inside quietly, like he didn’t want to break whatever spell held the room together. I shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a second longer than necessary.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

He looked around like he’d never seen a girl’s dormitory before. Maybe he hadn’t. Or maybe it was just mine that unsettled him—the pile of half-read books on the desk, the old scarf tossed over a chair, the mug still warm from earlier.

His eyes came back to me.

“You really weren’t going to come down,” he said softly.

I shook my head. “I couldn’t.”

He nodded, like he understood. And I think he did.

“I didn’t come to ask questions,” he said.

“So why did you come?”

He met my eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure how to say what he meant.

“I just… needed to see you again,” he said. “Before I talked myself out of it.”

That was all it took.

The space between us collapsed in seconds.

His hand brushed my arm, then my waist, then pulled me in like he’d been starving for the contact. And when I tilted my chin up to speak—he kissed me.

It started soft. Careful. Like the first time. But this time, neither of us pulled back.

His other hand slid up into my hair, and mine found the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric. His lips moved against mine with a kind of desperate precision—like he needed to memorize every shape, every sound I made when he kissed me like this.

My back hit the edge of the desk, and he followed me down to it, not quite lifting me, just leaning in until I could feel every breath, every beat of his heart against mine. His mouth trailed down to the corner of mine, to my jaw, back again.

I could smell him—clean soap and something dark and woodsy, like cedar or old cologne worn into the collar of his shirt.

I could feel the tension in his body, every muscle wound tight like he was holding himself back, like he was terrified that if he let go, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

And maybe I felt the same.

I let out a sound I didn’t mean to.

He stilled.

Pulled back just an inch, his forehead pressed to mine.

His voice was hoarse. “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t.

I kissed him again instead.

It was messy. Hands in hair. Legs brushing. His thumb moving over the pulse point in my wrist like he could feel it racing.

I didn’t recognize the sound that left my mouth—half gasp, half want. It felt like the air had been ripped from my lungs and replaced with him.

And then—

The door swung open.

“Hermione—oh my god!”

We flew apart like we’d been hexed.

Ginny was standing in the doorway, face frozen in shock.

Theo was behind her, holding two pastries and grinning like a demon.

Draco’s hands dropped to his sides, jaw tightening, but he didn’t say a word. I scrambled off the desk, hair askew, lips probably still swollen, heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.

Theo blinked once. “Well.”

Ginny’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You said you weren’t ready to talk.”

“I—wasn’t,” I choked out.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath that definitely wasn’t printable.

Theo took a bite of one of the pastries. “We brought croissants.”

Ginny was still staring. “You brought Draco.”

“I didn’t bring—he came on his own!” I snapped, face burning.

Theo raised his hands. “We’ll just… go.”

“We’re already here,” Ginny hissed, turning bright red.

Draco straightened, looking all cool indifference except for the flush crawling up his neck. “Right. Well. This has been… horrible.”

He brushed past Theo on the way out, but not before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Knock next time.”

Ginny turned to me, eyes wide.

I sat back on the desk, burying my face in my hands.

Draco turned toward the door, already halfway gone, But Theo stopped him.

“Hang on.”

Draco stilled, clearly biting back something sharp. “Move.”

“No,” Theo said simply. “Not until you tell us what the hell this is.”

Ginny, still stunned, looked between the three of us. “Yeah. That would be great.”

Draco exhaled slowly, turning just enough to glance at me over his shoulder.

My heart was hammering again—but not from the kiss this time.

He looked back at Theo, jaw tight. “It’s not your business.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Hermione’s one of my people now. That makes it my business.”

Draco hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then his voice came low, steady, and completely unguarded.

“I’ll be whatever she wants me to be.”

Silence.

No sneering. No dramatics. Just six words that felt like they cracked the air in half.

He turned to me.

“I meant what I said last night,” he said, voice rougher now. “I’m not pretending anymore.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Theo stepped aside without another word.

Draco nodded once and walked out, this time without looking back.

And all I could do was stand there, stunned, replaying those words over and over again like a spell I didn’t know how to break.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence stretched between the three of us.

Theo, mercifully, didn’t say anything else. He handed Ginny the untouched croissant, gave me a brief, unreadable look, and slipped out of the room.

Then it was just me and her.

Ginny still hadn’t moved.

She stared at the closed door for a long moment, then slowly turned to me. “Okay,” she said finally. “What the hell just happened?”

I sank down onto my bed, hands trembling slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t give me that.” She crossed the room and sat beside me. “You’re kissing him. He’s walking out of rooms for you. And now he’s saying—whatever you want him to be?” She stared at me. “Hermione.”

I pressed my fingers to my temple. “I didn’t plan this.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I sighed. “It’s not just about the kiss, Ginny. It’s everything. The last few weeks. The way he… looks at me. The way I feel when he’s near. It’s like—I don’t know—it’s like I’m breathing differently.”

She blinked. “Are you in love with him?”

“No,” I said instantly.

Too instantly.

She raised an eyebrow.

I groaned and covered my face. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think so. I don’t understand it yet.”

Ginny was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: “But you want him.”

I lowered my hands. “I do.”

It was terrifying to say it out loud.

But it was true.

She exhaled, leaning back against the bedframe. “Well. That’s… new.”

I gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re not going to hex me?”

“I mean, I thought about it,” she said dryly. “But then I remembered you’re Hermione Granger and you don’t do anything without a reason. If there’s something between you and Draco Malfoy, I’m going to assume it’s because you see something there. And I trust your judgment.”

A silence settled again. Comfortable, this time.

I stared up at the ceiling. “Everything feels different now.”

She bumped her shoulder into mine. “That’s because it is.”

I made it to class just before the bell, hair still damp from a too-fast shower, heart already beating too hard in my chest.

I hadn’t seen him since he left my room yesterday.

I’d barely slept.

The walk through the corridors had felt endless—every glance too sharp, every whisper too loud. It felt like everyone knew, even though they couldn’t. Even though the most important part—the part I hadn’t even told Ginny—was still just mine.

I pushed the door open to Magical Theory, half-hoping he wouldn’t be there yet.

He was.

He was already in his seat, the one he always took, the one beside mine. One hand rested casually on the edge of his desk, a quill spinning between his fingers. His tie was crooked. His hair was a little messier than usual.

He looked up the moment I walked in.

And stilled.

His fingers stopped moving. His eyes locked on mine.

He didn’t smile. Neither did I.

But something passed between us in that look—quiet, certain. A kind of breathless understanding.

The seat beside him was open.

I walked toward it.

A few students glanced up as I passed, their eyes darting between us. I didn’t care. Not right now.

I slid into my chair.

He didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at me for a second longer than necessary, then turned his attention back to the front.

Class passed in a blur. I watched the way his hand moved as he wrote—long fingers, steady grip.

There was ink on the side of his palm. His hair kept falling across his forehead. Every time he pushed it back, I had to look away.

I used to sit in this classroom and know exactly who I was—what I needed to do, what was expected of me. But beside him, I felt untethered. Like the girl who followed every rule was starting to forget which ones mattered.

Or maybe it didn’t pass at all. Maybe I was just sitting there, breathing too carefully, trying to keep the world from tilting beneath me while he sat inches away.

Draco didn’t say a word.

Neither did I.

And that should’ve made it easier.

But it didn’t.

I could feel him beside me—the brush of his sleeve, the warmth of him in the too-cold classroom, the awareness of every breath he took. It was maddening.

My notes were useless. Half-finished words. Scribbled lines. A sentence about magical theory that trailed off into a curl that looked suspiciously like the letter D.

I hated that.

I hated how easily he’d gotten under my skin. How his voice still echoed in my head from the day before:

I’ll be whatever she wants me to be.

It should’ve terrified me.

And in a way, it did.

Because what if I didn’t know what I wanted?

What if I did?

I wasn’t used to this. I didn’t do this. I made lists. I had plans. I didn’t kiss boys who used to sneer at me in hallways and then look at me like I was the only person in the world who had ever mattered.

I didn’t let my guard down.

Because when I did—people left. Or worse, they stayed just long enough to break something.

And still, his fingers brushed mine beneath the desk.

A whisper of contact.

A question.

I didn’t pull away.

But I didn’t look at him, either.

Not yet.

Class ended before I was ready.

Not that I’d learned anything. My notes were a disaster, and my brain felt like it had been locked in a room with nothing but him and all the thoughts I didn’t want to name.

Chairs scraped. Bags rustled. Students filed out like nothing monumental had just happened in my life.

I stood, a little too fast.

Draco didn’t move.

I turned to him slowly, expecting silence—or worse, something meaningful.

But instead, he said, “That was the worst note-taking I’ve ever seen.”

I blinked.

“What?”

He nodded at my parchment. “Is that a sentence or an ancient summoning spell?”

I looked down. A wand’s focus must align with the— and then a vaguely heart-shaped squiggle. I snatched it up, cheeks burning.

“I was distracted.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

I glared. “I’m sorry, is this supposed to be funny?”

“A little,” he said, standing now. “You were chewing your quill and sighing every twelve seconds. I counted.”

“Didn’t realize you were paying such close attention.”

“Didn’t realize you’d be so loud about your emotional turmoil.”

That pulled a laugh out of me before I could stop it—sharp, surprised, real.

He looked faintly pleased with himself.

“I hate you,” I muttered.

“Seems unlikely,” he said, shoulder brushing mine as we fell into step together.

And maybe it was.

Because I was still smiling.

We fell into step without talking about it.

The corridor was quieter now, students drifting in all directions, but the space between us felt calm for once. Not tense. Not electric. Just… easy.

I wasn’t sure what surprised me more.

“So,” he said after a beat, hands in his pockets. “Are we pretending that didn’t happen? Or are we in the acknowledging-it-through-subtle-mocking phase?”

I glanced over. “I’m sorry, which part? The part where you insulted my handwriting, the emotional collapse in class, or the part where you—what was it—counted my sighs?”

His mouth twitched. “All equally concerning, honestly.”

We turned the corner toward the courtyard steps. The air smelled like late autumn—damp stone, dry leaves, something sharp and earthy. A breeze tugged at the ends of my hair.

“You know,” I said, “most people just ask if I’m alright.”

“You’re not most people.”

“Is that an insult?”

He looked at me sidelong. “You’re still walking next to me.”

I didn’t answer that.

The courtyard was mostly empty when we stepped outside—just a few 6th years bent over parchment and a young girl napping under a tree. We crossed the stone path in silence for a moment, the sun catching in his hair, glinting off the silver trim of his robes.

It felt quiet in a different way out here. Lighter.

And it scared me.

Draco glanced over. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Thinking so hard your jaw tenses.”

I huffed. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was being observed.”

He shrugged. “Hard not to notice when someone looks like they’re internally rewriting their entire emotional philosophy.”

I folded my arms. “You are insufferable.”

“Probably,” he said, grinning now. “But you’re still here.”

And I was.

Gods, I was.

We reached the far edge of the courtyard, our footsteps slowing without a word, like something unspoken had anchored us there.

The breeze tugged at the edge of his sleeve. He didn’t look at me at first—just stared out across the stone path like he was trying to find the right version of what he wanted to say.

And for once, Draco Malfoy looked… unsure.

Not guarded. Not cold.

Just—quietly uncertain.

Like whatever he was about to ask meant something.

“Granger,” he said, and my heart jumped at how carefully he said my name.

He shifted his weight, glanced down at his boots, then back up—eyes meeting mine fully this time.

And I saw it.

The flicker of vulnerability behind all that control. The tension at the corners of his mouth. The way his shoulders squared like he was bracing for rejection but refusing to back down from it.

“I was wondering,” he said slowly, “if you might want to come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend.”

My breath caught.

Not because he asked.

But because of how he asked.

Like he’d been rehearsing it. Like he already thought I might say no.

And gods, it hit me—how much this must cost him. The Draco I used to know wouldn’t have risked that kind of vulnerability. Wouldn’t have asked without a smirk or a safety net.

But this version—this version just waited. Not hiding. Not bracing.

Just hoping.

He said it evenly, but I could hear the hesitation just beneath the surface. Could see it, too—in the way his fingers curled slightly in his pocket, in the way he didn’t blink as he waited for my answer.

Like he was giving me the space to say no.

Like part of him expected it.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out at first.

Because I didn’t know how to say what I felt. Not without giving too much away.

So I just nodded.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’d like that.”

His shoulders relaxed, almost imperceptibly.

But I saw it.

And when he looked at me again, something had shifted.

Like the part of him that always pulled away… didn’t want to anymore.

Chapter Text

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.”

The first snow fell overnight.

By morning, the castle had transformed—white-frosted rooftops, icicles hanging from every ledge, and a stillness that made even the usual chaos of breakfast feel hushed. The windows of Auric Hall shimmered with condensation, the enchanted ceiling above them reflecting soft grey skies and drifting snowflakes.

I sat stiffly at our table, cupping a too-hot mug of tea between my hands and trying to ignore the subtle shift in the room. It wasn’t anything obvious—just the way people glanced over their shoulder, the way conversations dipped when I passed. As if the story had finally travelled far enough to reach every corner of the school.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.

It still didn’t feel real.

Draco slid into the seat beside me like it was nothing—like he hadn’t kissed me breathless in a hallway two nights ago or held my hand through the fallout. He didn’t look at me, but his knee bumped mine beneath the table, deliberate.

My heart kicked hard.

Theo and Ginny arrived a moment later, their cheeks red from the wind, bringing with them the usual buffer of noise and teasing. I welcomed it. Let it fill the spaces I didn’t know how to name yet.

But even as I laughed at Theo’s commentary on Professor Sinistra’s increasingly aggressive snow-themed lesson plans, I couldn’t ignore the quiet coil of nerves in my stomach.

Because today was Hogsmeade.

And Draco had asked me to go.

The wind cut sharper than usual that morning, pulling at my scarf as I stepped outside the castle doors. Snow had begun to gather along the edges of the path, a soft dusting of white that crunched faintly beneath my boots. I pulled my coat tighter and exhaled into the chill, watching the plume of breath vanish into the air.

He was already there.

Leaning against the low wall just beyond the steps, hands tucked into his pockets, scarf looped around his neck in a perfectly casual knot that I was almost certain had taken him ten minutes in the mirror. His hair was tousled just slightly by the wind, and when he looked up and saw me, something shifted behind his eyes—softened.

“You’re late,” he said, but it wasn’t an accusation.

“You’re early,” I replied, forcing my voice not to shake from the cold or anything else.

He pushed off the wall and fell into step beside me without a word.

We started down the sloping path toward Hogsmeade, the castle receding behind us. The morning was still, crisp. Our boots echoed in unison on the frozen ground.

It wasn’t until we’d reached the outskirts of the village that either of us spoke.

“I thought you might change your mind,” he said.

I glanced at him. “About what?”

“This.”

“You mean going to Hogsmeade with someone who once called me a ‘filthy little know-it-all’ and meant it?”

He winced. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“Oh, so just the ‘filthy’ and ‘little’ parts, then?”

He looked at me sidelong, mouth twitching. “You’ve grown.”

I bit back a smile. “Some of us had to.”

A pause stretched between us. Then—

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

That stopped me. Not the words—but the way he said them. Quiet. Earnest. Like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to say it.

“I’m glad I came too,” I said softly, and meant it.

We walked into the heart of the village together—past Honeydukes, where students were already filing out with sugar-frosted bags; past Zonko’s, where first years shrieked over joke wands and dungbombs. Everything felt alive with cold and color and noise, and yet somehow… it didn’t feel overwhelming.

Not with him beside me.

He held the door open for me at the Three Broomsticks, and we stepped into warmth and woodsmoke. I tugged off my gloves as we settled into a booth near the back, quiet but not hidden.

Madam Rosmerta brought over two steaming mugs of butterbeer, and I wrapped my hands around mine gratefully. Draco sipped his slowly, eyes fixed on the window beside us, watching the flurries start to fall.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, and I mirrored him without thinking.

“Granger,” he said, voice low. “You know I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

“This,” he said again. “Us. People. Feelings.”

I looked at him. Really looked. “You’re doing fine.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And for the record, I’m not exactly an expert either.”

We sat there for a long time, sipping our drinks while the snow drifted down outside the window and the fire crackled low beside us.

“I know you already told me a bit,” he said, his voice low, “but… what happened with you and Weasley? I always figured you’d end up with him. Or Potter. But it seems like you and him barely speak, and I haven’t seen you with Harry much this year either.”

I didn’t answer at first. My fingers tightened slightly around the mug, the heat biting at skin that was already too raw.

“It’s complicated,” I said, because that was easier than the truth.

Draco didn’t speak. He just waited—quiet and still in that maddening way of his, like silence was another one of his talents.

I sighed and glanced down at the swirls of foam in my butterbeer. “Ron and I weren’t really right for each other,” I said. “He was so eager to move on from everything, and I…” My voice trailed off. “I just couldn’t. I still can’t. I’m not the same person I was before, and Ron desperately wanted me to be.”

Draco didn’t say anything, but I felt his eyes on me—steady, unreadable.

“He thought if we just… kept going, pretended none of it broke us, we’d be fine. Like grief and trauma were things you could outpace if you just walked fast enough.”

I looked up, meeting his gaze. “But I didn’t want to forget. I couldn’t. I still hear it, sometimes. See it. And he hated that I wouldn’t pretend.”

Draco’s jaw tensed slightly, but he didn’t look away.

“And Harry,” I added, my voice quieter now, “he doesn’t push. He’s… kind. But I think being around me reminds him too much of what we lost. Of who we were before. So we just… drifted.”

The words fell too easily from my mouth—too naturally. I hadn’t meant to say this much. I hadn’t opened up like this to anyone, not even Ginny. Not really. But somehow, with him, it didn’t feel like exposure. It felt… safe. Easier than it should’ve been.

“I’ve never told anyone that,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “Not like this.”

Draco’s expression softened, the smallest flicker of surprise behind his eyes. “Then I’m honored,” he said quietly, and somehow it didn’t sound sarcastic.

“You seem different now,” he said, eyes on me. “Like something’s gone quiet in you.” He paused, then added, “I never thought I’d see the day the Golden Girl lost her shine.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t call me that,” I muttered. “I didn’t do anything anyone else didn’t do. They just needed a face for the winning side.”

I swirled the foam in my butterbeer, my voice dropping lower. “I didn’t ask to be paraded around. I didn’t want the attention. But someone had to look like they came out whole, I suppose. And I was the easiest lie to sell.”

I felt his gaze on me, steady and silent.

“I’m not who I was,” I said quietly. “And I don’t think I ever will be again.”

He was quiet for a long moment, the firelight flickering in the curve of his jaw. Then, softly—too softly—he said,

“Is that what did it? All that attention? Is that what hollowed you out?”

I froze.

It wasn’t mocking. Not quite. There was something else in his voice. Curiosity, maybe. Or the faintest edge of something like concern.

I didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. Because the truth was—I didn’t know. Maybe it was the war. Maybe it was what came after. Maybe it was all of it.

“I think,” I said slowly, my throat tight, “I just got tired of trying to be everything everyone needed.”

Draco nodded once, gaze still on me.

“You were never allowed to fall apart.”

“And now that I have,” I said, my voice cracking slightly, “no one knows what to do with me.”

He was still looking at me. Still silent.

The weight of it made my skin prickle.

“What?” I asked, trying for something light. It came out thinner than I meant.

Draco looked away then, jaw flexing once. “I just—” he stopped. Tried again. “I know what that’s like.”

I blinked. “What is?”

He hesitated. Then said, “Being what everyone else needs you to be. Playing the part so well… you don’t realize what it’s costing you until it’s already gone.”

There was a rawness to the way he said it. Not dramatic—just stripped bare.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to.

He gave a breath of a laugh. “The war ended, and everyone wanted me to be grateful I wasn’t rotting in a cell. That should’ve been enough, right? But no one ever asked if I made it out in one piece.”

His voice was too calm. Detached in the way that meant it still hurt.

My chest tightened. “Did you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “Not really.”

The words settled between us like ash. Soft, but heavy.

I watched him. The tension in his jaw. The stillness in his shoulders. And beneath all of it, the truth he wasn’t trying to hide anymore.

“Sometimes,” he added, voice low, “I think I survived just enough to feel it. That’s the real punishment, isn’t it? Being left with all the pieces.”

I didn’t realize I’d reached for his hand until my fingers brushed his.

Draco glanced down, startled—but he didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

The silence stretched.

Not tense. Not soft.

Just there.

Eventually, I pulled my hand back. He let me.

We didn’t say anything else for a long while. Just sat there, surrounded by the low hum of the pub, the clink of glasses, the crackle of the fire.

The walk back to the castle was quiet, but not tense. The snow had thinned to a soft flurry, brushing over rooftops and cobblestones like powdered sugar. Our footsteps crunched in rhythm, slow and aimless, neither of us in any real hurry.

Draco kept his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.

“Do you always walk this slow?” I asked, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

He gave a faint scoff. “Do you always walk like you’re trying to win something?”

I smiled despite myself. “Force of habit.”

We fell quiet again. But it was a companionable silence, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

After a while, he glanced over. “You staying for the holidays?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I was invited to the Burrow, but…” My voice trailed off. “It didn’t feel right.”

His eyes flicked toward me. “Because of Weasley?”

I hesitated. “Partly. But mostly because I don’t feel like pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. They’re all so ready to move on. Ron especially.”

Draco didn’t say anything right away. Just looked ahead, watching the faint lights of the castle flicker in the distance.

“I’ll be here too,” he said eventually.

That surprised me more than it should’ve. “You’re not going home?”

He shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

Something in his voice made me glance over. His jaw was tight, gaze fixed ahead.

“I get it,” I said quietly.

He didn’t reply, but after a few moments, his shoulder brushed mine again. This time, it didn’t feel like an accident.

And neither of us pulled away.

When I pushed open the door to my dormitory, I was met with the sharp scent of cinnamon, the rustle of fabric, and the unmistakable sound of Theo Nott rifling through my desk drawers.

“Honestly,” I said flatly, “do you live here?”

Theo popped his head up from where he was now lounging on my bed like he paid rent, a half-eaten chocolate frog in one hand. “Not officially. But your snacks are better and your bed has superior bounce.”

Ginny spun around from in front of the mirror, a brush in one hand and a smirk already blooming across her face. “So,” she said, drawing the word out far too innocently. “How was your little date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” I said, shutting the door behind me. My voice was far too defensive for someone who was allegedly unaffected.

Theo gasped dramatically. “So defensive for someone who didn’t go on a date!”

I groaned and crossed the room, tossing my coat onto the chair. “You two are insufferable.”

“Did he hold your hand?” Ginny asked, far too gleefully. “Did he kiss you behind a snow-covered hedge? Whisper something emotionally repressed and vaguely poetic?”

“Did he buy you a trinket?” Theo added. “Because if Malfoy starts gifting jewelry, I’m going to demand reparations for every Christmas he forgot I existed.”

I ignored them and headed to the wardrobe. “There’s a party tonight, isn’t there?”

“Obviously,” Ginny said. “And you’re coming.”

Theo sat up straighter. “More importantly, he’s coming.”

I hesitated, fingers trailing the edge of my top drawer. “And?”

“And you need to look both effortless and unattainable,” Theo said, standing and clapping his hands. “Which means we’re going to intervene.”

“I’m not dressing up for anyone.”

Ginny stepped in front of me and raised a brow. “We didn’t say you were. We’re dressing you up because it’s fun, and because we like you, and because you might as well look incredible if you’re going to spend the evening pretending you don’t want to kiss him again.”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

Ginny pulled a soft, pale top from the wardrobe and held it up with a grin. “What about this one? It’s understated, but flattering. And you’ve got the arms for it.”

I hesitated.

It was short-sleeved.

“No,” I said quickly, reaching for something else. “Not that one.”

She blinked. “Why not? It’s just—”

“I don’t want anything short-sleeved,” I said, sharper than I meant to. My fingers tightened around the edge of the drawer.

A beat passed. The room quieted.

Theo, now perched near the foot of the bed, glanced up from where he was unwrapping another chocolate frog. He didn’t say anything. Neither did Ginny.

I looked down, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “I just… don’t want to show my arms.”

Ginny’s expression softened. She folded the top carefully and set it aside like it might shatter. “Okay. Of course.”

No one mentioned the scar.

They didn’t need to.

But it hung there anyway—in the silence, in the shift of my shoulders, in the way I kept my back to them as I pulled out a long-sleeved sweater instead. Warm. Safe. Covered.

The knot in my chest didn’t loosen, but it didn’t tighten either.

Because they didn’t push.

And I was grateful for that.

I hated how quickly the memory could surface. How even fabric could feel like a weapon.

Theo didn’t say anything else. Just wandered back toward Ginny’s bed and plucked a another chocolate frog from the box on her nightstand.

Ginny folded the shirt away quietly. “We’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.”

I nodded and turned toward the mirror, smoothing down my sleeves one last time. The cotton clung too tight at my shoulders, but it was better this way. Safer.

The walk to the observatory was quiet—comfortable, for the most part. Theo chattered about some first-year who had spelled his eyebrows off during Charms, and Ginny rolled her eyes in mock horror, but I only half-listened. My thoughts moved ahead of us, climbing the spiral stairs before we did.

The tower was already glowing with lanternlight by the time we reached the top, golden orbs bobbing near the ceiling, music low and thrumming like a heartbeat underfoot. The same scattered cushions, the same window fog, the same lazy chaos of eighth-years pretending everything was fine.

And there he was.

Draco stood near the far edge of the room, silhouetted by one of the tall windows, a glass in his hand. Not watching. Not waiting.

But when I stepped into the room, he looked up.

And something in his face shifted—just enough for me to feel it. Not a smile. Not a smirk. Just… recognition.

Theo was already elbow-deep in the drinks table. Ginny disappeared into a circle of girls I didn’t recognize.

But I stayed still for a second too long, caught in the flicker of his gaze. And suddenly, the air felt thinner. The room louder.

The lanternlight cast soft shadows across the stone, and I’d just settled against the edge of the cushions when Theo appeared, drink in hand and grin far too smug to be trusted.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, holding the glass out like an offering. “And before you ask—yes, we’re playing again.”

I took the drink cautiously. “Truth or Dare?”

He winked. “With Veritaserum, of course. You didn’t think we’d revert to the amateur version, did you?”

I glanced toward the circle of students already forming near the fireplace—Blaise lazily swirled a glass of something dark while Luna sat cross-legged beside Pansy, who looked like she’d rather be hexed. Ginny was there too, already watching me with raised brows.

“How long have you been playing?”

Theo shrugged. “Couple rounds. Zabini admitted he once kissed a portrait, so the bar is, as always, blessedly low.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. “And you want me to join in?”

“I want to see what our golden girl says when she can’t edit herself,” he said, then added, more gently, “Come on. Just for a bit.”

I hesitated, then stood, drink still in hand. The music had faded behind us, replaced with the low murmur of curiosity and dare-fueled anticipation.

“Fine,” I said. “But if I end up admitting I once cried over a bad Arithmancy grade, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.” he said with a grin, voice low near my ear. “Now hurry up, you’re late. We’re mid-round, and you’ve just been volunteered.”

I raised a brow but let him steer me over to the circle where the game had clearly been going for some time. The usual group was sprawled across cushions and blankets, empty glasses and laughter scattered in equal measure. I slipped into the spot between Ginny and Theo, my drink already in hand.

Ginny leaned in as I settled beside her. “You missed a good one—Theo admitted he cried during The Tale of the Three Brothers.”

“Alright, yes, but it wasn’t the story,” Theo said quickly, holding up a hand. “It was the part with the second brother. And the—just—shut up, it was sad.”

Theo cleared his throat dramatically. “Right, Hermione’s turn.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

“You showed up,” he countered. “That’s agreement enough. Truth or dare?”

The circle quieted slightly, eyes shifting toward me.

I took a sip from the drink he handed me. The familiar fizz of Veritaserum laced through it—weak enough to keep things safe, strong enough to make lying impossible.

“Truth,” I said.

Theo grinned like he’d been hoping for that. “Alright, Granger. What’s something you’ve never told anyone here—but think about more than you should?”

The laughter faded into a hush. My fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

I glanced around the circle. Most of them were watching curiously. Draco was leaning back, long legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes unreadable—but on me.

The words spilled out before I could stop them.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever really feel normal again,” I said, quietly. “Like… if this is it now. Pretending to be fine while still carrying all the pieces that broke.”

The room went still for a beat. Even Theo didn’t jump in to fill the silence.

Then Ginny reached over and squeezed my hand.

Theo exhaled. “Alright. Starting the emotional spiral early tonight, are we?”

I gave him a look.

Pansy snorted. “God, this is bleak. Are we trauma bonding now?”

Laughter returned—easing the tension, if not erasing it.

And when I glanced back across the circle, Draco was still watching me.

But this time, there was no distance in it at all.

His expression wasn’t mocking, or cold, or unreadable. It was open in a way that made my stomach tighten—a flicker of something curious, and quiet, and just for me.

I looked away first.

Ginny nudged me with her knee, smirking. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I muttered, taking another sip of my drink to cover the flush rising in my cheeks.

Theo clapped his hands once, sharp enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Alright, enough sappy staring contests. Let’s keep the game moving.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Planning to be entertaining this round, Nott?”

“I’m always entertaining,” Theo said breezily. “You lot just lack taste.”

He looked around the circle with faux solemnity. “Let’s see… Pansy.”

She lifted her chin, lips pursed. “Truth.”

Theo leaned forward with a wicked grin, Veritaserum glinting on his tongue. “Alright, Pansy. Who here do you absolutely can’t stand—but pretend to tolerate?”

The group let out a collective “Oooooh,” and Pansy’s eyes narrowed like she’d been waiting to be provoked.

She didn’t hesitate.

“Granger,” she said flatly.

The laughter died fast.

My stomach tensed, but I kept my expression neutral. Expected. She wanted a reaction.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“She’s smug, self-righteous, and acts like she’s above all of us,” Pansy said coolly. “And now she’s slumming it with Draco like that’s not the most transparent cry for attention I’ve ever seen.”

Draco stiffened across from me.

But I just raised my glass. “Cheers to honesty, then.”

Theo blinked. “That was—direct.”

“She’s not wrong,” Blaise added lightly, clearly trying to steer things away from the edge. “But she’s not right, either.”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t give her the satisfaction.

Instead, I sipped my drink, then met her eyes with all the cool, measured calm I could muster.

“You know, Pansy,” I said, my voice smooth, “for someone who claims to be so above me, you spend an awful lot of time watching who I talk to.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the circle.

Pansy’s lips curled into something that might’ve been a sneer—or a snarl. “I’m just wondering how long it’ll take before you wreck him too.”

My smile didn’t waver. “Careful. That almost sounded like concern.”

More laughter followed—louder this time.

And across the circle, Draco stood.

No one said anything as he stepped over Theo’s legs and circled the fire, every movement slow, deliberate. The tension cracked open and rearranged itself.

When he dropped onto the cushion beside me—shoulder brushing mine—my heart skipped in a way that had nothing to do with firewhisky.

He didn’t look at Pansy.

Didn’t say a word.

Just sat beside me like it was the only place he was meant to be.

Ginny raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment. Theo let out a soft, impressed whistle.

“Alright,” he said, dragging the attention back to himself with a grin. “That’s enough claws for one round. Time to move on.”

“Thank Merlin,” Blaise muttered. “Before this turns into a duel.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I murmured, breathless and buzzing.

Draco leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

“She doesn’t deserve your attention,” he murmured. “But I’m glad you gave it to her anyway.”

I didn’t look at him.

Couldn’t.

Not with the way my heart tripped over itself at the warmth in his voice—quiet, steady, like a thread pulling me closer.

Theo clapped his hands together, drawing the group’s attention like he was hosting a game show. “Right, moving on from the Granger-Malfoy-Parkinson Situation—Ginny. Truth or dare?”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Truth. But if this is about my underwear preferences again, I swear I’ll hex you.”

He looked mock-offended. “I would never repeat questions.”

She snorted. “That’s a lie.”

Theo gave a devilish grin. “Fine, new one. If you had to snog one person in this room who isn’t me, who would it be?”

Ginny leaned back, swirling her drink. “Honestly?”

“Oh, please say Pansy,” Theo muttered.

“After you, I was going to say Blaise. But only because I think he’d be the type to make it all about me.”

Blaise raised his glass. “As I should.”

Laughter rippled around the circle, but Theo only grinned wider. “So I’m still the top choice. That’s all I needed.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” Ginny warned.

“You love me.”

“Questionable.”

Theo turned back to the group. “Alright, next. Draco—truth or dare?”

A hush settled for a beat. Draco didn’t flinch. “Truth.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “When did you realize you fancied Hermione?”

The silence this time wasn’t playful—it was pointed. Amused, but charged.

Draco didn’t look away. Didn’t smirk. Just sipped from his drink, then said calmly, “Probably sometime around the fourth or fifth time she insulted me and still made more sense than everyone else in the room.”

My stomach dipped.

The group let out a collective noise—something between a groan and an ooooh. Ginny turned slowly to look at me, but I didn’t meet her eyes. I was too busy pretending not to feel like the floor had tilted.

Across the circle, Pansy’s expression had gone sharp. Her jaw tightened, and she took a long sip of her drink, eyes flicking between Draco and me with something close to fury.

Theo, to his credit, didn’t press.

“Well,” he said lightly, “glad we’re all making horrible, irreversible decisions this year. Ginny, your turn.”

But she was already looking at me, her eyes dancing.

“Hermione,” she said sweetly. “Truth or dare?”

I took a long sip of my drink.

“Truth.”

She grinned. “When did you realize you fancied him?”

Theo whooped.

I groaned, leaning my head back. “I walked right into that.”

But the truth was already curling its way up my throat. Because this wasn’t a game anymore. Not really.

I glanced sideways, where Draco still sat—close enough that his knee brushed mine.

And for once, I didn’t try to pretend.

“When he stood up for me,” I said quietly. “In the Hall. I think… that was the first time I actually saw him.”

He was close—too close. Our knees touched, and neither of us pulled away. The low hum of the room faded, the muffled laughter and shifting cushions and half-drunk dares falling away into background noise.

His voice was quiet, meant only for me. “You look like you’re still thinking about kissing me.”

My breath caught, heart lurching traitorously in my chest.

“I’m not,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just looked at me with that same calm intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“I know,” he said, gaze dropping—once—to my mouth. “You’re thinking about doing it again.”

The air between us snapped taut.

I hated how right he was.

And how badly I wanted to stop pretending he wasn’t.

His fingers brushed mine, the touch barely there—like he was waiting to see if I’d pull away.

I didn’t.

And gods help me, I didn’t want to.

“Alright,” Theo said, voice dry and perfectly timed, “if you two start shagging in the circle, I’m throwing myself out the window.”

Laughter burst around us, breaking the tension like a pin to a balloon. Ginny elbowed Theo hard, half-laughing, half-scolding, and Blaise let out a low whistle, raising his drink like a toast to something inevitable.

I rolled my eyes, but I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Draco didn’t move, didn’t even blink—just sat there beside me, hand still grazing mine, like he hadn’t heard a thing. Like the whole room wasn’t slowly rearranging itself around the weight of whatever this was.

But of course, Pansy couldn’t leave it alone.

She leaned forward, dark hair swinging over her shoulder, a saccharine smile curving at her mouth. “So… what is this, then?” she asked, voice dripping with mock curiosity. “Are you two actually a thing now, or is she just your latest little charity case, Draco?”

My stomach twisted, but I didn’t flinch.

Draco didn’t either.

He didn’t hesitate.

“We’re together,” he said, his voice steady. Final.

The words landed like a spell. No fanfare. No dramatic pause. Just fact.

The room stilled again—but not in shock this time. Not entirely.

Ginny blinked once, then smiled. Broad. Unapologetic.

Theo let out a long, satisfied exhale. “Finally.”

Pansy’s expression didn’t shift much, but something sharp flickered in her eyes—jealousy, maybe. Or disbelief. Either way, she didn’t speak.

Draco’s hand brushed against mine again—barely there, but deliberate.

I didn’t pull away.

Instead of speaking, I slid my fingers into his, threading them together like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was.

Let them think what they wanted.

I wasn’t pretending anymore.

Draco didn’t look away from me. And I didn’t look away from him.

Because the truth was, it didn’t feel like a performance.

It felt like a beginning.

Chapter Text

“You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress, simultaneously.”

The copy of the Daily Prophet landed on our table with an audible slap.

I didn’t even have to look up. I could feel it—like a shift in air pressure, like the moments before a storm breaks.

Ginny leaned in first. “Oh no,” she breathed.

Theo let out a low whistle. “Well. That didn’t take long.”

I glanced down at the front page.

There it was. In full colour. The photograph from our Hogsmeade trip—Draco and me leaving the Three Broomsticks. I was laughing at something he’d just said, head tilted, eyes crinkled. He was looking at me with that soft, unreadable expression he reserved for quiet moments.

It looked… intimate. Comfortable. Real.

And above it, in Rita Skeeter’s signature acidic flourish, the headline screamed:

“Golden Girl Gone Dark: Hermione Granger’s Secret Romance with Draco Malfoy Exposed!”

Beneath it, a pull quote: “Once the pride of the wizarding world, is Granger now choosing passion over principle?”

My stomach twisted.

Theo read aloud, voice dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “Sources say the two have been ‘sneaking around the castle for weeks’ and that Malfoy—once a known associate of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—has clearly found a way to sink his claws into the Gryffindor poster girl.” He looked up. “Classy.”

“Keep going,” Draco said smoothly, reaching for his tea like this wasn’t the public relations crisis of the decade.

Ginny was already halfway through the second column. “Oh, she dragged in Ron. ‘Granger, who famously dated Ronald Weasley during the war, seems to have moved on—with his schoolyard rival, no less. Friends say the fallout has been… explosive.’” She winced. “Yikes.”

A few students nearby were already whispering. I could feel their eyes on us, see the paper being passed from hand to hand.

Draco turned a page in his book like he couldn’t be less interested. “At least she used a flattering photo.”

I shoved the paper aside and stared at him. “You knew this would happen.”

“I suspected,” he said. “Skeeter’s been sniffing around ever since that Ministry-funded rebuild project started. She’s bored.”

“Draco,” I hissed. “This is bad. Really bad. My name’s on the front page next to yours.”

He met my eyes, calm as ever. “Would you prefer I didn’t sit with you?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Because no. No, I wouldn’t.

Ginny glanced at me, then at him. “So what’s the plan? Pretend it’s not a big deal?”

Theo popped a grape into his mouth. “No need to pretend. They are a big deal. Hogwarts’ hottest couple. The controversy writes itself.”

I groaned.

But when I looked at Draco again, he was still watching me—not smug, not teasing.

Just steady.

And for some reason, that made it easier to breathe.

Because maybe I couldn’t control the headlines.

But I could choose this.

I already had.

The whispers followed us like shadows.

By mid-morning, it felt like the entire castle had seen the Prophet. Or at least, acted like they had.

In Charms, three girls turned in their seats just to stare. In the corridor, a first-year dropped her inkpot when Draco passed by. In the library, Madam Pince gave me a look that could’ve curdled milk.

I tried to focus. To keep my chin high and my eyes forward. But it was impossible not to hear it.

“Did you see the photo?”

“She’s with him?”

“After everything his family—”

“Maybe it’s some kind of spell. The Imperius Curse, maybe.”

The worst part?

No one said it to my face.

They just murmured. Stared. Waited for me to crack.

By lunchtime, I was ready to vanish under an Invisibility Cloak and never reappear. I ducked into the far end of Auric Hall, the corners mercifully quieter than the long central tables.

Draco was already there.

He didn’t say anything as I sat down beside him. Just slid a mug of tea in my direction and kept eating, cool as ever.

I stared at the steam curling off the cup. “Are you always this calm?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been publicly hated before. This is nothing new.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

Ginny and Theo arrived a minute later, Ginny practically tossing her bag onto the bench.

“Okay,” she said, breathless, “half the 6th years think you’ve been secretly shagging since third year, the 7th years are praying it’s a misunderstanding, and Ernie Macmillan is giving serious ‘betrayal of the blood war dead’ energy.”

“Lovely,” I muttered.

Theo grinned as he slid in beside Ginny. “Good news is, the Slytherins are mostly shocked it didn’t happen sooner.”

Draco shrugged. “They’ll live.”

I rested my chin on my hand. “Should we be doing something? Like damage control?”

Ginny made a face. “What are you going to do, hold a press conference in the Astronomy Tower?”

Theo leaned forward. “Or—hear me out—do absolutely nothing, and let people choke on their curiosity.”

I blinked at him.

He smiled. “Honestly, it’s kind of hot. You two showing up like nothing’s wrong while everyone else loses their minds. I say lean in.”

Draco glanced sideways at me. “We could kiss right here, right now in front of everyone.”

I nearly choked. “No.”

“Just a suggestion.”

Ginny grinned. “You’re officially the most scandalous couple at Hogwarts.”

I sighed. “That was not the goal.”

“No,” Draco said, his voice quiet and certain. “But it’s real.”

I met his eyes.

And despite everything—the headlines, the stares, the whispers—I believed him.

Because under the weight of all that attention, he still looked at me like nothing else mattered.

And maybe that was enough.

I sat slowly, hands wrapped around my own mug to steady them. “It’ll blow over,” I said. “It always does.”

But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Because it wasn’t just a headline this time.

It was us.

And the world had finally noticed.

I found a quiet corner near the courtyard steps after lunch, needing air that didn’t come with a side of whispering. The chill bit through my jumper, but I welcomed it. It helped me feel present—like I wasn’t spiralling through some surreal alternate version of my life.

Footsteps crunched behind me.

I didn’t have to look.

“Don’t say anything,” I said quietly. “I’ve already heard it all.”

“I’m not here to say anything,” Harry said.

That surprised me. Enough that I turned to face him.

He looked uncertain—hands in his pockets, mouth tight, as if he’d rehearsed this a dozen times and hated every version of it.

“I saw the Prophet,” he said, voice lower now. “Everyone has.”

I nodded. “I figured.”

“I just…” he sighed, stepping closer, eyes searching mine. “I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. I didn’t want to be Ron.”

That stung more than I expected.

“I didn’t plan any of this,” I said. “It wasn’t some long scheme or secret. It just… happened.”

Harry nodded slowly, but he didn’t look away.

“Is it real?” he asked.

I swallowed. “I think so.”

Silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable. Not warm either.

Just true.

“Okay,” he said finally. “That’s enough for me.”

I blinked. “Really?”

He gave me a wry, tired smile. “I don’t get it, exactly. And I’m not saying I’m thrilled about seeing you snog Malfoy in public anytime soon. But… if it’s real, and it’s what you want—then I trust you.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I let it out. “Thank you.”

“Ron’s going to have a fit,” he added, half-heartedly.

“He already did.”

We both stood in the quiet, the wind tugging at our sleeves, the castle rising behind us like it always had.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe—maybe—I hadn’t lost everything.

“I’m here,” Harry said. “Whatever happens. Even if you keep doing wildly out-of-character things.”

I smiled. “Like falling for Draco Malfoy?”

He gave a faint, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. Like that.”

Harry rocked back on his heels, gaze drifting toward the far end of the courtyard where the sun was beginning to break through the clouds.

He hesitated.

Then—softly—“Is she happy?”

I didn’t have to ask who he meant.

I followed his gaze, imagining Ginny’s laugh echoing through the tower, the way her eyes lit up when Theo said something ridiculous, the way she leaned into him now without even realizing it.

“Yes,” I said. “She is.”

Harry nodded, slowly. But he didn’t smile.

“I figured,” he said after a moment. “Theo’s not… what I expected.”

“No,” I agreed. “He’s not.”

There was another pause—longer this time. Not heavy, but full of the things we weren’t saying. Of what had been lost. Of what had changed.

“I’m glad she’s happy,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Really, I am.”

He hesitated, then added, “I’ll see you later, Mione.”

We walked in silence at first, but it wasn’t awkward. There was a kind of calm between us now—an easy rhythm that had taken root somewhere between shared glances and smuggled library conversations. He kept just close enough that our shoulders brushed every few steps. I didn’t think he noticed. I didn’t think he did it on purpose.

I hoped he did.

The castle glowed gold with early evening light. The stone corridors echoed faintly with footsteps and laughter, but I barely registered them. Not with him beside me. Not when everything still felt new and electric and fragile in a way I wasn’t ready to name.

Draco was quiet until we turned the final corner near Eldritch Tower.

“I suppose you’ve heard about the Yule Ball,” he said, his tone casual but clipped at the edges.

I glanced at him. “Of course. McGonagall announced it after lunch.”

“Hm.”

I waited.

When he didn’t continue, I said, “Are you… going?”

He shrugged. “Figured I should. It’s eighth year. Last chance to see how poorly dressed everyone else is.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. “So you’re going to stand in the corner and judge people?”

“Not if I have a date,” he said smoothly.

I slowed slightly. “Do you?”

He stopped walking.

I turned, heart thudding in that ridiculous, traitorous way it always did around him now.

“I was hoping you might go with me,” he said, voice quieter now. “Unless… it’s too much. After everything.”

The “everything” didn’t need explaining. The Prophet. Ron. The whispers. The stares. The risk.

I looked up at him, and for a second, he didn’t look like Malfoy at all—just a boy hoping for a yes.

“I’d love to,” I said.

And the smile that tugged at his mouth—not smug, not biting—made me feel warmer than I cared to admit.

We reached the door to my room, laughter still clinging to the edges of the silence between us. I reached for the handle, ready to drop off my things and head to dinner.

I pushed the door open—

And froze.

So did he.

Because Ginny was very much not alone.

She was tangled in Theo, both of them half-undressed, entirely too focused on each other to notice us. Her hair spilled over his chest, his hands on her waist, her thighs bracketing his hips as they—

“Oh bloody hell,” I blurted, backing into Draco so hard I nearly knocked us both over.

Theo’s head snapped up. Ginny squeaked, diving for a blanket that no longer had any hope of saving her dignity.

“Hermione?!” she gasped, crimson-faced. “Draco?!”

Theo just blinked, unfazed. “Well,” he said, breathless and smug. “Didn’t expect company.”

Draco made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.

I slammed the door shut with a yelp. “I live here, Ginny!”

“Apparently not tonight,” Theo called faintly from inside.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, turning to Draco, who was now covering his mouth with the back of his hand in what was definitely an attempt to smother a laugh.

“You’re not helping,” I snapped, mortified.

“On the contrary,” he said calmly. “That was the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

“I need to bleach my eyes.”

“You need to lock your door.”

“I thought she would,” I hissed.

We stood in the corridor, staring at the now-closed door, the sound of frantic movement still coming from inside.

Draco finally said, “My room’s down the hall.”

I stared at him.

He raised a brow. “Unless you’d rather wait until they finish?”

I let out a desperate groan.

“Come on, Granger,” he said, already turning. “It’s either this or you sit out here and listen.”

So I followed. Of course I did.

Because despite the embarrassment still crawling up my neck, there was nowhere I’d rather be than next to him.

Even if my face was still on fire.

We made a quick stop at his room to drop off our things, then headed down to dinner.

The Hall was still mostly empty when we arrived. A few early stragglers lingered at the long tables, their voices low, the atmosphere quiet. Safe.

And—thankfully—completely free of best friends mid-hookup.

I sat down and immediately buried my face in my hands.

“I’ll never sleep again,” I groaned.

Draco, far too amused, slid into the seat beside me. “You’ll survive.”

“I walked in on my best friend with your best friend. In my room.”

“That part’s unfortunate,” he conceded. “But the rest? Surprisingly entertaining.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Granger,” he said, picking up a spoon and idly examining it, “I just witnessed Nott’s bare ass in broad daylight. If I don’t laugh, I’ll be scarred.”

I shook my head, half-laughing despite myself. “You’re impossible.”

“Possibly.”

We didn’t have to wait long.

Fifteen minutes later, Ginny and Theo strolled in like nothing had happened. Ginny’s hair was freshly brushed, face scrubbed clean, but she still refused to meet my eyes. Theo, on the other hand, looked very pleased with himself.

They sat down across from us. Ginny cleared her throat. “Hi.”

I stared at her.

Theo raised his eyebrows in greeting. “Fancy seeing you two here.”

“Oh?” Draco said smoothly. “I would’ve thought you’d need more recovery time.”

Theo just grinned, utterly unbothered. “I’m young. Resilient.”

Draco tilted his head, an infuriating glint in his eyes. “Fast.”

Ginny choked on her water.

“That was fast, Theo,” Draco continued, plucking a roll from the basket with maddening calm. “You know, that’s really no way to please a woman.”

Theo didn’t even blink. “She seemed plenty pleased to me.”

Ginny’s entire face turned red. “Oh my god, shut up, both of you.”

I just dropped my head to the table.

There was a long pause.

Then Draco murmured, “Bet the bed’s still warm.”

“DRACO!”

He shrugged, utterly unapologetic.

Ginny made a noise that sounded like a dying owl and buried her face in Theo’s shoulder.

I groaned into the table again. “I hate all of you.”

Theo beamed. “We know.”

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”

“Yule Ball?” Ginny offered, too innocently.

Theo perked up immediately, seizing the opportunity. “Actually…”

He turned to her with mock gravity. “Ginevra Weasley, will you do me the honor of not being caught snogging anyone else when I ask you to dance?”

Ginny smacked him lightly on the arm. “Try asking me like a normal person and maybe I’ll consider it.”

He grinned. “Will you go with me?”

She rolled her eyes—then smiled. “Yeah. I will.”

They both tried not to look too pleased with themselves and failed miserably.

Theo raised his goblet. “To questionable decisions and public declarations.”

Draco clinked his glass against Theo’s without looking at him. “Speak for yourself. I happen to be making excellent decisions.”

His hand found my knee under the table, and my breath caught. I didn’t look at him, but my fingers brushed lightly over his—just enough to say I noticed.

“So it’s official then?” Ginny asked, glancing between us. “You’re going together?”

Draco nodded. “Already asked her.”

“And you said yes?” Theo asked, eyebrow arched at me.

“I did,” I said, lifting my drink. “Apparently, I’ve completely lost my mind.”

“She has,” Draco said, voice dry. “But fortunately, I quite like her that way.”

The table went quiet for a beat—not awkward, just warm. Easy. Ginny was smiling into her plate. Theo looked almost… approving. It felt weird, this sense of normalcy. After everything.

“So we’re all going together,” Ginny said. “I never thought I’d say this, but… this might actually be fun.”

“Speak for yourself,” Theo muttered. “I’m going to have to find a set of formal robes that doesn’t make me look like I’m on trial.”

“Just wear black,” Draco advised. “It’s slimming. And makes it easier to disappear if the night goes to hell.”

I turned to him. “Is that your plan?”

He smirked. “Only if I forget how to waltz.”

Ginny raised a brow. “Wait—you know how to waltz?”

Theo groaned. “Of course he does. He was probably taught by the same terrifying governess who made him drink etiquette potions at breakfast.”

Draco sipped his drink, unbothered. “Madame Thistlewhite. May she rest in peace.”

“She’s dead?” I asked, startled.

“No,” he said. “Just old. I like to pretend.”

Ginny laughed so hard she choked.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt something loosen in my chest—something light and rare.

Hope.

Theo sighed dramatically. “Well, that’s it then. We’re double dating at the biggest social event of the year.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “I swear, if you show up in dress robes that clash with mine—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You wore a navy jumper to the last poetry reading.”

Draco ignored them, glancing back at me instead. “We can leave early if it’s awful.”

I smiled. “Only if you promise not to start a duel on the dance floor.”

“No promises,” he said smoothly. “Depends on who else tries to ask you to dance.”

Ginny groaned. “You two are going to be unbearable, aren’t you?”

Theo grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

And as Draco’s hand brushed lightly against mine under the table, I felt something twist in my chest—light, warm, and terrifyingly real.

The Yule Ball was two weeks away.

And I had no idea how I was going to survive it.

The days passed in a blur of frostbitten mornings, enchanted snow drifting lazily across the castle grounds, and the hum of holiday magic that seemed to breathe warmth into even the coldest corners of the school.

By the time the last week of term rolled around, the castle had transformed. Icicles glittered along the vaulted archways. Garlands of evergreen and silver ribbon adorned every staircase. Candles floated a little lower than usual in the Great Hall, casting a soft, golden glow over the long, half-empty tables.

Most of the students had settled into a strange sort of intimacy—like we were living in a pocket of time, the castle all ours.

Theo was staying over the break.

He hadn’t said why, not exactly, but his smile had tightened slightly when Ginny asked, and she didn’t press. He’d just shrugged and said, “Not much to go home to,” then promptly changed the subject by announcing he’d be attempting to spike the cocoa in the common room.

Draco was staying, too. That wasn’t a surprise.

What was a surprise was how natural it all felt now.

Us.

He hadn’t said the word—relationship—not yet. But we were something. We were together, in the only way that mattered. And everyone knew it.

The whispers had dulled to background noise. The stares no longer made my skin crawl. We still heard them, of course—but neither of us flinched anymore. Not when he took my hand as we walked to class. Not when he kissed my temple in the corridor.

Not when I let him.

Ginny had been an unrelenting force of chaos and distraction, dragging me through shops upon shops in search of the perfect dress. After three hours and one near-catastrophe involving a self-fitting bodice, she had finally found hers—a deep forest green that made her hair look like fire.

Mine was midnight blue. Simple. Elegant. A little daring.

She’d made me promise not to wear sleeves.

“I want you to feel stunning,” she’d said. “Not small.”

I hadn’t argued. Not this time.

The castle felt different now—quieter, yes, but not empty. It felt like something was coming.

Something bright.

Something big.

And for once, I wasn’t afraid of it.

There was one thing weighing on me though, the whispers hadn’t stopped.

If anything, they’d gotten worse.

The Daily Prophet article had done more than stir interest—it had fanned a flame. Every corridor felt like a spotlight. Every glance another accusation. And though Ginny and Theo tried to make light of it—offering sarcastic commentary, daring anyone to say something to my face—i could feel it pressing in.

Like the walls themselves had started to watch me.

It took me right back to the summer—being watched, whispered about, dissected like I was nothing more than a headline. I hated it then, and I hated it now.

The anxiety was always there now, like a low hum beneath my skin. Simmering. Constant. Some days, I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a panic attack—holding my breath just to stay upright.

It was getting harder to ignore. Harder to pretend it wasn’t scraping at the inside of my ribs.

And today, I didn’t make it through breakfast.

The moment I stepped into Auric Hall, the whispers began—louder than before, closer, sharper. Every glance felt deliberate, every smile brittle. I caught my name more than once, murmured behind cupped hands and narrowed eyes.

Malfoy’s girl.

Granger’s gone mad.

She’ll regret it.

I sat down, hands clenched around my spoon, trying to will the blood in my face to calm. But the moment Draco leaned in to murmur something—harmless, something about class—three heads down the table turned at once.

It was suffocating.

I pushed my plate away and stood without a word.

Ginny called after me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

I walked—no, fled—through the corridors, up the marble staircase, down the long stretch of stone and shadow until the castle thinned behind me and the wind hit full in my face.

The viaduct bridge stretched wide and empty beneath the overcast sky, the mountains a muted blue in the distance. I gripped the edge of the railing and let the cold bite into my fingers.

The whispers weren’t even here, not really. But I could still hear them.

Granger and Malfoy? Did you see the article? It’s disgusting, after everything…

What would Ron think? What does Harry think? What is she thinking?

And then it all blurred.

The air thickened. My chest locked up.

I tried to breathe—but the breath wouldn’t come.

I couldn’t get enough of it. Couldn’t fill my lungs no matter how hard I tried. My chest squeezed tight, like someone had wound ropes around my ribs and was pulling—tighter, tighter, until I couldn’t breathe without pain.

My fingers went numb first. Then my lips.

My vision blurred at the edges, warping like I was looking through water, like the floor had shifted just slightly sideways and my body hadn’t caught up. I reached for the nearest wall—anything solid—but my hand slipped.

My heart was racing. Wild. Erratic. Too fast to be normal. Too loud to be ignored. I could hear it echoing in my ears, pulsing in my throat, drowning out every other thought.

And gods, the thoughts.

You’re not safe. You’re going to pass out. You’re losing control. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe—

I folded in on myself, knees buckling, hands clutching at my chest like I could tear the panic out of my body by force. I didn’t even care if someone saw. I didn’t care if the whole world saw.

I just needed it to stop.

Needed it to end.

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, sharp and hot, but I couldn’t cry properly—not with my throat locked up like this. I felt like I was choking on nothing. Like I was drowning in air.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Just breathe.

But I couldn’t.

I just stood there, eyes burning, jaw locked, willing myself to pull it together.

But the voices wouldn’t stop.

Not the ones in the corridors—the ones in my head.

They’ll never see you the same again.

You were supposed to be better than this.

What would your parents think—if they even remembered you.

The sob caught before I could stop it.

And then it was too late.

The tears came hard and fast, burning as they spilled over. I pressed a hand to my mouth to muffle the sound, chest heaving, vision blurring. My legs felt unsteady, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure I could keep standing.

I didn’t hear him approach.

Didn’t feel him until the warmth of his coat brushed my arm.

Then—

“Granger.”

I froze.

Draco’s voice was soft, careful. Not pitying.

I shook my head, wiping at my face furiously. “Go away.”

“No.”

He stepped closer, the edge of his hand barely grazing mine on the stone. “Not this time.”

I turned, only halfway, eyes still wet, breath ragged. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re crying alone on a freezing bridge,” he said evenly. “Where else would I be?”

I let out a brittle laugh, the sound cracking under the weight of everything. “They’re right, you know.”

His brow furrowed. “About what?”

“That I’ve lost my mind. That I’ve ruined everything. I used to be—”

He cut me off, voice low. “You still are.”

“No,” I said, backing away a step. “I’m not. I’m not who I was before the war. I’m not the girl who held everything together. I’m just—” My voice broke. “—tired. And I’m so bloody tired of pretending I’m fine.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then his hand reached for mine—not forceful, just there. Steady. Waiting.

I didn’t mean to reach back.

But I did.

His fingers laced through mine, cold and sure, grounding me like an anchor. And when I finally looked up, his expression was raw—stripped of sarcasm, of pride, of every mask he usually wore.

There was no trace of his usual sharpness, no carefully calculated indifference. Just him. Bare and unguarded.

His eyes were steady, storm-grey and open in a way that made my breath catch. Like he was letting me see something no one else ever had—something breakable. Something real.

“You don’t have to be fine,” he said. “Not with me.”

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

Because when he stepped forward and kissed me—gently this time, like a promise—I let him.

And the world, just for a moment, went quiet.

When we finally pulled apart, I stayed close, my forehead resting lightly against his chest. His arms came around me without hesitation, one hand sliding up my back, the other threading gently through my hair.

I didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Not at first.

He just held me while the worst of the storm passed. While my breathing slowly evened out and the tremor in my hands dulled into something quieter.

And then, his voice—low, steady—broke the silence.

“You don’t have to keep it together with me.”

The words caught me off guard. I blinked, my cheek still pressed to the front of his coat.

He continued, soft but certain. “You don’t have to smile if you don’t feel like it. You don’t have to be fine. Not with me.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’m so tired of pretending,” I whispered.

“I know.”

His fingers moved slowly through my hair, gentle and unhurried. “You’ve been carrying too much for too long.”

“I have to,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “If I don’t—if I fall apart—”

“You won’t,” he murmured. “Or if you do, I’ll be here to help you put the pieces back.”

That undid me more than anything.

I pulled back just enough to look up at him.

His expression was open—unguarded in a way I wasn’t used to. There was no mockery. No distance. Just him.

Just Draco.

And I saw it clearly then—the weight he carried, too. The sharp edges behind his careful words. The quiet in his eyes that hadn’t always been there.

You still want this? Me?” I asked. “Even like this?”

He reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Especially like this.”

Tears welled in my eyes again—but they didn’t feel like drowning this time.

They felt like breathing.

We stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other, the wind curling around us.

And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—I didn’t feel like I was coming apart.

I felt held. Steady. Enough.

Just as I was.

Chapter Text

“You deserve someone who sees the war you fight and chooses to stand beside you.”

The Yule Ball was tonight, and the castle was humming with energy.

Everywhere I turned, I saw floating candles, enchanted snowflakes, shimmering gowns swishing past. Even the portraits looked brighter—smiling a bit more, nodding with festive approval as we passed.

Theo had already asked me earlier that afternoon if he and Ginny could have our dorm to themselves for the night. His tone was casual, but the implication wasn’t. I could still hear his exact words:

“Look, I’m not saying I’ll be busy—but I’ll be busy. You get me?”

Draco, naturally, had rolled his eyes and muttered something about preferring not to be within range of Theo’s “activities.” I reluctantly agreed—but only after warning Theo that I would hex his balls off if he so much as crossed the midpoint of the room.

Theo, unfazed as ever, offered up his and Draco’s room instead.

When I glanced at Draco, his expression had shifted—just slightly. Quieter. Like he was asking, without asking.

There was no pressure in it. Just… space. An invitation, if I wanted it.

I’d nodded once. That was all it took.

Now, as I stood at the mirror in our shared dorm, smoothing down the bodice of my dark blue dress, I tried not to think about what that nod meant. Or what tonight might become.

Ginny was applying a final touch of lipstick in the mirror beside me. She looked radiant—deep emerald fabric wrapped around her like it had been made for her skin, hair twisted back with golden clips. She caught my eye and smiled.

“Nervous?”

“About the Ball?” I asked, adjusting my necklace. “No.”

“About spending the night in Theo and Draco’s room?”

I gave her a flat look. “Not helping.”

Ginny grinned unapologetically. “You look beautiful, by the way. He’s going to lose his mind.”

“He’s seen me in a dress before.”

“Not like this one,” she said, tugging me into a soft hug. “You’re allowed to enjoy this, you know. You deserve to.”

I wanted to believe her.

But the sleeves were short.

Short enough that my left forearm was exposed—the place where the word had been carved into my skin like a brand. Still there, pink and raised. Still mine.

I’d traced over it absently while getting ready, fingers brushing the pale, puckered skin. It wasn’t raw anymore, but the memory of it still was.

Every time I wore short sleeves, I felt like I was inviting the world to look. To remember. To see me the way Bellatrix wanted me to be seen—marked and ruined and less.

I told myself it was just skin. Just scar tissue. But it wasn’t. It was history etched into my body. Pain turned permanent. And I didn’t know if I was ready to carry that into a ballroom full of laughter and silk and sparkling lights.

Draco hadn’t seen it.

Not like this.

He’d seen me broken. Bloodied. But not… bare.

And I didn’t know what it would do to me if he looked at it like everyone else had—like it was something to pity.

There was a knock at the door.

Ginny beamed. “That’s them.”

My breath caught in my throat. My hand hovered just above my forearm. For a second, I considered grabbing a shawl. Or faking a sudden cold. Or staying behind.

But I didn’t.

Because hiding would mean I was still letting her win.

Ginny opened the door.

Theo stepped in first, all cocky confidence and charm, saying something about how we’d make the other girls cry with jealousy. I barely heard him.

Because then he walked in.

Draco.

And when his eyes found me—everything else stopped.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just… stared.

But not at my arm.

Not at the scar.

At me.

At my face. My eyes. Like he didn’t see the mark at all—or if he did, it didn’t matter.

“You look…” he said, voice quieter than I’d ever heard it, “…incredible.”

Not like he was trying to flatter me.

Like it hurt him to say it. Like I’d knocked the air from his lungs.

Heat rose to my cheeks. But the panic? The sharp, biting shame? It didn’t rise with it.

Because he hadn’t flinched.

He hadn’t looked away.

He’d just looked at me like I was whole.

He offered his arm. I took it with only the slightest hesitation.

The soft click of my heels echoed louder than it should have as we stepped through the archway into the ballroom.

I knew it wasn’t just the sound.

It was the stares.

The music didn’t stop, but something in the air shifted. Heads turned. Whispers followed like shadows behind us, brushing against my back, my arms, my throat.

Draco’s hand found mine.

Not forcefully. Not for show.

Just… steady.

Warm and grounding and there.

The ballroom was beautiful—transfigured ceilings glittering with enchanted frost, chandeliers floating like suspended starlight. Garlands of evergreen and silver shimmered along the walls, and gold-dusted snowflakes drifted slowly from above, melting before they could touch the floor.

I should have felt enchanted.

Instead, I felt exposed.

The short sleeves of my dress felt like a spotlight. The scar on my arm burned even though no one had said a word about it.

He must’ve noticed my hesitation, the way my shoulders tensed.

He leaned in, voice low and close to my ear. “They can stare all they like. You still look like the best thing in this room.”

I swallowed hard.

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” His thumb brushed the side of my hand. “It’s meant to be true.”

I didn’t look at him.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did, I knew I’d crumble — and I’d spent too long putting myself back together for that.

Theo and Ginny were just ahead of us, entirely unbothered by the attention. Theo twirled Ginny once as they reached the edge of the dance floor, her laugh ringing clear as crystal over the hum of the music.

I envied that kind of ease. That boldness. That lightness.

Draco tugged gently at my hand, slowing us to a stop just at the edge of the crowd. “We can leave,” he said simply. “Now, if you want.”

The idea nearly tempted me.

But I didn’t come here to run.

I lifted my chin, exhaled slowly through my nose, and stepped forward.

“They’re going to talk either way,” I murmured.

Draco’s lips curved. “Then let’s give them something worth talking about.”

And he didn’t let go of my hand.

I spotted Harry first.

He stood near the refreshment table, dressed in formal dress robes that looked like he’d let Ginny bully him into something tailored for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. His smile was tight but genuine, his eyes meeting mine with something hesitant—supportive, maybe. A flicker of understanding passed between us. He gave the smallest nod.

I returned it.

Just once.

That was all I could give.

To his left, Blaise Zabini leaned against a pillar, looking entirely too amused. His eyes flicked between me and Draco, and his mouth curled in a slow, appreciative smirk—like this was the most interesting thing he’d seen all year. He raised a glass in our direction, then winked.

Charming. Infuriating. Typical.

I didn’t have time to react before I caught sight of Ron.

He stood stiffly along the far wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His eyes found our joined hands immediately—and then flicked to the scar on my arm like he’d only just remembered it existed. His expression twisted, something bitter carving across his features.

He didn’t look away.

Not once.

Next to him, Pansy Parkinson was trying to pretend she wasn’t seething.

It wasn’t working.

Her eyes were locked on Draco—on me—like she was debating whether to hex us or cry about it first. Her lip curled as she leaned in to whisper something to Daphne Greengrass, who raised one perfectly bored eyebrow but said nothing back.

Draco’s thumb rubbed a slow, absent circle over the back of my hand.

He saw them too.

All of them.

But he didn’t let go.

And neither did I.

The music changed—softening into something orchestral and elegant, the kind of waltz that demanded attention. Around us, couples began drifting toward the center of the floor, pulled by tradition, by timing, by whatever unspoken current drove nights like this.

Draco turned toward me, his grip on my hand tightening just slightly. “Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

But it wasn’t a demand, either.

Just quiet certainty. Like he already knew I’d say yes.

And gods, I hated that he was right.

My stomach twisted as he led me to the floor. Eyes followed us. I could feel them. Each step onto that polished marble felt like stepping onto a stage I hadn’t auditioned for.

But then he turned toward me—one hand sliding to my waist, the other finding mine again with practiced ease—and the music swelled.

And suddenly, the rest of the room felt farther away.

“I don’t waltz,” I whispered.

His lips curved. “You do tonight.”

We began to move, slowly at first, the rhythm settling between us like something ancient and effortless. His hand at my waist was warm and steady, his steps sure. He was good at this. Of course he was.

“I thought you hated these things,” I said softly, trying to distract myself from the closeness. From the way our bodies fit together too well.

“I do,” he murmured, eyes on mine. “But apparently I’ll tolerate one dance. For you.”

Something in my chest clenched.

“You’re not making this easy,” I said.

His thumb brushed lightly across my hand. “Good.”

We turned, drifting past rows of glittering faces—some stunned, some curious, a few quietly horrified. But none of that mattered as much as the boy in front of me. The way he was looking at me like I was something delicate and dangerous all at once.

As if he knew I could destroy him, and still asked me to dance anyway.

“Still think this is a terrible idea?” he asked after a beat.

I swallowed. “Absolutely.”

He smiled.

“Then we’re doing it right.”

And just like that, we spun—him guiding me through the next turn as if we’d done this before. As if we knew what came next.

I didn’t.

But right then, with the music rising and his hand steady on my back, I let myself pretend I did.

We turned, drifting past rows of glittering faces—some stunned, some curious, a few quietly horrified. But none of that mattered as much as the boy in front of me.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

But as we circled once more, my gaze caught on a cluster of students whispering near the punch table. A few pointed. One girl didn’t bother to hide the disgust on her face. I looked away quickly—but the next face was worse. And the next. And the next.

My chest tightened.

The music didn’t stop. The floor didn’t tilt. But my stomach turned in quiet spirals, the shame crawling in before I could stop it.

He shouldn’t have asked me. I shouldn’t have said yes.

They were all watching.

And I could see what they were thinking: How dare she. How could he.

I felt my shoulders begin to stiffen, my fingers tense slightly where they rested against his.

Draco noticed.

He didn’t falter. Didn’t miss a step. Just leaned in the smallest bit—close enough for his breath to brush my cheek, for his voice to settle low against my ear.

“Don’t look at them,” he said. “Just look at me.”

I blinked up at him.

His eyes found mine instantly. Steady. Fierce. And not the least bit afraid.

“They don’t matter,” he said. “Not tonight.”

Something cracked open in my chest.

I took a breath—slow, shaky—and nodded once.

And for the rest of that dance, I did exactly what he told me.

I looked only at him.

Draco and I were still catching our breath when Theo appeared beside us with two flutes of sparkling cider and a grin that could only be described as infuriating.

“Well, look at you two,” he drawled, handing me one glass and tipping the other toward Draco in mock salute. “Didn’t trip, didn’t hex each other, and managed a full dance without a diplomatic incident. I’m proud.”

Ginny slid in beside him, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling. “Don’t mind him. He’s just bitter because I led the entire time.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart. “And a very aggressive lead it was. My toes may never recover.”

Ginny elbowed him lightly. “You’re just upset I out-danced you.”

“You didn’t out-dance me, you steamrolled me.”

“Details,” she said breezily.

I laughed, the last of the tension in my chest easing as I took a sip. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you were very graceful under duress.”

“Thank you, Granger,” Theo said, clutching his drink dramatically. “Finally, some recognition.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “He’s been insufferable all night. Inviting him was a mistake.”

“You didn’t invite me,” Theo said smugly. “You said—and I quote—‘If I’m taking Granger and you’re taking Ginevra, we may as well go together.’”

Draco looked away, sipping his drink with exaggerated nonchalance. “I must’ve been hexed.”

Ginny laughed, linking her arm through mine. “Come on, Hermione. Let’s find the dessert table before Theo starts reciting his tragic monologue again.”

“I’m already writing the sonnet,” he muttered.

As we made our way across the hall, surrounded by glittering gowns and soft candlelight, I realized I was still smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, I could let myself enjoy this after all.

The warmth and laughter of the ballroom clung to me even as I stepped into the corridor outside. My heels clicked softly against the stone floor, the music muffled now behind thick doors. The air out here was cooler, quieter. Still.

I didn’t mean to leave, not really. But after so many stares, so many whispered glances and narrowed eyes, it felt like my lungs had shrunk in my chest.

I leaned against the wall, pressing my hand over my heart like I could calm it.

“Hiding again?” came his voice—soft, unhurried—from behind me.

I turned to see Draco in the archway, one hand in his pocket, his jacket slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened like the evening had finally worn on him too. But his eyes were steady. On me.

“Taking a break,” I said. “There’s a difference.”

He didn’t respond. Just walked toward me, slow and easy. And when he reached me, he didn’t speak—just looked down at my arm.

My breath caught.

But his hand was gentle when he reached for mine—no hesitation. His thumb brushed the edge of my scar. Not in pity. Not even in question. Just… reverence. Like it mattered.

Like I mattered.

“I saw you looking around,” he murmured.

I nodded, throat tight. “It’s hard not to. Everyone’s still watching.”

His eyes met mine. “Then let them.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t think it would feel like this. I thought… maybe if I dressed up, smiled enough, danced like everything was fine—it might start to be.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed quiet.

“But it’s still there,” I whispered. “All of it. The war. The fear. That night on the drawing room floor. I carry it everywhere, Draco. I don’t know how to put it down.”

He stepped closer. “You don’t have to. Not with me.”

I looked up at him.

He held my gaze for a moment, then slowly rolled up the sleeve of his dress robes.

The Dark Mark was there, stark against his pale skin—faded, but unmistakable. A scar burned into him as much as mine was burned into me.

“You think I don’t carry it too?” he said quietly. “You think I don’t wake up with it burning behind my ribs some days?”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“I’m not afraid of what you carry, Granger,” he said. “I don’t want the polished version of you. I want the one who’s lived through hell and still shows up. The one who still fights. The one who still feels everything, even when it hurts.”

His hand found mine again, rough palm against my fingers.

“We survived,” he said, voice low. “Even if we didn’t come out clean.”

The lump in my throat swelled. “You’re not exactly easy, either.”

A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. “I never claimed to be.”

I reached up, fingers curling into the fabric at his chest.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” I whispered.

“Neither do I,” he said. “But I know it’s real.”

A pause.

Then, quietly: “Dance with me again.”

“There’s no music.”

He raised my hand anyway. “Doesn’t matter.”

So I let him pull me close, his arm around my waist, our joined hands swaying in a rhythm only we could feel. The castle spun slowly around us—silent, vast, empty—but it felt like the smallest, safest place in the world.

No crowds. No stares.

Just us.

And for once, I wasn’t thinking about the scar.

Or the whispers.

Or what might happen tomorrow.

I was only thinking about him.

And how, somehow, he was still here.

By the time we slipped out of the ballroom, the corridors had quieted, the last of the music echoing like a memory behind us. My heels clicked softly against the stone as we walked, the faint shimmer of my dress catching the moonlight that filtered through the tall windows.

Draco didn’t speak at first. He just walked beside me, his hand steady against the small of my back. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just… there. A quiet kind of tether, anchoring me in the aftermath of too many eyes, too many whispers, too much pretending I wasn’t unravelling inside my own skin.

His hand didn’t leave me even when we reached the stairs.

“I still hate how quiet it gets in here after dark,” I muttered, trying to fill the silence.

I’ve grown fond of the quiet,” he said, glancing at her. “Which is unfortunate, given who I’ve decided to spend time with.”

I glanced sideways at him. “Is that your subtle way of saying I talk too much?”

“No,” he said easily. “I like the sound of your voice.”

And just like that, my breath caught again.

We didn’t say anything else after that.

When we reached the boys’ dormitory, Theo and Ginny had already disappeared somewhere—thank Merlin—and Draco pushed open the door to his side of the suite with one hand, letting me step in first.

It was dimly lit, warmer than I expected. Soft firelight glowed from the hearth, throwing amber shadows across the dark wooden floors. The room was surprisingly clean. Minimalist. A few books stacked on the nightstand. A green jumper slung across the arm of the chair. His scent lingered—something cool and crisp, like pine and smoke.

I turned in place slowly. “Huh. Not what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” he asked as he closed the door behind us.

“More green silk sheets and egotism.”

Draco let out a soft huff. “Those are in the laundry.”

I laughed, the sound loosening something in my chest.

He stepped toward me then, and the shift in the air was immediate. No longer full of glances and unspoken things. Just him. Just me. Just the weight of the quiet between us.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said, and it didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded like a confession.

I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He reached out slowly, fingers brushing a curl back from my cheek. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“I know.”

But I didn’t move.

His thumb lingered against my skin, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

And I knew, without question, I wasn’t going anywhere.

I walked slowly toward the fire, wrapping my arms around myself as I took in the room. It was quiet here—not the tense, hollow kind of quiet I’d grown used to, but something softer. Contained. Safe.

Draco stayed near the door, watching me with that unreadable look he wore so well. But there was no challenge in it. No smirk. Just… waiting.

“I’ve never done this before,” I said after a moment.

He raised an eyebrow. “Been in a boy’s room?”

“Been with someone like this. Like…” I turned to look at him. “Like it means something.”

That cracked the mask, just a little.

He stepped forward, not too close, and slid his hands into his pockets like he didn’t trust them not to reach for me. “You think it doesn’t scare me too?”

I blinked. “You don’t look scared.”

“I am,” he said quietly. “Because you’re not just anyone. You never have been.”

I sat down on the edge of his bed, careful, still holding myself like I wasn’t sure where I belonged. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy—it was thick with everything neither of us knew how to say.

He crossed the room slowly, sitting beside me. Not touching. Just there. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him through the few inches of space between us.

“I keep waiting for the part where this stops making sense,” I admitted. “Where I remember all the reasons I should hate you.”

His voice was low. “And do you?”

I turned to him, really looking now. At the shadows beneath his eyes. At the wariness in his mouth. At the way his whole body was tense like he expected to be pushed away.

“No,” I whispered.

His breath hitched.

I reached for his hand. Just his hand. And when his fingers curled around mine, slow and certain, the tension bled out of both of us.

We stayed like that for a while.

No more masks.

No more words.

Just two people who had been broken in different ways, trying to fit their pieces together without cutting each other open again.

I didn’t know how long we sat like that—our fingers laced, the fire crackling softly in the corner—but eventually, his thumb started tracing gentle lines along the inside of my wrist. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like he was memorizing me.

I shifted slightly, knees brushing his, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

His fingers traced over the strap of my dress and skimmed the soft skin of my arm. I didn’t stop him. When he kissed me again—slower this time, more deliberate—I kissed him back. There was no hesitation now. Just heat. Just the quiet ache that had been building between us for weeks.

His hand found my thigh, sliding under the fabric, fingers brushing over bare skin until they found the curve of my hip. My breath hitched—sharp, sudden—and he stilled, waiting for a sign.

I gave it. A tilt of my chin. A press of my body into his.

He moved with more confidence then, hand splaying across my lower back, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every line of him—solid and steady and warm where I was shaking. His mouth left mine, found the line of my jaw, the hollow of my throat. I let my head fall back, lips parting on a gasp I didn’t even try to hide.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against my skin.

I didn’t.

Because I didn’t want to.

Not yet.

My fingers threaded into his hair as he kissed a slow, burning path down my neck. His hands moved with careful reverence, brushing over fabric, sliding beneath it in places I hadn’t let anyone touch before. And still, I didn’t stop him.

Because it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t demanding.

It was… worship.

Like he couldn’t believe I was letting him this close.

Like every inch of me was something to be unwrapped, not claimed.

When his hands finally reached the small of my back and pulled me into his lap, I let out a sound I’d never made before—half breath, half plea. I could feel him beneath me, hard and patient, like he wasn’t going to move unless I asked him to.

I kissed him harder.

But the deeper it got, the hotter my skin burned, the more that tremor of fear curled inside me—small, but real.

He felt it instantly.

Pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

His hands didn’t leave me. They just held me there, steady.

“Draco,” I said, barely louder than a whisper.

He looked at me. Not rushed. Not expectant. Just… patient.

I drew in a breath. “You know I’ve never… done this before. Right?”

His gaze didn’t change. No flash of surprise. No smugness.

Just something quiet and careful.

“I know.”

I studied his face. “How?”

He shrugged a little, his fingers still steady on mine. “You said it. At the first party. Truth or Dare.”

Oh. Right.

My cheeks flushed with the memory. I dropped my eyes to our hands.

“And you?” I asked, almost too quietly. “You have?”

He hesitated—just for a second.

Then nodded once. “Yeah.”

I didn’t know what I expected. A list? A story? A shrug?

But he just let it sit there, like it wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Or proud of. Just a fact.

My stomach twisted. I hated how small it made me feel.

Not because he’d been with someone.

But because I hadn’t.

Because I didn’t know what I was doing. And I was scared of getting it wrong.

He must’ve seen something in my face, because his voice dropped even softer. “Granger… I don’t care about that.”

I looked at him. “You don’t?”

He shook his head. “I care that it’s you. That it’s real. That if anything happens, it’s something you want—not something you feel like you owe me.”

I let out a shaky breath

“And I’d wait as long as it takes.”

My eyes burned.

Because no one had ever said something like that to me before.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips against my temple, slow and warm. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

I nodded, blinking hard. “I just—I thought I was ready.”

“It’s alright,” he said, voice low and steady. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I just… I’ve never done this,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to—how to be okay when you’ve already—”

He tucked a curl behind my ear, then leaned in and pressed the faintest kiss to my shoulder.

“Come here,” he murmured.

And I did.

Not to kiss him. Not to fall apart.

Just to lie there, in his bed, in his arms—fully clothed and fully seen.

And it was enough.

Because tonight, I wasn’t ready for more.

But I wasn’t alone either.

Chapter Text

“The ache for home lives in all of us.”

The room was quiet, bathed in the soft grey-blue of early morning, the kind of light that made everything feel suspended — like time had decided to hold its breath.

He lay on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow where I’d been, the other draped loosely across the rumpled blanket. The sheet had slipped down to his waist, revealing the long lines of his back and the pale curve of his shoulder. His hair, usually so carefully kept, was a tousled mess of soft blond waves against the white pillowcase. His mouth — usually set in a smirk or a sneer — was slack in sleep, unguarded.

Peaceful.

Beautiful.

It wasn’t a word I’d ever thought I’d associate with him. But it was true.

He looked younger like this. Softer. Like the war and the weight of expectation had lifted from his body, if only for a few hours. There was no sharpness in him now, no edge. Just the quiet rise and fall of his breath, the gentle flutter of lashes against pale skin.

And for a moment, I didn’t want to move.

I just stood there, barefoot on the stone floor, watching him in that golden morning light — this boy who had once been everything I was supposed to hate, and who now made my chest ache with something I didn’t know how to name.

Something tender. Something terrifying.

Something real.

But staying felt dangerous. Staying meant lingering in whatever this was — in the warmth of it, in the possibility of it. And I wasn’t ready for that.

I pulled on my dress from the night before—now rumpled and laced with the scent of him—and crept quietly to the door, trying not to think too hard about anything. About the way he’d touched me like I was something to be cherished. About the way I’d stopped him. About the way he’d let me.

I didn’t know what came next.

I only knew I needed to breathe.

The corridor was quiet. Cold. I wrapped my arms around myself and padded barefoot back to the dorms, shoes swinging from my hand.

When I pushed open the door to my room, Ginny and Theo were already up. Ginny sat cross-legged on her bed, hair a mess, wand stirring two mugs of tea on the nightstand. Theo was stretched out on the armchair like he lived there, shirtless and smug.

Both of them turned as I entered.

Ginny’s eyebrows rose. Theo grinned slowly.

I froze in the doorway. “Don’t.”

Theo held up his hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

“Yet,” Ginny added, handing me a cup as I passed.

I sank onto my bed without speaking, taking a long sip of tea, trying not to react to the way they were both still watching me.

Ginny tilted her head. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “You’re wearing your dress from last night, your hair looks like you’ve been rolling in parchment, and you’re barefoot. Define ‘fine.’”

I closed my eyes. “Tired. Okay? I’m just tired.”

A pause.

Then Ginny said softly, “Did something happen?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because yes—something had happened.

Something real.

Something terrifying.

Something I wasn’t ready to say out loud.

So instead, I curled my legs beneath me and clutched the mug tighter to my chest.

“Sort of,” I said finally. “But not all the way.”

I was still curled on the corner of my bed, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, when the knock came.

Soft. Deliberate.

My heart lurched.

Theo opened the door without hesitation. “Morning, loverboy.”

Draco stepped in like he belonged there—like this was just… normal now. His hair was still slightly mussed, cheeks faintly pink from the cold, and when his eyes found mine, something in my chest twisted sharply.

He looked good.

Too good.

“Tea?” Theo offered, voice far too chipper for the hour. “We were just discussing metaphors. And foreplay.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Sounds riveting.”

Then, to me “Didn’t even leave a note, Granger. I’ve never felt so used.”

I blinked. “I—I didn’t want to wake you.”

His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and knowing. “Mm.”

Theo looked between us, clearly delighted. “This is better than breakfast.”

Ginny, bless her, stayed quiet, but I could feel her watching me as I stood slowly, smoothing my jumper.

Draco’s gaze didn’t leave me.

Theo leaned against the counter, cup in hand. “You know, not that it’s any of my business, but—” he took a long, obnoxious sip, “—please, for the love of Merlin, just let the man sleep with you already. The sexual tension is suffocating.”

Ginny choked on her tea. “Theo.”

I turned bright red. “Theo.”

Draco, to his credit, just smirked. “Charming as ever, Nott.”

Theo grinned. “It’s a gift.”

I rolled my eyes and busied myself with a second mug, heart still thudding unevenly in my chest.

Draco didn’t say anything.

But when I passed him his tea, his fingers brushed mine—and lingered.

Just for a second.

But enough to remind me that last night hadn’t been a dream

And that no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise, something between us had changed.

Something I wasn’t sure we could take back.

Ginny glanced back at me with the tiniest smirk before slipping past him. “I’ll walk Theo down.”

“Don’t rush,” Draco said dryly.

Theo passed him on the way out and whispered just loudly enough for me to hear, “Try not to combust from sexual tension, yeah?”

Draco didn’t dignify it with a response, He looked at me for a long moment, eyes lingering on the way my sleeves were pulled over my knuckles. “Sleep well?”

I nodded.

“Me too,” he said softly, though his eyes said otherwise.

He sat beside me on the edge of Ginny’s bed, close enough that his knee barely brushed mine. He didn’t press. Didn’t touch me again.

We drank our tea  in silence. It should’ve been awkward.

But it wasn’t.

We didn’t have class.

Which should have made the morning feel lighter.

Instead, the castle felt… exposed. Too still. Too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

I pulled my jumper tighter around myself as I stepped into the corridor with Draco, his hand resting lightly against the small of my back. He didn’t say much—just glanced at me now and then, like he was making sure I hadn’t changed my mind about being seen with him in the daylight.

I hadn’t.

But that didn’t stop the prickle of nerves crawling up my spine as we entered Auric Hall.

It was emptier than usual—most students had already left for the holidays—but the ones who remained turned to stare the second we walked in.

A fourth-year whispered to her friend. A sixth-year nudged her boyfriend and tilted her head toward us. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to dim.

Draco didn’t flinch. He just steered me toward the long table where Ginny and Theo were already seated, mid-banter and halfway through their breakfast.

Ginny looked up and gave me a soft smile. Theo, predictably, grinned like he’d been waiting all morning to deliver a line.

“Well,” he said as Draco pulled out a chair for me, “look who’s risen from the ashes.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, sliding into the seat beside Ginny.

Draco sat too, calm as ever, and poured himself a cup of coffee like he hadn’t walked in holding my hand.

Ginny leaned over. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Just… bracing for impact.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Impact or explosion?”

“Same thing.”

Draco nudged a plate of toast toward me. “Eat something.”

I glanced at him, then picked up a slice. My hands didn’t shake this time.

The silence didn’t last long.

Because Ron Weasley walked into the hall.

Alone.

And his eyes went straight to us—straight to me.

He froze mid-step. I watched his expression change in real time: confusion, recognition, and then—

Rage.

Ginny stiffened beside me.

Theo let out a low whistle under his breath. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Draco didn’t move. But I could feel him tense beside me.

I kept my eyes down.

He walked away but I knew—this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

We didn’t linger after breakfast.

Too many looks. Too many whispers. Too much tension curled tight beneath my ribs like a storm waiting to break.

I told Ginny I needed some air. She nodded—understanding, but worried. Draco came with me.

We didn’t speak as we stepped into the courtyard. The air was cold, laced with frost and the quiet hush that only winter could bring. I folded my arms around myself, more for comfort than warmth, and wandered toward the stone railing at the edge. Behind us, the castle stretched wide and familiar—like a memory I couldn’t quite let go of.

My thoughts drifted, quiet and persistent. So much had changed. If someone had told me in July that I’d be here—with Draco Malfoy, of all people—falling for him in a way that was steady and terrifying and real, I would’ve laughed. Or cried. Or both.

But now… I couldn’t imagine anything else.

He was the one who held me together when I unraveled. The one who could still me with a glance, anchor me with a word.

He had slipped into my life like a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

And now, I didn’t know how to exhale without him.

Even Theo—chaotic, loyal, maddening Theo—felt like a fixed part of the strange little orbit I’d found myself spinning in.

And I was starting to understand that I didn’t want out.

Draco stood beside me, silent.

And for a moment, everything felt still—crisp air, quiet breath, the soft hush of wind threading through bare branches. A moment I wanted to bottle. To keep.

But peace never lasted long.

Not for me.

Because then came the footsteps.

Hard. Familiar. Wrong.

The kind of sound that didn’t echo—it cracked.

I turned, and there he was. Ron.

Storming through the archway like a curse come to life, his eyes already locked on mine, his face twisted with something bitter and unspoken.

“Really?” he snapped, voice slicing through the quiet. “This is what it is now?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Ron took a few more steps forward, his eyes flicking between me and Draco, jaw clenched. “You’re standing here like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t spend the last seven years making your life miserable,  like none of it ever happened? Like he wasn’t on the other side of everything?”

Draco didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, still and silent at my side, like a shield I hadn’t asked for but didn’t mind having.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I said quietly.

“No?” Ron barked out a laugh. “Because it sure looks like you’re doing something. Or maybe you’re just trying to prove a point. Is that what this is? Getting back at me? At Harry? At everyone who gave a damn about you while he was off—what? Learning dark magic and selling his soul?”

I laughed—but it was bitter. “Don’t you dare,” I said, the words cutting out of me like glass. “Don’t you dare bring Harry into this. You want to talk about what we fought for? I fought for freedom. I fought for choice. And I am choosing not to be dragged back into your warped idea of loyalty.”

His eyes flashed. “So what, this is you now? Shagging the enemy?”

Draco took a step forward, but I stopped him with a hand.

“No,” I said, voice trembling—but only with fury. “This is me refusing to be defined by a war that already took enough from me.”

Ron’s face went red. “You’re disgusting.”

“Say that again,” Draco growled.

“Don’t,” I warned under my breath. “He’s not worth it.”

Ron looked between us—his gaze lingering on Draco’s hand near mine, the closeness, the calm.

He couldn’t stand it.

Footsteps sounded behind us.

“Everything alright?” Theo’s voice cut through the tension like a wand slash. He and Ginny slowed as they approached, eyes flicking between our faces, reading the air instantly.

Ginny stepped closer to me, her eyes narrowed. “What the hell is going on?”

Ron barely looked at her. He was still staring at me, his expression twisting into something cruel.

“I can’t believe you’d let him touch you. You know what he is. What he’s done. It’s pathetic.”

Then he turned, voice sharp. “And you, Ginny—you’re just as bad. I can’t believe you. I’m glad Fred’s dead so he doesn’t have to see his little sister fuck a Death Eater.”

“Ron—” Ginny warned, her voice low and dangerous.

But he plowed on.

“You think this is real? He doesn’t care about you, Hermione. You’re just something to win. A prize to parade around and prove he’s changed. But he hasn’t. He’s still the same coward who watched you bleed.”

My vision tunneled. Something inside me snapped.

“You don’t get to talk about that,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “You weren’t there.”

“And thank Merlin for that,” Ron spat. “I would’ve actually done something.”

Ron looked between us—his gaze lingering on Draco’s hand near mine, the closeness, the calm.

He couldn’t stand it.

“You know what?” he spat. “You deserve each other. A coward and a slag. At least he knows what to do with someone dirty.”

I didn’t hear the gasp Ginny made. Or the sharp hiss from Theo.

Because I was already moving.

The first punch landed with a crack of bone and fury. His head jerked sideways, but I didn’t stop.

I shoved him. Hard.

“Say it again!” I shouted, grabbing the front of his robes. “Go on! Call me something else! Tell me what I deserve, Ron!”

He tried to backpedal, hands up, but I hit him again—fist, elbow, open hand—I didn’t even know anymore.

“I fought for you!” I was screaming. “I bled for you! I broke myself into pieces to make sure you lived and this is what I get?!”

My vision was red. My throat was raw. I could feel tears burning but I didn’t care. I swung again, my knuckles scraping his cheek, and it still wasn’t enough.

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind.

“Stop,” Draco said, voice low but firm. “Hermione—stop. That’s enough.”

I struggled. I kicked. I didn’t want to be calmed—I wanted to hurt something.

But his arms tightened, anchoring me in place, holding me like he knew I needed something solid before I shattered.

Ron scrambled back, dazed and bleeding, hand pressed to his face. “You’re insane—she’s insane. did you really just attack me?”

“You’re damn right I did,” I hissed, breathing hard. “Because I am done letting you treat me like I’m yours to scold. I’m not your responsibility. I’m not your war story. And I’m sure as hell not your punching bag!”

His chest heaved.

“You’ve done nothing but judge me since we got back,” I went on, fury spilling out of me like it had been waiting all year. “But where were you when I couldn’t breathe at night? When I couldn’t sleep because my body still remembered the pain? You didn’t want to see me. You wanted to forget.”

Draco was silent beside me—but I felt the tension in him. Felt the way he was holding himself back by a thread.

Ron’s voice was lower now. Quieter. “This is who you are now?”

I stepped forward again, Ginny’s hand catching my elbow too late. “This is who I’ve always been. You just never cared enough to look.”

Ron stared at me—face twisted with something between shock and fear—and then he turned and stalked off without another word.

Silence fell.

I was trembling.

I stood frozen, chest heaving, the cold air cutting through my sleeves.

Draco didn’t let go. Didn’t say a word. He just held me, heart pounding against my back, his breath low and steady in my ear.

I didn’t apologize.

I couldn’t.

Because I wasn’t sorry.

I don’t remember walking back.

I don’t remember Theo whispering something sharp to a group of gawking third years. I don’t remember Ginny’s hand on my arm, steadying me. I don’t remember the doors slamming shut behind us or the echo of our footsteps down the corridor.

But I remember the moment I got to the dorm.

Because that’s when I broke.

I shoved the door open, hard, and slammed it behind me. The sound cracked through the room like a spell gone wrong.

“He said I was insane,” I choked out.

No one answered.

I turned, fists clenched, and screamed.

Loud. Raw. My throat tore with it.

I grabbed the nearest thing—my pillow—and hurled it across the room. Then a book. Then another.

“He said I was insane!” I screamed again, louder this time, like the words themselves were poison and I needed them out.

Theo moved first. “Hermione—”

“Don’t—don’t touch me!” I shrieked, backing into the wall. My chest was heaving, hands shaking so badly I could barely make them into fists.

I turned and slammed my fist into the wall.

Hard.

Then again.

Pain bloomed up my arm, sharp and blinding—but I didn’t stop.

“Hermione—stop!” Ginny’s voice was panicked now. “You’re going to break your hand—!”

I didn’t care.

Another punch.

Then—

Draco grabbed me.

Not harshly. Not roughly.

But firmly. Arms around my middle, dragging me back just as I lifted my fist again. I kicked, writhed, fought him like a storm trapped in human skin.

“Let me go!”

“No,” he said into my ear, voice low and shaking. “I’m not letting you hurt yourself.”

“I hate him,” I sobbed. “I hate him, I hate him—why did he say that? I did everything—I gave everything—and it’s never enough, never enough, never—”

Draco turned me in his arms and pulled me to his chest.

I broke.

I collapsed into him, screaming into the fabric of his shirt, fists pounding uselessly against his chest until they just… gave out.

He held me through it.

Through the shaking. Through the choking sobs. Through the raw, helpless sounds that ripped from me like I was coming undone.

Ginny sat silently nearby, her own eyes red.

Theo turned his face away, jaw tight.

But Draco—Draco didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. He just whispered into my hair.

“You’re not insane.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“You’re not alone.”

Again and again, like a mantra. Like it might rewrite the things carved into my bones.

I don’t know how long I cried.

But I know that when the sobs slowed, and my fists uncurled, and the pain in my hand finally registered… he was still holding me.

And I let him.

Because right then, he was the only thing that felt real.

I wasn’t sure when I’d fallen asleep. Only that when I woke, the light filtering through the dorm window was soft and pale, and Ginny was sitting on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair back from my face like I was something fragile.

Her eyes were red.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

I sat up slowly, my throat thick, head pounding from everything I’d screamed into the walls last night. I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t care.

“You’re leaving,” I said quietly.

She nodded, trying to smile. “Mum’s expecting me before lunch.”

The silence stretched between us.

I didn’t know how to say what I wanted to. That I didn’t want her to go. That I wasn’t ready to be alone.

But Ginny knew. She always did.

She pulled me into a tight hug, her voice close and fierce in my ear. “You’re going to be okay, I’ll be back soon.”

I felt my hands tremble against her back.

“And if you’re not,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at me, “you’ve got Draco Malfoy hovering around like a protective spectre. I think he’d hex the sun for you if you asked nicely.”

That almost pulled a laugh out of me. Almost.

I shook my head. “I don’t even know what this is. With him. It’s not—” I swallowed. “I’m not used to someone… staying.”

Ginny’s expression softened. “Then maybe it’s time you were.”

She stood, brushing off her cloak and grabbing her bag from the floor. Theo was waiting just outside the door, she said. And I nodded. Watched her reach for the handle. Watched her hesitate.

“Write to me,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Or don’t. But know I’m here. Always.”

“I know.”

She lingered a second longer.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know,” I whispered again, and my voice cracked.

And then she was gone.

And the door shut behind her with a soft click.

It was snowing again by the time I made it down to the common room.

I didn’t expect him to be there. I hadn’t even told him Ginny was gone. But there he was—sprawled sideways on the sofa like he belonged there, one hand behind his head, a book resting half-open on his chest.

He looked up when I stepped into the room.

Said nothing.

Just… saw me.

And somehow, that was enough.

“Hey,” I said softly.

“Hey,” he echoed, quieter.

I dropped into the armchair across from him, curling my legs up beneath me. My body felt slow and leaden. My thoughts even slower. Like grief and exhaustion had pooled in all the corners of me and left no room for anything else.

Draco sat up after a minute and closed the book. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Let’s fix that.”

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t comment on the bags under my eyes or the silence in the halls. He just walked with me to the kitchens, filled a plate with toast and fruit, and sat beside me at the tiny corner table like we did this all the time.

That first night, he didn’t leave.

I hadn’t asked him to stay.

I’d gone to the dorm, peeled back the sheets, and slid into bed, too quiet and too cold.

And then I heard the knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

When I opened the door, he stood there in his pyjamas, arms crossed loosely, expression unreadable.

“I figured…” he said, voice trailing off. “If you didn’t want to be alone.”

I stepped aside without a word.

He climbed into the bed, facing me.

Said goodnight like it wasn’t the strangest thing in the world.

And I slept better than I had in weeks.

The next night, he came again.

And the one after that.

Always late. Always quiet. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he’d read, or I’d stare at the ceiling, the stillness between us thick but never uncomfortable.

He didn’t touch me. Not unless I reached for him.

But when I did—when my fingers found his under the blanket, or my head found the curve of his shoulder—he never pulled away.

He was just there.

Every night.

And I didn’t know what to call it.

Only that it helped me breathe.

Christmas morning arrived wrapped in snowlight and stillness.

For once, the castle was quiet in a way that didn’t ache.

No whispering students. No glares. No ghosts of war lurking behind every door. Just soft wind at the windows and the warmth of firelight spilling across the stone floor.

Theo was already in the common room when I padded in, hair a mess, jumper slouching off one shoulder. He was seated cross-legged in front of the fire, a mug of cocoa in one hand and a ridiculous pair of reindeer antlers on his head.

He looked up and grinned. “Happy Christmas, Granger.”

I snorted. “You’re wearing antlers.”

“I’m festive.”

“You’re deranged.”

He lifted the mug in a toast. “Not mutually exclusive.”

Before I could reply, Draco appeared from the hallway, still tugging on a wool jumper—forest green and slightly oversized, sleeves falling past his wrists. His hair was mussed, like he’d just rolled out of bed, and I couldn’t help the way my chest clenched a little.

Because he looked so normal. So peaceful.

“Morning,” he said, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Morning,” I echoed.

Theo clapped his hands once. “Right. Let’s do presents.”

“Presents?” I blinked.

“Obviously. We’re all here. We’re warm. It’s snowing. It’s practically illegal not to.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he dropped down beside me on the couch. Our knees touched. I didn’t move.

Theo passed me a neatly wrapped box. “From yours truly.”

I hesitated. Then opened it.

Inside was a simple porcelain mug, smooth and pale blue, with a faint shimmer around the rim. The moment I picked it up, it warmed gently in my hands—just enough to chase the chill from my fingers. A note was tucked inside:

“Stays warm as long as you need it to. Just like me. —T”

I huffed a laugh despite myself. Ridiculous. Thoughtful. “Theo—”

He waved a hand. “It was cheap. I got a deal.”

“I love it,” I said anyway. And I meant it.

Draco handed Theo a long, flat box. “Yours.”

Theo opened it and whistled. “Is this a Fwooper feather quill? In black ink?”

Draco shrugged. “You’re always stealing mine.”

Theo looked genuinely touched for all of three seconds before he grinned and said, “You’re still not forgiven for last year’s essay sabotage.”

Draco smirked. “Wasn’t looking for forgiveness.”

They bickered as I reached under the chair for the two small gifts I’d wrapped in silence the night before.

I handed Theo his first—an annotated copy of Advanced Magical Theory with my notes scribbled all through the margins and a silver bookmark charmed to track his place.

He opened it, blinked, then cleared his throat. “Bloody hell, Granger.”

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “Just—”

“No one’s ever given me a book with actual value before,” he said, unusually quiet. Then added, “I’ll have to fake a personality now to match it.”

I laughed.

Draco’s gift was smaller. Thinner. Wrapped in simple parchment and string.

He didn’t rush to open it. Just looked at me first, eyes soft.

I nodded and passed him the slim case.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask. Just unlatched it with the same care he always used when handling something that might matter more than it seemed. Inside were two sleek, self-correcting quills and a bottle of ink—practical, simple. But tucked into the lid, folded twice, was a small parchment note.

He pulled it free and read it.

“For when you want to be right, and don’t have me around to prove it.”

—H

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk.

He just looked at me for a long moment.

Then leaned forward, pressed a kiss to my temple, and let his hand linger at the back of my neck—warm, steady, and entirely unspoken.

He didn’t have to say anything.

He never did.

When he finally pulled back, he reached into his coat and handed me something in return. No ribbon. No wrapping. Just a thick, worn book with a cracked spine and familiar gold lettering across the front:

Magical Theory: Revised Edition.

The first edition. Out of print. Not rare, but… hard to come by.

I blinked. “You got me a textbook?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s not just any textbook.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly more interested in the floor than in my reaction. “Open it.”

I did.

And stopped breathing.

The margins were filled—neat, slanted handwriting that was unmistakably his. Notes. Counterpoints. Whole sections underlined, bracketed, annotated with sharp observations and the occasional bit of dry sarcasm.

In Chapter 3, next to a passage I’d once quoted in class, he’d scribbled:

“Still wrong. Will debate you later.”

My heart twisted.

“You read it,” I said quietly. “The whole thing.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Well, I had to be prepared. You tend to argue like it’s a sport.”

There was a note on the inside cover. Simple. Just a single line in gold ink:

“Because you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to prove wrong.”

I didn’t say anything.

I just clutched the book tighter to my chest—and tried very hard not to smile like an idiot.

And maybe I failed.

But he didn’t seem to mind.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.

We sat like that for a while—Theo, making a mess with wrapping paper; Draco, warm beside me; the fire crackling low in the hearth.

And I thought—

Maybe this was what family could look like, if I let it.

Maybe this could be home.

The observatory always  looked different at night.

Lanterns floated near the ceiling, glowing low and golden, their light flickering like stars about to burn out. Someone had conjured shimmering streamers and a glittering countdown clock above the fireplace. Theo and Ginny had clearly taken over the decorating—half the room sparkled like champagne, the other half looked like a charm explosion at a party shop.

There was firewhisky on the table, cushions scattered around the room, and music humming softly from a charmed gramophone in the corner.

I was curled up beside Draco on one of the velvet window benches, watching snow fall beyond the enchanted glass. Ginny sat cross-legged on the floor across from us, a half-eaten chocolate frog dangling from her fingers. Theo was fiddling with a stack of enchanted cards that periodically shuffled themselves.

“How did we get here?” Ginny asked suddenly, looking between the three of us. “Like—really—how did this happen?”

Theo raised his hand. “Chaos. Poor decisions. Veritaserum.”

Draco didn’t even look up. “Stockholm syndrome.”

I elbowed him.

He caught my eye and smirked, but the curve of his mouth was soft—fond. Like he didn’t quite believe it either.

Ginny sighed dramatically. “I left a week and came back to Draco basically moved into our room.”

“He has not—”

“He has,” Theo said with a nod.

“I haven’t.”

“I have a drawer,” Draco offered helpfully.

“And a favourite pillow,” Ginny added, crossing her arms. “Should I just move into yours, Theo?”

Theo waggled his eyebrows. “Tempting.”

Draco shrugged. “We’ll work out the logistics later.”

I flushed and shoved my face into Draco’s jumper. “You’re all awful.”

“You love us,” Ginny sang.

I did.

And I didn’t say it, but I knew they knew.

The conversation drifted after that—easy and light. Theo performed a dramatic reading from Witch Weekly’s “Most Dramatic Couples of the Year” list (Draco and I were honourable mentions, much to my horror). Ginny nearly hexed him for suggesting she and Theo apply for the next round. And at some point, someone conjured a clock in midair to count us down.

“Five minutes,” Theo said, lifting his drink. “Any last regrets, Granger?”

I thought about it for a second.

Everything that had brought me here.

The war. The healing. The ache of not knowing who I was anymore.

And how somehow, through all of that… I’d found this.

Found him.

“Not yet,” I said quietly. “Ask me again next year.”

Draco reached over and laced his fingers through mine.

And when I looked at him—really looked—I felt it again. That calm. That strange, almost unbearable peace that only came when he was near.

One minute left.

Ginny leaned her head on Theo’s shoulder.

Theo looked unusually serious for once. “Let’s make this one better.”

“We will,” I said.

And when the clock struck twelve, there were no fireworks.

Just soft laughter.

A few clinks of glasses.

And Draco, turning toward me with quiet intention.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate.

Just leaned in, and kissed me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like I was gravity.

Like we’d already made it through the worst—and were still here.

When we finally broke apart, I smiled against his mouth.

“Happy New Year, Malfoy.”

“Happy New Year, Granger.”

Chapter Text

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

The castle was no longer quiet.

With the start of term came noise—hallways buzzing, classrooms full, eyes everywhere. The relative peace of the holiday break was gone, replaced by rustling parchment and muffled conversations and the endless thrum of life returning.

It should’ve been comforting.

Instead, it made my skin prickle.

Draco had stayed with me every night since Ginny left for the Burrow. And now that she was back, we’d quietly taken up residence in his room instead—less crowded, more private, and already half-claimed by us anyway. At first, it was just sleep—his arm curled loosely around my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck. Nothing more. Nothing rushed.

But now…

Now everything felt different.

The warmth of his hand on mine lingered longer. The kisses—longer still. We were no longer tiptoeing around whatever this was. And after what happened in the courtyard, after the look in his eyes when he pulled me off Ron and held me like I was something worth saving… I wasn’t sure I could tiptoe anymore.

By Thursday, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the way he looked at me when no one else was around. The way his touch never asked, but always waited.

And I knew.

It was going to happen.

Not because we should. Not because we had to.

Because I wanted him.

Because I trusted him.

Because after everything… I was finally ready.

Ginny flopped backward across my bed, arms splayed dramatically. “Sweet Circe, it’s only been three days and I already want to hex half the school.”

I smiled, pulling my legs up beneath me. “That bad?”

She turned her head to look at me. “You’d think people had never seen a couple before. Or heard of emotional growth.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow, studying me. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Just tired.”

Ginny didn’t buy it for a second. “Hermione.”

I looked down at the edge of my sleeve. “Everything feels loud again. All the stares. The whispers. Like we’re some kind of… sideshow attraction.”

Ginny nodded slowly. “Yeah. But you’re still standing.”

I looked up at her. She gave me a small, knowing smile.

“And you’re in love with him.”

“I—” The word caught. I swallowed. “I don’t know what I am.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Sure you do. You just don’t want to say it out loud.”

I didn’t argue.

After a beat, she sat up straighter, softer now. “Are you… thinking about sleeping with him?”

My face went hot instantly. “I—Ginny.”

“It’s a valid question!” she said, laughing. “I’m not judging. I just… I see the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you.” Her voice gentled. “Has he pressured you?”

“Never,” I said quickly. “He’s… he’s careful. Always careful.”

She nodded. “So it’s just you then.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “It’s just me.”

Ginny leaned forward and reached for my hand. “Then do it when you’re ready. Not when you think you should be. Not to prove something. Not to chase something. Just… when you want to.”

“I think I do,” I admitted. “I think I really, really do. But I’m scared.”

Ginny squeezed my hand. “Being scared doesn’t mean you’re not ready. It just means it matters.”

We sat there in silence for a while, the air between us warm and still.

Then she grinned. “Just please don’t make me hear it through the walls.”

I groaned and threw a pillow at her. “Ginny!”

“What? Someone has to say it!”

The headline hit before breakfast.

“Golden Girl Gone Dark? Shocking Holiday Brawl Between Former Friends!”

Rita Skeeter’s name was stamped across the byline like a signature curse. Below it was a grainy, enchanted photo of the courtyard—me mid-shout, Ron red-faced and reeling, Draco’s arm wrapped around my waist like he’d just pulled me back.

The headline shimmered in the candlelight as I sat frozen in the middle of Auric Hall. I didn’t even have to read the article to know how it would spin it: war-hero-turned-hysteric, unstable girl lashes out, rescued by unlikely Slytherin suitor.

Draco reached for my hand beneath the table. I let him take it, fingers curling into his silently.

Across from us, Theo muttered, “Skeeter really is allergic to facts.”

Ginny slammed her paper down. “She didn’t even spell Theo’s name right. She called you Nottingham.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Which sounds like a very charming estate, actually.”

But I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t. My face burned as students around us whispered behind copies of the Prophet, enchanted photographs flashing on page after page. It didn’t matter what really happened.

It never did.

Later, in our room, Ginny threw her robe over the back of a chair and paced. “This is complete bullshit.”

“I punched him,” I said softly.

“He deserved it,” she snapped. “You should’ve hexed him.”

“I lost control.”

“You’re human,” Ginny said, crossing the room to sit beside me. “You’ve been carrying too much for too long. And now the world wants to act shocked when you snap?”

I stared at the article, hands clenched in my lap. “They’re never going to stop talking, are they?”

“No,” she said. “But you don’t have to listen.”

I didn’t answer.

After a long beat, she bumped her shoulder gently into mine. “And anyway,” she added, quieter now, “you’ve got us. Me. Theo. Draco. That’s more than most people.”

A breath escaped me. “I know.”

“You going over there tonight?” Theo asked, nodding in the direction of Draco’s room.

I hesitated.

Then nodded.

“Good,” he said, standing. “Tell him not to forget to water my plant.”

His door was already cracked open when I got there.

I didn’t knock.

Draco looked up from his desk as I stepped inside, the dim firelight casting his face in shadow. He was in a loose black jumper, sleeves pushed up, wand in hand as he idly spun it between his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

I shut the door behind me, gently, like the world might hear it otherwise.

“They ran the headline,” I said.

“I saw.”

“It’s not going away, is it?”

“No,” he said softly, standing. “But I’m not going anywhere either.”

I blinked. “What?”

He crossed the room to me in three long strides, hands reaching for mine like he wasn’t sure I’d still let him. I did.

“I can’t stop them from talking,” he said. “But I can stand beside you while they do. I can remind you, every day, that they don’t get to decide who you are. Or who we are.”

His voice dropped, eyes locked on mine. “I only care what you see when you look at me.”

I didn’t mean to lean into him—but I did. His arms folded around me without hesitation. Like he’d been waiting. Like I was something he’d already decided not to let go of.

I buried my face in his chest. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

His hand came up to cradle the back of my head, voice low against my ear. “Then don’t. Let yourself be here. Just here. With me.”

We stood there for a long time—silent, swaying slightly in the warmth of the fire, the only sound the quiet rhythm of our breathing.

And when I finally looked up, his eyes were already on mine.

He didn’t kiss me right away.

He waited.

And I realized in that moment that this wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t just escape.

It was us. Becoming something real.

I reached for him first.

And this time, when he kissed me, it wasn’t soft.

It was hungry.

It was need.

It was yes.

His mouth moved against mine like he couldn’t stand not to, like he’d been holding back for far too long. His hands were careful—anchoring me by the waist, trailing up my back, threading into my hair like he needed to feel all of me at once.

And I let him.

Because I wanted to.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt something. Not pain, not fear, not the numb haze of pretending I was fine.

Just him.

I reached for the hem of his jumper, fingers brushing warm skin, and he paused—just barely.

“Are you sure?” he whispered against my mouth, breath warm and shaky.

I nodded, then stopped. Swallowed. “I… I’ve never—”

“I know,” he said gently, thumb brushing the curve of my jaw. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

But I was ready.

Terrified. But ready.

“I want to,” I breathed. “I want you.”

Something in his expression cracked—something raw, and real, and impossibly tender.

He kissed me again, slower now, like he was memorizing the shape of the moment. And when we moved to the bed, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was deliberate. Honest.

Hands shaking as he undressed me, pausing every time I drew in a breath too sharp.

Eyes never leaving mine as I slipped his shirt over his head.

I was all nerves and heartbeat and heat, but the way he touched me—like I was precious, like he was grateful just to be allowed to touch me at all—made everything else fall away.

Every press of his mouth against my skin felt like a promise: I’m here. I see you. You’re safe.

His fingers skimmed the inside of my thigh, slow and reverent, his touch igniting something low and consuming in my belly. My breath hitched as I leaned into him, my body trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear.

We were bare — all masks gone. And still, something in me resisted.

When he pushed my dress further up my torso, his hand stilled just below my shoulder.

I froze.

His eyes flicked up to mine, reading the tension instantly. I knew what he saw. My arm, my shoulder — the scar carved into my skin.

I shifted to cover it without thinking, turning slightly, the shame rising fast.

But he caught my wrist — gently, never forceful — and whispered, “Don’t.”

My heart thundered in my chest.

He leaned in, brushing his lips across the angry, raised skin with devastating tenderness.

Then he kissed it again.

And again.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against my shoulder. “All of you.”

The ache in my chest nearly split me open.

No one had ever looked at me like that — not Ron, not anyone. Not like I was whole. Not like I wasn’t something to flinch from.

I cupped his jaw and pulled him back to me, blinking through the sting in my eyes.

And when he kissed me this time, I didn’t hold anything back.

he was so—gentle, careful, reverent—I wasn’t scared anymore.

I was whole.

His hands didn’t shake now.

They moved over me with purpose, like he already knew the map of my body but wanted to rediscover every inch. I let him, breath hitching as his mouth brushed the hollow of my throat, the curve of my collarbone, the soft skin beneath my ribs.

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” he murmured, voice low and thick, like he was holding back everything all at once.

“It’s not,” I whispered, clutching at his shoulder. “Don’t stop.”

There was something reverent in the way he looked at me then—like I wasn’t just a girl in his bed, but something rare. Sacred.

He kissed me slowly, deeply, one hand tangled in my hair, the other sliding along the back of my thigh to pull me closer. I arched into him without thinking, every nerve lit, every thought burned out by the heat curling low in my stomach.

When our bodies aligned, when he pressed himself fully against me, skin to skin, my breath caught.

He stilled.

Eyes on mine. Waiting.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, lifting my hips in silent answer.

He groaned, just once, and then he was inside me—slow, careful, every movement like he was trying not to break me.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy.

But it was real.

It was him holding me like I mattered.

It was me learning how to let someone in.

I gasped when he began to move, each thrust sending sparks across my skin, a rhythm building between us like a spell slowly cast. He whispered things I couldn’t quite make out—my name, maybe, or just pieces of whatever feeling had been building between us for weeks, unspoken and electric.

I clung to him, fingers digging into his back, breath coming fast.

“Draco,” I breathed, and he shuddered like the sound of it undid him completely.

His hand found mine, fingers lacing tightly, anchoring us.

And when I came apart beneath him—sharp, sudden, blinding—it wasn’t just pleasure. It was release. A breaking open. A becoming.

He followed moments later, muffling a groan against my shoulder, his body shaking with it. And then we were still. Tangled. Sweaty. Quiet.

He stayed inside me, forehead resting against mine, breath mingling in the dark.

Neither of us spoke.

Because we didn’t need to.

I woke slowly, as if surfacing from a dream I didn’t want to leave.

The sheets were warm, the room still, and his arm was slung heavy around my waist, pulling me back into the curve of his chest. Draco’s breath ghosted softly against my neck, steady and quiet. I didn’t move.

Not yet.

There was something sacred about this moment. About the way his hand rested against my stomach like it had always belonged there. About the way the light filtered through the curtains, casting everything in a sleepy golden haze.

He stirred behind me, and I held my breath.

Then: “You’re awake.”

His voice was low, rough from sleep.

I nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah.”

A pause. “How do you feel?”

I smiled faintly. “Sore.”

He let out the barest huff of a laugh, pressing a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

His fingers flexed lightly against my skin, tracing lazy, aimless shapes along my waist. “Still hiding from me?”

I turned then, slowly, shifting until I was on my back, and he propped himself up on one elbow to look down at me.

“No,” I said, voice softer than I intended. “Not anymore.”

And it was true. There was no space left for denial. Not after last night. Not after the way he looked at me like I wasn’t something ruined. Like I was wanted.

His eyes searched mine, the usual sharpness gone. What remained was something quieter. Unmasked.

“You didn’t run,” he said, almost to himself.

“I wasn’t going to.”

He leaned down and kissed me, slow and unhurried, like we had nowhere else to be and nothing else to prove. His hand cradled the side of my face as if I might break, and I kissed him back like I wouldn’t.

When we pulled apart, he didn’t move far. Just rested his forehead against mine.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered. “Do you?”

“Not even a little.”

We stayed like that for a long time—wrapped up in warmth and silence and the kind of peace that only comes after every wall has fallen. I didn’t know what came next. What today would bring. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.

But right now, in his arms, in his bed, with the whole world quiet—

I didn’t care.

I wasn’t ready to let go of the quiet.

The castle had just begun to stir when we finally left his room. My hair was still damp from a quick shower, my limbs aching in that bone-deep way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. We didn’t speak much as we descended the tower staircase, our hands brushing once—twice—before Draco finally laced his fingers through mine and didn’t let go.

I tried not to overthink it.

But gods, I could feel everything in that grip. The warmth. The weight. The impossible truth of it.

He held my hand all the way down to breakfast.

And when we stepped into Auric Hall, still a little flushed and bleary-eyed from the night before, I knew immediately—we weren’t the only ones who hadn’t slept much.

Every head turned. Not all at once, but in a ripple. A hush. Like a spell that hadn’t quite finished being cast.

Theo spotted us first.

He was already seated with Ginny, halfway through his second cup of tea, and he grinned the moment he saw us—broad and smug, as if he’d won something.

“Well, well,” he said, loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. “Look who finally came up for air.”

Ginny nearly choked on her juice.

I felt my face go up in flames.

Draco didn’t flinch. He just gave Theo a lazy nod, tightened his grip on my hand, and guided me to the table like nothing was out of the ordinary.

He pulled out my chair.

Pulled out my chair.

And that’s when I knew—whatever this was, he wasn’t pretending.

Not here. Not anymore.

“Morning,” Ginny said sweetly, a little too innocently, her eyes flicking down to where our hands were still joined on the table.

“Morning,” I muttered, reaching for the nearest piece of toast just to give my hands something else to do.

Theo leaned in, voice low. “So, do we get to ask how your night was or do we all just politely pretend the walls aren’t thin?”

Draco didn’t even look up from buttering his toast. “You can ask.”

I made a strangled noise and promptly dropped my knife.

Theo beamed.

Ginny reached over and smacked him in the arm. “Let her breathe.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, grabbing my tea. “Really.”

I wasn’t. I was vibrating with too many feelings, too many questions, too much everything. But Draco’s knee brushed mine under the table, steady and sure, and suddenly the whispers didn’t matter so much.

Because I wasn’t sitting here alone anymore.

I was mid-sip of tea when I felt it.

Draco’s hand—casual, careful—slipped under the table and settled on my thigh. Warm. Solid. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of my skirt.

My breath caught.

I didn’t look at him.

I didn’t have to.

I could feel the smug curve of his mouth in the air beside me.

“Something wrong?” he asked, utterly casual, reaching for the sugar like he wasn’t setting my entire nervous system on fire.

“Nope,” I said, voice tight. “All good.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You look a little—flushed.”

“Hot tea,” I managed, taking another sip even though it burned my tongue.

Theo’s eyes darted between us. “You two are insufferable,” he muttered, but there was a glint of amusement in his voice. “Can’t even eat toast in peace anymore.”

“Oh, I’m eating just fine,” Draco said smoothly, his hand still working slow, maddening circles against my thigh. “Aren’t you, Granger?”

I elbowed him sharply under the table. He didn’t flinch. Only smiled wider.

Across the hall, someone dropped their fork with a sharp clatter.

The whispers were getting louder. I could feel the weight of them pressing in from every side—hushed voices, not-so-subtle glances, the swirl of speculation like smoke in the air.

But I didn’t turn my head.

I didn’t flinch.

Because Draco Malfoy was touching me like I was his. Like he didn’t care who saw. And because of that—because of him—I didn’t care either.

“They’re staring again,” I murmured, mostly to myself.

Draco leaned in, lips brushing just beside my ear. “Let them.”

Draco leaned back in his seat, that maddening smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth as his hand finally—mercifully—retreated from under the table.

I exhaled slowly, trying to remember how to chew toast without accidentally inhaling it.

“You’re evil,” I muttered, stabbing a piece of fruit like it had personally wronged me.

“Please,” he said, reaching for his own plate. “You’ve known that since I was twelve.”

“You’ve gotten worse with age,” I shot back.

He raised an eyebrow. “Better, you mean.”

Ginny snorted into her juice. “Honestly, if you two get any more smug, I’m going to hex you both.”

“Too late,” Theo said, chewing thoughtfully. “They’ve reached critical levels of public indecency.”

“I’ll have you know,” Draco said, entirely unbothered, “my hand was well above the table. For most of it.”

I flushed instantly. “You’re vile.”

Theo grinned. “You’re into vile. It’s alarming.”

Draco turned to me, voice low, teasing. “You wound me, Granger. And after all I’ve done for your morning.”

“You mean the emotional sabotage and thigh assault?”

“I call it breakfast foreplay.”

Ginny made a strangled noise. “Please, please stop saying words.”

“You’re just jealous,” Draco said, taking a leisurely bite of toast. “Some people like spice with their marmalade.”

Theo raised his cup. “To being the most hated table in Auric Hall.”

We all clinked our glasses together.

And despite the whispers, despite the stares, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Because this—this ridiculous, chaotic, deeply inappropriate  mess—was mine.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was mercifully close, though I wasn’t sure my pulse could handle another hour of sitting beside Draco after breakfast.

He was still grinning when we reached the classroom.

“You’re enjoying this,” I muttered as we stepped inside.

“Immensely.”

I rolled my eyes and made a beeline for our usual spot near the back. He followed, of course, like he always did now — like we’d always sat together, and no one remembered a time we hadn’t.

As I slid into my seat, he dropped into the one beside me with that same easy, unhurried grace that still made something flip low in my stomach. His knee brushed mine beneath the desk.

I didn’t move.

Professor Sinistra was already writing something on the board — complex magical defense patterns layered with intention-based casting circles. It should’ve been interesting. It was interesting.

But then Draco leaned closer.

“Think I’ll behave today?” he whispered, lips near my ear.

I gripped my quill tighter. “Not a chance.”

He hummed, low and pleased. “That’s what I thought.”

I refused to look at him. Absolutely refused.

But I felt his eyes on me the entire time Professor Sinistra spoke — a steady weight, burning hotter with every second. His fingers didn’t move this time. No teasing touches, no smirking glances. Just presence.

And that, somehow, was worse.

By the time she launched us into paired work — designing theoretical counter-curses layered over dark spell structures — my nerves were a wreck.

Draco turned his chair toward mine. “Granger,” he said, tone finally neutral, “you’re shaking.”

“I am not.”

He caught my wrist under the table. Just held it. Warm, steady, grounding.

“You are,” he murmured.

I finally looked up.

He didn’t smile this time. Didn’t tease.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly. “I’ll stop.”

I stared at him, heart thudding. “It’s not.”

It really, really wasn’t.

He let go, but the imprint of his touch lingered long after we bent over our shared notes — two students pretending this was just class.

And not the slow unravelling of everything we thought we knew about each other.

The library was quiet in that soft, cloistered way I loved — parchment rustling, quills scratching, chairs creaking under the weight of tired students. I sat tucked into my usual corner beneath the stained-glass window, a stack of Defense Against the Dark Arts texts arranged like a protective wall around me.

My notes were meticulous. I’d already written a page and a half on layered hex deflection and the theoretical ethics of preemptive defensive spells. But the words weren’t landing right. My quill hovered above the parchment as I stared at a single sentence I’d rewritten three times.

Draco was still in Magical Theory — the one class we didn’t share. It had been twenty-three minutes since I last checked the time.

I let out a slow breath, rolled my shoulders, and went back to the sentence.

I’d just started scribbling again when two girls passed the far end of the aisle — sixth-years, I thought, voices low and careless in the way only people who’ve never had to be careful are.

“—and you know it’s true,” one of them said. “She’s always been desperate to prove she’s better than everyone else.”

A laugh. Mean. Familiar.

“Apparently, all it took was shagging a Malfoy. Who knew?”

I froze.

My quill jerked, ink bleeding into the corner of the parchment.

They didn’t see me. Didn’t even glance down my aisle.

“But honestly,” the first one added, “can you imagine? Granger of all people. No wonder Weasley lost it.”

Their footsteps faded.

I sat very still.

I shouldn’t care. I knew I shouldn’t care. People had always talked. Always whispered. And I had never let it touch me. Not really.

But this time—this time, it was different.

Because now it was true.

Now, their words weren’t just speculation or cruelty for sport.

They were aimed. Sharpened. Real.

And they hurt.

My stomach twisted. I blinked hard at the ink-stained parchment, but the words blurred and wouldn’t come back into focus. My chest tightened with a hot, sick pressure — not rage. Not exactly.

Shame.

Which was worse.

I wasn’t ashamed of Draco.

I wasn’t.

But the way they’d said it — like it reduced everything about me to that one fact, like I had betrayed some imagined moral high ground just by wanting him…

It made something deep in me curl up.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt seventeen again. Raw. Exposed. And so, so tired of always having to justify my choices — even the ones that made me feel whole.

I closed the book with more force than necessary and pushed it aside.

Because if I sat there for one more second, I was going to cry.

I was halfway to shoving everything into my bag when I heard footsteps—measured, familiar, unhurried.

I didn’t look up.

“Skipped out early,” Draco said, his voice low as he slid into the seat beside me like he belonged there. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“I finished the assignment,” I lied, too quickly. My voice was too tight. I didn’t even bother straightening the mess of parchment in front of me.

He didn’t call me on it.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, eyes flicking over the disheveled table before landing on me.

“You alright?”

I nodded.

A beat passed.

He didn’t believe me. I could feel it in the silence between us.

But he didn’t press.

His gaze drifted over my face—too perceptive, too quiet—and I could tell. He saw it. The stiffness in my shoulders. The flush that hadn’t quite faded from my cheeks. The tension I hadn’t managed to hide.

He leaned forward slightly, like he might say something, but instead just reached across the table and gently righted one of my books. “Bit of an ink explosion,” he said lightly, though his voice had that edge of care he never admitted to.

“I was distracted,” I said again. This time, softer.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t tease.

Just nodded.

“Do you want to stay here?” he asked after a pause. “Or come walk with me?”

And it wasn’t really about walking, I knew. It was about the offer. About the quiet way he said it. The space he was making for me.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and stood.

“Walk,” I said, gathering my things with less urgency this time.

He took my bag from me without a word.

Not because I couldn’t carry it.

But because he knew that I was carrying enough already.

We stepped out into the corridor, the castle quieter now that classes had fully begun again. Our footsteps echoed in a rhythm that was almost soothing.

Neither of us spoke at first.

He didn’t ask what they’d said.

He didn’t have to.

The words were still echoing in my head anyway.

Of course she’s sleeping with him now. Maybe it’s the only thing keeping him civil. Or maybe she thinks it’s the only reason anyone’s still paying attention to her.

Sharp. Dismissive. Hissed through fake laughter just loud enough for me to hear.

I’d heard worse. Gods, I’d endured worse.

But that was before it was true.

Before it mattered.

When I finally told him, he just said, “You should’ve hexed them.”

His voice was almost casual. Too casual.

I looked over at him.

He didn’t meet my eyes—just kept staring straight ahead. But I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled slightly where they rested.

“I don’t even know if they meant for me to hear,” I muttered.

He snorted softly. “They did.”

I nodded once. Quiet.

We turned a corner into a sun-drenched corridor, light spilling in from the high, arched windows. My chest still felt tight, like my lungs were wrapped in twine.

“It’s just… different now,” I said. “When people talk. It’s not all rumors and guesswork anymore.”

Draco didn’t speak right away.

But then he said, “That’s not on you.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the simplicity of it.

He kept his eyes ahead. “They can talk all they like. You don’t owe them an explanation. And you definitely don’t owe them the right to make you feel small for something they never had a say in.”

I stopped walking.

He did too.

“You don’t have to defend me all the time,” I said. My voice was softer than I meant it to be.

“I’m not,” he replied, turning to face me. “I’m just telling the truth.”

I stared at him for a long moment.

And then—because I couldn’t help it—I said, “It’s hard, sometimes. To believe that someone like you actually sees me.”

His expression changed.

Softened.

“Granger,” he said, voice low and steady. “I don’t just see you. I watch you. The way you hold your wand like it’s a promise. The way you rub your thumb along the edge of your quill when you’re trying to remember something. The way you try so hard to keep it all together even when you’re falling apart.”

My breath caught.

“I’ve seen you,” he said again, quieter now. “Even when no one else was really looking.”

And just like that, the hurt faded—not completely, but enough to breathe again.

Enough to smile.

We started walking again.

And this time, I reached for his hand.

Not because I needed to.

But because I wanted to.

Chapter Text

“I could recognize you by touch alone, by smell; I would know you blind.”

Spring had crept in slowly. Softly.

One day there was frost on the courtyard railings, and the next, crocuses pushed their heads through the soil like they were daring the sun to stay. The sky was brighter now, the wind gentler. And somehow, without realizing when it had happened, I’d stopped bracing for the cold.

The world felt like it was thawing.

And so was I.

Not all at once. Not in any dramatic or visible way. But little by little, I caught myself breathing more easily. I stopped checking over my shoulder in corridors. I stopped preparing for a fight every time someone looked at me for too long.

I remembered the first time Draco reached for my hand without thinking—and I didn’t flinch. His fingers had brushed mine under the table in Charms, absentminded and soft, and I hadn’t pulled away. I’d just let it happen.

Or the day I laughed at something Theo said—really laughed, full and unguarded—and realized I didn’t feel guilty for it. That the weight of the war didn’t crash down every time something felt good.

It wasn’t that the stares had stopped. I’d just stopped noticing them.

Now, I noticed other things.

The way Draco’s thumb traced little circles on the back of my hand when we walked to breakfast. The way his body tilted toward mine even when we were silent. The way I felt—safe, but still surprised by it.

Like sunlight on a day I hadn’t expected to be warm.

I noticed the way Draco’s thumb traced little circles on the back of my hand when we walked to breakfast.

I noticed how he passed me the sugar before I even asked, and how his eyes lit up whenever I laughed—even at Theo’s terrible jokes.

We were always together now. Not in a clinging way. Just… constant. Like we had found the edges of something fragile and decided to cup it between our hands instead of pulling away.

Theo said we made people sick. Ginny said it was adorable. I wasn’t sure what I thought. Only that I felt full in a way I hadn’t  since before the war. And that terrified me more than I cared to admit.

We spent Sunday morning in Draco’s bed.

Not in a way that would make Ginny raise her eyebrows—but in that tangled, quiet, limbs-overlapping way that made me forget what time was. My nose tucked into the crook of his neck. His fingers brushing through my hair like he didn’t know how to stop.

The room smelled like him—cinderwood and soap and faint linen—and I breathed it in like it might anchor me. There was something in the silence, thick and golden, like a blanket pulled over the rest of the world.

I could feel his heartbeat under my palm. Slow. Steady. And his breath against my collarbone, warm and unhurried.

“I should go,” I murmured, even though I had no intention of moving.

“No, you shouldn’t,” he said, voice low and rough from sleep.

“You say that every time.”

“Because I mean it every time.”

He shifted, pulling me closer. Our legs tangled tighter, skin brushing skin beneath the sheets. I tucked my face in further, letting his warmth seep into every part of me that still felt cold.

He ran his hand down my back—light, slow, like a memory—and rested it just at the base of my spine. “You’re thinking again.”

“Am not.”

“You are. I can feel it.”

I smiled despite myself. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mmm.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Still here, though.”

“Don’t get smug.”

“Can’t help it. I’ve got Granger in my bed.”

I swatted weakly at his chest. “It’s not your bed. It’s technically Theo’s room too.”

“He sleeps like a troll,” Draco said, eyes still closed. “He won’t be back until lunch.”

“Still. We should—”

“You should stop pretending you’re leaving,” he said, opening his eyes and meeting mine. “And stay.”

There was no tease in his voice now. Just something quiet. Solid.

My throat tightened. “Okay.”

His smile was soft this time. Almost shy.

“You’re staring,” he said after a moment.

I blinked. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He smirked again, but it was gentler now. “I’m very handsome.”

I rolled my eyes and tapped his shoulder. “Arrogant.”

“And yet,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against my cheek, “you’re still here.”

I didn’t reply. Just shifted until my head was under his chin  again and whispered, “I know.”

By the time we made it down to breakfast, the hall was mostly full.

The clatter of cutlery and low hum of conversation echoed off the enchanted ceiling, which glowed a soft, sun-washed gold. Toast and treacle tarts hovered lazily above the tables, weaving between floating teapots and jugs of pumpkin juice. The smell of roasted tomatoes and warm cinnamon drifted toward us like a spell.

No one looked up when we entered. No sharp stares. No whispers. Just the ordinary noise of a morning.

It still startled me, sometimes—that it could be this easy now. That we could walk into a room together and not feel the air shift.

Draco dropped into the seat beside Theo with a muttered greeting and an effortless stretch, like his limbs hadn’t just spent hours tangled in mine.

I sat across from them, a slight heat blooming in my cheeks despite myself. Ginny slid in beside me a moment later, cheeks flushed from the wind and a bit of spring pollen clinging to her jumper.

“You’re late,” Theo said, not looking up as he slathered jam on toast. “Tell me it’s because you were being defiled again. I could use the entertainment.”

Ginny groaned, reaching for the teapot. “It’s eight-thirty in the bloody morning, Theo.”

“Love knows no time slot.”

“Neither does your ego,” Draco muttered, pouring himself tea with the grace of someone who still probably used a sugar spoon at home.

I tried not to smile. Failed.

“You two are insufferable,” I said, reaching for the marmalade.

“And yet you insist on sitting with us,” Theo replied brightly.

“Habit,” I said dryly.

Ginny leaned over the table. “Please tell me you finished your Arithmancy assignment. If I have to explain integer runes one more time, I’m going to hex my own foot.”

“Finished it last night.” I passed her my notes.

Across from me, Draco glanced over at the parchment like it had personally offended him. “Overachiever.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

He smirked and returned to buttering his toast with practiced precision.

I let my eyes drift over him for a moment—his hair still slightly mussed, the collar of his shirt open just enough to hint at skin. He caught me staring and arched one brow like it was a challenge.

“You’re thinking again,” he said, nudging my foot under the table.

“I do that sometimes.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He smiled at me across the rim of his teacup, and it landed like something weightless and devastating all at once.

There was something different in his gaze lately—like he was watching me the way other people watched stars. Not for navigation. Just for wonder.

Classes were easier now.

Not in content—Professor Sinistra still assigned essays that bordered on psychological warfare, and the practical dueling assessments were nothing short of exhausting—but in feeling. I didn’t dread walking into a room anymore. I didn’t shrink into corners or feel the heat of judgment clinging to my back.

Because he was always there.

Not loud. Not performative. Just there. The kind of presence that made it easier to breathe.

When we stepped into Defense that morning, the air still held a trace of chill from the open windows. My fingers were cold around my quill, but his hand brushed mine as we passed through the threshold. Just a small touch. Barely noticeable.

But it made me smile in spite of myself.

“Are you going to make it through today’s lecture,” he murmured as we reached our desk, “or will you be distracted again by my devastating cheekbones?”

I shot him a flat look. “Please. I’m far too focused on your tragic posture.”

He smirked and leaned in slightly, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing the shell of my ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t like the view.”

I flushed, heartbeat stuttering. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet.” He slid into the seat beside me like he belonged there. Like he always had. “Here we are.”

I didn’t respond. Just opened my notebook with a shake of my head and tried not to look as pleased as I felt. But he must’ve caught it anyway—my mouth tugging at the corners, the pink in my cheeks—because I saw the flicker of pride in his expression. Like he’d just won something.

Professor Sinistra swept into the room with the kind of brisk purpose that left no room for chatter. Her robes billowed behind her like stormclouds. “Today,” she began without preamble, “we’ll be continuing our work on defensive layering—specifically, the ways in which intent modifies spell strength. Wands out.”

Draco leaned in again, low and teasing. “Ten galleons says I layer my spell better than yours.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You’re on.”

We spent the first half of class quietly one-upping each other. My Protego flared wider, his Disillusionment lasted longer. My lips twitched every time he muttered something under his breath—half compliment, half challenge. We traded smug glances behind our parchment like it was a game only we knew we were playing.

He wasn’t showy about it. Just confident. Controlled. And good. Really, frustratingly good. When I accidentally let out a quiet, impressed “huh” at the precision of his incantation, he looked insufferably proud.

“Enjoying the view again?” he asked without missing a beat.

“Your wand work,” I clarified pointedly.

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

I choked on a laugh and elbowed him, hissing, “You’re going to get us both hexed.”

He grinned, entirely unbothered, and leaned back just far enough to let our knees brush again.

By the time class ended, I’d forgotten that anyone else had even been there.

He packed our things without asking, passing me my quill like it was second nature. Like he’d always done it. As we stood to go, I caught Theo’s eye from across the room. He was watching us—his usual smirk subdued into something quieter, more unreadable.

He offered a two-finger salute and turned away before I could figure out what it meant.

Draco glanced at me as we walked into the corridor. “You beat me today.”

“You let me win,” I accused.

“I didn’t,” he said simply. “You were just brilliant.”

He said it like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t a big deal. But the words hit harder than they should have. I slowed my step.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“Don’t thank me for telling the truth.”

We walked in step, shoulders bumping. I could feel it in every glance, every brush of skin, every moment stretched between breaths—this slow, certain thing that was building between us.

Something real.

Something terrifying.

And something I wasn’t ready to let go of.

The courtyard had finally thawed.

The snow was gone, the grass growing bold and green again, and the air smelled like damp earth and blooming things. Everything felt like it was exhaling. Birds chattered from the trees overhead, the breeze was soft against my cheeks, and the stone paths had finally dried out enough to walk without slipping.

Students had started scattering outside between classes—sitting on stone benches and lounging in patches of sunlight like overgrown cats. Laughter drifted lazily from the greenhouses. Somewhere, someone strummed a guitar badly enough that I almost smiled.

Draco and I took our lunch to the edge of the south lawn, where a crumbling old statue cast just enough shade to keep things comfortable. He spread his cloak across the grass like it was nothing, like he hadn’t once sneered at anyone who dared picnic on the ground.

“You’ve changed,” I teased, settling beside him and unpacking my sandwich.

He leaned back on his elbows, legs stretched out, his tie loosened just slightly. “I’ve always been this charming. You just refused to see it.”

I snorted. “You hexed Neville’s robes into a skirt once.”

He bit into an apple. “He took my seat.”

I gave him a look. “He was assigned that seat.”

He waved the apple lazily. “Ancient history.”

The sunlight dappled through the leaves above us, casting shifting patterns across his face and collar. He looked relaxed like this—almost lazy. Like he hadn’t grown up with tension carved into his spine. Like peace was a thing he could hold.

And watching him hold it made my chest ache.

I passed him a biscuit from my pocket. “You’ve gone soft.”

He took it with a small smile. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

There was something disarming about the whole thing—about the way he could be sharp-edged one moment and gentle the next. I used to brace for the sharpness. Used to meet it with my own.

Now, I braced for softness.

And it was worse.

Because it was working.

We sat like that for a while, eating in quiet comfort. Around us, the rest of the school buzzed distantly—voices rising and falling like background music. Every now and then his knee brushed mine. Every now and then I’d catch him watching me from the corner of his eye.

Not like he was waiting for something. Just… looking. Like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.

“You do realize this is a bit ridiculous,” I said eventually, gesturing around us. “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor—”

“Eighth year has no Houses,” he interrupted smoothly, tossing a crust at the statue’s feet. “Besides, I’m fairly certain I’m part of the Granger house now.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not how it works.”

“Says you.”

His fingers brushed mine as he reached for his water, and he didn’t pull away. Just lingered there—soft and casual, like it meant nothing at all.

But it did.

Because it wasn’t always like this. There was a time not that long ago when I couldn’t have imagined letting him this close. When I’d flinched, reflexively, at even the idea of his hand brushing mine.

And now—now he was brushing leaves out of my hair like it was his job.

Now, he reached for me like he expected I’d reach back.

And I did.

I didn’t say anything. Just leaned a little closer, let my shoulder rest against his. The sun was warm, the breeze soft, the smell of fresh grass clinging to the folds of his cloak.

For once, I let myself breathe in it fully.

And for once, I didn’t feel like I had to apologize for being happy.

Charms was held in one of the smaller towers on the east side of the castle, the kind of room where the afternoon light spilled in like honey and dust motes floated lazily through the air. Everything felt golden—slow and sleepy, like the castle itself had exhaled.

We were seated near the back, tucked side by side at one of the long worktables. I’d always liked Charms. It was precise and practical, and Flitwick’s voice had this oddly soothing cadence once you got used to the pitch.

But all I could focus on was Draco’s hand brushing mine under the table.

Again.

On purpose.

My quill trembled slightly in my grip.

“Focus,” I hissed under my breath, not daring to look at him.

“I am focused,” he murmured back, his voice low and far too pleased. “Very intently.”

“You’re going to make me burn something.”

“That would be unfortunate. But I suppose I’d have to hold your hand to put the fire out. Tragic, really.”

I elbowed him gently, but my cheeks were already warm. He smiled at that—smug, knowing, impossible.

“Right then,” Flitwick called out, bustling to the front. “Pair up! Let’s see if we can’t get some basic tandem levitation going. Remember, matching intention is key!”

Draco turned to me at once, that same maddening smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Think we can manage to match intentions for once?”

“I don’t know,” I said, folding my arms. “Are your intentions ever pure?”

His eyes gleamed. “Never.”

But when I held out my hand, he took it without hesitation.

His fingers wrapped around mine—confident, warm, sure—and my heart gave a traitorous flutter. I could feel the buzz of his magic already, thrumming just beneath the surface of his skin. It didn’t clash with mine. It didn’t fight it. It just… lingered. Like he was waiting for me to meet him halfway.

And I did.

“On three,” I said. “One… two… three—Wingardium Leviosa!”

The quill on the desk lifted slowly, rising with perfect control between us. It hovered midair, glowing faintly, pulsing with shared magic.

It wasn’t the first time we’d cast together. But it was the first time it felt like this.

Balanced. Equal. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with physical touch and everything to do with trust.

I could feel the curl of his magic around mine—not dominant, not leading, just present. Anchoring.

“Show-off,” I muttered, trying not to grin.

He smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

We didn’t let go.

Even after Flitwick moved on. Even after the quill settled gently back onto the table.

Draco’s thumb brushed lightly against the side of my hand. A question. A tease. A promise.

For a moment, it felt like the war had never touched us. Like we were just students again. Just teenagers with wands and notebooks and the impossible ache of something new unfolding between us.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt closer to him than in that small, quiet second—when the only thing between us was magic.

And maybe not even that.

We didn’t head straight to the next class.

Instead, we took the long way around—down the winding corridor that opened into the covered walkway along the greenhouses, where vines curled through the stonework and the spring sun warmed the old flagstones underfoot. The air smelled of fresh soil and green things. New life. The kind of smell that reminded me that healing was slow but constant.

Draco walked close enough that his hand brushed mine with every step, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. I didn’t move away.

My heart was still racing from Charms. Not just from the spell, but from the way it felt—being tethered to him like that. Letting our magic touch. Letting him see how steady my hand could be when it was wrapped in his.

“I think we may have just become Professor Flitwick’s new favorite pair,” I said, nudging his elbow lightly.

He huffed a soft laugh. “Only because we didn’t set anything on fire. The bar is remarkably low these days.”

“Well,” I said, glancing over, “maybe some of us are just naturally charming.”

He turned to look at me with that lazy, half-smile that had slowly become one of my favorite things. “You are. Infuriatingly so.”

My stomach flipped. I bit my lip to keep from smiling too wide, but it was already too late. I could feel the grin threatening at the edges of my mouth.

A warm breeze swept past us, carrying the scent of lavender and something that reminded me faintly of my mother’s garden. I tugged my sleeves down instinctively—still not used to showing so much skin again—but Draco didn’t say anything. He just slowed his pace a little. Let me set the rhythm. Let me breathe.

We stopped beneath one of the ivy-covered arches. I leaned against the stone, feeling the heat of the sun on my back, and watched him watching me.

His gaze was soft. Open. Like he couldn’t believe I was real.

I wasn’t sure I could believe it either.

“What?” I asked, half-laughing, trying to break the tension that had suddenly thickened between us.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… wondering when you’re going to realize you’ve ruined me.”

My breath caught. “Draco—”

“I mean it,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “I used to be able to go a full day without thinking about anyone but myself. Now you’ve infected everything. Every thought. Every space I used to keep empty.”

I blinked, throat tight. “That’s… not a bad thing?”

“No,” he said. “But it’s terrifying.”

The words sank in slowly—like warmth through cold skin. Like light filtering through fog.

He reached up, brushing a curl from my cheek, letting his fingers trail along the side of my neck—barely there, just enough to make me lean into it.

“You scare the hell out of me,” he murmured.

I looked up at him. “You think you don’t scare me?”

He let out a breath, quiet and shaky. “I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t want to ruin you.”

“You’re not,” I said. “You’re the only thing that doesn’t feel ruined.”

His lips quirked—just a little—but it was gentler this time. “Let’s be scared together, then.”

I smiled. “Deal.”

He leaned in, and I kissed him beneath the ivy archway, with sunlight on my back and the faint scent of lilacs in the air. It wasn’t passionate or rushed—just soft. Sure. Like we had time now. Like this didn’t have to burn to feel real.

And for the first time in ages, I believed that maybe we really did.

Auric Hall was quieter than usual that evening.

Most students had opted to eat outdoors, scattered across the grounds in little clusters to soak up the spring warmth while it lasted. Inside, the long tables were mostly empty, the enchanted ceiling glowing soft and gold with the last traces of sunlight. The torches burned lower, casting long shadows and bathing the room in a hush that felt almost sacred.

Draco and I sat at one of the smaller tables toward the far end of the hall, tucked beside a column where the light hit us just right. I hadn’t meant to end up this close to him—knees brushing under the table, shoulders pressed together like we’d done it a thousand times. But I also hadn’t stopped it.

He was slicing through a piece of roast chicken with unnecessary elegance, like he was trying to pretend we weren’t quietly wrapped around each other in a thousand invisible ways. I watched his hands move, long fingers steady, confident, like everything he did was calculated—but there was a kind of gentleness to it now. Like he was learning how not to grip things too tightly.

“You cut meat like you’re afraid of offending it,” I said, spearing a potato with my fork.

He gave me a look. “I grew up with four forks per place setting. Old habits die hard.”

I smirked. “Is one of them the meat diplomacy fork?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “And one’s for stabbing anyone who uses the wrong one.”

I laughed—quiet and full—and he smiled like he’d been waiting all day to hear it. The way his expression softened at the sound made my chest ache.

We talked about nothing important. Exams. Theo’s increasingly chaotic sleep schedule. Ginny’s plan to dye her hair “something unholy” before the year was out. Everything and nothing. He told me about his Ancient Runes essay with a frown and then confessed he was pretty sure he’d used the wrong translation for a key phrase. I offered to help him fix it later. He nodded like that was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

I didn’t even notice we’d stopped eating. I was too busy watching him—how the late light haloed his hair, how the shadows softened the angles of his face. How at peace he looked when no one else was watching.

He leaned back a little, studying me with that same quiet intensity he always reserved for these rare, vulnerable silences between us.

“You do that a lot,” I said softly.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like I’m going to disappear.”

He didn’t deny it. His jaw twitched slightly, but his eyes stayed on mine.

Then he reached across the table, his hand sliding over mine with a warmth that startled me. Not because it was new—but because it still made something deep inside me unravel every time.

“Because I used to think I didn’t get to have things like this,” he said. “That I’d already spent my one shot at being someone worth… keeping.”

My heart thudded so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“And now?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked down at our joined hands. His thumb traced the curve of my knuckles like it was a question. Or maybe an answer.

“Now I’m terrified I might,” he said quietly. “Have something. Have you. And lose it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wasn’t sure I could say anything without falling apart.

So I did the only thing I could. I turned my hand over and laced our fingers together. Anchoring us both.

“You won’t,” I said. And I meant it.

He didn’t speak. Just watched me like I was something made of glass and starlight, and he was trying to memorize the shape before it slipped away.

And in the quiet of that almost-empty hall, under the fading light of day, I let myself believe that this moment might last. That love—real love—could live even in the ruins of who we used to be.

That we had made something out of the wreckage.

And that it was ours.

By the time we stepped out of Auric Hall, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, casting long lavender shadows across the corridor. The castle felt still—peaceful in a way it rarely did, like even the ghosts had gone quiet for the night. The torches along the walls flickered low, their flames casting gentle gold over stone.

We didn’t speak.

We didn’t need to.

Draco’s hand found mine the moment we passed through the arched doorway, his fingers curling around mine with casual certainty. I leaned into his side slightly, our steps falling into rhythm as we wound our way up the stairs, past the oil portraits dozing in their frames, past the suits of armor that didn’t bother clanking tonight.

He was quiet—but not distant. There was something almost reverent in the way he walked beside me, like he understood something I hadn’t quite admitted to myself yet. Like he was holding space for it.

When we reached the door to his room, he didn’t say a word—just pushed it open and held it for me like always.

Like this was ours, too.

I toed off my shoes by the fireplace while he lit the lantern with a flick of his wand. It cast the room in a warm, amber glow, softening the sharp lines of the bookshelves, the edges of the windows, even him. My jumper slipped slightly off one shoulder, and his eyes flicked there before settling back on my face.

“Do you want tea?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Just… this.”

He didn’t ask what this meant. Just walked over and wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. I could feel the steady beat of his heart through his chest. The warmth of his skin even through our clothes.

We stood there like that for a long time.

Wrapped up in something that wasn’t quite silence—something fuller. Safe.

I turned in his arms slowly, looking up at him. “Do you think we’ll remember this?” I asked.

He brushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “I already know I will.”

His voice was soft, but it struck something deep.

The fire crackled behind us. His bed sat just a few feet away, sheets rumpled from the night before, one of my books still lying on the pillow. It didn’t feel strange anymore—seeing my things here. Being here.

I was still scared.

But not of him.

Of how much this was starting to mean.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth—soft and slow and reverent, like he was trying to speak without words.

And maybe he didn’t need to.

Because I felt it—every unspoken thing—in the way his lips lingered, in the way his hand skimmed down my arm like he was memorizing the shape of it.

When he finally kissed me fully, I kissed him back.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t wild.

It was warm and slow and achingly careful—like we were both still trying to believe this was real. Like we were trying to hold on to the quiet that existed only between us.

My fingers curled into his shirt as he deepened the kiss, and his hand slid to my waist, steady, sure. When he pulled me closer, I didn’t resist. I moved with him—over the soft sheets, into his arms, against his chest. Our legs tangled naturally, the duvet rustling around us like it was part of the hush we’d built.

Clothes slipped away in silence.

Nothing hurried.

Just small touches. Exchanged glances. The soft sound of breath between kisses. The heat of his palms trailing over my skin like he wanted to remember the texture of every inch.

When I paused—just for a moment—his hand brushed my cheek. His thumb traced just under my eye.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, unable to speak.

He kissed me again—slower this time. Gentler. His hands never pushed, only asked. I answered every time.

And when we finally moved together, it felt like something inside me exhaled.

Like something that had been wound tight for far too long had finally, finally let go.

There was no sharp edge. No shame. No hesitation.

Just his mouth at my neck, his hand holding mine, and the way he murmured my name like it meant something sacred.

And afterward, we didn’t move.

We just lay there, breath tangled in the space between us, our hands still linked across the pillow, like neither of us wanted to be the one to let go first.

My cheek rested against his collarbone, his fingers trailing lazy circles across my shoulder. I stared at the ceiling, heart still thudding with the echo of everything that had just passed between us.

I didn’t know what came next.

But right now, this—him—was enough.

And I let myself believe, just for a moment, that maybe it always had been.

And as his arms wrapped around me again, and my fingers found the steady beat of his pulse, I thought—

If this is falling, then I don’t ever want to land.

Chapter Text

“We’re never so vulnerable than when we trust someone—but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy.”

The sheets were still warm when I shifted against him, tangled around our legs in a way that made it hard to tell where I ended and he began.

Draco lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly against my hip like he didn’t quite want to let go. His bare chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, steady and unhurried, the rhythm of it lulling something deep inside me I hadn’t realized was still afraid.

His eyes were half-lidded, the sharp grey of them soft with sleep and something quieter I still didn’t have a name for. He looked so at ease like this—so impossibly calm in the way I was still trying to understand. How someone like him—so sharp, so tightly wound, always half a breath from biting—could go so still with me.

We didn’t speak at first.

There was a peace in the quiet, the kind that only came in the in-between hours. The castle hadn’t fully woken yet. No hallway chatter, no clatter of cutlery. Just the muffled call of distant birdsong and the hush of our shared breathing. The way his fingers traced slow, absent circles along my spine, like he could draw his thoughts into my skin and I’d understand them without words.

I pressed my face into the curve of his chest, breathing him in—warm cotton and sleep and something that was just him. “You’re warm,” I mumbled against his skin.

He made a low noise of agreement, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. “You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth. “I tolerate it.”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t pull away. I never did anymore.

I used to think I’d never want to be touched again. After the war—after everything—I couldn’t stand the idea of someone reaching for me without warning. Even a hand on my shoulder would make my whole body tense, like I had to brace for something awful.

But now, with Draco, it was different. Somehow, somewhere along the way, the flinch had faded. His hands didn’t jar me—they steadied me. Quieted something I hadn’t even realized was still on edge.

I wondered if he knew.

If he noticed the way my body melted into his without thinking now. How I didn’t brace anymore when he brushed my hair back or reached for my hand. Maybe he did. Maybe that was why he always touched me so carefully, like he was making sure it stayed safe.

Or maybe it was just him.

And maybe that was why it scared me.

Because I hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hadn’t meant for trust to grow roots beneath my skin, soft and steady, like he belonged there.

His hand moved, drifting higher along my back, settling between my shoulder blades. His thumb moved in lazy arcs, like he had nowhere else to be. Like this was it. Like I was it.

I let my eyes fall shut, letting the weight of him, the warmth of him, sink deeper into me. I remembered the first time we’d touched like this—awkward and unsure, my pulse loud in my throat, the ghost of doubt still clinging to my skin. I remembered how I’d flinched when his hand had brushed mine, out of habit more than fear. And how he hadn’t pulled back. Just waited.

I hadn’t flinched in weeks.

Now, his touch felt like the only thing keeping me tethered.

We lay there a little longer. Nothing urgent, nothing spoken. Just skin and breath and the feeling that—for the moment—everything was exactly where it should be.

Like we had all the time in the world.

Even if we didn’t.

I let my thoughts drift a little further back, to those early days after the war, when I’d wake in the dark, chest tight and breathing ragged, haunted by shadows that wouldn’t fade. But now, waking beside Draco, it was easier to forget. Easier to pretend that my nightmares didn’t reach me here.

The sheets felt impossibly soft, the scent of him clinging gently to the fabric—warm, a bit musky, a touch of something comforting like old parchment. It was ridiculous how familiar it had become. How the simple weight of him beside me could ease something deep within my chest that nothing else ever had.

I breathed in deeply, savoring it. This small peace. This fragile thing we’d built out of shattered pieces.

Eventually, we got dressed—slowly, reluctantly—and made our way down to breakfast.

Auric Hall was already buzzing by the time we arrived, filled with the low hum of morning conversation, the scrape of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter. But none of it was about us.

And that, somehow, felt strange.

I’d grown so used to the weight of eyes tracking us across the room, to the charged silences and whispered speculation, that the absence of it felt almost louder. Like a void I didn’t know how to fill.

It was strange to watch the world move on without us. Conversations around us felt oddly mundane: debates over homework, grumbles about Quidditch practices, idle chatter about the upcoming weekend. No whispers, no careful glances. Just life as usual.

Draco reached absently for the raspberry jam and passed it to me without looking, his movements easy and automatic. I spread some onto my toast, feeling quietly pleased that he’d remembered. I caught his eye briefly, and something flickered between us—a subtle acknowledgment of just how much we’d settled into this new normal. It was quiet, simple, and it filled a space inside me that I hadn’t realized was empty.

“Old news,” Draco muttered as we passed a third-year who barely glanced up from her bowl of porridge.

“I’m not sure if that’s comforting or vaguely insulting,” I said, sliding into our usual spot at the end of the long table.

He smirked, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Welcome to the blissful anonymity of scandal fatigue.”

I smiled but didn’t reply, my eyes drifting down the table.

Theo was already there, hunched slightly over his mug, fingers curled tightly around the ceramic like he was trying to will warmth into his hands. He looked up as we approached and gave a short nod in greeting—polite, automatic—but it lacked his usual spark. No smirk. No comment. Just a tired kind of stillness.

“Morning,” I offered gently, nudging into my seat across from him.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and a bit hoarse. Then he looked back down at his tea, as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

Draco leaned over, brushed a kiss against the side of my head, and began piling eggs onto his plate with casual precision. His other hand brushed against my knee beneath the table—light, familiar. Like habit. Like comfort.

It felt… domestic. Easy in a way that still surprised me sometimes. And I didn’t mind.

I wrapped my hands around my own mug, letting the steam curl against my skin, and took a slow sip. Around us, the hall carried on—plates clinking, toast being passed, someone halfway down the table arguing about Quidditch schedules. It should’ve felt peaceful.

But something about Theo’s silence scratched at the edge of my attention.

Ginny appeared a minute later, hair still damp and scarf tangled half-around her neck. “Bloody staircases,” she muttered, dropping into the seat beside Theo with a huff. “Morning.”

Theo didn’t look up. Just reached out absently to pull the end of her scarf into place.

“You alright?” I asked under my breath, keeping my voice low as I glanced between them.

He gave me a smile, small and tight. “Didn’t sleep,” he said.

And that was it.

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t joke about nightmares or insomnia or the chaos of Ginny’s hair taking up the pillow. He just looked down again, eyes shadowed with something I didn’t quite recognize.

I frowned, the unease stirring deeper now, but before I could ask anything more, the bell chimed overhead.

Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Chairs scraped back. Bags were slung over shoulders. The moment dissolved.

Draco stood and stretched with that effortless, feline grace he always seemed to carry. “Ready to get hexed?”

“Only if you deserve it,” I said, reaching for my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

Theo was already moving toward the door, his stride brisker than usual. Ginny followed him, shooting me a quick look over her shoulder.

Ginny leaned closer as we walked toward class. “Is Theo alright?” she murmured. “He seemed quiet at breakfast.”

I hesitated, glancing at Theo’s retreating figure ahead of us. “I’m not sure. He barely spoke.”

She nodded, frowning slightly. “I’ll ask him later. Maybe he’s just tired.”

“Maybe,” I echoed, not entirely convinced.

I didn’t move right away.

Draco’s hand found the small of my back.

And something inside me—small and quiet—felt just the tiniest bit off.

But I shook it away.

Because we were happy. We were safe.

It wasn’t worth dwelling on. Not when everything else felt so good.

He made me laugh now. Really laugh. That kind of full-bodied, stomach-aching laughter I hadn’t felt in months—maybe years. He remembered how I took my tea, where my shoulder still ached from the war, which books I reread when I was anxious. He let me win at chess even when he didn’t mean to, and always blamed the board when he didn’t.

If something was off with Theo, we’d figure it out. That’s what we did now—talked, untangled things. We weren’t who we used to be. None of us were.

And I wanted to believe that meant we were better.

The classroom buzzed with its usual pre-lesson chaos—chairs scraping, quills tapping, the occasional burst of magical misfire. Someone near the windows had accidentally over-enchanted their textbook, and it hovered midair, flapping its pages like wings before slamming shut with a disgruntled thud.

I slid into my seat just as Draco dropped into the one beside me. He always did now—like it was a given. Like I was a given. Our shoulders brushed as we settled in, and I could feel the quiet warmth of him even through the layers of our robes.

It grounded me. More than I liked to admit.

Professor Sinistra strode in a moment later, her robes trailing behind her like smoke. She gave the room one quick sweep with her eyes before flicking her wand at the board.

“Today,” she said crisply, “we’ll be continuing our work with defensive barriers and personal shielding. Partner up.”

I didn’t even have to look.

Draco had already angled toward me, his quill set aside, wand balanced loosely between his fingers.

But it wasn’t that simple everywhere else in the room.

Across the aisle, Theo moved toward Blaise without a word. Not Ginny.

Ginny blinked at him, caught mid-step, then glanced toward me with a confused wrinkle in her brow. I shrugged slightly, but the feeling in my chest tightened.

Theo didn’t explain. Didn’t even look her way. He just took his place across from Blaise, jaw set, expression unreadable.

I frowned.

Draco noticed. “What?”

I hesitated. “Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow—just enough to make a point—but didn’t push. Instead, he gave a crooked smile and said, “Let’s get you flattened by a curse, then.”

“Chivalrous,” I muttered, pulling out my wand.

The lesson began, and with it, our movements settled into a rhythm that had become instinctive. Cast. Block. Shift. Counter. We moved around each other like we were choreographed, spells colliding in clean, controlled bursts of light. My shielding flared, and Draco’s expression shifted into something annoyingly smug.

I couldn’t help noticing how easy this had become between us—our movements synchronized, each step almost instinctive. Draco’s gaze was sharp and attentive, tracking every flick of my wand, every shift of my stance. I felt a thrill each time I caught the admiration in his eyes.

It was comforting, this quiet confidence in each other. Strange to think how much had changed from our first classes together, when every interaction was charged with tension and hostility. Now, every clash of our spells felt like a dance, graceful and precise.

“Not bad,” he murmured as he ducked a rebounding jinx and launched one of his own. “For someone who claimed she needed all the practice.”

I snorted and sent a silent Stupefy his way, which he deflected with ease.

We were good. Really good.

But I couldn’t stop glancing toward Theo.

He was focused, his stance precise, movements sharp. But there was a tension in his shoulders I couldn’t unsee. Something simmering just beneath the surface.

He didn’t laugh when Blaise made a sarcastic remark. Didn’t smirk when Ginny flubbed a shield and sent sparks flying across her desk.

He didn’t even look up when class ended.

Just packed up in silence and left before the rest of us had even capped our ink bottles.

Draco flicked his wand, vanishing the chalk off his parchment with a practiced motion. “You think something’s going on?”

I slipped my books into my bag, slower than usual. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “He’s been off all morning.”

Draco shrugged. “He’s probably just tired. He’s been up late working on that essay for Runes.”

I nodded, but the unease stayed.

I told myself not to read into it. Theo had always been moody, mercurial even on a good day. He’d disappear for days during exam season and come back with ink-stained fingers and a dozen new conspiracy theories about the Ministry. This could be the same. Just stress. Just Theo being Theo.

But it was getting harder to pretend I didn’t notice how often he looked at Draco like he was waiting for him to say something. Or how quiet their jokes had become. Like something had been carved out of their friendship, and no one had acknowledged the hollow space left behind.

Still—I didn’t push.

But was still avoiding us.

And I didn’t know why.

The sun filtered down through the tall windows along the corridor, casting golden beams across the floor. Outside, the spring air was warm enough to coax students into sun-drenched corners, lounging with books and half-eaten lunches. The kind of day that made you forget the war had ever happened.

Draco and I slipped into a quiet alcove behind the greenhouse wall, shielded from the worst of the breeze. His hand brushed mine as we sat, fingers intertwining without a word, like muscle memory.

“I forgot what this kind of day felt like,” I said softly, eyes closed, chin tilted up toward the sun.

He didn’t answer right away. Just rested his hand lightly against my knee, thumb drawing idle circles through the fabric of my skirt. “Feels normal,” he murmured. “Dangerously so.”

I cracked an eye open. “Dangerous?”

He met my gaze, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Makes me think I might actually be happy.”

That word.

Happy.

It landed heavy in my chest. A strange kind of ache—hopeful, fragile, real.

“I think I am,” I whispered.

Draco didn’t answer. He leaned over instead, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. My heart fluttered like it always did.

“I brought you something,” he said, reaching into his pocket. reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in black velvet ribbon.

It was simple. Delicate.

A small silver charm dangled from the ribbon — a tiny open book, its pages glinting faintly in the firelight. I leaned forward, curious, the weight of his silence settling around us.

“This was my mother’s,” he said finally, voice low and a little uneven. “She gave it to me when I turned seventeen.”

He hesitated — just for a second. “Told me to give it to someone when I trusted them to know me.”

My breath caught.

He didn’t look away. Just offered it out, palm steady despite the flicker in his eyes.

“I’m not good at this,” he said. “But this… it’s yours, if you want it.”

I reached out slowly, fingers brushing his. The charm was warm. Or maybe that was just me.

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

I just nodded.

My fingers curled carefully around the tiny charm, heart pounding quietly beneath my ribs. I’d only met Narcissa Malfoy a handful of times, and always under circumstances that left little room for softness. But Draco’s voice carried a raw sincerity that told me how precious this was—how precious I was—to him.

My throat tightened with emotion, but I didn’t let the tears rise. Not now. Instead, I focused on the quiet intimacy of Draco fastening the ribbon at my neck, his fingers brushing the nape gently, carefully, like this moment was as fragile as the silver charm itself.

He moved behind me, brushing my curls gently over one shoulder as he fastened the ribbon at the back of my neck. His fingers were careful. Slow. Reverent, almost.

When I turned to face him again, his eyes dropped to the charm resting just above my collarbone.

“It suits you,” he said softly.

I didn’t answer.

But when I kissed him, I tasted something quiet and sure on his lips.

And I didn’t doubt him.

Not even a little.

Dinner was quiet that night.

The usual hum of Auric Hall had softened with the slow stretch of spring evenings—the ceiling overhead still cast in faint gold as the last light of day clung to the windows. The torches burned gently, casting long, dappled shadows across the floor.

Draco sat beside me, as he always did, close enough that our arms brushed whenever I reached for my goblet. His fingers found my knee beneath the table, idle and warm, the kind of touch that had stopped startling me. It just felt… natural now. Familiar.

Safe.

I reached for my napkin, running the edge between my fingers absently, the cool weight of my new necklace a quiet reminder against my collarbone. Every now and then, I caught Draco watching me—softly, without expectation—and my chest would tighten in that strange, tentative way it always did around him.

It should’ve been an ordinary dinner.

And it mostly was.

Except—

I glanced down the table and frowned. “Where’s Theo?”

Ginny looked up from her soup, brow furrowing. “I think he had a meeting with Professor Babbling after class, but… that should’ve ended by now.”

I nodded, stirring my mash with my fork. “Do you think he’s alright?”

Ginny tilted her head. “He seemed fine this morning. Maybe just tired?”

“Are you two fighting?” I asked, quieter now.

She gave me a puzzled look. “No. Why?”

I shrugged. “He’s just… usually here.”

Draco didn’t say anything. Just sliced his roast chicken with careful precision, eyes fixed on his plate.

But there was a flicker of something in his expression—something unreadable.

I almost asked.

But then he passed me the salt before I could reach for it, and whatever I’d seen disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

He just hummed, brushing his fingers along mine in the handoff like it was second nature.

Ginny broke into a story about a Hufflepuff first-year who had accidentally transfigured their shoes into ferrets, and the conversation at our end of the table lifted into easy laughter. Draco added a sarcastic comment about poor instruction in the lower years, and Ginny called him insufferable.

I smiled. Ate a few more bites. Let it all wash over me like warm water.

It felt like a regular evening.

No drama. No tension. Just spring air drifting in through the high windows, and the soft press of Draco’s knee against mine under the table.

Eventually, Ginny excused herself to meet with Luna about the Herbology notes. I watched her go, half-expecting Theo to slip in at the last second and steal the seat beside her.

But he didn’t.

Later, when Draco had stepped away briefly, Ginny leaned in, voice low and concerned. “Theo’s still acting odd,” she murmured. “Did he say anything to you today?”

I shook my head, frowning. “No. Draco said he’s just stressed, but… I don’t know.”

Ginny sighed, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “I’ll talk to him. Something feels…off.”

I nodded quietly, grateful she’d noticed it too. But before I could reply further, Draco returned, and the conversation ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Still, I didn’t worry. Not really. But I couldn’t help noticing Draco’s gaze lingered longer than it should have on the doors after Theo left, a faint crease between his brows that wasn’t usually there. I almost asked him if everything was alright again, but he turned back to me just then, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I decided to let it go. For now.

I told myself he was probably holed up in the library with his notes and a sugar quill, muttering about syntax and wand form.

Draco leaned close, voice low and even. “Come back with me tonight?”

It was a familiar question by now. A quiet one. No pressure behind it. Just routine, shaped gently around the edges of affection.

I smiled, brushing my fingers along his wrist. “I’ll meet you there.”

He studied me for a second longer, eyes softening slightly as he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. The casual tenderness of the gesture made my heart skip quietly.

“You know,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “I could get used to this.”

“Used to what?” I asked softly, warmth blooming in my chest.

He shrugged, casual and almost shy. “You. Us. This.”

My chest felt tight in the best way possible. “Me too,” I whispered, unable to hide the smile pulling at my mouth.

He searched my face for a moment—steady, unreadable—then gave a soft nod and turned back to his plate.

And that was it.

Just the two of us, finishing dinner.

Just spring, and laughter, and an evening like any other.

Ginny stirred first, stretching with a groan and sitting up to rub her eyes. “Do you want to go down together?” she asked, already reaching for her socks. “If I have to listen to Luna debate the ethics of eating eggs before I’ve had tea, I may combust.”

I blinked at the ceiling for a moment longer before sitting up too. “Sure,” I said, voice thick with sleep. “Give me two minutes.”

We dressed in mostly comfortable silence. I twisted my hair into a low plait while Ginny pulled on her boots, humming under her breath.

It was a crisp morning—warm sun slanting through the corridor windows, the kind of spring air that made it feel like the castle itself had exhaled.

But when we turned the corner toward Auric Hall, we pulled up short.

Draco and Theo stood just outside the wide doors, bodies angled sharply toward each other, faces tight. Their voices were low, too low to make out the words, but the tension in the air was unmistakable.

Ginny shot me a look.

Theo’s arms were crossed. Draco’s jaw was clenched. Neither noticed us at first—until the click of our shoes against stone made Theo glance up.

The shift was immediate.

Draco’s jaw tightened visibly, his shoulders stiffening as he straightened and took a deliberate half-step back from Theo. Theo’s expression shuttered, his arms uncrossing and fists relaxing as if forcibly unclenching them. The silence that followed felt thick, weighted with unsaid things and careful restraint.

Ginny shot me another wary look, clearly sensing the same unease that had settled in my chest.

Draco straightened. Theo’s expression shut down completely.

“Hermione. Ginny.” Draco’s tone was too neutral. “Morning.”

“Hi,” I said slowly. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Theo said, just a bit too quickly. “Just a disagreement about… class.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Draco’s eyes flicked to mine—briefly—and I thought I saw something flash there. Unease? Guilt? But then it was gone.

“Shall we?” he said instead, pushing open the door to Auric Hall with a familiar ease.

The moment passed.

We stepped into Auric Hall together, the usual morning din rising to greet us—chatter, clinking cutlery, the scent of toast and strong tea. Nothing unusual. Nothing strange.

Draco reached for my hand as we walked to our usual spot. His thumb brushed over my knuckles like he always did, and I let myself fall into the rhythm of it. Familiar. Steady.

Theo was already seated, half-sunk in his chair with a mug of something steaming between his palms. He didn’t look up as we approached, but Ginny dropped into the seat beside him with a teasing, “You look like death.”

“I feel like it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his tea. His tone was light enough, but he didn’t glance at her. Or me. Or Draco.

Draco sat across from him, sliding onto the bench beside me, but didn’t greet him either.

I noticed that, vaguely. But it didn’t ping. Not really. Not with the toast arriving and Ginny snorting into her pumpkin juice about Luna trying to organize a vegetarian resistance against the house-elves’ bacon supply.

Theo chuckled at that. Sort of. It was thin. But he responded.

Draco reached for the eggs and passed them to me without asking. He didn’t speak much—just nodded at something Ginny said and buttered his toast like it required intense concentration.

Theo finally glanced up once, eyes flicking toward Draco across the table. Something unreadable passed between them. Neither said a word.

I looked between them but found nothing to latch onto—no argument, no cutting remarks, no glares. Just quiet.

I took a sip of tea, the warmth grounding me.

I didn’t press.

If something was wrong, they’d say so. Wouldn’t they?

Across from me, Theo offered me a small smile. I returned it, relieved.

Everything felt… mostly normal.

Even if Draco didn’t say a word for the rest of breakfast.

Even if Theo left early, muttering something about needing to check his Arithmancy notes.

Even if Draco’s gaze lingered on the door long after he was gone.

I didn’t ask him then.

Not with Ginny right there. Not with Theo already gone.

But later that evening, as we passed each other in the corridor on the way to the common room, I paused.

“Hey,” I said.

Draco looked up from whatever thought he’d been lost in. “Yeah?”

“This morning,” I said carefully. “Outside Auric Hall. Were you and Theo—?”

His expression didn’t shift. Not exactly. But something in his posture pulled taut, like a thread pulled just a little too tight.

“It was nothing,” he said after a beat. “Just a stupid disagreement.”

I nodded slowly, but I didn’t look away. “Is everything okay between you two?”

“Yeah,” he said, too quickly. Then, after a pause: “He’s just… going through something.”

“Does it have to do with me?”

He looked at me properly then. Met my eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “It doesn’t. I promise.”

I believed him. Or—I wanted to.

“Okay,” I said softly.

He reached for my hand, laced our fingers together like it meant something. Like it always did now.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said.

I nodded again, even as that thread inside me stayed tight.

That night, I slipped beneath my duvet with the silver charm still warm against my chest.

Outside, rain tapped gently at the windows, soft and rhythmic like a lullaby. I curled onto my side, pulling the blankets tighter around me, and let myself think of him—his voice, his hands, the way he always knew when to reach for me without asking.

I didn’t know what was coming.

I only knew I was happy.

But as I drifted toward sleep, warmth settled deeply in my chest, quieting any lingering doubts or fears. Happiness felt new, fragile in its rarity—but with Draco, it was becoming beautifully familiar. The soft press of the silver charm against my skin reminded me of him, of us—steady, safe, and real.

I smiled softly into the darkness, heart full with the simple truth of how good it felt to finally let myself believe in this—in him. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t bracing for loss. I was letting myself breathe.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

“I am catastrophically in love with you.”

I’d been ignoring Pansy Parkinson for weeks.

Or trying to, at least.

She’d made it clear from the start that she wasn’t happy about Draco and me—her resentment woven into every sharp glare and snide remark she threw my way. At first, I’d tried to brush it off, telling myself she was just bitter, just jealous of something she could no longer have. But lately, the whispers had grown louder, her smug little glances more frequent, as if she was determined to remind me at every turn just how much she disapproved.

It was harder than it should’ve been, pretending I didn’t notice. Pretending that my stomach didn’t twist uncomfortably every time I caught her watching me with disdainful amusement. But I’d gotten good at pretending. Good at keeping my head high, even when I felt anything but confident.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That nothing she said or did could touch me—because I knew who I was. And I knew what Draco and I had.

Most days, that was enough.

But some days—days when her whispered words carried just loud enough to hear—my resolve wavered. I’d catch myself replaying her comments, bitterly dissecting every look, every sneer. I hated myself for it, for giving her words power, for allowing them to lodge beneath my skin.

Draco noticed. He never said much—just tightened his grip on my hand whenever we passed her in the corridors, or gently redirected my attention when he saw my eyes linger too long. It wasn’t enough to erase my doubts completely, but it was enough to remind me that I wasn’t alone.

The worst had come a few days earlier, in Ancient Runes. Professor Babbling had stepped out briefly, and Pansy, seated two rows back, leaned forward. Her voice was honeyed poison, pitched low for only me to hear.

“You know he’ll tire of you eventually, don’t you, Granger?” she drawled lazily. “Draco gets bored quickly. Especially with charity cases.”

My hand trembled slightly around my quill, but I didn’t turn around. Didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing the flush creep up my neck. Draco had glanced sharply toward her, eyes narrowing dangerously, but she’d already leaned back, feigning innocence.

Later, he’d found me alone in the library. He hadn’t asked about it. Hadn’t mentioned her name at all. He’d simply sat beside me, silently sliding his hand over mine beneath the table. And somehow, that had been enough.

Draco had always been observant—too observant, sometimes. But now, when his protectiveness showed itself in quiet gestures, it was almost disorienting. It had started in small ways, in the gentle press of his palm against my back when we walked through crowded hallways, or how he’d quietly take the heavier books from my hands without a word.

I’d never needed someone to take care of me. I’d never even wanted it. But Draco’s quiet attentiveness had become a steady reassurance, a silent promise that I was allowed to lean on him, even if I never said it out loud. It was a new kind of intimacy, softer and infinitely more terrifying than anything we’d shared before—because it meant trusting him completely. And somehow, against all logic, I did.

Theo had started hanging around again. Not like before, not with the same easy charm and shameless commentary. But he was back. Hesitant, quieter. There was something behind his eyes now—like he was watching everything too closely. But he smiled when he was supposed to. Laughed, sometimes. Sat with us.

It was almost normal.

Almost.

One evening, when Draco had detention for hexing Blaise during practice duels (something he stubbornly refused to apologize for), Theo appeared in the doorway of the library. He hesitated, glancing around as if deciding whether he belonged there.

“Are you looking for someone?” I asked gently, marking my place in the textbook.

He shrugged, crossing to sit opposite me. His eyes lingered on Draco’s empty chair before flicking to me. “Just thought you might like company.”

“Yours?”

His lips quirked faintly. “Well, Ginny’s busy. And someone should probably ensure you’re not studying yourself into oblivion.”

I smiled softly. “You don’t have to stay if it’s uncomfortable, Theo.”

His face softened slightly, something hesitant in his eyes. “I want to,” he said quietly. “I miss this—being around you both. It’s just…complicated.”

I didn’t push, but something inside me eased at his words. “Well, complicated or not, I’m glad you’re here.”

He offered a small, genuine smile. “Me too.”

That evening, the four of us were in our dorm—Ginny and I perched on the bed, Draco lounging in my desk chair, Theo sprawled on the rug like it was his room instead of ours.

“How does this one look?” Ginny asked, turning to face us fully, her red hair catching the lamplight. She held a delicate gold necklace against her collarbone.

“It clashes with your dress,” Theo remarked dryly, though his eyes softened slightly. “Try silver.”

Ginny rolled her eyes dramatically, sifting again through the jewelry. I caught Draco’s gaze across the room; he was clearly amused, though trying not to show it.

“I think the gold is nice,” I said supportively.

“You would,” Theo sighed theatrically. “You’re hopeless too.”

Draco snorted softly, eyes still trained on his book, though he hadn’t turned a page in minutes. “Granger has perfectly decent taste.”

Theo gave me an exaggeratedly skeptical look. “If by ‘decent’ you mean ‘non-existent,’ then sure.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ginny said fondly, swatting him lightly with her scarf.

There was a party in the observatory that night. The first of the new term. A chance to celebrate the start of spring, someone had said. An excuse to drink and dance and forget the cold.

Ginny had been half-dressed for it already, rifling through my jewelry box with familiar impatience. Theo was mostly just waiting to be told what to wear. And I had been sitting quietly, watching Draco pretend to read a book while his fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of the chair.

“I’ll go if you go,” Ginny said, plucking a silver necklace from the clutter and holding it up to the light.

Theo gave a lazy shrug. “I go where the firewhisky goes.”

I glanced at Draco. “Well?”

He didn’t look up from his page. “We’re not going.”

I blinked. “We’re not?”

“No,” he said easily. “We have other plans.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Other plans?”

Draco finally looked at me, and there was something in his eyes—soft, warm, private.

“I thought we could use a night off.”

And just like that, the air shifted. Ginny smiled, catching on. Theo didn’t say anything. Just gave me a glance—one I couldn’t quite read—and then reached for the necklace in Ginny’s hand and muttered something about finding matching earrings.

But me?

I just looked at Draco.

And suddenly, I couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

Just before we left the dorm that evening, I slipped into the corridor alone to retrieve a forgotten scarf from the common room. I’d barely stepped through the doorway when I saw her. Pansy stood leaning casually against the stairwell, as if she’d been waiting.

“Evening, Granger,” she drawled, a cruel smirk curving her lips. “Off for another romantic escapade with Draco?”

I didn’t respond, trying to step past her. She shifted slightly, blocking my path.

“You know, I have to admit I’m impressed. You lasted longer than most,” she purred, voice soft and cutting. “But you can’t honestly believe he’s going to choose you in the end?”

Anger sparked sharply in my chest, mingling with the doubt I’d been trying so hard to bury. I lifted my chin, refusing to let her see how her words struck. “What Draco and I have is none of your business.”

She laughed softly, a bitter edge creeping in. “You’ll see soon enough.”

I brushed past her roughly, heart racing as I hurried back to the dorm. Draco was waiting, a questioning look in his eyes, but I shook my head gently. “I’m fine.”

And because it was Draco, he didn’t press. He just reached for my hand, anchoring me.

The castle was quieter than usual as we slipped through the halls, hand in hand.

There was no need to rush. No curfew to dodge. No reason to look over our shoulders like we were doing something wrong. And yet—I felt it anyway. That fizzy sort of thrill under my skin. The kind I hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.

I glanced sideways as we stepped out into the spring night.

The grounds were quiet, and moonlight spilled gently across our path, turning familiar corners into something almost enchanted. My heart beat just a little quicker as I felt his thumb brush absentmindedly across my knuckles. It was these little touches—unplanned, effortless—that reminded me just how deeply he’d woven himself into my life.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked softly, unable to hide the smile in my voice.

Draco glanced down, lips curving slightly. “Patience, Granger.”

“You know patience was never my strongest suit.”

“I do,” he replied dryly, tugging me gently forward. “Which is precisely why I enjoy testing it.”

“You’re being suspiciously silent.”

Draco raised a brow. “Would you prefer I narrate the walk like a dramatic tale of doomed lovers fleeing society?”

I rolled my eyes. “Only if it rhymes.”

He smirked. “Tempting.”

The moon hung low above the lake, casting silver ribbons across the rippling surface. The grounds were deserted, the air just cool enough to make me press a little closer to his side as we made our way down the worn stone path.

When we reached the edge of the water, I noticed it immediately.

A blanket had already been spread over the grass—charmed to stay warm, I realized as my foot brushed the edge. A small lantern hovered in the air beside it, casting soft golden light over a little picnic basket tucked against the roots of a tree.

I turned to him slowly. “You planned this?”

Draco shrugged like it was nothing. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m capable of thoughtfulness.”

“Are you?”

“Occasionally.”

I knelt down, fingers grazing the edge of the blanket. “It’s perfect.”

Draco settled beside me, stretching out comfortably on the blanket as though this were something we’d always done. The picnic basket was filled with quiet, thoughtful details: my favorite sandwiches, a flask of warm spiced cider, even the chocolate biscuits I’d once told him reminded me of home.

“You remembered,” I murmured, holding up the biscuit with a gentle smile.

“Hard to forget when you mention it every second day,” he teased, though his gaze was tender.

“I do not,” I protested lightly, nudging him with my shoulder.

He chuckled softly, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The lantern’s glow painted gentle gold highlights across his face, softening the lines that had once been so guarded. I felt a quiet surge of gratitude—gratitude that we’d found each other, gratitude that we’d allowed ourselves to soften.

He didn’t answer—just sat beside me, eyes on the lake. I watched him in the soft light, his profile more peaceful than I’d ever seen it.

No tension. No bitterness.

Just him.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever done something like this for me,” I admitted after a moment.

He looked over. “Then they were all idiots.”

Behind us, laughter spilled from the castle—distant music from the observatory party echoing faintly in the air.

I didn’t want a crowd tonight. I didn’t want noise.

I wanted this.

I wanted him.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Draco asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the lake’s shimmering surface.

I turned slightly, resting my head against his shoulder. “I try not to.”

“Why?”

“Because it scares me,” I admitted softly. “Every time I’ve planned for a future, something’s torn it apart. The war, my parents…Ron.”

Draco’s hand tightened gently around mine. “I understand that feeling. But lately…” He paused, his voice becoming quieter. “I’ve been allowing myself to imagine one.”

My heartbeat quickened. “What do you see?”

He hesitated, then spoke softly, almost shyly. “Us. Somewhere quiet, far from all this noise. Maybe a house by the sea. A room filled with your books and my Quiddich collection.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught at something deep in my chest. “That sounds…perfect,” I whispered.

Draco shifted slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against my hair. “Then maybe someday we can let ourselves believe in it.”

My throat tightened. “Maybe we can.”

We lay there for a long while, the sky stretching above us in endless navy and silver. His chest rose and fell beneath my hand. The lantern beside us had dimmed to a soft glow, and the chill in the air had started to settle into our clothes. But I didn’t want to move.

Not when his fingers were still tracing idle shapes against my arm.

Not when the silence between us felt like peace.

We sat like that for a while. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full.

I turned slightly, looking out over the water, my thoughts quietly drifting. It amazed me how far we’d come. How impossible it had seemed at first, and how utterly natural it felt now.

Draco’s hand moved gently to rest against mine on the blanket, fingers intertwining. His thumb traced tiny circles, absent and comforting, pulling my heart into a warm, quiet ache. I glanced down at our hands, marveling at how perfectly they seemed to fit—how much I’d come to crave this simple, grounding touch.

I took a slow breath, trying to steady the sudden intensity blooming in my chest. Because there it was again—that feeling of certainty. Of wanting him, completely and forever. And for the first time, it didn’t frighten me. Instead, it felt right.

For so long, I’d thought love meant giving up control. Losing pieces of yourself to someone who might not stay. But Draco was different. He never asked me to change, never demanded more than I could give. He accepted every cracked and broken part of me, gently smoothing over the jagged edges without ever trying to erase the scars.

With him, love felt less like losing and more like becoming—like finding all the parts of myself I’d thought I’d lost. And that realization hit me with stunning clarity, breathtaking and profound. It was terrifying, but it was also exactly what I’d needed to heal.

Full of unsaid things. Full of possibility.

And when he spoke, it was soft. Careful.

He turned toward me fully, hand sliding along my cheek, anchoring me there.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he said. “Not once. Not with anyone.”

My throat tightened.

“Granger,” he said gently, “I don’t know what this means. Or where it’s going. But I know what I feel. I know that when I’m with you, everything makes more sense. That when I’m not, nothing does.”

My heart thudded painfully at his words, throat tight with emotion. “Draco…” I whispered softly.

He shook his head slightly, lips curving into a faint, vulnerable smile. “You don’t have to say anything. I just…needed you to know.”

I reached up slowly, brushing my fingers along his cheek, tracing the edge of his jaw. “I do know. And Draco, it’s mutual. Everything you said—it’s how I feel too. Every word.”

He inhaled sharply, relief flickering in his gaze. His hand tightened around mine, anchoring us both in that fragile, beautiful moment.

The words sat suspended between us, fragile and real.

That was the moment something inside me cracked wide open.

Because I did love him—completely, achingly, with the kind of fierce tenderness that felt both terrifying and inevitable. It was the kind of love that seeped into every hidden place inside me, flooding my heart, reshaping the rhythm of my life around him. I realized then, with absolute clarity, that I would do anything for him. The thought of living without him was unimaginable; our souls had become inseparably woven together, each thread binding us more tightly than the last, until there was no telling where he ended and I began.

I’d been fighting it for so long, terrified of what it meant—of how deeply it could wound me, of how vulnerable it made me. But it had always been there, quietly building beneath every moment we shared: in the way he looked at me like I was something precious and rare; in the gentle care of his touch, careful as though I might shatter beneath his fingertips; in the way he simply stayed, steady and sure, anchoring me even when everything else felt uncertain.

I didn’t want to fight it anymore.

And when he kissed me, it was different than all the others.

It wasn’t fire or ache or desperation.

It was home.

We didn’t move for a while. Just stood there, curled into each other beneath the stars, the lake stretching out beside us like a mirror of everything we were trying not to say too soon.

But something had shifted. Cracked open.

So I let myself speak.

“I didn’t think I’d feel this again,” I said, voice barely a whisper against the fabric of his coat. “Not after the war. Not after everything.”

His arms tightened around me.

“I don’t know how to let people in anymore,” I admitted. “I second-guess everything. I plan every word I say before I speak it, because if I don’t—I might say something that ruins everything. That makes people leave.”

He didn’t interrupt. He just listened. That was maybe the most dangerous part of all—how safe the silence felt with him.

“I wasn’t always like this,” I whispered. “I used to be… sure. Of everything. But now I wake up and wonder if it’s all going to collapse. If the next person I trust will walk away too.”

Draco’s hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’m not walking away.”

My throat tightened. “But you could. And I wouldn’t even blame you.”

“I would.” His voice was rough now, like the words were costing him something. “I’d blame myself. Because if I ever made you feel like this wasn’t safe—then I failed.”

I looked up at him, and for once, he didn’t look guarded or clever or distant.

He looked like he was breaking too.

“I never wanted this,” he said. “Not because I didn’t want you—but because I didn’t think I was allowed to. Because I thought I’d ruin it. Because I thought you’d never look at me and see anything worth loving.”

I inhaled sharply, chest aching.

He kept going.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things I can’t take back. But I swear, Hermione—whatever this is, whatever we’re building—it’s the only thing that’s felt real in a long time.”

I pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my palm. “This feels real because it is. And I don’t want anything else—not anymore.”

Draco’s eyes softened, his grip on me firm yet gentle, holding me as though I were something infinitely precious. I leaned closer, burying my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in deeply. It was peace. It was warmth. It was everything I’d ever hoped for but had never dared to dream.

Above us, the stars shimmered quietly, witnesses to promises whispered without words. Draco held me tight, his heartbeat matching mine beat for beat. I closed my eyes, feeling whole, feeling loved.

And as we sat together beneath the endless, watchful sky, I knew with absolute certainty—I was home.

Eventually, the lantern’s glow faded to barely a whisper, and the chill settled deeper into our skin. Draco shifted, gently pulling the edges of the charmed blanket up around my shoulders.

“We should head back,” he murmured softly, though neither of us made a move to stand.

“Just a bit longer,” I whispered, burrowing closer against his side. “I don’t want tonight to end yet.”

His arms tightened gently, as if trying to hold the moment in place. “It doesn’t have to.”

I smiled softly, knowing that tomorrow would bring reality crashing back—the whispers, the stares, Pansy’s cutting words. But tonight, none of it mattered. Tonight, under the endless stretch of sky, we belonged only to each other.

Draco pressed a final lingering kiss to my forehead, his voice barely audible against my skin. “No matter what happens, remember this.”

I looked up, meeting his gaze, the quiet promise shimmering clearly in his eyes. “Always.”

Chapter Text

“I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there’s life after that, I’ll love you then too.”

There’s no quiet version of this.

No slow unraveling, no gradual shift.

No warning.

It didn’t creep in—it crashed. Sudden. Unforgiving. Beautiful.

It was the kind of love that didn’t ask permission. It just was. Loud, all-consuming, and absolute.

I was in love with Draco Malfoy.

Catastrophically, impossibly, entirely in love with him.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of it.

Not because I thought it would last forever—not because I was naïve—but because it felt real. Because it felt like mine.

Because letting him in hadn’t felt like losing anything. It had felt like coming home.

Draco hadn’t turned a single page in twenty minutes.

I was cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace, my Ancient Runes textbook spread open across my lap, quill in hand, the pages already filled with neat notes and circled translations. Outside, a soft wind rattled the windows, but the common room stayed warm and still. Firelight painted the floor in gold. A lamp—one Draco had insisted on charming himself—glowed steadily on the desk behind me, its light casting slow-moving shadows across the walls.

He was draped across the couch like he owned it, one arm slung over the back, book open in his lap.

But he wasn’t reading.

He was watching me.

I could feel it—like warmth on my skin. Quiet, constant, unblinking. Not invasive, not even distracting. Just… there. Steady. Like an anchor.

“You’re not even pretending anymore,” I murmured, flipping a page.

A beat of silence.

“I’m studying,” he said, voice low, smug.

I didn’t look up. “You’re staring.”

“Exactly,” he replied. “I’m studying something far more interesting than hex theory.”

My quill slowed. I bit back a smile.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, just as easily. “Especially when you pretend you don’t like being looked at.”

I rolled my eyes. “Third-tier hex transference. Restricted combat scenarios. Due Friday.”

Draco stretched, joints cracking lazily. “I’m aware.”

“You’re going to fail.”

“No,” he said, that familiar smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “Because you won’t let me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but it was useless. He was already sliding down from the couch, sinking to the rug beside me with all the grace of a well-fed cat.

“Draco—”

He leaned closer, peering at my notes like he had the slightest intention of contributing. “You have very tidy handwriting,” he said, entirely unhelpful.

I bumped him lightly with my elbow. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, reaching for my free hand and lacing our fingers together. “But I’m yours.”

And just like that, I stopped pretending I wasn’t smiling.

“Do you mean it?” I asked again, softer now, the fire crackling behind my voice.

Draco didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He said it like it was obvious. Like the idea of loving me for a lifetime wasn’t strange or hard or impossible.

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of what?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Of this. Of us.”

He looked at me a moment. “No,” he said finally. “Because for once, I don’t want to run. I want to stay.”

I exhaled. A quiet, trembling breath.

He shifted closer. “And I want to keep waking up next to you. Every morning. For as long as you’ll let me.”

I didn’t respond. I just leaned forward and kissed him again—slow, certain, and full of all the words I hadn’t found yet.

“I could marry you one day, you know,” he murmured so softly I thought I imagined it.

I lifted my head, startled. He watched me with calm certainty—no teasing glint, just something honest and hopeful.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I whispered.

“I do,” he said firmly. “I mean it.”

I kissed him, slow and reverent, tasting fire and safety. In that moment, there was no doubt: me too.

We didn’t go back to studying right away.

Instead, we stayed like that—him beside me, my hand in his, the fire casting slow-moving shadows across the floor. At some point, I leaned into him, and he shifted to let me rest my head on his shoulder. His free hand drifted to my knee, his thumb moving in slow, thoughtful circles.

“You’re distracting,” I murmured.

“You like it,” he said into my hair.

I did. I liked the way he touched me like it was second nature now. The way his presence felt like an answer to something I hadn’t known I was asking.

Dinner in Auric Hall was its usual brand of chaos—loud, warm, full of floating light and overlapping voices. Cutlery clinked against plates. Someone a few tables down shouted about Quidditch. The ceiling overhead glowed with soft clouds lit in blush-pink and apricot, the last remnants of a spring sunset.

I slipped into my seat as Draco draped his arm along my chair’s back, fingers brushing my sleeve. Across from me, Ginny perched on the edge of her bench, Theo slouched at the other end of our table.

“Okay,” Theo declared mid-bite, “this table needs a banned-topic jar.”

Ginny laughed. “What would go in it?”

He tapped his fork on the table. “Veritaserum confessions, Hogwarts gossip, Ron talk, and food theft.”

Draco smirked. “I never stole your pudding.”

“You absolutely did,” Theo shot back.

I laughed, the sound light and free. “So, winner gets what?”

Theo’s eyes gleamed. “Unrestricted access to Hermione’s dessert.”

I feigned outrage. “Hey!”

Draco leaned in and murmured, “I’ll share mine.”

His tone was half-joke, half-promise, and I felt the warmth coil in my chest.

Ginny sighed theatrically. “Ugh. Stop making me hate you both.”

But her eyes were shining.

“You’re both disgusting,” Theo muttered, pushing his potatoes around.

“We’re inspiring,” Draco corrected.

“Inspiring nausea,” Ginny offered.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on either of you,” I said sweetly, stealing Draco’s goblet.

He let me take it without a word. Of course he did.

Ginny just grinned. “Honestly, if you two get any more sickeningly sweet, I’ll need to carry a bezoar to dinner.”

Draco’s arm rested across the back of my chair, his fingers occasionally brushing my sleeve or catching in my curls. His presence was so steady now I hardly noticed how tightly we fit until someone reminded me.

Which, of course, Ginny did.

“If you sigh at her one more time like a lovesick poet, I’m hexing you under the table,” she muttered, tearing her roll in half with theatrical violence.

Theo, to her right, lifted his goblet lazily. “Seconded.”

Draco grinned. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Ginny said. “I’m nauseous.”

Still, I could see the warmth in her eyes when she looked at me—when she looked at us. It wasn’t mockery. It was approval, tinted with a kind of giddy disbelief. Like she was still getting used to seeing me like this: smiling into my goblet, resting my hand on Draco’s knee under the table, leaning into his side without hesitation.

It had become second nature. Touch. Proximity. Ease.

He leaned over now and murmured something about Flitwick’s pronunciation of “elocutionary charmwork” that had me snorting into my drink.

And for a while, that was everything.

Easy. Light. Good.

Until I glanced at Theo.

He wasn’t laughing.

He wasn’t even looking at us. He was watching Draco.

Not the way he usually did—half amused, half resigned—but with something quieter. Tighter. Like a thread pulled too far. There was something flickering behind his eyes that made me pause, made my breath hitch just slightly.

Then Draco looked up—and met his gaze.

It was only a second. One heartbeat. A flicker of something between them.

But I saw it.

Theo blinked first, shifting his focus back to his plate. Ginny nudged him and said something I didn’t catch. He smiled—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I turned back toward Draco, trying not to let the unease settle.

“Everything okay?” I asked quietly.

He looked at me like I was the only person in the room. “Yeah,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Perfect.”

And it felt that way.

It really did.

So I told myself not to overthink it. Not to read into shadows where there were none.

Draco was still beside me. Still looking at me like I was his whole world. Still murmuring things against my skin like they were sacred.

So I leaned into him again.

And I believed it.

I thought of the first morning I woke with him. The fire had died low; dawn light seeped around heavy curtains. I opened my eyes to find Draco’s face close—peaceful, unguarded. I lay still, tracing his jawline with a fingertip, marveling at how natural it felt to watch him sleep. That morning, I realized love could be quiet, sacred, like breathing.

I didn’t think I’d ever been this happy.

Not just happy—but full. Settled. Like the storm I’d been carrying inside me for years had finally gone still.

I hadn’t said I loved him—not out loud. But I felt it in everything I did. In the way I looked for him in every room. In the way I reached for his hand without thinking. In the way I trusted him with every fragile piece of myself.

He didn’t ask for declarations. He didn’t need them.

But sometimes I wanted to say it anyway. Just to make it real. Just to name it.

I didn’t get the chance that night.

Dessert had just arrived when Draco stood and dusted crumbs from his sleeves.

“I need to check something with Sinistra,” he said casually, leaning down to kiss the space just behind my ear.

I tilted my face toward him, already missing the warmth of his presence. “Don’t be long.”

He just gave me that half-smile—that private smile—and slipped away.

And even after he was gone, I still felt him.

“So,” Ginny said, dragging the word out like a spell as soon as he was out of sight, “when were you planning to tell us you’re completely, helplessly in love with him?”

I gave her a look, cheeks flushing. “Must you?”

Theo propped his elbow on the table. “Yes. She must.”

I sighed, but there was no real protest in it. “Fine. I love him.”

The words came out calm. Steady. Familiar.

And true.

They settled over the table gently, without fanfare.

Ginny smiled like she already knew.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I think he’s good for you,” she said softly, resting her chin on her hand. “You’re lighter with him. Not smaller. Not dimmer. Just… lighter.”

“I feel lighter,” I admitted. “He doesn’t try to fix anything. He just makes space for all of it.”

Theo said nothing at first. Then he nodded once, slow and unreadable.

“That’s what it’s supposed to be,” he said, lifting his glass. “To love.”

I raised mine, too. Even if part of me still watched the flicker in his eyes.

But Ginny was laughing again, and dessert was warm and sweet, and Draco would be back soon.

And I didn’t want to think too hard about anything else.

So I let it go.

And drank.

Ginny offered to walk back with me. The corridors were dim and mostly empty, the torches flickering against the stone like they were tired too.

“Do you think it’s weird?” I asked after a long silence.

“What?”

“Me and Draco.”

Ginny stopped walking. “Hermione.”

I blinked. “I mean, it’s fine if you—”

“It’s not weird,” she said, cutting me off. “It’s brave. Honestly, it’s kind of beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” I repeated, uncertain.

“Yeah. You two are weirdly good together. Like… opposites that somehow click. And he worships you. You know that, right?”

I smiled faintly. “I think I do.”

We walked a bit more before she added, “He makes you softer. But not smaller. Just… lighter.”

I opened my mouth to say something—thank you, maybe—but I couldn’t quite get the words out.

She nudged me with her shoulder. “I’m proud of you. For letting yourself be happy.”

Back in my room, I  gathered my things and retired to my room. The corridor was hushed; torches glowed softly. I paused at my door, heart full and tender.

Inside, I pulled out the small leather journal hidden in my drawer—the one I’d abandoned in September. Its pages carried old wounds; tonight I needed a new entry.

I wrote:

I am in love. Not the fierce fireworks of war, but the quiet certainty of home.

He makes me believe in tomorrow again.

I used to think that being strong meant doing it all alone. That needing someone was weakness.

But Draco is the opposite of weakness. He’s steadiness. He’s warmth.

When I’m with him, I don’t feel like I’ve survived something. I feel like I’m still living.

And that’s the difference.

He’s not my healing.

He’s the part of me that never stopped believing I could be whole.

Chapter Text

“They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.”

I was curled up on the sofa with my legs tucked under me, parchment balanced on my knees, when the knock came.

Ginny didn’t wait for an answer. She swung the door open with a flourish and strode in like she owned the place, Theo trailing behind her with two bottles of firewhisky and a grin that spelled trouble.

“Party tonight,” Ginny announced. “Observatory. And before you protest, Hermione—yes, we’re going. It’s been weeks since you’ve come with us.”

Theo flopped into the armchair, already opening one of the bottles. “Last party before term ends. If I’m going to fail Charms, I’d like to do it drunk and well-dressed.”

Draco, who’d been sitting near the window flipping absently through a Potions text, barely looked up. “We’re not going.”

“We’re not?” I asked, blinking.

He finally glanced over at me. “Do you really want to deal with that crowd right now?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You mean the crowd that’s gotten used to you two being disgustingly domestic and has moved on to obsessing over who Blaise is secretly shagging?”

Draco’s jaw tensed. “It’s not that simple.”

I sat up straighter, frowning. “Draco…”

Theo raised his eyebrows, studying him. “You worried someone might say something?”

Draco didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

“I want to go,” I said quietly. “Just for a bit.”

He looked at me then—really looked. And for a second, something flickered in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Guilt. I couldn’t tell.

Theo reached for a glass and poured. “Let her go, mate. She deserves a night out. We all do.”

Draco’s eyes stayed on mine.

“You don’t have to come,” I added, softer now. “But I’d like to.”

He hesitated. Just long enough for Theo to shoot him a look. One that said something without saying anything at all.

Finally, Draco exhaled. “Alright.”

I smiled, surprised by how relieved I felt.

He stood, brushing off his robes. “But I’m not drinking. And the second anyone starts acting like a prat, we’re leaving.”

Theo raised his glass. “Cheers to low standards.”

Ginny laughed. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Draco didn’t laugh.

And I didn’t notice, not yet, the way he avoided looking at Blaise in the hallway when we passed him. Or the way Theo didn’t quite meet Draco’s eyes when he handed him a drink.

I didn’t notice.

Because I wanted the night to be normal.

Just once more.

The Observatory was already buzzing when we stepped through the doors. Strings of golden lights floated lazily in the air, glittering like stardust. Someone had charmed a constellation to pulse above the dance floor, shifting and swirling to the music. The warmth hit me first—scented with firewhisky, cinnamon, and whatever potion someone had slipped into the punch.

I smiled.

It almost felt like before.

Draco’s hand slipped around my waist the second we entered. Subtle. Possessive. Protective.

I didn’t mind. Not tonight.

Theo and Ginny were already half a room away, being swallowed by a group near the refreshment table, both of them laughing too loudly at something Seamus was saying. I made to move toward them, but Draco didn’t follow.

“I just want to say hi,” I said, turning to him.

His grip on me tightened just slightly. “We’ll say hi together.”

I blinked. “Draco, it’s fine. I’m not going to vanish if you let me walk five feet away.”

His jaw clenched. “I know. I just—let’s stay together, alright?”

I tilted my head, trying to read him. He wasn’t angry. But he wasn’t at ease either.

Something about the way his eyes scanned the room, lingering too long on Blaise and Pansy near the corner, set something turning in my stomach.

Still, I nodded. “Alright.”

We crossed the room together. Every step, his hand stayed firm at my waist. Every time someone passed us, I felt him watching them—not just casually, but like he expected something to go wrong.

People greeted us—some warm, some awkward, some still uncertain what to make of us. But there were no gasps. No staring. We were old news now.

And yet Draco’s posture was tight.

He didn’t laugh when Theo shouted something over the music about trying to teach Ginny to waltz using a bottle of butterbeer as a partner.

He didn’t even smile when Luna complimented the color of my dress.

Instead, every so often, I caught him glancing over his shoulder.

Watching. Waiting.

For what, I didn’t know.

I nudged him gently. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”

He looked at me like he wanted to argue, then softened. Just barely. “I’m trying.”

I leaned in, brushing my lips against his jaw. “Try harder.”

That earned the smallest ghost of a smirk.

But his hand didn’t leave my waist.

Not even when Blaise caught my eye across the room and raised his glass.

Not even when Pansy whispered something behind her hand and laughed.

Draco saw it. I felt him tense.

But he didn’t say anything.

And I didn’t ask.

Because maybe part of me didn’t want to know.

It started as a joke.

Seamus made a comment about how the last time we played Truth or Dare, someone ended up confessing a crush on Rita Skeeter and someone else slapped Theo across the face. Everyone laughed. Someone—I think it was Dean—called out, “Round two, anyone?”

A few groans, a few cheers.

And then—someone said it.

“We’ve got Veritaserum again.”

My stomach turned.

Someone conjured a new circle of floor cushions and lantern light. The music dipped, just enough to signal a shift. The air felt heavier.

I felt Draco tense beside me. His hand didn’t leave my waist, but his fingers curled ever so slightly.

“No,” he said, under his breath. “We’re not doing this.”

I turned to him. “We don’t have to.”

But Pansy was already slinking closer, her eyes locked on us like a predator circling prey. “Come on, Draco. You weren’t such a spoilsport last time.”

He didn’t answer her.

Theo looked up from where he was already flopped on a cushion beside Ginny. “Just one round,” he said casually. “We’ll be nice this time. Promise.”

Ginny elbowed him. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

“You love it,” he muttered, grinning.

More voices chimed in, louder now. “Oh come on, Granger’s here. You have to play.”

“Didn’t you set the room on fire with your truth last time?”

“Come on, Draco. Scared someone’s going to ask what colour Granger’s knickers are?”

“I want to know if Malfoy ever smiles during sex.”

Laughter. Shouting. The circle was forming.

And somehow, without fully agreeing, we were being ushered forward.

I felt Draco hesitate again.

Theo—sensing something, maybe trying to smooth it—cut in with a lazy smirk. “Malfoy’s just worried he’ll say something sincere. Terrifying, I know.”

And this time—this time—I saw it. The crack in his mask. The fear he was trying desperately to keep buried.

I reached for his hand before he could bolt. “We don’t have to answer anything we don’t want to.”

“It’s Veritaserum,” he said tightly. “That’s the whole point.”

Someone handed us two small vials. A toast was made.

We drank.

Draco’s fingers never left mine.

And as I sat beside him, shoulders brushing, hearts pounding—I knew something was coming.

I just didn’t know what.

The first few rounds were harmless. Funny, even.

Ginny was asked who she’d shag if she had to pick one of the professors, and without hesitation she said, “Renwick. That man knows his way around a wand.”

Theo fell over laughing. Draco nearly choked on his drink. I couldn’t help but grin.

Next, Blaise got dared to snog a bottle of Firewhisky like it was his long-lost lover. He made a whole production out of it—sighs, whispered sweet nothings, a deeply concerning amount of tongue. It had the entire circle howling.

Even Draco chuckled beside me.

The mood was loose, glowing under the lazy lantern light. A warm haze of laughter and drink and something softer. Something that almost felt like peace.

Pansy got asked if she’d ever had a crush on someone in the room.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Doesn’t mean I still do.”

Someone whistled. Someone else booed.

Ginny dared Theo to list every pet name Draco had ever used for him. “Publicly or in private,” she added, smirking.

Theo dramatically clutched his chest. “You think I kiss and tell? Draco’s a delicate flower.”

Draco gave him a look. “You’re going to die tonight.”

I leaned into Draco a little, and to my surprise, he didn’t pull away. His arm shifted behind me, his thumb brushing against the curve of my back. It felt easy.

It felt normal.

And maybe that’s why I didn’t notice the way Theo kept glancing at Draco.

Or the way Pansy’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Or the subtle sharpness behind Blaise’s laugh.

Because for now, everything was fine.

And I wanted to believe it would stay that way.

The game was well underway, circling lazily between Blaise’s flirtatious truths and Theo’s increasingly ridiculous dares. Laughter spilled freely through the observatory, filling the high glass dome like mist, soft and disorienting.

Until the bottle pointed to Pansy.

She smirked, crossing her legs slowly. “Truth.”

Theo gave her a long-suffering look. “Fine. What’s the worst fashion crime you’ve ever witnessed at Hogwarts?”

Pansy’s smile stretched. “Besides your knit jumpers, Nott?”

He bowed dramatically. “Touché.”

But Pansy didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flicked across the circle—then landed, pointedly, on me.

“Well,” she said sweetly, “it used to be the way Hermione would match her socks to her robes. Gryffindor red and gold? Bold choice. But now it might be that she’s playing dress-up in Slytherin colours instead.”

There was a quiet laugh or two. Ginny stiffened beside me.

I gave a tight smile. “Fascinating.”

Pansy didn’t blink. “Just saying. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Before anyone could cut in, she added, “Of course, I suppose some people like that sort of attention. Dating a Malfoy does tend to come with… visibility.”

“Pansy,” Theo warned.

She shrugged. “What? It’s a compliment. I think it’s very brave of Hermione to keep up.”

“Keep up with what?” Ginny asked coolly.

Pansy fluttered her lashes. “With Draco. I mean—he’s not exactly easy to please. We all know that.”

The air shifted.

Draco’s hand brushed mine under the circle. I didn’t squeeze back.

Instead, I smiled at Pansy, sickly sweet. “Well, someone has to please him. Since you clearly didn’t.”

The circle howled.

Even Blaise choked on his drink. Ginny smacked her hand over her mouth. Theo let out a low, impressed whistle.

Pansy’s expression didn’t crack. But her nails curled tighter around her glass.

“Touché,” she said, voice sharp as glass.

And then—then—she leaned in slightly, her smile returning, but colder this time.

“Still,” she murmured, “it’s easy to pretend something’s real when you want it badly enough.”

I blinked.

But before I could ask what that meant, the bottle spun again—and the game rolled on.

For now.

The next few rounds kept things playful—more dares than truths, more laughter than venom. Someone dared Blaise to serenade the room with Celestina Warbeck’s You Charmed Me, which he did with disturbing sincerity. Even Pansy cracked a smile at that.

The bottle pointed to Theo next. He didn’t hesitate. “Truth.”

Blaise perked up. “What’s the wildest thing you’ve done in bed?”

Ginny groaned. “Oh, no.”

Theo’s grin turned positively devilish. “Define wild.”

Draco raised a brow. “No need. I’m sure you’ve already rehearsed this answer.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Theo said without missing a beat. “We tried that levitation charm once—didn’t end well. The ceiling at Eldritch is very low.”

The circle erupted. Ginny buried her face in her hands, laughing so hard her shoulders shook.

“You said you’d never bring that up again,” she gasped.

“You told me to levitate your expectations,” he replied innocently.

Draco groaned into his drink. “Please stop.”

Even I laughed, relaxing just a little. Draco’s arm settled behind me again, casual but solid, grounding.

“You’re disgusting,” I muttered to Theo.

“Disgustingly honest,” he said, flashing me a wink. “I regret nothing.”

“Do we get to ask Hermione the same question?” Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Ginny said firmly, slapping a hand over the bottle before it could move.

“Oh come on,” Blaise whined. “You can’t protect them both.”

“We don’t need protecting,” I said lightly.

“Exactly,” Draco added, gaze sharp now. “But maybe you do, if you’re planning on asking questions you don’t want answered.”

That silenced Blaise—for now.

The circle buzzed with more laughter, more dares. But the tension? Still there. Low and humming beneath the warmth.

Pansy watched it all. Waiting.

The bottle spun and landed on Pansy.

She smiled sweetly. Too sweetly.

“Truth,” she said, her voice dripping with something that wasn’t friendliness.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Alright then. What’s the most scandalous thing you’ve ever done?”

Pansy waved a dismissive hand. “Boring. Ask me something good.”

Before anyone else could intervene, she turned directly to me.

“I have a better idea. Hermione,” she purred, “mind if I ask you something instead?”

My spine straightened. “It’s not your turn.”

“But I’m so curious.” Her eyes glittered as she leaned forward, chin propped delicately on her palm. “Have you and Draco shagged yet?”

A few people laughed—nervously. Blaise coughed into his drink. Ginny’s hand twitched beside mine.

I swallowed. “That’s not really—”

“Oh, come on,” she said lightly. “Everyone’s dying to know. You’re practically joined at the hip these days. Or higher up.”

Draco’s hand, resting at the small of my back, tensed.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

Pansy turned her attention to him, feigning surprise. “What? I’m only asking what everyone’s thinking.”

“Pansy,” Theo said sharply.

She ignored him. Her eyes were on me again.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go simpler. Do you love him?”

The room stilled.

The fire crackled. Someone’s bottle clinked against the floor.

My breath caught in my throat.

Pansy’s smile was razor-sharp. “I mean—you look at him like you do. But it’s hard to tell with Gryffindors. You lot are so dramatic.”

“Enough,” Draco snapped.

But she wasn’t done.

Her head tilted just slightly, and her voice dropped lower, almost mockingly gentle

“Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”

The words hit like a curse.

Draco didn’t move.

He didn’t say anything.

He just stared at her.

And something inside me—something small and scared—went very, very still.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.

Pansy’s gaze slid toward me, lazy and venomous. “Relax, Granger. I’m just saying… you’ve had your fun, haven’t you?”

A flicker of discomfort passed through the circle. No one laughed this time.

Ginny stiffened beside me. Theo’s arm had dropped from around her shoulders.

Draco still hadn’t said a word.

Pansy leaned forward, elbows on her knees, lips curved like she was tasting something bitter and savoring it anyway. “It’s just—well, you’ve really played your part. The doe-eyed war heroine, the redemption project, the sweet little story.” Her smile sharpened. “It’s almost… tragic.”

“Pansy,” Theo warned under his breath.

But she didn’t stop.

Her eyes stayed locked on me. “I mean, he won, didn’t he? You fell for it completely.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“What did you say?” I asked, barely recognizing my own voice.

She looked at Draco then—really looked at him. “Don’t you think it’s cruel? Letting her believe it was all real?”

Silence.

Utter and suffocating.

My pulse pounded in my ears. I turned to Draco.

He was pale. Frozen. His jaw clenched. His eyes wide.

But he still didn’t speak.

“Draco?” My voice cracked.

Say something. Say something.

Theo stood up so fast the cushion beneath him flipped. “That’s enough—”

“No,” I said. “No. I want to hear it.”

Draco finally looked at me.

And it was there—in his eyes.

Something fractured. Something that shouldn’t have been there.

I whispered, “What did she mean? What is she talking about?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

And that was enough.

The room blurred. The air thinned.

I stood up, the movement shaky, disoriented. “Tell me she’s lying.”

Draco’s lips parted. “Granger—”

That was all he said.

Just my name.

And that was the moment I knew.

“Draco,” I said again, more of a plea this time. “What is she talking about?”

My hands were shaking.

The buzzing in my ears was deafening. My heart was pounding so loud I thought I might throw up.

He didn’t look at me.

Not really.

“Draco,” I repeated, louder now. I could feel the heat rising up my chest, the sheer panic clawing at my throat. “What is she talking about?!”

“Yes, Draco,” Pansy purred. “Are you going to tell her? Or shall I?”

She was smiling. Smiling.

And he still didn’t say a word.

Just sat there.

Frozen.

Like if he didn’t move, didn’t speak, this moment might not be real.

Theo shot to his feet, face twisted in something between rage and horror. “Pansy, shut the fuck up!”

She laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Oh, come on,” she said, waving him off like this was some petty squabble and not the total implosion of my entire world. “She deserves to know.”

The room was silent. Thick. Watching.

“Granger,” Pansy said sweetly, “did you really think this was real? That he was real?”

She leaned forward, smiling wide. “The very first day of school, we were joking about you. The Golden Girl. The war heroine. The one person no one thought would ever look at Draco Malfoy.” Her voice dipped, gleeful and cruel. “We told him he couldn’t get in your pants. So he made a bet. Said he could.”

My breath left me in a soundless rush.

“He’s never met a woman he couldn’t have,” she finished, tone almost reverent. “And he said he’d prove it.”

Something cracked in my chest.

Loud. Ugly.

I couldn’t breathe.

I turned to Draco, barely able to see him through the blur rising in my eyes.

“Tell me she’s lying.”

He flinched.

I remembered the way he whispered goodnight against my collarbone.

The way he looked at me like I was something sacred.

The way his fingers traced patterns on my back when he thought I was asleep.

I remembered laughing into his shoulder, feeling like I had finally found a place to rest.

And all I could think now was:

Was it part of the game?

Had he looked at me like that the night he won?

That was all.

No denial. No outrage. No indignation on my behalf.

Just—flinching.

“Draco,” I said, and this time it came out broken, splintered right down the middle. “Please.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

His eyes were wide. Wrecked. But not denying it.

Not even trying.

And that was it.

That was the moment the floor gave way.

The moment I stopped feeling my body.

The moment every kiss, every soft word, every time he touched me and made me feel whole again rewound itself through my head, rotten and hollow and false.

I stepped back. Then again. Like putting distance between us could rewind the last few months.

Theo looked like he was going to be sick.

Ginny was frozen, mouth slightly open in horror, reaching out—but I didn’t let her touch me.

Because I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t scream.

I was going to scream.

I could feel it tearing up my throat like glass.

Instead, I turned.

Pushed through the circle, through the stunned silence, through the smoke and the flickering light and the buzz of the music that suddenly sounded like static.

I ran.

Ran like something was chasing me.

Because it was.

It was everything.

Every soft morning. Every whispered secret. Every time I told myself to believe him.

Every time I let him hold me like I was something precious.

And every time he must have laughed about it afterward.

I didn’t stop until the cold hit me.

Didn’t stop until the stars blurred above me and the wind burned against my skin and I could barely stand.

Because Draco Malfoy—

The boy I loved.

The boy I let see me—all of me—

Had made a bet.

And I had never been anything more than the prize.

I heard Theo’s voice. Ginny calling after me. But it was all muffled now.

Because the boy I loved had just shattered me without saying a single word.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I just knew I had to get away.

The wind howled as I stumbled through the courtyard, the storm rolling in fast—thunder grumbling low above the castle towers, the sky tearing open in a sudden, cold downpour.

The rain hit like punishment.

It soaked through my sleeves in seconds, plastered my hair to my face, chilled me right down to the bones. But I barely felt it.

I kept moving. My breath ragged. My chest aching.

Somewhere behind me, I heard the doors slam open.

Then—

“Granger!”

I froze.

Just for a second.

“Granger, wait!”

No.

I couldn’t.

I kept walking—half-blind, trembling, furious. The rain was coming down in sheets now, but his voice carried through it.

“Granger!”

Faster.

“Hermione!”

That stopped me.

The sound of my name—my real name—ripped through the storm like a curse. Not said with arrogance. Or mocking. Or that infuriating smirk.

It was a plea.

I turned.

Slowly.

He was running toward me now—already soaked, hair plastered to his forehead, rain dripping down his face like tears he couldn’t bear to shed.

And for the first time in months, he looked like the Draco Malfoy I used to know.

The one who didn’t know how to hide behind softness.

The one who only knew how to destroy.

“Please,” he said, stopping a few paces away, water dripping from his collar. “Just let me explain.”

I shook my head, a sound escaping me—half laugh, half sob. “Explain?”

The sky cracked open behind us, lightning flashing across the black.

“You lied to me,” I said, the words trembling from my throat. “You used me.”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“Wasn’t it?” My voice rose, raw and cracking. “Was it a game? A dare? A notch in your belt? Tell me what part wasn’t like that, Draco.”

He flinched at his name. At the venom in it.

“It started that way,” he said, voice breaking. “Yes. But it stopped. It stopped, Hermione—because somewhere along the way, I—” He choked. “I fell for you.”

The rain kept falling.

Soaking through everything.

But I didn’t feel it anymore.

I only felt this.

“This thing—whatever we were—” My voice was a whisper now, like if I said it too loud, it would break me. “I gave you everything. I trusted you.”

“I know,” he whispered.

The worst part?

He looked ruined.

Like this was destroying him, too.

But that wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” I said, each word splintering like glass on my tongue. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to finally feel like maybe—maybe—you’re not broken anymore, only to find out it was all built on a lie?”

He stepped closer, rain still pounding between us. “It wasn’t a lie to me.”

I stared at him.

And for a second—I believed him.

That’s what made it hurt the most.

“I hate you,” I said.

And this time, I meant for it to land.

To end it.

To kill whatever was still bleeding between us.

But Draco didn’t argue.

He didn’t scoff or fight back or chase after me with another carefully chosen excuse.

He fell.

Right there—in the middle of the rain-slicked courtyard—he dropped to his knees like the weight of my words had shattered something inside him.

The sight stopped me cold.

Water pooled around him, soaking through his trousers, dripping off his jaw. His hands hung limp at his sides. He didn’t look like the boy who smirked through insults or deflected pain with wit. He looked wrecked.

“Hermione,” he choked, voice breaking on my name.

“I love you.”

The words hit harder than any betrayal.

He lifted his face to mine, and I could see it—the desperation. The devastation. The full, unbearable ache carved into every line of him.

“I love you,” he said again, louder now, like if he said it enough, it would fix the wreckage between us. “Please—don’t leave me. Please. I can’t—” His chest heaved. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not when it’s real now. Not when—not when I finally found something that made me feel like I wasn’t drowning anymore.”

Tears mingled with the rain. Mine. Maybe his.

I couldn’t tell.

“You lied,” I whispered, voice shaking.

“I know,” he said, on his knees in the storm, “and I’d take it back—I swear I would—I’d undo everything if it meant you’d still look at me the way you did last night.”

His voice cracked completely, splintering into silence.

The courtyard was quiet, save for the rain.

He stayed there.

Kneeling.

Shaking.

Soaked.

Begging.

And gods, I wanted to go to him.

To pull him up. To tell him I believed him. That what we had still lived somewhere inside me.

But I couldn’t.

Because I didn’t know if it was real.

And that—not the bet, not the lie, not even the silence in the circle—that was what broke me.

That was what sent me walking away.

Without another word.

Without turning back.

I told myself not to cry.

But grief has a way of finding the cracks.

And he’d left me nothing but ruin to bleed through.

Chapter Text

“There is no worse death than the end of hope.”

I don’t know where to start.

Every time I pick up my quill, my hand shakes. My thoughts scatter. My throat tightens like the words themselves might choke me.

But I have to write this down.

Because if I don’t, I might start to believe it wasn’t real. That none of it happened. That I didn’t fall in love with a boy who looked at me like I was everything—and lied.

How could I be so stupid?

How could I be so naïve?

I knew better. I always knew better. I spent my whole life being careful, being precise—calculating the cost of trust.

And still, I let him in.

I let him see me—every scar, every fracture. I let him hold the worst parts of me and I believed him when he said he wouldn’t let go.

And now I don’t even recognize the girl who let that happen.

She was soft. Hopeful. Open in ways I swore I’d never be again. She looked at him like he was hers.

I hate her for it.

And I miss her, too.

Because for a little while… I was happy. And I don’t know if that was part of the lie, or the only part that wasn’t.

All I know is this:

He told me he loved me.

And I still don’t know if that part was true.

But it wasn’t just him.

It was Theo, too.

Someone I trusted. Someone who made me tea when I couldn’t sleep. Someone who watched me fall in love like it was some sort of slow-burning joke—and never said a word.

He knew.

He had to.

He watched me hang on every look. Every kiss. Watched me defend Draco when the whispers got loud. Watched me pour myself into something I thought was safe—and let me believe it was real.

That hurts in a different way.

Because Draco lied to my face.

But Theo stood beside me and stayed silent.

And that silence feels worse than any confession.

Because it means I was the only one who didn’t know.

The only one still playing house in a glass room—

Smiling at shadows while the walls cracked around me.

I don’t know if I can ever forgive that.

I don’t know if I want to.

Because now, every smile, every joke, every glance feels like another cut I didn’t see coming.

They were supposed to be my people.

My beginning again.

But they were the ending, too.

I used to think the war killed me.

That I left something essential behind in the rubble of what we won. That the spark that made me me had bled out somewhere between Malfoy Manor and the last curse of the war.

But it wasn’t the war.

It’s what comes after.

It’s trusting again. Hoping again.

Letting someone see the cracks—and believing, just for a moment, that they might not make them worse.

It’s kissing someone who held your shattered heart in their hands, only to find out they were holding a knife the whole time.

That’s what kills you.

Not the pain itself.

But the after.

The empty space where the warmth used to be.

The memories that curdle when you look back on them.

The way your own body betrays you because it still misses them.

Still aches for hands that lied.

Still wants a voice that said love while betting on your ruin.

I thought the war hollowed me out.

But this?

This is what it feels like to be gutted.

Not by loss.

But by love.

And maybe that’s the worst kind of death.

The kind you keep waking up from.

I close the notebook.

The pages are damp where my fingers touched them. Smudged in places, like the truth refused to settle cleanly on the paper.

It doesn’t matter.

None of it matters now.

The room is quiet.

Outside, the rain hasn’t stopped.

And somewhere down the corridor, I think I hear someone call my name.

But I don’t move.

I sit in the silence he left behind.

And I let it hurt.

Because it’s all I have left.