Chapter Text
She kept moving in my lap. This was worse than the curiatus curse for merlins sake. I had to still her again, did she not realise the stakes?
My hand was on her thigh and it was taking everything in me to not look down.
“Welcome everyone to my house,” My father began. “I would like to start by thanking Astoria for organising this ball, and the Dark Lord for having the brilliant idea of hosting here at Malfoy Manor,” he was such a cock sucker. “And Finally to the mudbloods in the room, your worthless pain makes this all the more fun.” His words were sharp, but hollow just like his face.
Granger twitched, flinching at his last words. Surely she knew it was just words, that this was all theatrics for him. The other muggle borns were sitting on the floor behind us and I hoped to god that Hermione wouldn’t notice them, it would make this much easier.
As my father sat down, conversation commenced.
Blaise turned to the Carrow he was sitting by and started a muttered conversation, Theo was talking to his father across from him, and Astoria was engaged with her sister, Daphne.
No one was talking to me, and silence hung around us like it was watching, watching and waiting.
She shifted again—barely, a tiny adjustment of her hips—but it sent a bolt of heat straight through me. If she kept doing that, I wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Granger.”
Her name came out rougher than I intended. She turned toward me, slowly, cautiously, until her face hovered less than five centimeters from mine. Too close. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath brush my cheek.
“You’re going to have to stop wriggling.”
The warning was low, tight, almost strained. My gaze flickered—traitorously—down to her mouth for the briefest second. Just long enough for her eyes to catch the movement.
I watched the realization flash across her face—quick, sharp, unmistakable. She blinked too fast, inhaled too shallowly, her breath shivering against my skin.
Her golden eyes scanned my face—my eyes, my mouth, back again—like she was searching for something she didn’t want to find. Something she didn’t want me to notice.
Then, abruptly, she tore her gaze away, looking down at her hands as if the sight of them could anchor her to the earth.
But her pulse still thudded against my forearm.
And my hand still held her in place.
And the tension between us coiled tighter, dangerously tight.
“It's hard… to not move..” her voice was breathy “when I’m sitting on.. you like a bloody prop.” a scowl reappeared on her face.
“Hermionie.” I looked up to see Pansy, sitting next to Daphne staring at us. “It sure has been a while since I saw you… Battle of Hogwarts was it?” Hermione didn’t say anything, looking down again.
Daphne whispered to her and I could only just hear what she said. “Pans, stop being horrible. She looks like she's been through hell.”
“Draco,” she said, ignoring Daph entirely, “you really brought her as your date?”
My grip on Hermione tightened instinctively—not enough to bruise, just enough to tell her not to react.
Not here. Not with every pair of eyes at this end of the table tuned to the slightest tremor.
“She isn’t my date,” I said coolly. “She’s my assignment. Do try to keep up, Pansy.”
Pansy scoffed, tossing her black curls over her shoulder. “Assignment or not, she’s sitting in your lap like you’ve claimed her.”
Hermione stiffened. Rage rolled off her in a silent wave.
Daphne shot Pansy a sharp look. “Pan—”
“No, I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” Pansy continued, leaning forward, eyes gleaming meanly. “You expect the rest of us to pretend this isn’t… weird? You, acting like she’s something precious when she’s—”
“Finish that sentence,” I murmured, voice low enough that only the cluster of us could hear, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Surprise flickered across Pansy’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
She smirked. “Touchy.”
Hermione shifted slightly on my lap.
Just enough movement to make heat shoot up my spine and coil hard in my stomach.
Just enough that I knew she did it on purpose.
Her whisper brushed my jaw—soft, dangerous.
“If you don’t want questions, Malfoy,” she murmured, “maybe don’t keep me sitting here.”
I swallowed. A little too sharply.
Pansy noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“Ohhhh,” Pansy breathed, her grin widening. “Now I get it. Draco, darling… you’re enjoying this.”
Hermione’s whole body went rigid.
Theo, directly on my right, choked on his drink. Blaise hid a laugh behind his goblet.
I forced my expression into one of pure disdain.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
But my voice wasn’t as smooth as I intended.
Hermione’s pulse was hammering against my arm where it circled her waist, and mine…
Well, mine wasn’t steady either.
Daphne leaned in, her tone softer, almost apologetic as she addressed Hermione.
“You really do look exhausted.”
For the first time, Hermione lifted her gaze—just barely—and met Daphne’s eyes.
Not a challenge. Not defiance. Just a flicker of human recognition, something aching and raw. And Daphne’s face softened, just a fraction.
But enough that I felt Hermione inhale sharply.
Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, don’t pity her, Daph. She made her choices—”
“No,” Daphne said quietly, cutting her off. “I don’t think she did.”
The room around us swelled with noise again—Lucius finishing his toast, goblets raised, murmurs echoing along the table—but in our small corner, the air pulsed with something sharper, heavier.
Hermione pressed her nails lightly into my knee—so subtly no one else would see.
A silent message.
A warning.
Or a plea.
I didn’t know.
But I knew this: If Pansy said one more word, Hermione would break.
And for reasons I didn’t care to examine, the idea made my chest tighten.
I ignored all of them, taking my fork and stabbing a piece of meat before putting it in my mouth. Then I stabbed another, I looked up making direct eye contact with pansy, and raised it to Hermione's lips.
“Open” and she did, biting it off the fork, the same fork that had been in my mouth only seconds earlier.
“Good girl.” I said only loud enough for her to hear. Flush rose to her cheeks but she didn't fight it. She didn’t glare or even move. A light sigh left her mouth when she began to chew.
Perspective switch:
Something hard twitched against my thigh. I realised, looking down, exactly what it was. What was going on? Seriously. I’m imprisoned, he doesn’t so much as touch me, instead searches my brain, and all of a sudden I make him hard?
The whole room was engulfed in chatter, but it felt like we were removed. In a bubble of our own. I looked up at him, confused, furious, and scared? But I wasn’t scared of him, I was scared of myself and these feelings rushed to my face on display for everyone to see.
Theodore talked all of a sudden. “My Granger, you are awfully comfortable there.” His eye still had the glint in it.
Malfoy got up suddenly and I thought I was going to fall, but he had picked me up with him, before placing me on my feet.
“I’m taking her to her room, I’ll be back shortly.” He snaked his arm around my waist again and tugged me forward with more force than I expected.
We left the dining room to hushed whispers and stares. No one treated a mudblood with this much attention. When we made it into the room over and I was sure none of them would hear or see us, I ripped my body away from him, his touch was like fire.
“What on earth are you doing, Malfoy?” I looked at him incredulously.
“We are going to your room.” He said ignoring my question.
“No. No, Malfoy. You don’t get to do that and pretend what you did was normal.” I felt something simmering within me, was it my magic? Somewhere still in me? No. That wasn’t possible.
“I didn’t do anything Granger. Just having some fun, that's all.” That smirk settled on his lips again, the ones that came when he was being avoidant, and oh how I wanted to smack it off of his face. His smirk only made the heat under my skin flare hotter—anger, humiliation, confusion all tangled together so tightly I could barely breathe.
“Having some fun?” I repeated, my voice cracking sharp in the air. “You—you put me in that dress, sat me on your lap in front of half the bloody Death Eaters, let them talk about me like I was something to pass around, and you call that fun?”
He watched me silently, expression unreadable except for that faint curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth. It made something inside me snap.
“And then—” My voice dropped as the memory flashed through me. Heat. Pressure. The unmistakable twitch against my thigh. “You—you had the audacity to—”
I choked on the words. Merlin, I could feel my face burning.
His eyes flicked down my body, deliberate, slow—like he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone and wasn’t sorry in the slightest.
“I think you’re imagining things,” he said smoothly.
That did it.
“Oh, go to hell,” I hissed, stepping toward him, not sure if I wanted to hit him or shake him or scream in his face. “You dragged me in here because you panicked. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
So. He had panicked.
“I didn’t panic, I don’t panic.” he said tightly.
“You basically sprinted out of the room with me,” I shot back.
“I simply didn’t feel like listening to Theo talk about your legs,” he snapped.
I froze.
His silver eyes widened a fraction—just enough to tell me the words had slipped out before he could stop them.
I swallowed, heart hammering in my throat. “My… legs.” He looked away.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
Everything inside me twisted—confusion, something warm, something dangerous, something I absolutely did not want.
“This is insane,” I whispered, half to myself. “You don’t touch me for weeks. You barely speak to me unless it’s an order. You tear through my mind like it’s a hallway. And now all of a sudden—”
I gestured vaguely toward his body, unable to say it. His gaze snapped back to mine. For a second—just one—something raw flickered across his face. Something real. Something that made my stomach flip in a way I despised.
“You are going to your room. Now.” he said quietly.
The softness in his tone startled me more than anything tonight. I stepped back, breath catching. “Not until I get answers. Why? I’m a mudblood Malfoy.”
His eyes flicked up to mine at the sound of the word I had just uttered—I hadn’t even realised I’d said it.
He took one slow step toward me.
“Don’t you ever say that word again.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Why? I seem to recall you don’t have any problems calling me a mudblood.” I said it again, testing what he would do.
He lunged forward and grabbed my arm. Everything disappeared.