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Chapter Text

Draco was sure of several things in his life. Control was part of his, now, strangled father's legacy. The lives of the Malfoy men were planned and controlled down to the last detail; nothing was left to chance.

Until The Dark Lord was defeated by the ass-wit that is Potter.

After losing more than half of the family's fortune and properties, a trial where his father was sentenced to life in Azkaban, a mother who decided to abandon her life and go to Canada to seclude herself in a coven of devout witches who lived in community with nature and Muggles, and Draco's obligation to repair the damage caused by his family to the magical community, control had escaped his life.

He craved it. It was the only constant in a life that had crumbled in a short time.

Hermione knew her life wouldn't be the same after the war.

Well, she wasn't the same after the war anymore.

After Voldemort's defeat and the subsequent trials of the Death Eaters, the life she once knew no longer existed. And it was painful to feel nostalgia slowly sinking in.

Her happiest memories only led her back to Hogwarts, which, after clearing most of the Death Eaters Gringotts' vaults, had regained some of its former magnificence.

Although not everything was the same.

Two years later, she was sitting in the Great Hall. No Harry, no Ron, no Luna, no Seamus or Dean.

The Ministry had given all students the opportunity to complete their education again, especially those who had left Hogwarts because of the war. So Hermione, at twenty years old, was sitting across from Ginny at one of the tables in the Great Hall.

Alongside her, other students who had been affected by the events in the magical world had joined. The surprise was that Draco Malfoy was sitting at the Slytherin table.

She had testified, along with Harry and Ron, in his favor at the Wizengamot trials. They were present for the three weeks of the trial of the youngest Malfoy, and they knew he had been manipulated by his father to take the Dark Mark and serve in the ranks of the Death Eaters.

Two months of Muggle studies, seven years under magical counseling, and half of the Malfoy fortune were the sentences imposed on the former Death Eater.

She couldn't help but look at him. He had changed. The war had changed them all.

Nothing would ever be the same.

After McGonagall's speech, the selection of new students, and the grand feast, Hermione walked to the Gryffindor common room. Only Ginny and she had returned from their house. Many had rebuilt their lives. Others died in battle, defending the school.

"I shouldn't feel relieved about not sharing the room with six more people, but I am," Ginny said, flopping onto the bed with a 'plaf'.

If Hermione wanted to be honest, she felt the same as her friend. Countless times she and the youngest Weasley had shared a room, and Hermione considered her almost like a sister. There were no more secrets between them, given everything they had experienced.

"You share it with me," she pointed out.

"I've seen you naked, Hermione," Ginny said, and the girl felt her cheeks flush. "There are no secrets between us anymore, and basically, you're family."

Ginny was right. Because of everything that had happened, Molly considered her like another Weasley, even without Ron in romantic area.

Both of them organized their trunks and decided to go to bed early. They didn't know what the new classes with the lagging students or the distribution of their classes would be like.

Hermione took a dreamless sleep potion and within minutes was plunged into the depths of Morpheus.

Draco had been the only Slytherin of his generation to return to Hogwarts.

While the Wizengamot sentence didn't indicate it, he decided to come back. Without Lucius and Narcissa in the picture, Malfoy Manor wasn't a place for him. It was no longer a home, and it hadn't been for a while. Now, it was just a shell of the opulence and wealth that the Malfoy name once boasted in their time.

And traces of Voldemort's magic still lingered, so the magical security department constantly reviewed and dispelled enchantments, trying to clean up the traces left by Tom.

He knew his return to the place that was once a source of happy emotions would be well-received by his counselor and he made the decision a week before the start of term. Besides, part of his fortune was within the reformed walls of the castle, so in part, he felt it belonged to him, even if it was the tiniest part.

Within the walls of Hogwarts, he could regain control again; over his emotions, his life, how he needed to dress daily, even how he stored his carefully selected clothes for each day. He could follow his routine, one he had maintained since before the war, bringing a certain calm to a life disturbed by bad decisions and disagreements.

In the solitude of the room, once shared with Crabbe and Goyle, he didn't miss his classmates. On the contrary, he had grown accustomed to the silence of the mansion, and in part, the warmth of his withdrawal was comforting.

His arrival was not without reproachful glances and accusing whispers. He was aware of the reputation that preceded him, and although his father's ideas were now forgotten, he knew it was going to be a long and arduous task to reposition himself as the excellent student he once was. Surprisingly, McGonagall was the first to greet him with a somewhat warm but comforting smile when she saw him cross the doors of the Great Hall.

He noticed that most of the Ravenclaw students had returned. Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, the Weasley girl, and Granger had returned to their respective houses. He knew that Potter and Weasley had entered the Ministry of Magic's Auror Academy; they were the heroes of the Wizarding world, and their positions as Aurors were already set.

Though he struggled to admit it, his freedom was partly due to The Golden Trio. Potter, Granger, and Weasley had testified in his favor, and the word of the three carried weight in the Wizengamot. While he would never verbally admit it, he was thankful not to be locked up with his father in Azkaban, serving fifteen years in prison.

Perhaps, he thought, in this new beginning, things would be different with Granger, and they could maintain a truce between them. He owed her that, after years of mistreatment due to his father's ideas and upbringing.

Her first class was Arithmancy. Hermione had missed studying and immersing her mind in books, scrolls, and dense reasoning. It was almost pleasant to focus on a three-line equation to predict events in the Muggle monarchy instead of searching for ways to find Horcruxes.

There were only five students, as the subject was not compulsory for the N.E.W.T.s. Among them was Malfoy.

Sitting farthest from everyone else, he looked just like he did in fifth year; his hair neatly combed, his finely tailored suit without a single wrinkle. His face, however, was clearly different; purple bags under his prominent eyes contrasted with the gray of his irises. His hands rested calmly on the table, where he had parchment next to a quill, carefully arranged.

He was the epitome of Malfoy snobbish perfectionism.

Hermione placed her worn bag on a table. The war hadn't made her wealthy, and with her parents in St. Mungo, all her savings, house sales, and properties went towards their care. She had no riches, no savings, nothing to flaunt to others; her name alone carried weight in the magical community.

As she organized her things, Laura Madley sat beside her, greeting her with a polite smile. Hermione returned the greeting with another smile. Before they could speak, Professor Septima Vector entered the classroom, beginning the lesson.

"Students, given that this year not many have shown interest in arithmantic art, we will form two working groups."

Hermione continued packing her things for her next class. They already had a two-thousand-word essay on Saint Germain's theorem of the Soul Equation and their possible solutions, which had a deadline of six weeks.

"The essay on the theorem will be done in these groups: Madley, McDonald, and Quirke will be one group, Granger and Malfoy, the other. Class dismiss."

Hermione felt the color drain from her body. The parchment she held slipped from her hands, falling to the ground with a soft thud. Natalie McDonald quickly picked it up, whispering a quick "sorry" as she walked away with her classmates.

She looked at Malfoy, his face expressing no emotion whatsoever.

"Professor-"

"Miss Granger," Septima raised one of her hands, halting the Gryffindor, "before you say anything, the reasons for you and Mister Malfoy being partners are quite simple: you are the oldest students in this class, and since Headmistress McGonagall advocates for house unity in this new era, you would be the perfect example of what Hogwarts wants to project to the magical community."

Hermione wanted to refute everything. While there were no longer animosities with Malfoy, she didn't know if partnering with a former Death Eater would be good for her reputation as the ‘Golden Girl’ of the Golden Trio.

"I have no problem being Granger's partner."

Malfoy's voice sounded different in the classroom. Hermione turned to look at him in surprise. His voice sounded composed, controlled, without any hint of the arrogance his words once dripped with.

The version of Slytherin that lingered in her memories was completely different from the one standing beside her. More mature, calmer, more introverted.

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy," Vector smiled. "I expect a great work from you both; you are among the few students of your generation who have returned, and I trust you will give it your all. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Hermione watched as Professor Vector grabbed her briefcase and left the room. She was stunned by the turn of events, and it was only the first period of classes.

Still bewildered, she grabbed her bag and packed her remaining belongings. She was leaving when she heard Malfoy say:

"Can I walk you to your next class?"

Chapter Text

Oh, 'cause it's gravity

Oh, keeping you with me 

"Excuse me?"

Hermione discreetly pinched her hand. She was sure she was still asleep in the Gryffindor tower room and that she was living some kind of very vivid astral dream.

She saw Malfoy approaching her. He had grown, towering several centimeters over her, and his shoulders looked broad.

She focused on his expression, on his eyes, trying to find maliciousness, a second meaning behind his words, but everything in his demeanor showed the same emotion: indifferent boredom and stillness in his being.

"May I?" he asked again, with the same composed and formal tone. No hint of error in his words.

"Why?" she asked. Worry fluttered in her mind. She was sure there were second interpretations to what Malfoy had said, perhaps a truce or something similar, but there was no ill intention in his behaviour.

"We will be course mates, Granger," replied, as if it were the most obvious thing to him.

"But that doesn't mean you have to scort me through the castle corridors."

"But I want to, Granger. I feel like I owe it to you, after... after..."

She saw how the Slytherin suddenly fell silent. She knew what he was referring to, and clearly, neither of them dared to speak of everything that had happened in the last two years.

"I have Ancient Runes in classroom 6A," she say with a smile that was supposed to be friendly. Malfoy made a gesture with his hand, indicating that she should lead the way.

Hermione had not taken two steps when he took her bag.

"What are you doing?" she reproached.

"Mother taught me to be a gentleman" said, adjusting Hermione's bag on his shoulder. "And that means I can't let you carry your bag while you walk to your next class. I did it with my former housemates and with mother when we went shopping."

She saw Malfoy walking down the hallway and rushed herself to follow him. It wasn't even noon and she had more surprises in a couple of hours than in the last few months. He really was different, Hermione thought, with a shurg.

She glanced at him sideways. There was no hint of animosity in his words or in how he moved in. He looked put together and walked with that grace and elegance, a trait of one of the oldest and most refined families in the country's magical community.

They didn't speak the whole way to the Runes classroom. As they descended the stairs to the sixth floor, she saw some fourth-year students whispering and murmuring. They were both well known; by the tabloids and by the stories of the war.

A heroine and a former Death Eater.

A peculiar situation.

When they reached the classroom, Draco returned her things and said goodbye with a brief nod. Turning on his heels, he headed towards the lower floors while Hermione watched him intently.

She knew that returning to Hogwarts would be quite strange after all, but she didn't know that everything she never thought that could happen was happening, and it was only the first day.

Hermione didn't have another class with Malfoy until Potions with Slughorn on Friday.

She had seen him in the Great Hall, eating his meals alone and always accompanied with a book. He didn't greet anyone or pay attention to his surroundings, as if everything was indifferent to him.

Not that it bothered her, of course not.

She arrived late that day and most of the work tables were taken, except for—

"Ah, Miss Granger, our splendid student," greeted Slughorn with a smile. "Please, take a seat next to Mr. Malfoy," indicated with a gesture.

Hermione settled into the seat next to him, while Malfoy greeted with a short nod.

"Students, the person you see next to you will be your partner for the entire year," he announced. A chill ran through her spine. "We will work in pairs on various potions that will be on the N.E.W.T.s. Today we will cover the theory of Eternal Elixirs according to Arsenium Jigger."

Draco couldn’t concentrate.

He had arrived early to Horace's class with the intention of not having a desk partner. But his plans were thwarted when Granger arrived at the last minute and Slughorn had the spectacular idea of pairing them up.

It wasn’t the sound of quills scratching on parchment or the professor’s voice that bothered him. What drove him to the edge was her perfume.

Black cherry, red apples, and cinnamon. Her entire essence emanated that scent. And it was driving him crazy.

He was losing control.

At one point, Granger adjusted her hair, and the scent hit him like a rogue bludger. The hand resting on his thigh tensed quickly.

He wasn’t wearing his watch, so he had no idea how much time was left before the end of class. But if he didn’t get out of there in the next few minutes, he was going to lose it.

He didn’t know, and he didn’t understand, why someone’s perfume—especially Granger’s—was affecting him so much. It was new, unknown, and completely beyond his comprehension.

He hated it.

While trying to concentrate on what the professor was saying, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Granger was passing him a folded piece of parchment.

He turned to look at her, and her gaze remained on what Slughorn was explaining on the board. Almost imperceptibly, Granger made a gesture with her head, indicating that he should take the note she was passing.

He opened it and saw the Gryffindor’s quick handwriting.

"Are you sick?"

He responded with a short “no” and handed the note back.

For Salazar’s sake, focus yourself, thought as he tried to understand what Slughorn was explaining and took notes on his parchment.

Granger passed him another note.

"We need to start working on the Arithmancy essay."

It was the most pressing thing on his agenda.

He was about to respond when the professor finished the lesson.

Finally, Draco thought relieved.

As everyone was leaving, Granger stayed behind.

“We need to coordinate our schedules to go to the library to research for the essay” she say, packing up her things.

Draco mimicked her, trying to maintain distance. The Gryffindor’s scent seemed stronger. It was impossible that something so simple was throwing him off balance so much.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his emotions in check. “How about tomorrow after lunch?” proposed, starting to leave the room alongside with her.

“I promised to go to Hogsmeade with Ginny, but I can change my plans.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably at what Granger said.

“Oh, don’t change your plans, we can reschedule for another time.”

He saw Hermione blink once, twice, surprised.

“Or you can tell me when it suits you, and I’ll adjust to your schedule” he added nonchalantly.

Granger was still looking at him, surprised.

“You’re not Malfoy, are you? You must be a clone, a twin, or a Malfoy from another dimension or universe.”

Draco laughed softly, surprised at his own laughter. He hadn’t heard it in months.

“Granger, it’s me, I assure you” he said with a half-smile.

At some point, they reached the doors of the Great Hall. The smell of freshly served food attacked his senses.

“Let’s meet here on Sunday, how about four o’clock?” Draco nodded in response. “Great! See you then, Malfoy.” she said and started walking towards the Gryffindor table.

For some reason, Draco no longer had an appetite and so he headed towards the Slytherin common room, thinking that perhaps he could clear his mind and put his thoughts in order.

Among all the changes the school had made with the return of the belated students, it was that they could go to Hogsmeade every Saturday.

After breakfast, Ginny and she headed towards the village. After the war, Hogsmeade had reinvented and now the streets were filled with merchants from other countries, delicious aromas and life. Being there was a joy after all.

“I can’t believe you have to share two classes with Malfoy,” Ginny said after they passed by Honeydukes.

“I don’t think I can go to McGonagall and ask her to change my class partner.”

Ginny scoffed. “You’re a war hero, Hermione, you could ask the Ministry to make, I don’t know… the sky pink with cotton candy as clouds and they’d do it for you.”

The young woman laughed at her friend’s quip. Ginny smiled broadly.

“Here’s the thing, ‘Mione. If you don’t want to be with a past Death Eater and a convicted in the Second War trials, you just have to ask.”

Hermione thought about it. She had earned that right through blood and tears for her contribution to Voldemort's downfall. She could leave today and be assured a position at the Ministry in the blink of an eye.

However…

“I don’t know, Ginny. I don’t want to do that.”

The youngest of the Weasley stopped abruptly in the middle of the street. Surprise was written all over her face.

“What?”

“Did Peeves hit you or what? Are you under an Imperius curse?” she said, raising one of her eyebrows inquisitively.

Hermione shrugged, brushing it off, like it was nothing.

“The two times I’ve seen him, he hasn’t treated me badly or made hurtful comments. On the contrary, he’s been respectful and kind,” she pointed out, resuming walking.

“I can’t believe you’re saying that Malfoy has been chivalrous to you,” Ginny said with chagrin.

“The war changed all of us, Ginn,” Hermione said with a half-smile. They had arrived at Scrivenshaft’s, Hermione’s favorite shop. “In fact, he feels somewhow indebted after the Wizengamot trials.”

Hermione entered the store, followed by her friend.

“What? How do you know that?” she asked, surprised.

“He told me. Well, not explicitly, but that’s what he implied when he accompanied me to Ancient Runes.”

They had reached the quill displays. Hermione was looking for a new quill, as the one she was using was from sixth year.

“Malfoy did what?!”

One of the shop assistants glared at Ginny, Hermione apologized with a soft smile.

“Shh, do you want The Prophet to know too?” she whispered.

“Hermione, explain me how Malfoy is now your chaperone.”

The Gryffindor explained very briefly what had happened in Arithmancy and how he had accompanied to the next class.

“He took your bag?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he carried all the way to Ancient Runes classroom?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“Then nothing, Ginn. He left, and I didn’t see him until Potions, which was yesterday.”

Ginny let out a whistle. “Whoa.”

“Same.”

“If it weren’t because it’s Malfoy we’re talking about, I’d think he’s trying to court you,” she teased.

Hermione choked. “Flirt with me? Never. He just wants to be kind after what happened.”

“Well, that makes more sense than him trying to woo you.”

Hermione was about to say something, but saw the shop assistant approaching them.

“Anything that caught your eye, ladies?”

Draco had no intention of following Granger. But when he passed by Scrivenshaft, he saw her with the Weasley girl, talking to one of the store employees.

Instead of going in and maybe talking to her, he stayed outside while she and Weasley turned around and left, heading in the opposite direction from where Draco was standing.

Even from a few meters away, Granger's fragrance overwhelmed his senses.

He decided to go in and have a look.

“Ah, Mister Malfoy. We haven't seen you in years.”

The store owner, a man who had known his father for years, greeted him with a polite and cold smile. Everyone knew his family was in disgrace, but since old traditions were still rooted deep in the community, that frivolous formality towards the oldest families remained intact.

“I want to see what Hermione Granger was looking at.”

Chapter Text

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves

Or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight.

They had taken longer than planned to reach the castle. Ginny and Hermione had toured all of Hogsmeade and decided to have dinner at the Three Broomsticks Inn. What they hadn’t counted on was Madam Rosmerta filling them with food and drinks just because she was the Golden Girl and Ginny was the girlfriend of The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort.

Everyone wanted to talk to both of them, and Hermione, along with Ginny, decided to stay a couple of hours while many witches and wizards congratulated them for their contribution to the budding magical peace they were experiencing.

"I feel like my belly is going to explode from so much mulled mead," Ginny said as they walked the stairs to the common room.

"I don't reject free food, but this time Madam Rosmerta overdid it."

"It's her way of saying thanks, ‘Mione." She said with a smile "Believe me, if Ron had been with us, he'd still be stuffing himself with pumpkin pie."

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Hermione recited the password. The common room was empty, and the clock read close to eleven-thirty at night.

"Do you want to go to the Prefects' Bathroom? I really want to just soak myself on a bathtub today" Ginny said as they walked to their room. "I just want to clear my mind and—"

Both of them froze upon arriving.

A package with the Scrivenshaft's seal lay at the foot of Hermione's bed.

"Ginny..."

"It wasn't me, Hermione."

The girl approached carefully to her bed, eyeing the package. It was beautifully wrapped and, apparently, had no sender.

"It could be fake," she replied nervously. Hermione stared at the parcel, searching for signs of dark magic, but there was nothing.

"Or it could be a gift."

Hermione looked at her friend in disbelief. Before responding, she drew her wand and muttered, "Revelio."

The wrapping dissolved quickly, revealing what it held inside.

"Hermione..."

"Ginny..."

Neither knew what to say. It was the set of quills and ink that Hermione had seen earlier in the shop, costing an absurd amount of money, that the mere thought of it was amusing. Alongside it, there was a beautiful black leather satchel, similar to a luxury Muggle brand purse she'd seen and heard her mother talk about at some point. Hanging from one of the sides, there was a tag of the same color and material as the bag, but with her initials engraved in gold.

"Is there a sender?"

Hermione searched for a card, some clue as to who the gift's sender was, but there was nothing. The traces of magic indicated manipulation by only just one person.

"There isn't. No traces of other people's magic, just the person who handled this."

"We could ask who sent it. You could send an owl tomorrow, and they'd answer you."

Hermione considered it, but immediately dismissed the thought.

"I don't know. It could be a gift from the store itself for me."

"I don't think so. The owner was known to be an ally of the Death Eaters, but he never took the Mark."

The doubts in Hermione's brain grew more and more. And none of them had a clear answer.

"Maybe... a secret admirer?" Ginny suggested, hesitantly.

"Ginny, don't make me laugh," Hermione's laugh was sarcastic. Given her new status in the magical community, no one wanted to associate with her romantically. The last one had been Ron, and that hadn’t lasted more than two months.

And Rita Skeeter and the press had had a field day with that.

"Well, since you seem to have some kind of fairy godmother, keep the gifts, and tomorrow we'll see if this mysterious being has an identity," she said, ending the conversation.

Hermione nodded, more to her friend than to herself. She needed answers.

Draco was at the Great Hall doors five minutes early. He had combed his hair and put on a comfortable black sweater. The weather was warm, but it was always a bit colder within the castle walls.

He checked his watch. Granger hadn't arrived yet.

He adjusted his clothes, an involuntary gesture, to make sure everything was in order.

"Malfoy."

He turned toward the sound of his name. Granger was walking down the corridor, her hair bouncing with each step. He saw a warm smile appear on her face.

Draco froze.

She reached where he was standing. He noticed her dress; it was a sundress. It was white with embroidered patterns of a pale light blue, the fabric thin and fresh. It clung to her body in all the right places.

Granger had changed. A lot.

And he was noticing.

"I hope I'm not too late."

Her perfume surrounded him again.

He composed himself in less than a second. He would entertain his thoughts later.

"Not at all." he responded shortly. "Shall we?".

The library was almost empty. Both had been there for a couple of hours and they had made less than a third of the progress on their essay.

Draco had had to muster all his control and willpower to not leave and abandon everything. Granger was sitting next to him, and occasionally, when she leaned closer, his eyes would imperceptibly drift to her cleavage.

He realized that she didn't have a prominent bust, but it was enough to make him feel uncomfortable in certain parts of his body. Parts that shouldn't react in the presence of a Gryffindor.

And even less by the tits of the brilliant mind of the Golden Trio.

"Malfoy, could you help me?"

Draco heard her voice. She had gone to another section to search for books.

He left his things and went to find her. She wasn't far from where they had been sitting.

When he arrived, he saw her with even messier hair, if that was possible.

"I need a book that's on the top shelf… and I left my wand in my room." she said with an apologetic smile.

The brightest witch of our age, yeah right, Draco thought with a soft click of his tongue.

"Which one?" he asked, approaching.

"The one with the green spine and gold letters." indicated, standing on tiptoes and pointing at it.

And oh. OH.

Draco saw a variety of colors thru his eyes and felt all his muscles tense in less than a second. With the gesture, her dress rose to almost the edge of her backside, giving him a quick view of Granger’s ass.

He felt his penis twitch against his pants.

Before he could think any further, he pulled out his wand and with a flick he lowered the book she was asking for.

When she turned around, Granger smiled at him.

"Thank you…" she said, but her expression shifted between concern and bewilderment. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes" replied, but his voice sounded lower than usual.

I need to leave now, he thought urgently.

"Malfoy—"

"I just remembered that I have an appointment, Granger. I must go" he said, turning to gather his belongings.

He felt Granger’s footsteps very close behind, following him.

"Malfoy, is something—?"

Draco interrupted her. "Nothing's wrong, Granger" he grumbled, turning and bumping into her.

Due to the momentum of the collision, she grabbed onto the Slytherin's clothes, leaving them face to face, their bodies touching through their garments.

He looked into her eyes; they were wide with surprise and... Fear? Arousal? Anxiety? Draco couldn't distinguish the emotions flickering in her gaze.

What he could feel and distinguish clearly were Granger’s breasts, firm and secure, pressed against his torso. If Draco had felt a jolt before, now he was semi-hard in his pants.

He should have let go of her long ago, but the Gryffindor's hands were still clutching his sides steadily. Did she not want to let go either?

Draco had spent much time thinking that physical contact was frivolous, common, and low-class for families as the Sacred Twenty-Eight. His parents never showed affection in public or in the privacy of the Manor. Only on rare and very special occasions did he see them hug or his mother take his father's arm. He had been taught to maintain that aloofness in his daily life. Lucius had never shown him physical affection, and Narcissa only hugged him during the year-end holidays and his birthday. He could count on one hand the times his mother had kissed his cheeks at any moment.

To him, physical contact was unnecessary.

Until this very right moment.

He saw Granger blink, as if coming out of a trance, and she released her hands from Draco's sides, stepping back immediately.

"Oh Gods, I-I'm s-s-so sor-sorry” she began to apologize, dazzed and blushing. Draco stood in place, seeing the girl swiftly pack up and rush out of the library

He stood there for a while, confused. What was that all about? And most important, why did he want more?

Hermione wasn't prude nor virginal. She knew about sex and sexuality, had read about it in her spare time, and had already experienced the pleasures that can come from enjoying sexuality with Viktor and Ron.

In the darkness of the room, she murmured a Muffliato.

She had felt it. Hermione would have to be very naive to think it was Malfoy’s wand or something else. She had seen his eyes both in the library corridor and at the table where they were working; they were so dark that the gray was only a ring bordering that darkness. For a couple of seconds, she allowed herself to dive into that obscurity, feeling his body against hers.

One of her hands moved down to her clit, seeking friction.

Hermione didn't know why she felt so aroused from that simple encounter with the Slytherin. He was a former Death Eater and, in the past, a enemy of hers. But she still felt the ghost of his shape and hardness on her thigh.

Hermione moaned as her hand found the bud of nerves and began to move it with a gentle cadence.

She had touched herself many times; thinking of Viktor, recalling those Muggle books where women with prominent busts adorned the covers depicting fiery and passionate relationships, thinking of Ron, and damn her, even McLaggen had been the subject of her fantasies at some point, but never had Draco Malfoy been the person who flooded her thoughts when she pleasured herself.

Her free hand went to the nipple of her left breast; moving, twisting, pinching it with the right amount of pain she liked.

How would it feel to run her hands over his virility? How would he behave? Would her hands wander over the chiseled chest of the Slytherin? Would he let her go lower, settling between her legs, making her see stars as his tongue danced at her center?

She felt close. The thought of his platinum blonde hair between her bronzed legs, caressing her reverently, was driving her to the edge.

Hermione increased the friction and movements of her hands. A few seconds later, with a stifled cry, she had her orgasm. The first in more than a year.

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dormitory, Draco stifled a groan into his pillow as he started to come into his bed sheets.

Chapter Text

Now pretty baby,

I'm runnin' back home to you

The next morning, Draco looked at his reflection in the mirror.

The few hours of sleep he had gotten were reflected in his gaunt face. And he was too proud to use magic to mask the tiredness that was evident.

Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of how Granger looked at him, how her breasts felt pressed against his body, her scent, was enough to make him feel like he was going crazy.

His father had always told him that self-pleasure was beneath the Malfoys. An archaic idea that has been part of the Malfoy tradition for generations. He was always hesitant to touch himself, to explore his pleasure.

Until fourth year, after the Yule Ball, when Pansy had touched and kissed his body in so many places, he came in his suit pants.

He had felt embarrassed, but Pansy told him that it was normal. How Pansy knew that? He didn’t want to know.

After his shower, he got dressed in his Monday suit, fixed his hair, and put on some cologne. He grabbed his briefcase, opened his door and was ready to head towards his classes.

Arithmancy was his first class. With Granger.

He lingered at his dorm room door causing a fifth year student to give him a confused look.

He was going to see Granger again.

Draco felt his grip tighten on the handle of his briefcase.

He couldn't allow any woman—let alone a Gryffindor—to make him lose control.

He could indulge in these fantasies in the solitude of his own room, but during classes and while walking around the castle hallways, he would have to control himself. He was a Malfoy after all, and control was an inherent part of who he was.

With his mask of control firmly in place, he closed the door to his room a bit harder than needed and headed towards class.

Hermione didn’t know what to do.

She had thought that since they were going to be partners, they would sit together, but when Malfoy got to class, he sat in the seat he had the last time.

Her expectations were hardly ever accurate or the reality.

If Hermione was being honest with herself, her dreams have been plagued with flashes of silver and longing sighs. Dreams where she longed to be touched by a pair of pale hands belonging to a certain Slytherin.

It was as if her brain had flipped a switch and suddenly, all of her deepest and most desperate fantasies took the shape of Draco Malfoy.

She had thought about him all morning while she got dressed and braided her hair. Hermione scolded herself for thinking about him so much and giving him so mental space after a simple accident that, frankly, could’ve happen to anyone.

At the end of class, Hermione took her time to gather her things. She hadn’t brought the new briefcase or quill with her to class; she refused to use them until she figured out who had sent them to her.

Before she realized what it was, she smelled Malfoy’s cologne. Wood, pine, and mint?

“Granger,” he greeted.

Hermione looked up from her things to the Slytherin in front of her. He looked good in his tailored black suit that contrasted perfectly with his pale skin. There was a time when she would have been intimidated and felt scared. But now, well she was still intimidated but she was also a little horny.

“Malfoy,” she responded.

She heard him clear his throat imperceptibly.

“I would like to apologize for yesterday, Granger. I was careless and behaved a bit neurotically. I want you to know that nothing like that will happen again,” Malfoy said in a rushed breath.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times trying to find the words to respond, but her brain wasn’t working.

“If you don’t want to continue to be my partner for class, I’ll understand…” he

“Malfoy,” Hermione interrupted him, “don’t worry, really. Like you said, it was an accident, and it won’t happen again, right?”

“Right,” he said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

“Okay, let’s forget it ever happened and focus on our project,” Hermione said smiling and made to head to Ancient Runes.

 “I hope you don’t mind, but I will continue to walk you to Ancient Runes,” Malfoy said taking her bag before she could object.

Malfoy was strange, but she wasn’t going to let him get under her skin.

With a shrug, Hermione followed Malfoy towards Ancient Runes.

“The fourth years think you and that ferret are dating,” Ginny said during lunch.

“Huh?” Hermione said lifting her questioning eyes to Ginny.

It had been weeks since the library incident and they only had two days left to turn in their Arithmancy essay. After they talked and cleared things up, they started meeting every three days to get their work done. For the past five days, though, they’ve seen each other daily. Malfoy would wait for her outside of her classes, grab her bag and walk them to the library. When someone would get hungry or tired, they would make their way to the Great Hall, where he would leave her at the door and make his way to the Slytherin table.

Many had seen them walking in the halls together; him carrying her books while they talked about what they had learned researching. His immaculate Malfoy manners had him opening doors for her and was always a gentleman. He was never unkempt and always wore the mask of control, typical of purebloods.

Ginny snorted, “You are the talk of castle, ‘Mione.”

Hermione stared at Ginny, blinking a few times. She had no interest in gossip and had long stopped paying attention to mindless gossip.

“People think Malfoy and I are an item?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said.

Hermione’s laughter was vibrated in the Great Hall, and everyone turned to look at her.

“Great, and now they probably think you lost your mind,” Ginny said smiling apologetically.

Hermione wipes the tears from her eyes, “that’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” she said laughing again; quieter now.

“I also think it’s ridiculous, but even Sprout asked me,” Ginny said, “though I think she just wanted to find out if the gossip was true or not.”

Hermione doubted that was the case.

“Ginny,” Hermione said taking Ginny’s hand, “I swear by my ancestors' memory that there’s nothing romantic between Malfoy and me. We have an understanding; call it a truce.”

Ginny looked at her, eyebrow raised in disbelief, “A truce?”

“Yes, or whatever you want to call it,” Hermione sighed, tired. “A lot has happened since the frivolous rivalries we had a couple of years ago, Ginn. The war changed the world we used to know, and it changed us all. Malfoy too.”

“I know Hermione, it’s just…” Ginny started.

“I understand you might have some prejudices, Ginny. I had them too. But remember, that he helped Harry when… when—,” Hermione couldn’t continue. Memories flooded her mind and the scar that marred her arm began to itch.

“And you also testified on his behalf at the Wizegamont,” Ginny said seeing Hermione’s discomfort. “I understand that he can redeem himself, and maybe I’m wrong and he’s Saint Malfoy now, but ‘Mione, let me have my doubts and apprehensions.” Hermione saw Ginny run her hand through her red hair. “I won’t pass judgement on who you decide to be friends with,” she smiled squeezing Hermione’s hand, “but I will judge the fact that you dated my brother for two months.”

“Ginny!” Hermione scolded playfully, an amused half-smile on her lips.

“I’m sorry but it’s true! You and Ron wanted different things and yet you fought for a relationship that was destined to fail from the very beginning.”

Hermione sighed, “You know that I was in love with him for years, and when I saw an opportunity, I took it and fought to make the thing between Ron and I work. But relationships take two people to work, and there was only one of us wanted things to work.”

“I was the first person to tell you that you and my brother weren’t going anywhere. Ron is still spoiled.” Ginny snorted.

Hermione shrugged, “Ron and I weren’t compatible, even though I wished with my soul that we were. Now, I’m going to wait for life to lead me to my destiny as a single woman who spends my days reading and studying.” she smiled dreamily.

“If that’s your destiny, I’m going to be the first to find you a good shag with a man designed by the gods.” Ginny promised.

They were both laughing when Malfoy walked towards where they were sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione heard him softly clear his throat, “Granger, we have to go to the library to finish our project.”

Still smiling from her conversation with Ginny, Hermione turned to look at the pale haired Slytherin, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Hermione grabbed her things, said bye to her friend with a smile and simple ‘see you later’ and made to leave the Great Hall with the Slytherin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ginny’s eyes open wide with surprise when Malfoy took her books and bag, like he’s done from the first day. It was the first time that Ginny had seen the Slytherin do this.

Malfoy started to walk and Hermione followed behind him. His strides were longer because of his height and she struggled to keep up with him.

“Malfoy, wait for me,” she said trying to catch up. They were close to the stairs now.

“Granger, why—” he started to say turning to look at her. But, just like in the library, Hermione collided with Malfoy, only this time, her faced smacked into his chest. The smell of pine and mint flooded her senses. He smelled breathtakingly good.

“Ouch,” he said slowly. She didn’t realize when, but he was holding her by the arm.

Hermione stepped away from him a few centimeters, searching his gaze for censure or scathing comment, but she could only see an amused smile playing on his face.

“What,” she breathed, almost a whisper.

“For the smartest witch of our generation, you are quite clumsy,” he said sounding amused.

“If you didn’t walk with six-foot strides, I would be able to keep up with you, Malfoy,” she said.

“I am, and we’re in a hurry, Granger. It’s not my fault that you walk slower.”

“I don’t—,” she stopped and sighed. Hermione began to climb the stairs that led to the library. She felt Malfoy follow quickly behind her. “I’ll try to keep up with you, but I don’t make any promises.”

“Good girl,” Malfoy murmured, a smirk on his face while they continued to walk.

Hearing him say those specific words made warmth spread through her body.

It was hard for her to admit it, but the last time that they had spent time together, she couldn’t stop looking at Malfoy. At the sharpness of his jaw, how his hair would be disheveled after a day of classes and work, in the way he frowned when he was reading and researching for the essay. What she liked most about him, though, was how his eyes would sometimes soften when he would read something that he liked and then he’d share it with her.

They had a Potions assignment in between their project for Arithmancy, and she was able to see first-hand how talented and passionate he was for potions and alchemy.

“That’s what I want to do, Granger,” he said one day while they were in the library. “I never saw myself in the Ministry or managing family affairs. My motivation has always been to be the best in potions and to be a great alchemist. One that leave a mark on the world.”

Hermione felt like she was being given a little piece of his mind, of his deepest desire, and she treasured it in a small part of her being. But she couldn’t lie to herself, Malfoy had changed physically too. She had noticed it the first few days of school, but now that they spent more time together, she was much more aware of it.

Malfoy had grown a lot. He was several centimeters taller than her with a broad back and shoulders. When he wore white shirts, you could see the muscles from his chest and arms that were beneath. When he reached for books on the shelves that were higher up, his shirt would tighten and mold to his body in places that she never knew would fill her body with warm sensations.

Sometimes, when he would wander the stacks in the library, she would stop and just watch him walk. She usually would check out his ass, which looked surprisingly firm. His legs were long, and when he sat down, they looked strong like the rest of him.

Ever since that first night she had made herself come thinking about him, it happened more often. She couldn’t deny it, Malfoy was attractive, but she would never admit it. And if she had the chance, in some bizarre timeline, to jump into his arms, she would do it without thinking.

They arrived at the table they always worked at and settled into their positions respectively and began working on their tasks.

Chapter Text

We can't make

Any promises now, can we, babe?

Draco couldn't stop thinking about the smile Granger gave him. Charismatic, wide, and without a hint of cynicism. It was the kind of smile that lit up her eyes with a spark of genuine joy. One that he felt in the deepest parts of him. It had been weeks since they started meeting and would spend hours working together in the library. He couldn't deny that if someone had told him a few years ago that he would be enjoying the company of the Golden Girl, he would have hexed them without a second thought.

They didn’t really talk about the things that happened during their previous years; he didn't want to remember them, and it seemed like she had moved on. It always felt like she was a bit defensive when they first started working together, so he made sure to always be respectful towards her in hopes that it would help ease her defensiveness. Always listening attentively to what she had to say about their work together even when he thought she was wrong. It was during those times that he would carefully point out that he didn't think she was right and they would have long conversations about their different points of view.

Sometimes, when Granger would share bits about her life, or anecdotes, he found himself absorbed in her stories and anecdotes. He thought he had known who she was, but oh , how wrong had he been. He listened with rapt attention, trying to unlearn everything he thought he knew about the woman who sat with him. Hermione Granger was a complex woman that was bruised and scarred from war. A war that had turned her into a war heroine, and voice of power within the magical community. She was more than books and cleverness. Hermione was someone that had seen more in her short life than most people see in a lifetime.

Just like him.

They had survived a war.

But there was still warmth and light in her. He knew Granger was attractive. He wasn’t blind. It had been two years since the war, but she seemed like she was back to her sixth year self; though clearly older and more matured. He caught himself watching her in the library or during classes. Her hair sometimes a wild messy bunch swaying with the wind, other times neatly tamed into a ponytail or braids. Her tanned skin seemed to glow when the sunlight kissed her skin.

Draco liked it when she wore dresses or more fitted clothes that accentuated her in all the right places. More than once, his eyes wandered to her chest or arse, and he couldn't deny that he liked what he saw. He was, after all, still young with needs and desires. And Granger was an attractive woman.

He had been looking for a textbook of Arithmancy essays that was kept in a special section of the library when he heard Granger laugh. As he walked toward the sound, he noticed that there was a boy from Ravenclaw leaning on their table, talking animatedly with her. Draco wasn't an idiot; he knew that the Ravenclaw was clearly flirting with Granger. He stopped before reaching them, hiding a bit among the stacks so neither of them could see him. There weren't many people around, and he could easily hear their conversation since it was so quiet.

"How about I escort you to Hogsmeade this Saturday?" he heard the Ravenclaw say. He knew him. Goldstein? Something like that was his last name.

He didn't like the tone he used at all.  He didn't want Granger walking to Hogsmeade with anyone.

"I don't know, Anthony," he heard Granger respond, "I have plans with Ginny." That was his name, Anthony Goldstein Draco remembered. One of the Ravenclaws that had returned to Hogwarts. 

"It's just walking together to Hogsmeade, Hermione," Goldstein said. 

Draco felt himself tense. Since when did he call Granger Hermione?

"I won't ask you out... yet, " Draco heard Goldstein say and knew that he was giving Granger a flirtatious smile, emphasizing his intentions. Draco decided it was time to step out and act.

"Granger, I found what you asked for," he said entering the space, his face the mask of control he always wore. Granger, who had been looking at the Ravenclaw, turned to look at him the moment she heard his voice. He noticed how Goldstein's posture changed and was suddenly tense at Draco’s presence.

"Oh, finally! It's the last thing I need to finish the essay," she said, looking at him with a smile, taking the parchment he held and laying them on the table.

"Malfoy, I didn't know you were Hermione's partner." Draco felt the muscles in his arms tighten at Goldstein’s words, a strange feeling spreading throughout his body.

"Granger and I share a few classes," Draco said indifferently, sitting across from her.

He watched as she turned to look at Goldstein with an almost apologetic half-smile, "I have to get back to studying, Anthony. It was nice talking to you."

"Will you accept my proposal?" he asked.

Draco’s hands clenched under the table, his knuckles turning white. He felt his breath catch.

"I'll think about it after I finish what I have to do," she said carelessly, her attention now on the parchments.

"See you around, then," Goldstein said, proceeding to disappear from their sight.

Granger kept her eyes focused on one of the parchments in her hands, absorbed in what she was reading; oblivious to what was happening around her. He narrowed his eyes as a feeling of control, of possession, took hold of him.

"Malfoy, I think you should read this part here; it says-"

"Are you going out with Goldstein?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think them through.

Hermione looked at Malfoy, bewildered. She blinked one, two, three times. Had she heard him correctly?

“Sorry?”

“Where do you know Goldstein from?” he asked. 

She carefully observed the Slytherin’s face; it showed only passive indifference. His eyes, however, displayed an unfamiliar emotion. Hermione didn't think much of it and answered, “Oh, Anthony? He was part of the D.A. at one point,” she said, dismissively. Dumbledore's Army was now extinct, and not just because of the fatalities. It was now just a collective memory of a time that no longer existed.

She saw him nod, impassively and paid him no attention going back to what she was working on.

Around ten o’clock, Madam Pince told them that they had to leave the library. Hermione apologized and excused herself to begin and pack up her things. They had agreed that Malfoy would review the essay tomorrow, and, on Monday before classes, they would do the final review. As she left the library, she sighed, tired; it had been a long day.

“Is something wrong, Granger?” he asked, his head tilted as if curious. 

Hermione was surprised by Malfoy’s question. “Oh… just, um, a long day, that’s all.”

“It has been,” he replied quietly.

“Anyway,” she said, walking towards the Gryffindor common room, “I’ll see you on Monday,” she said, waving bye. 

“Granger, it would be ungentlemanly of me if I didn’t escort you to your common room,” Malfoy said approaching her, his tone carrying that signature Malfoy authority.

Hermione noticed that same unknown emotion in his eyes, though it seemed more intense than before. “Oh, I don’t think it’s necessary—”

Malfoy cut her off with a gesture. “I insist. I would feel more at ease escorting you.”

Just when she thought Malfoy couldn’t surprise her anymore, he did. Spending time with him was like peeling back layer after layer of a very complex person. Hermione shrugged. She didn’t have the energy to argue or tell him no, so she nodded softly, resigned.

Lucius Malfoy once told him that one should always stay a step ahead of their enemy.

“If you know their intentions well,” he had said one afternoon many years ago in the Manor library, “you can outmaneuver them and come out victorious.”

Draco wasn’t an idiot. As they left the library, he had seen Goldstein somewhat hidden, clearly waiting for Granger. Everything Draco had said was meant to show the Ravenclaw that only he could accompany Granger through the castle. As they walked up the stairs towards the Gryffindor Tower, he took Granger’s books, as he had been doing for weeks, and glanced sideways. He saw Goldstein staring intently at them. His free arm went around the Gryffindor's waist, but without touching her, just giving the illusion of doing so. He was sure Goldstein had seen him put his arm around Granger’s waist.

When they were out of Goldstein sight, Draco released his arm, and they walked to the Gryffindor common room. Granger hadn’t noticed anything, too absorbed in speaking about the essay and Draco responded briefly with some confirmation here and there, not paying much attention to what exactly Granger was saying. When they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, Draco said a brief goodbye to her. 

“I’ll see you on Monday, about fifteen minutes earlier, in the Arithmancy classroom. Does that sound good?” Granger asked before entering the common room.

“I’ll have the work ready, and we can review it together,” he replied with a short nod.

“Alright then, see you Malfoy,” she said with a wave, murmuring the password and passing through the portrait hole, disappearing from his sight.

Draco turned on his heel and headed towards the dungeons. As he walked, he let his mind ponder all the thoughts about his new and strange feelings towards Granger. Inside him, there was something possessive stirring every time he saw Granger talking to someone other than him. He knew that it wasn’t something that happened when she was chatting to the Weasley girl or the professors, but rather when situations like the one with Goldstein happened in front of him. Or near him. 

That same feeling stirred in him when she was smiling at someone who wasn’t him, or when someone said something to her, and her eyes lit up. When he saw her walking through the corridors, carefree, there was a constant feeling of longing; to be beside her, walking with her, observing her. He wasn’t sure when or how this tangle of feelings towards Granger had started, but he knew that what happened with Goldstein today in the library changed things.

Was it selfish to want Granger to only have time, attention, and eyes for him? No, he answered automatically. “ A Malfoy always claims what is theirs” Lucius’s voice echoed in his mind. And it was true, a Malfoy always claimed what was theirs. Granger didn’t know it, but she belonged to him. The hours in the library, the shared moments, the times they walked through the hallways, the shared thoughts, the subtle glances, and shy smiles all belonged to him . The times he woke up from the image of her in his dreams, the moments alone in his room or in the shower, imagining it was Granger touching him, her name on the edge of his lips. All of that belonged to him. And more . The feeling of possessiveness settled within him. The next time they met, things would be different.

Chapter Text

I thought ,"Heaven can't help me now"

Nothing lasts forever

But this is gonna take me down.

Hermione dreamed of Malfoy.

They weren’t vague images like on other occasions. This time she had dreamed of him in detail.

She had seen him wrapped in steam, in the Prefects' bathroom. In the dream, he looked at her with lust, devouring her body with his grey eyes, tracing every curve, every inch of skin. In the same dream, he kissed her as if his life depended on it. Their bodies intertwined, his hands exploring every centimeter of her body, touching, squeezing, massaging.

When she woke up, her cheeks were flushed, and her thighs were damp.

As she washed her hair, she remembered her first class was with Malfoy, and it was the day to turn in the essay.

Merlin, what have I done to deserve this? she thought with a sigh as she exfoliated her body.

For the past two weeks, though she was reluctant to admit it, she had put a little more effort into her appearance. She took a little longer in the shower, paid more attention to her hair, and chose her clothes with more care.

That day, while styling her hair, she thought of Malfoy. She hadn’t verbalized it, but she noticed how his eyes changed when she styled her hair—whether in a bun or loose in a slightly more polished way—giving her an unspoken compliment. She chose a satin ribbon and adorned her hair with it.

As she went through her clothes, she thought about the Slytherin. A few days ago, she had worn a simple dress with black tights, and she had noticed a change in Malfoy’s behavior. When they sat together, she saw him tense up. It might have been because the dress was a bit shorter and barely covered half of her thigh when they were seated.

She chose that outfit.

When she was done, she looked at herself in the room’s mirror. Her reflection smiled back at her.

Hermione didn’t want to get her hopes up, but something inside her told her that maybe her longing was mutual. Over the past few weeks, she had spent a lot of time near Malfoy and had caught him looking at her with a confusing emotion more than once.

The same emotion had appeared the last time they had seen each other, and he had offered to escort her to the common room. It was something unfamiliar, and her instincts told her it was something rather on the darker side.

"You look gorgeous!" Ginny looked at her with a wide smile and gave her two thumbs up. "Is there some event today that I wasn't informed about?" she asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

"Not at all, Ginn," she said, gathering her things. "Today’s the day we turn in our Arithmancy essay, and I wanted to look a bit more formal, just in case Professor Vector makes us present the key points."

"So, it’s because you're going to see Malfoy?" Ginny teased with a mischievous smile. Hermione looked at her in surprise, feeling her cheeks turning pink again. "Hermione Granger!" Ginny’s tone was accusatory, but not harsh.

"Ginny, no. Stop."

"I knew all those hours in the library would have an effect!" she said, laughing. "You like Malfoy, Hermione."

"No, Ginny. I don’t like him." And it was true. She didn’t like Malfoy. He was just the constant subject of her deepest, darkest fantasies, the ones she kept tucked away in a corner of her mind. And she was physically attracted to him, maybe a bit more than usual. But she didn’t like him. "I already told you, it’s just in case Vector makes us present."

"Hermione, my friend," Ginny said, taking her hands in hers. "I would never judge you, ever, you know that, right?" Ginny's words were sincere. They’d known each other for a long time. Hermione nodded. "I just want you to be happy."

"I know, Ginn, I know."

Ginny hugged her for a few seconds before starting to get ready for her own day.

Hermione grabbed her bag, getting ready to leave. From her trunk, she took out her perfume and dabbed on a few drops. She was about to put it away when she noticed, at the bottom, the gift from the anonymous benefactor.

They had sent a letter to Scrivenshaft's inquiring about the gift, but they were told that no information could be provided, as it was from a client who had requested extreme confidentiality. And if she had any concerns or issues, she could return the items.

Weeks had passed, and nothing bad had happened. Would it be so wrong to use the gift from this anonymous admirer?

Screw it, she thought.

She transferred all her things into the new handbag. It matched perfectly with her entire outfit. Once satisfied with her appearance, she headed towards the Arithmancy classroom.

Draco glanced at his watch. There were five minutes left of class.

As agreed with Granger, they had met fifteen minutes earlier to make corrections to their paper. They both read through it and were satisfied with the work they had done.

The problem was that when Draco saw her walk in, he felt the air leave his lungs.

She was wearing a black dress that was criminally short. He was sure it was the same dress she had worn one day when they met in the library, and that night, Draco had thought over and over about how it looked on her.

She had sat next to him, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see almost the entirety of her thighs, as the damn dress had ridden up when she sat beside him.

Despite how uncomfortable he was feeling in his trousers, there was something that filled him with satisfaction.

Granger was wearing his gift.

It had been an impulse. The owner of Scrivenshaft's had shown him the items that she had been looking at moments before, and he had decided to buy them for her. In his mind, it was all part of this truce, trying to make amends, to keep things on steady ground.

He had to pay a considerable sum to ensure that no one would ever know he was the one who had bought the gifts for the Golden Girl. The owner had gladly accepted the amount and assured him that his identity would remain completely anonymous.

During the weeks they had spent together, he noticed that despite being a hero in the magical community and holding a high status within it, she was still the same as before. She wasn’t surrounded by luxury or wealth, as he had once thought. And she looked tired.

Amid the whirlwind of emotions Draco was experiencing for the girl, a growing need to look after her emerged within him, along with a possessiveness that wouldn't let him rest.

Clearly, in some ways, Granger didn’t need to be taken care of —after all, she was part of the Golden Trio— but in other ways, she seemed to long for it.

The class ended, and they began packing their things. Draco stepped out and waited for her outside the classroom.

It had become their routine.

He saw Granger walk out of the classroom and pass right by him.

What?

"Granger," he called out, firmly. He watched as she turned around to look at him. With two large strides, he reached where she was.

He wasn’t sure what emotion was showing on his face, but whatever was coursing through him inside, it wasn’t pleasant.

Hermione had thought that after the Arithmancy project, Malfoy’s walks with her as his chaperone, as Ginny had once called it, were over.

She was wrong. Very wrong.

Malfoy grabbed her arm, with just enough force to keep her in place, but not enough to hurt.

"Where do you think you’re going?" His voice was low but firm and commanding. She searched his eyes, and she saw that same dark emotion that had noticed days ago, but now with a little more intensity.

She held his gaze. There was something inviting about that emotion, about that darkness she wanted to jump into and be consumed by.

"To my next class," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing.

"You’re forgetting about me," Malfoy said, tightening his grip.

"You don't need to keep accompanying me."

"Yes, it is," he said firmly, releasing her arm. He took Hermione's things and started walking toward the Ancient Runes classroom.

Hermione stood there, watching him walk down the hallway, perplexed. Something was happening with Malfoy. Part of her wanted to know what it was, but the other part just wanted to go with the flow and comply.

A part she wasn’t ready to explore. Yet.

But her Gryffindor spirit was stronger.

"Give me back my things, Malfoy," she said, walking toward where the Slytherin stood. "I'm not a child, and I don’t need you to keep walking me—"

She saw Malfoy turn sharply. His gaze was severe. Dominant.

"You’re not a child, but I do have to walk you, Granger," he stated.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

His tone was dark and laced with dominance. Part of her shivered, while another part of her went on high alert.

"Malfoy, no—" Malfoy didn’t let her finish. In a quick movement, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her up the stairs toward the sixth floor.

The last students in the hallway had scattered, and there was no one on the stairs.

"Malfoy, let me go!"

"No."

"Let me go, or I'll scream!" she said, and as they reached the floor, before she realized it, Malfoy opened a door and pulled her in after him.

He released her, and with a flick of his hand, locked the door.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?"

The Slytherin had his back to her. She saw him drop both his and her bag to the floor, and in one swift motion, he turned to face her.

If that indecipherable emotion had been present in the hallway, now it flooded the entire room with its aura.

She watched him walk toward her, his eyes fixed on her body, on her gaze, on the way she was breathing. His steps were slow and deliberate, confident, with no hesitation in his stride.

Hermione knew it wasn't a good idea to be there with him, that her rapid breathing betrayed the fear this whole situation was causing her, and that her erratic heartbeat warned her that she needed to disappear in the next few seconds or things were going to get very strange between them.

Hermione had always believed that in this world, there were hunters and prey. There were people who could move fluidly between both sides, shifting when the moment required it.

After the war, she was a hunter; she achieved what she set out to do and had ways to prove that she deserved it. But now…

She was the prey.