Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The café buzzed with the muffled sounds of clinking cups and murmured conversations, but for Hermione, the world seemed strangely quiet as she sat across from Pansy Parkinson, grappling with the unwelcome realisation that, perhaps, Pansy might have a point.

Hermione took a deep breath, willing herself to keep calm. “You know, Pansy, I don’t really need your… commentary on my life choices.”

“Oh, sweet Merlin, Granger, lighten up.” Pansy sighed dramatically, as though Hermione’s seriousness was a personal offence. “Believe it or not, I’m not here to criticise your choices - though, let’s be honest, they’re shockingly poor. I’m here to offer some perspective .”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, her irritation growing. “Perspective? And when exactly did you become the authority on my life?”

Pansy chuckled, leaning back in her chair with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. Her expression was infuriatingly smug. “Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m an expert. But, darling, it’s been a year. You really need to get laid.”

“What the hell, Pansy?” Hermione hissed, her cheeks heating. She set her cup down with a sharp clink. “I am not Theo. I’m not going to die from not having sex. I’ve been busy . You know, with work? Some of us don’t have the luxury of lounging around plotting ways to open another business.”

Pansy gave her a long-suffering look, twirling a strand of perfectly styled hair around her finger. “Oh yes, your work. The noble cause that somehow manages to overlook you and your brilliance every chance it gets. Meanwhile, Saint Potter and that wanker Weasley rack up promotion after promotion like it’s a bloody game. You don’t even get a ‘good job’ for fixing their messes.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Hermione shot back, though her voice faltered slightly, “but my work does matter. Just because it isn’t flashy or glamorous doesn’t mean it’s not important.”

“Of course. Absolutely riveting , I’m sure,” Pansy drawled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And meanwhile, Ron is off playing house with that waitress from The Leaky Cauldron.”

Hermione stiffened, her grip tightening around her cup as Pansy’s words struck a nerve she hadn’t been prepared for. Her mind betrayed her, spiraling back to memories she’d rather forget - moments from a year ago when everything had begun to crumble.

One year before…

Hermione was busy packing, her mind already halfway to southern France, where a gorgeous chateau and friends - and some long overdue wine - awaited. She reached for her sweater, only to pause at the sound of Ron’s irritated sigh from the doorway.

Hermione braced herself. Here we go.

"I just don’t get it, Hermione. How can you be friends with them ?” he spat, crossing his arms as if the very idea was offensive.

“This again, Ronald?” Hermione replied, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “We’re not at Hogwarts anymore. There’s no Voldemort, no house rivalry. We’re all adults now. And like I’ve told you a hundred times, they’re far from the Slytherin bullies they were in school. If you’d only give them a chance - ”

"Give them a chance?" he scoffed. “Parkinson and Nott, maybe. But Zabini? And don’t even get me started on Malfoy! There’s no chance in hell I’m going to play nice with him. It’s like you don’t even care about how this makes me look. They’re the enemy.”

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath. The tension was mounting, and she could feel her mood slipping with every word. This was a fight they’d had too many times, and she could already tell where it was headed. She forced herself to stay calm, though she could feel the familiar prickling of irritation building under her skin.

“If someone had told me back at school that I’d one day count Pansy Parkinson among my closest friends, or that I’d be spending holidays with Theo, Blaise, and yes - even Malfoy - I wouldn’t have believed it either,” she said, keeping her tone as steady as she could manage. “But I’ve gotten to know them as people, Ron. Not just former Slytherins. Even Ginny joins us on outings whenever she can, and Harry - well, he knows my friends aren’t up for debate.”

She has been friends with them for years but it was still hard for Ron and some of her former friends to get over. Their friendships had grown slowly, each one finding its way into her life like puzzle pieces she hadn’t known were missing. At first, it had been Pansy, surprisingly, who had reached out - a shy, unexpected “hello” one afternoon in Diagon Alley, and a tentative invitation for coffee. They’d both lost people, both had wounds to share and stories to tell, and somehow, both had needed that connection. It wasn’t long before Hermione’s circle of friends grew to include Pansy’s closest confidants, Theo and Blaise, and eventually Draco, too.

Yes, even Draco Malfoy. Somehow, despite years of schoolyard spats, old grudges, and a fierce reluctance to admit that people could change, they’d stumbled into a sort of friendship - or, at the very least, an unspoken truce that felt… comforting. Yes, they argued, often and passionately, but there was something in the way he challenged her and refused to let her settle for easy answers. They weren’t always civil, and certainly not always kind, but that tension had become something she could rely on. In its strange way, it was even something she could trust.

What started as cordial catch-ups over coffee soon became dinners and birthday gatherings. She even took them on outings into the muggle world now and then, much to their amusement. And they’d all surprised themselves by developing an easy camaraderie, a strange blend of Slytherin wit and Gryffindor heart.

“Harry might go along with it, but that doesn’t mean it makes sense!” Ron shot back. “Why can’t you just - oh, I don’t know - be more considerate of how this looks for me? Hermione, my sister’s about to have her second kid, and here you are running off on some trip with Malfoy and his gang! What’s that supposed to say about us? It’s like you’re avoiding me!”

The words stung, and Hermione felt her patience snap. “That’s low, Ron. This has nothing to do with marriage and kids, and you know it! Why can’t you understand?”

“Understand what? That you’d rather spend time with a bunch of Slytherins than with me?” Ron said, his voice laced with bitterness. “Right. Makes perfect sense, Hermione.”

Hermione felt her heart twist as his words hit home. She’d known he didn’t understand her friendships with her Slytherin friends, but it was painful to see how deeply he resented it. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

“This isn’t about me avoiding you, or about being ready for marriage,” she said quietly. “This is about me finally having friends who accept me as I am. Why is that so hard for you to see?”

“Oh, I see it all right,” Ron sneered. “That’s why you got that second cat, isn’t it? So you could fill the void while you run off with your new friends instead of settling down?”

Hermione felt her patience slipping. “Ron, I’m not against marriage or children, but I need time for myself . I want to explore, to travel, to grow without having to rush into anything.” Her voice softened, almost pleading, as she added, “Why can’t you see that?”

“Because,” he replied, his face hardening, “it’s us that I’m worried about. I’m tired of you spending all your time with people who think we’re nothing more than a joke. I’m your boyfriend, not some - ”

Before he could finish, the door burst open, and Pansy Parkinson swept into the room, exuding a slightly chaotic energy as her eyes landed on Hermione.

“Well, there you are! How is it possible that Hermione Granger is running late for her own holiday?” She raised a brow, glancing at Ron with a smirk. “The boys are waiting at the portkey, practically salivating over the wine, and the chateau won’t tour itself.”

Ron crossed his arms, his face stormy. “Parkinson.”

Pansy’s smirk widened. “Weasley.”

Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, catching Ron’s cold stare. “Goodbye, Ron,” she said softly, feeling the sting of his dismissal before he even replied. “I’ll write to you.” 

"Yeah, whatever.” He barely looked at her as she left, only nodding toward the doorway, his expression stony.

Once outside, Pansy rolled her eyes and tossed her hair with a sharp flick of her head, her sleek, jet-black bob swinging perfectly into place, just brushing her chin. Every detail of her appearance radiated effortless style - from the deep crimson lipstick to the tailored designer coat that hugged her in all the right places. She wore high-waisted trousers with a silk blouse in a way that felt distinctly French, a chic elegance that looked like she’d stepped right out of a Parisian boutique. Pansy had developed an eye for high-end fashion over the years, and her taste was nothing short of immaculate, blending sophistication with a hint of daring.

She looked at Hermione with an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, Granger, if I were you, I’d have hexed him ages ago. Total wanker,” she said, her tone cutting, though her eyes were soft with sympathy.

Hermione laughed despite herself, trying to brush off the hurt as they walked toward the portkey. Her friends were waiting, and there would be time for self-reflection later. Right now, she had a trip to enjoy.

As soon as Hermione stepped into view, Malfoy couldn’t resist the urge to get in a jab. “The Golden Girl finally decided to grace us with her presence. It’s not like the rest of us have ministry jobs with unlimited holiday, honestly, Granger,” he drawled, smirking. His tone was mocking, as usual, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.

It was almost infuriating how he carried himself, standing there with his white-blond hair - now a little longer and styled in a charmingly messy way. Tall and lean, his sharp features and piercing gray eyes gave him an air of both elegance and edge. There was something about the way he seemed so composed, as though he owned the very space he stood in, that set Hermione on edge.

“Not now, Malfoy,” Blaise huffed, rolling his eyes. “We have more important matters to discuss!”

“Exactly!” Theo interjected, grinning. “Now, tell us, sweet Hermione, how many books did you pack in that magical bag of yours?”

Theo was lounging nearby with his usual easy grace, dressed in a soft, fitted sweater and tailored trousers that hinted at a quiet, refined taste. He was tall and slender, with curly dark hair that constantly fell in his eyes, giving him a casual, almost roguish appeal. His warm, mischievous smile only added to the devil-may-care attitude he seemed to exude, making him the perpetual troublemaker of the group.

“Out with it, Granger!” Blaise chimed in, arching a brow as he looked her over with an air of indulgent impatience. Blaise was strikingly handsome in his own right, with a rich, smooth complexion and eyes that gleamed with quiet confidence. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a sleek button-down and coat, his bearing calm but somehow commanding.

Hermione, caught off guard, felt a small smile slip out as she answered, “I only brought a few - like twelve. It’s not like I’ll have time to read them all, right?”

Blaise and Theo groaned in unison, rolling their eyes dramatically.

“Not a surprise,” Blaise muttered, crossing his arms with a sigh. “I had eight in the betting pool. Even with wine, it’s still Hermione.”

“Three,” Theo said with a grin. “I thought I had her convinced after our extensive conversation about the sheer volume of wine tasting we have planned. Clearly underestimated her commitment to literature.”

Malfoy, meanwhile, wore an insufferably smug expression. “Thirteen was my guess,” he said, sounding rather pleased with himself. “I’ve known Granger long enough to know her idea of a ‘light packing list’ includes the entire history of wizarding politics, a few volumes on advanced Transfiguration, and at least one language dictionary. Because why not?”

“You think you know me that well, do you?” Hermione shot back, tilting her chin up defiantly. If only Malfoy knew about half of her smutty books in her bag. That would shut him up. Hermione chuckled to herself. 

“Please, you’re practically predictable,” he replied, smirking down at her, his tone just a touch softer than usual. “But do try not to vanish behind a book all weekend, Granger. The wine, after all, won’t drink itself.”

“Merlin,” Pansy interrupted, giving them all an exasperated eye-roll. She tapped her wrist impatiently. “If you’re all done, we have a portkey to catch, and I’m not wasting any of my precious wine-drinking time on your book banter.”

“Fair point, Pans,” Blaise said, chuckling, as he took her arm. “And maybe, if we hurry, we’ll even get some reading time in between tastings, right, Hermione?”

Pansy shot Hermione an amused smile, mouthing, “Good luck with these idiots,” before giving her a little nudge. Hermione took a deep breath, holding back her laughter as she stepped forward with them, each of them clutching onto the portkey.

And with a tug at her navel, Hermione found herself laughing, wondering just how much chaos - and wine - awaited them all at the château.

The third night of their trip found the group lounging by the pool, wine glasses in hand, laughter and conversation flowing easily. Hermione felt her heart lighten as she watched her friends around her, their familiar faces glowing in the soft light cast by the pool’s edge.

Suddenly, Theo perked up, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oi, Granger! Go get that box I gave you - the one you were supposed to bring here without peeking inside!”

Hermione felt a pang of guilt mixed with horror. “Oh, no… I forgot it at home, Theo!”

“Nooo!” Theo groaned, putting a hand dramatically over his heart. “That’s unacceptable. I got it for all of us, specifically Pansy because we all agreed there would be no hooking up with each other on this trip - and I can see Pansy looking at me like a snack, and you know I never refuse a pretty person.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Nott,” Pansy laughed, though she arched an eyebrow in interest. “But now I have to know what’s in this box.”

Draco and Blaise exchanged intrigued looks, and even Hermione’s curiosity was piqued by Theo’s over-the-top reaction.

“What’s in the box, Theo?” Hermione asked, half curious, half worried.

“Let’s just say it’s… some pills I can’t be keeping on myself after the last incident,” Theo replied cryptically, winking.

Before she could press him, Blaise, who had been quietly listening, suddenly snapped his fingers. “Wait, I brought a few spare portkeys! We can use one to zip back to London and grab the box. We’ll still have enough left to get back home.”

Hermione hesitated, thinking of Ron and what he’d say about her using a portkey just to retrieve something Theo had insisted on bringing. But her curiosity, mingled with a few drinks, won out. She nodded, finally agreeing to Theo’s plan.

“Fine,” she said, standing up, “but if it’s anything like your last ‘gift,’ Theo, you’re paying for my therapy this time.”

With the rest of them chuckling, Theo grabbed one of Blaise’s spare portkeys, a gleam of victory in his eyes. He nudged Hermione’s arm as they activated it, leaving Draco, Blaise, and Pansy to wait by the pool, each of them more curious than they’d like to admit about the mystery box that Theo couldn’t resist bringing.

Theo and Hermione arrived in her flat with light footsteps and muffled laughter, careful not to wake Ron. They were tipsy, giddy from the late hour and the success of their little adventure, when a sudden sound froze them both. The unmistakable noise of voices and... other sounds drifted from Hermione’s bedroom.

Theo's face dropped as he suddenly pieced it together. He grabbed Hermione’s arm. “Hermione, wait. Maybe - ”

But Hermione, propelled by shock and instinct, was already striding towards the bedroom, her mind racing. She swung open the door, her breath catching as she took in the sight before her: Ron, wide-eyed with shock, tangled with a woman who looked very much like the waitress from the Leaky Cauldron.

The shock felt like a punch to her chest, and Ron scrambled, leaping from the bed. “Hermione! What - what are you doing here?”

Theo quickly gathered his wits and flicked his wand, casting Accio for both Ron’s and the girl’s wands, sending them across the room. He fired off a Patronus, calling for help, while Hermione barely registered anything but the burning ache in her chest.

The world seemed to tilt, and for a moment, Hermione forgot how to breathe. A sharp, searing pain lanced through her chest, like a physical wound she couldn’t see but could feel with every fibre of her being. This wasn’t just betrayal - it was the shattering of every moment, every memory they had built together. 

Hermione stood frozen, her body betraying her as her mind spiraled into a storm of disbelief and fury. She had left for a weekend - just a weekend - with friends Ron didn’t particularly like, but she had thought he’d be mature enough to handle it. And now this? After years of being together, after building what she thought was a life rooted in trust and comfort, this is how he repaid her? 

Their sex life had never been explosive, but it hadn’t needed to be. It was steady, familiar - a source of warmth rather than fireworks - and neither of them had ever complained. They had brought each other comfort in ways words couldn’t always describe. Or at least, that’s what she had thought. And yet here he was, tearing apart the very foundation of everything she’d believed they shared.

“How could you, Ron?” Her voice was barely a whisper, her tears welling up, spilling over.

Ron’s face hardened, his embarrassment quickly turning defensive. “How could I? Hermione, this isn’t just me! Do you have any idea how you’ve pushed me aside? I needed someone who made me feel important!”

Hermione’s tears turned to rage. “How dare you!” Hermione’s voice cracked with fury. Tears welled in her eyes, a mixture of betrayal and disgust. “How dare you try to put this on me.”

Theo stepped forward, his face uncharacteristically fierce. “Right. You - ” he said, pointing to the girl, “grab your things and get out. Now.”

The girl stammered and grabbed her clothes. “What about my wand?” she asked, looking pleadingly at Theo.

Theo looked her up and down with disdain. “The cheater over there can get it to you. Get. Out.”

She grabbed her things, practically running out the door. Ron made a move toward Theo, but Theo flicked his wand with a practiced ease and sent a hex Ron’s way.

“Ouch! What the - what did you do to my dick, you bloody arsehole?” Ron yelped, clutching himself. 

“Nothing that affects you too much,” Theo said, his smirk cold. “I just made sure it won’t work for the foreseeable future. Since you’re already a massive dick, I figured you don’t need a smaller one as backup.” Ron made to move, but Theo held his wand up threateningly. “I dare you to try again.”

Just then, with a sharp crack, Pansy, Draco, and Blaise appeared in the doorway. Pansy took one look at Ron’s face, balled up her fist, and swung. Her punch landed squarely on his nose, and he stumbled back, dazed.

“You cheating pig!” she hissed. “Even though I’m thrilled you’re out of Hermione’s life, I cannot stand a filthy cheater.”

Pansy turned away from him, her expression softening as she went to Hermione and slipped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her gently out of the room. Blaise stepped forward, wand raised, taking Theo’s place as he leveled a dark glare at Ron.

“You’re lucky we care about Hermione,” Blaise said, his voice low and menacing. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be walking out of here at all.”

Theo and Malfoy glanced at each other. “All right, Draco,” Theo said, “shall we get the rest of this git’s stuff so he’s out for good?”

“With pleasure,” Draco replied, smirking.

As they started gathering Ron’s things, Ron spat, “You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you, Malfoy?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Please, Weasley. Unlike you, I know what loyalty actually looks like.”

As Theo used magic to toss Ron’s things haphazardly into a trash bag, Draco, with a look of pure disdain, added a spell to incinerate anything unworthy of Hermione’s space. Ron shouted in fury, his face red as he watched his belongings burn.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Pansy held Hermione as she tried to process everything. “He’s not worth a single tear, you know that, right?” Pansy murmured softly, wiping away Hermione’s tears. “We’re going to get you back to France, and we’ll drink every last bottle in that damn chateau.”

After a few more groans from Ron, they dragged him, now fully naked, to the front door. Blaise tossed the giant trash bag out the window, watching it plummet to the street below.

Malfoy followed up by setting a series of magical wards over Hermione’s flat, sealing it tight against any further intrusion. “He won’t be coming back here,” he said coolly, satisfied.

Pansy then took out her wand and summoned an owl with a quick note to Ginny, asking her to check in on Hermione’s cats. She added a quick explanation of what had happened, knowing Ginny would understand and wouldn’t let this betrayal slide.

Each friend offered her quiet comfort, but Hermione barely felt it; their warmth and reassurance were distant, muted by the ache in her chest. As the reality of the evening settled heavily around her, she couldn’t shake the hollow sense of loss, the feeling that the ground had shifted beneath her. France and the chateau, with its wine and laughter, felt like they were a world away, and for a moment, she almost wanted to stay behind - to sit in the stillness of her flat, to take it all in.

She glanced back at her home, at the place she’d built for herself and Ron. She remembered the countless hours spent there, the dreams she’d had that were now shattering in the stillness of her quiet flat. The thought of leaving, even for a week, felt strange, as if by leaving she might be abandoning a part of herself that still clung to those broken dreams. But with a deep breath, she steadied herself. Staying wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t bring back the trust she had lost tonight.

As the portkey activated, her heart twisted painfully, and she took one last look, feeling a bittersweet finality. She wasn’t ready to move on, not yet. But maybe, she thought, just maybe, she could start to remember who she was outside of him - and with that, the tug of the portkey pulled her into the night, the promise of comfort from her friends just beginning to break through her grief.

Now

“You done with that little trip down memory lane?” Pansy asked, her tone softening slightly, though the edge of mockery remained. “Look, Granger, it’s not your fault that bloody idiot couldn’t handle you. He was never going to be enough. And let’s face it - you’re impossible to handle when you’re not having any fun. Be honest with yourself: when was the last time you genuinely laughed? Or did something just for you, something that wasn’t about saving someone or proving a point?”

It had been a year since Hermione and Ron had broken up, yet for her, the memory felt as raw as if it were yesterday. They had tried for years to build a solid, lasting relationship, but somewhere along the way, it became clear they were moving in different directions. Ron wanted stability, a family, a life where they could finally settle down in peace. Hermione, on the other hand, felt a burning need to prove herself - to make a real impact on the world, something that was entirely her own.

Their arguments always circled back to the same points: Ron longed for children, a life filled with family and warmth, while Hermione wanted a career, and recognition that stemmed from her own achievements. It was an endless cycle of trying and failing to find common ground. And then, just as things felt like they couldn’t get worse, they did.

The betrayal had stung worse than any of their fights. It wasn’t just that he’d cheated - it was the sheer indifference of it all, as though their years together could be so easily discarded.

Hermione was silent, her cheeks tinged pink. She wanted to argue, to say that wasn’t true, but the words wouldn’t come. When had she last done something just for herself? When had she allowed herself to feel...free?

“See?” Pansy’s voice softened, as though she could sense Hermione’s inner turmoil. “You can’t even answer that. I’d bet all the galleons in my vault that you’re running on fumes, Hermione. And for what? A career that doesn’t care about you? A wizard who’s already moved on?”

Hermione’s voice dropped to a whisper, more to herself than to Pansy. “It’s not that simple...”

Pansy gave her a knowing look, a strange sympathy hidden behind her smirk. “Maybe it is. Maybe you’re just afraid of what might happen if you stopped being perfect for five seconds and let yourself... relax. I mean, why are you clinging to all of this? What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” Hermione replied, though she could feel her face flush as she said it. The truth was, she wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe it was fear - fear of being seen as anything less than the girl who could fix everything. The girl who saved the day.

Pansy let out a long, dramatic sigh, her tone dripping with pity. “It’s exhausting, just watching you, Hermione. It’s like you’re afraid of what you’d find if you stopped being... well, you know, you. Don’t you ever want to escape from it? Just for a little while?”

Hermione looked away, her gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. Her throat felt tight, as though Pansy had hit a nerve she hadn’t realised was there.

“Well, maybe I don’t have the luxury of escaping,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

Pansy’s eyes widened, her lips quirking in amusement. “Oh, don’t make me laugh, Granger. You’re the perfect candidate for escape. In fact, you’d probably love it - if you weren’t so damn afraid of doing something... reckless.”

The word hung in the air, tempting, tantalising. Reckless. Hermione had spent her life doing the exact opposite of that - planning, preparing, being responsible. And now, with her life feeling like a shadow of what she’d once envisioned, maybe “reckless” didn’t sound so terrible.

Pansy watched her closely, her smirk softening into something almost kind, as though she saw through Hermione’s mask. “Trust me,” she said, her voice low and serious, “if there’s one thing you deserve right now, it’s a night where no one expects anything from you. No saviour complex, no judgement, just... freedom.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across her face. “And I suppose you know exactly where I can find that kind of freedom?”

Pansy’s smirk returned, a dangerous glint lighting up her eyes. She leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, I know just the place. There’s this club,” Pansy began, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous sparkle. “It’s exclusive, very hush-hush. A place where you can, let’s say... unleash a side of yourself that most people don’t get to see. No names, no identities, just... like I said, freedom.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “And why would I want that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Pansy’s voice was laced with mock innocence. “Maybe because you’re sitting here, miserable, wallowing in your own self-pity? You don’t want that kind of freedom? Anonymity?”

Hermione’s face flushed, both with frustration and something else she couldn’t quite place. “I’m not some... some thrill-seeker, Pansy. I don’t need ‘anonymity’ to enjoy myself.”

“No, but maybe you need it to actually discover yourself,” Pansy countered smoothly. She leaned back, her voice becoming softer, almost sincere. “Look, I know what it feels like to be trapped, to feel like every step is being watched, that every choice has to be perfect.” She paused, watching Hermione’s face, before continuing. “And this place - it’s magic. You’ll be safe, and you won’t remember a thing about who you met or what you did unless you want to. All that pressure... gone.”

Hermione stared into her tea, watching as the dark liquid swirled, her mind a storm of conflicted thoughts. The responsible part of her screamed against it, but deep down, something else - a small, forgotten part of herself - whispered that maybe, just maybe, Pansy was right.

Chapter Text

Hermione stood before her mirror, twisting a strand of hair nervously between her fingers. The reflection staring back at her felt unfamiliar, a version of herself she wasn’t entirely sure she recognised - or believed she could be. Her usually wild, curly hair was tamed into a sleek, high ponytail, the kind that revealed the elegant line of her neck and framed her face with a striking confidence. The curls were still there, cascading down her back in controlled waves, but this time, they felt intentional - powerful even. Her face, normally touched with only a hint of makeup for practicality’s sake, was transformed tonight.

Her skin glowed with a warm, subtle highlight along her cheeks, catching the light each time she moved. Her eyes, framed by a delicate, smoky line of kohl, appeared darker and more mysterious, their warm brown depths intensified by the subtle shading that made them smoulder.

But it was her lips that were the true transformation. Painted a bold, deep red, they stood out against her fair skin, giving her an aura of confidence and daring she hadn’t felt in ages. The colour contrasted sharply with her usual modest looks, drawing attention to the fullness of her mouth, a feature she rarely emphasised. The deep red lent her an unexpected allure, and as she studied her reflection, she felt a strange power in this version of herself - a Hermione who could step into the unknown without looking back.

Tonight was the night. Her mind raced with every reason not to go, each excuse lingering just long enough to tempt her. But as she took in her reflection - dressed in a sleek black dress, she felt a stirring of resolve, a reminder of why she’d agreed to this in the first place. She wanted something different, something bold, something that would let her break free from the tightly wound life she’d constructed around herself.

The dress hugged her body, short and revealing, with a neckline that felt daring, exposing the soft line of her collarbones and a hint of cleavage she rarely revealed. It reminded her of a silk nightgown more than any outfit she’d ever worn out, and yet, there was a sense of power in it - something unexpected and thrilling.

A soft knock at the door snapped her from her thoughts, and before she could answer, Pansy swept in uninvited, her eyes widening with obvious approval as she took in Hermione’s outfit. “Well, well,” she purred, a soft smile curving on her lips. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Hermione flushed, her hand reflexively tugging her coat around herself. “There was a reason I had the door closed, Pansy,” she muttered, raising an eyebrow. “We agreed you’d wait in the living room.”

Pansy shrugged, completely unfazed. “You took forever. And clearly, it was worth the wait,” she replied, giving Hermione’s outfit a final, satisfied once-over. “But come on, let’s not waste any more time. We’ve got a night to remember waiting for us.”

Hermione exhaled sharply, trying to muster a glare, but it was softened by the thrill simmering beneath her nerves. "Fine," she relented, pulling on her coat and following Pansy out the door. As they stepped into the night, Hermione felt a strange excitement coursing through her - a promise of something unknown, something liberating, just waiting for her on the other side.

The club, aptly named The Veil, was nestled in an inconspicuous building that practically hummed with magic. The moment they stepped inside, Hermione’s senses were flooded. She took in the rich, seductive glow that seemed to fill the very air, the dim lights that floated freely around the room, casting an intimate, ambient glow over everything they touched. Music thrummed softly, resonating in a way that seemed to pulse through her entire body, and voices were hushed, tantalisingly low, adding to the growing sense of mystery that enveloped her.

Hermione’s eyes darted around, taking in the scene with a mixture of awe and unease. Silvery, ethereal creatures - somewhere between fairies and spirits - perched atop suspended lanterns, their voices haunting and melodic, filling the air with a soft, alluring song. As she passed the bar, she noticed drinks floating gracefully through the air, as though carried by invisible hands, delivered to patrons lounging on plush velvet seats. It was as though magic itself was woven into every inch of the club, making it both captivating and overwhelming.

But the deeper she looked, the more Hermione’s confidence began to crack. She had expected something mysterious, something bold and a little thrilling, but this... this was something else entirely.

"Alright, Granger," Pansy whispered, leaning in with a wicked grin. "Now, don’t freak out."

“Don’t freak out about what?” Hermione asked, but as her gaze drifted across the room, understanding hit her like a bolt of lightning.

Above her, suspended in lavish cages of enchanted iron, wizards and witches danced, their bodies bared, moving with a fluidity and ease that could only be described as… seductive. Her eyes widened as she noticed one wizard in particular, wearing little more than a shimmering collar, guiding a witch down a shadowed hallway, his hand possessively resting on her shoulder. She blinked, her cheeks flushing, her mind scrambling to make sense of the scene before her. In every direction, couples - and in some cases, trios - were seated in darkened alcoves, limbs intertwined, lost in each other as they disappeared into shadowy corridors.

Hermione’s mouth fell open, her face hot with embarrassment and disbelief.

Her heart pounded, an insistent, frantic beat that seemed to rise in her throat. I can’t believe Pansy brought me here. This can’t be real.  

She felt her hands grow clammy, and the tiny thrill that had pulsed under her skin moments before was now quickly morphing into sheer panic. Every rational part of her mind screamed at her to turn around, to walk out of this place and never look back. Yet her feet felt glued to the ground, rooted in place as her eyes swept over the room, absorbing sights that felt both forbidden and oddly mesmerising.

What would people say if they knew she was here? What would Harry and Ginny say? The idea of being discovered at a place like this - somewhere she couldn’t even have imagined existing - made her skin tingle with nerves. She bit her lip, wrestling with the urge to escape and a strange, undeniable curiosity. Part of her felt horrified, scandalised by the sheer indulgence, the anonymity, the rawness of it all. But another part of her, a part she barely recognised, was… intrigued.

She shot a panicked look at Pansy. “Pansy… is this… is this a… sex club?” The word felt absurd on her tongue, something straight out of a novel she’d never admit to reading, yet here she was, standing in the middle of a place that seemed built on nothing but desire and secrecy.

Pansy’s eyes sparkled with delight as she burst into laughter. “What did you think it was, Granger? A knitting club? Of course it’s a sex club! Where else could I take you for some real freedom? But it’s not just a sex club. It’s a place where people come to explore, to let go of whatever rules they’re tired of following. This place offers freedom, Hermione.”

Hermione fumbled, mortified. “I - I thought you meant something a bit more… I don’t know… some normal private club. With dancing.”

“Oh, please,” Pansy scoffed. “You’re staying. You don’t have to do anything. You can just watch and relax.” She gave Hermione a sly grin. “Besides, we both know what type of books you read, darling. So don’t play coy with me.” Pansy chuckle, leading Hermione further inside, her voice low and conspiratorial. “And I know you’ll enjoy this, if you just let yourself.”

Hermione was a rule-follower, a voice of reason - this was the exact opposite of everything she knew about herself. And yet, here she was, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, realising that maybe - just maybe - she hadn’t fully understood her own needs until now.

She cast another glance around, feeling a strange mix of horror and fascination. This wasn’t the kind of freedom she had ever imagined, and certainly not the kind she’d ever thought she wanted. But Pansy’s words echoed in her mind. Wasn’t that what this whole night was supposed to be about? Testing her limits, seeing who she might be when the expectations fell away? And yes, she often wanted to trade places with the main character from one of her muggle books full of smut.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she clasped her hands together, forcing herself to breathe. I can do this, she told herself, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “How… how does this all work?” she whispered.

“It’s quite simple,” Pansy said breezily. “Right now, you see everyone’s faces clearly, so you know who’s here. But as soon as you leave, you’ll forget everyone’s identity unless you came here with them or decide together that you want to remember.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, the concept somehow comforting in its magical complexity. “So… it’s all just… anonymous?”

“Anonymous and safe,” Pansy replied with a wink. “The bar here is mostly for mingling, chatting, and watching the dancers. But down the hall…” She tilted her head toward a corridor lined with dark velvet curtains. “That’s where things get… more interesting. Some rooms are for private encounters, some are open for viewing, and others…” she grinned wickedly, “are for joining in, if you’re so inclined.”

Hermione’s mouth went dry. It all sounded scandalous, wild, and completely unlike anything she would have considered just a few weeks ago. But Pansy had lit a spark in her, one that refused to be snuffed out.

As Pansy and Hermione stood at the bar, a glittering, elegant tray of drinks floated toward them, hovering in midair just between them. Each drink sparkled with a different hue, their colours swirling and shifting as they pulsed with a faint, magical glow. On each glass hung a small, shimmering tag, handwritten with various tempting promises.

Hermione squinted, leaning in to read a few.

"Last All Night," one tag promised, its letters looping in an elegant script over a tall glass filled with deep crimson liquid that shimmered like rubies. Another, a cool blue drink in a frosted glass, was labeled "Aphrodisiac" in silvery letters. A smaller, crystal-clear potion in a tiny glass simply read "Let Loose," and the golden drink beside it, catching the warm light, was labeled "Relax."

Pansy’s eyes danced with mischief as she inspected the drinks, and without hesitation, she reached for a dark pink glass labeled "Unlimited Orgasms." She raised it toward Hermione with a wink, a playful smirk curling her lips. "Cheers, darling," she purred, taking a delicate sip, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Hermione blushed, feeling both curious and flustered. Her gaze flitted nervously over the floating drinks, eventually settling on the warm gold drink tagged "Relax." It looked soothing, with little tendrils of light curling up from the glass, and she figured it might help her feel less… tense.

“Here’s to… taking it easy,” she muttered, giving Pansy a sheepish smile before taking a careful sip. The taste was soft and floral, warming her throat as it went down, sending a calming, pleasant sensation through her body. She could feel her muscles relax, the earlier tension melting away with each sip.

Pansy grinned, her expression wicked as she savored her own choice. "Just a bit of liquid courage," she murmured, eyeing Hermione. "You never know what - or who - you might want to try here.”

But before Hermione could retort, three figures approached, drawing both her gaze and Pansy’s. The drinks in their hands were suddenly forgotten.

At the centre, tall and magnetic, stood Draco Malfoy.

Hermione’s heart stumbled in its rhythm as her eyes swept over him. This past year, she hadn’t spent much time with her Slytherin friends - life had been too busy, too complicated - but now, seeing Malfoy here, he looked so... different. His body was lean yet undeniably strong, and his platinum-blond hair, slightly longer than she remembered, fell across his forehead with a roguish charm that softened his typically sharp features.

And that smirk. It was still there - arrogant as ever - but it had shifted into something else entirely, something mature, confident, and devastatingly... dangerous.

Hermione’s mind whirred as memories of last month’s Witch Weekly cover flashed before her eyes. “London’s Hottest Bachelor,” they’d called him, plastering his smirking face across the Ministry and coffee shops alike. She’d dismissed the hype at the time with a scoff, but now, standing here, her chest tightening inexplicably, she couldn’t ignore the obvious: Malfoy looked... good. Damn good.

“Bloody hell, Pansy,” Hermione hissed under her breath, forcing her voice to stay steady. “You didn’t say this was some group reunion.”

“Relax,” Pansy whispered back, sipping her drink without a care. “It’s not a reunion. They just tend to show up wherever the fun is.”

Hermione sighed, trying to shake the growing discomfort swirling in her chest. It made sense that Blaise and Theo would be here - Theo practically wore his promiscuity like a badge of honour, and Blaise always looked as though orgies were just another Tuesday.

But Malfoy?

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. Everything about him screamed sophistication and indulgence, the kind that naturally belonged in a place like this. Still, seeing him here, looking so at ease in the club’s sultry glow, made her throat dry.

“Hermione,” Theo’s voice broke her train of thought, his grin wide and mischievous as he approached. “Now this is a surprise. I thought we’d have to send a search party to drag you out of that dreary office of yours.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Theo.”

He laughed, clearly thrilled by her discomfort. “Honestly, I never thought I’d see you here of all places. What a night this is turning out to be!”

Blaise gave her a small nod in acknowledgement, the corner of his mouth curling in a subtle smirk. “Good to see you finally got over that wanker,” he said, his tone smooth as silk.

And then there was Malfoy.

“Granger,” he greeted, his voice calm and tinged with amusement. His silvery-gray eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the noise and magic of the room seemed to fade into the background. The smirk on his lips deepened, just enough to make her stomach twist, and then he looked away, as if the moment had already passed.

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to collect herself. She refused to let him see how much his presence had thrown her.

Pansy clapped her hands suddenly, her voice breaking the rising tension. “Alright, boys, let’s give Hermione some space to breathe, shall we?” She looped her arms through Theo’s and Blaise’s, tugging them toward a hallway off to the right. “Come on, let’s see if we can find a bit of fun elsewhere.”

“What the - ? Pansy!” Hermione hissed, but her protest died in her throat as Pansy waved her hand dismissively, feigning deafness as she pulled the boys away.

And just like that, Hermione was left standing there. Alone. With Malfoy.

Her jaw tightened as she turned to face him, her pulse quickening despite her best efforts to remain calm.

Draco arched an eyebrow, his smirk still firmly in place. “Well. Looks like it’s just you and me, Granger. Or are you planning to bolt?”

Hermione clenched her fists, her nails pressing into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. She’d been in plenty of social situations with Malfoy over the years - they’d even laughed together on occasion - but tonight felt... different. His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and it was making her feel entirely too exposed.

What was it about him that made her nerves flare like this? He wasn’t going to eat her, for Merlin’s sake. But why was he looking at her like he might?

She exhaled sharply, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. I’m not bolting. I’m a woman on a mission, and believe me, you’re not going to throw me off.”

“Mission?” he drawled, tilting his head as though truly curious. “What kind of mission involves sneaking around a place like The Veil looking like…” He gestured vaguely toward her dress with a flourish, his grin widening. “…that?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, tugging at the hem of her dress in irritation. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” he replied smoothly, his grey eyes glinting with mischief. “Just wondering who you’re trying to impress. Surely not me, though I must admit, I’m flattered by the effort.”

She scoffed, turning on her heel and striding toward the bar. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Draco called after her, “you’re still talking to me. Fascinating.”

Reaching the bar, Hermione grabbed another glass of the shimmering gold drink she’d sampled earlier. The tingling warmth spread through her fingertips and down her spine as she took a sip, and she closed her eyes, savoring the calm that began to wash over her.

But Malfoy, evidently undeterred, followed her to the bar, leaning casually against the counter beside her. His elbows rested on the surface, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal lean, toned forearms. Hermione couldn’t stop her eyes from lingering there for a moment too long, the veins under his skin drawing her gaze before she forced herself to look away.

“Not very sociable tonight, are we, Granger?” he drawled, his voice low and taunting.

“Was the death glare not clear enough?” Hermione shot back, taking another sip of her drink.

Draco chuckled, the sound rich and infuriatingly pleasant. “No need to get feisty. Just making an observation.” He paused, his expression softening slightly. “Though I can’t say I blame you. It must be miserable, seeing Weasley’s face at work every day.”

Hermione’s stomach tightened. She set her glass down with more force than necessary, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar as she turned to face him. “Don’t,” she said firmly, her voice low but steady.

To her surprise, Draco raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll call a truce.” A glimmer of something - sympathy? - flashed in his eyes. “For what it’s worth, he never deserved you anyway.”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. 

She rolled her eyes, setting her glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Is this your idea of fun, Malfoy? Annoying me until I give up and go home?”

“Not at all,” he replied, feigning innocence. “I’m merely curious. You, Granger, in a place like this? It’s not exactly where I imagined you’d spend a Friday night.”

“Well, you’re here,” she countered. “So what does that say about you?”

“That I’m exactly where I belong,” he said without hesitation, the smirk returning. “But you? I have to wonder - are you here to blend in or stand out?”

Hermione flushed, irritation bubbling to the surface as she met his smug gaze. “Why do you care?”

Draco tilted his head, his expression softening just enough to catch her off guard. “Maybe I don’t,” he said with a shrug. “But if you’re going to be here, you might as well enjoy yourself. And for what it’s worth, I think you deserve it.”

Hermione blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Was he… being sincere? She couldn’t tell. His smirk was back in an instant, his eyes flickering with something that looked suspiciously like amusement.

Before she could respond, Draco leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her ear. “And if you’re looking for fun, Granger,” he murmured, his voice smooth and teasing, “I happen to know this place very well. Let me give you the grand tour.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, her breath hitching as a shiver ran down her spine. She pulled back quickly, straightening her shoulders and fixing him with a fierce glare. “What exactly is it you want?”

He chuckled, leaning back and regarding her with a lazy grin. “Who says I want anything? Maybe I’m just curious to see how the golden girl handles herself in a place like this.”

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” she shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“Absolutely,” he replied smoothly, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”

Hermione hesitated, torn between exasperation and curiosity. Finally, with a sigh, she looped her arm through his. "But don’t think for a second that I’m interested in anything else.”

But a little part of her was. Not that Malfoy could ever know. That much was certain.

Draco’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Feeling an unfamiliar thrill of recklessness she allowed him to lead her down one of the velvet-lined corridors. They passed doorways that hummed with magic, some pulsing with faint sounds of pleasure, others echoing soft laughter. Hermione’s cheeks burned as they approached a room with glass walls. Through it, she could see couples entangled, their bodies bare, some suspended in midair by charms, others held by enchanted silken cords. The air was thick with heat and magic, and Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away from the display of passion and raw intimacy before her.

Her gaze wandered - just a glance, she told herself - and she spotted Pansy, Theo, and Blaise in the back of the room. The scene was both explicit and artful, like a sensual tableau brought to life. Theo and Blaise flanked Pansy, their hands roaming over her with a practiced ease, while she leaned back against them, eyes closed and a serene smile playing on her lips. It was unmistakably erotic, unapologetically so, and Hermione felt her face flush immediately. Heat prickled up her neck as her eyes flicked to Draco, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring.

But Draco was watching her with quiet amusement, his smirk tilting slightly as he observed her reaction. “Shall we try another room?” he suggested, his voice low and somehow managing to be both polite and wicked.

“Please,” Hermione said quickly, averting her eyes and feeling a bit of flustered laughter escape her lips. She took a steadying breath, determined not to let him see just how unnerved she was.

They moved down the dim hallway, Draco’s hand resting lightly on the small of her back as he guided her. They came to a second room, and as they entered, Hermione’s breath hitched at the scene before her.

In the centre of the room, a woman was suspended in mid-air, wrapped in delicate, glowing ropes of enchanted silk that held her effortlessly aloft. Her limbs were gently pulled apart, leaving her in a graceful, submissive position. The man standing before her was using a slender wand to tease various parts of her body, each motion causing her to shiver and sigh with unrestrained pleasure. Every flick of the wand seemed to spark a new sensation - a gentle smack against her thigh, a soft pinch at her nipples, and an enticing stroke just above her core. The woman’s moans filled the air, soft and desperate, her gaze locked onto her partner’s with trust and surrender.

Hermione’s cheeks burned as she watched, riveted by the sight. The combination of restraint and release was unexpectedly powerful, and she felt an intense, electric thrill course through her. There was something raw and honest about the way the couple moved together, something that pulled at her own desire in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

“Do you want to leave?” Draco’s voice was low, almost a whisper, his breath warm against her ear. But she heard the challenge there, daring her to walk away.

Hermione’s heart raced, a mix of curiosity and arousal pooling in her stomach as she shook her head. “No… I’m… I’m fine,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco’s hand slid to her waist, his touch warm and firm as he guided her closer to the glass. “Watch them,” he murmured, his voice a seductive command. “See how they let go.”

Hermione swallowed, her gaze still fixed on the scene. “It’s… interesting,” she managed, feeling her pulse quicken as she tried to keep her voice steady. Her body was beginning to respond, a slow warmth building as she watched the woman’s mounting pleasure.

Draco’s hand grazed her arm, drawing her attention back to him. His eyes were dark and intense, his gaze moving slowly over her face. Draco’s hand slid lower, his fingertips grazing her thigh, sending a jolt of sensation through her. “Tell me, Granger,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Do you want me to help you feel good?”

It made no sense. None of this made sense. She had spent so many years seeing Draco Malfoy as an enemy, an irritant, a reminder of things she’d long left in the past. But here and now, with his hand resting on her thigh, she felt alive in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. Her carefully constructed barriers, the walls she’d built to keep herself safe and steady, seemed to melt away in his presence.

Her mouth went dry, her body betraying her with a heat she couldn’t ignore. She managed a nod, words eluding her as she fought to keep her composure.

Draco’s smirk deepened. “Good girl.” His voice was rough, and she could feel the heat of him against her as he stepped closer. “If you want me to stop, say the word ‘Peacock.’ Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re happy to… explore.”

She nodded again, barely able to breathe as his hand slid higher, pressing gently against her inner thigh. “Now, keep watching,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding. “I want you to see everything.”

A shiver ran down her spine as he spoke, and her body seemed to respond without her permission. She could feel the pull of his words, his presence, drawing her in. Part of her wanted to resist, but a far larger part of her was ready - aching, even - to surrender, just a little.

His eyes flashed with something dark and dangerous, his smirk growing as he leaned in close, his lips grazing her ear. “Just relax and let me take over,” he murmured, his hand slipping to her waist, pulling her closer. 

Hermione barely had time to process before his hands were on her, his lips grazing her neck, trailing down with deliberate, teasing slowness. She gasped as his fingers pressed against the delicate skin of her inner thigh, his touch electric as he leaned close, whispering commands that sent delicious shivers up her spine

Her breath hitched as she felt his hands slide up the fabric of her dress, fingers brushing against her bare skin. Draco’s movements were deliberate, his touch setting her nerves ablaze as he slowly bunched the material higher.

“Green lace,” he murmured, his voice laced with smug amusement as her dress gathered above her hips. “Sexy, Granger. Did you pick this out for me?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat as his fingers traced the delicate edge of her knickers.

“I think you did,” he continued, his tone low and teasing. “And if you didn’t, I’m claiming them anyway.”

Before she could protest, he slipped his fingers beneath the lace and tugged the garment down her legs. The sensation of the cool air against her heated skin only heightened her awareness of him.

He brought the knickers up, twirling them around his finger as he smirked. “Mine,” he said simply, tucking them into his pocket without a second thought.

Her cheeks flushed, half with indignation and half with desire, but her thoughts dissolved completely when his hands moved to her breasts. Sliding her dress up further, he exposed the matching green bra, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent as his hands covered her breasts, squeezing them firmly. His fingers expertly found her nipples through the lace, pinching and teasing until she gasped, her back arching involuntarily.

He tugged at the band of her ponytail with his other hand, wrapping it securely in his grip as he tilted her head back, exposing the long line of her neck. Hermione felt utterly exposed, utterly controlled, and utterly consumed.

Draco’s lips found the curve of her throat, nipping lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue. The contrast sent a rush of heat through her body, her breath ragged as his mouth worked its way down to the hollow at the base of her neck.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his voice a dark, molten caress against her skin. “Hands on the glass, eyes on them,” he continued, his tone brooking no argument as his hands slid up her thighs, his touch firm and deliberate. His palm pressed against her, his fingers teasingly slow as they dragged through her wetness, eliciting a shiver that ran down her spine.

Draco released a low, guttural groan. “You’re fucking drenched for me. Merlin.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, her palms pressing against the cool glass as she tried to steady herself. The contrasting sensations - the icy pane beneath her hands, the heat of Draco’s touch, and his lips tracing maddening paths along her neck - threatened to overwhelm her.

Her eyes flicked back to the couple in the centre of the room. The man moved with precise control, his wand tracing elegant arcs in the air as magical ropes coiled tighter around the woman’s suspended form. Her moans reverberated through the room, her body arching in response to every teasing touch of his wand. The scene blurred, blending with the sensations Draco was evoking, making Hermione’s pulse pound harder.

“Focus, Granger,” Draco murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as his fingers applied just enough pressure to draw a soft gasp from her. “Watch them. Feel me. Let go.”

She obeyed, her body trembling as he slid his hand between her thighs again, fingers pressing firmly against her clit. Hermione gasped, her hands gripping the cool glass, her eyes glued to the scene before her even as Draco’s fingers worked skillfully, setting her nerves alight with every stroke and teasing motion. 

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly, his fingers circling slowly before pressing deeper, drawing a soft whimper from her lips. Hermione’s legs quivered, her body clenching as he coaxed a slow, aching rhythm, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

She couldn’t deny how the sight of the woman writhing under the man’s expert control stirred something deep within her, a thrill she had rarely allowed herself to indulge in. Draco must have noticed the way her breath quickened, because he leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to lose control like that, Granger?” he murmured, one hand stroking her thigh as his other hand reached up, grazing her skin with the enchanted signet ring on his finger. “To just… surrender?”

Hermione shivered, unable to look away from the couple, from the way the woman’s body tensed, her cries of pleasure echoing softly in the room as her partner’s wand circled her in precise, tantalising patterns. The woman’s body trembled, her breathing uneven, and Hermione could feel her own desire climbing as she watched the intensity build for both of them.

Draco shifted his fingers against her, his thumb grazing over her clit, and she gasped, her eyes widening. He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. “This ring,” he whispered, lifting his hand so the cool metal brushed against her sensitive skin, “I can make it vibrate in just the right way. I could hold it here” - he pressed it just lightly against her clit, teasing her with a hint of sensation - “and make you feel everything.”

Her breath hitched, and she felt herself nod, a barely perceptible movement, but he saw it and smiled, the look in his eyes turning darker. “I want you to focus on her,” he continued, his thumb circling in a slow, torturous rhythm. “Watch how she comes undone. I want you to come when she does.”

As the woman gasped, her moans rising as her partner’s wand flicked again, Draco’s enchanted ring began to pulse against Hermione, the vibrations intensifying in sync with his fingers as he worked her with skillful precision. She gripped the glass tighter, her breaths coming fast, her body arching into his touch as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

The woman in the centre of the room cried out, her body tensing as her partner sent a final surge of magic through the wand, her climax unmistakable, raw and beautiful. Hermione felt the echo of that pleasure in her own body as Draco’s hand pressed firmly against her, his ring vibrating harder, perfectly timed with her building release. With one last flick of his fingers, Hermione’s body gave in, and she came, the world tilting as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her, mingling with the cries of the woman just beyond the glass.

Draco held her steady, his smirk widening as he watched her, his fingers slowing but never quite stopping. “That’s exactly what I wanted to see,” he murmured approvingly, his voice thick with satisfaction. 

Hermione’s body shivered, still pulsing with aftershocks as he continued to stroke her slowly, drawing out her release until she could barely stand. She looked at him, her cheeks flushed, still trying to catch her breath, and he met her gaze, his thumb brushing her gently, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Think you can handle one more?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tender as he watched her. The question made her stomach flip, but she found herself nodding, barely able to form words.

He smiled smugly, his fingers resuming their slow, deliberate motions, his ring vibrating again as he pressed it back against her clit, and Hermione’s body jolted in response, the pleasure building anew, even more intense this time. She bit her lip, unable to suppress her moans, and as she did, she glanced back at the couple. The woman had just caught her breath, only to be overtaken by another wave of pleasure as her partner whispered something in her ear, a command that made her whole body shudder.

As the woman came again, Hermione felt Draco’s rhythm quicken, his touch relentless as he coaxed her toward another peak, each stroke and vibration perfectly timed to match the woman’s release. Hermione’s body arched, her vision blurring as she gave in to a second, powerful climax, her hands gripping the glass for support as Draco’s fingers drove her higher, deeper into the overwhelming pleasure until she felt like she might shatter.

When he finally released her, Hermione’s legs were trembling, her body still buzzing with the memory of his touch. She leaned back against the glass, her breaths shallow, trying to steady herself.

Draco’s smirk softened slightly as he took in her dazed expression, his fingers brushing a stray curl away from her flushed cheek. “Well,” he murmured, “I think you handled that rather well. Shame you won’t remember whose fingers you came all over.”

Still breathless and dazed, Hermione glanced up at him, her gaze a blend of irritation and undeniable intrigue. Draco’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the way she looked - flushed, a bit undone, and completely at his mercy.

He leaned in close, his voice low and teasing, a murmur meant just for her. "Pity I won’t remember whose delicious sounds I’ll be craving, imagining how they’d sound while she’s riding me.”

His words sent a fresh shiver through her, and for a split second, she was sure he could see right through her - through every wall she’d built, every rule she’d ever clung to. And the worst part was, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Before she could muster any response, he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against her ear. His voice dropped to a low, mocking whisper. “You know, Granger,” he drawled, his tone smooth and cutting, “I’m willing to bet Weasley never even came close to making you feel like that.”

Hermione’s dazed expression snapped into one of instant anger, her eyes flashing as her cheeks flushed even deeper. The mention of Ron felt like a slap, yanking her back to reality, and any trace of the allure she’d felt vanished instantly.

“Go to hell, Malfoy,” she spat, voice tight with barely contained fury. Without giving him the satisfaction of another glance, she fixed her dress, spun on her heel and stormed away, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving him standing there, watching her with unmistakable satisfaction.

Hermione found Pansy by the bar, who was watching her with a knowing look that made Hermione’s stomach twist. She swallowed, smoothing her dress and trying her hardest to look casual as she approached, though the warmth in her cheeks was impossible to hide.

Pansy arched an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, well,” she began, a smirk playing on her lips. “Looks like someone had a very interesting time.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up again, avoiding Pansy’s gaze as she tried to steady herself. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, forcing a casual tone as she took a quick sip of her drink.

“Oh, come on, Granger,” Pansy laughed, her voice lilting with mock innocence. “No need to play coy with me. You’ve got that dazed, flushed look - the kind that only comes after a truly fascinating experience.” She leaned back, eyes twinkling. “Honestly, good for you.”

Hermione’s mind was swirling with the evening’s events, and she struggled to keep her expression neutral. She gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I just needed a change of scenery,” she mumbled, focusing on her glass.

Pansy chuckled knowingly, giving Hermione an exaggerated once-over. “Oh, I’d say you’ve got more than just a ‘change of scenery’ written all over you. But don’t worry, I won’t pry. Now. But, just one little question, Granger. Have you seen Draco? He was with you before I left, right?”

Hermione’s cheeks burned deeper, and she looked away, fumbling with her glass and hoping the clinking of ice might somehow drown out the lie she was about to tell. “Draco? Haven’t seen him since you all left,” she stammered, forcing a laugh. “Why would I have seen him?”

As they turned to exit, Pansy cast her a sly glance, her smile as mischievous as ever. “You know, Granger, this whole letting loose thing might just be good for you,” she quipped, clearly savoring Hermione’s flustered state.

Hermione rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t push it, Pansy.” Together, they made their way through the dimly lit club and out onto the quiet street, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat still simmering under Hermione's skin.

As they walked, Hermione’s thoughts were a jumble. She tried to focus, to cling to the images and sensations - the hands that had gripped her hips, the whispered words in her ear, the smirk that had nearly undone her - but the memory of his face was already slipping, becoming frustratingly hazy. All she knew was that she'd been with someone powerful, someone who seemed to know her, someone who’d left her feeling both dizzy and deeply satisfied. But who?

Later, as she lay in bed, she found herself replaying those touches, the low murmur of his voice, the intensity that had made her heart race. The man’s identity was just out of reach, hovering like an unsolved mystery, but the sensation of his hands and the warmth of his breath lingered, making sleep nearly impossible.

Somewhere in the darkness, Hermione sighed, feeling a flicker of anticipation. Whoever he was, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd be back, drawn by the thrill and curiosity that now nestled deep inside her, refusing to let go.

Chapter Text

Draco leaned against the dark, padded wall of the viewing room, his breathing still shallow as he replayed the memory of Hermione Granger - the way her body had responded to his touch, her flushed cheeks, the soft sounds she’d made that had driven him to the edge. A sly smirk curved his lips as he murmured a few words, letting a simple charm flicker to life, replaying fragments of the encounter. With a whispered incantation, he conjured the tactile memory of her skin under his hands, the heat radiating from her body, and the hushed moans she’d tried to keep quiet, building the scene again until he felt his own pulse quicken, his arousal flaring all over.

Draco’s breath quickened as the memories sharpened, flashing back to the way she’d pressed her hands against the glass, the way her breath hitched as she came undone under his touch. He leaned back against the cool wall of the now-empty room, one hand trailing lower, his pulse pounding as he replayed the encounter in his mind.

His hand wrapped firmly around his cock, fisting it with the same urgency he’d felt with her. The thrill of her arousal, the way her lips parted in pleasure, her flushed skin - every detail blazed in his mind, as if she were still there. With a low, guttural groan, he gave in to the memory, letting himself be pulled under until the tension built to a blinding release, the kind that left him leaning against the wall, dazed and breathless.

Eventually, Draco straightened his shirt, letting the charm fade, and headed back toward the bar. But he couldn’t shake the satisfaction that twisted through him - the disbelief, even, that Granger had been the woman he’d wanted so badly tonight. Granger, the girl he’d once been conditioned to despise - the ultimate swot, always with that irritatingly perfect hand raised in every class, tagging along with that insufferable Golden Trio: Potter, the saintly hero, and Weasley, the wanker who, truthfully, never deserved her anyway. 

But things had changed in unexpected ways since she’d become friends with Pansy, infiltrating what Theo jokingly called “their little Slytherin snake pit.” Over time, Hermione had gone from a thorn in his side to someone whose presence he’d grown to... enjoy. Her sharp wit and fiery temper brought a new kind of energy to the group, and Draco found himself eagerly joining the spirited debates and endless teasing that Hermione sparked. There was a thrill in watching her squirm, brow furrowing as she defended her opinions against their relentless arguments, her cheeks going pink when one of them struck a nerve.

He had to admit, he loved pushing her buttons, slipping in a subtle jab or a well-timed smirk just to watch that flash of defiance in her eyes. She was never one to back down from a challenge, and her stubborn determination - to prove him wrong, to win whatever argument she was caught in - was endlessly amusing. Over the months, he’d found himself lingering longer after their group meet-ups, sometimes just to steal a few more glances, sometimes to watch her in full force, tearing into him or Theo or Blaise with that fierce intelligence that he’d grudgingly grown to admire. Pansy had teased him about it more than once, his not-so-subtle glances, the way he couldn't help gravitating toward her whenever she appeared at their gatherings.

Settling back at the bar, he raised a glass to his lips, his gaze drifting absently over the crowd. Draco’s thoughts lingered on her, vivid and electric. That short black dress, the way it hugged her curves just enough to hint at the figure beneath them. And those lips - red and lush, the kind of red that demanded attention and held it. She’d swept her hair back in a high ponytail, loose curls framing her face so her golden skin seemed to almost glow under the dim lights of the club, her neck exposed and tempting in a way he hadn’t expected.

The image of her - confident yet hesitant, somehow both innocent and daring - had been seared into his mind. He couldn’t help it; she’d captivated him. And that thought now haunted him, unsettled him. What the hell was Granger doing invading his memories like this?

Maybe it was the thrill of seeing the polished, put-together war hero slip into something edgier, something reckless. There was a draw to her - a lure he’d ignored for years, though it had tugged at him as far back as Hogwarts, surfacing once or twice with confusing flashes of desire he’d buried as quickly as they came. But now, with her unwitting participation in his fantasy, those feelings surged fresh and wild in his mind, so intense he was certain he’d still feel the pull the next time he saw her. The thought made him down his drink in one gulp, a slight frown crossing his features.

Shame I won’t remember, he mused with a sigh, setting his glass down. Tonight’s magic was crafted to leave only an anonymous haze in its wake, no names, no faces, just memories of pure sensation.

Draco blinked, his mind still hazy from the vivid memories of last night. He’d barely touched his breakfast, thoughts consumed by the woman he’d spent the night with - the softness of her gasp, the way her skin had felt under his hands. The memories of that night surged back in strange, startling clarity: her laugh, the way she’d looked when he’d traced his ring against her skin.

Then, with a sickening jolt, it hit him.

Granger. It had been Granger.

Draco froze, the weight of realisation crashing over him. He remembered everything - every touch, every breath - and it was Hermione Granger. He wasn’t supposed to remember anything about who he’d been with at the club, yet here he was, reliving it in undeniable detail.

He forced himself to lift his teacup casually, but his hand shook slightly, betraying his calm. His mother’s voice broke into his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.

“What did you do yesterday?”

His mind scrambled, still reeling. “Granger,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Narcissa’s brows lifted, her cool gaze sharpening. “What was that?”

Draco jolted, pulse racing. “I… I meant I ran into Pansy. Pansy was with Granger, that is.” He cleared his throat, willing himself to seem casual. “You know, just some old school friends.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed, a glint of curiosity flashing behind her polite expression. “Really?” she asked, her voice skeptical but mild. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

Draco forced a dry laugh. “Well, we weren’t exactly close in school, were we?” He shrugged, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. “But she and Pansy are good friends now. I see her around sometimes.”

But then, to his dismay, Narcissa’s expression brightened. She set down her teacup, her eyes lighting with an unexpected excitement. “Draco, you must invite her for breakfast tomorrow,” she declared, as if the idea had been waiting to spring forth. “And the gala, of course - she must come to the Christmas gala. Imagine it - Hermione Granger, here at the manor. It would be a lovely symbol, don’t you think?”

Draco’s stomach twisted. The knot in his chest tightened with every delighted note in her voice. Narcissa’s ideas for holiday gatherings and social influence had grown before his eyes, with Granger at the centre. Having Granger here, in his home? After last night? He gripped the edge of the table as he searched for an excuse.

“Mother,” he said, carefully trying to sound casual, “I’m not sure Granger would even want to come to - ”

“Nonsense,” Narcissa replied, a faint, knowing smile softening her features. “I’m sure she’s far too polite to decline. And it’s time we took our place in society with a fresh approach, don’t you think? It would do our name good to show that we’re moving forward. Hermione Granger here, at the Malfoy gala, would be just the message to prove it.”

Draco clenched his jaw. He knew where this was going; he’d sensed his mother’s hopes about his future and the family’s place in society for some time now. Narcissa had been hinting for years that he would need to find a suitable partner, that he’d have to start thinking of the future of the Malfoy name. He’d managed to avoid the idea, keep himself at a careful distance. But a part of him knew this was inevitable. This was how the Malfoys did things - they presented a united, perfect front, one that aligned with the family’s values and ambitions.

He took a measured breath, a mix of duty and reluctance settling heavily on him. “Mother, I appreciate the thought,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “but Granger’s busy with her Ministry projects, especially during the holidays. She’s not looking to play society’s games.”

“Oh, Draco, don’t be absurd,” Narcissa replied smoothly, waving off his objections. “The woman is known for her loyalty to her friends, and I have no doubt she would make time for something so meaningful.” She paused, watching him with that familiar, penetrating gaze. “This is bigger than any one of us, Draco. Inviting Miss Granger would be a symbol - a new chapter, if you will. The Malfoy name embracing a future alongside the likes of Hermione Granger.”

Draco swallowed, feeling the familiar weight of family duty settle over him. This was the way of the Malfoys. They didn’t dwell in the past; they forged ahead, adapting to whatever best served their legacy. The thought of Granger at the manor, at the heart of his family’s holiday traditions, made him feel uneasy. And yet, he understood. He understood exactly why his mother wanted this and why, for better or worse, he would have to make it happen.

He nodded, the room feeling suddenly stifling as the implications settled in. The thought of Hermione here, mingling with his mother’s polished guests, and the memories of last night simmering just beneath the surface - it sent a thrill of excitement mingled with dread down his spine.

“Yes, Mother,” he said at last, the words tasting strange on his tongue. “I’ll see to it.”

Who would’ve thought two orgasms from a nameless stranger could lead to such remarkable work efficiency? If every chaotic work week ended like last night, she might just revolutionise productivity as a concept. Suppressing a sly smirk, Hermione dropped her bag onto the kitchen counter. It was barely four o’clock, and she had accomplished more in a single Saturday morning and afternoon than she had during the entire work week - still riding the high of last night’s indulgence. The evening, though, was for indulging, this time with a book, a cup of tea, and the quiet satisfaction of her very own space.

Hermione set the kettle on, taking a moment to breathe in the calmness of her cozy little flat. Nestled a short walk from Flourish and Blotts, it was her sanctuary - a charming mix of old-world warmth and modern comforts, where bookshelves lined nearly every wall, overflowing with books, plants, and mementos. Each shelf was carefully curated, with Pansy occasionally stepping in to add pieces of her own refined, somewhat expensive taste. There was a sleek, designer armchair by the fireplace - Pansy’s insistence - and the softest of couches covered in velvet, which she’d adamantly proclaimed was “a non-negotiable.” Pansy had teased that Hermione would sit on books if she could, but still made sure every addition to the flat had Hermione’s undeniable vibe.

She grabbed her tea and settled into her favourite reading chair, the leather soft and worn just right. Crookshanks jumped up, settling heavily onto her lap, and barely a moment later, her other cat, Rhysand, a sleek black shadow, hopped up as well, claiming her other leg. Hermione smiled to herself. Twenty-eight, two cats, a forest of plants, and a slightly obsessive collection of smutty novels - her path to becoming a “crazy cat lady” felt just about perfect.

Her book picked up right where she left it, the heat of the scene unfolding with delicious intensity, but just as she was getting to the good part, her phone chimed. Pansy. Of course. Pureblood as she was, Pansy had discovered Muggle technology with a zeal that sometimes left Hermione regretting she’d ever introduced her to it. Pansy loved her phone, sending Hermione long-winded messages, and the occasional TikTok, filled with memes and voice notes that Hermione dutifully, if begrudgingly, responded to. She dreaded the day Theo or Blaise would want in on it too. The thought of a group chat with those three Slytherins…

With a sigh, Hermione opened Pansy’s latest text.

“Hope you haven’t forgotten about my birthday party!! I want something extravagant and memorable, Granger. Better come through for me!”

The text was followed by a rapid-fire series of gifs, only one of which made any sense. Right, Pansy’s birthday was coming up - famous for throwing the most extravagant parties imaginable. And of course, this year Hermione was in charge of planning it. Fortunately, she already had something in mind. Smiling, she sent back a reply, promising that she was “on it,” before happily sinking back into her book.

She barely managed two more pages when an unexpected tap sounded on her window. She looked up with a groan, spotting an owl - a huge eagle owl, at that. She knew this bird. Malfoy.

Opening the window, she took the letter, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she unfolded the parchment.

“My mother would like for you to join us for breakfast tomorrow at 9 o’clock. Feel free to decline, but if so, do make sure to write a sincere apology to my mother.

Malfoy”

Hermione blinked. 

Narcissa Malfoy wanted her to… attend breakfast? She couldn’t imagine what Narcissa had in mind, but she had a sneaking suspicion Draco didn’t want her there. And it was practically her duty, as the only Gryffindor in their little Slytherin circle, to annoy him as often as possible. So, with a mischievous smile, she quickly wrote a reply.

“Your message has ruined my lovely evening with a great book. So I’ll gladly return the favour and ruin your morning. See you at breakfast.

Granger”

Sending the owl off, she returned to her chair, feeling rather pleased. Tomorrow was bound to be interesting. And as she opened her book again, she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she was walking into.

Hermione flooed into Malfoy Manor at exactly 8:55, brushing a stray bit of soot off her coat as she stepped out - and nearly walked straight into Draco Malfoy. He looked uncharacteristically flustered, his eyes a bit wide, and she raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar sight of him looking… well, rattled.

“Granger,” he greeted her, his gaze flickering with barely contained questions. It looked like he wanted to say something, but for some reason, he was holding back.

“Malfoy, are you alright? Did Theo pull another prank? Or did you manage to turn yourself into a ferret again?” she teased, eyeing his strange expression.

He blinked, frowning slightly before his face softened, then hardened again, like he couldn’t decide what emotion to settle on. 

“No. Nothing like that,” he replied, sounding almost relieved for a second, but then his usual smirk returned. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t decide to show up in jeans or those horrid Muggle things you call leggings. Wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself in front of my mother.”

Hermione glanced down at her outfit as she walked beside Draco, thinking back to how much her wardrobe had changed since she first joined Pansy and her Slytherin circle. Gone were the days of plain, functional clothes that marked her as the bookish outsider, always feeling a step out of place among the polished and glamorous world of pureblood society. Though she’d never admit it, a part of her had always longed to be seen as more than just the “bushy-haired, know-it-all Gryffindor” from school. That relentless drive for perfection - to excel, to prove herself to everyone, even those who would never truly expect or care - had been ingrained in her for as long as she could remember.

Enter Pansy, who had practically squealed with joy at Hermione’s willingness to upgrade her wardrobe. With her eye for fashion and an enthusiasm that bordered on ferociousness, Pansy had taken Hermione on endless shopping trips, introducing her to robes that were elegant, fitted, and far more refined than anything Hermione had ever owned. And the surprising part? Hermione had actually started to enjoy the process. It turned out that she rather liked the soft silks and fitted dresses that Pansy had chosen, and over time, dressing up started to feel natural - and dare she say it, even fun.

Still, there were some comforts she would never give up. For reading at home? Well, she’d always choose her favourite old leggings over any designer robes Pansy might throw at her. Draco might scoff that her leggings were “horrid,” and maybe they were, but she loved them anyway. A girl needed to be comfortable too, especially when diving into a thick novel with two cozy cats on her lap.

“Ah, there’s the Malfoy I know,” she quipped back. “But if you’re so concerned, you’d be horrified to know the type of Muggle underwear I’ve got on under this dress.”

Oh. Merlin. She felt the heat rush up to her face the moment the words left her lips. Had she actually said that? One night at a sex club, and suddenly she was blurting out innuendos at Draco Malfoy of all people. She watched as his mouth opened, clearly at a loss for words, and... was that a blush creeping up his neck? Well, well. At least she’d managed to surprise him too.

But before he could respond, a house-elf appeared with a small pop in front of them. “Hello, Miss Granger,” the elf said with a polite nod. “Drilby is here to take you to Lady Narcissa. Breakfast is ready in the greenhouse.”

Draco gave her a pointed look as she acknowledged the elf. “And don’t even start, Granger. Drilby is a free elf and chooses to work here. No need to save her from big bad Malfoy.”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile, and followed Draco as he led her through the manor. They walked in companionable silence, but Hermione felt a faint twinge of nervousness as her eyes swept over the panelled walls and high ceilings of Malfoy Manor. The grandeur and stillness of the place was almost oppressive, stirring memories she’d rather leave buried. She could still recall with painful clarity the icy marble beneath her cheek, the searing agony of Bellatrix’s Cruciatus curse, and the desperate sense of helplessness that had swallowed her whole in these very halls.

She forced herself to breathe, to stay focused on the moment, but even though the scars had faded, the memories clung to her like a shadow. Even now, despite her growing friendship with Pansy and others, there were things about this place that would always remind her of darker days. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to fully shake that feeling.

Draco must have sensed the slight shift in her demeanor, because he gave her a sideways glance, his expression unreadable but softer than usual. “It’s… different, you know,” he said quietly, as if catching her thoughts. “The Manor, I mean. We’ve made some changes.”

She met his gaze, finding a hint of genuine understanding there, and managed a small smile. “Thank you,” she murmured, not entirely sure what she was thanking him for but appreciating his unspoken acknowledgement of the memories she was fighting.

They continued in silence, his presence at her side grounding her more than she would’ve expected.

When they finally reached the greenhouse, however, all her unease fell away. The air was humid and filled with the rich scent of fresh soil, blooming flowers, and herbs. It was a lush sanctuary, spilling with greenery of every kind. Ancient, winding vines cascaded down from the glass ceiling, and enormous ferns lined the walls, creating an almost enchanted feel to the place.

“Oh my…” she murmured, unable to hold back her awe. Her gaze darted from a collection of rare orchids - one of which looked like it was shifting colours - to the vibrant, oversized, deep blue blossoms of flowers she’d only read about in herbology books. “Is that… a Moondew blossom?” she whispered, leaning in to catch a closer look. “Those are practically impossible to grow outside of controlled environments!”

“Trust Mother to make the impossible flourish,” Draco muttered, though he watched her reaction with a hint of amusement, lips quirking upward as she inspected each plant with reverence. Hermione noticed a delicate collection of blooming mandrakes tucked neatly beside a patch of flutterby bushes, and what she suspected to be a faintly glowing, enchanted ivy climbing up one of the glass walls.

She barely registered that they’d arrived at the breakfast table until a voice, soft and cool, interrupted her botanical daydream.

“Good morning, Miss Granger. I trust the plants have sufficiently captured your interest?”

Hermione straightened, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks as she turned to face Narcissa Malfoy, who was seated at a beautifully set table nestled among the greenery. Narcissa’s gaze was as poised as ever, her lips curved in a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Beside her, Draco’s posture was tense and he avoided Hermione’s gaze, keeping his attention on the table as if he were already wishing he could be anywhere else.

“Good morning, Lady Malfoy,” Hermione replied, keeping her tone as steady as possible. “The greenhouse is… extraordinary.”

Narcissa inclined her head slightly, her expression softening. “Thank you. I find it’s a wonderful place to start the day,” she said smoothly. “I thought you might appreciate the setting - and, of course, the breakfast.” She gestured for Hermione to sit.

Hermione took her seat, her gaze lingering briefly on the spread before them. Narcissa’s refined taste extended to every detail of the meal, with delicate china, freshly squeezed juices, and an array of elegantly presented dishes. But what caught Hermione’s attention most was the plate before her - a perfectly arranged slice of avocado toast, topped with herbs and a dusting of paprika.

Draco’s eyes landed on the plate as well, and he frowned, his brow creasing in confusion. “Mother… what is this?” he asked, clearly bewildered. “And where’s the usual breakfast?”

Narcissa’s smile didn’t falter as she met his gaze. “It’s a special breakfast, Draco. I read that Muggles often enjoy avocado toast, and I thought Miss Granger might appreciate a familiar taste of home,” she replied, the hint of pride in her voice making it clear that she considered this a thoughtful gesture.

Hermione blinked, feeling both touched and slightly taken aback. She glanced at the toast, surprised by the effort Narcissa had made, even if it felt a bit… forced. She smiled politely and nodded. “Thank you, Lady Malfoy. That’s very kind of you,” she said, picking up her fork and carefully taking a small bite, even though the texture of the avocado made her stomach turn slightly. She wasn’t about to mention her mild aversion to it now, not after the clear effort Narcissa had made.

Draco continued to watch her, looking equal parts fascinated and horrified as she ate. He leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Muggles actually eat this? Voluntarily?”

Hermione stifled a smile. “Yes, Malfoy,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light. “And some of them actually enjoy it.”

Narcissa gave a gracious nod, seeming satisfied, and then her expression shifted to one of polite interest as she directed her attention back to Hermione. “Miss Granger, I do hope you’ll consider attending our Christmas gala this year. It would be a wonderful opportunity for us to… reconnect with the community.”

Hermione paused, glancing briefly at Draco, who looked like he wanted to disappear into the foliage. She set down her fork, choosing her words carefully. “Lady Malfoy, I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not sure if that’s… appropriate.”

“Oh, but I insist,” Narcissa replied smoothly, her tone warm yet unyielding. “It would mean a great deal to the family, especially in times like these. And I believe our society would benefit from seeing us embrace progress. It’s time we look toward a future of unity.”

Draco shot Hermione a look of resigned frustration, clearly caught in the middle of his mother’s manoeuvring. Hermione felt a flicker of sympathy for him, but Narcissa’s persistent gaze pulled her attention back.

Narcissa leaned in slightly, her voice quiet but insistent. “Miss Granger, the Malfoy family has always valued tradition, but we also recognise the importance of evolving. If you join us, it would send a powerful message - a commitment to moving forward. And I understand you have an upcoming project at the Ministry focused on magical creature rights. We’d be more than happy to make a sizable contribution to that cause.”

Hermione’s posture stiffened. It was a tempting offer, but the transparent attempt at bartering didn’t sit well with her. “Thank you for the offer, Lady Malfoy, but - ” Her sentence trailed off as her gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where two house elves were quietly arranging trays of food.

Her lips thinned. “Are the house elves here… compensated for their work?”

Narcissa’s expression barely faltered, though a glint of annoyance flashed in her eyes. “They are well cared for, Miss Granger. Our elves have been with the family for generations. We asked if they would like to serve us freely, and they chose to remain in our employment.”

“‘Chose,’” Hermione repeated, her voice slightly sharper. “Did they choose freely, or was it an expectation?”

Narcissa’s polite smile hardened, her posture straightening. “We respect our elves’ preferences, Miss Granger. I assure you, they are content here. To offer them money would be… insulting.”

Hermione’s frustration bubbled to the surface and she met Narcissa’s gaze squarely. “Then I’ll make a deal with you, Lady Malfoy. I’ll attend the gala if you agree to provide your elves with wages and the option to work elsewhere if they choose.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Draco’s eyes darted between his mother and Hermione, tension hanging thick in the air. Narcissa’s expression tightened, but after a long moment, she gave a curt nod, her tone clipped.

“Very well, Miss Granger,” she said, her voice cool. “If it will ease your mind, I’ll see to it that they are offered compensation.” 

Hermione relaxed, offering Narcissa a brief, polite smile. “Thank you. I’d be honoured to attend.”

Narcissa’s expression turned thoughtful as she turned to Draco, her gaze softening in a way that somehow only made him shift more uncomfortably in his seat.

“You know, Draco,” she began, folding her hands primly, “I do hope this year’s Gala is the one where you’ll finally take an interest in one of the eligible young witches I’ve introduced you to.” She sighed, casting a wistful glance toward the windows. “Merlin knows I’ve tried enough times. But, for some reason, none have quite captured your attention.” She raised an eyebrow in mild reproach, as though his lack of interest were a personal failing.

Draco clenched his jaw, giving her a terse nod, but Hermione could see the faintest flicker of annoyance in his expression. His mother, apparently unfazed, continued with a sly smile.

“And speaking of eligible singles, Miss Granger, I simply must ask - are you currently seeing anyone?” she inquired, the question delivered with such poised innocence that Hermione almost didn’t catch the true intent behind it. “Because, you know, there will be so many eligible young wizards at the Gala. Successful, well-placed wizards - some of whom I daresay would be enchanted to make your acquaintance.”

Draco’s hand tightened visibly around his cup, the tension so apparent it almost made Hermione laugh. He shifted, and his frown deepened as Narcissa continued on, oblivious to her son’s growing discomfort.

“No, I’m not currently seeing anyone,” Hermione replied, her eyes darting to Draco, who was watching his mother with a look that bordered on mutinous. She found it… curious. “And thank you, Lady Malfoy. I appreciate the thoughtfulness. And I must say, I do hope you’re successful in finding Draco a lovely match, as well. After all, he’ll have no shortage of single witches there.”

The effect was immediate - Draco’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a hard line as he returned her gaze with a look that was both sharp and smouldering. He leaned back, arms crossed, as though carefully containing his irritation.

“Oh, yes, Mother,” he said, his tone clipped. “Do keep introducing me to the witches you think best. I’m sure I’ll be… inspired.”

Narcissa, oblivious to her son’s frustration, beamed. “Then it’s settled! And, Miss Granger, I insist on arranging a fitting for you. Pansy’s assisting me with the decor - she’ll be thrilled to know you’re joining us. It will be the event of the season!”

Hermione nodded graciously, biting back a smirk as she noticed Draco’s grip on his coffee cup tightening further. “Thank you,” she said, casting Draco one last, teasing glance. “I look forward to it.”

Draco seemed to visibly deflate, and Hermione could sense his resignation mingled with the irritation he was barely concealing. And as Narcissa began happily discussing the finer details of the Gala, Hermione felt a quiet satisfaction. Watching Draco squirm - whether under his mother’s hopes or from her own pointed comments - was proving to be unexpectedly delightful. And she had the sense that, with the Gala ahead, the game they’d started was only just beginning.

After a chaotic but amusing morning at Malfoy Manor, and a lively stop at Harry and Ginny’s where she endured a bit of roughhousing from their boys, Hermione finally found herself back in her cozy apartment. She had been looking forward to a quiet evening to finish her romance book and a hot cup of tea.

As she filled the kettle and waited for it to boil, her mind drifted back to Draco Malfoy. Why had he been acting so oddly today? His constant glances during breakfast, the way he’d fumbled for words - like he knew something she didn’t. She shook her head, brushing the thoughts away, but they kept sneaking back. Had he always been so… attractive ?

Hermione almost groaned at herself. It’s those blasted romance novels, she thought. She’d been tearing through “enemies-to-lovers” stories lately, and now her mind was latching onto the one person in her life who was, well, technically still her enemy. The thought was ridiculous. There was no way anything could ever happen with Draco Malfoy… right?

Just as she was about to slip out of her dress and into something cozy, a loud whoosh sounded from the Floo, and she spun around to see Theo Nott stumbling into her living room.

“What the - ? Theo! What are you doing here? I knew I shouldn’t have kept the Floo open for all of you!”

“Hermione, it’s urgent!” Theo replied, breathless, his eyes wide and alight with excitement.

Her heart jumped, briefly concerned, until she saw the glint of mischief in his gaze. Oh, Merlin, it’s just Theo being Theo.

“You have to come with me to The Veil,” he declared, bouncing on his toes like a child with a new toy. “I have intel that Charlie Weasley will be there tonight, and you know him, and I really, really want to fuck Charlie Weasley.” Theo’s words tumbled out in a rush, and then he added, “And Pansy said you’ve already been there and loved it!”

Hermione gaped at him, still processing his manic energy. “What?”

But Theo was already rushing around, glancing approvingly at her outfit. “You already look great. Perfect! Let’s not waste time; let’s go!”

She threw her hands up. “But I was going to read , Theodore!”

“Right, right.” He grinned, handing her bag and book to her. “Here’s your bag, here’s your book. Now come on, let’s go!”

And with that, Hermione found herself swept back into the whirlwind that was Theo Nott’s social life, wondering how her quiet night had turned into a wild plan that she was, surprisingly, looking forward to.

Chapter Text

The moment they arrived, Hermione’s eyes caught sight of a familiar face at the bar - Charlie Weasley, looking even more rugged than she remembered. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, tattoos peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeves. His red hair was tousled, a bit longer than it had been in their school days, and his face bore the faintest shadow of stubble, adding to his effortlessly charming, untamed look. He looked completely at ease, like he belonged in this world of dim lights and whispered secrets.

Theo seemed to notice him at the same time, his posture straightening, eyes widening with barely contained excitement. Hermione felt Theo’s gaze shift from her to Charlie, and she nearly laughed at the look of hunger in Theo’s eyes. It was as if Theo were seeing a rare, mythical creature - a prize he’d admired from afar but never thought he’d get close enough to approach.

Hermione guided Theo toward Charlie, catching his attention with a polite wave. “Charlie,” she called out as they neared him. “Mind if I introduce you?”

Charlie turned, his face breaking into a warm smile that seemed to light up the room. “Hermione, good to see you!” His gaze shifted to Theo with curious interest.

Hermione smiled, gesturing toward her friend. “Charlie, this is Theo. Theo Nott.”

Theo extended his hand, and for a split second, Hermione wondered if he might tremble, though he kept his composure, his expression turning into a smooth, confident grin. “Theo,” he murmured, his gaze drifting appreciatively over Charlie. “I hear you’re quite the… dragon tamer.”

Charlie’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the attention. “That’s what they tell me,” he replied, his voice warm and relaxed. His gaze roamed over Theo with equal curiosity, and Hermione could practically feel the heat sparking between them. It was as if she had suddenly faded into the background, the two men entirely absorbed in one another.

“Dragons, huh?” Theo’s voice was playful, his eyes alight with intrigue. “Must be exhausting… handling all that heat.”

Charlie laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to reverberate through the room, and Hermione noticed the way Theo’s gaze flickered, captivated. “You get used to it,” Charlie replied, his voice low and inviting. “But it does take a certain… stamina.”

Hermione, feeling increasingly like an unintentional third wheel, shifted uncomfortably. Part of her was thrilled to be back in the mysterious, charged atmosphere of the club, the low thrum of music a comforting, almost hypnotic background. But another part of her wanted to be at home, wrapped in a blanket with her book. She had already been feeling restless, caught up in the romance novel she’d left behind, and now, watching Theo and Charlie practically devour each other with their eyes, that sense of wanting something more only grew.

She still couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Charlie Weasley, of all people, making eyes with Theo Nott? She’d always thought of Charlie as rugged, independent, a bit wild - but it had never occurred to her that he might be interested in someone like Theo. And Theo… well, he wasn’t the type to swoon, but he was clearly enthralled.

Theo leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur, his gaze fixed on Charlie’s. “So, Charlie… I’ve heard all kinds of things about you, but I’d much rather experience them firsthand.”

Charlie’s mouth quirked, and he lifted a hand, resting it on Theo’s shoulder with an ease that was casual yet undeniably intimate. “Well, Theo, I’d be happy to show you,” he replied, his tone laced with suggestion.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed as she realised the two of them were well on their way to vanishing into the club’s more private quarters. She cleared her throat, half out of politeness, half to remind them she was still there. They both turned to her briefly, and she forced a smile, raising her glass slightly. “I’ll… just be over here,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the club. “You two… enjoy yourselves.”

Theo flashed her a quick grin, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Thanks, Hermione,” he said, barely able to contain his eagerness as he turned back to Charlie.

And with that, the two of them were gone, leaving Hermione standing alone in the dim, alluring atmosphere of the club, the low hum of anticipation in the air.

Great. Now what?  

Hermione took a deep breath, glancing around the dimly lit club as she tried to steady herself. She hadn’t expected to be back here so soon, and yet the familiar setting of rich, shadowy corners and the low thrum of the music wrapped around her like a gentle, comforting embrace. Her heartbeat picked up, not from nerves, but from the strange excitement this place stirred in her. Something about being here left her feeling… alive, a low hum of energy simmering beneath her skin.

The club was quieter than her previous visit, the usual crowd of enigmatic faces and flirtatious exchanges reduced to just a few scattered guests. This night seemed softer, more intimate, and the ambiance allowed her a moment to breathe and take it all in. She shifted on her feet, caught between wanting to leave and wanting to stay.

Then she remembered the book she’d been reading before Theo had burst into her flat and pulled her away. It was still in her pocket, a small, slightly battered paperback with a plot that had been gripping her attention for days. The story had just reached a particularly intense scene when Theo had shown up, and she still felt a lingering restlessness from it - a sense of wanting something more, something that tugged at her in ways she hadn’t expected.

The warmth from the bar’s ambient glow and the comfortable hum of the music made the idea of staying much more appealing. With a quick scan of the room, Hermione spotted a secluded corner tucked away from the bar’s centre, perfectly shaded and quiet. She slipped into the seat, settling herself, and reached into her pocket, pulling out her book. The faint hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she turned to her marked page.

She took a sip of the drink she’d ordered, the slight warmth of it easing her nerves as she allowed herself to sink back into the story. Her eyes moved over the words, each line drawing her deeper into the plot, rekindling the same heat and excitement she’d felt earlier. The heroine was navigating a moment so vulnerable and charged that Hermione couldn’t help but feel a similar thrill building in her chest. It was almost ironic - sitting in the middle of a club like this, reading something so… intense.

“He licked her again, lingering at the spot atop the apex of her legs. Sucking it into his mouth, teeth nipping, before he withdrew.

She arched, unable to stop the moan breaking from her throat.

Cassian’s tongue ran downward in an unhurried sweep, and he pressed a hand to her abdomen, stilling her, as he slid his tongue straight into her core. It curled into her, driving deeper than she’d expected, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but luxuriate in it, in him - 

Hermione was fully absorbed, her eyes glued to the words as she felt her own pulse quicken in time with the heroine’s. She could practically hear his growl in her head, his words echoing with a delicious thrill she wouldn’t admit to anyone.

“You taste,” he growled against her, making his way up again toward the bundle of nerves in short, teasing licks, “even more delicious than I dreamed.”

Nesta whimpered, and he flicked his tongue there. Her whimper turned to a cry, and he laughed against her and flicked his tongue again.

Release became a shimmering veil, just beyond her grasp but drifting closer.

Hermione shifted slightly in her seat, lost in the story, unaware of her surroundings. The club and its ambient sounds faded into the background as she became wrapped in the book’s heated tension, drawn into the seductive exchange unfolding on the page.

“So wet,” he breathed, and licked at her entrance, as if determined to consume every drop of her. “Are you always this wet for me, Nesta?”

“What the bloody hell are you reading, Granger?”

Hermione jumped, the book nearly flying from her hands as Draco’s voice sliced through the fantasy she’d been thoroughly, embarrassingly lost in. She glanced up, her cheeks immediately flooding with heat, and found herself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was now standing over her, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Is that… one of your dirty books?” he asked, his voice a mixture of mockery and intrigue, with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he glanced down at the page she’d been reading.

Hermione clutched the book close to her chest, flustered beyond belief. “It’s none of your business, Malfoy,” she snapped, hoping her tone masked her embarrassment.

But Draco wasn’t deterred. His smirk only grew as he crossed his arms, clearly reveling in her discomfort. “Who’s this ‘Cassian’?” he asked, tilting his head as if to peer closer. “Your… boyfriend in the story?” He added the word “boyfriend” with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

She glared at him, trying to hold her ground, though her cheeks betrayed her. “He’s a character,” she muttered, hoping that would satisfy him, though she knew better than to expect Malfoy to let anything slide. “Just a… fictional character.”

Draco’s smirk only widened, his eyes twinkling with a spark of mischief. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Little Miss Perfect Granger, reading… well, that. ” He leaned in slightly, his gaze challenging. “And in a club, no less. You sure you wouldn’t prefer a quiet evening at home with your… ‘Cassian’ and his ‘teasing licks’?”

Hermione tried to suppress the warmth crawling up her neck, cursing herself for the blush that betrayed her. “Look, Malfoy,” she retorted, trying to sound steady, “not everyone is… well, not everyone is as proper as they seem.”

Draco’s gaze didn’t falter, his smirk only deepening. “So I see. But you might need to find something a bit more thrilling than a paperback if you’re planning to spend time here.”

His words sent a surprising thrill down her spine, but she forced herself to scoff, brushing him off. “Believe it or not, Malfoy, some of us actually enjoy a good story.”

“Oh, I believe it,” he said, his eyes lingering on her with a glint that made her pulse skip. “Just didn’t think you’d be the type for that kind of story.”

Hermione straightened, mustering all the confidence she could, and leveled Draco with a defiant look. “Reading books like this is completely normal for a woman in today’s world, Malfoy,” she said, her tone laced with a hint of challenge. “It’s perfectly healthy - and enjoyable,” she added, feeling a slight blush creeping back onto her cheeks despite herself.

Draco’s smirk widened, his eyes alight with amusement as he studied her. “Is that so, Granger? And you think I wouldn’t know anything about that?”

“Precisely,” she shot back, lifting her chin. “It’s not exactly something men tend to understand.”

He let out a low chuckle, leaning in just a bit closer. “Well, maybe I’ll have to do some reading myself. Wouldn’t want to be uneducated on the finer points of… smut, as you put it.” His tone was teasing, but there was something darker and more intent in his gaze that made her stomach flip.

“Please,” she replied, rolling her eyes, though her heart was racing. “I doubt you’d make it past the first page.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk lingering as he tilted his head toward her book. “So, Granger, what’s this masterpiece called?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she quickly glanced down at the cover, as if reconsidering her options. “I… don’t think you’d really be interested, Malfoy,” she replied, hoping he’d let it go.

“Oh, but now you’ve piqued my interest,” he said, his voice practically dripping with amusement. “Come on, Granger, share the title. It’s only fair, considering how deeply invested you were.”

She sighed, realising there was no escaping this. “It’s… A Court of Silver Flames, ” she mumbled, barely meeting his gaze.

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly relishing her embarrassment. “Well, thank you, Granger,” he replied, sounding thoroughly amused. “I’ll be sure to remember this little contribution to my literary education. Very… high-quality reading.”

Hermione shot him a glare, though she couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill at his attention. “Don’t make it a habit, Malfoy.”

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

The silence stretched between them, thick with an unspoken tension that Hermione was too flustered to confront. She could still feel the heat of embarrassment from Draco reading over her shoulder, and now he was just… standing there, as if he had no intention of leaving.

Why was he here? And why, instead of slapping him for his usual arrogance, did she feel this overwhelming, inexplicable urge to pull him closer and kiss the smirk off his face? What the hell was wrong with her? 

She’d seen him this very morning at breakfast, sitting across from his mother, all polished and insufferably perfect. And yet, here she was, consumed by a craving she couldn’t explain. She shouldn’t be thinking about him like this - not after everything that had happened. But now, all she could focus on was how utterly convenient it was that they wouldn’t remember each other tomorrow morning. Because surely, this was just a temporary itch, one that needed scratching and nothing more. Her thoughts churned in disarray, a battle between reason and the undeniable heat that simmered beneath her skin. She needed to get a grip. But how could she, when all she could think about was her last visit at The Veil and the ache for the wild, uncontrollable rush of sensation she had felt - needing it again, needing him again, to feel all of it, and more?

She shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the room, then back at Draco, who seemed quite content to let the awkwardness hang in the air. Finally, she sighed, crossing her arms. “Is there something else you need, Malfoy?”

He shrugged, an air of nonchalance in his tone. “Not really,” he drawled, though a faint smirk danced on his lips. “Just noticed Theo was, ah… preoccupied with someone else. Thought I might stay and enjoy the company of a certain romance enthusiast.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned again, but she fought to keep her composure. “I don’t see why that requires you to lurk around my table,” she replied. “Or are you simply so bored that you need to pester me?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Bored? No, Granger, not exactly,” he replied, smirking. “I wouldn’t say I need to be here. But tell me…” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “Are you actually planning to sit here and read that ?”

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks again, gripping the book tightly to her chest. “Reading is a completely normal pastime for a woman these days, Malfoy. Not that you’d know anything about it.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head, as if her answer had only amused him further. “Touché. But it does make me wonder… are you really getting everything you need from those pages, Granger?” The question was laced with a hint of mockery, but his gaze was steady, almost challenging.

“Why don’t you tell me,” she shot back, mustering her confidence, “is there some reason you’re so curious about my reading choices? Or am I just the only thing keeping you from dying of boredom?”

Draco’s smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with a glint of mischief. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just scared of a little game,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a provocative tone. “Why don’t we put that book away and have a drink instead? Let’s make a night of it. Truth or Dare.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, the suggestion catching her off guard. “Truth or Dare? What are you, twelve?”

“Possibly,” he replied, his voice smooth. “Or maybe I just want to see if you can keep up.”

Her heart picked up, his challenge riling her up in a way she hadn’t expected. “Fine. Let’s get this over with,” she said, tossing her book into her bag with more force than she’d intended, ignoring the faint smirk on his face as they settled at a table nearby.

Draco ordered their drinks, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed confidence that irritated her almost as much as it intrigued her. Hermione took a sip, hoping the warmth would calm her racing pulse. Meanwhile, Draco observed her quietly, his gaze lingering in a way that made her fidget.

After a moment, he leaned forward, his voice low and challenging. “Truth or dare, Granger?”

Hermione sighed, already feeling the tension creeping up her spine. “Truth,” she said, lifting her glass as if to fortify herself for whatever insufferable question he was about to ask.

His smirk deepened, his gray eyes glinting with mischief. “How was your first experience here?”

Her eyebrows shot up in shock. “How the hell do you know about this?” she snapped, her voice low but sharp. Her mind raced, and the only explanation she could think of was Pansy. “Did Parkinson say something?”

Draco shrugged, his expression maddeningly neutral, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.

Hermione squared her shoulders, determined not to let him rattle her. “I thoroughly enjoyed it,” she said coolly, holding his gaze. “I was lucky to meet a true gentleman - something you have no idea how to be.”

That did it. Draco burst into laughter, a deep, unrestrained sound that made her stomach flip for reasons she refused to examine. There was something about his expression - too entertained, too knowing - that set her on edge.

“What’s so bloody funny?” she demanded, her glare sharp.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth as his laughter faded into a smirk. But the intensity in his gaze lingered, unspoken words hovering just behind those silver eyes.

Hermione frowned, the nagging feeling that she was missing something gnawing at her. But she shook it off and shot him a pointed look. “Your turn. Truth or dare, Malfoy?”

“Truth,” he said easily, as if the game was child’s play to him.

She glanced around, her gaze catching on a group of stunning witches at the bar, their laughter bright and melodic as they flirted with the bartender. Draco’s eyes flicked toward them, and Hermione couldn’t resist a smirk.

“If you could choose any witch here to take to the private rooms, who would it be?” she asked, her tone light but laced with challenge.

His answer was immediate. “You.”

The single word dropped like a stone into a pond, the ripples of its implication spreading through her chest. Hermione’s smirk faltered as heat crept up her neck. “Me?” she repeated, her voice more breathless than she’d have liked.

Draco leaned back, swirling his drink lazily, his smirk unwavering. “You asked,” he said simply.

She forced herself to scoff, trying to mask her confusion with irritation. “Of course you’d say something like that.”

“Would you rather I lied?” he countered smoothly, his tone calm but his eyes sharp.

Flustered, Hermione grabbed her drink and downed a larger sip than necessary, setting it back down with a thud. “Fine,” she said, her tone clipped. “I choose dare.”

Draco’s grin widened, dark and challenging. “I dare you to recreate a scene from your book,” he murmured, his tone dark and teasing. “One of those… more entertaining chapters. The magical rooms here are designed for it, and we won’t remember anything, right? So what’s the harm?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him. The sheer audacity of the dare left her reeling, and she wasn’t sure if she was furious or… intrigued.

“Alright,” she said finally, lifting her chin in defiance. “Let’s go.”

Draco arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed by her resolve, and stood, offering her his hand. Hermione hesitated for only a moment before taking it, her pulse racing as she allowed herself to be pulled into whatever madness Malfoy had planned.

“Lead the way, Granger,” he said, the familiar taunt lacing his voice.

The dark hallway led them to a room at the very end, marked only by the faint glow of red light spilling through the slightly ajar door. Draco nudged it open, revealing a space bathed in deep, crimson shadows. The walls were a dark, warm red, casting a sultry glow across the room. There were no windows - just the closed door they’d come through and another, likely leading to a bathroom. In the centre of the room stood an enormous bed, its black satin sheets reflecting the soft light, creating an almost surreal shine against the dark surroundings.

Hermione took a tentative step inside, immediately noticing the sweet, intoxicating scent that filled the air. Her gaze swept over the room, and as she took in the details, her heart began to pound faster. On the nightstand, she spotted a pair of silver handcuffs, the polished metal glinting ominously in the dim light. On the opposite table, a small assortment of… other implements lay neatly arranged - things she recognised only from reading about them in her romance novels.

She swallowed, her earlier bravado suddenly wavering. This was real, not just some scene in a book, and the realisation hit her with unexpected intensity. She could feel Draco’s eyes on her, studying her every reaction with that same infuriating smirk. She shifted, brushing her hair behind her ear as she debated whether she’d made the right choice coming here.

Draco’s smirk grew as he watched her take it all in. “What’s wrong, Granger?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. “Having second thoughts?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, and she fought to maintain her composure, repeating in her mind the reasons why she’d agreed to this. This was just a bit of fun, and tomorrow, neither of them would remember. She could do this. It was normal to want things like this, even if her partner happened to be Draco Malfoy. Sex is perfectly normal , she reminded herself, even with someone like him.

Draco took a step closer, raising an eyebrow. “So, tell me, Granger,” he said, a hint of a challenge in his voice. “Was there a specific scene from your book you had in mind?”

To his surprise, Hermione didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she replied, her tone unwavering.

Draco’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly masked his surprise with a smirk. “Well, well. Sounds like you know that book rather well.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a little deeper, but she lifted her chin. “I do. I’ve read it… several times,” she admitted, her voice soft but defiant.

Hermione felt the air grow heavier as Draco stepped closer, his gaze fixed intently on her, the smirk on his lips softening into something darker. He reached out, his fingers slipping into her hair, brushing it back with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver down her spine. The sensation of his fingers combing through her curls was both soothing and electrifying, each touch heightening her awareness of how close he was.

He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, and whispered, “Several times, hmm?” His voice was low, intimate, making her heart race.

“Y-yes,” she managed, her own voice coming out in a soft, unsteady whisper. “Several times.”

Draco let out a low, knowing hum, as if savoring her confession. He moved behind her, his fingers trailing lightly over her shoulder before brushing down the side of her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone. Hermione’s breath hitched, and she forced herself to stay still, though every nerve in her body felt like it was on edge, hyper-aware of his every movement. Her pulse pounded in her chest, so loud she was certain he could hear it.

His hand drifted lower, resting at the base of her throat, his fingers pressing gently against her collarbone as if testing her reaction. Hermione’s heart raced, her breaths shallow as she felt her own anticipation build, and her skin grew warm beneath his touch. Her mind was a haze of excitement, nerves, and curiosity, all swirling together in a way that left her feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated.

Draco’s other hand moved to her hip, his fingers grazing the fabric of her dress as he slowly slid his hand down her side. She felt herself drawn in by the intensity of his presence, by the way he seemed to know exactly where and how to touch her, and a thrill of desire stirred low in her belly.

His hand on her face drifted lower, trailing down her neck, his fingertips tracing a path along her skin that felt both gentle and possessive. The other hand continued its journey, gliding down the curve of her waist before brushing over her hip, pausing there for a moment before inching lower. Her skin tingled with every subtle movement, and she could feel herself leaning into his touch, craving more.

“Several times…” she whispered, her breath unsteady, her voice barely audible. She was dazed, caught between the sensations coursing through her and the surreal reality of Draco Malfoy standing behind her, his hands exploring her body with a touch that was both confident and curious.

Draco chuckled softly, the sound sending another shiver through her. “So, what happens next, Granger?” he murmured, his voice laced with challenge and intrigue. His fingers ghosted along the edge of her dress, teasing, as his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, making her breath catch.

Hermione swallowed, her mind hazy, her heartbeat loud and erratic in her chest. She was nervous, yes, but she couldn’t deny the thrill, the warmth building within her, the unmistakable ache that seemed to grow with every touch.

Hermione took a slow, deep breath as she stood before Draco, the air between them charged with something that felt dangerous and exhilarating. She felt his gaze, intense and unwavering, following her every move, and it gave her a newfound confidence she hadn’t expected to feel in a room like this with him of all people.

“There’s… there’s this scene,” she began softly, barely able to keep her voice steady as she met his eyes. She felt her pulse racing, her hands a little shaky but her resolve stronger than ever. With a small, teasing smile playing on her lips, she took hold of his hand, surprising him, and gently tugged him toward the bed.

Draco let her guide him, his smirk fading as she led him with surprising certainty. When they reached the edge of the bed, Hermione gave a light push, enough to make him sit, and she could feel his confusion turn into something darker as he sank down onto the mattress. She watched as his eyes roamed over her, widening slightly as he tried to process what was happening.

Without breaking eye contact, Hermione knelt between his legs, her gaze never wavering as she reached up, gathering her hair and twisting it into a quick, messy ponytail. She caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes, and he looked at her as though he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Her polished nails, a dark shade of red, dug into his thighs as she settled herself, feeling the tension in his body beneath her fingers. His breath hitched, and she noticed the way his hands clenched at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for her. She dragged her nails slowly upward, feeling the taut muscle beneath her touch, before letting her hands slide up to his chest, her fingertips grazing his shirt as they wandered lower.

Draco’s gaze was fixed on her, his normally sharp expression softened by pure, raw fascination. She took her time, feeling her own anticipation build, and the thrill of power surging through her as she reached his belt, her fingers moving with a slow, deliberate confidence she didn’t even know she possessed.

Hermione’s hands slid slowly down Draco’s torso, her fingers tracing along the fabric of his shirt before finally resting at the waistband of his trousers. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips as she felt his breath hitch under her touch.

“There’s… there’s a scene in the book,” she began softly, her voice carrying a hint of playful defiance as she toyed with the button of his trousers, “where the main characters meet in the dining room after some conflict.”

Draco was quiet, his attention riveted on her, a mix of intrigue and heat in his gaze. His arms were braced on the bed behind him, his body tense as if caught between disbelief and something much more powerful.

She leaned in, her fingers deftly undoing the button, her confidence growing as she saw the anticipation and want flicker in his eyes. “The heroine decides,” she continued, keeping her tone steady, “that she wants to lift his spirits… to make him feel better.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, Hermione unzipped his trousers, and Draco’s jaw clenched as he watched her, not saying a word, his gaze dark and unwavering.

“So,” she murmured, her fingers trailing along the fabric of his briefs, feeling the unmistakable hardness beneath. “She decides to take matters into her own… mouth.”

Draco’s lips parted slightly, his breathing shallower now, but he remained silent, his eyes fixed on her as she ran her hand along his length, pressing lightly through the fabric. She could feel him, every inch of him, and there was no mistaking how affected he was by this moment, his arousal pulsing against her hand.

He said nothing, just watched her with a mixture of surprise and fascination, and Hermione felt an intoxicating surge of power. The confidence she’d only read about now bloomed within her, making her bold as she leaned in closer, her voice a whisper.

“Let me show you how,” she murmured, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his briefs, freeing him from the last barrier between them.

As Hermione freed him from the final barrier, her breath caught for just a moment, and she forced herself to focus, not letting the sudden rush of nervousness overtake her. Draco’s length sprang free, hard and commanding, and she couldn’t help but let her gaze linger. The sheer size of him was a little daunting, but there was a certain beauty in the way he stood before her, a testament to the power she now held in her hands.

Draco let out a low, shaky exhale, his fingers curling into the bedding beneath him as his head tilted back slightly, but his gaze remained locked on her. There was something hypnotic in the way he watched her, as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. His lips parted as if he were about to say something, but no words came, just his heavy breathing and the tension that radiated between them.

Hermione swallowed, her confidence swelling with the realisation of the effect she had on him. Her hand wrapped around him, her fingers barely closing over his girth, and she marveled for a second at the heat and hardness beneath the silky-soft skin. Slowly, she ran her hand along his length, letting her fingers explore, feeling the pulse of his arousal against her palm.

Draco’s hips shifted slightly, his restraint evident in the way he braced himself, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the sheets tighter. When her other hand came to rest on his thigh, her nails lightly dragging against his skin, he let out a low, involuntary groan that sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’re quiet, Malfoy,” she teased softly, glancing up at him with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Not what I was expecting.”

Draco’s lips twitched into a smirk, though it faltered when her hand twisted slightly on its upward stroke. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Granger,” he managed, his voice rough and breathless. “You’re testing my patience.”

Hermione’s smile widened slightly, her confidence growing as she leaned forward, pressing her lips against the sensitive skin just below the tip. The sound Draco made - a mix of a groan and a sharp inhale - sent a thrill through her. She flicked her tongue lightly against him, tasting the salt of his skin, and felt the tension in his body coil tighter beneath her touch.

She moved deliberately, her hand stroking him as her lips and tongue followed, her every motion slow and measured, letting her control the pace entirely. Draco’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale, and his head tipped back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw.

“Granger,” he groaned, the sound barely above a whisper but laced with raw need. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for her but was holding himself back.

The power of having Draco Malfoy at her mercy was intoxicating, and Hermione’s heart raced with the thrill of it. She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze meeting his as she let her lips slide lower, taking more of him into her mouth. His reaction was instant - his hips shifted forward slightly, and his hand finally moved to her hair, his fingers tangling in her curls as he let out another deep, guttural sound that sent heat pooling low in her belly.

Draco’s breathing turned ragged, his self-control hanging by a thread as Hermione continued her deliberate, unhurried movements. She could feel his tension building, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if restraining himself was becoming physically painful. Then, slowly, his hands lifted, fingers twitching as they hovered near her hair.

Hermione paused, pulling back just enough to speak, her voice firm and commanding as she looked up at him. “No.”

Draco froze, his gaze snapping to hers, a flicker of surprise in his stormy eyes.

“This scene,” she murmured, her tone soft but resolute, “happens on my terms. You don’t get to take control.”

For a moment, Draco looked as though he might argue, his lips parting, but then he let out a slow exhale and leaned back slightly, his hands falling to his sides in a gesture of surrender. His jaw tightened, and his chest heaved as he tried to steady himself. 

“Good boy,” Hermione whispered, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she watched the words hit him. The sound that escaped his throat was low and guttural, almost like a growl, and the sheer intensity of his reaction sent a thrill racing through her.

Encouraged, she lowered her mouth onto him again, this time taking him deeper. Her pace quickened, her hand working in tandem with her lips and tongue, each motion precise and intentional. She could feel the slight tremble in his thighs, the way his muscles tightened beneath her hands as he fought to stay still.

She pushed herself further, testing her limits as she tried to take more of him into her mouth. The size of him was a challenge, and her gag reflex protested when she reached a certain point. She pulled back slightly, catching her breath before resuming with her hand, gripping him firmly as she stroked him with steady, deliberate movements.

Draco let out a sharp exhale, his voice rough as he muttered something sarcastic, though the words were muffled and almost lost to the haze of pleasure surrounding them both.

Hermione lifted her head just enough to glance up at him, raising an eyebrow in playful defiance before leaning in again, her tongue swirling around his tip before taking him back into her mouth. Her other hand pressed against his thigh, her nails digging slightly into his skin as she held him steady, eliciting another low groan from him.

The push and pull of her movements, the way her mouth alternated with her hand, had Draco gripping the sheets again, his head tipping back as he muttered her name under his breath, the sound raw and filled with need. Hermione’s confidence grew with every response she drew from him, every sound that slipped past his usually sharp, composed demeanor.

She was in control, and the realisation of just how undone Draco Malfoy was beneath her hands made the moment all the more intoxicating.

Draco’s breathing grew more erratic, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension in his body coiled impossibly tight. Hermione could feel it in the way his muscles trembled under her touch, in the way his grip on the sheets turned white-knuckled. His control was slipping, and she could tell he was on the edge.

“Granger,” he groaned, his voice rough and guttural, a warning that sent a pulse of heat through her.

She didn’t slow down. If anything, she doubled her efforts, her hand twisting firmly along his base while her mouth moved with a steady rhythm, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of his length. The sounds Draco made grew louder, more desperate, and she reveled in the way she had completely undone him.

His head tipped back, his jaw tight as he growled her name again, and with one final stroke of her hand and the warmth of her mouth around him, Draco let out a low, broken moan. His hips bucked slightly as he spilled into her, his body shaking with the force of it.

To his shock, Hermione didn’t pull away. She stayed with him, swallowing everything he gave her with surprising ease, her hand still stroking him gently as he shuddered through the aftershocks. When she finally pulled back, she licked her lips with a casual confidence that made his head spin.

Draco stared at her, utterly spent and more than a little stunned. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, and for a moment, all he could do was blink at her in disbelief. “You… swallowed,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, the words coming out as though he couldn’t quite believe them.

Hermione simply smiled, wiping the corner of her mouth with a delicate flick of her finger. “Of course,” she replied, her tone impossibly calm and self-assured. “What else would I do?”

Before Draco could fully process what had just happened, Hermione stood up, brushing herself off with an air of calm satisfaction. She looked down at him, a small, self-assured smile playing on her lips, one that seemed to say she’d been in control the whole time.

“Take off your dress,” he demanded, his voice low and edged with anticipation, the command slipping out without hesitation. He was sure she wanted it as much as he did, certain she was as lost in the moment as he was.

But instead of obeying, Hermione took a single step back, her gaze steady as she watched him, almost amused. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “Cassian makes the same demand in the book.” Her voice was soft, teasing, but there was a note of finality in it that threw him off balance. “But, to stay true to the scene… this dare ends here and now.”

Draco blinked, the realisation of her words settling in. He opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Hermione gave him a little wave, cutting him off with a light tone that held a hint of satisfaction. “This was fun,” she said, her smile widening just a fraction. And then, with a final, perfectly casual, “Goodbye, Malfoy,” she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving him in stunned silence.

The door clicked shut, and Draco was left sitting there, still catching his breath, a mixture of astonishment and admiration swirling within him as the realisation dawned: Hermione Granger had just bested him at his own game.

Chapter Text

Hermione sealed the last letter, smirking as she imagined their responses. She knew how each of them would react: Pansy, as always, needing details and drama; Theo, eager but nosy; Blaise, cool and to the point; and, of course, Draco, who’d find something to complain about.

Sure enough, her phone buzzed first with Pansy’s response. 

“What do you mean muggle clothes?! You can’t just say ‘muggle clothes,’ Hermione! What kind? I need to look perfect for my birthday, even if it’s just you and the wankers!” The message was punctuated by a barrage of gifs and Pinterest screenshots of potential outfits.

Hermione chuckled, typing her reply quickly. “ Just something comfortable! Nothing fancy, I promise. And no, we’re not going hiking or doing sports. Pinky swear!”

With Pansy’s nerves slightly eased, Hermione tried to get some work done. She reviewed case notes on a curious string of petty thefts involving nifflers trained to target muggles, causing quite a bit of mayhem across London. Her task was to figure out how to ward off nifflers without tipping muggles off to the magical world. But before she could make much progress, her owl swooped in with the next reply.

It was from Theo: “As you wish, babe. But throw me a bone here - muggle club? A spa day? I could use a massage. Or are we seeing one of those muggle films? If so, make it a horror – Draco’s a total wimp!.”

Hermione laughed, tucking Theo’s letter into her drawer just as the next one arrived. Blaise’s response was as concise as ever:

“If you insist.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at Blaise’s characteristic brevity. But she couldn’t help wondering about Draco’s reaction. Of everyone, he was always the one most bewildered – and usually irritated – by muggle outings.

Draco Malfoy was the picture of aristocratic composure, and the chaos of muggle London always threw him off. She remembered the last time they’d gone to a muggle bar; two tipsy women had loudly asked him if “albinos” had white hair around all their parts. Hermione snorted at the memory, and her cheeks reddened as her mind drifted to Malfoy’s… Nope . She shook the thought away, scolding herself for even letting her mind wander in that direction. What is wrong with you lately? You haven’t even seen him naked!

The last owl finally arrived with his response. She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she unrolled it.

“Muggle clothes? Really? Brightest witch of her age, and she thinks Pansy would want to celebrate in the muggle world? I expect nothing less than a disaster, Granger. Can’t wait to watch.”

She couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across her face. Oh, he’s going to hate it , she thought gleefully, already picturing the look of utter disdain that would no doubt settle on Draco’s face the moment he stepped into the funfair.

They gathered outside Hermione’s flat, ready to portkey to the surprise location. Pansy and Theo were practically bouncing with excitement, nudging each other and trading guesses about the "muggle adventure" Hermione had planned. Even Blaise looked curious, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But, as expected, Malfoy didn’t disappoint. His expression was one of deep, unwavering annoyance as he glared at Hermione, arms crossed and looking entirely too put out.

Actually, Hermione noted, he looked more than just annoyed. His eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that was hard to interpret. She raised an eyebrow at him, trying to figure out what had him so wound up, but gave up and decided he was probably just sulking over having to wear jeans and a hoodie. 

“All right, everyone! Fun first, gifts and drinks after,” she said, holding out the portkey. “Let’s go!”

A moment later, they were hurtling through space at the familiar tug of the portkey, landing just on the outskirts of their destination. Hermione straightened up and turned to gauge their reactions, feeling a spark of pride as they all took in the sight before them.

The fairgrounds stretched out under the evening sky, glowing with lights that seemed to pulse with energy. There were towering rollercoasters winding through the air, their metal frames gleaming under the flashing bulbs. Carnival rides spun in every direction, food stalls emitted tantalising scents of popcorn, fried dough, and roasted chestnuts, and everywhere around them people were screaming with delight, laughter filling the air. It was lively, chaotic, and unmistakably muggle.

“What the fuck is this?” Malfoy’s voice cut through the silence as he gawked at the scene, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. 

Theo let out a delighted whoop. “This is brilliant ! I didn’t know places like this existed!”

Pansy’s eyes gleamed with excitement, her smile spreading as she looked between the flashing rides and Hermione. “Merlin, Granger, is this where we can go on those rides that practically throw you upside down? And watch Draco and Blaise cry? I love it!”

“Am I in heaven?” Theo asked, wide-eyed as he took in the whole scene. “Please tell me we’re going on everything . Let’s go, let’s go!”

“Am I going to survive this, Granger?” Blaise asked with a chuckle, eyeing the rides with equal parts amusement and mild horror.

Hermione grinned. “You’ll survive just fine, Zabini. We’ll ease into it for your sake.” Then she turned her gaze to Malfoy, who looked increasingly pale as he stared at the towering rollercoasters. 

“I hate you,” he muttered, his words laced with genuine dread. “This place is – absolutely vile.” His glare was fixed on her, as if she’d personally invented rollercoasters to torture him.

“Oh, come on, Malfoy!” Hermione laughed, patting him on the back. “What, scared of a few carnival rides? Where’s your Slytherin determination?”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened. “I assure you, my bravery is intact,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I fail to see the appeal of willingly flinging oneself through the air.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione replied, smirking. “It’s almost wizard-like , don’t you think? You love flying, don’t you?”

Pansy laughed, elbowing Malfoy. “Yes, come on, Draco! Just think – Pansy Parkinson’s 28th birthday party at a muggle funfair. Everyone’s going to be talking about it. You should be honored to have such an original party.”

He scowled at her, reluctantly allowing himself to be herded along as the rest of them started toward the rides. “Only if I get to spend the rest of the night hexing Theo for dragging me on whatever monstrosity that is.” He pointed to a particularly daunting rollercoaster, the tallest in the park.

Theo just grinned, throwing his arm around Draco’s shoulders. “Come on, mate – time to embrace your inner Gryffindor for once.”

Hermione watched Malfoy’s scowl deepen, and despite herself, she found it endearing. She couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction as they made their way toward the first ride, Draco’s glare growing with each step. Whatever happened next, this was bound to be an unforgettable night.

The group made a beeline for the biggest rollercoaster, towering above the fairgrounds with loops, corkscrews, and a near-vertical drop. Malfoy looked up at it, mouth agape, and took a step back.

“There is no way I’m getting on that,” he declared, crossing his arms defiantly.

Pansy smirked, poking him in the ribs. “Oh, come on, Draco. Scared of a little muggle ride?”

Malfoy glared at her. “I’m not scared. I just have a preference for not plummeting through the air on a contraption built by people who don’t even use magic.”

Theo snorted, clapping Malfoy on the shoulder. “Admit it, mate, you’re terrified. This is a chance to face your fears! Or are you just going to watch from the ground like a big coward ?”

Blaise, who was already strapping himself into the seat beside Pansy, leaned back with a smirk. “At least the view up here’s nice. Would be a shame if you missed it…”

Malfoy glowered, but finally muttered, “Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting all of you.”

Hermione took her seat beside Malfoy, trying to contain her laughter as she watched him clench his jaw, pale as a ghost, while the ride attendant lowered the safety harnesses.

As the coaster began its slow ascent, Theo was already whooping with excitement. “Yes! Higher! Let’s go!” he yelled, leaning forward as if he could make the cart climb faster.

Pansy was grinning but let out a yelp as they got closer to the top. “Oh Merlin, maybe I didn’t think this through!” she laughed, her hands gripping the bar tightly.

Blaise, meanwhile, gave a bark of nervous laughter, his usual calm shattered as the cart reached the peak. “This was… a choice!” he called out over the clanking of the track.

Malfoy was clutching the safety bar with one hand and Hermione’s hand with the other, his fingers squeezing hers so hard she almost winced. His eyes were wide, and as the cart tipped over the edge of the first drop, he actually screamed - —a raw, unrestrained scream that only grew louder as they plummeted.

“BLOODY HELL !” he yelled, gripping her hand tighter as they whipped through loops and turns.

Hermione couldn’t help herself – she burst into laughter, the wind tearing the sound from her lips as they twisted and turned. Malfoy’s screams continued with each drop and loop, but she noticed he was still holding on, refusing to close his eyes even though he looked seconds away from passing out.

By the time the ride slowed to a stop, everyone was laughing, their hair blown wildly, faces flushed. Theo staggered off first, nearly doubling over in laughter.

“That… was incredible!” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Draco, I think you were actually louder than Pansy!”

Pansy shot him a look. “Hey! I was screaming in style , thank you very much. Draco here sounded like he was being murdered .”

Malfoy shot them a deadly look, still gripping Hermione’s hand even as they disembarked. “I was not screaming,” he said through gritted teeth, cheeks flushed.

“Oh really?” Blaise said with a smirk, patting him on the back. “Mate, that was… legendary. I think half the fair heard you.”

Malfoy scoffed, finally letting go of Hermione’s hand but not meeting her amused gaze. “I’d like to see any of you handle being thrown around like that with dignity .”

Hermione grinned, crossing her arms. “Well, I thought you were very brave, Malfoy. Facing your fear and all. Quite Gryffindor of you.”

His face turned an even darker shade of pink, and he scowled, tugging at his rumpled shirt. “Don’t flatter yourself, Granger. I only did it because I didn’t want to leave you all alone on the ride,” he muttered, looking away.

Theo let out another whoop, dragging him toward the next ride. “Come on, Draco! I think we’ve got about ten more to try before the night’s over!”

Malfoy groaned, but reluctantly followed, muttering, “I hate all of you.” But Hermione caught a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and couldn’t help but laugh as they moved on to the next ride.

After two more rides, with Draco’s voice growing raspier from all the screaming, the group stumbled over to a row of food stalls, ready to load up on carnival treats. Theo immediately grabbed a massive stick of rock candy, the brightly striped confection glinting under the fairground lights as he cracked off a piece with a satisfying crunch. Blaise chose churros, eating them with the same measured grace as if they were a delicacy at some wizarding gala. Pansy, of course, picked up a stick of bright blue candy floss, grinning as she tore off pieces and stuffed them in her mouth.

And then there was Malfoy, holding a huge, fluffy pink candy floss, looking bewildered at the sticky sweetness in his hand. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as he tentatively pulled off a piece and placed it on his tongue, looking uncharacteristically adorable.

Pansy nudged her with a wink. “Look at him. He’s completely out of his element and doesn’t even know it.”

Hermione laughed, unable to look away as Draco continued eating his candy floss, oblivious to the fact that he looked more endearing with every bite. Suddenly, she felt a strange urge - to just kiss him, right there. Merlin, get it together, Granger! she thought, almost shaking her head to rid herself of the thought. Maybe another visit to the club was in order, just to clear her head. She certainly didn’t need to be thinking about kissing Draco Malfoy of all people.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Theo clapped Draco on the back. “Enjoying the muggle delicacies?”

Draco rolled his eyes but pulled off another piece of the candy floss. “It’s… sticky,” he said with a grimace, trying to keep his fingers clean.

“Oh, come on, it’s a treat! Embrace the chaos!” Theo laughed, finishing off his funnel cake.

Blaise chuckled, handing Draco a napkin. “Don’t worry, Draco. No one’s judging you. Well… except Granger, who seems to be absolutely riveted by you and your candy floss.”

Draco shot her a look, but she quickly looked away, biting her lip to hide a grin. “Not at all,” she said innocently. “I was just... making sure you didn’t choke.”

Pansy burst into laughter. “Oh, please! You’ve been staring at him like he’s a dessert for the last five minutes, Granger.”

Draco went pink, grumbling under his breath as he tried to recover his dignity. “Let’s move on before I die from embarrassment, shall we?”

Hermione smirked, but decided to let him off the hook. “Alright, alright. How about we try a game?” She pointed to the booth with a row of shooting targets, each one attached to a small rose on a stick. “Let’s see who can shoot the most roses for Pansy’s birthday!”

“Perfect!” Pansy grinned, clapping her hands. “That’s the spirit, Granger! Though I doubt any of you have what it takes.

Hermione stepped up first, taking aim with a look of fierce concentration. She squeezed the trigger five times, and each shot hit its mark with ease, knocking down five roses for Pansy.

“That was so hot, Granger,” Theo declared, giving her an exaggerated wink. “Forget the fair – next muggle outing, we’re taking you to a firing range with real guns.”

Blaise smirked, nodding approvingly. “Honestly, I’d pay to see that.”

Pansy collected her roses, giving Hermione an appreciative smile. “Alright, now let’s see if any of you boys can beat that.”

Theo went first, taking aim with the enthusiasm of a child but barely managing to knock down a single rose, despite the considerable stack of coins he’d handed over to try again.

“Oi! What’s with this rigged setup?” he muttered, though he was clearly more amused than upset.

Malfoy followed, scowling as he picked up the air rifle. He fired, and missed. Again, and missed. On the third try, he managed to shoot down a single rose, but not without glaring at Hermione afterward, as if it were somehow her fault.

“This game is clearly faulty,” he huffed, tossing the gun back onto the counter. “No wonder muggles don’t use magic.”

“Admit it, Malfoy – you’re just terrible at it,” Hermione teased, unable to hold back a grin.

Meanwhile, Blaise stepped up, eying the target calmly. “I refuse to embarrass myself,” he murmured, subtly drawing his wand and pointing it at the gun just out of sight of the vendor. Every shot after that hit its mark effortlessly, each rose toppling over in perfect sequence.

“Oh, well done,” Hermione said with a smirk, catching the faintest flick of his wand.

Blaise gave her a sly wink, whispering, “Some tricks are worth using.”

Theo let out a loud laugh, clapping Blaise on the back. “You might have cheated, but at least you looked good doing it!”

Draco scoffed, eyeing Blaise’s collection of roses with begrudging admiration. “Honestly, I think this whole thing was rigged just to watch me fail.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, nudging his shoulder. “Not everything’s out to get you, Malfoy. Maybe next time we’ll go somewhere with less… muggle influence.”

Malfoy muttered something unintelligible, but she caught a hint of a smile as they moved along to the next booth, Pansy chattering excitedly about what they should try next. And for a brief moment, Hermione felt a sense of warmth among them - a feeling she hadn’t expected from a night with Draco and the rest of the Slytherin crew.

Hermione turned to her friends with a mischievous grin. “Alright, my little snakes. One more attraction before we head back for drinks at my place.”

She led them to a massive, gothic-style haunted house at the edge of the fairgrounds, its towering spires and cracked stone façade looming against the night sky. Pansy and Theo looked like excited children, practically bouncing on their feet. Blaise arched an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at Draco.

“I don’t know if I can handle any more of Malfoy’s screaming,” Blaise said, smirking.

Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. “An old, run-down muggle house could hardly scare me,” he said with a haughty tone.

Hermione snickered. “Funny, you said something similar about the Forbidden Forest back in our first year - right before you practically fainted when we saw that shadow.”

Draco shot her a glare, though he said nothing. Just as they approached the entrance, a staff member explained that they would need to enter in groups of two or three. Pansy and Theo immediately volunteered to go with Blaise, shooting Draco a sly look.

“Draco, darling, you’ll be much safer with Hermione,” Pansy teased, batting her eyelashes dramatically. Theo gave him a wink, barely holding back a laugh.

Draco rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest as the others went ahead. He glanced at Hermione, giving a resigned sigh as they stepped up to the entryway together. A thick fog billowed at their feet, and ominous music drifted from within. Hermione felt a flicker of excitement, while Draco appeared mildly irritated but determined.

They entered the darkened hall, stepping over creaking floorboards as the door slammed shut behind them. The room was dimly lit, with flickering lanterns casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Portraits of unsettling, twisted faces lined the walls, their eyes following every move. Draco sniffed, unimpressed.

“Hardly terrifying,” he muttered, glancing around. “They could at least try to - ”

Just as he was speaking, a grotesque, mechanical ghoul sprang from the shadows with a deafening screech. Draco yelped, recoiling and grabbing onto Hermione’s arm before he could stop himself. Hermione burst out laughing, her eyes shining with amusement as he quickly let go.

“You were saying, Malfoy?” she teased.

He straightened, glancing away with a tight-lipped expression. “It just startled me. Anyone would be startled by that ridiculous contraption.”

As they moved deeper into the haunted house, the dim lights flickered, casting long shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Hermione's eyes scanned the eerie, dusty room, but Draco's attention was entirely on her.

“Granger,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “a little bird told me you paid a visit to The Veil recently.”

She shot him a confused look, and he raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Heard you… met someone interesting while you were there."

Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. “Why am I even friends with Pansy and Theo and their big mouths?” She huffed, a light flush colouring her cheeks. “Yes, I went. A couple of times."

He chuckled softly, his eyes flashing with curiosity. "Was there anyone… in particular who caught your attention?”

She hesitated, narrowing her eyes at him. "Maybe there was," she replied, crossing her arms and looking away. “Why do you care? Is this an interrogation?”

Draco blinked, taken off guard by her response. His smirk faltered, replaced by something harder to read. A flicker of confusion, maybe even annoyance, crossed his face as he studied her, trying to gauge if she was bluffing.

“What do you mean, ‘maybe there was’ and what exactly is ‘a couple of times’?” he asked slowly, his voice now edged with tension. His jaw tightened, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in his expression.

But before he could press her further, a loud, shrill scream erupted from behind them. Hermione barely had time to react before Draco instinctively reached for her, pulling her against him, his wand already drawn and shouted, "Stupefy!"

They both froze, Draco’s arm still wrapped around her. Hermione could feel his heartbeat pounding as he looked down at her, horrified.

“It was… an actor, you utter ass!” she exclaimed, torn between laughter and disbelief. “A muggle actor!”

Draco’s face flushed a deep red as he slowly released her, visibly embarrassed. “How was I supposed to know? He was charging at us with an axe!”

Hermione couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer. “Maybe because it’s a haunted house, Malfoy!” She caught her breath, wiping away a tear as he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze. “Honestly, though, that was almost… heroic. Very much like one of the knights in my books.”

He looked at her, momentarily flustered before rolling his eyes. “Oh, shut up, Granger. Let’s just erase his memory and get out of here.”

With a quick spell, they erased the dazed actor’s memory, restoring him to his original position. As they walked out, Hermione glanced up at Draco, still amused. “Don’t worry, I’ll twist it that the great Draco Malfoy saved me from a muggle with an axe.”

Outside, they regrouped with the others. Blaise, Theo, and Pansy looked at Hermione expectantly, and she recounted the incident with glee.

“So,” she finished, grinning, “Malfoy was so heroic, he actually stunned the poor actor.”

Theo burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “Draco, you’re a legend!”

Pansy snickered. “I’d pay to see that. Our brave Draco, protecting the damsel from the terrifying muggle monster.”

Draco scowled, his face still pink. “Can we just move on?”

They all erupted in laughter, and Hermione had to admit, it was nice seeing this side of Draco - mortified but endearingly so.

After a few more playful jabs, they made their way back to Hermione’s flat, still laughing over the night’s escapades.

As the door to Hermione's flat closed behind them, a wave of warmth and familiarity washed over the group. The lively chatter from the funfair still lingered in their minds, but now, in the cozy, dimly lit space of Hermione’s home, everything felt calm and intimate. The sounds of laughter and the crackling of the fire were all that could be heard.

Pansy stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth falling open as her eyes swept across the room. Hermione could barely suppress a smile at her friend's reaction.

“So, Pansy,” Hermione began with a playful smirk, “I know you’ve always had your grand magical parties, but I wanted to try something a bit more… personal.”

The room around them had been magically enlarged to accommodate the group, with an array of food on the table, each dish carefully placed under a stasis charm to keep everything fresh. The foods were arranged in small groups, each with a sign next to them indicating a special memory. There were Trdelnik from their girls' trip to Prague - Pansy’s absolute favourite - and a few Czech beers Hermione knew Blaise would appreciate. There was also a section dedicated to their holiday in France with all the cheeses and wine they had devoured, as well as a nod to Japan and Brazil they visited last year.

And at the centre of it all, an extravagant cake – its layers soaked in champagne. Hermione smiled at the sight of it, pride swelling in her chest. “I had Harry pick up a few portkeys for me so I could get the foods we shared our best memories with. And the cake…” She took a breath. “I made it myself. Hope you like it.”

Pansy was still standing in stunned silence, her eyes moving from one dish to the next, taking it all in. Hermione could almost feel her friend’s overwhelming emotions radiating from her. The flat was filled with the soft glow of floating balloons, each one enchanted to hover gently around the room, creating a whimsical atmosphere. A projector on the wall played a loop of pictures from their various trips – images of the four of them together, laughing, eating, enjoying each other’s company. It was all so…perfectly them.

Finally, Pansy opened her mouth, but instead of words, tears started to well up in her eyes. She shook her head in disbelief, before taking a few steps toward Hermione and wrapping her in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, Pansy,” Hermione murmured into her ear.

Pansy’s voice was thick with emotion when she pulled back, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. None of us deserve you, you silly Gryffindor with a giant heart.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she glanced at the others, who were now watching the exchange in quiet awe.

Even the boys, usually so full of sarcasm and bravado, were left speechless. The warm, heartfelt moment hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt as if nothing else mattered.

“Well,” Blaise said finally, his voice soft but teasing, “I’m glad Pansy never asked me to plan a party.” He flashed a smile at Hermione, his gratitude clear.

Draco, who had been silently observing from the side, raised his glass, his gaze lingering on Hermione a little longer than necessary. “Wow, Granger,” he said, his tone oddly sincere. “I’m really happy I was wrong with my assumptions. It’s amazing. Truly.”

Hermione blinked at him, surprised by the genuine warmth in his voice. She gave him a small, incredulous smile. “Thanks,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze. “That actually means something coming from you.”

The moment was interrupted as Pansy, her emotions still running high, turned to the boys. “Right then, out with the gifts, you gits,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “But just so you know, after this,” she glanced around the room with mock superiority, “I won’t probably be impressed.”

Theo raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re always impossible to impress, Pans. What do you expect?”

“Maybe something really amazing ,” she replied, crossing her arms, looking highly amused.

Blaise stepped forward first, handing her a sleek, elegant glass with a grin. “Here, this is for you.” 

Pansy took it, inspecting it carefully. “What is it?”

“It’s a magical wine glass,” Blaise explained with a wink. “Any alcohol you drink from it will never cause you a hangover.”

Pansy looked genuinely impressed. “Well, I was going to give you a hard time about your gift, but that is pretty clever.”

Theo then sauntered over, his gift a little more... adventurous. He presented a small, sleek box with a knowing look. “Here’s something a little different, just for you.” He opened it, revealing a magically enhanced muggle sex toy. “This one’s a charm that ensures very strong, unlimited orgasms. I thought you’d like it – it’s like the feeling you get from your favourite drink at The Veil.”

Pansy’s eyes widened, but she burst out laughing. “Theo, only you would think of something like that.” She winked, clearly delighted, and then eyed the others. “Alright, who’s next?”

Finally, Draco, as usual, stepped up last. With a slightly dramatic flourish, he handed her a small velvet box. “I know it’s not the most exciting gift, but I thought you’d appreciate it,” he said. 

Pansy took the box, curiosity piqued. She opened it to find a set of keys inside, each attached to a small silver tag. She looked at him in confusion.

“Keys to your new boutique on Diagon Alley,” Draco said, his voice suddenly much more serious. “I thought you deserved it. You've always wanted your own shop, right?”

Pansy stared at the keys for a long moment, the weight of his gesture sinking in. “Draco…” She didn’t know what to say. “I – thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Draco said casually, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I’m sure you’ll make it a success. You’ve got the vision, I’m just helping you make it a reality.”

The room was momentarily quiet, as Pansy, clearly touched, stared at the keys in her hand. Then, Blaise raised his glass. “To Pansy, and to all of us.”

The group echoed his words, raising their glasses and clinking them together. Laughter and banter soon filled the air again, and the evening seemed to stretch out before them, filled with memories, laughter, and food. But soon, as the conversation flowed, Theo leaned back with a grin. “Alright, now that the gifts are out of the way, let’s eat. And, as I said before,” he added with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “let’s get absolutely wasted!”

Laughter erupted from the group, the tension easing as everyone dove into the spread of food. The cake was cut, glasses were filled, and the fun continued well into the night.

Later, after everyone had settled in, Draco found his way to Hermione’s favourite armchair, the one by the window that looked out over the city. Both of her cats jumped up to sit on his lap, one curling around his arm and the other resting contentedly in his lap. He started to pet them absentmindedly, clearly at ease, but his mind was elsewhere. 

Theo, sitting across the room, began to tell one of his ridiculous stories from their recent trip to Spain. Hermione laughed, watching Draco as he absentmindedly scratched Rhysand under the chin. The image of him, relaxed and at peace, made something stir deep inside her. What is it about him? she thought, suddenly feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks.

Her mind wandered, her gaze following Draco as he effortlessly petted the cats. She was snapped from her thoughts when Theo burst out with a hilarious punchline, and everyone laughed, the sound echoing through the room.

But Hermione couldn’t help herself – she caught Draco’s eyes across the room, and for a fleeting moment, she was caught in the intensity of his gaze. Why do I have the feeling I want to be one of my cats? she wondered, her pulse quickening. She wasn’t sure whether it was the alcohol or something more, but she was definitely aware of the space between them shrinking.

Before she could contemplate it further, Theo’s curious eyes drifted toward Hermione’s bookshelves.

"I’ve always wondered what kind of books you keep hidden away on these shelves, Granger," Theo said, standing up and crossing the room toward the bookshelves that lined one wall of her flat. "A woman of mystery, aren’t you?"

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She had not thought Theo would be interested in her book collection. Most of her books were her usual - classics, history, the latest bestsellers - but there were a few that weren’t so... innocent. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

"Careful, Theo," Pansy warned teasingly, clearly aware of the collection Hermione kept in that section. "We don’t need you reading about all of Hermione’s... hobbies."

Theo paused, pulling one book from the shelf, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, I’m sure Hermione’s hobbies are quite fascinating. And from the looks of this spine..." He opened it, grinning at the cover. "I think we’ve found something interesting."

Hermione’s cheeks burned, and she shot a quick glance at Draco. To her surprise, he was watching her closely, his expression unreadable but sharp. He hadn’t said a word, but the intensity in his eyes made her uneasy. As Theo flipped through the pages of one of her more scandalous novels, her mind raced, remembering the last time she had read from this particular book.

Her thoughts went back to that night - her last visit to The Veil - when a stranger, his face cloaked in shadow, had led her through the same scenes she had read about in her books. She had been bold that night, acting out a fantasy she thought she could only dream about. And now, the idea of someone, anyone , reading one of those very books in her own home, made her feel... exposed.

Theo's voice cut through her thoughts, and she suddenly realised he had been reading aloud.

"‘His hands roamed over her skin, trailing fire in their wake...’” Theo said, reading a particularly steamy passage, the corners of his mouth lifting in a wicked grin. “‘She gasped, her body trembling with the anticipation of his touch as he leaned down, his breath hot against her ear...’”

Hermione’s stomach twisted, and she nearly choked on her drink. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, and she was absolutely certain her face was as red as a Weasley’s hair. Her hands suddenly felt clammy, and she shot a panicked look at Draco.

Draco was still watching her. His gaze was sharp, his lips slightly parted as if he had seen something... unexpected in her. The expression on his face was unreadable, but his intense stare was enough to make her pulse quicken.

Theo continued to read, oblivious to Hermione’s growing discomfort. “Oh, this is definitely something, Granger. I didn’t realise you had such... vivid fantasies.”

“Theo,” Hermione choked out, her voice high-pitched with embarrassment, “Put the book down. Now .”

“Oh, don’t be so shy, Granger,” Theo said, his voice laced with mock innocence. “I’m sure you’ve read this a lot , right?”

Hermione couldn’t stand it anymore. “Theo, please.” She grabbed the book from his hands, her face burning with shame. “That’s – That’s private.”

Pansy, sensing Hermione’s distress, shot a glare at Theo. “You’re a bloody menace. Don’t you have any sense of propriety?”

Theo raised an eyebrow, smirking, but didn’t push the matter further. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop. But, Granger, I’m just saying - if you want to make your fantasies come to life, there are other ways to go about it.” His eyes gleamed with mischievous intent as he winked at her.

Before Hermione could respond, she felt Draco’s gaze still fixed on her, unwavering. Her skin prickled, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. It was as if he could see right through her, past her embarrassment, into the very heart of what she had tried to bury. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. His eyes held her captive.

Draco shifted in his seat, his eyes never leaving her. “You should be careful with your... reading material, Granger,” he said coolly, his voice low but with a touch of something more. “People might get ideas.”

Hermione forced herself to breathe. “I don’t need anyone else’s opinions on my books, thanks.”

Theo, meanwhile, was still fiddling with the stack of books he had pulled from the shelf. “Actually, I’ll borrow a few of these,” he said, flashing Hermione a wicked grin. “You know, for study purposes.”

“Right,” Hermione muttered, shaking her head. “Just don’t mark them up like last time, alright?”

The group erupted into a round of laughter again, but Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco’s gaze was still lingering on her, knowing something she hadn’t fully realise yet. She avoided his eyes as much as she could, her heart racing and her thoughts scattered.

As the night continued, the group slowly wound down. Pansy and Theo were passed out on Hermione’s bed, thankfully fully clothed, though their limbs were tangled in a way that suggested they’d both succumbed to the alcohol-induced sleep. Blaise stood near the door, finishing his drink and adjusting his coat, ready to leave.

“Thanks for everything, Granger,” he said with a charming smile, tipping his glass to her. “It was a good night.”

“You’re welcome,” Hermione replied, giving him a small wave. "See you soon."

Blaise gave her a final nod before slipping out the door, leaving her and Draco alone in the living room. The air between them shifted instantly, the quiet in the room only amplifying the tension that had been building ever since they’d shared that strange moment at the haunted house.

Draco, sitting on the couch opposite her, casually stretched out his long legs, his eyes flicking to her every so often. He was quiet for a moment, as if measuring his words carefully before speaking.

"So," Draco began, his voice low and deliberate, "you've been meeting someone in The Veil ... Someone you remember?"

Hermione's stomach did a little flip, but she didn’t want to show her discomfort. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Well, yes and no. I’ve been there only twice... and no, I don’t really remember, but it feels like it was the same person. You know what I mean?" She laughed nervously, shaking her head. "God, I’m really drunk if I’m discussing my sex club visits with Draco Malfoy of all people."

Draco’s lips twitched into a smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’d say it’s not the worst thing we’ve ever talked about,” he said smoothly.

Hermione snorted. "Oh, I’d beg to differ."

“Have you been?” she asked, her voice slightly more curious than she intended.

"Yeah. Many times." Draco said, his gaze never leaving hers, his voice just a touch more serious now.

She raised an eyebrow. “Anyone special for you?”

Draco’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t break their gaze. "Found someone recently. I hope to see her again."

Hermione’s heart skipped. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine, the intimacy of the conversation, or the fact that she was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, but the air around them felt charged. The playful banter had dissolved, replaced by something far more intense. She swallowed hard.

"You remember her?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, you could say I remember her ." Draco’s words hung in the air like a challenge, his lips curling into the faintest smirk.

Hermione blinked, her breath caught in her throat. The intensity of his gaze made her feel as if there were only the two of them in the room, the space around them closing in. She didn’t know what to say, so she just stared at him, feeling both nervous and excited at the same time. There was something about him - something about this moment - that was pulling her in.

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, her cat, Rhysand, suddenly leapt onto Draco’s lap, startling both of them.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione exclaimed, laughing awkwardly. The ginger cat settled in Draco’s lap, oblivious to the tension. 

Draco chuckled, his cool exterior returning. “Well, hello again.”

Hermione laughed, a nervous sound, as she leaned back into the couch, trying to steady her racing heart.

Draco put Crookshanks on the couch and stood up with a resigned sigh, giving her one last glance. “Well, I suppose that's my cue to leave. Not sure I can handle any more cat hair today."

“Right yeah, it’s really late,” Hermione said, trying to gather herself.

Draco paused by the door, throwing her one last glance. “And for the record,” he said, giving her a teasing smirk, “I only screamed on that ridiculous ride because I don’t trust anything like this to work without magic.”

Hermione grinned, feeling her heart flutter at the playful exchange. “Sure, Malfoy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

With a final wink, Draco slipped out the door, leaving her standing alone in the silence of the flat. 

Hermione took a deep breath, her hand still over her heart. What was that? What had just happened between them? She ran her fingers through her hair, her mind racing with confusion.

I wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy , she thought, her stomach flipping again. 

Her eyes darted toward the door, as if expecting him to walk back in and finish what they’d started. But no one came. The silence stretched on.

And just like that, the night was over. 

Chapter Text

It was a quiet, comfortable Saturday evening, and Hermione was sprawled out on her living room couch, thoroughly enjoying a rare, uninterrupted evening. She let out a small, contented sigh as she flipped a page in her book, feeling the warm satisfaction of a day well spent. She’d been remarkably productive – she’d caught up on work from last week, prepared notes for the following week, taken a long walk in the crisp autumn air, and even baked an apple pie that filled her flat with the rich scent of cinnamon and fresh apples. Now, with her book on stress and its effects on the body, she finally felt like she could unwind.

But before she could settle deeper into the chapter, a sharp, bright flicker flared in her fireplace, and with a small rush of green flames, Theo Nott stepped through, looking as poised and self-assured as ever.

Hermione blinked, lowering her book as she looked up at her friend with mild surprise. “Theo! What on earth are you doing here?”

Theo grinned, his gaze sweeping over her cozy setup with a glint of amusement. “Good evening to you too, Granger. I thought I’d check in on you, see what my favourite overachiever is up to.”

She gave a small laugh, sitting up. “Well, I was having a perfectly relaxing evening. Catching up on some reading.” She held up her book, the title glinting slightly in the light.

Theo arched a brow, unimpressed. “A book on stress? Honestly, Granger, if you’re going to read on a Saturday night, you could at least pick something with a bit more spice.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, tucking the book into her lap. “Just because not all of us have a constant flow of exciting adventures –”

“Oh, speaking of adventures,” Theo interrupted, his grin widening. He reached into his bag, pulling out a book she recognised all too well – her favourite guilty pleasure novel, a fantasy romance with a rather intense reverse-harem plot. Broken Bonds by J. Bree.

She gasped, reaching for it instinctively, but Theo held it out of her reach, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Now, Hermione,” he drawled, flipping through the pages. “What would our mutual friends think of our proper, hardworking Granger indulging in such… decadent literature?”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat, but she crossed her arms, lifting her chin with a feigned air of nonchalance. “So I have an appreciation for, ah, creative storytelling. That’s hardly a crime.”

Theo’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful, his eyes flickering with a glint of amusement. “You’re right,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It isn’t a crime at all. The real crime, Granger, is that the idea never crossed my mind before.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up as a faint, wary suspicion settled over her. She watched him closely, searching his face for clues to the sudden shift in his tone. “What, exactly, never crossed your mind?” she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.

Theo’s grin returned, this time layered with a hint of intrigue as he looked at her directly. “That you might not be a woman meant for just one man,” he said smoothly, his gaze steady. The words lingered in the air between them, daring her to react.

Hermione’s heart gave a small, unexpected flutter, but she forced herself to keep her expression composed, though her voice was a bit softer than before. “Are you suggesting something, Theo?”

“Oh, I am,” he replied, that familiar, mischievous gleam brightening his eyes. He leaned forward, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “What if we put those creative storytelling ideas to practical use, hmm? You, me… and perhaps one of the finest specimens the club has to offer?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, giving him a skeptical look. “You’re delusional, Theo. We’re just friends.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed by her response. “ Just friends? Come now, Granger,” he replied with a wicked grin. “Friends who fuck together, stay together. Pansy, Blaise, and I are living proof.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but faltered, caught off guard by his blatant admission. Theo’s expression softened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his voice a low, amused murmur. “Besides,” he added, almost thoughtfully, “I’ve always had a bit of a weakness for bookworms.”

She felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she rolled her eyes, refusing to let him see how his words had flustered her. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a smirk, “but at least I know how to make life interesting.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, snapping her book shut with an exaggerated sigh. She pushed herself up from the couch, determined to end this conversation before it went any further. “Goodbye, Theo,” she said, her tone laced with finality as she made her way toward the kitchen, craving a calming cup of tea to clear her mind.

But before she could even step out of the room, she felt his presence, close – too close. She halted as Theo moved directly in front of her, blocking her path, his face mere inches from hers. His gaze locked onto her, eyes gleaming with a mixture of determination and something else, something intense and unyielding.

“I’m not sorry for this,” he murmured, his voice low and resolute, each word lingering in the air between them.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, to question, to protest – but before she could form a single word, Theo closed the distance between them, his lips pressing against hers in a kiss that was both surprising and unapologetic. The shock of it held her frozen for a heartbeat, his warmth seeping into her, his hand sliding up to her cheek, gentle yet insistent.

Theo’s kiss was confident, unhurried, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along. And for reasons she couldn’t entirely understand, Hermione found herself responding, her own hesitation melting away as her fingers curled slightly into his shirt, grounding herself in the unexpected thrill of it.

Hermione’s initial shock began to fade, replaced by a rising warmth that spread through her body with each passing second. Theo’s lips were firm and assured against hers, and the unexpected intensity of his kiss sent a shiver down her spine. She felt herself instinctively lean closer, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt just a little tighter.

A low, unfamiliar thrill pulsed within her, her heartbeat quickening as his hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin in a way that felt both tender and deliberate. The world around her faded, her mind clouded by the heat of the moment and the growing desire that made her pulse race.

She felt a warmth bloom in her chest, spreading outwards, tingling along her skin, and settling low in her belly. The realisation that she was actually enjoying this – this unplanned, impulsive kiss with Theo – made her cheeks flush, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. Instead, she found herself leaning into him, her own lips parting slightly, allowing the kiss to deepen.

Her breath came faster, the anticipation, the curiosity, all mingling together to create a sensation she hadn’t expected – a sensation that left her wanting more.

Theo pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, a wicked gleam in his as he traced a finger down her jawline. He didn’t release her entirely, though; instead he leaned in, pressing a gentle, teasing kiss just below her ear, then another, lower on her neck, making her pulse quicken even further.

“Come with me to the club,” he murmured, his lips brushing her skin between each word. “Let me show you a good time, Hermione. I know you’ll like it.”

His words were both an invitation and a promise, the heat in his gaze daring her to let go of her usual reservations. Each soft kiss along her neck made it harder to resist, the warmth and confidence he exuded stirring something within her she hadn’t expected to feel.

She swallowed, her breath unsteady, as Theo pulled back just slightly, watching her with a knowing smile.

Theo’s smile deepened, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he continued, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her collarbone. “And, you know,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers, “there are other wizards out there with hands just as skilled as mine. Hands that could make you feel… absolutely incredible.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity sparking despite herself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Theo’s smirk widened, his lips brushing against the curve of her neck. “Just that some people notice you more than you think. And they know exactly what someone like you needs,” he said, his tone dripping with mystery.

Her heart skipped a beat, caught between intrigue and suspicion. She wanted to press for details, to make him name someone, but something in his enigmatic expression told her he wouldn’t give up the secret. Instead, his words left her teetering on the edge of curiosity, imagining what – or who – he might mean.

“Come on,” Theo murmured, his hand slipping down to rest on her hip. “Let’s go. You won’t regret it.”

Hermione’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as Theo’s words lingered in her ears. She wanted to protest, to regain some sense of control over the situation, but his confidence was magnetic, almost impossible to resist. Before she fully realised what she was doing, she’d nodded, allowing herself to be swept up in his pace.

They arrived at the club moments later, the familiar hum of magic greeting her as they stepped into the dimly lit space. The air was thick with intrigue and desire, the low thrum of music weaving through the soft hum of murmured conversations. It wasn’t as crowded as her previous visits, but the atmosphere was no less charged, and Hermione could feel her pulse quicken as she took it all in.

Theo walked beside her with an easy, self-assured stride, his hand resting lightly on her lower back as he guided her through the room. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was the club’s intoxicating energy or Theo’s earlier kiss still lingering on her lips, but a warmth began to build within her, spreading through her chest and settling low in her belly.

“I think I see our candidate,” Theo murmured, his voice smooth as he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. He nodded toward a figure standing near the bar, tall and commanding, with platinum blond hair catching the low light. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Draco Malfoy. 

Draco turned slightly, and his piercing grey eyes immediately locked onto them, or more specifically, onto her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something intense about the way his gaze swept over her, lingering just a moment too long to be casual.

“Theo,” Hermione hissed under her breath, her voice laced with disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Theo’s smirk widened as he straightened, clearly pleased with himself. “I assure you, I’m not,” he replied. “I told you I knew someone with skilled hands, didn’t I?”

Hermione glared at him, her cheeks flushing. “You didn’t say it was him .”

Theo shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Well, who better to bring into this little experiment? He’s perfect, isn’t he?” His voice dropped, turning teasing. “And judging by the way he’s looking at you, I’d say he’s more than willing.”

Before Hermione could respond, Theo was already leading her toward the bar, and she felt her stomach flip with a mix of anticipation and dread. Draco’s gaze sharpened as they approached, his posture relaxed but his eyes gleaming with curiosity and something darker.

“Theo,” Draco greeted smoothly, his voice carrying that signature drawl as his gaze flicked briefly to Hermione. “And Granger.” His lips quirked into a smirk, one brow arching slightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Theo didn’t miss a beat. “We’re here for a little fun,” he said lightly, his tone deliberately vague but loaded with implication. “And I thought you might be interested in joining us.”

Draco’s smirk deepened, his attention shifting fully to Hermione, who was trying – and failing – to mask her unease. “Is that so?” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “And what does our dear Hermione have to say about this?”

Hermione opened her mouth, intending to protest, but Theo cut her off with a charming grin. “She’s warming up to the idea,” he said smoothly. “Aren’t you, Hermione?”

Hermione stared at him, her pulse racing. He looked maddeningly at ease, leaning back in his chair, his pale hair catching the flickering lights of the club. Her eyes trailed over him despite herself – over the sharp line of his jaw, the slight smirk playing on his lips, the way his fingers tapped rhythmically on the glass he held.

Was she really about to do this?

Theo’s voice echoed in her mind: “It’s just a bit of fun, Granger. No strings, no memories. Just pleasure. And you need it.”

But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Malfoy. Malfoy, who had a knack for getting under her skin. Malfoy, who was arrogant, infuriating, and far too attractive for her own good. She’d nearly kissed him at Pansy’s birthday party, and ever since, the memory of his breath mingling with hers, the almost-kiss that sent her heart into a spiral, had been haunting her.

Hermione felt her resolve waver as her thoughts spiraled further. Would it be so terrible? They wouldn’t remember. That was the beauty of The Veil. One evening to get him out of her system. That’s all it would be. A momentary indulgence to purge these maddening thoughts of him.

Her eyes met his again, and the heat in his gaze made her stomach flip.

She straightened her shoulders, her decision made. If she was ever going to let this happen, it had to be here, where anonymity was guaranteed, where there would be no lingering consequences.

Draco chuckled, the sound low and rich, and Hermione felt it reverberate through her. “Well, then,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. “Lead the way.” 

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again, words failing her. She wasn’t sure if it was the way his grey eyes seemed to strip away every layer of composure she had, or the lingering smugness in Theo’s expression as he stood beside her, clearly enjoying her discomfort, but something about this moment felt unreal.

“You’re awfully quick to agree, Malfoy,” she said finally, her voice steady but edged with suspicion.

Draco tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not every day Theo invites me to partake in… whatever scheme this is.” His gaze flicked to Theo briefly before returning to Hermione, his smirk softening into something more calculated. “Though I must admit, the company tonight makes the prospect particularly appealing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. “Of course it does. You’d never pass up an opportunity to inflate your already massive ego.”

Draco’s smirk only deepened, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he leaned slightly closer. “No, Granger. But I would never pass up the opportunity to fuck you.” His words were casual, but his eyes gleamed with intent, his tone carrying a dangerous heat. “Even if I’d rather not share. But anything for our golden girl, right, Theo?”

Theo laughed, the sound rich and unbothered, but Hermione’s mind spun. Her mouth opened, but no words came out at first. Her pulse quickened, and her cheeks burned as she scrambled to collect herself.

Breaking the tension, Theo clapped his hands together. “Alright, enough with the verbal foreplay,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m getting too damn turned on just listening to you two.”

Draco’s smirk turned predatory as his gaze lingered on Hermione. “You heard the man,” he said smoothly. “Lead the way.”

With a final glance at Theo, who was grinning like the cat who got the cream, she stepped forward, her heart hammering in her chest.

Theo gestured toward one of the private corridors, his hand resting lightly on Hermione’s back as he guided her forward. Draco followed closely, his presence a palpable weight behind her. Hermione’s heart pounded as they entered one of the private rooms, her nerves and curiosity warring as the door clicked shut behind them.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in warm, golden hues. A plush sofa lined one wall, and a large, inviting bed dominated the centre of the space. The air was charged, the faint scent of something sweet lingering in the air, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel a rush of nervous energy as she turned to face the two men.

“Well,” Theo said, his tone light but his eyes dark with anticipation. “Shall we?”

Hermione’s hands trembled slightly as she stood near the plush sofa, the reality of the situation sinking in. Her heart was pounding, her nerves making it hard to focus. She could feel both men’s eyes on her, but her mind was racing, questioning every choice that had brought her here.

To her surprise, Draco stepped forward, a calm confidence radiating from him as he handed her a drink. The liquid in the glass was a shimmering gold, catching the dim light in the room.

“It’s Relax, ” Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. “Think of it as a temporary off-switch for all those exhausting thoughts running through that overachieving brain of yours.”

Hermione hesitated, her gaze flickering between the drink and Draco’s unreadable expression. Her grip tightened slightly on the glass as she felt Theo’s presence still nearby, silent but watchful.

After a moment, she exhaled and lifted the glass to her lips, the faint, sweet aroma tickling her senses. The first sip was warm and silky, and as she swallowed, she felt an immediate sense of calm wash over her. It wasn’t overwhelming, just enough to dull the edge of her nerves.

But before she could fully process the drink’s effects, she felt hands – firm, warm – on her shoulders. She startled slightly, her body stiffening, but as the hands moved down to her waist in a slow, deliberate motion, she relaxed. Theo, she thought. Soft lips brushed against the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. They trailed lower, grazing her neck with featherlight kisses, and Hermione’s breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned back slightly, the warmth of his touch drawing her in.

The hands moved with purpose, sliding up her sides, over her ribs, before resting lightly on her breasts. Her heart raced, and a soft sigh escaped her lips as the hands continued their exploration, one sliding down to her waist while the other brushed her hair aside, exposing more of her neck to the teasing kisses.

Hermione’s head tilted slightly, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensation. She was aware of her glass being taken from her, the weight leaving her hand. Her eyes opened briefly, catching a glimpse of Draco in front of her, his sharp features silhouetted in the golden light as he placed the glass on a nearby table.

“See?” Draco’s voice broke through the haze, smooth and teasing, laced with his signature arrogance. She felt the faintest flutter of his presence near her, though her eyes remained closed. “Told you it would help.”

Before Hermione could respond, she felt hands resting firmly on her shoulders. She froze for a heartbeat, startled, but the hands were gentle, confident, and coaxed her into easing her tension. She assumed it was Theo, and as her shoulders softened beneath the touch, she leaned into it.

Soft lips brushed against her ear, warm and teasing. They moved lower, tracing a slow path along her neck, and Hermione’s breath hitched. A shiver ran through her as the kisses deepened, becoming more deliberate, lingering just long enough to send a wave of heat coursing through her.

The hands slid down from her shoulders, gliding over the curve of her arms before settling on her waist. Their grip was firm but not possessive, and Hermione’s pulse quickened as they moved again, this time brushing upward, tracing the curve of her ribs before resting against her chest. She gasped softly as warm palms cupped her breasts, fingers lightly teasing through the fabric of her dress.

Her head tipped back slightly, her lips parting as her breaths grew shallow. She couldn’t stop herself from melting into the touch, her thoughts quiet for the first time in what felt like forever. One hand began to slide lower, tracing the curve of her waist, while the other moved to sweep her hair away from her neck, baring more of her skin to the lips that were now kissing and lightly nipping at her sensitive flesh.

Hermione’s eyelids fluttered open briefly, her gaze hazy and unfocused. She caught sight of Theo standing in front of her, his sharp features illuminated by the soft, golden light. His expression was unreadable as he watched her, his eyes dark with desire.

The realisation hit her like a jolt – Theo wasn’t standing behind her.

Her lips parted, a question forming in her mind, but before she could voice it, the hands tightened slightly on her waist, grounding her in the present. The kisses along her neck grew bolder, teeth grazing lightly against her skin, and a quiet moan escaped her lips, silencing any doubt. The sensation was too overwhelming, too consuming to stop.

Draco’s silver eyes darkened as they locked onto hers, his gaze holding her in place like an unspoken promise. He leaned in slightly, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. “Relax, Granger,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, each syllable seeming to slip beneath her skin. “I’ve got you.”

His hands moved with an almost preternatural precision, coaxing shivers from her as if he’d memorised the language of her body. Then his voice softened further, dipping into a husky whisper near her ear. “If you want to stop, say the word ‘Peacock.’”

The word struck something in her – a distant bell of recognition that she couldn’t quite place. For a fleeting moment, the familiarity nagged at the edges of her thoughts, but she quickly pushed it away, letting herself be drawn back into the intoxicating present. Her breath hitched, and she let her eyes drift closed again, surrendering to the hands and lips that seemed to know exactly how to undo her.

Theo’s sudden presence startled Hermione out of her haze. He stood before her, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her breath catch. There was something almost wild in his expression, a hunger she hadn’t seen in him before, and it sent a jolt of nervous energy straight through her.

“I think it’s my turn now,” Theo said, his voice low and rough, though a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “But I’m not starting here.” 

Hermione barely had time to process his words before Theo leaned in – not for her lips, as she’d expected, but closer, his hands brushing her sides with a teasing slowness. At the same time, Draco moved behind her, his warm hands returning to her waist, steadying her as if they’d choreographed the moment perfectly. Together, they began their work, fingers skimming over the edges of her dress.

“Wait,” Hermione managed, her voice breathy as she tensed slightly. “What are you – ”

But Theo’s smirk deepened, his hands tugging lightly at the fabric of her dress as Draco’s fingertips grazed the zipper at the back. “Relax, Granger,” Theo murmured, his tone both reassuring and teasing. “We’re just… helping.”

Draco’s hands moved deftly, pulling the zipper down in one smooth motion, and Hermione shivered as the cool air kissed her exposed skin. Theo eased the straps off her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her bare skin as the dress slipped lower and lower. Hermione’s breaths came faster as the fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before them in nothing but her simple cotton bra and matching knickers.

For a moment, she hesitated, her arms instinctively twitching as if to cover herself. Her underthings were practical, not seductive, and she felt the sting of self-consciousness rise in her chest. “It’s not exactly – ”

Draco’s hands found her breasts before she could finish, his palms pressing firmly over the thin fabric of her bra. “Perfect,” he said softly, cutting off her thoughts entirely. His voice was low, almost reverent, as his fingers traced over the swell of her breasts, making her shiver. She glanced back at him, her heart pounding as she saw the look in his eyes – one of pure, focused desire. It left no room for doubt.

Before she could say anything, Theo dropped to his knees in front of her, the sudden motion drawing her attention sharply downward. Her eyes widened as she watched him, his hands sliding up her thighs to rest on her hips, his touch steady and unyielding.

“What are you –” she began, her voice faltering with surprise.

Theo tilted his head up, a mischievous glint in his eye as he winked at her. “Just appreciating the view,” he said smoothly, his grip on her hips tightening slightly, holding her steady.

Hermione’s breath hitched as she stood there, caught between Theo’s teasing hands and Draco’s firm touch at her chest. She could feel the tension in the room thickening, every nerve in her body alive with anticipation and the undeniable pull of the moment.

Theo’s hands tightened slightly on Hermione’s hips, his grip grounding her as he looked up at her with a mixture of mischief and heat. “I am going to kiss you.” 

Before Hermione could process his words, Theo leaned forward, his lips brushing against the most intimate part of her, even though the thin layer of her underwear still separated them. The unexpected sensation made her gasp, her body jolting slightly in surprise, but his hands steadied her, holding her in place. His lips pressed more firmly this time, and she felt the heat of his breath through the fabric, sending a wave of tingling anticipation coursing through her.

A soft, involuntary sound escaped her throat as Theo’s mouth moved against her, his kisses deliberate and teasing. The friction between the thin barrier and the warmth of his lips was almost too much, her knees trembling as her body responded instinctively. Every touch sent another spark of pleasure rushing through her, leaving her breathless and unable to think about anything except the sensations he was creating.

Hermione’s head tipped back, her hands gripping Theo’s shoulders for balance as her breaths came faster. She felt her body growing warmer, the heat pooling low in her belly as the pressure of his mouth intensified. The dampness between her legs grew, and she was sure it had to be noticeable now, but Theo showed no signs of stopping. Instead, his movements became more purposeful, his lips pressing, his tongue teasing against the fabric.

For a moment, she forgot about everything – where she was, what she was doing, who else was in the room – until a deep, smooth voice whispered in her ear.

“Do you like it?” Draco murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

Hermione’s eyes flew open, and her breath hitched at the reminder of his presence. She’d nearly forgotten he was behind her, his sharp, calculated gaze undoubtedly taking in everything. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Her mind was a haze of sensation, her body unable to focus on anything except the growing ache Theo was expertly stoking within her.

Draco didn’t wait for her answer. His hands slid over her sides, trailing upward with practiced ease, until they reached her bra. With one swift, deliberate motion, he unhooked it and pulled it away, letting the garment fall to the floor. Hermione barely registered the loss of the last piece of her upper clothing before his hands were on her, warm and firm as they cupped her breasts.

She gasped again, her body arching slightly into his touch as his thumbs brushed over her sensitive nipples. The dual sensations overwhelmed her – Theo’s lips below, Draco’s hands above – and she felt herself spiraling into a state of pure, unrestrained pleasure. Her breaths turned into soft, shaky moans as her body surrendered to the sensations, every nerve alive and responsive to their touch.

Draco leaned closer, his lips brushing against the curve of her neck. “You’re beautiful like this, Granger,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and desire. The combination of his words and their touches sent another shiver through her, and she felt herself melting further into the moment, any remaining hesitation slipping away entirely.

Draco’s fingers moved with deliberate precision, capturing Hermione’s sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled them gently at first, eliciting a sharp gasp from her, and then squeezed slightly, enough to send a jolt of sensation radiating through her chest. Her body arched instinctively into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as she surrendered to the unfamiliar but overwhelming pleasure.

She had never felt anything like this before. The dual focus of sensation – the firm, teasing grip of Draco’s hands on her breasts and the warm, persistent pressure of Theo’s lips below – was pushing her into a realm of pleasure she hadn’t known existed. Every nerve in her body felt alive, the intensity of their combined attentions leaving her dizzy with desire.

Theo’s hands, which had been steady on her hips, began to shift. Hermione barely registered the movement until she felt the fabric of her last barrier slipping down her thighs. Theo had hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear, and with one smooth, confident motion, he tugged it down, leaving her entirely exposed.

The cool air kissed her bare skin, sending a shiver through her, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from the two men enveloping her. She felt vulnerable yet electrified, her breath catching in her throat as she realised just how fully she was at their mercy.

Draco’s hands remained steadfast, his fingers teasing and kneading her breasts in a way that made her toes curl. Meanwhile, Theo leaned back for a moment, his hands steadying her as his eyes roamed over her now-naked form with an almost reverent hunger.

Hermione’s instinct to pull back came suddenly, a brief but urgent need to create space and reclaim her scattered thoughts. Her mind was spinning, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. She tried to step away, to take just a second to breathe and centre herself, but the firm grip of two pairs of hands kept her firmly in place.

Draco’s fingers tightened slightly on her hips, anchoring her with a deliberate strength, while Theo’s hands moved lower, cupping and kneading her bare backside with a confidence that left her breathless.

“Theo, I – ” she began, her voice shaky, but she was cut off as his lips returned to her skin, this time pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her thigh. Her words dissolved into a soft gasp as his mouth trailed higher, each kiss deliberate and slow, teasing her in a way that made her legs tremble.

“Shh,” Theo murmured against her skin, his voice low and laced with amusement. “No thinking, Hermione. Just feel.”

His hands slid upward, molding the curves of her hips and backside as his mouth worked its way closer to her centre. The heat of his lips against her bare skin was almost too much, and her breath hitched as her body responded instinctively, leaning into his touch despite the whirlwind in her mind.

Draco’s presence behind her was no less commanding. His hands moved back to her waist, steadying her as his lips brushed the side of her neck, planting soft, possessive kisses that sent shivers racing down her spine. His thumbs stroked her skin in soothing circles, but there was no mistaking the unyielding grip that kept her exactly where he wanted her.

Theo’s kisses grew bolder, his tongue flicking lightly against her skin as he drew closer to her core, and Hermione’s mind went blank, the tension between them pulling her under completely. Every nerve in her body felt alive, hyperaware of the hands, mouths, and heat surrounding her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t protest – not when her body was betraying her, leaning into them both, craving more.

Hermione’s breath hitched as her gaze locked onto Theo, his lips parted slightly, his eyes dark with desire. The sight of him on his knees before her, his hands gripping her hips, sent a rush of heat pooling low in her belly. She couldn’t help the way her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the raw intensity of the moment making her heart race.

As Theo leaned closer, his lips brushing just shy of her most sensitive spot, Hermione’s body trembled in anticipation. But then, just as the tension peaked, he pulled back. Before she could process the absence of his touch, Draco’s hands and lips vanished as well, leaving her standing there, exposed and vulnerable, the sudden coolness of the room stark against the heat still coursing through her.

Theo rose gracefully to his feet, his gaze never leaving hers. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with unspoken intent. He extended a hand to her, his voice smooth and commanding as he said, “Come.”

Her body responded before her mind could catch up, her trembling hand slipping into his. Theo led her toward the large bed at the centre of the room, his grip steady and reassuring as her bare feet padded softly against the plush rug. When they reached the edge, he paused, his hand brushing hers as if coaxing her forward.

Hermione sat down, the soft bedding sinking beneath her as she shifted backward, propping herself up on her elbows. Her pulse quickened as she watched the two men before her, both still fully dressed, their sharp, elegant features framed by the dim golden light of the room. They stood there, unmoving for a moment, their hungry gazes fixed on her, devouring every inch of her exposed skin.

She noticed their tension, the way their chests rose and fell, the tightness of their jaws. And lower still, the unmistakable evidence of their arousal, the strained fabric of their trousers making her stomach flip. The sight of them, fully clothed yet visibly affected by her, sent a thrill racing through her body. It was intoxicating to realise that she was the source of their desire, the centre of their focus.

Neither spoke, and the silence stretched, heavy with anticipation, as Hermione let her eyes flicker between them. Her lips parted slightly, her breathing unsteady as she waited for whatever would come next. The charged air between them buzzed with unspoken promises, and Hermione, for the first time in her life, felt truly, powerfully desired.

Theo’s smirk was pure confidence as he knelt before her, his hands skimming up her bare calves to her thighs, now free of any fabric to obstruct him. Hermione’s breath hitched as his touch sent a ripple of heat through her, his fingers pressing into her skin with just enough firmness to leave her wanting more.

Without breaking eye contact, Theo guided one of her legs to rest over his shoulder, his grip steady and sure. The vulnerability of the position made her stomach flip, but the hunger in his gaze kept her rooted in place, her body aching with anticipation. She gasped softly as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her inner thigh, placing slow, deliberate kisses that moved steadily upward.

When his mouth finally reached her centre, Hermione couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her. Theo’s tongue flicked out, warm and wet, tasting her with an unhurried confidence that made her toes curl. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as his movements grew bolder, his tongue parting her folds and delving deeper. The sounds of his attention – wet, intimate, and utterly consuming – filled the room, mingling with Hermione’s increasingly uneven breaths.

Her head fell back for a moment, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her. But as her body adjusted to the intensity of Theo’s touch, her gaze flickered forward – and that’s when she saw Draco.

He was standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the edge of the bedframe, his arms crossed over his chest as his piercing grey eyes drank in the scene before him. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw and the dark heat in his gaze betrayed his own desire. His gaze moved deliberately, tracing the path of Theo’s hands on her thighs, the way her chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, and finally landing on her face.

The connection between their eyes sent a new wave of arousal spiraling through her. She couldn’t look away, not from the way Draco was watching her, his focus unwavering and almost possessive. She could see the tightness in his trousers, the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric, and the knowledge that he was as affected as she was made her head spin.

Theo’s tongue worked skillfully, his pace shifting between slow, teasing licks and firmer, purposeful strokes that had her moaning softly. Yet, even as her body trembled under his touch, her mind stayed locked on Draco. The tension in his posture, the hunger in his eyes – it was as though he was claiming this moment as much as Theo was, simply by watching.

“Do you like this?” Theo murmured against her, his voice low and gravelly as his lips brushed her sensitive skin.

Hermione didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her breath hitched as Theo’s tongue flicked against her again, his fingers digging slightly into her thighs to hold her steady. But it wasn’t just Theo that had her on edge – it was Draco. The intensity of his gaze, the way he hadn’t moved an inch yet seemed to command the entire room, was pushing her arousal to a place she hadn’t known existed.

“Do you like this?” Draco’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding, drawing Hermione’s attention away from the overwhelming sensations Theo was creating. Her eyes snapped to his, the intensity of his gaze pinning her in place. He didn’t move from where he stood, still leaning casually against the edge of the bedframe, but the authority in his tone was impossible to ignore.

Hermione’s lips parted, a soft moan escaping her as Theo’s tongue flicked against her again, but no words came. Her body was too caught up in the pleasure coursing through her to form a coherent response.

Draco’s eyes darkened, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he pushed further. “Do you want more?” he asked, his voice like velvet, smooth and unrelenting. “Tell him to use his fingers,” he continued, his tone dropping an octave. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, her body trembling as the weight of Draco’s words sank in. The dominance in his voice, the way he commanded her without lifting a finger, sent another wave of heat surging through her. She bit her lip, her hands gripping the bedding tightly, torn between the pleasure Theo was giving her and the power in Draco’s gaze.

Her cheeks flushed, her voice shaky as she finally managed to whisper, “Use your fingers.”

Theo paused for a moment, his lips brushing her thigh as he chuckled softly. “As the lady commands,” he murmured, his hands sliding upward, his fingers moving with purpose. Draco’s satisfied smirk deepened as he watched Hermione surrender further, her body arching slightly in response to the combination of their attention. The air between them buzzed with tension, every word and touch pushing her closer to the edge.

Theo’s movements quickened, his fingers and tongue working together in perfect rhythm, pushing Hermione closer and closer to the edge. Her breathing turned shallow, her body trembling as the pleasure built inside her, growing into a powerful wave that felt just within reach. The world around her faded; all she could focus on was the fire pooling low in her belly, tightening with each deliberate stroke.

Her head tilted back, and she closed her eyes, surrendering completely to the overwhelming sensations. Every nerve in her body felt alive, every stroke and flick of Theo's touch drawing her closer to the brink. She let out a soft, breathy moan, her hands gripping the bedding as she felt herself teeter on the edge of release.

But then, the mattress shifted beneath her.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, her breath catching in her throat as she turned her head to see Draco kneeling beside her. Her gaze trailed over him, taking in the sight of his bare chest, the defined lines of his body, and the confident smirk tugging at his lips. At some point in the moments she’d been lost in pleasure, he had stripped away his clothing entirely, and now his hard, fully erect length stood proudly before her, leaving no question as to his readiness.

Draco leaned closer, his hand brushing Hermione’s cheek as he tilted her head up to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes made her breath catch, her lips parting instinctively even before he spoke.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, his tone low and velvety but laced with authority.

Hermione obeyed without hesitation, parting  her lips before she could think. The immediate compliance brought a glimmer of amusement to Draco’s expression, and his lips quirked into a smirk. “So obedient, Granger,” he teased, his voice carrying a playful edge. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Before she could react to his words, Draco shifted forward, guiding himself to her lips. Hermione felt the heat of him as she took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling experimentally around his tip. The motion felt oddly familiar, sending a flicker of déjà vu through her, though she couldn’t quite place why. She pushed the thought aside, too caught up in the moment, in the weight of him on her tongue, the way his length stretched her mouth as she adjusted to him.

At the same time, Theo’s fingers were moving inside her, curling and stroking with a practiced rhythm that sent waves of pleasure radiating through her core. His tongue circled her clit, alternating between firm, purposeful licks and gentle flicks that made her body tremble. The combined sensations were overwhelming, her mind splitting between the pleasure Theo was giving her and the heat and power of Draco in her mouth.

Draco’s hand slid into her hair, his fingers tangling in her curls as he took control, guiding her movements with a dominant confidence. He set a deliberate pace, pressing deeper with each thrust, and Hermione found herself matching his rhythm instinctively, the act pushing her arousal to a dizzying height.

“Good girl,” Draco murmured, his voice rough with pleasure as his grip in her hair tightened slightly. He moved faster now, his hips rolling forward as he set the tempo, his control unwavering. The dominance in his actions sent a rush of heat through Hermione, amplifying every sensation. Her body responded eagerly, her moans vibrating around him as Theo’s fingers stroked that perfect spot inside her, his mouth working her clit with precision.

The dual sensations built rapidly, the pleasure inside her coiling tighter and tighter. Hermione’s thighs quivered, her breathing growing more erratic as she teetered on the edge. And then, with one final, perfectly timed curl of Theo’s fingers and a firm suck against her clit, the tension shattered.

Hermione’s orgasm crashed over her, her body arching as a strangled moan escaped her, muffled by Draco’s length in her mouth. Her hands gripped the bedding tightly, her body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her. Draco groaned above her, the vibration of her muffled sounds sending shivers through him, but he maintained his pace, his control unwavering.

“So good,” Theo murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. Hermione barely registered the words over the rush of blood in her ears, the aftermath of her release still echoing through her body like a thunderclap. She felt utterly undone, her limbs trembling as she tried to catch her breath. Nothing in her life had ever felt this intense, this overwhelming. It left her disoriented, a mixture of exhilaration and disbelief coursing through her.

But she didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Theo’s hands disappeared from her hips, and she realised with a jolt that Draco had pulled away as well. Before she could react, two pairs of hands were on her, firm but unhurried, guiding her back onto the bed. They moved her with practiced ease, positioning her in the centre of the plush mattress as if orchestrating her like a symphony.

Her hazy gaze flickered downward, just in time to see Draco settling between her thighs, his sharp, focused eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart stutter. The look in his gaze was primal, full of purpose, and it sent a fresh surge of heat rushing through her.

Hermione’s breath hitched as she felt Draco’s strong hands gripping her thighs, holding her in place with a possessive confidence. The contrast of his cool demeanor and the heat radiating from his skin was intoxicating. She couldn’t help but squirm slightly, the anticipation making her nerves buzz.

Her attention shifted briefly to Theo, who was now beside Draco, casually shedding the last of his clothing. He moved with a slow, deliberate grace, his smirk never fading as he caught her watching him. The sight of him bare, lean and taut with muscle, sent another pulse of warmth through her, leaving her utterly captivated by the scene unfolding before her.

Theo tossed his shirt to the side and stood beside Draco, his gaze sweeping over Hermione’s flushed, exposed form with an appreciative hunger. “She’s breathtaking, isn’t she?” he murmured, his words directed at Draco, though his eyes never left hers.

Draco didn’t respond immediately, his focus entirely on her. The weight of his gaze made Hermione’s skin tingle, her body attuned to his every movement. “She is,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, almost reverent. His hands tightened on her thighs as he leaned closer, his lips quirking into a smirk. “And now, Granger,” he added, his tone taking on a teasing edge, “let's get started.”

Draco didn’t hesitate. With one smooth, deliberate thrust, he entered her fully, and Hermione let out a sharp cry, the intensity of the moment stealing her breath. The sensation was overwhelming – a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that made her body arch involuntarily, her fingers clutching at the sheets beneath her. Her mind reeled, struggling to process the raw, unfiltered connection surging between them.

Before she could fully adjust, Theo was beside her, his hands already in motion. One warm palm cupped her breast, his fingers teasing her sensitive nipple, while his lips captured the other with an eager, possessive hunger. His teeth grazed her lightly, just enough to make her gasp, and he soothed the sensation with his tongue, sending shivers racing down her spine.

“Such a good girl,” Theo murmured against her skin, his voice a low, seductive purr that made her flush with heat. “So beautiful like this… letting us take you.” His lips brushed against her ear, his warm breath tickling her as he whispered words that would have normally made her blush furiously. But now, in the heat of the moment, his voice only pushed her higher, stripping her of any inhibitions.

Draco’s grip tightened on her thighs, his strong hands pulling her legs wider as he set a pace that was rough and unrelenting. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, punctuated by Hermione’s breathless moans as Draco drove deeper with each thrust. She wasn’t used to this – this kind of intensity, this commanding rhythm – but her body responded eagerly, her hips lifting instinctively to meet his movements.

The burn of the friction, the stretch of him inside her, and the way his fingers dug into her skin all combined into something utterly consuming. It was too much and not enough all at once, and she felt her thoughts dissolving into pure sensation.

As Draco continued his relentless tempo, Theo’s hand slid down her torso, tracing a slow, deliberate path along her stomach until his fingers found her clit. Hermione gasped loudly, her body jolting at the sudden, focused touch. Theo circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with expert precision, his fingers matching the rhythm of Draco’s thrusts. The combined sensations were electric, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

Hermione’s head tilted back, her body trembling as she felt the intensity building within her once again. Her instincts told her to close her eyes, to let herself drown in the overwhelming sensations, but Theo’s voice cut through her haze.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he murmured, his tone gentle yet commanding. His hand on her breast tightened slightly as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear. “Look at us, Hermione. Watch how beautiful this is. Watch how we take you.”

Her lashes fluttered, and she forced herself to obey, her gaze shifting downward. The sight of Draco between her legs, his body taut with exertion, his eyes dark and filled with hunger, sent another rush of arousal through her. She watched as Theo’s fingers worked her clit, their movements slick and confident, and the sheer intimacy of it made her head spin.

Hermione’s moans grew louder, her body straining against the sensations as they pushed her closer and closer to the edge. She was utterly overwhelmed, completely consumed by the two of them, and the realisation that she was the centre of their attention – their shared focus – made her pulse race even faster.

Time became meaningless – minutes, hours, Hermione couldn’t tell. All she knew was the relentless pleasure coursing through her body, the overwhelming sensations that consumed her entirely. Draco maintained his rhythm, each thrust precise and deliberate, filling her completely in a way that made her toes curl and her moans grow louder. His grip on her thighs was bruising, but she craved it, grounding herself in the intensity of his movements.

Theo’s hands moved with practiced ease, one still circling her clit with maddening precision while the other teased and kneaded her breasts. His lips were on her neck, her ear, whispering praises and dirty promises that made her cheeks burn and her arousal surge. Every touch, every word, every thrust from Draco pushed her closer to the edge, and her breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps.

Draco’s pace began to quicken, his thrusts growing rougher and deeper, each one hitting a spot inside her that made her body tremble uncontrollably. Hermione felt the coil of pleasure in her belly tighten, winding so tightly she thought she might break apart. Her hands fisted in the sheets as her body arched, chasing the release she could feel building inside her.

“Draco,” she gasped, her voice trembling with the force of her need. “Theo – oh god – don’t stop.”

Draco’s breathing grew heavier, a low growl escaping his throat as he drove into her with increasing urgency. His hands slid down to grip her hips, holding her firmly in place as he buried himself deeper, the sharp movements sending shocks of pleasure straight through her core. She could feel him throb inside her, his own release close, and the thought sent a thrill through her.

Theo’s fingers sped up, his pressure perfect, and the combination of their attention tipped her over the edge. Hermione cried out, her body arching sharply as her orgasm crashed through her, a wave of pure, blinding ecstasy that left her trembling. Her walls clenched tightly around Draco, and the sensation was his undoing.

Draco groaned low and guttural, his hips slamming into hers one final time as he came, spilling himself deep inside her. His hands dug into her hips as his body tensed, his head falling back as he gave into his release, the raw sound of his pleasure sending a final shiver down Hermione’s spine.

Theo’s fingers slowed but didn’t stop, drawing out the aftershocks of her orgasm until her body collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, her body still tingling with the remnants of pleasure. Draco’s weight pressed against her for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his breathing just as ragged as hers.

Theo’s voice cut through the haze with a sharp command, his tone dripping with confidence. “It’s my turn.”

As if on cue, Draco pulled away, leaving Hermione suddenly empty. The absence of him made her gasp softly, her body instinctively shifting in search of the fullness she’d grown used to. A small sound of protest escaped her lips before she could stop it, and both men exchanged amused glances, their smirks mirroring each other.

“Patience, Granger,” Draco drawled, his voice teasing but laced with something darker. “You’ll get exactly what you need.”

Before she could respond, four hands moved on her simultaneously, lifting her effortlessly as though she were a doll in their control. Hermione let out a breathless laugh, her limbs pliant as they positioned her. Her knees met the mattress, and she found herself straddling Theo, who was now reclining on the bed with an infuriatingly confident smirk. His hands gripped her thighs, steadying her as he looked up at her with a glint of mischief in his dark eyes.

“Ride me, golden girl,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding, his gaze locking onto hers. 

Hermione hesitated, her breath catching as her body tensed with both anticipation and nerves. She’d never done this before – never been in this position, this vulnerable, this bold. But the way Theo’s hands held her, the heat of his skin beneath hers, and the shared hunger in the air made her pulse quicken. She bit her lip, glancing briefly at Draco, who was standing beside the bed, his sharp eyes watching her every move with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

Taking a steadying breath, Hermione shifted her hips, aligning herself with Theo. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself onto him, the stretch of him making her gasp softly. Theo groaned beneath her, his head tipping back against the mattress as his hands tightened on her hips, guiding her downward until she was seated fully on him.

Both of them exhaled simultaneously, their breaths mingling in the charged air. The sensation was overwhelming – Theo filling her completely, the heat of him making her head spin. Hermione’s hands braced against his chest, her fingertips digging lightly into his firm muscles as she adjusted to the fullness.

“That’s it,” Theo murmured, his voice thick with pleasure, his hands sliding up to rest on her waist. “Take your time, love. You feel… incredible.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t look away. The raw admiration in his eyes bolstered her confidence, and as she began to move, slowly at first, the tension in her body eased, replaced by a growing wave of pleasure that left her breathless.

Hermione began to move, her hips rolling slowly at first, testing the rhythm and the sensations coursing through her. Theo’s hands stayed firm on her waist, guiding her subtly but letting her take control. Her confidence grew with each shift of her body, the stretch of him inside her igniting a deep, intoxicating pleasure that built with every movement.

She placed her hands on Theo’s chest for balance, her fingers splayed over the taut muscles that flexed with each thrust upward. Her movements became bolder, her pace quickening as she leaned into the power she felt – her ability to control the rhythm, to draw pleasure from him as much as he did from her. Her breath came in soft pants, mingling with the low groans Theo let out beneath her.

“You’re incredible, Hermione,” Theo murmured, his voice rough and heavy with pleasure. His dark eyes stayed locked on hers, filled with a mixture of admiration and raw hunger that made her pulse quicken. “Look at you – so beautiful, so strong. You’re perfect.”

His words sent a rush of heat through her, and she arched her back slightly, letting herself revel in the sensations and the praise. She felt powerful, in control, her body moving with a confidence that thrilled her. The way Theo’s gaze devoured her only added to the intensity, his hands gripping her hips tightly as though he couldn’t bear to let her go.

But then her eyes drifted from Theo’s face, sliding to the side where Draco sat on the edge of the bed, watching them with an expression that made her body tighten even more. His grey eyes were dark, fixed entirely on her, his focus unwavering. He was utterly absorbed by the sight of her, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, his lips parted as though he was tasting the air she moved in.

Hermione’s breath hitched as her gaze dropped lower, finding Draco’s hand wrapped around his thick, hard length. He was stroking himself slowly, his movements measured, deliberate, as though savoring every second of the scene in front of him. The sight was hypnotic, raw, and impossibly erotic, and the realisation  that he was doing this because of her – because of what she was doing – sent her arousal spiraling to new heights.

She couldn’t look away. Even as her hips moved faster against Theo, riding him with increasing intensity, her eyes stayed locked on Draco. The way his hand moved over himself, the way his jaw clenched with restraint, the sheer hunger in his gaze – it was almost too much. Her breath quickened, her body responding to the visual as much as to the physical sensations Theo was giving her.

Theo noticed the shift in her attention and let out a low chuckle, his hands tightening on her waist as he thrust upward to meet her movements. “You like being watched, don’t you?” he teased, his voice thick with amusement and desire. “Look at him, Hermione. He can’t take his eyes off you.”

Draco’s lips quirked into the faintest of smirks, his pace on himself never faltering as he met her gaze with a heat that left her breathless. The combination of Theo inside her and Draco’s burning stare – his obvious arousal – was overwhelming, an unrelenting assault on her senses. Hermione’s movements became more frantic, her body chasing the crescendo that felt just within reach.

Her moans grew louder, her body trembling as she balanced on the edge of release, and it was Draco’s low, murmured words that pushed her over.

“Come for us, Granger,” he said, his voice like molten velvet. “Let us see how beautiful you are.”

And with that, Hermione shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves so intense she thought she might break apart. Her head tipped back, her lips parted in a breathless cry as her body quaked, every nerve alight with pleasure. Theo groaned beneath her, his own release following moments later, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he shuddered inside her.

As Hermione rode out the waves of her orgasm, her body trembling with aftershocks, her eyes remained locked on Draco. Even through the haze of her pleasure, she could see the shift in him – his hand moving faster now, his strokes more urgent as his breathing grew heavier. His head tipped back slightly, his lips parting as a low, guttural groan escaped him.

Draco’s eyes never left hers, his gaze dark and blazing with intensity, as though he were drawing every ounce of his pleasure from the sight of her. His hand tightened around his length, pumping with a steady rhythm, and Hermione’s breath hitched as she watched him. There was something utterly raw and unrestrained about the way he took himself in hand, his body taut and flushed with arousal, his chest rising and falling with each sharp breath.

With a final, deep thrust of his hips into his own hand, Draco tensed, his jaw clenching as his release hit him. A guttural sound tore from his throat, low and primal, as he spilled over his fingers, his body shuddering with the force of it. The sight was hypnotic, his expression a mixture of relief and satisfaction as he let himself come undone before her.

Hermione couldn’t look away, her own body still humming from her climax as she took in the aftermath of his release. The sheer vulnerability in his expression, mixed with the confidence of his presence, left her breathless. Draco’s hand fell to his side, his chest heaving as he smirked lazily at her, his eyes still holding that undeniable hunger.

“You’re full of surprises, Granger,” he drawled, his voice thick and uneven, but no less commanding. “I might even say you’re dangerous.” Theo chuckled beneath her, his fingers brushing her sides gently, grounding her back into the moment. 

Hermione’s body grew heavier with each passing moment, her eyelids fluttering as exhaustion crept in, relentless and undeniable. The aftershocks of pleasure still pulsed faintly through her limbs, leaving her utterly spent, her mind unable to form coherent thoughts. She could feel herself slipping into a haze, the hum of the club growing distant and muffled, like a fading echo.

Two pairs of hands moved over her skin, their touches no longer urgent but gentle, careful, reverent. Theo’s hand smoothed over her hair, brushing it back from her damp forehead with surprising tenderness, while Draco’s strong arms shifted her carefully, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. The warmth of their skin was comforting, grounding her even as her mind spiraled further into exhaustion.

“She’s completely out,” Theo murmured, his voice low, a trace of amusement in his tone but undercut by something softer. “Didn’t think we’d actually wear her out.”

“Stop talking,” Draco replied sharply, though his voice held none of its usual bite. His tone was steady, controlled, as though he was grounding himself by taking charge of the moment. “Just… help me.”

Theo’s chuckle was soft and brief, his hands moving to adjust Hermione’s legs as Draco carried her with surprising ease. She felt herself being shifted, her body responding faintly to the motion but unable to fight the pull of sleep.

“She’ll be fine,” Theo said reassuringly, his voice fading slightly as Draco began to move. “Let her rest.”

Draco didn’t reply immediately, his jaw tight as he glanced down at her peaceful face, her breath even and soft. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resolute. “I’ll take her home.”

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she had no idea where she was. Darkness enveloped her room, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains the only source of illumination. Her chest rose and fell quickly as her heart raced, her body tense as she tried to orient herself. She blinked several times, her gaze darting around the familiar outlines of her bedroom furniture, the comforting scent of her lavender pillow mist grounding her.

Home. She was home.

Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, her palm pressing against her sternum as she willed her frantic heartbeat to slow. Her breathing steadied, but her mind remained a whirlwind of confusion and fragmented memories. What had happened? The last clear moment she could recall was Theo, standing in her living room, wearing that infuriatingly smug grin as he convinced her to go to the club. After that… flashes of light, laughter, hands… her pulse quickened again, her thoughts spiraling.

Did I… did we…?

The thought alone made her cheeks flush, a strange mixture of disbelief and intrigue coursing through her. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing against the duvet as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory. Vivid sensations rose unbidden – lips on her skin, whispered words that made her toes curl, hands guiding her body. But no matter how hard she tried, the details were blurred, leaving her teetering on the edge of recollection without ever fully grasping it.

Shifting slightly, Hermione caught a glint of something on her nightstand. Turning her head, she noticed a neatly folded piece of parchment sitting beside her wand. Her brow furrowed as she reached for it, her fingers brushing the crisp edges before unfolding it carefully.

The handwriting was unmistakably Theo’s, sharp and playful, with the same confidence that exuded from him in person. The note read:

Told you I’d show you a good time.

Hermione’s cheeks burned as her fingers tightened around the parchment. Her heart gave a traitorous flutter, both at the note itself and the implications behind it. She placed it back on the nightstand with deliberate care, leaning back against the headboard as her mind raced.

A good time? That much was clear from the way her body felt – sated, languid, with a faint ache that reminded her of the intensity she’d experienced. But why couldn’t she remember more? And why did that note feel more like a taunt than a reassurance?

Shifting again, Hermione tried to focus on the familiar details of her room, hoping the familiarity would steady her. The scent of cinnamon still lingered faintly in the air, a reminder of the apple pie she’d baked earlier that day, and the soft fabric of her favourite duvet was a comfort against her skin. But no matter how cozy her surroundings were, the questions nagged at her.

She groaned softly, running a hand through her hair as she stared at the note again. What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Text

Hermione sat at her desk in the Ministry of Magic, frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. The stack of parchment before her was a testament to the seemingly endless roadblocks her department faced. Every time she pushed forward a new initiative – policies to protect magical creatures or reforms to improve magical creature welfare – her superiors found a way to thwart her. Excuses, delays, and impossible bureaucratic demands: it was as if someone was intentionally tossing sticks under her feet to trip her up.

The truth was undeniable: nobody cared about the Golden Girl anymore. Not unless they could use her name for their own gain. She might have been hailed as a hero once, a symbol of progress and determination, but those days were long gone. Now she was just another cog in the Ministry machine, struggling to make a difference in a system that seemed designed to keep people like her from succeeding.

It wasn’t that she wished ill on her friends – far from it – but it still stung to see how different things were for Harry and Ron. Harry’s Auror career had been meteoric. Nothing seemed out of reach for him. Promotion after promotion came his way, as though his name alone could cut through the red tape that bogged Hermione down at every turn. And Ron? He wasn’t even an Auror anymore. He worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports – Head of the department, no less.

Her lip curled slightly as her eyes skimmed the latest memo denying her department additional funding. Quidditch. Always bloody Quidditch. Ron’s department seemed to have an endless supply of Galleons to pour into international tournaments, stadium upgrades, and whatever else he deemed necessary. Meanwhile, her department struggled to scrape together resources for even the most critical reforms.

The injustice of it all was maddening. And to make matters worse, the whispers around the Ministry were relentless. Hermione Granger, the bitter ex-girlfriend, jealous of Ron’s success. The woman who couldn’t let go of the past and was now trying to sabotage his department out of spite.

They had all conveniently forgotten who the cheater was.

Hermione’s jaw tightened as the familiar pang of hurt and anger surged through her. It wasn’t as if she wanted Ron to fail. Despite everything, she genuinely wished him well – just not at the expense of her own work. But it wasn’t just Ron’s department getting in her way; it was the entire Ministry. The boys could still do no wrong in their eyes.

At least Harry had remained friends with her. Though he was still Ron’s best friend, he’d never tried to push them back together or defend Ron’s actions. And while they were as close as ever, Harry always made sure Hermione knew she still had his unwavering support.

Ginny, too, had been a lifeline. She’d cut off her brother without a second thought, declaring his actions “treasonous” and refusing to speak to him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Just as Hermione felt her frustration nearing a boiling point, a soft tap-tap at her office window caught her attention. She turned to see an owl perched outside, its feathers ruffled from the brisk November wind. With a flick of her wand, she opened the window, and the bird swooped in, dropping a folded note onto her desk before fluttering off.

Curious, Hermione unfolded the parchment.

Breastfeeding done! My boobs are free and so is my Friday night. Me, you, Luna, Parkinson, and a big amount of alcohol. Woohoo, girls’ night!

 – G

Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. Ginny’s blunt humour was exactly what she needed to break through the fog of irritation clouding her mind. She leaned back in her chair, clutching the note as a smile spread across her face. The thought of a girls’ night was enough to make the rest of the workweek seem tolerable. 

Hermione folded the note and tucked it into her pocket. A flicker of hope sparked in her chest. With renewed focus, she turned back to the pile of parchment on her desk. The Ministry might not care about the Golden Girl anymore, but that didn’t mean she’d stop fighting. Hermione Granger had never let obstacles stop her before, and she wasn’t about to start now.

The wine-fueled chatter of the girls' night continued with an almost conspiratorial energy, their laughter bubbling up every few minutes. Hermione found herself more relaxed than she’d been in ages. Her frustrations at the Ministry, the jealousy she hated to admit she felt toward Harry and Ron, all of it seemed distant now. She was surrounded by friends who weren’t afraid to speak their minds – or delve into a good bottle of wine.

Pansy, on her fifth glass, leaned in with a dramatic flair, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let me just say this again for emphasis,” she declared, pointing her wine glass at the group. “A magical sex shop selling Muggle toys enhanced by Theo’s enchantments is going to be the business of the century. You lot don’t understand what I’m onto here.”

Ginny snorted, struggling to contain her laughter. “You keep saying ‘Theo’s enchantments,’ but does he even know you’re volunteering him for this enterprise?”

Pansy waved her hand dismissively. “Details. Theo will love it. He’s got a natural talent for this kind of thing. Imagine vibrators that adjust their rhythm to match your magical signature, or enchanted handcuffs that…”

Hermione choked on her drink, holding up a hand to stop her. “Okay, we get the picture. Merlin, Pansy!”

Luna nodded thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her lips. “You might want to be careful, though. Items like that could attract Bickletrees.”

“Bickletrees?” Ginny echoed, wide-eyed.

“Oh yes,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “They’re invisible, of course, but very curious about magical innovations. If your toys aren’t warded properly, they’ll infest them and cause all sorts of strange vibrations.”

Pansy stared at Luna, trying to decide whether to laugh or take her seriously. “Strange vibrations don’t sound like the worst outcome for a sex toy,” she said finally, earning another round of laughter.

Pansy gave a mock exasperated sigh before turning her attention back to Hermione, who had been quietly laughing into her glass. “Come on, Hermione. Be my business partner. It’s got to be better than wasting your time at the bloody Ministry.”

Ginny raised her glass enthusiastically. “I think it’s brilliant. We can sell them in the back of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes! George would love it. Sex toys and joke products – it’s a perfect match!”

“Absolutely not,” Hermione said, though she couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto her face. “George would turn the shop into an absolute circus.”

Pansy leaned in, her expression earnest. “But really, Hermione. You’re a born innovator. Just think about it. We could revolutionise the industry. Magical enhancement, custom charms, maybe even matching lingerie that changes colour or temperature.”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll admit, the idea is… inspiring. But speaking of inspiration…” She reached into her bag and pulled out three small wrapped packages, handing one to each of the women. “I actually have something for you all that pairs perfectly with this conversation.”

Pansy tore hers open and gasped theatrically. “ The Witch’s Forbidden Obsession ! Hermione, you’re feeding my addiction!” She clutched the book to her chest like a prized possession.

Ginny grinned as she unwrapped hers. “ The Keeper’s Secret Passions ? Oh, this is absolutely about a Quidditch player. I’m already invested.”

Luna examined her book with the same dreamy expression she always wore. “ The Star-Crossed Charms. How beautiful. Thank you, Hermione. I’ll pair this with my Mooncalf tea and a cozy blanket.”

Hermione pointed at Pansy, who was already flipping through the pages of her book. “This is the last spicy book I’m getting you if you keep telling everyone about my reading habits.”

Pansy grinned shamelessly. “You say that now, but wait until I finish this and demand another recommendation. You’re my supplier, Granger. Don’t try to quit me.” She leaned closer, her grin widening. “Speaking of things you try to quit, how’s your new hobby?”

Hermione froze mid-sip. “What hobby?”

“The one where you sneak off to sex clubs.” Pansy’s voice was loud enough that Ginny and Luna turned sharply toward Hermione.

“You went to a what ?” Ginny practically shouted, her grin spreading from ear to ear.

Hermione sighed, placing her glass down as her face turned crimson. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Pansy.”

“Well, yeah,” Hermione admitted after a long pause. “Months ago. And, honestly, I thought I’d die from embarrassment, but I guess… I’m this type of girl now.” She shrugged as though it were no big deal, though her cheeks were still flushed. “The weird part is, I keep seeing – well, feeling – the same guy there. I still remember his touch, but I can’t quite recall his voice. It’s maddening.”

Ginny smacked the table with excitement. “That’s it! Mum’s babysitting this weekend. Harry and I are going. You have to tell me everything!”

Luna clapped her hands together. “Oh, you mean The Veil? I know the place! Padma and I go there regularly. It’s very liberating, don’t you think?”

The group fell silent for a moment, staring at Luna in shock.

“You what?” Ginny finally asked.

Luna smiled serenely. “Padma and I go there for stress relief. The atmosphere is lovely, and you can meet such fascinating people. I’m surprised we haven’t bumped into each other.”

Pansy laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. “Luna, you absolute dark horse. I knew I liked you.”

Ginny shook her head in disbelief before suddenly narrowing her eyes at Hermione. “Speaking of running into people, I saw Malfoy this week. You see him all the time at your little snake gatherings. That man looks ridiculously fit these days.”

Hermione spluttered, nearly knocking over her glass. “I – I wouldn’t know. I haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, please,” Pansy drawled, rolling her eyes. “You’ve noticed. Don’t lie to us, Granger. It’s just a matter of time before you two have sex, the one you’ll never forget.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands, her mortification only growing as the others laughed.

Eventually, Ginny and Luna had to leave, Luna muttering something about Mooncalves needing their biannual moonlit walks.

Pansy, however, wasn’t ready to call it a night. She grabbed Hermione’s arm with an almost conspiratorial grin. “Come on, we’re meeting Theo, Blaise, and Draco at The Serpent’s Charm. Theo’s been sulking all night because we didn’t invite him to discuss boys and toys. He dragged Blaise and Draco out for their own ‘boys’ night’ just to spite us. You can’t make me face that lot alone.”

Hermione sighed but couldn’t help smiling as Pansy practically dragged her along. “You do realise this guarantees that I’ll have no peace for the rest of the night, right?”

Pansy laughed, looping her arm through Hermione’s. “Granger, darling, peace is overrated. Chaos is where the fun begins.”

Hermione and Pansy arrived at The Serpent’s Charm shortly after Ginny and Luna had left their girls’ night. The pub was buzzing with laughter and the low hum of chatter, but it wasn’t hard to spot their group – Theo’s hysterical laughter echoed above the din. Even Draco Malfoy, usually composed and aloof during these outings, was laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking. His pale blond hair was slightly disheveled, and his sharp features were softened by the mirth.

“Oh, they’re pissed,” Pansy muttered, smirking as they approached.

“Very,” Hermione confirmed, though she couldn’t deny the butterflies that erupted in her stomach when she caught Malfoy’s laughter. Ginny had been right. He was fit, and Hermione cursed the fact that all their earlier sex talk – and the wine – had left her distinctly... distracted.

Malfoy was the first to spot them. “Ah, Pansy, there you are!” he said, raising his glass with a crooked grin. “I just heard about your genius new venture – a bloody sex shop. I insist on investing.”

“Right to business, are we?” Pansy said, sliding into the booth beside Theo.

Malfoy’s gaze slid to Hermione, his smirk softening into something more unreadable. He gave her a polite nod. “Granger.”

Her breath hitched. Was it the way he said her name? Or the faint heat in his expression? Merlin, she was drunk. And unfortunately, as her gaze traveled over him, she realised she was also a little too aware of how attractive he looked tonight. This was going to be a long night.

Before she could take a seat, awkwardly avoiding the temptation to sit directly across from Malfoy, Theo turned to her with a mischievous grin. “Well, well, if it isn’t our star from the other night. Hello, darling. I can’t stop thinking about our threesome. Hope you’re feeling better, because I really – ”

“You had a threesome with this slut and didn’t tell me?” Pansy interrupted with a mock-offended gasp, swatting Theo’s arm. “Who was the third? Was it you, Blaise?”

Blaise, leaning casually in his seat with a drink in hand, chuckled. “Sadly, no. That honour wasn’t mine.”

Hermione glared at Theo, her cheeks flaming. “Thank you very much, Theodore, for your unparalleled discretion.” She straightened her shoulders, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “And for the record, no, I don’t remember who it was. Can we please not discuss my sex life in public?”

Pansy leaned forward, grinning. “Oh, Theo, I hope you cherished every second because, clearly, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Theo wiggled his eyebrows, leaning back with a smug grin. “Believe me, I did.”

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Theo, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t stop – ”

“Oh, come on, Granger. No need to be shy.” He smirked. “Though, pity I don’t remember the guy either. Makes it hard to wank to a memory without a face, you know?”

Blaise snorted into his drink, and Pansy nearly fell out of her chair laughing. “Merlin’s beard, Theo, you are so gross,” Pansy managed between wheezes.

Theo shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s a valid complaint! Honestly, Granger, you’re denying me closure here. If you remember anything – anything at all – feel free to clue me in. For… scientific purposes.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The only thing I’m about to clue you in on is how it feels to be hexed into next week if you don’t drop this conversation.”

“Feisty,” Theo teased, winking at her.

As the others burst out laughing, Hermione felt Malfoy’s gaze on her. She glanced at him and immediately regretted it. He was watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. His expression was dark, unreadable, and entirely too distracting.

“What?” she snapped, suddenly defensive.

Malfoy’s lips twitched, and Blaise, ever the instigator, raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, Malfoy? You jealous?”

“Oh, yes,” Malfoy replied with a wicked grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t know what to do with Granger.”

Hermione froze, her cheeks heating again. The way he said it, that deliberate pause, the playful smirk – it shouldn’t have made her stomach flip, but it did.

Her internal monologue raced. What the hell is wrong with me? Why did she suddenly have the overwhelming urge to close the space between them and kiss that stupid smirk off his face? Was it the wine? The girls’ night sex talk? Or maybe all the tension between them over the years was finally boiling over. Whatever it was, she needed to squash it.

She clenched her fists, briefly contemplating slapping him again – like that time in third year. Maybe that would jolt her out of whatever this ridiculous attraction was. But then again… what if slapping him didn’t help? What if it only made things worse?

Across the table, Theo broke the tension with a laugh. “Oh, I’d pay good money to watch you try to handle Granger, Draco.”

“Enough of this,” Hermione said, forcing herself to sound composed. She grabbed a drink from the nearest tray and took a long sip, glaring at Theo and Blaise. “You two are worse than gossiping Hogwarts students.”

“Don’t look at me,” Blaise said, holding up his hands. “I wasn’t the one announcing threesomes at the table.”

Pansy cackled. “Honestly, Granger, I don’t know why you’re embarrassed. It’s not like any of us are saints.” She turned to Malfoy with a knowing grin. “Well, except maybe Draco. He’s the poster boy for controlled chaos, after all.”

Malfoy scoffed, his smirk returning. “Controlled chaos has its benefits.”

Hermione’s heart raced again. What was it about the way he spoke? She shook her head, trying to focus.

Pansy, meanwhile, had turned her attention back to Theo. “Speaking of benefits, where’s the next drink? And Theo, you owe me a full recount of that threesome. I need all the juicy details.”

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands. This was going to be a very long night.

This was going to be a very long night.

Draco Malfoy groaned internally, swirling his drink with more aggression than necessary. He had endured many forms of torture in his life – some physical, some emotional – but this? This felt worse than a Crucio from Aunt Bella herself.

Sitting directly across from Hermione Granger, watching her laugh and sip her drink, completely oblivious to the fact that he was the man in The Veil, was its own unique brand of torment.

How could she not remember? How could she sit there so casually, so unaffected, when he couldn’t go five minutes without replaying the sound of her moans or the way she’d trembled beneath his touch? His jaw tightened as his traitorous mind supplied yet another vivid memory, and he quickly downed half his drink to drown it out.

Get it together, Malfoy. You’re better than this.

Maybe. Just maybe. If he could get her to remember, he could ease the unbearable tension eating away at him. Surely, once she connected the dots, she’d feel the same magnetic pull he did. Right?

Right. That’s a good plan, he decided. The problem, of course, was figuring out how to do it without making himself look like a desperate fool. He needed a clever opening, something subtle. Something casual. Something that didn’t scream I think about you naked more often than I care to admit .

“So, Granger,” he began, his tone perfectly casual as he leaned back in his chair. “Have you seen my white peacock?”

Blaise, drunk and predictably unhelpful, choked on his drink. “Wait, what? Has Granger seen your white cock? What the hell, Malfoy?”

Draco’s head snapped toward his so-called friend, horrified. “ What? That’s not – ”

“What about Malfoy’s cock?” Pansy interjected, smirking as she leaned forward, clearly delighted by his discomfort.

Draco flushed, his ears burning. “No one is talking about my bloody – ”

“What? Why would I want to see your penis, Malfoy?” Hermione interrupted, looking both confused and horrified as she stared at him.

Theo, who was already laughing hysterically, added fuel to the fire. “Well, it’s obvious it’s white.”

Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as the rest of the table dissolved into drunken laughter. “No! My peacock , you idiots! The birds around the manor. The ones Theodore claims bite him every time he visits!”

“They do bite me!” Theo howled, clutching his sides.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. “Oh, those peacocks. Sure, Malfoy. Makes perfect sense.”

Pansy cackled. “Honestly, Draco, this might be the most spectacular failure I’ve ever seen. Please, tell us more about your white peacock.”

Even Hermione couldn't suppress a laugh. She tilted her head, her brown eyes dancing with amusement. “No, Malfoy, I haven’t seen your peacock. They weren’t around when I was at the manor for breakfast. Do you want me to? To see your white peacock, I mean?”

Draco’s mouth opened, then shut. Her lips twitched, and before he could formulate a response, she burst into laughter.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. His flawless plan to spark a meaningful connection with her had now turned into a joke about his hypothetical white cock .

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Fantastic job, Malfoy,” he muttered to himself. “Truly impressive.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, mate,” Blaise said, clapping him on the back. “Not everyone can pull off casual conversations about their anatomy.”

“Oh, stop it, Blaise,” Pansy said, smirking. “He’s just shy about sharing his ‘peacock’ with Granger.”

Theo, still cackling, raised his glass in a mock toast. “To Malfoy’s white cock – I mean, peacock . May it find the admiration it clearly craves.”

Hermione shook her head, still grinning as she took another sip of her drink. “You lot are incorrigible.”

Draco sighed, casting a side glance at her. She was still smiling, her cheeks flushed from laughter, and for a fleeting moment, he didn’t care about the humiliation. It was worth it, just to see that expression on her face.

Merlin, I’ve got it bad, he thought, taking another long sip of his drink.

Hermione wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, her cheeks aching from the force of her grin. What in Merlin’s name had just happened? Malfoy and his absurd white peacocks – or, as the drunken morons at the table had gleefully reframed it, his “white cock.” The entire exchange had been utterly ridiculous. Hilarious, yes, but ridiculous all the same.

The buzz of laughter was fading now, replaced by a dangerous quiet in her mind. Her smile faltered as a flush of warmth crept up her neck, and before she could stop it, her thoughts betrayed her. She imagined it – him. Not the bird, obviously, but… well, the other thing.

Bloody brilliant, Hermione, she chastised herself, glaring into her nearly empty glass. Exactly what you needed. One offhand comment and you’re off picturing Draco Malfoy naked. Get a grip.

She took another sip of her wine, hoping the alcohol would drown her unwanted thoughts, but it was no use. His smirking face was still there, as vivid in her mind as if she’d conjured it with a spell.

And then, as if summoned by her wayward imagination, his voice drawled through the haze of her wine-soaked brain.

“So, how’s your dirty book obsession going, Granger?”

Hermione groaned aloud, slumping against the back of her chair. “Why does everyone have to bring up my romance novels? Seriously, I don’t nitpick your reading choices!”

“Huh, why don’t I know about this?” Blaise asked, perking up with interest. “Can I borrow some? For research purposes, of course.”

“Oh, darling, we don’t shame,” Pansy interjected with a sly smile, clearly reveling in Hermione’s mortification. She turned to Malfoy and Blaise, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “And for the record, I just got a new one from Hermione. You boys could really learn a thing or two from these books, you know.”

“I already did. Right, Hermione?” Theo chimed in, his grin wide and shameless.

Hermione shot him a glare so cold it could have frozen Fiendfyre.

“Oh, don’t worry, Pansy,” Malfoy said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ve already been inspired by Granger. Got myself a copy of one of her smutty little books. Very educational.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite her embarrassment. “Well, as the resident expert, or so you all seem to think, do share. Which one?”

“A Court of Silver Flames, ” he replied smoothly, his smirk widening. “It’s fascinating, really. There’s this one scene – ”

“Which scene?” Pansy interrupted, already laughing, but Malfoy’s attention wasn’t on Pansy. His piercing grey eyes remained locked on Hermione’s.

Hermione froze. Her cheeks burned crimson. That book. That book. The very one she’d read – and then recreated a scene from with the stranger during her time in The Veil. A flush of panic coursed through her veins. Sweet Circe. Did he know? Could he possibly – 

“Your favourite, Granger?” Malfoy asked, his tone casual, but his eyes glinted with something sharper. “I saw it on your table at Pansy’s birthday. Seemed pretty well-worn. I had to know what the Golden Girl likes best.” He winked.

Her heart pounded as her mind raced. He couldn’t know. Could he?

Hermione forced a laugh, schooling her expression into one of practiced nonchalance. “Well, Malfoy, if you liked that one, I can recommend plenty more. I have a whole collection featuring arrogant assholes. It’d be like reading your biography, except in the books, they actually get the girl.”

“Who says I don’t?” he shot back smoothly, his smirk unwavering.

Before their banter could escalate into one of their infamous verbal sparring matches, Blaise intervened, holding up a hand like a referee. “For Merlin’s sake, can you two not argue for one bloody evening?”

“Thank you, Blaise,” Theo said, though his grin suggested he was anything but annoyed. “Now, back to more important things – like my brilliant business plan. I can already see how much our sex shop is going to help us get laid. Not that I actually need help, of course.” He winked.

Everyone groaned in unision, but Theo continued, undeterred. “It's not like I had to pursue any of you too hard, right? I could even give performance reviews. See who was best, of course.”

“Will you shut up, you horny wanker?” Malfoy groaned, running a hand down his face.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy? Worried it wasn’t you?” Theo teased, laughing uproariously. “Hermione, darling, I think you have a solid chance to win.” He shot her a wink.

“Right,” Hermione said, pushing back her chair with a sigh. “That’s my cue to leave, before I’m as pissed as the rest of you.”

Malfoy stood as well, tossing a few galleons onto the table for the drinks. “I’ll walk you.”

Three pairs of eyes followed them as they moved toward the door, glinting with curiosity and unspoken amusement.

“Piss off,” Malfoy growled at them, his tone daring anyone to comment.

The chill of the night air hit Hermione’s face as they stepped outside, the sounds of the quiet night street a stark contrast to the noisy chaos they’d just left behind. They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones.

Hermione stole a sideways glance at him, her thoughts a tangled mess. The cool air did little to settle the flush on her cheeks. Did he know? Could he have guessed? Or was this all just another one of Malfoy’s games?

She wasn’t sure what scared her more – the idea that he might know, or the fact that a small, treacherous part of her didn’t care if he did.

Malfoy, for his part, remained silent, his expression unreadable as the two of them disappeared into the night.

As they walked through the quiet streets, Hermione found herself hyper-aware of the man beside her. She noticed the way his stride matched hers, how his hands were tucked casually in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable. The cool night air bit at her cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the heat that lingered beneath her skin.

Needing to break the silence – and the swirl of inappropriate thoughts threatening to surface – she cleared her throat. “So, how are your mother’s Christmas gala preparations coming along? I imagine she’s got it all planned down to the last snowflake.”

Draco turned his head, quirking a brow at her. “You have no idea. It’s practically a military operation. And, of course, the guest list is more meticulously curated than a Hogwarts Potions exam.”

Hermione smiled, though she could sense there was more he wasn’t saying. “That sounds… impressive. Stressful, but impressive.”

“Stressful is one word for it,” he muttered, his voice turning drier, “she’s also prepared a guest list full of unattached witches I simply must meet. She’s determined to ‘help’ me find someone.”

Hermione laughed, but there was a pang of sympathy beneath it. “Narcissa Malfoy: society hostess, gala planner, and now matchmaker extraordinaire. She’s really branching out, isn’t she?”

Draco gave a rueful chuckle. “Oh, it’s worse than you think. She’s been dropping not-so-subtle hints about how I’m wasting my prime years and how it’s a shame for the Malfoy name to go without a proper heir.”

“Well,” Hermione teased, “I’m sure the witches of Britain are lining up for the chance.”

He smirked at her, his gray eyes glinting. “Careful, Granger, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But her heart betrayed her by skipping a beat.

“And what about you?” he asked suddenly, tilting his head toward her. “Surely your parents have opinions about your love life – or lack thereof.”

“Oh, they have plenty of opinions,” Hermione admitted with a laugh. “Mum’s been trying to set me up with the son of one of her book club friends. He’s a dentist, apparently.”

“Charming,” Draco drawled.

“Exactly,” Hermione said, smirking. “And my dad keeps slipping hints about how he wouldn’t mind grandchildren. Subtle things like leaving baby catalogues on the coffee table.”

Draco barked out a laugh, the sound warmer than she expected. “It seems we’re both victims of parental matchmaking. Maybe we should attend each other’s holiday gatherings just to keep them off our backs.”

Hermione froze for a split second before laughing along. “Don’t tempt me. Honestly, I’d probably say yes if you asked.”

She meant it as a joke, but the words hung in the air, heavier than she intended. Draco glanced at her, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

To distract herself from the sudden tension, she blurted, “For the record, I hate avocado toast.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Avocado toast, that thing we had at breakfast with your mother,” she repeated. “It’s terrible. I don’t know why it’s so popular. It’s just mush on bread.”

For a moment, he stared at her, and then he burst into laughter. It was a deep, genuine laugh that made his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Granger,” he said once he could breathe again, “you’re full of surprises. First, the smutty books, and now you’re an avocado toast hater. What’s next? A secret love for Quidditch?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she said with a grin.

“Well, I’ll just have to invite you over for a proper breakfast, then,” he said, his voice light but with a hint of sincerity beneath it. “Something decent. Eggs, perhaps. And, if you’re lucky, I might even show you the bloody white birds. I promise to avoid saying the word ‘peacock.’”

Hermione laughed again, the tension between them easing. She found herself glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, the way the soft light from the streetlamps caught in his hair, the curve of his smile.

Before she knew it, they were standing in front of her flat. The night felt quieter now, the air heavy with unspoken words.

“Well,” she said, shifting awkwardly, “thank you for walking me home.”

Draco hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know.”

She blinked. “Embarrassed about what?”

“Your books,” he said, his gaze steady. “Or your love for cats, or plants, or even those horrid leggings you insist on wearing. None of it’s something to be ashamed of.”

Hermione stared at him, caught off guard.

“And for the record,” he continued, his voice deepening, “no one at that table thinks your job is meaningless. Least of all me. The only thing I hate about it is how everyone there overlooks you. Without you, Granger, none of us would be here. Not me. Not Saint Potter. None of the Ministry fools.”

Her breath hitched, her cheeks warming at his words.

He glanced down, his tone softening further. “And… I know I’ve apologised for everything else – for the war, for being a complete arse. But I never apologized for mocking your hair.”

“My hair?” she asked, startled.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I made fun of it because I didn’t know what else to do. But the truth is…” He hesitated, then looked her in the eye. “I love it. Your wild, bushy hair. It suits you.”

Something inside Hermione snapped. She stepped forward before she could think, reaching up to cup his face as she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss caught Malfoy by surprise, and for a moment he froze, but then he responded. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving with hers as if he’d been waiting for this moment for years. One hand slid up, tangling gently in her hair, and he tilted her head back, leaning into her.

The world fell away. The chilly night air, the muffled sounds of the city – none of it mattered. All Hermione could feel was him: his warmth, his touch, the way he seemed to pour unspoken emotions into the kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless. Hermione stared at him, her heart pounding.

“I…” she stammered, panic crashing over her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – ”

“Granger – ” he began, his voice firm but gentle.

But she didn’t let him finish. “Goodnight, Malfoy,” she said quickly, retreating toward her door.

Before he could stop her, she disappeared inside, leaving him standing alone in the cool night air, his kiss still burning on her lips.

Chapter Text

How long can you spiral about a kiss? For Hermione Granger, the answer was precisely two weeks.

At first, she had been utterly horrified. What was wrong with her? First, her visits to The Veil , then having a threesome with Theo and now she’d gone and kissed Draco Malfoy of all people. Not to mention, she’d done it while drunk, standing outside her flat, without a single coherent thought in her wine-soaked mind. The first morning after, she’d decided she had only two viable options: avoid him forever or pretend it never happened and blame it entirely on alcohol. Yes, that was her now – a woman kissing and, apparently, having vague sex-related adventures with her friends .

If Ron ever found out, he’d have a field day. Hermione could practically hear him saying, “I knew it! I always said Malfoy was shady, and now you’re snogging him?” But did she care? Not really. Malfoy had said it himself – he and their friends liked her just as she was. The people who didn’t? They weren’t worth her time.

And it wasn’t like her parents would find out, she reasoned. Her dad would probably have an aneurysm if he knew his daughter was spiraling over a boy – especially that boy.

By the second day, her anxiety shifted. She wasn’t horrified anymore; now she was bracing herself for some kind of message. A How could you? owl, a sarcastic quip at work, or maybe even a Malfoy-style hex for her "presumptuousness." But it never came. There was no word, no visit, nothing at all. He doesn’t know what to say either, she told herself, the thought a mixture of relief and disappointment.

But two weeks later? That’s when the real spiral started.

Hermione spent every free moment overanalysing. Did he hate the kiss? Was he embarrassed? Oh, God – what if he was disgusted? She’d single-handedly ruined years of building their civil, even friendly, relationship. All her progress, all their tentative banter – it was gone. Blown to smithereens by one impulsive, tipsy decision.

She groaned aloud and slumped forward, burying her face in the stack of untouched work papers on her desk. It was almost lunchtime, and she’d accomplished nothing except mentally berating herself for the millionth time.

The universe, however, seemed to think she wasn’t suffering enough.

A soft knock came at her office door.

“Come in,” she mumbled, sitting up and forcing herself to look at least vaguely professional.

The door creaked open, and her colleague, Susan Abernathy, stepped inside, her expression unusually tense. Susan was usually unflappable, her perpetually calm demeanor a contrast to Hermione’s more fiery nature. But now, Susan was wringing her hands, her shoulders hunched as though she were preparing to deliver terrible news.

“Hermione,” Susan said cautiously, shutting the door behind her. “I just came from a meeting with Mr. Clivewell.”

Hermione tensed immediately at the mention of his name. Derek Clivewell was a senior official in the Department of Magical Affairs, a man with a reputation for bureaucracy, self-importance, and – most annoyingly – a complete disregard for anything he deemed “sentimental nonsense.”

“And?” Hermione prompted, her voice clipped.

Susan hesitated, shifting her weight nervously. “Well… he’s diverted the funding for the unicorn reserve in Scotland. You know, the project we’ve been working on for months? He says the funds are being allocated elsewhere.”

“Where?” Hermione demanded, her voice sharpening.

Susan winced. “To the Hogwarts Battle Anniversary Quidditch Match. You know, the one Ron Weasley is organising.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“He says it’s more ‘public-facing’ and will ‘strengthen Ministry ties to Hogwarts,’” Susan continued quickly, as if trying to rip off the bandage. “And… there wasn’t anything I could do. He’d already signed the order.”

Hermione didn’t even let her finish. Fury coursed through her veins as she jumped to her feet. “Unbelievable!” she spat. “They’re taking funding from an endangered species reserve to fund a Quidditch match ?”

Susan gave her a wary look. “Hermione, maybe – ”

“No,” Hermione snapped, grabbing her wand and her bag. “This is absolute rubbish, and I’m not standing for it. They can take their Ministry politics and shove them straight up their – ”

“Hermione,” Susan interrupted, her tone pleading. “Just… be careful, okay? Clivewell isn’t exactly a fan of yours.”

“I don’t care if he’s a fan,” Hermione growled, storming toward the door. “He’s about to hear exactly what I think of his priorities.”

With that, she marched out of her office, her heels clicking furiously against the polished floor. Her colleagues watched her go with a mixture of amusement and trepidation, whispering to one another as she disappeared down the hall.

Hermione had a reputation for many things – brilliance, determination, a strong sense of justice – but above all, she was known for never backing down from a fight. And today, Derek Clivewell was about to learn that firsthand.

The walk to the conference room did nothing to quell Hermione’s fury. If anything, it only intensified it. The more she thought about the absurdity of it all – the months of work she and her team had poured into securing funding for the unicorn reserve, the painstaking research, the careful budgeting – all undone because of a bloody Quidditch match , the angrier she became.

By the time she reached the conference room, she was practically vibrating with rage. She didn’t even knock, flinging the door open with enough force to make it bang against the wall.

The sound startled the two men inside. Derek Clivewell and Ron Weasley both turned toward her, their conversation halting mid-laugh.

Of course, they were laughing. Hermione’s stomach churned with fresh outrage. They were probably joking about how no one cares about “shiny unicorns” and how much better it would be to funnel galleons into Ron’s precious match.

“How dare you?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Both men blinked at her, startled. Ron’s smile faded, replaced by confusion. “Hermione, what – ”

“How dare you divert funding from a critical conservation project to fund a bloody Quidditch match ?” she demanded, stepping into the room and letting the door slam shut behind her.

Ron’s brow furrowed. “Oi, calm down – ”

“I will not calm down, Ron!” she shouted, her voice shaking with indignation. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do either of you?” She turned her glare on Clivewell, who was leaning back in his chair with an expression that was equal parts amused and irritated.

“The unicorn reserve in Scotland is on the brink of collapse,” Hermione continued, her voice rising. “This money could’ve made all the difference – saved hundreds of lives – and you’ve taken it to throw a glorified party!”

“It’s not a party, Hermione,” Clivewell said coolly. “It’s a commemorative event to honour those who fell during the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“A Quidditch match is hardly an appropriate commemoration,” she shot back. “It’s frivolous and unnecessary, and you know it!”

Ron stood abruptly, his face red. “Frivolous?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Are you seriously saying that? You, of all people?”

“Don’t twist my words, Ron,” Hermione snapped, crossing her arms. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t honour the fallen – I’m saying there are better ways to do it than wasting resources on a game !”

“ Game ?” Ron said, his voice rising now to match hers. “Hermione, do you even hear yourself? This isn’t just some random match. It’s a tribute. You know damn well how much this means to me – and to everyone else who was there that day!”

“That money was earmarked for endangered creatures, Ron!” she fired back. “Living, breathing creatures that need our help to survive! Your match won’t bring anyone back – it won’t change what happened. But that money could’ve saved lives.”

Clivewell cleared his throat, clearly annoyed by the shouting match unfolding in front of him. “Ms. Granger, I understand your passion, but I think you’re being a bit short-sighted here. The Quidditch match is not only a tribute, but it’s also an opportunity to strengthen public support for the Ministry’s initiatives. A project like the unicorn reserve doesn’t exactly inspire the masses.”

“I don’t care about inspiring the masses!” Hermione snapped, rounding on him. “This isn’t about popularity – it’s about doing what’s right! Or have you forgotten what that feels like?”

Ron bristled at her tone. “You know what, Hermione? Maybe this isn’t about the unicorns at all. Maybe this is about you. Are you really this upset about funding, or are you just bitter that I’m the one organising this?”

Hermione froze, her breath catching in her throat. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on,” Ron said, his tone sharp. “You’ve been acting like this ever since we broke up. Always trying to prove you’re better, smarter, more important – like you need to rub it in my face. It’s pathetic.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione said, her voice trembling with barely-contained fury.

Clivewell chuckled, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Jealous ex doesn’t suit you, Ms. Granger,” he said dryly.

Hermione’s cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and humiliation. Her fists clenched at her sides as she fought back the sting of tears.

“I’m done,” she said coldly, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “Clearly, this is a waste of my time. I hope you enjoy your match, Ron. And you, Clivewell – I hope you enjoy explaining to the press why an endangered species went extinct under your watch.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her heart pounding. She didn’t dare look back.

By the time she reached the nearest empty corridor, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilled over. Hermione leaned against the wall, her chest heaving as she struggled to compose herself.

She couldn’t believe them. She couldn’t believe him.

But most of all, she couldn’t believe how much it still hurt.

The sound of Draco Malfoy’s icy voice cut through the silence, startling Hermione so much she almost jumped.

“Who do I have to kill, Granger?” he asked, his tone cold enough to send shivers down her spine.

She whipped her head toward him, eyes wide and tear-streaked. Malfoy stood a few feet away, his sharp gray eyes narrowing as they scanned her face. He must have caught her crying, and the intensity of his expression shifted her anger momentarily into stunned disbelief.

“Merlin,” she muttered, swiping at her damp cheeks. “What did I do to deserve this today?”

Malfoy’s expression softened, just a fraction, as he took a hesitant step closer. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business, but the flood of emotions still swirling inside her made it impossible to hold back. Words tumbled out in an angry rush, each one sharp and jagged. She told him everything: the diverted funding, the meeting, Clivewell’s condescension, and Ron’s infuriating accusations.

When she finished, Malfoy stared at her for a moment, blinking slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice clipped. “This stops now.”

“What?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t need them,” Malfoy said, his tone gathering heat with every word. “Get your stuff. Bloody wankers. I’ll get you your reservation myself. Fuck them. Fuck Weasley. I’ll – ”

“You’ll what?” Hermione interrupted, her anger flaring again. She glared at him, her cheeks flushing red as fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You’ll swoop in to defend my honour? After ignoring me for two weeks? After I kissed you? What the hell, Malfoy?”

Malfoy froze, his confident demeanor faltering. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking genuinely flustered.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. Please don’t think I ignored you on purpose. I just… I didn’t know what to say.”

She crossed her arms, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “That’s not an excuse.”

“I know it’s not,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, I was spiraling. And then Theo – he bloody dragged me to Bulgaria to see Charlie Weasley, and the dragon reserve was – ”

“ You went to the dragon reserve?” Hermione interrupted, momentarily distracted by surprise. “Wait, that doesn’t matter! You could’ve at least sent an owl, Malfoy!”

He looked thoroughly abashed now, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I know,” he said again. “You’re absolutely right. I should have. I apologise.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, still not entirely satisfied, but before she could say anything else, he continued.

“Look,” he said, his voice softening, “I’ll make it up to you. But first, go home, Granger. Take a bath. Forget about those wankers in the conference room.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked suspiciously, her anger still simmering.

Malfoy’s lips curved into a devilish smirk. “I have something I need to take care of first.”

“Please don’t kill Ronald,” she said, trying to sound stern despite the flicker of amusement breaking through her frustration.

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with a dangerous kind of humour. “Would you really mind, after everything he did, Granger?”

“I would mind you ending up in Azkaban,” she shot back, her tone sharp.

Malfoy chuckled softly, but his gaze lingered on her, unwavering, until she turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her long after she left the corridor, and for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, her heart was still racing when she reached her home.

Hermione let out a long, exhausted sigh as she slid deeper into her warm, potion-infused bath. The soft aroma of Luna’s specially brewed de-stressing mix swirled around her, and for a brief, blessed moment, she allowed herself to forget about the Ministry, Ron, Clivewell, and – most importantly – Draco Malfoy.

“ Screw them all ,” she muttered to herself, taking a sip of her herbal tea. The heat of the bath soothed her aching muscles, and the rising magical bubbles, infused with calming charms, floated lazily around her.

Her black cat, Rhysand, was perched imperiously on the edge of the tub, his tail swishing as he watched her with narrowed, judgmental eyes. He pawed at a bubble, looking deeply unimpressed when it popped under his claws.

Hermione chuckled softly at him, shifting her attention back to the book balanced precariously on the rim of the tub. It was her latest romance novel, and it was exactly the escape she needed right now.

“Honestly, Rhys,” she said to the cat, “if I could summon a man like this out of the pages, I wouldn’t need any of this potion nonsense.”

Rhysand blinked slowly at her, clearly unimpressed.

She turned another page, letting herself sink into the story. The hero, Rhysand – her Rhysand’s namesake – was everything a fictional man should be: charming, dangerous, and utterly devoted to his love interest. As she read, she imagined him sitting smugly on the edge of her tub, conjuring the floating bubbles with a lazy flick of his wrist.

The only thing missing, she thought wryly, was one of Theo’s magically enhanced Muggle toys to complete the scene. Or… long fingers trailing along her – 

“ No! ” she yelped, startling herself and making Rhysand leap off the tub’s edge with an irritated yowl. Hermione slapped the water in frustration, sending ripples across the surface.

“Get a grip, Hermione,” she muttered, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “Malfoy ignored you for two bloody weeks after you kissed him. You gave him an epic kiss because you’re a damn good kisser, and he’s just – ”

Rhysand leapt back onto the edge of the tub, watching her with disdain.

“ – an absolute tosser,” she finished, glaring at her cat as though he were responsible for her spiraling thoughts.

Before she could descend any further into self-pity, a loud flutter of wings shattered the relative calm of her bathroom.

An unfamiliar owl burst through the half-open bathroom door, startling her so badly that she dropped her book into the water. Rhysand hissed and bolted off the tub’s edge, but in his panic, he leapt straight into the bath.

“ Merlin’s beard! ” Hermione shrieked, flailing as the cat scrambled to escape, his claws catching on her arm. Water sloshed everywhere as Rhysand finally launched himself onto the floor, dripping wet and glaring at her as though it were her fault.

The owl, meanwhile, dropped a letter onto the bath mat and flew off without so much as a hoot of apology.

Hermione stared at the chaos around her, wide-eyed and soaking wet. “Why didn’t I close the bloody door?” she groaned, reaching for her wand.

A flurry of spells followed: drying her book (mostly), healing the scratches on her arm, and banishing the water Rhysand had splattered across the floor. The cat sulked in the corner, licking his damp fur and throwing her baleful glares.

Finally, Hermione turned her attention to the letter lying on the bath mat. The parchment was slightly damp but still intact, sealed with plain wax and addressed simply to her.

Her brows furrowed as she opened it.

The note was simple, written in neat, unfamiliar handwriting:

Meet me at The Veil. I need to see you again.

Hermione blinked, rereading the message several times.

Her first thought was that it was from Malfoy. But the owl wasn’t his, and the handwriting wasn’t his either.

Could it be him?

Her mind leapt to another possibility – one that sent a shiver down her spine. Could it be him ? The mysterious man she’d encountered at The Veil? The one who always seemed to know her deepest, wildest fantasies?

Or… could they be the same person?

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous. Malfoy wouldn’t – he couldn’t – ” But the idea had already taken root, tangling with the thoughts that had been plaguing her for weeks.

Should she go?

The rational part of her screamed that it was a bad idea. She was already an emotional wreck, torn between her frustration with Malfoy and her unwelcome, growing obsession with him. Adding this to the mix seemed like tempting fate.

But… what if it was him?

Hermione stood frozen in her bathroom, her mind racing. What if it wasn’t Malfoy? What if it was someone else entirely? What if it was a trap? What if – 

“ Stop, ” she told herself firmly, shaking her head. “You’re overthinking this.”

She glanced at the letter again, her fingers tightening around the parchment. There was no harm in going, she reasoned. She didn’t have to decide anything right now.

“Right, Rhys?” she asked, glancing at her cat, who had returned to his perch on the tub and was now watching her with his usual haughty expression.

Rhysand flicked his tail as if to say, Do what you want, human.

Hermione sighed, casting a drying charm over herself as she stepped out of the bath. “I’ll go,” she muttered. “And we’ll see what happens.”

Draco Malfoy leaned casually against the bar at The Veil, his fingers curling around the stem of a glass filled with the club’s new signature cocktail, Magical Cock . The name alone had made him narrow his eyes at the bartender, arching a skeptical brow.

“It doesn’t… do anything to you, does it?” Draco had asked, the skepticism clear in his voice.

The bartender, a smug little half-blood named Jasper, had grinned. “Nothing to you, mate. But your partner? They’ll have the time of their life.”

Draco had snorted and muttered something about pretentious marketing, but he’d ordered it anyway. Now, as he sipped the admittedly delicious drink, his mind was far from the ridiculous name or its alleged effects.

No, his thoughts were elsewhere. Or rather, on her.

Hermione Granger.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t sure when it had started – maybe it had always been there, lurking beneath years of animosity and teenage arrogance. But the moment she’d stepped into The Veil all those months ago, everything had shifted.

At first, he’d thought it was a cruel joke of fate, seeing her in this place. Granger, of all people, wandering into the most exclusive, most hedonistic club in Wizarding London? It had been laughable.

Until it wasn’t.

The first time they’d been together under the influence of The Veil’s strange magic, she hadn’t remembered him. Not afterward, at least. Whatever enchantments guarded the club ensured that she walked away from their encounters with no memory of who he was.

But he remembered.

And Merlin help him, he couldn’t stay away.

Every time she returned to the club, he’d find her. He’d tell himself it was the last time, that he wouldn’t touch her again, wouldn’t let himself fall any deeper into this madness. But the moment he saw her, all those promises would dissolve.

And then there was the kiss.

That kiss two weeks ago – outside her flat, after she’d been too drunk to Apparate home alone. It had changed everything.

She’d kissed him first, and for a split second, he’d been too stunned to respond. But then instinct had taken over, and he’d kissed her back with everything he had.

It had been perfect. Until it wasn’t.

He’d spent the last two weeks spiraling, overthinking every detail of that moment. Should he tell her the truth? Should he confess that it had always been him at The Veil, that he remembered every single time they’d been together? Or would that make him a monster in her eyes?

He’d been stuck in that miserable limbo when Theo had dragged him to Bulgaria for what he’d called a “distraction.” Apparently, Charlie Weasley and his dragons were supposed to help Draco forget his tangled mess of feelings for Hermione Granger.

It hadn’t worked.

If anything, being nearly barbecued by a rogue Hungarian Horntail had only made him more desperate to return to London – and to her.

This morning, when he’d seen her at the Ministry, red-eyed and furious, it had been the final straw. Seeing her crying over that idiot Weasley and that pompous git Clivewell had sparked something in him – a devilish plan that he couldn’t resist.

Which was how he’d found himself here, sipping a Magical Cock and waiting for Granger to show up.

“ You better show up, Granger, ” he muttered under his breath.

He glanced across the room and smirked when he saw Weasley lingering near the bar, looking confused and out of place. Clearly, the invitation Draco had sent under the club’s official stationery had worked.

Now, all he needed was the guest of honour.

And then he saw her.

Hermione Granger stepped into The Veil, and everything else faded.

She was wearing a simple black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, her wild curls cascading over her shoulders. The dim lighting caught the faint shimmer of her makeup, accentuating the flush of her cheeks.

Draco’s breath hitched, and he had to shift slightly to adjust the sudden tightness in his trousers.

“ Keep it together, ” he muttered to himself. “ The game is on. ”

Pushing off the bar, he approached her with the ease of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of confidence.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Hermione turned toward him, her eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, there was something else in her expression – something that looked suspiciously like knowing.

“Malfoy? What are you – ”

Before she could finish, a screeching voice cut through the air.

“Hermione?! What the hell? What are you doing here with the ferret?”

Draco turned lazily to face Ronald Weasley, who was gawking at them like a particularly stupid troll.

Without missing a beat, Draco slid an arm around Hermione’s waist, pulling her close. She stiffened for a moment but didn’t pull away, and that small victory made his smirk widen.

“Weasley,” Draco drawled. “What the hell are you doing here? Haven’t you harassed my girlfriend enough for one day?”

Hermione’s body went rigid beside him, but Draco kept his arm firmly around her, silently praying she was pissed off enough at Weasley to play along.

“Could you kindly fuck off while we go fuck each other?” Draco added lazily, his tone laced with a dangerous undertone.

Weasley’s face turned an impressive shade of red. “Is that true, Hermione? You’ve really stooped so low? Or are you just trying to get back at me?”

Hermione blinked, the accusation snapping her out of her trance.

“You know what, Ronald?” she said, her voice icy. “I don’t care enough about you to even think about doing something to spite you. And if you’ll excuse me, I plan to let Malfoy fuck my brains out – which, by the way, is something he knows how to do. Unlike you.”

The room seemed to freeze.

Draco recovered first, his smirk turning downright wicked.

“Room 27,” he said casually, plucking a drink from a floating tray and handing it to Hermione. “If you want to learn something new.”

Hermione snatched the drink and downed it in one go, her cheeks pink with either fury or embarrassment – or both.

“You’re bluffing,” Weasley snapped.

“Well,” Draco said, guiding Hermione away from the stunned redhead, “we’ll see, won’t we?”

As they walked toward the private rooms, Hermione licked her lips, her brows furrowing. “This doesn’t taste like the Relax potion I’ve had before.”

Draco chuckled darkly, his voice dropping. “That’s because it wasn’t. That was Unlimited Orgasms, darling.”

Hermione stumbled slightly, her eyes widening.

“And I,” Draco added, his smirk pure sin, “am planning to give you just that.”

Hermione’s head was spinning, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion, desire, and indignation. What the hell had just happened? The whole debacle with Ron, Malfoy’s outrageous lies about them being together, and now this – this tension humming between them like a live wire.  

And Malfoy.  

Oh, Merlin, Malfoy.  

He had to be the one behind everything, didn’t he? The invitation, the letter, all the cryptic remarks. There was no other explanation.  

Her mind raced as her feet stumbled, propelled forward by his firm grip on her arm. She suddenly stopped, tugging her arm free.  

“Wait, Malfoy,” she said, her voice sharp despite her unsteady breath. “Was it – was it always you? I don’t… I don’t understand. I’m confused. What is happening? Did you write that letter?”  

The questions tumbled out in a rush, her heart pounding in her chest.  

But before she could demand an answer, before she could even make sense of her own swirling thoughts, Malfoy turned on her. In one swift movement, he walked her back until her spine hit the wall.  

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his body crowding hers. His gaze burned into her, intense and unrelenting, as if he could see straight through her and into her soul.  

And then he kissed her.  

It was nothing like the kiss outside her flat two weeks ago. This kiss was hungry, desperate, consuming. His lips claimed hers, his hands bracing against the wall on either side of her head, trapping her completely.  

Hermione’s knees buckled under the force of it, her mind going blissfully blank. All she could do was cling to him, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, her body melting against his.  

And just as quickly as it started, it stopped.  

Malfoy pulled back, leaving her gasping for air and already missing the feel of his lips on hers.  

“I’ll tell you everything,” he promised, his voice rough and low, the words brushing against her lips. “I swear, Granger. But right now, I’m desperate to be deep inside you.”  

Her stomach flipped, heat pooling low in her belly at his words.  

“And,” he continued, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips, “I can already see your ungrateful ex storming this way. So why don’t we give him a show he’ll never forget?”  

Hermione blinked, her breath catching in her throat. “W-what?”  

Malfoy didn’t give her time to respond. His hand slid down her body, grazing the bare skin under her knickers.  

A gasp escaped her lips at the sensation, her head falling back against the wall.  

“Hmmm,” he murmured, his voice like molten sin. “It looks like you’re desperate for me too.”  

He withdrew his hand, and Hermione barely had time to feel the loss before he brought his fingers to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, tasting her, and a low, pleased hum rumbled in his throat.  

“My favourite taste,” he said with a dangerous smile.  

Hermione’s breathing was ragged, her body hot and aching, every nerve alight with need. She felt utterly undone, her thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.  

“Okay,” she managed to whisper, the single word barely audible over the pounding of her heart.  

Malfoy’s grin widened, and he took her hand, his grip firm and possessive.  

“Come on, then,” he said, leading her away from the wall and toward the stairs.  

Hermione’s legs felt like jelly, her mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. But she followed him, letting him guide her to the infamous Room 27.  

As they climbed the staircase, she caught a glimpse of Ron at the bar, his face twisted in fury and disbelief.  

And for once, Hermione didn’t care.  

By the time they reached the door of Room 27, all thoughts of Ron, the Ministry, and her confusion were gone.  

All that mattered was the man in front of her – and the way his gaze promised to ruin her in the best possible way. 

Hermione followed Draco into the room, her heart pounding in her chest as the heavy burgundy door clicked shut behind them. The dimly lit space was intoxicating, bathed in the rich glow of soft red lights. Her dress, a short black slip that clung to her in all the right ways, felt suddenly inadequate – not because it wasn’t enough, but because she felt utterly exposed under Malfoy’s intense gaze.  

Draco turned to her, his smirk sharp and dangerous. He reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "Don’t forget, Granger," he drawled, his tone laced with dark humour, "the safeword is peacock. " He gave her a playful wink, and despite herself, she couldn’t stop her lips from quirking upward.

"That’s not funny, Malfoy," she muttered, folding her arms over her chest, though her cheeks betrayed her with a faint blush.

"It’s very funny," he countered, his hand brushing against her hip as he leaned in. “Now,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Maybe there are eyes on us tonight, but remember, the magic will make sure they forget everything they see. Every. Last. Thing.” His lips brushed her temple, and a shiver ran down her spine.  

Hermione swallowed, her nerves warring with the heat pooling low in her belly. “And me?” she asked, her voice more breathless than she intended.  

“You,” he said, his grey eyes locking onto hers. “You’ll remember everything, Granger. Every. Single. Second.”  

The way he said her name – low, almost reverent – made her legs feel weak. But she refused to falter. She tilted her chin, mustering what courage she could. “Then get on with it, Malfoy.”  

He chuckled, the sound dark and full of promise. “As you wish.”  

Draco took her hand and led her to the centre of the room, his gaze roaming over her body like he was committing every detail to memory. Her short black dress left little to the imagination, and the predatory gleam in his eye told her he liked what he saw.  

“You are beautiful,” he said, his fingers brushing the hem of her dress.  

Her breath hitched as he pulled the fabric upward, exposing her thighs and knickers. His hands were firm but unhurried, savoring every inch of skin he revealed. When the dress finally joined his wand on the floor, Hermione stood before him in nothing but black lace and heels.  

Draco’s breath caught, but his smirk didn’t falter. “Perfect,” he murmured, almost to himself.  

Before she could respond, he dropped to his knees in front of her. Hermione’s eyes widened, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks.  

“Malfoy, you don’t – ”  

He cut her off with a sharp look, his hands gripping her hips to steady her. “You’re the only one I’ll ever kneel for, Granger,” he said, his voice steady, commanding.  

Her heart stuttered in her chest as his hands slid down her thighs, parting them gently. And then his mouth was on her.  

The first stroke of his tongue against her lace-covered core sent a jolt through her, and her hands flew to his shoulders for support. His lips and tongue worked her through the thin barrier of fabric, teasing and tasting until her knees threatened to buckle.  

“Malfoy,” she gasped, her voice breaking.  

He growled low in his throat, pulling her knickers aside to taste her properly. The sensation was overwhelming, his tongue and lips drawing her closer and closer to the edge. She was trembling, panting, her fingers curling into his hair as he brought her higher.  

When she finally shattered, her cry echoed in the room, her body shaking with the force of her release. Draco rose slowly, licking his lips with a self-satisfied smirk.  

“I will never get enough of you,” he murmured, pulling her into a kiss that left her breathless all over again.  

Hermione’s gaze flicked upward, drawn to the viewing window above them. Her stomach clenched when she saw Ron’s furious face, his fists pounding uselessly against the glass. She could see his mouth moving, shouting something, but the magic muted him entirely. Moments later, two large bouncers arrived, dragging him away despite his struggles.  

Draco followed her gaze and let out a dark chuckle. “Jealousy isn’t a good look for him,” he said, his tone full of amusement.  

Before she could respond, he flicked his wand. Silken ropes appeared, wrapping around her wrists and ankles. They lifted her effortlessly into the air, spreading her before him in a way that made her cheeks burn.  

“You remember her from the first night, don’t you?” Draco asked, his voice low as he circled her. “The woman tied up just like this.”  

Hermione nodded, her heart pounding.  

“She was nothing compared to you,” he said, stopping behind her. His lips brushed against her ear. “Mine,” he whispered.  

His hands slid over her body, claiming every inch of her. He pinched one nipple, making her gasp. “Mine.”  

He moved to her other breast, squeezing it firmly. “Mine,” he repeated, his tone rough with possession.  

He stepped behind her, his palm coming down sharply on her ass. The sting made her moan despite herself. “Mine.”  

Finally, his hand slid between her thighs, delivering a teasing slap over her already sensitive pussy. She whimpered, her body arching toward his touch. “Mine,” he growled.  

With another flick of his wand, her legs spread wider, her body arching in mid-air. Draco began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his toned chest before leaving it hanging open.  

His hands moved to his belt, the sound of the buckle undoing making her shiver with anticipation. When he pulled out his cock, her breath hitched.  

“Beg me to fuck you,” he commanded, his voice like velvet and steel.  

“Please, Malfoy,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.  

His smirk deepened. “That’s not my name.”  

She swallowed, her desperation mounting. “Please, Draco.”  

He raised an eyebrow. “Please what?”  

“Please fuck me, Draco,” she finally said, her voice trembling with need.  

“Good girl,” he murmured before stepping closer, positioning himself at her entrance. With one smooth thrust, he was inside her.  

Hermione cried out, her head falling back as pleasure consumed her. The magical drink heightened every sensation, amplifying her pleasure to a level she hadn’t thought possible.  

Draco set a steady rhythm, his thrusts deep and precise. The combination of his cock and the magic flowing through her made her come almost immediately, her cries echoing in the room.  

He didn’t stop. His hands gripped her hips as he whispered filthy promises into her ear, his voice sending shivers down her spine.  

When she came again, her body trembling uncontrollably, he pulled out abruptly. Hermione whimpered, her body desperate for more.  

Draco smirked, delivering a sharp slap to her ass. “Don’t be greedy, darling,” he said, his tone teasing yet commanding.  

Hermione groaned in frustration, her body still burning with need. “Draco…” she murmured, her voice pleading.  

He chuckled darkly, his hands sliding over her skin. “Patience, love. We’re just getting started.” 

Hermione dangled helplessly in her magical bonds, her body alight with a mixture of tension and anticipation. With a flick of his wand, Draco shifted her position, her wrists and ankles spreading apart until she was standing in a perfect X shape, her toes barely grazing the floor. Her breath hitched as she watched him summon his jacket, extracting a small pouch from its pocket and enlarging its contents with a murmured spell.  

Draco smirked, his silver-grey eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know,” he drawled, laying the items on a nearby table, “I think Pansy and Theo’s idea for a magical sex shop is revolutionary. But before I invest, I need to test their products myself. Quality control, Granger.”  

Hermione swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling as she tried to calm her racing heart. She watched him arrange the items methodically, each one making her pulse quicken. First, he laid out a pair of gold-tipped nipple clamps. Then, a sleek vibrator designed for dual stimulation, its curved design promising internal pleasure while a suction mechanism teased the clit. Lastly, he revealed a gleaming golden anal plug adorned with a small emerald gem.  

“Special for my golden girl,” he said smoothly, his voice a sinful purr as he held the plug up for her to see.  

Hermione gasped softly as Draco stepped behind her, spreading her cheeks with one firm hand and pressing the cool metal plug into place. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming, making her moan as her body adjusted to the new intrusion.  

He conjured a chair and sat down, his legs spread arrogantly, his smirk downright wicked. “That’s a view I don’t ever want to forget,” he said, leaning back as his eyes raked over her bound and exposed body.  

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what he planned to do next, but before she could get the words out, he flicked his wand. The toys sprang to life.  

The nipple clamps fastened themselves to her sensitive peaks, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through her with every slight movement. The vibrator nestled inside her, stretching her deliciously as the suction cup latched onto her clit, pulsating with steady, rhythmic vibrations that had her toes curling almost instantly. The anal plug added a tantalising pressure, intensifying every other sensation.  

Hermione moaned, her head falling back as her body was overwhelmed by the simultaneous stimulation. The vibrator moved inside her with deliberate precision, brushing against the perfect spot with every thrust. The suction on her clit was relentless, making her hips jerk involuntarily as waves of pleasure built rapidly.  

“Draco…” she gasped, her voice trembling as her body climbed higher and higher.  

But just as she was about to tip over the edge, he laid his wand down, and everything stopped. The toys went silent, leaving her teetering on the brink of release.  

Hermione groaned in frustration, tugging against her magical bonds. “Something wrong, darling?” Draco asked, his tone light and teasing as if he hadn’t just denied her the orgasm she was desperate for.  

“Just let me come, Draco,” she begged, her voice raw and pleading. She didn’t care about pride or dignity anymore – she just needed relief.  

He smirked, rising from his chair to stand before her. His fingers brushed her cheek, a mockingly tender gesture. “You’re so pretty when you beg,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.  

With a flick of his wand, the toys came back to life, and this time he didn’t hold back. The vibrations intensified, the suction grew stronger, and Hermione was utterly consumed by the pleasure assaulting her body. Her first orgasm crashed over her in seconds, leaving her trembling and gasping, but the toys didn’t stop.  

Draco circled her, watching as she came again and again, her cries echoing in the room. By the fourth orgasm, she was certain she couldn’t take any more. Her body was trembling, her mind hazy with pleasure, when Draco finally released her from her bonds.  

As her feet touched the floor, she nearly collapsed, her legs too weak to support her. But Draco caught her, his strong arms holding her steady.  

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, his voice full of mock reproach. “We’re not done until I say we’re done.”  

He handed her a small vial of potion, its contents shimmering faintly. “Drink this. You’ll need it.”  

Hermione didn’t hesitate, gulping it down and immediately feeling its effects. Energy surged through her, banishing her exhaustion and leaving her body thrumming with renewed vitality.  

“Now,” Draco said, his voice a lazy drawl as he returned to his chair, sitting down with a commanding air. “Be a good girl and crawl to me. I’ve missed that smart mouth of yours on my cock.”  

Hermione’s cheeks burned, but she obeyed without question. She crawled to him on trembling hands and knees, her brown eyes locked on his stormy grey ones. The hunger in his gaze made her shiver as she reached him, her fingers reaching for his belt.  

Draco leaned back, watching as she freed him from his trousers. His cock was thick and hard, already glistening with arousal. Hermione licked her lips before taking him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down his length.  

“Good girl,” Draco murmured, his hand threading through her hair as she worked him with enthusiasm. “Just like that. So fucking perfect.”  

His praise sent a thrill through her, and she redoubled her efforts, taking him deeper and hollowing her cheeks as she bobbed her head. Draco groaned, his hips lifting slightly as he thrust into her mouth.  

When he finally came, he gripped her hair tightly, holding her in place as he spilled down her throat. Hermione swallowed every drop, her eyes never leaving his.  

Draco smirked, his chest heaving as he looked down at her. “Still not done, darling,” he said, reaching for another potion. He downed it in one gulp, his cock instantly hardening again. With a muttered Engorgio, it grew even larger, making Hermione’s eyes widen.  

“I don’t think I can…” she started, her voice hesitant.  

“You can take it, darling,” he assured her, his voice firm but coaxing. “Now, hands on the table and that pretty ass in the air.”  

Shakily, she obeyed, bracing herself against the table as she bent over, her back arching.  

Draco stepped behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned himself at her entrance. He pushed in slowly, the stretch almost too much, but the overwhelming pleasure quickly overtook the discomfort.  

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione gasped, her fingers digging into the table as he filled her completely.  

Draco gave her a moment to adjust before he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. As she started to find her rhythm, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back so he could press his lips to her neck.  

“Mine,” he growled against her skin before biting down, the sting sending a shockwave of pleasure through her.  

Hermione cried out his name, her body writhing under his as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and more demanding. She screamed his name again and again, her pleasure building to an unbearable peak until they both came undone, their cries echoing in the room as they collapsed together. 

Hermione could barely move, her legs trembling so violently that she had to cling to the edge of the table for support. The magic from Draco’s enhanced size, combined with her own overstimulated body, had left her a boneless wreck.

“Another potion,” she managed to croak, her voice hoarse and unsteady, almost unrecognisable to her own ears.

Draco smirked, though his expression was tinged with something softer – concern, perhaps? No, she must have imagined it. Malfoy didn’t do concern. He handed her a small vial, his fingers brushing hers briefly as he offered it to her. “Drink this, Granger,” he said in that smooth, commanding voice, making her shiver all over again.

She downed it quickly, the potion spreading warmth through her body, slowly replacing the weakness in her limbs. Even with the effects kicking in, she wasn’t sure she trusted her legs to hold her. When she tried to stand, Draco was there, steadying her with a firm grip that felt strangely reassuring.

“Thanks,” she murmured, glancing up at him. His eyes were already on her, sharp and unwavering. It made her feel seen in a way she wasn’t sure she liked – or maybe liked too much.

He didn’t respond, at least not verbally. Instead, he helped her into her dress, tugging it over her head and smoothing the fabric over her trembling body with deliberate care. His hands lingered longer than necessary, brushing over her shoulders, her sides, before finally releasing her.

An almost unbearable tension hung between them. It wasn’t just the aftermath of what they’d done; it was something else, something unspoken that crackled like static in the air.

“Let’s talk,” he said finally, his voice lower, quieter than she’d ever heard it. “We’ll go to the bar. Find a quiet spot.”

Hermione nodded, still dazed, her mind too muddled to argue. She followed him out of the burgundy-lit room, her thoughts racing and tangled.

What the hell had just happened?

She knew the mechanics of it – oh, she remembered every detail of what had just happened – but beyond that? What did this mean? How had she ended up here, with Malfoy of all people? And why did it feel so… unfinished?

By the time they reached a secluded booth in the corner of the bar, she was only slightly more composed, though her mind was still spinning. Draco gestured for her to sit, and she did, folding her hands in her lap as if that might keep them from trembling.

She took a deep breath and finally broke the silence. “Explain,” she demanded, her tone sharper than she intended, though she didn’t regret it.

Draco leaned back in his seat, his sharp jaw clenching. For a moment, he looked like he might deflect with one of his usual snarky comments, but then he sighed heavily, running a hand through his tousled blond hair.

“It’s always been me, Granger,” he said quietly, the words soft but striking like a blow. 

“But.” She shook her head, her pulse hammering in her ears. “That’s not possible. How can you know this for sure. I would have to remember too – ”  

“Every time you’ve been here,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Every time you’ve forgotten. I never do.”

The words hit her like a thunderclap. “What?”

“I don’t know why the magic doesn’t work on me,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically earnest. “But every time you come here, we…” He paused, his eyes darting away briefly as though searching for the right words. “We’re together. And then you forget as soon as you leave. But I don’t. I never forget.”

Her chest tightened painfully, the implications crashing down on her. “You’ve known,” she said, her voice rising, shaking. “You’ve known this whole time, and you’ve said nothing? You’ve just been… what, waiting for me to figure it out?”  

“No!” Draco snapped, his frustration spilling over. “Do you have any idea what it was like? By the second time we were here together, I was terrified. Terrified you wouldn’t come back. That the tentative civility we’d built over years, the fragile almost-friendship we had, would be gone. And all because I couldn’t stay away from you. So I did what I do best.”  

Hermione blinked, stunned into silence as he continued, his voice rough and bitter.  

“I was a selfish prick who wanted you. Who didn’t want to give you up, even if it meant keeping you in the dark. Even if it wasn’t fair to you. Because I was so sure you wouldnt want to actually have anything to do with me for real. That this was all just thegolden girl’s dirty little secret”  

His admission hit her like a punch to the gut. Her anger flared hot and immediate, but beneath it, something deeper stirred – confusion, hurt, and the faintest trace of something that felt disturbingly like understanding.  

Her throat tightened. “It’s not fair. You should have told me.”

“I did try,” he said, his voice rising, frustration flickering in his sharp grey eyes. “Do you think I just sat back and did nothing? I tried giving you hints – hoping maybe, just maybe, something would stick. That you’d remember on your own.” He paused, exhaling heavily, before adding, “I even gave you our safe word.”

Hermione blinked, her head tilting slightly as she processed his words. “That?” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “That was your idea of trying? Throwing a random word into conversation and hoping it magically jogged my memory?”

She scoffed, the bitterness in her voice startling even herself. “That’s not trying, Malfoy. That’s throwing breadcrumbs at me and hoping I find my way in the dark.”  

He flinched slightly but recovered quickly, his expression hardening. “You think I had all the answers? That I knew how to handle this? Every time I even considered asking someone at the Veil about it, I stopped myself. Because if anyone here figured out I remembered, they might take those memories from me, too. And I couldn’t – ” He broke off, exhaling shakily. “I couldn’t risk that. I couldn’t lose you.”  

The vulnerability in his voice undid her, unraveling her anger even as it stoked her confusion. She pressed a hand to her temple, trying to soothe the ache that was rapidly forming there.  

“This is…” She shook her head, her voice trembling. “This is so unfair, Malfoy. To me. To us . I don’t even know how to feel right now.”  

“I know,” he said quietly, his eyes searching hers. “But I didn’t know what else to do.”  

“So why tell me now?” she asked, her voice quieter, tinged with exhaustion and something else she couldn’t quite place.

Draco’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the weight of his usual bravado seemed to slip away. “That kiss,” he said simply, his voice low and rough. “It changed everything. For a second, I thought… maybe there’s a chance. A flicker of hope that we could be something more. That this doesn’t have to end the way it always does.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in his words. It wasn’t what she’d expected – honesty stripped bare, without a trace of his usual armour. It left her reeling, unsure whether to lean into the flicker of warmth his words stirred in her or to run from it entirely.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them, thick with everything unsaid.  

“What now?” Hermione asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a new thought seized her, sharp and blinding in its intensity.  

“What if it’s me?” she said, her panic rising. “What if I’m the reason people don’t forget? And Ron – he saw us. What if he remembers? What if he tells everyone?”  

“Granger – ” Draco started, his voice urgent, but she cut him off, already spiraling.  

“I need air,” she said abruptly, standing so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor.  

“Wait – ” He reached for her, his hand brushing her wrist, but she pulled away, shaking her head violently.  

“I can’t do this,” she said, her voice breaking. “Not now. I can’t – ”  

And before he could stop her, before she could stop herself, the need to escape overwhelmed her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, not with everything crashing down on her all at once. She just needed air, a moment to clear her head. That’s all.  

She turned and fled, ignoring Draco’s voice calling after her, her focus singular – just to step outside, to feel the cool night air on her face. She didn’t think about what it meant to leave The Veil. Forgetting what would happen if she did. All she knew was that she needed to get out.

The cool night air hit her like a slap, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside her. Her mind was a whirlwind of contradictions, each thought louder and more chaotic than the last. She didn’t stop running until she was far enough from the Veil to Apparate, the sharp crack echoing in the stillness of the night.  

Hermione landed in her flat with a sharp crack, the room spinning slightly as the disorienting cocktail of magic and adrenaline settled. She stood frozen in her living room, her heart racing, her chest heaving, and a thousand thoughts colliding all at once. She was shaking – still shaking – and she couldn’t decide if it was from the night’s intensity, the sheer chaos of emotions, or something she couldn’t even begin to name.

She sank into her armchair, staring blankly at the wall. Crookshanks meandered over, sniffing at her hand before reluctantly jumping into her lap. His warm weight was grounding, but even the comforting pressure of his purring didn’t ease the turmoil in her mind.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess of flashes and sensations. She remembered the feel of him – his hands, his lips, the overwhelming, consuming need that had ignited between them. She remembered the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her as though there was something more, something significant. And yet – 

“Who?” she whispered aloud, her voice hoarse and trembling.

Who had she been with?  

Hermione’s brow furrowed, her hands gripping Crookshanks as if he might anchor her. She remembered the passion, the connection, the impossible intensity that had made her head spin. She remembered the conversation – or at least that there had been a conversation. But the specifics? Gone.  

Even his face was a blur now, as though someone had taken an eraser to her memory and smudged out every detail.  

“What the hell is going on?” she muttered, her voice sharp with frustration. “How can I remember the sex,” her cheeks burned as flashes of their intimacy flickered in her mind. “ – and not remember him ?”  

Crookshanks gave her a grumpy look, his tail flicking against her arm. Hermione stroked him absently, her mind racing.  

Why had she left? Why hadn’t she stayed and demanded answers? She was supposed to be logical, methodical, the brightest witch of her age. Instead, she had bolted like a startled deer, leaving him behind in a place she now suspected was part of the problem.  

“Merlin’s beard,” she groaned, leaning her head back against the chair. “Why did I leave?”  

She tried to trace her steps, to piece together her thought process, but it was like trying to hold water in her hands. She remembered standing in the bar, the sharp lines of tension etched into his face, the way he had leaned forward to speak to her, his voice heavy with something she couldn’t name. She remembered asking him – no, demanding he explain – and he had started to. She had felt angry, betrayed, confused, but then…  

“What was I thinking?” she whispered, her voice breaking.  

Had she panicked? Had it been too much, too fast? Or had he said something that had made her run? Her own emotions were a jumble – anger, hurt, frustration, and an ache she didn’t want to look at too closely. She hated feeling out of control, and right now, everything felt like it was spiraling.  

Her stomach twisted with a sudden thought. What if he wanted me to forget?

What if he had said something terrible? What if this was all some cruel game for him? It couldn’t be someone she hated; she wouldn’t have slept with someone she hated. But maybe – just maybe – he had told her something unforgivable, something that had made her bolt.  

Or maybe it was her fault.  

Hermione groaned, sliding further down in her chair until she was nearly horizontal, Crookshanks protesting indignantly as he leapt from her lap.  

“What a bloody nightmare,” she muttered, closing her eyes.  

The flashes came again – the feel of strong hands on her body, the brush of lips against hers, the way he had whispered something that had made her heart stop. She remembered the magic of it, the way he had felt so inexplicably familiar. But his name? His face? It slipped from her grasp every time she tried to hold onto it.  

“Who are you?” she whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking under the weight of the question.  

She felt sick, her stomach churning with the realisation that she might never know. She had made herself forget – she was sure of it now. Why else would the Veil’s magic have worked on her so perfectly every single time?  

Hermione sat up, running her hands through her hair in agitation. The pieces didn’t fit, and it was driving her mad.  

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” she muttered, pushing herself to her feet. “This is ridiculous. I’m Hermione Granger. I’m supposed to be good at solving mysteries.”  

She began to pace the room, trying to work through the fog in her mind.  

If she had left, there had to be a reason. Something that had overwhelmed her, something that had made her think forgetting was the only option. But what?  

Her thoughts snagged on a possibility, one she didn’t want to entertain but couldn’t ignore.  

Was it Malfoy?  

Her stomach twisted again at the thought. It could have been. He had seemed so familiar, and the magic between them – it had been undeniable. And the kiss. He had said he would talk to her.

But would Malfoy have told her he didn’t want to remember her? Was that why she’d fled? Maybe he had been cruel, dismissive, and she’d erased him for her own sanity. Or maybe – she swallowed hard – maybe it wasn’t him at all. Maybe it was someone completely different, someone she had tried and failed to imagine.  

The ache in her chest deepened, and she slumped back into her chair, feeling utterly defeated.  

Crookshanks climbed back into her lap, his amber eyes glaring at her as if to say, Stop being so dramatic. She stroked his fur absently, trying to calm her racing thoughts.  

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Best sex of my life, and I can’t even remember who it was with.”  

Crookshanks purred begrudgingly, and Hermione let her head fall back against the chair, staring at the ceiling. She had no answers, no solutions, and for the first time in a very long time, she didn’t even know where to start.

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy slouched in his leather armchair, the dim lighting of his study casting long shadows across the room. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, a sound that should have been soothing but only grated on his already frayed nerves. On the desk in front of him sat an almost-empty bottle of firewhiskey, its amber contents swirling in the glass clutched in his hand. The second bottle. Or was it the third?

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, his voice a mix of disbelief and fury. “Bloody unbelievable.”

Hermione Granger. The name echoed in his mind, each syllable a dagger of frustration. How, in the name of Merlin, had she managed to upend his perfectly crafted plan? He’d been vulnerable, raw, and – most uncharacteristically – honest with her. 

He’d given her everything: a night that should have been unforgettable, a confession that had left him stripped bare. And what did she do? She ran. Like a thief in the night, she bolted out of the club, taking with her any hope he’d had of reciprocation.

As the firewhiskey warmed his chest, fragments of the night flashed through his mind. The way her lips had parted as she gasped his name. The fire in her eyes that matched his every move, challenging him even as they tangled together in the dim, enchanted glow of the club’s private room. The sound of her voice, breathy and demanding, still echoed in his ears. And then there was the moment he’d whispered the truth against her skin, his words spilling out in a way he’d never intended. He’d been sure – so sure – that she’d stay, that she’d feel the same electric pull that he did.

But no. She’d left.

“She probably doesn’t even bloody remember,” he growled, downing the rest of his drink in one angry gulp. The firewhiskey burned its way down his throat, but it didn’t dull the ache in his chest or the anger swirling in his mind.

He’d tried everything – well, almost everything. Charm, wit, an unrelenting determination that bordered on obsession. And still, Hermione Granger was maddeningly oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that he’d been losing his mind over her for months. Oblivious to the fact that he remembered every single moment they’d shared in that damn club while she forgot, again and again.

Draco leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “She’s not just oblivious,” he muttered, a bitter smile curling his lips. “She’s bloody infuriating.”

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door to his study swung open, and Theodore Nott strolled in, a grin plastered across his face. His sharp green eyes sparkled with mischief as he sauntered to the desk, leaning casually against it.

“Merlin, Malfoy, you look like hell,” Theo quipped, eyeing the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. “Did Granger finally drive you to drink yourself into oblivion, or is this some new hobby of yours?”

Draco shot him a glare, but Theo’s grin only widened. “What do you want, Nott?” he snapped, though the bite in his voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, nothing much. Just curious why you’re sitting here brooding like some tragic hero. Let me guess – this has something to do with a certain bushy-haired witch?”

“Leave it, Theo,” Draco warned, though the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Theo laughed, the sound infuriatingly carefree. "Oh, come on, mate. You might as well tell me. It’s not like I haven’t noticed you staring at her like a lovesick Crup for months. And those little hints you keep dropping? Hilarious. Honestly, it’s a wonder she hasn’t hexed you just to make you stop being so bloody weird."

Draco scowled, but Theo’s grin only widened. "Listen," Theo said, his tone shifting slightly, still playful but with an undercurrent of sincerity. "I’m your best mate. Unlike Pansy, I actually know how to keep my mouth shut. So why don’t you stop sulking and tell me what happened? Merlin knows you’ve been talking to yourself long enough – poor house-elves must be traumatised by now. You need to vent to an actual person."

Draco stared at the fire, his fingers tightening around his glass as he debated whether to speak. For a moment, the silence stretched, broken only by the crackling of the flames and Theo’s infuriatingly patient gaze. Finally, it wasn’t Draco who decided but the firewhiskey. The warmth coursing through him loosened his tongue.

“Fine,” Draco snapped, setting his glass down with a sharp clink. “You really want to know? I remember everything, Theo. Every bloody second in that damn club. And I was with her.”

Theo’s eyebrows shot up. “With her? As in…” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his lips twitching with poorly suppressed amusement.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t understand,” Draco growled, glaring at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Theo said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to clarify. You know, for posterity. Please, do continue. This is getting good.”

Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m serious, Theo. It’s… it’s insane. I’ve never felt anything like this. And she doesn’t even bloody remember it happened.”

Theo tilted his head, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been mooning over Granger for months, had what sounds like the night of your life, and now she’s walking around completely oblivious? Merlin, Malfoy, you really do have a flair for the dramatic.”

Draco shot him a look that could have curdled milk. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little, yeah,” Theo admitted, his grin returning full force. “But seriously, mate. What’s the plan here? You going to keep staring at her until she magically remembers, or do you actually have a strategy? Because… and I say this with love… you’re terrible at subtlety.”

“I thought…” Draco began, his voice low. “I thought she might… stay. That she’d feel it, too. But she left, Theo. She bloody left. And she probably doesn’t even remember a damn thing.”

Theo let out a low whistle, crossing his arms. “Well, that’s rough. But it’s Granger. Did you really expect her to do things the easy way?”

Draco shot him a look, but there was no malice behind it. Theo’s words, frustratingly, held a grain of truth. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “What am I supposed to do, Theo?” he asked finally, his voice raw. “Tell me. What the hell do I do?”

Theo’s grin faltered, replaced by a rare flicker of seriousness. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied Draco carefully. “Alright,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically even. “Do you actually want to do something about this? Because it’s Granger we’re talking about here. Not some casual fling. I like her, Malfoy. She’s smart, she’s fierce, and she’s bloody decent – unlike half the people we know. If this is just some ego thing for you, then drop it. Don’t screw things up with her and definitely don’t make me pick sides.”

Draco blinked, caught off guard by Theo’s sincerity. For a moment, he just stared at his friend, unsure how to respond.

Then Theo’s signature smirk returned. “But,” he continued, his voice dripping with mock gravity, “if you’re serious about this… well, we’ll need a plan. Let’s see, you could serenade her outside her window. Or write her an epic poem.” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Oh! What about a grand gesture? Something wildly inappropriate, like declaring your undying love in front of the entire Ministry. I hear women love that.”

Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Merlin, Theo, be serious.”

“I am being serious,” Theo said, though his grin suggested otherwise. “You’re hopeless at subtlety, Malfoy. You might as well lean into the drama. It’s what you do best.”

Draco glared at him, but Theo just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Relax, mate,” he said, still chuckling. “We’ll figure it out. But first, you’ve got to decide if you’re in this for real. Because if you are, then you’re not just going after Granger. You’re going after the kind of future where you don’t end up alone in this study, ranting to a bottle of firewhiskey.”

Draco’s scowl softened, and he leaned back in his chair, considering Theo’s words. For all his sarcasm, Theo had a point. This wasn’t just about Hermione remembering. It was about something far bigger. And if he was going to do this, he needed to do it right.

But he wasn’t about to give up. Oh no, not this time. If Granger wanted to pretend their connection didn’t exist, he’d make sure she couldn’t ignore it. He’d make her see him, want him, need him. Just as he did her. He’d drive her mad with desire, make her crave him in a way that couldn’t be forgotten – no matter how many memory charms she hid behind.

The glass slammed down onto the desk with a sharp clink, and Draco pushed himself to his feet. The room swayed slightly, and he realised he was drunker than he’d intended to get. No matter. A plan was forming, and nothing – not even his current state of inebriation – would deter him from executing it.

She wanted to bolt after the best sex of her life? Fine. But she wasn’t going to escape him that easily. He’d give her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Something public. Something she couldn’t run from. And something that would force her to spend time with him outside the confines of the club. If she was too stubborn to acknowledge what was between them, he’d give her no choice but to face it.

“The Gala,” he said aloud, the word tasting like triumph on his tongue. It was perfect. Narcissa’s annual holiday event was only a few weeks away. The event would be teeming with people, purebloods and half-bloods alike, all watching, all gossiping. She wouldn’t dare make a scene, wouldn’t dare run.

Theo raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “The Gala? What’s that got to do with Granger?” he asked, his tone suspiciously innocent.

Draco stiffened, glaring at Theo as if daring him to press further. “Everything,” he muttered.

“Oh, everything,” Theo repeated with mock seriousness, nodding. “Well, now it all makes sense. You’re clearly planning to corner her by dazzling her with pureblood extravagance. That’ll go over brilliantly, mate. Granger loves being ambushed.”

“It’s not an ambush,” Draco snapped, his irritation evident. "It’s… strategic."

Theo laughed, shaking his head. “Sure, strategic. Just don’t be surprised when she hexes you into next week. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he reached for a piece of parchment and a quill. If she wanted to avoid him, she’d have to work a hell of a lot harder than this. Because Draco Malfoy wasn’t giving up. Not until Hermione Granger remembered him – and not just with her mind, but with every inch of her stubborn, maddening, beautiful soul.

Theo’s grin twisted into something downright wicked as he leaned back in his chair. “Wait a second,” he said, holding up a hand for dramatic effect. “Isn’t this Gala where you’re supposed to… you know, charm some poor unsuspecting witch into becoming the next Mrs. Malfoy?”

Draco groaned, his scowl deepening. “Who do you think we’ve been talking about this entire time, Theo?”

Theo burst into laughter, the sound filling the room. “Oh, mate, you are in deep shit . If you’re already thinking like this, you’re done for. I might actually start feeling bad for Granger. Poor witch has no idea what’s coming her way.”

Hermione Granger sat cross-legged on the plush armchair in her small, book-filled living room, her fingers tightly clutching a steaming cup of tea. It was supposed to be calming, but all it did was remind her of how badly her hands were shaking. Her mind raced in a chaotic loop, but there was one glaring problem: she couldn’t remember who she’d been with the night before.

What had she done?

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Pansy Parkinson’s voice cut through Hermione’s spiraling thoughts. The Slytherin witch sat opposite her, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in mild amusement, though her eyes held a glint of genuine curiosity. She tilted her head, studying Hermione as though she were a particularly puzzling riddle. “Well? Are you going to tell me what’s got you looking like you’ve been Petrified, or do I have to guess?”

Hermione groaned, sinking further into her chair and letting the cup of tea rest on her knees. “I don’t even know where to begin,” she mumbled, avoiding Pansy’s sharp gaze.

“Oh, come on, Granger,” Pansy said, leaning forward slightly. “You’re Hermione Bloody Granger. You can always figure out where to begin. Start with what’s got you so rattled that you’ve barely insulted me since I arrived. It’s unsettling.”

Hermione let out a strangled laugh, burying her face in her free hand. “It’s… complicated.”

Pansy smirked. “Of course it is. You Gryffindors don’t do simple, do you?” She sat back, crossing her legs elegantly. “Let me guess… it has something to do with a certain blonde former Death Eater?”

Hermione hesitated, her cheeks burning as she looked down at her tea. “I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice tinged with frustration. “That’s the problem, Pansy. I don’t remember who it was. I just… I don’t even know if I want to remember. It’s all… blank.”

Pansy frowned, leaning forward slightly. "Wait, what do you mean ‘don’t remember’? What exactly are we talking about here?" Hermione sighed, setting her cup of tea down. "It’s the club. You know, the one with the memory charms? I… I’ve been going there, and I met someone I think."

Pansy’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t remember? Oh, darling, that’s deliciously tragic. That’s the whole point of the club, you know. All the kinky secrets of the world, safely locked away in forgetfulness. No awkward morning-after conversations, no lingering embarrassment.”

Hermione frowned, setting her cup down with a sharp clink. “But I want to remember. There has to be a way to undo it.”

“It’s not funny!” Hermione snapped, glaring at her. “And what’s worse is that I don’t know if I can fix it. Is there a way to undo the charm? To remember?”

Pansy tilted her head thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her lips. “Well, technically, yes. But both parties have to agree to lift the charm. And let’s be honest, Granger – if they haven’t come forward already, they’re either as clueless as you or they don’t want you to know.”

Hermione’s stomach sank at the thought, and she stared into her tea as if it held the answers. “Why wouldn’t they want me to know?” she murmured. “What happened that made them keep it this way?”

Pansy watched her carefully, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction. “You’re overthinking this,” she said finally. “But come on, Granger. If you had to guess, who do you think it was?”

Hermione hesitated, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. “Draco,” she whispered, the name barely audible.

Pansy’s eyes widened before a wicked grin spread across her face. “Draco? Really? And what, pray tell, makes you think you’ve had a few rounds with our darling Malfoy?”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know, alright? He’s just been acting… odd. And there’s something about the way he looks at me.”

Pansy burst into laughter, her head falling back against the chair. “Oh, Granger. This is priceless. You’re spiraling into existential panic because you think you’ve shagged Draco Malfoy. Merlin, I almost feel sorry for you. Almost.”

Hermione groaned into her tea, her forehead resting against the rim of her cup as one of her cats rubbed insistently against her leg. The soft purring was oddly grounding, though it did little to quell her spiraling thoughts.

Pansy, meanwhile, leaned back into her chair, fully enjoying herself. "Honestly, though, Draco’s just… like that. He’s always weird. The intense brooding looks that give nothing away? That’s just his resting face. You’re reading too much into it."

She paused, her grin widening as a new thought occurred to her. "Unless, of course, it wasn’t Draco at all. Maybe it was Theo. Or Blaise! Oh, imagine… one of them satisfying your club-related needs." She wiggled her eyebrows for effect.

Hermione’s cheeks turned scarlet, and she straightened, clutching her cup tightly. "Stop it, Pansy!"

Pansy laughed, clearly delighted. "Oh, Granger, your face! This is absolutely the highlight of my week." 

Hermione groaned again, her thoughts swirling as panic bubbled just beneath the surface. What if she was wrong? What if it wasn’t Draco? What if it was someone completely random, someone who just needed an escape from their life and saw her as nothing more than a convenient distraction?

She rubbed her temples, her fingers pressing into the tension building behind her eyes. Her cat, ever attuned to her moods, jumped up onto her lap and nuzzled her chin, offering a small sense of comfort.

Finally, Hermione looked up at Pansy, her gaze a mix of frustration and desperation. "Pansy, stop laughing. I… I don’t know what to think anymore. What if I’m making this all up in my head? What if it wasn’t Draco? What if it’s just someone… someone who doesn’t care? Someone who doesn’t even remember me?"

Pansy’s laughter softened, though the amused glint in her eyes remained. "Granger, you’re overthinking this to the point of madness. You’re assuming a level of emotional complexity from someone at that club that, frankly, might not exist. Maybe it was someone just looking for a night of anonymity – that’s the whole point of the place, isn’t it?"

Hermione swallowed hard, the thought settling uncomfortably in her chest. "But I want to know," she murmured. "I want to understand what happened."

Hermione sighed, leaning back against her chair as her thoughts churned. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer. "Maybe you’re right," she said reluctantly. "Maybe I’m not supposed to understand it."

Pansy grinned, her confidence radiant. "Of course, I’m right," she said with a playful wink. "When have I ever been wrong?"

That was the last thing Hermione remembered from the night before. Now, she was waking up in her bed with a pounding headache, the faint taste of regret on her tongue. 

At some point, tea had been swapped for wine, and… Merlin, she didn’t even want to think about all the things she had ended up discussing with Pansy. The details were mercifully blurry, but the mortification remained sharp as ever.

Hermione groaned softly as she sat up, the morning sunlight filtering through her curtains doing nothing to help her headache. Desperate for relief, she swung her legs off the bed and padded into the kitchen, her steps slow and unsteady.

She reached for a glass, filling it with cold water from the tap. The cool sensation against her palm was a small comfort as she raised the glass to her lips, gulping it down in hopes it might wash away the lingering fuzziness in her mind.

As she turned to head back to her bedroom, something on the kitchen table caught her eye. A folded piece of parchment, faintly illuminated by the morning light, lay there as if waiting for her. Her heart skipped a beat, recognition sparking deep in her chest. It looked eerily similar to a letter she’d received once before – a letter that had changed everything.

Her fingers trembled as she set the glass down carefully, the sound of it meeting the counter sharp in the otherwise quiet room. Slowly, she approached the table, her pulse quickening with every step. The letter seemed to almost hum with anticipation, the air around it heavy with unspoken words.

Reaching out, Hermione hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering above the parchment. Her mind raced with possibilities. Was this connected to the night before? To the person she couldn’t remember? To the person who might not want her to remember?

Steeling herself, she picked up the letter, her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it. Inside was a small note with just a single line:

Come to the Malfoys' gala. We’ll meet there.

Nothing more, nothing less. The handwriting was unfamiliar, sharp and elegant, and it made her heart race. Hermione’s fingers tightened around the parchment as she stared at the words, a mix of emotions swirling within her – curiosity, dread, and, much to her dismay, a flicker of excitement she couldn’t quite suppress.

Hermione stared at the letter, her mind spinning. It wasn’t from Malfoy – she’d already received his official invitation to the gala days ago, tucked neatly into an elegant envelope bearing the Malfoy family crest. No, this was something entirely different. A personal note from her mysterious stranger.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but the truth was undeniable: the thrill of the unknown was intoxicating. A flicker of excitement curled in her stomach, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tamp it down.

"You have to stop this," she muttered, setting the note on the table and pressing her palms against its surface as if grounding herself would silence her racing thoughts. But it was no use. She needed to know. She had to.

Who was this person? And why did they want her at the gala? Were they playing a game, or was this some kind of unspoken confession?

Hermione straightened, resolve hardening in her chest. "Enough," she said aloud, as if declaring it to the empty room would make it true. She would go to the gala, and she would find out who her mysterious stranger was. No more guessing, no more restless nights of wondering. This time, she would have answers.

Even if it was the last thing she did. 

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger wasn’t just thinking about it – she was doing it. To hell with them all. She had always wanted to make a difference, but it was crystal clear now that it wasn’t going to happen here. Not in this Ministry. Not under this system.

No more begging for funding, no more fighting for respect in a room full of smug bureaucrats who only listened when it suited their egos.

She’d make her exit quick. Pack her things. Leave her silly dream of becoming someone important in this flawed institution behind.

As she stepped out of the Floo at her office for what she swore would be the last time, Harry Potter appeared beside her, his arrival so sudden it made her jump.

“Harry? I really hope you’re not here to stop me because – ”

“Of course not, Hermione,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “I would never try to stop you. Merlin knows it’s never a good idea to argue with you. And, well, Ginny would have my head for even trying.”

Hermione let out a small laugh despite herself.

“I’m just here for moral support,” he continued, his voice softening. “I know what this meant to you. I’m so sorry it turned out to be... something else entirely. They never deserved you here, Hermione. None of us did.”

He gave her a sad smile, and Hermione’s throat tightened, her resolve solidifying even more.

“Right,” she said, taking a steadying breath. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Harry grinned. “Can’t wait to see their faces when they realise what they’ve lost. Don’t worry – if any of those nosy journalists ask me why Hermione Granger quit her Ministry job, I’ll make sure to tell them exactly how useless those fools are. It’s not like they’d dare fire me.”

“Right, Harry,” Hermione said with a smirk. “No one would dare to fire you .”

“Exactly.” He straightened his tie, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

When Hermione stepped out of the room some time later, her smile was so big it hurt her cheeks.

She would never forget the stunned expressions on the men’s faces when she announced her resignation. First, there had been disbelief. Then, desperation. Suddenly, they did have funding for her project. Suddenly, they were willing to “revisit her proposals.” Suddenly, she mattered.

But it was too late for them. Hermione Granger was done playing by their rules.

She was going to make a difference – on her terms.

Harry, waiting just outside the meeting room, grinned at her knowingly. “I heard some of it,” he admitted. “I was waiting for them to actually cry .”

They both laughed.

“So, how do you feel?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Hermione said, her smile softening. “I thought I’d regret it as soon as I did it, but… it’s like a weight has been lifted. I feel free. And it’s not like I don’t have a plan.”

“Of course you have a plan,” Harry said with a snort. “And three backups, I’m sure. So, what’s the first step?”

“Well,” Hermione began, her tone teasingly casual, “I’m opening a sex shop with Pansy and Theo. Then, I’m going to take Malfoy up on his offer to fund my magical creature reservation and – ”

But before she could finish, Ron Weasley’s voice cut through the conversation.

“You quit your prestigious Ministry job to open a sex shop and take money from your rich, asshole friends?”

Hermione turned to see Ron standing there, his face twisted with disbelief and frustration.

She frowned, opening her mouth to respond, but Harry beat her to it.

“Drop it, Ron,” Harry said sharply. “The only asshole here is you. And if you keep pushing, you’re going to force me to choose between you and Hermione. And trust me – you won’t like my choice.”

Ron blinked, looking genuinely alarmed by Harry’s tone.

“I – I’m sorry,” he stammered, glancing at Hermione. “I’m really sorry, Hermione. I know I’ve been a total ass lately, and I mean it – I apologise. Please don’t quit because of me. I’ll make sure you get all the funding for your projects – ”

Hermione took a deep breath, realising she didn’t feel the usual, overwhelming anger when she looked at Ron. Instead, there was only apathy. Ron Weasley, the boy she once cared so deeply for, was now just… someone she didn’t want to think about anymore.

“Whatever, Ron. Goodbye,” she said firmly.

“But I said I was sorry,” Ron protested weakly.

“I heard you,” Hermione replied, her voice cold. “I just don’t forgive you.”

“But – ”

“Just leave it, Ron,” Harry snapped.

Before Ron could say anything else, Ginny arrived, sweeping into the hallway with her usual confidence.

“Well, if it isn’t my two favourite grown-ups!” she said cheerfully to Harry and Hermione. Then, without so much as a glance at her brother, she added, “Brother.”

“Ginny – ” Ron started, but Ginny cut him off with a sharp look.

“Now, Hermione,” she said, turning her full attention back to her friend, “let’s celebrate this splendid day with some cake, shall we?”

She kissed Harry on the cheek before continuing. “The boys are at Mum’s, don’t forget to pick them up. I’ll see you at home later, Harry.”

Before Hermione could respond, Ginny linked her arm with hers and began leading her away.

As they walked out of the Ministry building together, Hermione glanced back one last time. She didn’t feel sadness, not even a twinge of regret.

Two chapters of her life had ended today: one with the Ministry, and one with Ron.

And yet, all she felt was hope and excitement for the future.

Hermione and Ginny sat at a cozy corner table in a small café, each with a steaming cup of coffee and an oversized slice of cake in front of them. Ginny had gone for her favourite – red velvet – while Hermione had chosen lemon pie, a decision she was already regretting.

The sight of the bright yellow dessert reminded her uncomfortably of someone else who loved lemon pie – Draco Malfoy. She cursed herself. The man hadn’t even shown up for their promised talk, and she definitely didn’t need him intruding on her thoughts while she was trying to celebrate her liberation from the Ministry.

On the table lay a folded copy of The Daily Prophet , and Ginny nudged it toward Hermione with a grin. The front page featured an interview with Viktor Krum, proudly announcing his transfer to a British Quidditch team. His picture beamed up at them, the once-awkward teenager now a strikingly handsome man with sharp cheekbones and an easy confidence.

“Look at him,” Ginny said, pointing at the image. “He’s gotten so much finer over the years! Honestly, Hermione, if I were you, I’d be bragging to everyone thatI’d scored that beautiful male specimen.”

Hermione laughed, though a strange feeling of déjà vu tugged at her. She glanced at the photo again, memories of their brief relationship during her fourth year at Hogwarts bubbling to the surface. Viktor had been kind, and sweet, and entirely too serious for the fourteen-year-old girl she’d been.

Ginny, however, wasn’t done. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Hermione, I have to confess something,” Ginny said, barely able to contain her excitement. “I can’t keep it in any longer!”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Go on,” she said, amused. 

Ginny grinned wickedly. “I took Harry to The Veil !” she exclaimed.

Hermione nearly choked on her coffee. “You what ? Please, spare me the details about my two best friends having sex.”

Ginny leaned back, looking far too pleased with herself. “Honestly, I don’t know how I never heard about it before. And why you didn’t tell me about it the moment you discovered it! The place is amazing. And the drinks? Merlin’s beard, Hermione, have you tried the one called Unlimited Orgasms ?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “Well, yes, I… uh, I’ve tried it.”

Ginny let out a loud laugh. “Just tried it? Be honest, Hermione! It was mind-blowing ! If you’re opening that sex shop, please sign me up as your product tester, because I think I’ve finally found my true calling!”

“Your true calling?” Hermione said, trying not to laugh.

“Having unlimited orgasms,” Ginny declared shamelessly, making Hermione burst out laughing.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“Obviously,” Ginny replied with a wink. “Anyway, back to The Veil . You know how Harry is – always nervous about these things. ‘What if someone sees me?’ ‘What if they recognise me?’ – the usual Harry nonsense. But we decided to look around, and let me tell you, Hermione, some of those rooms are absolutely wild. We eventually found a private magical room, charmed it to look like Snape’s Potions classroom, and had the best sex of our lives.”

“Snape’s classroom?” Hermione sputtered, horrified and amused all at once. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Ginny said smugly. “You wouldn’t believe the ‘potions’ we tried to make things more fun!”

Hermione laughed so hard her sides hurt. “Well, I’m happy for you two,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “And to think people say married couples don’t have any fun.”

“Oh, please. We’re rewriting the rulebook,” Ginny said with a wink.

They moved on to lighter topics, chatting about everything and nothing – Hermione’s resignation, Ginny’s plans for Christmas with the boys, and the ridiculous fashions at the recent gala. Hours passed, and by the time they said their goodbyes, the sun was already setting, casting a warm orange glow over the café.

Hermione watched Ginny disappear down the street, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

The soft hum of music enveloped her as she stepped into The Veil . Hermione glanced around, her heart thrumming in her chest. The flickering, enchanted lights cast everything in a golden haze, and the air was heavy with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood and spice.

She smoothed her dress, feeling strangely out of place and yet completely at home. Her pulse quickened when she spotted him across the room – broad shoulders, dark hair, and an unmistakable, commanding presence. Viktor Krum.

He turned as if sensing her, his intense, deep-set eyes locking onto hers. A faint smile curved his lips, and he began walking toward her, his stride confident and purposeful.

“Hermione,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, his accent a little softer than she remembered. “You came.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I didn’t know if I’d see you here.”

Viktor chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “Where else would I be?” He extended his hand to her, and she took it hesitantly, her fingers trembling. His hand was warm, grounding, yet it sent a jolt through her that made her breath hitch.

He led her through the crowd, past softly murmuring couples and glowing sconces that seemed to flicker in time with her heartbeat. When they reached one of the private rooms, he opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

The space was dim and intimate, draped in dark silks and scattered with plush cushions. A fire crackled in the corner, its light dancing across Viktor’s sharp features. He turned to her, his expression unreadable, his gaze searing into hers.

“You are even more beautiful now,” he murmured, stepping closer.

Her breath caught. “Viktor, I – ”

But before she could say anything else, he tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing against her jaw. “Shh,” he whispered. “You think too much.”

Then he kissed her. His lips were soft but insistent, and the world seemed to tilt as his hands found her waist, pulling her against him. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, and she let herself melt into him, the sensation overwhelming, electric.

Her mind buzzed with questions she couldn’t quite form. How had they ended up here? How did he know her so well? But none of it seemed to matter when his touch sent sparks down her spine, and the room pulsed with magic, each beat echoing her racing heart.

Time blurred, sensations colliding and building until her world was consumed by him – the taste of his lips, the strength of his arms, the quiet promise in his eyes.

“Hermione,” Viktor whispered, his voice a low rasp in her ear. “You are unforgettable.”

Her eyes flew open.

The room was silent. The dim silk-draped space, the firelight, Viktor’s piercing gaze – all gone.

She bolted upright in her bed, her heart pounding in the dark stillness of her room. Sweat dampened her hairline, and she pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing pulse.

“A dream,” she whispered, her voice shaking. But the vividness of it, the way her body still thrummed with the echoes of his touch, made her question.

Was it just a dream? Or was it something she’d forgotten?

Her eyes darted to the Daily Prophet on her bedside table, the front-page photograph of Viktor smiling stiffly up at her. She groaned, sinking back into her pillow.

“First Malfoy,” she muttered to herself. “Now Viktor. Who’s next – Neville?”

The thought was absurd, yet she couldn’t shake the lingering uncertainty. The details of The Veil were so precise, too real to be imagined. Was it all just her subconscious playing tricks on her, or was her memory trying to tell her something?

She sighed deeply, throwing an arm over her face. Whatever the answer, she wasn’t ready to deal with it. Not yet.

The tea in Hermione’s mug had long since gone tepid as she sat at her kitchen table, trying – and failing – to focus on the book in front of her. Her thoughts had been circling the same track for hours. Who was the man – or maybe men – in The Veil?

She sighed, brushing a stray curl out of her face. It didn’t help that the conversation with Ginny yesterday had dredged up memories of Viktor. It was as though her subconscious had decided to make her second-guess everything at once.

She was still lost in thought when a knock sounded at the door.

Frowning, she set her mug down and rose to answer it. The sight that greeted her on the other side made her pause.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she asked, her tone half exasperation, half confusion.

Draco leaned casually against the doorframe, looking slightly disheveled, as though he hadn’t planned on this visit. “Well, I said we’d talk, didn’t I? And we… well, we didn’t. Talk, I mean.”

Hermione crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “Right, we didn’t talk. Of course. We haven’t even seen each other since…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing as though trying to recall something distant yet familiar.

Draco’s smirk faltered for a moment. “Right, yes. Haven’t seen each other. I’ve been busy, had some… obligations,” he said, his voice oddly hesitant, as though testing the waters.

Hermione tilted her head, studying him. “And now you’re here. Unannounced. Why?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward her mug of tea. “You’ve been drinking tea? And reading a book? How unexpected.”

Hermione closed the door with a sigh, crossing her arms as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “Fine. You came here to talk, so talk.”

Draco hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “The kiss,” he said, his smirk slipping just enough to show uncertainty. “We didn’t get a chance to discuss it.”

Hermione froze for a moment before rolling her eyes. “The kiss? Really? After three weeks now? It was a moment of madness. Nothing worth dissecting.”

Draco studied her, his expression unreadable. “Madness?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, ignoring the twist of discomfort in her stomach. “Two people caught up in the moment. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He stepped closer, his gaze steady. “You’re deflecting.”

“I am not,” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes.

“You are,” he replied, his voice low and calm. “You can’t even look at me when you say that.”

Hermione’s lips parted in protest, but no words came out. Because he was right.

Draco leaned back slightly, giving her room to breathe. “Look, I didn’t come here to argue. I just thought…” He trailed off, his hand raking through his hair again. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” she muttered, brushing past him to retrieve her mug from the table.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension in the room was thick, but somehow not unbearable.

Draco broke the silence, his tone lighter. “You know, for someone who claims the kiss was meaningless, you’re awfully defensive about it.”

Hermione shot him a glare, though her lips twitched despite herself. “And for someone who came here to talk, you’re doing an excellent job of avoiding any real answers.”

“Touché,” he said again, giving her a mock salute.

As the awkward silence stretched between them, a familiar meow broke it. Rhysand strolled into the room, his sleek black fur gleaming under the light, his green eyes landing immediately on Draco.  

Draco’s smirk deepened. “Ah, here’s my favourite  little furball.”  

Hermione groaned, already exasperated. “Rhysand, don’t encourage him.”  

But Rhysand paid her no mind, strutting up to Draco and letting out a commanding meow. Draco, naturally, crouched to greet the cat with an affectionate scratch behind the ears, which earned him an immediate, rumbling purr.  

“You’d think this was your cat,” Hermione muttered, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe.  

Draco glanced at her, looking maddeningly pleased already making his way to her armchair. “Well, I can’t help it if he has excellent taste, Granger.” He was sitting down just as Crookshanks appeared, the ginger half-Kneazle padding into the room with his usual grumpy air.  

“And the king arrives,” Draco drawled, nodding at Crookshanks as though they were old friends. “Hello, old boy. Still plotting to overthrow the Ministry?”  

Crookshanks, much to Hermione’s chagrin, chirped in what sounded suspiciously like approval before making his way over to Draco. The cat leapt onto the arm of the chair and butted his head against Draco’s shoulder.  

Hermione let out an exasperated huff, throwing up her hands. “I don’t understand why they like you so much. You didn’t even like animals at school!”  

Draco, already lowering himself into her armchair like he owned the place, flashed her a smug grin. “They clearly know I’m a changed man. Cats have an excellent sense of character, you know.”  

Rhysand immediately jumped onto his lap, curling up as Draco’s hand moved instinctively to stroke him. Crookshanks, not to be left out, nudged Draco’s arm until he earned his own scratches.  

Hermione could only stare. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, sinking into her own armchair across from him.  

Draco smirked, not looking up from the cats. “Don’t look so jealous, Granger. I’ll save some attention for you.”  

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “As if I’d want your attention. Honestly, what is it with you and my cats?”  

Draco leaned back, utterly at ease, his fingers combing through Rhysand’s fur. “They like me because I don’t try too hard. You, on the other hand, are probably hovering over them, worrying about their diets and hairballs.”  

“I am not,” Hermione snapped, though she absolutely was, and they both knew it.  

“And yet,” Draco said, gesturing lazily to the two cats currently basking in his attention, “here they are. Clearly, I’m the favourite.”  

Hermione threw him a withering look but didn’t respond, instead picking up her glass of wine and taking a long sip.  

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered after a moment, more to herself than to him. “Draco Malfoy, sitting in my flat, bonding with my cats like he lives here.”  

Draco looked up at her then, his smirk softening into something that might almost have been genuine. “Could be worse, Granger,” he said, his tone lighter than usual. “I could hate cats. Imagine the tragedy.”  

She couldn’t help it; her lips twitched, betraying the faintest hint of a smile. “I’m still trying to decide if this is a tragedy or a comedy,” she said, setting her glass down.  

“Well, for the cats,” Draco said, scratching under Crookshanks’ chin, “it’s definitely a romance. Look at them. Devoted.”  

Hermione rolled her eyes again, though the gesture felt half-hearted now. The tension between them was melting, replaced by something quieter, something almost… comfortable. She didn’t know what to make of it, or of him, or of the way her chest felt oddly warm watching him stroke Rhysand’s fur with uncharacteristic gentleness.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, standing to gather the empty tea cups and make some more tea. “Don’t you have somewhere else you’d rather be?”

Draco looked up at her, his expression unusually soft, though the smirk remained. “No, actually. I’m happy here. With your cats. Even if they are yours.”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. But then, a wicked smile curved her lips. “Alright, fine,” she said, filling the cups and turning to him with an air of exaggerated nonchalance. “In that case, you’re in luck. I was about to start a movie marathon.”

Draco’s brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued. “A movie marathon?”

“Yes,” she said innocently, settling back into her armchair. “Something very famous. A cultural classic, if you will.”

He tilted his head, intrigued. “Is it anything like The Lord of the Rings we watched last time?”

Hermione grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, no. It’s something else entirely.”

She picked up the remote, scrolling through the options until the screen lit up with the unmistakable logo: Twilight .

“You’re in for a treat, Malfoy,” she said, her grin widening as the opening music began to play.

Draco’s smirk faltered, his brows knitting in confusion as the screen filled with brooding vampires and sparkling forests. “Granger… what the bloody hell is this?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Hermione said, her tone far too cheerful. She leaned back, picking up her tea with a satisfied sip.

And as the first overly dramatic line of dialogue echoed through the room, she couldn’t help but smirk as Draco’s expression shifted from confusion to quiet horror.

Chapter Text

Hermione stood at the grand entrance of Malfoy Manor, her heart pounding in her chest. The evening air was crisp, and the manor was illuminated with a warm, inviting glow. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Tonight was the gala, and she was both excited and anxious.

She had spent hours getting ready, making sure every detail was perfect. Her dress, a stunning red gown with a deep V-neck and flowing cape sleeves, hugged her curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered under the soft lights, making her feel like a goddess. Her hair was styled in a voluminous updo, with loose tendrils framing her face. She wore elegant diamond earrings that sparkled with every movement, and her lips were painted a bold red, matching her dress.

As she stepped inside, the grandeur of the manor took her breath away. The foyer was adorned with lavish decorations, and the sound of soft music and laughter filled the air. She could see guests mingling, their faces lit up with joy and anticipation.

Hermione's nerves began to settle as she took in the scene. She had always loved galas, the elegance, the excitement, and the chance to dress up. But tonight was different. Tonight, she was at Malfoy Manor, and she knew Draco would be there. The thought of seeing him again sent a thrill through her, a mix of excitement and apprehension.

She wondered if he’d been plagued by nightmares after their Twilight marathon. The wizard had looked utterly scandalised by the sparkling vampires. That memory alone was enough to bring a smile to her lips now, though she quickly chased it away, determined to remain focused on the more pressing – the letter and possibility of seeing him .

She walked further into the manor, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor. As she entered the grand ballroom, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. The room was breathtaking, with its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and walls lined with exquisite artwork. The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sound of clinking glasses.

Hermione scanned the room, her eyes searching for a familiar face. She spotted Pansy and Theo near the bar, laughing and chatting with a group of friends. She made her way over to them, feeling a sense of relief at seeing her friends.

"Hermione, you look absolutely stunning!" Pansy exclaimed, her eyes widening as she took in Hermione's appearance.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. "You both look amazing as well."

Theo grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ready for a night to remember?"

Hermione nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "More than ready."

Hermione’s conversation with Theo and Pansy flowed effortlessly, the familiar banter easing her nerves as they stood near the grand bar. Pansy, radiant in an emerald gown that hugged her figure, was halfway through a story about Blaise’s latest escapades when a regal voice interrupted them.

“Miss Granger,” came the smooth, commanding tone.

All three of them turned to see Narcissa Malfoy approaching. The matriarch of the Malfoy family was a vision of winter elegance. She wore a midnight blue gown adorned with silver embroidery that sparkled like frost in the light of the chandeliers. Her platinum blonde hair was swept into a sophisticated chignon, and a delicate diamond necklace rested on her collarbone. Despite her stern composure, her smile was warm and genuine.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione greeted, a bit startled but quickly recovering her poise. “Thank you for inviting me. This gala is… breathtaking.”

Narcissa inclined her head graciously. “I’m delighted you could join us. Your presence here means a great deal to our family.”

Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, but before she could respond, Theo stepped in with his usual charm.

“Narcissa,” Theo said, his voice dripping with playful admiration, “you are the epitome of grace and beauty this evening. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to outshine every other guest here, and frankly, it’s working.”

Narcissa raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “Theodore, you are as incorrigible as ever.”

“And you’re as radiant as ever,” Theo shot back with a wink, clearly enjoying himself. “Though, to be fair, you’ve set an impossible standard for the rest of us. How are we mere mortals supposed to compete when you’ve clearly made a pact with some benevolent deity of elegance?”

Pansy groaned beside him, covering her face with her hand. “Merlin, Theo, you’re unbearable.”

“I prefer ‘charming,’” Theo said, not missing a beat. He leaned in slightly toward Narcissa, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “Tell me, Mrs. Malfoy, is there a hidden portrait of you aging in some dusty attic? It’s the only logical explanation for how you’ve managed to look even younger than you did last year.”

Narcissa let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re relentless.”

“It’s one of my better qualities,” Theo replied with a grin. “Though I must admit, your laugh is reward enough. If I could bottle it, I’d have a fortune rivaling your family’s.”

Hermione couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle, watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and secondhand embarrassment.

Pansy, however, had reached her limit. She smacked Theo on the back of the head – not too hard, but enough to make her point. “Stop embarrassing us,” she scolded. “You’re going to make her regret inviting us.”

Theo rubbed the back of his head dramatically, feigning pain. “Pansy, please! Violence against art is a crime.”

“Art?” Pansy repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’re calling yourself art now?”

“Of course,” Theo said with mock indignation. “Narcissa, back me up here. Don’t I at least qualify as an installation piece? Something avant-garde, perhaps.”

Narcissa chuckled softly, her gaze filled with a mix of amusement and indulgence. “You’re certainly unique, Theodore.”

“Unique! I’ll take it,” Theo declared, striking a theatrical pose as if accepting an award. “It’s about time my genius was recognised.”

Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely hide her smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Theo said, turning back to Narcissa with a flourish, “here I stand, unyielding in my mission to bring levity and charm to this already exquisite evening.”

Narcissa shook her head fondly. “You certainly know how to make an impression.”

“Oh, I aim to do more than that,” Theo quipped. “By the end of the night, you’ll be telling Draco to adopt me into the family.”

“That’s enough, Theo,” Pansy interjected, dragging him away by the arm. “Leave Narcissa alone before she actually considers it.”

As Pansy pulled him back toward the bar, Theo called over his shoulder, “Narcissa, think it over! I promise, I’d be the least troublesome addition!”

Narcissa’s soft laughter followed them, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile. Despite his antics, Theo had managed to make the intimidating Malfoy matriarch laugh – a feat in itself.

As Pansy quietly bickered with Theo, their voices low but filled with an edge of amusement, Hermione let her gaze drift across the grand ballroom. She needed a moment away from their antics to take in the breathtaking surroundings.

The ballroom was a winter wonderland. Garlands of holly and ivy adorned the walls, intertwined with strings of twinkling fairy lights that cast a gentle glow over the space. A massive Christmas tree stood proudly at one end of the room, its branches heavy with ornate glass ornaments and shimmering tinsel that reflected the light like tiny stars. Overhead, chandeliers sparkled like icicles, sending a warm golden glow cascading over the elegantly dressed crowd. Everywhere she looked, festive charm abounded – from crystal snowflakes dangling from the high ceiling to lush poinsettia arrangements that added a vivid pop of red to the otherwise frosty palette.

Hermione let out a soft breath of appreciation. It truly was magical, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply admire the beauty of it all. But then, her gaze caught on a figure moving across the room – a tall, broad-shouldered man with a familiar gait and a head of dark hair.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Viktor Krum.

She blinked, almost disbelieving. It had been years since they’d last exchanged letters, years since they’d drifted apart. Hermione would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t regret the way things had ended. She’d always thought fondly of him, and seeing him now, so unexpectedly, stirred something bittersweet in her chest.

And then there was the dream – or was it a memory? She hadn’t been able to forget it since, the vivid image of his touch, his voice, their connection in The Veil. It had felt so real, followed too closely by her seeing his name in the paper, that it left her questioning everything. The dream, the letter, and now… here he was. Could it be?

She shook her head slightly, as if trying to dispel the fog of confusion. But the questions lingered, refusing to be ignored. Perhaps I should go over to him.

For a moment, the idea seemed absurd. What would she even say? Hello, it’s been ages. By the way, were we having sex together in the sex club? But the thought of letting the opportunity pass, of leaving tonight without even speaking to him, made her stomach twist with regret.

Hermione glanced back at Theo and Pansy, who were now mock-glowering at one another, clearly locked in their own playful quarrel. If she were to slip away for just a moment, she doubted they’d even notice.

Her feet shifted slightly, her nerves battling with her curiosity as she hesitated, caught between the pull of nostalgia and the uncertainty of what she might find.

Before Hermione could gather the courage to approach Viktor, another pair of polished black shoes stepped into her path. She stopped abruptly, her gaze traveling upward until she met the piercing silver eyes of Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, his expression seemed unreadable, but then something flickered. His gaze roved over her, lingering in a way that made her skin prickle with a mix of nerves and something else she couldn’t quite name. He looked as though he was drinking her in, overwhelmed, before – blink. The mask was back, and his face was as composed and guarded as ever.

“Granger,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate.

“Malfoy,” she replied, her tone more hesitant than she’d intended. She wasn’t sure where they stood anymore, not after everything that had happened – or hadn’t happened – between them.

Draco’s lips quirked, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Enjoying the festivities?” he asked, but his voice had an edge, as though the question was more of a prelude to something else.

Hermione crossed her arms, a nervous reflex she immediately regretted. “They’re… lovely,” she said cautiously, glancing around the room. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt the need to be on guard. “Your mother has impeccable taste.”

Draco nodded slightly, but his attention was fixed on her, not the room. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice dropping lower. It wasn’t a request.

Hermione stiffened. “Talk? About what?”

“About us,” Draco said bluntly. His gaze didn’t waver, and the intensity in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. “It’s long overdue, don’t you think?”

Hermione crossed her arms, arching a brow at him. “This again, Malfoy? You were at my house just a week ago. No one was stopping you from talking then, so why now?”

Her tone was sharp, laced with frustration, but her heart was pounding in her chest. Whatever Draco Malfoy wanted to say, it had to be important – or infuriating – if he’d waited until now to bring it up.

“I know, so come with me, please,” he said, nodding toward a nearby hallway. “The library. It’s quieter there.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped, and she shook her head, her voice firmer this time. “I don’t think so, Malfoy. If you’ve got something to say, you can say it here.”

Draco exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. “Stop being difficult, Granger. This isn’t the place for – ”

“For what?” she interrupted, her own nerves giving way to irritation. “What exactly do you want to talk about, Malfoy? What is this, anyway?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might snap at her. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and controlled. “You know exactly what this is.”

Her breath hitched, but she refused to let him see how much he was affecting her. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, forcing herself to sound calm. “Don’t you have other guests to entertain? Or,” she added, tilting her head, “shouldn’t you be using this gala to find a wife? I’m sure your mother has a shortlist prepared.”

That struck a nerve. His expression darkened, and for a split second, she thought she saw something raw flash across his face. He straightened, his hands flexing at his sides. “You really think that’s why I’m here? Why I’m talking to you right now?”

Hermione bit her lip, suddenly unsure if she’d pushed too far. But before she could answer, Draco stepped back, his gaze cold and cutting. “Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. “Enjoy the party, Granger.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding in her chest and her thoughts more tangled than ever.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment, staring after Draco as he disappeared into the crowd, his shoulders tense and his steps purposeful. She felt a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling inside her, unsure of whether she should feel relieved or insulted by his abrupt departure.

Before she could dwell on it any longer, Theo appeared at her side, a champagne flute in one hand and a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, that looked intense,” he remarked, his tone light but curious.

Hermione groaned, brushing her hands down the front of her dress in an attempt to calm herself. “It’s Malfoy,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “I don’t even know what’s going on with him.”

Theo chuckled, handing her a fresh glass of champagne as if it were the universal solution to all problems. “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s been in a foul mood for weeks. Something about brooding in his study and terrorising the house-elves.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Give him a drink or two, and he’ll be much more tolerable. Maybe even amusing.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, taking the glass but not sipping from it. “You’re saying I should just ignore him?”

“Absolutely,” Theo said with a nod, his grin widening. “If there’s one thing Draco hates, it’s being ignored. Drives him mad. It’s practically therapeutic – for the rest of us, anyway.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest loosening slightly. “Therapeutic? For who? You or him?”

Theo winked. “Everyone involved.”

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Theo’s antics were infectious, and she decided then and there to take his advice – at least for the moment. “Fine,” she said, raising her glass in a mock toast. “To ignoring Malfoy.”

“To ignoring Malfoy,” Theo repeated, clinking his glass against hers before taking a sip. “Now go have fun. This is a gala, not a Gryffindor self-reflection hour.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled as she turned away, letting herself be drawn back into the swirl of people and conversation. The room was alive with energy, laughter and music mingling with the clinking of glasses. She let the festive atmosphere wash over her, deciding to push Malfoy – and his maddeningly cryptic behaviour – out of her mind. At least for now.

Suddenly, it was nearly midnight. The buzz of excitement rippled through the ballroom as guests began making their way toward the terrace, eager to watch the promised fireworks display. Hermione lingered behind, finishing her champagne and laughing at a passing joke from Theo before realising she was one of the last still in the room. She wasn’t drunk, but she was definitely tipsy, her steps light and her mood lifted by the festive atmosphere.

She made her way toward the grand double doors, the cool night air already seeping into the marble corridors. The distant sound of chatter and laughter from the terrace beckoned her, and she followed the stream of guests at her own leisurely pace. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she turned into the wide hallway that led outside.

Then, without warning, the ground disappeared beneath her.

“Hey – what the – ” she yelped, her voice echoing off the high walls of the corridor. She flailed instinctively, her hands clutching at the nearest solid object – unfortunately, the chest of whoever had decided to hoist her up like a sack of potatoes.

Her indignation flared as she twisted, craning her neck to see who had the audacity to carry her. The world tilted as she caught a glimpse of pale blond hair.

“Malfoy!” she snapped, her voice a mix of shock and fury.

He didn’t say anything right away, his grip firm and purposeful as he carried her down a side corridor. His strides were long and confident, as though carrying Hermione Granger over his shoulder was the most natural thing in the world.

“Put me down this instant!” she demanded, her fists pounding against his back – not that it seemed to faze him in the slightest.

“No,” came his calm reply, his voice laced with infuriating nonchalance.

“No? What do you mean, no ?” she shot back, her voice rising. “You can’t just – Malfoy, put me down right now, or so help me, I’ll – ”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, his tone cool and sharp. “Hex me? Bite me? Scream for help?”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she was too stunned to reply. His voice wasn’t angry, but there was an undercurrent of something – determination, maybe? Frustration? Whatever it was, it silenced her long enough for him to turn down another hallway, where the sound of the crowd on the terrace faded into the background.

“Malfoy,” she said again, her voice quieter but no less indignant. “What are you doing?”

He finally stopped, setting her down gently but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. His expression was unreadable as his stormy silver eyes met hers. “Talking,” he said simply. “Somewhere quieter and alone.”

Hermione looked around, her breath catching as she took in her surroundings. They were standing in a library – no, not just a library. It was the library, a magnificent, sprawling sanctuary of books that seemed to stretch on forever. The shelves were carved from dark mahogany, reaching all the way to the ceiling, and every inch of them was crammed with books, some so ancient they looked as though a touch might turn them to dust. Rolling ladders were attached to the shelves, gleaming in the soft light of the enormous chandelier above.

The chandelier itself was a masterpiece, its golden arms adorned with crystals that caught the light like tiny stars. Long, velvet curtains framed tall, arched windows, and the flickering light of a roaring fireplace bathed the room in a warm, golden glow. A faint scent of parchment, leather, and something vaguely spicy lingered in the air, grounding Hermione in the space’s history.

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she forgot everything – where she was, how she’d gotten there, or the fact that she wasn’t alone. She took a step forward, her fingertips brushing against the spine of a nearby book, her mind racing at the sheer wealth of knowledge surrounding her.

“Are you done?”

The voice broke her reverie, pulling her abruptly back to reality. Hermione spun around, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Malfoy. He was leaning casually against one of the shelves, his arms crossed and a small, infuriatingly smug smile tugging at his lips.

“What is going on?” she demanded, her voice sharp as she tried to push down the sudden quickening of her pulse. “Why am I here? What are you playing at, Malfoy?”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed by her tone. “Relax, Granger. You looked like you were about to start cataloging the shelves. I thought I should intervene before you got carried away.”

Hermione glared at him, her cheeks flushing. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Draco sighed, his smirk softening just slightly. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” she pressed, folding her arms over her chest. “Is this about...?” She hesitated, her mind racing. Was this about the kiss? Or – her stomach flipped – was it about the club?

Her heartbeat quickened at the thought, a mix of nerves and something else she couldn’t quite name. She hated the way her thoughts felt out of her control around him.

“I’m not playing games, Granger,” Draco said, his voice low and steady. “I brought you here because I need to talk to you. Properly. Without an audience.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and curiosity warring within her. “Fine,” she said slowly, lifting her chin. “But this had better be good, Malfoy. Because I don’t take kindly to being manhandled.”

His smirk returned, just the faintest curve of his lips. “Oh, Granger,” he said, his tone maddeningly amused. “You’ll want to hear this.”

Hermione crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on Malfoy with unyielding determination. “Well?” she prompted, her voice sharp. “You dragged me in here, Malfoy. Let’s hear it. I don’t have all night, you know. There’s a gala happening out there, and I’d rather be enjoying it than standing here playing twenty questions with you.”

Draco didn’t react immediately. He stood there, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. His silver eyes met hers, lingering for a moment that felt almost too long. Hermione’s frustration grew as the silence stretched, the faint sound of music and laughter seeping in from the distant ballroom, a reminder of where she should be.

“I don’t recall dragging you,” he said at last, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Though if you wanted me to carry you again, Granger, all you had to do was ask.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, both from irritation and the memory of being slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “That’s not funny,” she snapped. “You’re stalling, Malfoy. Just get to the point.”

Draco tilted his head slightly, as if weighing her words. “You Gryffindors are always so impatient. No sense of pacing.”

“Malfoy,” she said, her voice tight with warning. “Either you say what you dragged me here to say, or I’m leaving.”

His smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of something more serious. “Fine,” he said, straightening. “I wanted to talk to you about… us.”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard despite herself. “Us?” she repeated, her voice laced with skepticism. “What us ?”

Draco exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping briefly before snapping back to hers. “Don’t play dumb, Granger. You know exactly what I mean.”

Her heart gave an involuntary flutter, but she quickly shoved the feeling aside. “I really don’t,” she said, her tone clipped. “If this is about that incident – ”

“This isn’t about one moment,” Draco interrupted, his voice firmer now. “This is about the fact that you – ” He paused, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “That you can’t stop being in my head. That I – ” He stopped again, as if the words themselves were refusing to come out.

Hermione’s breath hitched, but she kept her composure. Barely. “Malfoy, I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but – ”

“It’s not a game, Granger!” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. He took a step closer, and she instinctively stepped back, her shoulders brushing against the bookshelf behind her. His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unrelenting. “It hasn’t been a game for a long time.”

The room felt suddenly too small, the air thick with tension. Hermione’s pulse pounded in her ears as she stared up at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of what he even wanted her to say. The faint sound of the gala outside seemed miles away, as if the rest of the world had faded into irrelevance.

“Malfoy…” she began, her voice softer now, but the words caught in her throat.

Before Hermione could fully process his words, Draco stepped closer, his hands reaching out to grip her shoulders firmly but not harshly. His silver eyes locked onto hers with a burning intensity that made her breath catch.

“I’m talking about us, Granger,” he said, his voice low and raw. “About this. ”

Before she could form a reply, his lips crashed against hers.

The kiss was nothing like she had expected – if she had ever dared to imagine it at all. It wasn’t tentative or hesitant; it was hungry, demanding, filled with a kind of desperation that sent a shiver down her spine. Draco’s hands slid from her shoulders, one tangling in her hair, the other moving to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.

Hermione’s initial shock melted away in an instant. Her hands found his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as if anchoring herself to him. A soft moan escaped her lips, muffled against his mouth, and the sound seemed to spur him on.

Draco’s lips moved with an intensity that left no room for hesitation, his tongue brushing against hers, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed over her back. Hermione felt herself arch into him, her senses consumed by the scent of him – something sharp and clean, like winter air mixed with a hint of spice.

She gasped as her back hit the hard surface of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing into her spine. Draco had her pinned now, his hands bracing against the shelf on either side of her, caging her in. The movement should have been alarming, but instead, it sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t ignore.

His lips left hers only for a moment, trailing hot kisses along her jawline and down her neck. Hermione’s head fell back against the books, a breathless moan escaping her as his teeth grazed her skin. Her hands slid upward, clutching at his shoulders, her mind hazy with the overwhelming heat of his touch.

“Draco,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, and she felt him freeze for a split second before his lips found hers again, hungrier than before. His name on her lips seemed to ignite something in him, his hands gripping her hips now, pulling her impossibly closer.

Time seemed to blur, the sounds of the gala outside fading completely as the only thing that mattered was the press of his body against hers, the way his hands and lips seemed to claim her in a way that felt both overwhelming and inevitable.

His lips pressed harder against hers, his hands tightening their grip on her hips as if anchoring her in place. Hermione’s mind spun, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps between their fevered kisses. She was barely aware of the world around her anymore – just the warmth of his body, the taste of him, and the electric charge that coursed through every nerve.

And then – 

“Draco.”

The sharp, authoritative voice cut through the haze like a splash of cold water. Hermione stiffened, her hands clutching Draco’s shoulders as her eyes flew open. He pulled back slightly, his breathing uneven, his lips still grazing hers as if reluctant to leave.

“Draco,” Narcissa’s voice came again, firmer now. Hermione turned her head to see the Malfoy matriarch standing in the doorway, her icy blue eyes sharp as they flicked between the two of them.

Hermione’s cheeks burned as reality came rushing back. Her hair was mussed, her breathing heavy, and she had no doubt her lips were red and swollen from their kiss. She could still feel Draco’s hands on her hips, his warmth seeping into her skin. She was certain Narcissa had noticed every damning detail.

Draco stepped back reluctantly, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he turned to face his mother. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his own breathing betraying the intensity of what had just transpired. “Mother,” he said, his voice strained but calm.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Narcissa said, her tone clipped. Her gaze shifted to Hermione for a fraction of a second, her expression unreadable, before snapping back to Draco. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. A young witch from a respectable family. She’s been waiting for an introduction.”

Draco’s jaw tightened, and he glanced back at Hermione, his eyes lingering on her flushed face and the way her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her dress. “Now’s not a good time,” he said, his voice curt.

Narcissa’s expression hardened. “Draco, you’re the host. It is your duty to make her acquaintance. You can’t just disappear and – ” She stopped, her eyes narrowing slightly. “ – neglect your responsibilities.”

Draco straightened, his shoulders squaring. “I’m not neglecting anything. I’m in the middle of something important.”

“Enough,” Narcissa snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “This is not up for debate. You will come with me. Now.”

For a moment, Draco looked as though he might argue further, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. But then, with a visible effort, he exhaled and nodded tightly. He turned back to Hermione, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I’ll find you later. We’re not done.”

Hermione’s throat felt dry, and she could only nod, her mind still spinning from everything that had just happened. Draco hesitated, then shrugged off his jacket and placed it gently over her shoulders, the gesture so unexpectedly intimate that it made her breath hitch.

Then, without another word, he turned and followed Narcissa out of the library, leaving Hermione standing there, her pulse pounding in her ears and her thoughts in complete disarray.

Hermione found herself back in the ballroom, weaving through the clusters of elegantly dressed witches and wizards who had returned from the terrace after the fireworks. She had missed the display entirely, but she didn’t care. Her mind was too full – too preoccupied with the charged encounter in the library, with every second of her time with Malfoy. The weight of his jacket still lingered on her shoulders, though she’d left it behind before returning to the crowd. Every moment in the library had left her with more questions than answers. What had she been thinking, letting herself get swept up like that? What was he thinking? And why had he been so adamant about talking to her – about them ?

Hermione’s gaze flitted across the ballroom as she scanned the room for him. But Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Instead of relief, a strange pang twisted in her chest at the thought of what he might be doing – and who he might be with. The idea of him charming some elegant young witch, a potential future bride chosen by Narcissa, made her stomach churn. She pushed the thought aside, trying to focus on the present.

But the present wasn’t offering her much clarity either. Her thoughts circled back to the library, to his touch, his voice, and the way he looked at her – as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. It wasn’t just physical. There had been something real in the way he kissed her, something unspoken but undeniable. How could she ignore that? For all his arrogance and impossible demeanor, there was something about him that drew her in like a moth to a flame. It was almost frightening to admit it, but maybe – just maybe – there was something genuine between them.

Hermione shook her head slightly, trying to steady herself. Malfoy had always been a puzzle, but in the real world, here and now, something between them made sense. They were no longer children at each other’s throats, nor were they bound by the past. She couldn’t deny that when she was around him, there was a spark – one that had been growing steadily, no matter how much she tried to ignore it.

And yet, there was the other half of her tangled reality – the mysterious man from the club. Her mind immediately conjured Viktor’s face. It had to be him. It made sense, didn’t it? He had always been intense and focused, and the way he looked at her tonight felt familiar, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. He’d been on her mind for years, even in passing, and now he was here, as if fate had orchestrated the reunion.

It was too coincidental. Of course, Viktor would be the one seeking anonymity, escaping into a world where titles and expectations didn’t matter. 

Her chest tightened as the weight of it all pressed down on her. The room, filled with the laughter and chatter of the remaining guests, felt too loud and too quiet all at once.

“Granger, this night is a bloody disaster,” Theo’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, startling her.

She blinked, turning to find Theo and Pansy standing at the bar. Theo was leaning dramatically against the counter, his face a mix of exasperation and something bordering on panic. Pansy, meanwhile, was nursing a cocktail, looking entirely unbothered.

Hermione seized the distraction, grateful for anything to pull her out of her own head. “Why? What happened?” she asked, moving closer.

Theo straightened, waving a hand as if to emphasise the magnitude of the catastrophe. “What happened?” he repeated, his voice rising. “What happened is that Blaise and I thought we’d seize the moment – this grand, sprawling manor, the romantic ambiance – and, you know, sneak away for a little private time.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, unsure if she wanted to hear more. “Private time?”

“You know,” Theo said with a grin that quickly faltered, “a quick, ah, interlude in one of the many beautiful rooms this place has to offer. And we found the room, Granger. Stunning. Rich green walls, a four-poster bed with curtains, a fireplace that practically begged for us to use it as a backdrop. The whole thing was perfect.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, already anticipating where this was going. “Theo…”

“Wait, I’m not done!” Theo continued, clearly enjoying both his role as the storyteller and Hermione’s growing horror. “So there we are, in the middle of things – really, the middle of things – when the door swings open, and guess who’s standing there?”

Hermione didn’t answer, dreading the answer even though she already knew.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” Theo announced dramatically, throwing his arms into the air. “Yes, Narcissa . Do you know how terrifying that woman is when she’s glaring at you while you’re – well, you get the picture.”

Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing, covering her mouth with her hand as Theo launched into an exaggerated re-enactment of Narcissa’s icy expression.

“I mean, how was I supposed to know it was his bedroom?” Theo continued, clearly on a roll, his hands gesturing wildly. “This place has about a thousand bloody rooms! What are the odds?”

“They’re quite high if you don’t check the portraits,” Pansy interjected dryly, taking a sip of her drink. “Malfoy’s smug face is right above the fireplace in there, glaring down like he owns the place. Which, incidentally, he does.”

Theo groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, brilliant, Pansy. That’s so helpful. I’ll just remember next time to check for Draco’s looming presence before I decide to, you know, live my life!”

Pansy rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. “You’re lucky it was Narcissa who found you. She wasn’t just wandering, you know – she was looking for Draco. She was probably already annoyed and then found you two idiots in his room. Honestly, I’m amazed you’re still standing here.”

Theo winced. “She was looking for Draco, wasn’t she?” He leaned heavily against the bar, burying his face in one hand. “No wonder she looked like she wanted to Avada me on the spot. She was probably expecting to drag him out to meet some future Mrs. Malfoy and instead found us. ”

Hermione, who had been silently sipping her drink, choked at the words. “You were in Draco’s room?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief.

“Yes!” Theo threw his hands in the air. “How was I supposed to know? It’s not like there was a neon sign that said, ‘Enter Here for Malfoy’s Bedroom.’ ”

“There is literally a portrait of him,” Pansy flatly repeated.

Theo shot her a look of betrayal. “You could’ve warned me!”

“I assumed you had some sense of self-preservation,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

Theo ignored her, turning back to Hermione with an expression of sheer panic. “Do you think she’s going to hex me? Or worse – ban me from the manor forever? This could be the end of me, Granger.”

Hermione shook her head, trying to stifle her laughter. “I think you’ll survive, Theo.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Theo said, running a hand through his hair. “Narcissa is practically a second mother to me. I can’t ever look her in the eye again. She’ll see my shame.”

“Would you shut it?” Pansy said, smacking him lightly on the arm. “You’re making it worse. You should be thanking her for not cursing you into next week.”

“ Thanking her?” Theo sputtered. “I barely escaped with my dignity!”

“You didn’t escape with any dignity,” Pansy muttered.

Hermione tilted her head, curiosity sparking. “Wait a second. How is it that you and Blaise, as his best friends, have never been in his bedroom before?”

Theo paused, looking oddly sheepish. “Draco’s always been...particular about his space,” he admitted reluctantly. “The only one who’s ever been in there was Pansy, back when he was madly in love with her at fourteen. After that? No one.”

Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t remind me. He used to read me poetry. Awful poetry. He thought it was romantic.”

Theo smirked, the panic momentarily forgotten. “Still better than Blaise’s idea of romance. Remember when he – ”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Pansy warned, narrowing her eyes.

Hermione suppressed a laugh, but her curiosity flared again. “Speaking of Blaise, where is he anyway?”

Theo let out a snort, shaking his head. “Terrified of Narcissa. He went running, naked arse and everything.”

“Merlin’s sake,” Pansy muttered, rolling her eyes.

Theo grinned, clearly enjoying himself now. “He’s probably nursing a bottle of firewhisky somewhere, drowning his shame.”

Hermione couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer, her previous worries momentarily forgotten as Theo continued to spiral. The absurdity of it all was too much, and she found herself leaning against the bar, shaking her head as Theo dramatically vowed never to enter another Malfoy property again.

Hermione glanced at her two friends, their banter and bickering a comforting normalcy in the whirlwind of her evening. But the weight of what had just happened in the library pressed on her, and before she could stop herself, the words spilled out.

“Malfoy kissed me,” she said, her voice soft but clear.

The effect was immediate. Theo and Pansy froze mid-sip of their drinks, their gazes snapping to her like a pair of synchronised Bludgers.

“What?” they exclaimed in unison, their voices loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby guests.

Theo leaned forward, his expression a mixture of shock and protective outrage. “What happened? Tell us everything. Was he drunk? Did he do something to you? Do I need to go punch him? Because I will. Just say the word.”

Hermione’s chest warmed at Theo’s earnest concern, and she reached out, patting his hand reassuringly. “No, Theo. Nothing like that. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Well, then what the hell happened?” Pansy demanded, her dark eyes narrowing.

Hermione hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. “I… I don’t know. I mean, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

A second, louder chorus of “What?!” erupted from her friends, drawing even more attention from the surrounding crowd. Pansy hissed a curse under her breath and pulled Hermione closer to their huddle.

“You’re telling me this is the second time Malfoy’s kissed you?” Pansy said, her voice sharp with incredulity. “And you’re just now mentioning it?”

Theo shook his head, looking genuinely baffled. “Granger, this is… I mean, Malfoy? Are you sure he’s not having some kind of identity crisis? Or maybe he’s been Confunded?”

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, another voice cut through the din.

"Her-my-own-ninny," Viktor Krum said, his thick accent rolling over the syllables, his deep voice unmistakable.

The three of them turned, and Hermione felt her breath hitch as her eyes landed on Viktor Krum.

He had changed so much since the last time she’d seen him. His shoulders were broader, his frame more solid, the athleticism of his youth now tempered with the confidence and strength of maturity. His square jaw was clean-shaven, his dark eyes sharp beneath thick brows, and his hair, slightly longer than she remembered, framed his face in a way that made him look even more striking. He wore a perfectly tailored suit in deep navy, and the way he carried himself – calm, deliberate, commanding – turned heads as he crossed the room.

But what struck her most was the way he looked at her. His gaze was unflinching, focused entirely on her, as if she were the only person in the room.

“Viktor,” she breathed, her heart skipping a beat. “I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I had to be here tonight,” he said, his deep voice heavy with his accent, the words deliberate. “This is not a night I could be missing.”

Viktor stepped closer, his gaze never wavering. “I have been waiting to speak with you,” he said, his tone softening. “The whole evening.”

Hermione blinked, her thoughts racing. She felt Pansy and Theo exchange glances beside her, but she was too focused on Viktor to care.

“I…” She trailed off, unsure of how to respond. The intensity in his eyes made it impossible to think clearly. “What did you want to talk about?”

Viktor smiled faintly, but there was something serious in his expression. “Everything,” he said simply.

Hermione’s heart leapt again, this time with an almost painful jolt of hope. Could it be him? Could Viktor really be the man from the club? Finally, the endless questions swirling in her mind might find their answers. She opened her mouth to respond, to say something that would push her closer to the truth, but before she could, Pansy’s voice sliced through the air.

“Hey,” Pansy said, her tone sharp and full of mischief. “Sorry, big boy, but girls need to talk.”

Hermione barely had time to register the words before Pansy grabbed her arm and began pulling her toward the hallway.

“Pansy, what are you doing?” Hermione protested, trying to dig her heels in, but Pansy’s grip was surprisingly firm.

“That’s twice tonight someone’s dragged me somewhere!” Hermione muttered, more to herself than anyone else, as she stumbled after Pansy.

Behind them, Theo trailed after the pair, looking more amused than alarmed. “This should be interesting,” he remarked, sipping his drink as he followed.

Once they were out in the hallway, Pansy finally released Hermione, who spun around, her face a mixture of confusion and irritation.

“What the bloody hell , Pansy?” Hermione snapped, her voice low but heated. “I need to go back. Now.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Why? You haven’t seen that man in years. Why’s he suddenly so bloody important?”

Hermione exhaled sharply, as if the answer were obvious. “Don’t you get it? Viktor’s him . The man from the club. It all makes sense!”

Pansy froze, her mouth hanging slightly open. She blinked once, twice, and then her expression twisted into one of utter disbelief. Beside her, Theo mirrored the look, his brows shooting up as if Hermione had just announced she was secretly a goblin.

“What?” Hermione said, glancing between the two of them. “Why are you looking at me like that? It makes perfect sense. Viktor is my man from the club. I’m going back right now to – ”

She didn’t get to finish.

“What the fuck ?”

The voice came from behind her, sharp and unmistakable.

Hermione froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she slowly turned around. There, standing just a few feet away with an expression that could only be described as a storm barely contained, was Draco Malfoy.

His gray eyes narrowed as they flicked between her and her friends, lingering on Hermione with an intensity that made her heart skip. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked, his tone low and dangerous.

Theo, ever the opportunist, stepped in before Hermione could answer. “Nothing to worry about, mate,” he said cheerfully, raising his glass as if to toast.

Draco’s gaze snapping back to Hermione. “Granger?”

Hermione swallowed, her mind racing. How was she supposed to explain this without sounding ridiculous? She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she took a step back, her eyes darting toward the ballroom.

And then she made a decision.

“I need to go,” she said quickly, her voice firmer than she felt. “Excuse me.”

Draco’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t stop her as she turned on her heel and walked away, her steps purposeful despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

Gathering her courage, Hermione strode into the ballroom, doing her best to appear confident and composed. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him – Viktor Krum. He was standing near the edge of the room, speaking to an older wizard with a polite nod. As if sensing her gaze, he turned, his face lighting up with genuine recognition.

Gathering her courage, she strode over, doing her best to appear confident and composed. Viktor turned as she approached, his face lighting up with genuine recognition.

“Herm-own-ninny!” he greeted warmly, his thick accent wrapping around her name like a familiar hug.

“Viktor!” she exclaimed, smiling too brightly, her nerves barely concealed. “It’s so good to see you! I – uh – I didn’t realise you’d be here tonight.”

“I vas hoping to see you,” Viktor said earnestly. “I thought, maybe, ve could catch up.”

Hermione’s breath hitched. He wanted to see me. He thought about me. Her brain, already spinning from her theories about The Veil, latched onto this as further confirmation.

“Oh,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Of course. Um… did you want to talk somewhere... more private?” She glanced around as if to emphasise how crowded the gala was.

Viktor frowned slightly, looking puzzled. “Private? Vhy vould ve need private? I just vanted to catch up. It has been so long.”

Hermione blinked, her confidence faltering. “Oh, I just thought – well, you know, after everything. It might be better to talk... discreetly?”

“Discreetly?” Viktor echoed, tilting his head. His confusion deepened, and he added cautiously, “Herm-own-ninny, I don’t understand. I just vant to talk, catch up. My vife wouldn’t like it if ve vent somewhere... private.”

Hermione’s stomach plummeted. “Your wife?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Yes,” Viktor said, his brow furrowing further. “Ve got married last month. You didn’t know?”

Her mind reeled. Married? He was married? And – oh Merlin – he was here, at The Veil? How could he? Did his wife know? Was she okay with this? Was he one of those wizards?

“You’re married?” she repeated, louder this time, her voice tinged with incredulity. “And you’re coming to The Veil?!”

Viktor took a step back, holding up his hands as if to fend off her sudden intensity. “Vait, vot? The Veil? Vot is that?”

Hermione froze, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You don’t know what The Veil is?” she asked weakly.

“Some restaurant?” Viktor guessed, looking genuinely baffled. “Ve just got back from our honeymoon, and I vas thinking of taking her somewhere nice in London.”

The words hit her like a tidal wave of humiliation. He wasn’t the mystery man. He wasn’t the one who kissed her, touched her, or whispered in her ear at The Veil. He wasn’t anyone except a kind, married friend who wanted to catch up.

She had just accused him – publicly, loudly – of cheating on his wife.

Hermione’s face burned so hot she swore she could feel her hairline singeing. “Oh! Oh, right. Of course. A... restaurant. How lovely.” She forced a laugh that came out more like a strangled choke.

“Herm-own-ninny, are you okay?” Viktor asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“Me? Yes! Absolutely! Fine!” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I just – I remembered – I have to – um – get something. From – over there. Excuse me!”

Without waiting for his response, Hermione spun on her heel and bolted toward the farthest corner of the room, her heart hammering and her brain screaming at her.

What were you thinking, you absolute idiot?

She found refuge behind a decorative pillar and pressed her back against it, closing her eyes and groaning. The night replayed in vivid detail in her mind – her confident stride toward Viktor, her ridiculous assumption, her accusation.

You’re married? And you’re coming to The Veil?! The words echoed in her head, each one more humiliating than the last. She cringed so hard she nearly folded in on herself.

“Hermione,” she muttered under her breath, “you need to stop talking forever.”

Across the room, Draco Malfoy watched her with an infuriatingly amused smirk, his grey eyes glinting with barely contained laughter. By the look of him, he’d caught every second of the exchange – and he was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. 

Kill me now .

Hermione leaned against the bar, a half-empty glass of champagne in her hand. She had lost track of how many she’d had after the fifth, but the pleasant buzz had settled into a steady hum that made the evening marginally bearable. Viktor had left hours ago, sparing her any further mortification. As for Draco – he seemed to be avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him, which was a blessing in itself. The last thing she needed was another emotionally charged encounter with him tonight.

The ballroom was quiet now, most of the guests having left or moved to smaller groups scattered across the space. The remaining crowd was subdued, the lively energy of earlier replaced by a mellow ambiance. Hermione sighed, resting her head in her hand.

“This night just needs to end,” she muttered.

And then it didn’t.

A commotion at the front of the room drew her attention. She squinted, realising with growing confusion that someone was on the stage – the same stage where Narcissa Malfoy had given her poised and elegant speech hours earlier.

Wait. Was that Theo?

“What the fuck,” Pansy hissed next to her, her expression a mixture of alarm and incredulity.

Hermione’s stomach dropped as she recognised her friend, swaying slightly, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. Theo had definitely been next to her just moments ago. How had he managed to get up there so quickly? And more importantly – why?

The soft murmur of conversation in the ballroom quieted as heads turned toward the stage.

Theo cleared his throat dramatically, his free hand gripping the microphone stand for balance. “Ladies… and gentlemen!” he began, his voice loud and slightly slurred but still oddly charming. “I have something very important to say!”

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione whispered, her face already heating with secondhand embarrassment.

“Malfoy’s going to murder him,” Pansy muttered, though she sounded more intrigued than worried.

Theo looked out at the audience, his grin wide but unsteady. “First, I’d like to say that this gala has been absolutely exquisite . Hats off to our lovely host, Narcissa Malfoy!” He raised his glass as though to toast, nearly spilling it in the process.

There was a polite smattering of confused applause, but most people were too busy whispering and exchanging puzzled glances.

“And speaking of Narcissa,” Theo continued, his grin faltering into something softer, more earnest, “I need to – well, I must – address the elephant in the room.”

“Oh no,” Hermione groaned, already bracing herself for the train wreck.

Theo’s expression grew serious as he took a step closer to the edge of the stage. “Narcissa, I know you’re here somewhere, and I want you to know – I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t plan for it to happen. It was a mistake, and I’m so sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”

Pansy choked on her drink, clutching Hermione’s arm. “Is he… is he doing what I think he’s doing? ”

Hermione didn’t have time to answer before Theo kept going, his voice growing louder and more dramatic.

“Narcissa, it was wrong of me to… to… use your son’s bedroom inappropriately ! It was a lapse in judgment. An act of sheer stupidity! I didn’t mean to disrespect you or your home. I just – ”

“ What?! ”

The outraged voice echoed through the ballroom, and all eyes snapped to the figure striding toward the stage. Draco Malfoy, looking equal parts livid and mortified, was making a beeline for Theo.

Theo, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing, raised a hand toward Draco as though he were calling on a dear friend. “Draco! Yes, I was just getting to you! I also owe you an apology!”

Draco’s expression darkened further, and Hermione could practically see the steam rising off of him.

“I didn’t mean to use your room,” Theo said earnestly, turning back to the audience. “It just – well, it’s a bloody magnificent room! And sometimes inspiration strikes, you know? But Narcissa – ” He turned back to the crowd, his voice full of theatrical emotion. “You are, and will always be, my one true love!”

A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a few poorly stifled snickers.

Pansy was now doubled over in laughter, clutching the bar for support. “I can’t – he’s actually doing it – ”

Hermione, on the other hand, wanted to disappear into the floor. “This can’t be happening,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

Draco finally reached the stage, his expression a thunderstorm of rage and humiliation. “Get down,” he hissed, grabbing Theo’s arm.

But Theo, ever the showman, held his ground. “Not until Narcissa knows the depths of my regret!”

“You’re going to regret everything in about three seconds,” Draco growled. 

Theo, despite Draco’s increasingly aggressive attempts to drag him off the stage, clung to the microphone stand with one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other. His glass of firewhiskey teetered precariously in his grip, but he seemed entirely oblivious.

“Narcissa!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “I don’t care about the difference in our ages! True love knows no boundaries, no barriers of time or propriety!”

Hermione buried her face in her hands, feeling her soul leave her body from secondhand embarrassment. Beside her, Pansy was in tears – not from sorrow but from laughter.

“All my previous loves,” Theo continued, his voice growing softer, almost reverent, “they were nothing compared to you. You, Narcissa Malfoy, are the light of my life! The fire in my soul! The – ”

“ Theodore Nott! ”

The sharp, authoritative voice cut through Theo’s drunken monologue like a knife. Everyone turned toward the entrance to see Narcissa Malfoy herself standing there, her icy blue eyes narrowed and her expression a picture of barely restrained fury.

The room fell silent. Even Theo, swaying slightly, froze as he processed her words.

Narcissa’s heels clicked against the polished floor as she strode toward the stage, her composure regal despite the chaos her son’s friend had unleashed. She stopped at the edge of the platform, looking up at Theo with a gaze that could have felled a Hungarian Horntail.

“That is enough, ” she said, her voice calm but firm, each word laced with steel.

Theo blinked, his drunken haze momentarily pierced. “But, Narcissa – ”

“ Enough, Theodore,” she repeated, cutting him off. Her tone left no room for argument. “You and your friends have caused more than enough damage for one evening. I suggest you collect yourselves and leave. Immediately.”

For a moment, Theo looked as though he might argue, but something in Narcissa’s unwavering stare made him pause. He nodded slowly, stepping back from the microphone with surprising obedience.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, his usual bravado utterly deflated.

Hermione exhaled in relief, grateful that Theo hadn’t tried to escalate the situation further. She and Pansy exchanged a look, the latter finally wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Come on,” Hermione said, standing up and grabbing her clutch. “Let’s get him out of here before Draco throws him into the Black Lake.”

Pansy snorted but nodded, the two of them making their way to the stage where Theo was now being unceremoniously hauled down by Draco, who looked ready to murder him on the spot.

“We’re leaving,” Pansy announced to Draco, grabbing Theo by the arm.

“Good,” Draco snapped, his grey eyes flashing. “Get him out before he starts proposing.”

Theo, still too dazed to comprehend much, allowed himself to be led toward the exit, though he turned back once to call out, “Narcissa! If you ever change your mind – ”

“ Theo! ” Hermione and Pansy hissed in unison, dragging him out the door before he could say anything else.

The crisp night air hit them as they stepped outside, and Hermione inhaled deeply, finally feeling like she could breathe again. Behind them, the towering Malfoy Manor loomed, its grandeur undiminished despite the chaos that had unfolded within.

“Well,” Pansy said, slinging an arm around Theo’s shoulders as they walked toward the Apparition point, “I’d say we’ve made quite the impression tonight.”

Hermione groaned, shaking her head. “Let’s just get home before Narcissa sends a Howler.”

Theo, stumbling slightly but grinning again, raised his nearly empty glass. “To love!”

“To silence,” Hermione muttered, earning a laugh from Pansy as the three of them disappeared into the crisp night air.

As they reached the Apparition point, Pansy paused, glancing between Hermione and Theo with a rare softness in her eyes. “You know,” she said, her tone quieter, “for all the chaos, I suppose it’s fitting for us. Merry Christmas, you lunatics.”

Theo beamed, despite his unsteady footing. “Merry Christmas! And may the New Year bring even more poorly thought-out decisions!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Merry Christmas,” she echoed, her voice warm despite the lingering exhaustion of the night.

They stood there for a moment, the three of them enveloped in the stillness of the night, before Pansy clapped her hands together. “Right. Let’s get out of here before we’re banned from another Malfoy event forever.”

And with that, they Apparated away, leaving the grandeur of Malfoy Manor and the chaos of the evening behind.

Chapter Text

The Christmas holidays went by in a blur.  

First, the most embarrassing moment of her life at the Malfoy Christmas gala, an event she couldn’t seem to block from her memory no matter how hard she tried. The awkwardness of that encounter was swiftly followed by yet another confusing run-in with Malfoy, leaving her questioning every interaction they’d had recently.  

Then there was Christmas with her parents - pleasant, familiar, and a welcome reprieve from the chaos that seemed to follow her lately. Dinner at the Potters' was warm and lively, filled with laughter, stories from Luna and Neville, and George's relentless teasing. It had been just what she needed to balance the whirlwind of emotions she was trying to suppress.  

Finally, there was today: a quiet day spent entirely in solitude, just her, her cats, and her books. Hermione had made herself a steaming mug of tea and curled up in her favourite chair, content to let the hours slip by in peace. She needed this day, desperately, to recharge her energy for what awaited her tomorrow.  

The New Year’s party at Theo’s.   

The very thought made her stomach tighten with unease. She needed every second of calm to prepare herself to face him again - Draco Malfoy.  

Would he try to talk to her again? Would he want to kiss her again? The memory of his words - “We should talk” - played in her mind on an endless loop, though it was impossible to discern what he had truly meant.  

At least Ginny and Harry would be there. Surely, with her friends around, she could avoid him entirely. Right?  

Hermione let out a groan, sinking deeper into her chair as Crookshanks hopped up onto her lap, kneading her stomach before settling down. “You’ve got the right idea,” she murmured, stroking his fur absently. “Why can’t life just be as simple as you, hmm?”  

Rhysand, her other cat, chirped indignantly from his perch on the armrest, demanding his share of attention. Hermione obliged with her free hand, scratching behind his ears.  

"Tomorrow will be fine," she told them both, as though saying it aloud would make it true. "It’s just another party. I’ll go, wish everyone a Happy New Year, and leave before things get too... complicated."  

And if Draco Malfoy was there waiting with another cryptic comment or unexpected kiss?  

Well, she’d just cross that bridge when she got to it. 

8 PM

Hermione arrived at the party promptly at 8 PM, and the moment she stepped inside Nott’s Manor, she wanted to turn right around and leave.

“Hermioneeee! Do you love it? I think I outdid myself with the decor this year!” Theodore bounded toward her, beaming with pride as he gestured to the very specific decor that immediately reminded her of a place she had hoped to banish from her thoughts - at least for today.

Hermione sighed, eyeing the extravagance with mild exasperation. “Why does your house look like The Veil, Theodore?” she asked, the annoyance in her tone a thin veil for the flood of emotions the name brought back - confusion, him , and worst of all, the lingering embarrassment of conversation with Viktor.

“Isn’t it great?” Theo grinned, clearly oblivious to her discomfort. “The Veil’s the theme! Except everyone will remember my party because it’s going to be amazing!”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, a tray of floating drinks glided toward her. She eyed them suspiciously.

“Oh, Merlin, you even copied the drinks?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she scanned the glittering glasses. “This is supposed to be a New Year’s Eve party, not…” She hesitated, gesturing vaguely. “Not some swinger party. Are you aware of that, Theodore?”

Theo just laughed, utterly unbothered. “Don’t worry, Granger, I’ve got some of my own concoctions too. But come on, it wouldn’t be one of my parties if at least half the guests didn’t end up in the guest rooms by the end of the night. I’m a great host - I provide everything people could want.” He winked dramatically.

Hermione rolled her eyes, her focus shifting back to the drinks. One glass in particular caught her attention - a bright, enticing cocktail labelled Sex on the Beach. It bore a striking resemblance to the Muggle drink, but the twinkling charm floating above it made her suspicious.

When she turned to ask Theo about it, she found him across the room, laughing raucously with Blaise. With a resigned shrug, she picked up the drink. If it was enchanted, Theo would have sobering potions stockpiled somewhere. It was fine, she reasoned before wandering off to find her friends.

Mid-conversation with Harry, Ginny, Luna, and Charlie, Hermione found herself nearing the end of her drink. A faint warmth spread through her, but it wasn’t until her gaze drifted to the far corner of the room that the feeling became… problematic.

Malfoy was lounging on a couch with Theo and Neville, the faint smirk on his lips drawing her attention more than it should. A sudden, overwhelming urge gripped her - a need to grab Malfoy and… do things. On a beach, to be specific.

What in Merlin’s name?

“I must say, I’m really disappointed, Charlie,” Ginny’s voice broke through Hermione’s haze. “You couldn’t make it to Christmas because of your dragons, but you do have time for Theo’s party? It’s sister-before-mister, you know, not the other way around.”

Charlie grinned, entirely unapologetic. “What can I say? I love taming dragons… and wild boys. And let’s face it, Nott really needs some taming.

Laughter erupted around them, but Hermione barely registered it. Her thoughts were consumed by one thing: shagging Malfoy. On a beach.

She set her empty glass down with more force than intended and stormed toward Neville, Theo, and the devil himself.

“Theo,” she hissed, her voice low and furious. “What the hell did you put in the Sex on the Beach cocktail?”

Neville blinked in confusion, his face already a deep shade of red. Malfoy leaned back, his smirk sharpening. Theo, on the other hand, looked genuinely baffled by the question.

“What do you mean?” Theo asked, tilting his head as if she were the one being ridiculous. “It’s literally in the name, Hermione. It makes you horny and want to shag on the beach. I even set up a perfect spot behind the manor - blankets, lights, heating charms. You know, for ambiance.” He grinned proudly. “Told you I’m a great host.”

“What?! Why - why would you do that?” Hermione sputtered.

Theo shrugged. “It’s New Year’s. People should ring it in with a bang. Literally.”

Malfoy chuckled, low and amused. “Need some help, Granger?” he drawled. “I could show you the spot, if you’re curious.”

Hermione glared at him, her wand hand twitching. “Give me your sobering potion. Now.”

“Honestly, Granger,” Theo said with an exaggerated sigh, “you’re really missing out. The potion’s just going to kill the vibe. And Malfoy’s willing - ”

“I’ll hex you into the next year if you don’t give it to me,” she snarled, the heat in her veins making her voice sharper than intended. Or maybe it was the unbearable thought of actually taking Theo’s advice.

Theo rolled his eyes but conjured a small vial from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Honestly, Granger, you’re no fun.”

“I’ll live,” Hermione snapped, downing the potion in one go. The awful taste did little to quell her simmering irritation - or her still-present mortification.

Malfoy was still watching her, his smirk maddeningly persistent. “Shame,” he murmured. “The beach really is nice this time of year.”

Hermione glared at him so fiercely that even Neville flinched. “I hope you end up on that beach - with Theo.”

This party was shaping up to be a disaster.

9 PM

"And then she went to Krum and accused him of cheating on his wife with her! " Pansy burst out, laughing so hard she was clutching her sides.

"I will kill you, Parkinson!" Hermione hissed, her cheeks flaming.

The room erupted into laughter, everyone clearly struggling to hold it in and failing spectacularly.

Hermione glared at the lot of them. "How is this supposed to be therapeutic again?" she snapped, her voice tinged with humiliation.

Theo smirked. "It’s the oath, Granger. We share each other’s most embarrassing stories, and then - here’s the fun part - none of us are allowed to bring it up again. Ever. After tonight, you’re safe."

"Yeah, I actually did you a massive favour," Pansy added, smug as ever. "Because, darling, this is the kind of thing people would bring up on your deathbed. And let’s be honest, you’d probably have shared something totally lame. So really, you’re welcome."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and muttered, "I need a non-magical drink." She glared pointedly at Theo. "Right now. When everyone stops laughing at me."

The group dissolved into more laughter, even Draco struggling to hide a smirk behind his hand.

"Alright," Theo said, once he hadregained composure. "Whose embarrassing story are we laughing at next?"

Blaise’s grin spread like wildfire. "Well, since we’re sharing each other’s stories and not our own, I’ve got a good one." He paused, letting the suspense build. "Though I must admit, I’m a bit sorry I won’t be able to bring this up again."

"Please, please let it be one about Hermione," Pansy said, practically bouncing in her seat.

"Don’t you fucking dare," Draco interjected, his voice sharp, his face alarmingly serious. Hermione’s eyes darted to him. He looked genuinely… worried?

Oh no.

Blaise’s wicked grin only grew. "So, our dear Draco here developed a little crush back in fourth year. On none other than…" Blaise paused dramatically, locking eyes with Hermione. "You, Granger."

Hermione’s jaw dropped. "What?" she blurted, before she could stop herself.

Draco had a crush on me ? At Hogwarts ? What in Merlin's name is going on?

Theo was cackling now. "Oh, this one’s a classic."

"But because of his little crush," Blaise continued, clearly enjoying every second of this, "Draco became an even bigger prick than usual. So Theo and I came up with a plan."

"The best plan," Theo interjected, grinning.

Hermione glanced between them, her stomach doing somersaults. She didn’t know whether to feel mortified, flattered, or furious.

"We managed to snag one of your hairs, Granger," Blaise said, clearly savouring the reveal. "And, unlike you, it really was yours. No cat involved."

"Don’t you dare finish that sentence," Draco growled, looking like he was debating whether to hex Blaise or bolt out of the room.

"Shut up, Malfoy, and let me finish," Blaise snapped, waving him off. "So we brewed a little Polyjuice potion, and Theo here turned into you . And then, well…"

Theo took over, grinning from ear to ear. "Picture it. Potions class. Draco’s strutting out, all smug as usual, and there I am, Polyjuiced as Hermione, leaning casually against the doorframe in the shortest skirt I could find, bending just so…"

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"We exchanged a few insults, as you do," Theo continued, clearly relishing the memory. "Then Draco - looking utterly flustered, by the way - asked me if I was going to slap him again. To which I - Hermione - replied, ‘I’d rather you kiss me.’"

Pansy was howling with laughter now, tears streaming down her face.

"And he did! " Blaise crowed.

The room exploded with laughter, but Hermione felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath her. Draco Malfoy kissed Theo while he looked like me?

"But that’s not even the best part!" Blaise was nearly in tears. "Just as Draco leans in, there’s a bang . Snape walks in, Draco shoves Theo-Hermione away, and - because he’s a bloody idiot - shouts, ‘Get away from me, Mudblood!’"

Hermione gasped, her shock morphing into outrage. "You what? " she snapped, glaring at Draco.

"It was for Snape’s benefit!" Draco protested, his ears turning pink.

"But the potion wore off right then, " Blaise wheezed, barely able to speak through his laughter. "So there’s Theo, in a very short Gryffindor skirt, kissing Draco and getting called Mudblood in front of Snape."

Hermione stared at Draco, her emotions swirling too fast to process. She should be angry. She was angry. But… he liked her?

Theo was wiping tears from his eyes. "Snape looked like he was about to have a stroke. The only thing he could say was, ‘Get your… fantasies out of my classroom!’ and told us to leave. Honestly, I think he spared us detention because he couldn’t look at us anymore."

Pansy smirked. "Sure, Snape let you off, but Draco didn’t. He nearly killed Theo after class. Landed him in the hospital wing, didn’t he?"

"You’re all horrible people," Draco muttered, sinking lower in his chair.

"You kissed Theo ," Pansy teased, leaning toward Draco. "In a skirt."

"I hate all of you," Draco grumbled, glaring at his friends, but Hermione noticed his eyes flick toward her.

And when their gazes met, there was something new there. Something unspoken. Something that made Hermione’s stomach flutter against her will.

What the hell is happening right now?

10 PM

Theo clapped his hands, grinning mischievously. "Alright, since we’ve shared enough humiliations for one night, it’s time for Charades! Teams of two. Let’s make it interesting, shall we?"  

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "How is Charades supposed to be interesting?"  

Theo smirked. "Just wait. Magical topics included. Oh, and by the way - you’re with Malfoy."  

"What?" Hermione and Draco snapped in unison.  

"I don't make the rules," Theo said, innocently. "Oh wait, I do. Go on then, Granger, Malfoy. Let’s see if your mutual loathing translates to teamwork."  

Hermione exhaled sharply, glaring at Draco. "Fine."  

Draco smirked back. "Fine."  

The game began with the usual chaos - Pansy trying to steal the drink Hermione had finally acquired, Blaise accusing Theo of stacking the deck with impossible topics, and Theo defending himself with a dramatic, "I’m only here to provide entertainment. "  

The first card was hers. She glanced at it, then at Draco.  

"Wanker," she said with a smirk.  

"Ron," Draco answered instantly, not missing a beat.  

From across the room, Harry choked on his drink. "That was funny."  

Hermione blinked in surprise, then laughed despite herself. " Wanker you like ," she clarified, raising an eyebrow.  

"Theo," Draco shot back without hesitation.  

"Yes," Hermione said, and Theo groaned loudly.  

"This is going to be insufferable," Blaise muttered, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.  

Ginny snickered. "Honestly, they deserve each other."  

The next few rounds continued in a blur of rapid-fire exchanges, much to the annoyance of the others.  

Next card stumped Hermione for a second. She frowned, then mimed casting a spell, followed by clutching her stomach.  

Draco squinted at her for only a moment. "Wiggenweld Potion?"  

"Yes!" Hermione said, shaking her head in disbelief.  

Padma raised an eyebrow. "How on earth are you two this quick?"  

"It’s a conspiracy," Neville said, shaking his head.  

"Your turn," Hermione said, passing Draco the card.  

Draco glanced at it, rolled his eyes, and made an exaggeratedly obscene gesture before pretending to scribble something dramatic. 

"Rita Skeeter," Hermione guessed.  

"Obviously," Draco said, tossing the card aside.  

"Merlin’s pants," Blaise groaned. "They’re going to destroy us."  

"Who let the brain trust pair up?" Theo grumbled.  

"Someone hex them now ," Pansy added, glaring as Hermione and Draco high-fived each other smugly.  

"Don’t hate the players," Draco said, smirking, "hate the rules."  

Draco hesitated for a moment, frowning at the next card. "That monstrosity from Hagrid’s lessons," he said at last.

"Blast-Ended Skrewt!" Hermione shouted immediately.

"Correct," Draco said with a smirk.

Charlie, who had been mostly quiet until now, leaned forward with a laugh. "How in Merlin’s name did you get that from that ?"  

"It’s obvious," Hermione said, shrugging.  

"To you , maybe," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.  

"Or she’s secretly stalking Dracos’s thoughts," Luna chimed in dreamily.  

"Not a chance," Hermione retorted, but her cheeks flushed slightly.  

The game went on, and the pair’s uncanny synergy became increasingly unbearable for everyone else.  

"Bowtruckle!"  

"Devil’s Snare!"  

"Doxy eggs!"  

"Sweet Circe," Theo groaned, leaning back against the sofa. "This is painful to watch."  

"Maybe they’re cheating," Neville suggested, though his grin gave him away.  

"They’re not cheating," Harry muttered. "They’re just both insufferable know-it-alls."  

"You two don’t even like each other. How are you this good at this?" Pansy demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Hermione and Draco.  

"We share a mutual disdain for incompetence," Draco said smugly, smirking at the others.  

"And clearly, we’re just better," Hermione added with a mock-sweet smile.  

"You’re both the worst," Blaise muttered as the game continued.  

Ginny, who was leaning against Harry, muttered under her breath, "It’s like watching a pair of smug cats who’ve caught the same mouse."  

By the end of the game, the rest of the group was collectively groaning

11 PM

Hermione sipped her champagne, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books in the massive bookcase. She wasn’t looking for anything specific, just letting the familiar presence of books soothe her nerves.

“Found something interesting, teammate?” Draco’s voice came from just behind her, closer than she expected.

She turned her head slightly, startled for a moment but strangely at ease after their earlier game. She gave him a small smile. “Not really, just my book addiction calling to me,” she replied.

Draco chuckled, his gaze flickering over the titles. “The fun ones are in the secret room anyway. Have you been?”

She smirked, a vivid memory surfacing. “Yes, once. One of the books bit Theo straight on the arse, and we couldn’t get it off. I’m pretty sure he still has the scar.”

Draco laughed, a warm and genuine sound. For a moment, they shared the amusement of the memory. But then his expression shifted, his gray eyes softening as he looked at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

“I really want to talk to you,” he said, his voice quieter now, edged with something raw and unguarded. “This time for real.”

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes slightly to mask the sudden flutter in her chest. “Talk or kiss, Malfoy?”

“Preferably both,” he said with a faint smirk, “but talking a bit first this time.”

She hesitated, studying his expression, then smiled softly. “For the talking, let’s wait until next year, yeah?”

Draco frowned slightly, confused. “So... in an hour?”

She laughs. “Alright, Malfoy. In an hour.”

He nodded, something hopeful flickering in his eyes. “Alright.”

Hermione tilted her head, her smile growing a little bolder. “And for the kissing bit, I guess you’ll have to be near me at midnight.”

“Midnight?” he echoed, still puzzled.

“It’s a Muggle tradition,” she explained with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “A New Year’s kiss.”

Realisation dawned on his face, his lips quirking into a grin. “Well then, Granger, I’ll make sure I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Draco leaned casually against the bookcase, his gaze never leaving hers. “So, I heard you finally quit. That’s great, Granger. They’re going to be lost without you, and I can’t wait to watch.”

“I did, yes,” Hermione admitted, a hint of pride in her voice. “It felt really freeing. Can’t wait for the headlines. Hermione Granger Quits Prestigious Ministry Job to Open Sex Shop with Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. ”

They both laughed, the humour breaking the tension for a moment.

“Oh, and I’m still planning to take you up on that offer for a donation to the reservations,” she added, her tone shifting to something more serious. “I’m still hoping everything will be open in time.”

Draco’s smirk softened, replaced by a sincerity that caught her off guard. “Anything for you, Granger.”

Hermione blinked, surprised by his answer and the way he was looking at her. There was something about the intensity in his gaze that made her wish it was already midnight.

11:30 PM

Hermione found herself sitting on a cozy giant corner sofa with Ginny, Harry, and Neville, the four of them nursing drinks and sharing quiet laughter. The party swirled around them - music, chatter, and the occasional magical spark from enchanted fireworks - but here, in their little nook, it felt like a moment just for them.

Ginny leaned back in her chair, swirling her drink with a grin. “What a bloody year, huh? If you told me this time last year that I’d be spending New Year’s at Theo Nott’s house, I’d have hexed you on the spot.”

Harry chuckled, nudging her with his shoulder. “You mean the Theo Nott who apparently keeps sex-themed cocktails on tap? Yeah, I didn’t see this coming either.”

Neville smiled sheepishly, glancing over at Theo, who was currently laughing uproariously at something Blaise had said. “Honestly, I think they’re not half bad once you get past the… well, Slytherin-ness of it all.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “The Slytherin-ness?” she echoed, smirking.

Neville flushed slightly, but his grin widened. “You know what I mean! All the smirking and scheming. But I’ll admit, they’ve got a way of growing on you.”

Ginny snorted. “That’s one way to put it. I still don’t trust Pansy entirely. She keeps looking at my shoes like she’s imagining them on fire.”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “That’s just Pansy. It’s probably her version of a compliment.”

Harry looked around, taking in the scene - the glittering decorations, the mingling groups, and the surprisingly easy camaraderie between Gryffindors and Slytherins. “Who would’ve thought, though?” he mused. “Us, here, ringing in the New Year with them. Feels like a strange dream.”

Hermione smiled at Harry, her champagne glass cradled in her hands. “And I still can’t believe you two already have two kids. ” She shook her head with a mock sigh. “Sometimes it feels like none of us are actual adults, and yet here we are, almost thirty!”

Harry laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Trust me, Hermione, Ginny and I feel the same way. There are moments where we’re just sitting there, and we look at each other like, shouldn’t there be someone more adult than us to tell us what to do? ”

Hermione chuckled, leaning into the warmth of the moment. “Well, I suppose if even the great Harry Potter is still figuring things out, there’s hope for the rest of us.”

Ginny raised her glass with a smirk. “To almost-adulting and a hell of a year then. May we muddle through the next ones together.”

They clinked their glasses, the moment warm and unguarded. Hermione smiled as she took a sip of her champagne. Ginny was right - it had been a hell of a year. And as she glanced across the room, her eyes lingering for a moment on Draco Malfoy, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the chaos was far from over.

11:58 PM

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” Draco murmured in her ear, his voice low and full of intent.

Hermione stood alone on one of the manor’s balconies, the cool night air brushing against her skin. She’d hoped he’d find her, that they could watch the fireworks together - and maybe, just maybe, share something more. She turned to him with a smirk, her heart already racing.

“Almost didn’t make it, Malfoy,” she teased, though her voice was softer than usual.

“I would never miss a chance to kiss you,” he murmured, his words sending a shiver down her spine. “That, you can be sure of.”

Before she could respond, Theo’s voice boomed from one of the other balconies. “TEN!”

Her breath hitched as she looked at Draco. His gaze was locked on her, steady and unyielding, his gray eyes glowing like molten steel in the moonlight.

“NINE!”

He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until the cold seemed to vanish entirely.

“EIGHT!”

Her eyes stayed on his, captivated by the way he looked at her, like she was the most extraordinary firework in the sky.

“SEVEN!”

His hands brushed against her arms, a slow, deliberate caress that left goosebumps in their wake.

“SIX!”

Her breath caught as his face drew nearer. His gaze dipped to her lips and then back to her eyes, and the intensity in his expression made her knees feel unsteady.

“FIVE!”

There was no distance left between them now. The heat of his body surrounded her, and the faint scent of his cologne - woodsy and crisp - wrapped around her like a spell.

“FOUR!”

His fingers reached up, brushing her curls back from her face with surprising tenderness.

“THREE!”

His other hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her against him. The sensation of his firm touch left no room for hesitation or doubt.

“TWO!”

His palm cupped her cheek, tilting her head just so. Her lips parted, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.

“ONE!”

The world exploded.

His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was both firm and searching, searing yet achingly gentle. The press of his mouth against hers sent a tidal wave of sensation through her, and she found herself gripping his jacket to stay grounded. His hand on her back pulled her closer still, until every part of her seemed to melt into him.

The fireworks burst into the sky above, painting the night in brilliant flashes of colour. The sound echoed like thunder, but Hermione barely heard it. All she could register was the way Draco’s lips moved against hers, exploring and deepening the kiss with a mixture of hunger and reverence.

Her heart raced wildly, the rhythm matching the explosions overhead. She tilted her head to kiss him deeper, her hands curling into the fabric of his jacket as his fingers tangled in her hair. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the electric connection between them.

As the final firework lit up the sky in a cascade of gold and silver, Draco pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“Happy New Year, Granger,” he whispered, his voice rough and low.

Her lips tingled, her breath still coming fast. “Happy New Year, Malfoy,” she murmured, her voice just as unsteady as her knees.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers again, this time hungry and desperate, as if he was pouring every unspoken word, every unresolved feeling, into the kiss. Hermione felt her head spin, the sheer intensity of it making her feel like she was flying.

Except - she almost was .

Her feet stumbled, and a strange sensation pulled at her, disorienting her completely. When she blinked, she was no longer on the balcony.

“Malfoy, what are we - ?” she started, looking around in confusion.

The surroundings came into focus, and her breath hitched. They were standing outside The Veil. The real one. The club that had been haunting her thoughts and dreams for months.

“Why are we here?” she asked, her voice shaky, her heart pounding harder than it had during the kiss.

Draco looked at her softly, his expression far more vulnerable than she’d ever seen it before. His hand tightened around hers, grounding her in the moment.

“Let’s talk, shall we?” he said, his voice gentle but resolute.

Before she could respond, he was leading her toward the entrance. The realisation of where they were and what this place meant began to dawn on her, but her feet moved mindlessly, following him.

Her hand was still in his, their fingers intertwined. And for the first time in weeks, despite all the unanswered questions and the tension swirling between them, she felt like she might finally get some answers.

The atmosphere inside The Veil was electric. Music thumped, laughter echoed, and the occasional burst of magical fireworks filled the air, casting flickering colours across the dimly lit room. Yet, for Hermione, it was as if the world had gone completely silent. She sat in a corner booth, the plush velvet seat swallowing her as her focus narrowed entirely on Malfoy sitting across from her.  

The chaos of the New Year celebration might as well have been happening in another universe. Her fingers rested on the edge of the table, gripping it tightly to keep herself grounded. He was watching her, calculating, deliberating, his usual smirk replaced with something uncomfortably sincere.  

Deep down, she already knew what he was going to say. But she needed to hear him say it.  

It was Hermione who finally broke the silence. Her voice, though soft, cut through the haze between them. “Was it always you?”  

“Yes,” Draco said simply, his gaze steady.  

She blinked, her chest tightening at the confirmation. “But why - how do you…?” Her words faltered under the weight of her confusion and the storm of emotions roaring inside her.  

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his platinum hair. “I always remember. It’s always me.”  

Before she could blurt out the thousand questions burning on her tongue, he held up a hand to stop her. His expression was pained, almost apologetic. “And I already told you once.”  

“Told me what?” she asked weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

“That day… after we saw each other at the Ministry.” He cringed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told you, and you ran away from me.”  

Her breath caught. “I ran away?” she echoed, her brow furrowing as if trying to piece together a memory she didn’t have.  

He nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah.”  

The weight of his words settled over her, heavier than the music or the noise of the crowd around them. “Oh,” she murmured, suddenly feeling very small.  

“Is there a way to… remember everything?” she asked after a long pause. Her voice was tinged with desperation now, her curiosity and need for answers overpowering the fear that had been gnawing at her all this time.  

Draco leaned back slightly, watching her carefully. “I think so. Yeah. We’d have to find some of the staff - someone who knows how the charms work. I’m sure they could lift it.”  

The idea terrified her, but the thought of living in this haze, half-knowing and half-guessing, terrified her more. She straightened her back, her resolve hardening.  

“Okay,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her chest. “I want to remember.”  

Draco’s gaze softened. He reached across the table, his hand resting near hers but not quite touching. “Are you sure? Once it’s lifted, there’s no going back.”  

She met his eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Yes,” she said, with a conviction that surprised even herself.  

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Around them, people were cheering, glasses clinking as the party swelled to new heights. But in their little corner, everything was still.  

Draco finally nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Alright. Let’s find out.”

Draco was watching Hermione’s face like his life depended on it. He was waiting for something - a sharp retort, an embarrassed laugh, or, worse, for her to bolt again. He couldn’t even breathe. What if she didn’t want anything to do with him? What if this was the end of it?  

Because for weeks - no, months - he’d wanted everything with her.  

But then, she looked surprised. Her brows lifted slightly, her mouth parting as if to say something. His pulse hammered.  

“Er… so, you remember?” he blurted out, unable to hold the silence any longer.  

“I do, yes,” she replied carefully, her tone measured.  

Draco bit his tongue to stop himself from asking a dozen questions at once. He’d spent so long imagining what she might say if she ever remembered, but now that they were here, words seemed entirely insufficient.  

And then, to his complete confusion, she snorted.  

“What’s funny?” he asked, furrowing his brows. How could anything about this situation possibly be amusing?  

“You’re going to like this,” she said, smiling in a way that made his heart do a ridiculous flip. She grabbed two champagne flutes from a floating tray and handed him one.  

He took it automatically, though his confusion only deepened. “Granger, what the hell is going on?”  

She sipped her champagne, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “I didn’t run away because I wanted to forget you.”  

Draco tilted his head, his confusion giving way to curiosity. “I don’t understand - ”  

“Well,” she said, smiling wider now, “it seems you really did fuck my brains out that night.”  

Draco nearly dropped his champagne. “What?”  

“I just stepped outside for some fresh air and…” She trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. “Completely forgot I’d forget everything . I didn’t mean to run away, Malfoy. I wanted to come back.”  

Her words hit him like a Bludger to the chest, an invisible weight lifting from his shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to forget. She’d wanted him.

“What the hell,” he choked out, trying to wrap his mind around it. “So, it’s my cock’s fault I had to suffer a month longer?”  

She snorted, and their eyes met before both of them dissolved into laughter. It was absurd - completely ridiculous - but it felt good. For the first time in weeks, Draco felt like he could breathe again.  

He couldn’t stop watching her as she laughed, the way her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed from the champagne and the chaos of the night. Sweet Circe, she was beautiful. Too beautiful .

As their laughter died, the air between them shifted, growing heavier. There were still so many things unsaid, hanging between them like storm clouds. He wanted to say something - anything - but every time he opened his mouth around her, he managed to screw it up.  

Then Hermione smirked, a wicked gleam in her eye that sent a bolt of electricity straight through him. She grabbed another drink from a floating tray, downed it in one swift gulp, and set the empty glass in front of him.  

Draco’s eyes landed on the label: Unlimited Orgasms . His brain short-circuited.  

When he looked back at her, she was watching him with that same wicked smile. Was he dead? Had they Splinched during Apparition and he’d landed in heaven?  

“We have the whole year to figure this out,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t just turned his world upside down. “But I think I’d like one more night here. One I’ll actually remember this time, before I decide what to do, you know?”  

Draco didn’t think. He moved.  

With one swift motion, he stood, grabbing Hermione and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.  

“Malfoy!” she shrieked, laughing as she beat her fists against his back. “What are you doing, you caveman?”  

“Not giving you the chance to change your mind,” he shot back, his voice laced with determination.  

He punctuated his words with a playful slap to her perfectly rounded arse, earning another squeal of laughter from her. “Malfoy, you’re insane!”  

“Insane about you, Granger,” he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t entirely sure she heard him.  

With purposeful strides, he carried her toward one of the private rooms. Whatever happened next, Draco knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t letting her slip away again.

Draco carried Hermione into the private room, his strong grip firm yet gentle, and before she could process what had just happened - before she could start overthinking and spiraling into doubt - he kissed her. The moment his lips met hers, every thought in her head dissolved into nothingness, replaced by the electric rush of sensation. His hands cradled her face as his tongue teased hers, coaxing her into a kiss so intoxicating it left her breathless.

But just as suddenly as it began, it ended.

When they pulled apart, Hermione’s chest heaved as she gasped for air, her lips tingling and swollen from his kisses.

“No, no, this won’t do,” Draco murmured, his wicked smile making her heart skip a beat.

“What - what won’t do?” she stammered, still dazed.

His grey eyes gleamed with mischief. “You know, when I found out about your favourite book series - the one with all those mating bonds and winged Illyrian warriors - I may have done a little research.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as he stepped back, his gaze never leaving hers.

“I’ll admit,” he drawled, his tone rich with amusement, “I was mildly annoyed that the only blonde male in the story turned out to be a colossal piece of shit.” His lips curved into a teasing grin. “But I’m hoping it was more than just the hair that got you hot and bothered.”

Hermione’s heart pounded. She wanted to argue, to say something snarky or deflect with humour, but all her coherent thoughts had fled the room. All she could do was stand there, gaping at him, as he flicked his wand.

The room transformed in an instant. The walls shifted, the air shimmered, and suddenly, they were standing in what looked exactly like a palace in Velaris. The colours were rich and opulent - shades of midnight blue, gold, and starlight - and the magical windows showed a breathtaking view of mountains and a river under a glittering night sky.

She gasped, spinning in place to take it all in. The attention to detail was flawless, and for a moment, it felt like she’d stepped right into the pages of her favourite book. But when she turned back around, any words she might have said caught in her throat.

Draco had removed his shirt. His lean, muscular torso was on full display, but it wasn’t his abs that had her jaw dropping. It was the enormous, conjured Illyrian wings stretching from his back.

The wings were dark, leathery, and impossibly realistic. They flexed and moved with him as if they were part of his body.

Hermione’s mouth went dry. She gulped, trying to compose herself, but her pulse was racing, and the flush in her cheeks had nothing to do with the champagne.

Draco smirked, his wings shifting slightly as he took a step toward her. “So? Is it the hair, or is it the wings?”

She blinked, unable to form a coherent response. In a desperate attempt to hide her growing nervousness - and arousal - she blurted, “Do you, um, have feelings in them? You know, in the books, they can, uh…” She trailed off, feeling her face burn. “Just from touching them - ”

Draco’s smirk widened. “Guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” he said, his voice low and sinful.

He closed the distance between them, and Hermione reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the edge of his wing. Draco hissed, his breath hitching as if her touch sent a jolt through him.

“Sweet Circe,” he muttered, his eyes darkening with desire. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me, Granger.”

Encouraged, Hermione ran her fingers along the length of his wing, marveling at how warm and sensitive it felt under her touch. Draco groaned, his head tilting back slightly as his hands flexed at his sides.

“Undress,” he said suddenly, his voice rough.

Hermione froze, her heart racing.

“Slowly,” he added, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her knees weak. “I want to remember every second of this.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the zipper of her dress. She slipped it off her shoulders and let it pool around her feet, leaving her in nothing but her lingerie. Draco’s eyes raked over her, dark and hungry, and she felt both exposed and empowered under his scrutiny.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with reverence. “So fucking perfect. I could spend hours just looking at you.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Draco swept her off her feet - literally. He grabbed her and tossed her onto the massive bed behind them.

She landed with a soft gasp, and when she looked up, he was standing over her, his wings flaring out behind him like some avenging angel - or perhaps a devil.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

Draco sank to his knees before her, his hands sliding up her thighs as he pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses against her skin. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with desire. “You’re already soaked, Granger. Is all this for me?”

Her response was a broken moan as his fingers found her heat, stroking over her with maddening precision. “So wet,” he growled, his voice dark and full of intent. “I could drown in you.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t actually sound like a bad plan,” he murmured, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

Before Hermione could come up with a retort, his head dipped, and suddenly his face was buried between her thighs. A gasp escaped her as his tongue licked a slow, deliberate path over her most sensitive spot, his mouth working her with expert precision. He sucked on her clit, alternating between gentle and firm, while his hands roamed her body, his thumbs grazing her nipples before pinching them just enough to send sparks of sensation shooting through her.

Hermione’s hands tangled in his hair as the pressure built impossibly fast. She couldn’t think, couldn’t form a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming pleasure consuming her. Her body tightened, every nerve alight, and when she came, it was like a dam breaking.

She cried out, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her skin flushed and slick with a sheen of sweat.

Before she could fully recover, Draco leaned over her, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “I’m far from done with you.”

His body shifted, aligning with hers, and in one smooth motion, he thrust into her, filling her completely. Hermione cried out at the sudden stretch, her body tightening around him as she adjusted to the intrusion. But Draco didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so well.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine as he began to move, his thrusts fast and unrelenting. His wings flared behind him, their powerful beat adding to the force of his rhythm as he drove into her again and again.

The sound of their bodies meeting echoed through the room, mingling with the gasps and moans spilling from their lips. Draco’s hands gripped her hips tightly, pulling her against him with every thrust, his strength almost overwhelming.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “So tight, so perfect. You were made for me, Granger.”

Her nails raked down his back, tracing the edges of his conjured wings, which only seemed to spur him on further. The pressure inside her mounted rapidly, each thrust bringing her closer to the edge until the tension snapped, and she shattered beneath him.

Hermione cried out his name as her climax crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Draco followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he spilled into her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he groaned her name into her skin.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing, their bodies still tangled together.

But Draco wasn’t finished.

“On all fours,” he commanded, his voice hoarse but firm, yet laced with an undeniable heat. “Hands on the headboard.”

Hermione’s cries of pleasure filled the room as Draco thrust into her from behind, his grip on her hips unyielding. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rasped, “You can take one more for me, can’t you, Granger? Be a good girl and come for me again.”

When the final wave hit, Hermione collapsed onto the mattress, her body utterly spent. But before she could protest, the magical window swung open, revealing the enchanted balcony and the glittering stars of the Velaris illusion.

“Malfoy - what are you - ” Hermione’s protest was cut off with a sharp gasp as he swept her into his arms, his conjured wings unfurling in a glorious stretch. The sheer power of them sent a rush of wind through the room before a mighty beat propelled them into the air.

Cool night air kissed her flushed skin, mingling with the heat radiating from where her body pressed against his. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms clutching his shoulders for balance. Her breath hitched as the ground disappeared below them.

“This is insane,” she managed, half-laughing, half-moan as the surrealness of the moment sank in.

Draco’s smirk was pure wickedness, his lips brushing her temple as he murmured, “I told you, Granger - I’ll give you something to remember.”

And then, in one fluid movement, he positioned her onto his still-hard cock.

“What are you - oh, Draco - ” she moaned, her head falling back as the sheer sensation of him filled her again, the unique weightlessness of their position intensifying every movement.

“Who would’ve thought,” he teased, his voice roughened by desire, “that Hermione Granger prefers to ride a cock in the air instead of a broom?”

Hermione let out a breathless laugh, the sound quickly morphing into a low moan as his hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements. His wings beat rhythmically, the sensation adding an unearthly cadence to their connection. Every thrust sent shockwaves through her, the cool night air and the dizzying height only amplifying the intensity of it all.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him into a desperate kiss as their bodies moved together in perfect synchrony. The stars seemed closer, brighter, as if the universe itself was watching them, suspended in this moment of wild, passionate madness.

“Draco,” she breathed, her voice trembling as pleasure built within her, raw and unrelenting.

He growled in response, his movements becoming sharper, his hands pressing her tighter against him. “That’s it, Hermione. Let go for me.”

And she did, her climax tearing through her like a storm, her cries echoing in the vastness of the night. He followed seconds later, his body shuddering against hers, her name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

When they finally touched down on the balcony, Hermione’s legs gave out beneath her. Draco caught her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing at all.

“You amaze me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple, his voice tender in a way that made her heart ache.

Hermione buried her face in his neck, her voice muffled as she replied, “This was definitely not how I expected my night to go.”

Draco chuckled, the sound deep and warm, his chest rumbling against hers. “Neither did I. But I’m not complaining.”

As he carried her back inside the room, the atmosphere shifted from electric to tender. Draco’s lips brushed her ear, his voice a soft promise. “Happy New Year, Granger. This is just the beginning.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the weight of his words, the unspoken truth settling heavily between them. She nestled closer to him, not ready to leave just yet, not wanting to face the reality of what had just transpired, and what it might mean for them moving forward.

When the time finally came to leave, she could swear Draco was still watching her with that same intensity, as if he expected her to run away from him, even after everything that had happened.

"Let's talk soon, alright?" she said sincerely, her voice soft but resolute.

Draco nodded, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Alright," he said, his voice low and steady. "I'll give you two days to overthink everything, as you always do, and then you're never getting rid of me."

His words hung in the air, sounding like both a promise and a threat, but Hermione couldn't help the flicker of warmth that spread through her at the thought. She knew he meant it, and for the first time, she didn't mind one bit.

Chapter Text

Draco sat in his study, staring blankly at the parchment in front of him. His hands rested on the desk, fingers curled loosely around the empty glass of firewhiskey he had just drained. The soft glow of the fireplace danced across the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but Draco didn’t notice. His thoughts were far too loud, drowning out everything else. 

What the hell was wrong with him?  

This wasn’t supposed to be complicated. He was a Malfoy. He didn’t wait on people, and he certainly didn’t pine over anyone. And yet, here he was, sitting in the quiet of his study, replaying every interaction with Hermione Granger like some lovesick schoolboy.  

His gaze drifted to the nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey on the side table. With a sigh, he poured himself another glass, watching the amber liquid swirl before taking a long sip. The burn barely registered, doing little to settle his nerves.  

Hermione Granger.  

The name alone sent his mind into overdrive. They had a history – one filled with biting words, lingering glances and a tension that had shifted into something he couldn’t even begin to define. He had known her since childhood, watched her grow from the insufferable know-it-all of their Hogwarts days into the woman who could now knock him flat with just a look.  

And that was exactly the problem.  

Draco downed the drink in one go, the glass hitting the desk with a dull thud. What was it about her that made him feel like this? He’d been with plenty of women, all of them more than willing to cater to his every whim. But none of them had ever mattered. None of them had ever made him feel the way Hermione did.  

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and running a hand through his hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this – so out of control, so unsure of himself.  

But damn it, he wanted her.  

Draco glanced at the parchment on his desk, the list he’d scribbled while debating whether to send the letter.  

PROS OF ASKING GRANGER OUT 
- I want to.  

CONS OF ASKING GRANGER OUT
- She might hex me.  

The corners of his mouth twitched in a humourless smirk. It was pathetic, really, how simple it all seemed when laid out like that. But even with all the risks, he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t not try.  

It wasn’t just the attraction, though Merlin knew that was part of it. It was the way she looked at him, like she was waiting for him to prove her wrong. The way her eyes sparked when she argued, the way her laughter felt like it lit up a room. It was the way she had surprised him, time and time again, until he wasn’t sure who he was more angry at – her, for making him feel this way, or himself, for letting her. 

Draco leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes fixed on the ceiling as he let out a long, slow breath. He knew what people would say. Hell, he knew what she might say. But for once in his life, he didn’t care. 

With a sharp breath, Draco snatched a fresh piece of parchment and dipped his quill into the ink. The sharp strokes of his handwriting mirrored his frustration, yet the words came together with surprising clarity.  

Granger,
Dinner tomorrow night. My treat. Bring your list – I know you have one.
– Malfoy

He set down the quill, his lips pressing into a thin line as he reread the words. It was direct, to the point, and entirely him. Satisfied – or at least as close to satisfied as he was going to get – he folded the parchment, tied it to his owl, and sent it off before he could second-guess himself again.  

As he watched the owl disappear into the night, a groan escaped him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair and dragging a hand down his face.  

If Theo saw him now, he’d never hear the end of it. He could already picture the insufferable smirk, the exaggerated guffaws, and the inevitable slew of teasing remarks.  

“You’re making a bloody fool of yourself, Draco,” he said aloud, the words heavy with self-recrimination. “Theo would die laughing if he knew.”  

The thought made him scowl, but it didn’t dispel the nerves coiling in his chest. This was not who he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be composed, self-assured, untouchable. Yet here he was, fretting over a single letter like a teenager waiting for a crush to respond.  

But for once in his life, Draco Malfoy wanted something – someone – with a clarity that felt unshakable.  

And he wasn’t about to let his own fear or Theo’s hypothetical ridicule stop him.  

Leaning back in his chair, Draco stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. Whatever the outcome, he wasn’t going to let himself run away this time.  

Raising his glass in a mock toast to the empty room, he smirked faintly. “To making a complete idiot of myself,” he muttered, before draining it in one go.  

As the quiet of the study enveloped him once again, he poured himself another drink. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy had put his heart on the line. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the fallout.

Hermione sat curled up on her sofa, staring into the fire as it flickered and danced across the hearth. The warmth barely registered as her mind raced in an endless loop of questions and half-formed conclusions. She wasn’t sure when her life had spun so far out of her control.

Everything was different now.

Draco Malfoy – Draco Malfoy – had kissed her. Multiple times. Not in passing, not as some reckless mistake, but with intent, with purpose. And then there was The Veil, the mystery of her memories, the undeniable tension between them that had been building for months.

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her curls as her thoughts spiralled. Her life had been predictable before this. Work at the Ministry, dinners with Harry and Ginny, the occasional weekend visit to her parents or a quiet night at home with her cats. Everything had its place. And now?

Now, her world had flipped upside down.

Her mind drifted back to the library at Malfoy Manor, the way his lips had felt against hers, the way his hands had gripped her as if letting go wasn’t an option. And then, just when she thought things couldn’t get more complicated, there was Theo’s party. His gaze, his words, his very presence had unravelled something in her that she couldn’t quite put back together.

She groaned aloud, flopping back against the cushions. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, though there was no one around to hear her except her cats. Crookshanks, perched on the armrest, chirped as if in agreement.

A sharp whoosh from the fireplace startled her, and she sat up just in time to see Ginny step out of the Floo with a smirk.

“Alright,” Ginny said, brushing soot from her robes. “I got your owl, and I’m here to fix whatever crisis you’ve managed to invent this time.”

Hermione gaped at her. “I didn’t invent a crisis!”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, kicking off her boots and plopping onto the sofa beside her. “Please. You only call me when you’re overthinking yourself into an early grave. Spill it.”

Hermione sighed, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s just – everything. My whole life feels like it’s completely off-kilter. And it’s…” She hesitated, but Ginny’s expectant look spurred her on. “It’s Malfoy.”

Ginny blinked, her expression unreadable for a moment before she burst into laughter. “Wait – Malfoy? Draco Malfoy ? Oh, this is rich. What did he do? Insult your cat?”

“No!” Hermione protested, feeling her cheeks flush. “He… he kissed me.”

That sobered Ginny up immediately. Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward. “He what?!”

Hermione sighed again, burying her face in her hands. “It’s a long story. It started weeks ago, and then there was Theo’s party, and… I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”

Ginny was silent for a moment before a slow grin spread across her face. “This is brilliant. Go on. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

For the next half hour, Hermione recounted everything – the tension, the kisses, The Veil and everything between. 

When Hermione finally finished, Ginny sat in stunned silence for a moment, her mouth slightly open. Then she leaned forward, her eyes wide.

“What?” she finally blurted. “You said you two just kissed! Now you’re telling me you’ve got a whole bloody sexcapade going on behind everyone’s backs?”

Hermione flushed, sinking deeper into the cushions. “It’s not a sexcapade!” she protested weakly, though the words felt embarrassingly inadequate even to her own ears.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hermione, you’re recounting hidden moments, mysterious letters, and The Veil of all places. That’s, like, the Hogwarts of kink! How does that not count as a sexcapade?”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s not like that. Not entirely, at least.”

Ginny let out a laugh, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Oh, not entirely , she says. So, what is it then? Because it sounds a lot like foreplay with extra steps to me.”

“It’s – ” Hermione paused, scrambling for the right words. “It’s complicated.”

Ginny threw up her hands. “Of course it’s complicated. It’s Malfoy. If he isn’t doing something complicated, he probably doesn’t get out of bed in the morning.”

Hermione glared at her, but Ginny only grinned. “Alright, fine. So what’s your plan? Are you going to dinner with him or not?”

Hermione sighed, staring at the letter again. “I don’t know, Ginny. I was happy before all of this. My life was simple. Stable. Why would I want to complicate everything with Malfoy?”

Ginny tilted her head, watching her closely. “Are you sure you were happy?”

Hermione faltered, biting her lip. “I thought I was,” she said softly. “I mean, I had everything in order. My work, my friends, my… books.” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the overflowing shelves lining the walls. “It was enough. It should be enough.”

Ginny leaned forward, her expression softening. “But it’s not, is it?”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she sighed again, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Maybe I should just…” She paused, the thought forming in her mind before she could stop it. “Maybe I should just keep Malfoy around for sex.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Hermione peeked through her fingers to see Ginny staring at her, her mouth agape.

And then Ginny burst into laughter – loud, unrestrained laughter that echoed through the room.

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” Ginny gasped, clutching her stomach as she doubled over. “I never thought I’d live to hear those words come out of your mouth, Hermione Granger!”

Hermione groaned, her cheeks flaming. “I’m being serious, Ginny!”

“That’s what makes it so bloody funny!” Ginny managed between fits of laughter. “Hermione Granger, Keeper of Hogwarts’ rules and morals, suggesting a friends-with-benefits arrangement with Draco Malfoy. What’s next? Joining Theo’s swinger parties?”

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed, mortified.

Ginny wiped a tear from her eye, trying to compose herself but failing miserably. “Oh, no. This is gold. I’ve got to tell – ”

“Don’t you dare!” Hermione snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

Ginny held up her hands in mock surrender, though her grin was still firmly in place. “Alright, alright. I won’t tell anyone. But, Hermione, honestly… you? A casual fling? With Malfoy?”

Hermione frowned, her arms crossing defensively. “Why not? It’s not like I need anything serious right now. I just… I don’t want to complicate my life more than it already is.”

Ginny leaned back, giving her a knowing look. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. Especially not yourself.”

Hermione looked away, the truth of Ginny’s words settling uncomfortably in her chest.

“Alright,” Ginny said, her tone more serious now. “Let’s say you do keep it casual. Do you really think that’ll work with Malfoy? Because, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’s not exactly looking for something casual.”

Hermione hesitated, the memory of Draco’s intensity flashing in her mind. The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her – it wasn’t casual. Not even close.

She sighed, leaning back into the cushions. “I don’t know, Ginny. I just… I don’t know.”

Ginny patted her knee, her grin softening into a warm smile. “Well, whatever you decide, I’ll support you. But you’ve got to figure out what you want first. Because knowing Malfoy, he’s not going to wait around forever.”

Hermione nodded, her heart still heavy with uncertainty, thengroaned, running her hands through her hair. “And let’s not forget – he’s looking for a wife ! What if he’s just doing this to – to have a bit of fun on the side before he finds someone who fits the Malfoy mold? What if he’s thinking of me as nothing more than a distraction? A… a mistress?”

Ginny tilted her head, trying not to laugh as Hermione began pacing the room, her words spilling out in a frantic rush.

“And what does that even mean for me? Do I just go along with it? Do I let myself become the secret Granger liaison while he waltzes off to marry some pure-blooded heiress who probably collects peacocks in her spare time? Do I get invited to the wedding, or am I supposed to stay in the shadows? And what happens if – ”

“Hermione,” Ginny interrupted, raising a hand to stop her.

“What?” Hermione snapped, spinning around to face her.

“Do I look like Draco Malfoy to you?” Ginny asked, her tone flat but her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown off course. “What?”

Ginny gestured vaguely toward herself. “Blond hair? Pointy features? A tendency to sneer? No? Then why, in the name of Merlin, are you asking me to answer all these ridiculous questions?”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, realising how absurd she must have sounded. “I just… I can’t help it,” she admitted, sinking back onto the sofa. “My brain won’t shut up.”

Ginny scooted closer, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Hermione, listen to me. You’re overthinking yourself into oblivion. You’re letting your fear make this bigger and scarier than it is.”

“But it is big and scary!” Hermione protested. “It’s Malfoy. And he’s… he’s Malfoy!”

“Yes, and you’re Hermione Granger,” Ginny said firmly. “The brightest witch of our age, the woman who fought in a war, rebuilt the Ministry, and has stared down literal Death Eaters without flinching. Are you seriously telling me that a blond with too much hair gel is what’s going to take you down?”

Hermione couldn’t help it – she laughed. “When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“That’s because it is ridiculous,” Ginny said with a grin. “And honestly, if you’re so worried about what he wants, maybe you should try asking him instead of turning your living room into a courtroom of worst-case scenarios.”

Hermione sighed, leaning her head back against the sofa. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But it’s still terrifying.”

“Of course it is,” Ginny said, nudging her gently. “But you’ve never let that stop you before. And honestly? I think Malfoy might surprise you.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Surprise me how?”

Ginny shrugged, her grin turning mischievous. “Who knows? Maybe he’s been overthinking this just as much as you have.”

Hermione leaned back into the cushions, her arms crossed as her mind raced yet again. “But what if this is a mistake? What if I’m setting myself up for heartbreak? What if – ”

“Hermione,” Ginny interrupted, her voice softer this time, “you do realise you’ve never been like this before, right?”

Hermione frowned, turning to her. “Like what?”

“Like this ,” Ginny said, gesturing toward her with a fond smile. “So... alive. Nervous. Excited. You’re overthinking everything because it matters to you. I’ve never seen you like this before. Not even with Ron.”

Hermione froze, her expression flickering with a mix of surprise and hesitation. “What are you talking about?”

Ginny leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You know what I mean. With Ron, you were comfortable. It was familiar, safe... but this?” She paused, her eyes sparkling. “This is new. It’s different. And it’s terrifying, I get that. But Hermione, it’s also good. It’s really, really good.”

Hermione looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. “I don’t know if I can handle different,” she admitted softly. “I’ve always been the person who plans everything, who knows what’s coming next. This... this feels like diving into the unknown.”

“And that’s exactly why it’s so brilliant,” Ginny said, her smile widening. “You’re trying something new. You’re stepping out of your comfort zone. Do you know how proud I am of you for that?”

Hermione glanced at her, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You’re proud of me for spiralling into an existential crisis over Draco Malfoy?”

“I’m proud of you for letting yourself feel something real,” Ginny said, her tone earnest. “For taking a chance. For letting yourself move on and explore something... unexpected.”

Hermione’s throat tightened at Ginny’s words. She hadn’t thought of it like that before, but maybe Ginny was right. Maybe this wasn’t just about Malfoy. Maybe it was about her finally allowing herself to live a little.

Ginny nudged her shoulder playfully. “And honestly, Hermione? If you’re going to dive into the unknown, you might as well do it with someone who keeps you on your toes. I mean, it’s Malfoy. The entertainment factor alone has to be worth it.”

Hermione laughed, the tension in her chest easing just a little. “You make it sound so simple.”

Ginny grinned. “That’s because it is. Complicated, sure. Messy, definitely. But simple in the best way. You like him. He clearly likes you. The rest? You’ll figure it out.”

Ginny’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, Hermione let herself sit with the idea. She liked him. He liked her. The rest... well, maybe Ginny was right. Maybe they could figure it out.

But before she could respond, a sharp tapping sound interrupted her thoughts. Both women turned toward the window, where a sleek owl perched on the sill, its amber eyes glowing in the dim light.

Hermione’s stomach flipped.

“Oh, this should be good,” Ginny said with a smirk, leaning back into the sofa as Hermione hurried to open the window.

The owl extended its leg, the small roll of parchment tied neatly with a ribbon catching the firelight. Hermione untied it with trembling hands, her heart pounding as the owl gave a dignified hoot and took off into the night.

Ginny leaned forward eagerly. “Well? Don’t just stare at it. Read it!”

Hermione shot her a look but unrolled the parchment. Her eyes scanned the sharp, deliberate handwriting, and her breath caught.

Granger,
Dinner tomorrow night. My treat. Bring your list – I know you have one.
– Malfoy

Hermione blinked at the letter, her emotions swinging wildly between amusement, confusion, and sheer panic.

Ginny peered over her shoulder, reading the note before bursting into laughter. “ Bring your list? Oh, Merlin, Hermione, that man knows you too well already!”

Hermione groaned, sinking back onto the sofa as Ginny cackled. “This isn’t funny, Ginny.”

“Oh, but it is,” Ginny said, wiping a tear from her eye. “It’s bloody hilarious. You’re sitting here having an existential crisis, and he’s out there sending you the most Malfoy-esque dinner invitation of all time. Honestly, you two are perfect for each other.”

Hermione couldn’t help it – she laughed. A small, reluctant chuckle at first, but then it grew, spilling out of her until her shoulders shook. Ginny joined in, and for a moment, the weight on Hermione’s chest lifted.

When they finally calmed, Ginny nudged her. “So? Are you going to go?”

Hermione hesitated, her fingers brushing over the parchment. “I don’t know.”

Ginny snorted. “Of course you’re going. Don’t even pretend you’re not.”

“I – ” Hermione started, but Ginny cut her off.

“You’ve got a list already, don’t you?” Ginny asked, her grin widening.

Hermione flushed, muttering under her breath. “Maybe.”

Ginny’s eyes lit up with unrestrained glee. “Wait. Wait. Let me see it.”

Hermione froze. “See what?”

“The list, obviously!” Ginny said, nearly bouncing on the sofa. “Come on, Hermione, don’t act like I don’t know you. Show me.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s not finished.”

“All the more reason for me to see it now,” Ginny said, tugging gently at Hermione’s arm. “Come on, don’t leave me in suspense!”

With a heavy sigh, Hermione reached for her notebook on the coffee table, flipping it open to a page that was half-filled with her scrawling handwriting. She handed it over reluctantly, her cheeks flushing as Ginny eagerly snatched it from her hands.

Ginny’s eyes scanned the page, and then she burst out laughing.

Pros of Dating Draco Malfoy

• He has shiny hair.
• He likes cats.
• He has a big white (Pea)cock.
• The boy can fuck.
• He’s intelligent.

Cons of Dating Draco Malfoy

• It’s Malfoy.
• He never shuts up.
• He’s mean.
• It’s Malfoy. Again.

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny said, laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “This is brilliant . But also? This list is completely unbalanced. You’re going to need way more entries for both categories before you go to this dinner.”

Hermione snatched the notebook back, glaring at Ginny. “It’s not a report, Ginny. It’s just... a way to organise my thoughts.”

Ginny grinned. “Sure, sure. But you’re missing some obvious ones.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked, her tone defensive.

“Well, for the pros,” Ginny began, ticking off on her fingers, “he’s rich, charming – when he wants to be – and have you seen the way he looks at you? Like you’re the last chocolate frog in Honeydukes.”

Hermione flushed. “I – no, I don’t think – ”

“And for the cons,” Ginny interrupted, her grin widening, “you forgot to mention that he has the emotional range of a teaspoon and is an insufferable prat 80% of the time.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands again. “This isn’t helping.”

“Oh, it’s helping,” Ginny said, plucking the notebook from her hands again. “Trust me. By the time we’re done, you’ll have the perfect list. And when you walk into that dinner tomorrow, you’ll know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

Hermione peeked at her from between her fingers, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”

Ginny grinned unapologetically. “Of course I am. This is the best thing to happen to my week. And you know what? By the time we’re done, you’ll have the perfect list. Hell, if you bring this tomorrow, you and Malfoy can go full-on corporate and do a SWOT analysis over dinner.”

Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown. “A SWOT analysis? Of our – what – potential relationship?”

“Why not?” Ginny said, her tone impossibly chipper. “Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats. It’s perfect. You already have a good start with this list – pros and cons, that’s basically strengths and weaknesses. You’re halfway there!”

Hermione let out a groan, flopping back against the cushions. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely supportive,” Ginny corrected, smirking. “Now pass me a quill. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. We’ll figure out how to sell this high-risk, high-reward relationship of yours. And by tomorrow night, Malfoy won’t know what hit him.”

Hermione shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t believe I’m letting you drag me into this.”

“Oh, come on,” Ginny teased, nudging her. “You know you love it. Admit it – this is exactly the kind of thing you secretly thrive on. And besides, you’ll have me to thank when you show up tomorrow and blow Malfoy’s mind with your organised approach to romance. ”

“Organised approach to romance,” Hermione repeated, rolling her eyes but laughing despite herself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re a perfectionist,” Ginny quipped, winking. “So let’s get to work.”

Ginny twirled the quill between her fingers, her face alight with mischief. “Alright, let’s start with Opportunities . This is where it gets fun. Imagine it: ‘Dating Malfoy could give you access to posh wizarding events, high-society connections, and a lifetime of free wine from their estate.’”

Hermione snorted. “You make it sound like I’m applying for a new job, not a potential relationship.”

“Well, you do like stability,” Ginny teased. “Alright, here’s another one: Opportunities –  You could revolutionise the entire Wizarding World by being the Gryffindor who tamed the ultimate Slytherin. That’s legacy material, Hermione.”

“Ginny…” Hermione sighed, though her lips twitched with a reluctant smile.

“Fine, fine.” Ginny scribbled something dramatic-looking on the parchment before moving on. “Let’s talk Threats. First and foremost: Malfoy’s mum. I mean, Narcissa’s terrifying in a gorgeous, regal kind of way. But you’re you, so you’ll probably win her over.”

Hermione groaned. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously productive, you mean,” Ginny corrected, grinning as she tapped the quill against her chin. “Oh! Threats – You’re risking falling head over heels for a man who may have more hair products than you. That’s dangerous territory, Hermione. Very dangerous.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Hermione reached over and plucked the parchment out of Ginny’s hands, setting it firmly aside.

Ginny pouted. “I was just getting to the best part!”

“And I appreciate your... enthusiasm, but I think I’ve got it from here,” Hermione said, her tone firm but fond.

Ginny tilted her head, studying her friend for a moment. “You sure? Because I can brainstorm all night. I haven’t even gotten to the public scandal potential yet.”

“I’m sure,” Hermione replied with a laugh. She stood, smoothing her hands over her jumper. “Thank you, Ginny. Really. But if I’m going to finish this... ridiculous exercise, I need to do it on my own. In my study. With some quiet.”

Ginny smirked, standing as well. “You and your ‘organised approach to romance.’ Fine, fine. I’ll let you have your space. But I want updates – and details after this dinner tomorrow.”

“Of course you do,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes but smiling.

Ginny stepped toward the fireplace, tossing in a handful of Floo powder. Just before the flames roared to life, she turned back, her grin impossibly wide. “For what it’s worth, Hermione, I think this dinner is going to be... illuminating. Good luck!”

With a flash of green flames, she was gone, leaving Hermione alone in the quiet of her living room.

Hermione sighed, glancing at the parchment on the table. The list, the SWOT analysis – it was all ridiculous. But then again, so was this situation. So was Draco Malfoy.

And yet...

She turned to her desk, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment. The soft glow of her study surrounded her as she dipped her quill in ink, her heart beating just a little faster than usual.

Malfoy,
Dinner sounds acceptable. Tomorrow, then.
– Granger

Hermione sealed the note and sent it off with a flick of her wand, her owl disappearing into the night. As she sat back in her chair, she let out a deep breath, her nerves settling slightly.

One thing was certain: tomorrow’s dinner was going to be anything but ordinary.

Chapter Text

Hermione arrived at the meeting place, her heart racing faster than she cared to admit. Draco was already there, shifting on his feet, looking surprisingly nervous. It was a stark contrast to his usual unshakable confidence, and the sight of it made her smile despite herself. She wondered where he was planning to take her, hoping that the dress she’d carefully chosen under her winter coat would be appropriate.

Her hair, thankfully, was cooperating today – a rare occurrence that felt almost like fate smiling down on her. When she woke that morning, she’d barely slept, tossing and turning while stressing about this... dinner. Date? Whatever it was, it had consumed her thoughts. But when she finally dragged herself to the mirror, she’d found her curls perfectly in place, as though some divine intervention had spared her the usual chaos. She’d squealed softly at the sight, declaring it a good omen. It had bolstered her spirits – though not enough to prevent a frantic, clothes-scattering panic as she decided what to wear.

In the end, she’d settled on a simple red woollen dress that hugged her figure just enough without being overly daring. She paired it with self-holding stockings and high-heeled boots, charmed, of course, to prevent slipping on snow. When she spotted Draco’s appreciative gaze as she approached, she allowed herself a tiny moment of satisfaction.

His signature smirk appeared, tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hope that red lipstick is charmed not to smear when we end up snogging, Granger,” he drawled. His grey eyes glinted mischievously, but there was something undeniably genuine in the way they swept over her. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Hermione scoffed, her cheeks warming despite herself. “When?” she retorted, arching a brow. “So full of yourself, as always, I see.”

“Well,” he said with a wink, “we both know it’s a question of when, not if.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at her lips. 

“So,” he began, his tone casual though his sharp eyes betrayed his interest, “did you make a list, Granger?”

“I have,” Hermione replied, lifting her chin a little higher, trying to project an air of calm. “Did you?”

“I did,” he answered smoothly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“So, how long was it?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. Her mind immediately conjured an image of his list – likely longer than hers, filled with absurdly obnoxious reasons only Draco Malfoy could dream up.

To her surprise, he didn’t smirk wider or gloat. Instead, he looked genuinely thoughtful. “Just one pro and one con for me,” he admitted, his tone almost matter-of-fact. “Why? How many did you have?” His brows furrowed slightly, confusion evident in his expression.

Her eyes widened, her pulse quickening as she scrambled for a response. “Oh, you know, two or three,” she lied quickly, her voice higher-pitched than she intended.

She fought to keep her expression neutral as she desperately hoped he wouldn’t press further. He can never know about the comprehensive, ridiculously detailed list tucked safely at home, she thought. Nope. Never.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, but before he could press further, she cut him off, her tone turning deliberately casual. “So, when are you taking me for a date?” she asked, then immediately corrected herself, flustered. “Dinner, I mean.”

His grin widened, clearly catching her slip. “So impatient,” he teased, his voice full of amusement. “Well, let’s go for your best date yet, shall we?” He held out a hand, his fingers brushing hers with deliberate slowness as he passed her a portkey.

Hermione felt her breath catch for just a moment, and then the world spun around her as they vanished into the unknown.

Hogwarts. Malfoy had taken her to Hogwarts.

Hermione stared at the familiar castle, its snow-dusted turrets glowing warmly against the twilight. “Surprised?” Draco asked, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat, though the corner of his mouth quirked with amusement.

“Um, yeah,” she replied, her eyes still fixed on the sight. “Definitely didn’t expect this.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, pleased with himself. “Come on. I’ve got it all sorted. Most students don’t return until tomorrow after the holidays, so we’ve practically got the place to ourselves. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “I spoke with McGonagall. Told her we’re together because I needed some help with... investment ideas for the school.”

Hermione shot him a skeptical glance. “Investment ideas?”

“Well, it’s not entirely untrue,” he said with a wink. “But mostly, I thought you’d like it.”

Her irritation melted as her eyes returned to the castle. “I do,” she admitted softly. “Even after everything, this place has been a home in so many ways. Feels lovely to be back, even just for a visit.”

Draco glanced at her, clearly pleased by her reaction. “Even with questionable company?” he teased.

Hermione smirked, her tone playful. “That is yet to be decided, Malfoy.”

He chuckled, his grin widening. “Good thing I’ve got this all planned, then.”

With that, they began making their way toward the castle, their steps crunching softly in the snow as the grand silhouette of Hogwarts loomed closer.

They took their time walking, the crisp winter air biting at their cheeks. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they stopped by the frozen lake, where memories of countless afternoons spent studying or relaxing with friends came flooding back to Hermione.

“Hard to believe how much happened here,” she said, gazing across the glassy surface.

Draco tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sly smile. “Mm. This place has its fair share of stories – some you wouldn’t believe.”

She turned to him with raised brows. “Let me guess, Malfoy. Tales of your brooding adolescence? Dark corners of the castle, plotting your nefarious schemes?”

“Please,” he drawled, looking affronted. “I was far more entertaining than that.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Oh, this I have to hear.”

He glanced at the lake, his smirk widening as if the memory itself was too absurd to keep to himself. “Alright, picture this. Fifth year. Theo, Blaise, and I were... let’s say, slightly over-celebrating the end of exams. A little Firewhisky might’ve been involved.”

Hermione snorted. “Shocking.”

“Anyway,” he continued, ignoring her jab, “we decided, in our infinite wisdom, that a moonlit swim was in order. And since we were geniuses, naturally, we stripped down to our birthday suits.”

Her eyes widened as she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You went skinny dipping in the Black Lake?”

“Oh, it gets better,” Draco assured her, a wicked gleam in his eye. “So, there we are, freezing our bits off, when Blaise suddenly screams like a banshee. Turns out, some bizarre lake creature – don’t ask me what, it was slimy and had way too many tentacles – takes a nibble at Blaise’s, ah, most prized possession.”

Hermione’s laughter burst out before she could stop it. “You’re joking!”

“Wish I was,” Draco replied, his grin wide. “He screamed so loudly that Professor Sprout came charging down from the greenhouses, wand at the ready, demanding to know what was going on.”

“No!” Hermione gasped between fits of laughter.

“Oh, yes. There’s Blaise, dripping wet, clutching himself like his life depended on it, while Theo and I are trying to come up with a plausible excuse. Sprout, bless her, actually helped him with some kind of poultice. But Blaise was so mortified he almost dropped Herbology after that.”

Hermione doubled over, holding her stomach. “I’m never going to look at Professor Sprout the same way again!”

Draco chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, now you know. The Black Lake isn’t just dangerous – it’s downright vindictive.”

She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, shaking her head. “That is, without a doubt, one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard.”

“Glad I could entertain,” he said with mock modesty, offering her his arm as they resumed their walk.

The glow of the castle beckoned them closer, but Hermione couldn’t stop giggling, the absurd image of Blaise’s misfortune replaying in her mind. Hogwarts was full of stories, and now she had another one to add to her collection.

The warmth of the castle enveloped them as they stepped into the entrance hall. The familiar scent of aged stone, waxed wood, and a hint of something sweet from the kitchens filled the air. Torches flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows across the grand staircase.

Hermione paused, taking it all in. “It’s like nothing’s changed,” she said softly.

“Not true,” Draco quipped. “I distinctly remember Peeves terrorising me right there.” He pointed to a spot by the staircase.

“Probably deserved it,” she said with a grin.

They wandered through the corridors, Draco commenting on how the dungeons were superior for their cosy gloom, while Hermione extolled the virtues of the sunny Gryffindor common room.

As they neared the Great Hall, they came across Headmistress McGonagall, who was talking with a few students by the entrance. She looked up as Hermione and Draco approached, her sharp eyes softening when they landed on Hermione.

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall greeted warmly, politely excusing herself from the students. She set the parchment aside and gave Hermione a rare, fond smile. “Or should I say Hermione now? It’s wonderful to see you back at Hogwarts.”

“Headmistress,” Hermione replied, her face lighting up with a genuine smile. “It’s so good to see you too.”

“I’ve heard,” McGonagall continued, her tone warm but knowing, “that you’ve parted ways with the Ministry. Frankly, they never deserved you. Whatever you choose to do now, I’m sure I’ll hear nothing but great things about you. But if you ever decide to teach here, you’ll always have a spot at Hogwarts.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, feeling a mixture of pride and gratitude. “Thank you, Headmistress. That means more than I can say.”

Draco, who had been standing just behind Hermione, leaned in slightly, his lips curving into a wicked grin. He lowered his voice, teasing, “Think she’d still say that if she knew about your... entrepreneurial ventures?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she spun toward him with a scowl. “Don’t you dare – ”

Draco smirked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying she might end up being a fan of one of our products.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of crimson, and she shoved him lightly in the chest, trying – but failing – not to laugh. McGonagall observed the playful exchange with a knowing smile, clearly amused by their antics.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said, her voice laced with amusement. “I’m sure it’ll be a memorable one.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Hermione said quickly, her voice slightly higher than usual, before grabbing Draco’s arm and pulling him toward the Great Hall.

“You are impossible,” she muttered under her breath, though her lips were betraying her with a reluctant smile.

Draco smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “And yet, you still agreed to dinner with me. Curious, isn’t it?”

The Great Hall was just as magnificent as Hermione remembered. Its enchanted ceiling showed a clear night sky, and the long tables were adorned with platters of food. Only a handful of students lingered, casting curious glances at the pair before returning to their quiet conversations.

“Where do we sit?” Hermione asked.

“Obviously, Slytherin,” Draco said immediately.

She raised an eyebrow. “Obviously not. Gryffindor.”

“Hmm. Let’s compromise – Hufflepuff,” he suggested with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes but relented, and they settled at the Hufflepuff table, where the few students nearby whispered and stole glances at them.

As they began eating, Hermione sighed contentedly, taking a bite of the shepherd’s pie. “This is so much better than any restaurant you could have brought me to,” she said, her eyes closed in appreciation.

Draco, looking pleased with himself, took a slow sip of his drink. “Well, eat up. I’m planning to give you a tour of the Slytherin common room to show you what you’ve been missing all these years.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and smirked. “How romantic, Malfoy,” she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Draco leaned back in his seat, a playful glint in his eye. “Ah, don’t you worry, the romantic part is the surprise at the end,” he said, winking. 

For the first time in a long while, Hermione felt completely at ease, surrounded by warmth, the hum of magic in the air, and the company of someone who made her heart race in all the best ways. As she looked across the table at him, she couldn’t help but smile, realising that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to feel right again.

As Hermione reached for another helping of shepherd’s pie, she glanced at Draco, who was absently twirling his fork between his fingers. The flickering candlelight danced across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features.

“You know,” she began, her voice thoughtful, “it’s strange being back here. It feels the same, but everything is different.”

Draco looked up from his plate, his gray eyes meeting hers. “The castle does have a way of holding onto its ghosts,” he said quietly. “Though I imagine your memories of this place are far fonder than mine.”

Hermione tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You weren’t always miserable here, were you?”

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, I had my moments. But most of them involved scheming or avoiding disaster. It wasn’t exactly the carefree Hogwarts experience everyone else seems to reminisce about.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You mean your elaborate pranks and attempts to one-up Harry weren’t a source of pure joy?”

Draco chuckled, the sound dry but not unkind. “Let’s just say my priorities were… skewed. I didn’t exactly set myself up for a great time.”

Hermione considered his words for a moment, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. “I used to think you were so confident back then,” she admitted. “Untouchable, even. It was infuriating.”

“Confident?” Draco repeated, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. “That’s generous. I was arrogant, Hermione. Arrogance is just insecurity dressed up in better robes.”

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard. She studied him, noting the faint shadow that passed over his features.

“Arrogant or not,” she said softly, “you’ve changed. You’re not the same boy I used to spar with in Potions class.”

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Neither are you. The bushy-haired know-it-all I used to torment wouldn’t have agreed to dinner with me, let alone set foot in the Slytherin common room.”

Hermione smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in it. “The war changed all of us,” she said quietly.

Draco nodded, his gaze dropping to his plate. For a moment, the air between them grew heavier, the weight of shared history pressing down like a tangible force.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get here,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “Sitting at the same table, having a civil conversation. It’s… surreal.”

Hermione reached across the table, her fingers brushing his lightly. The gesture was small but significant, grounding them both. “It is,” she agreed. “But maybe that’s what makes it worth it.”

He looked up at her then, and for a fleeting moment, the walls he always kept so firmly in place seemed to crack, letting her glimpse something raw and unguarded beneath.

Draco swirled the wine in his glass, his gray eyes fixed on Hermione with an expression that was unreadable, almost contemplative. “Maybe,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight she hadn’t expected.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to press him further or let the moment linger. But before she could decide, Draco’s demeanor shifted, his lips quirking into a familiar smirk as he picked up his knife and fork.

“So,” he began casually, cutting into his steak with deliberate ease, “what’s on your list, Granger?”

Hermione froze mid-bite, her fork hovering awkwardly in front of her mouth. She swallowed hard, setting it down with what she hoped was an air of calm. “Oh, nothing too exciting,” she said breezily, though her pulse quickened.

Draco’s gray eyes gleamed with amusement, his smirk deepening. “Come on now, I’m curious. Enlighten me.”

Hermione hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn’t exactly tell him the truth. That her pros included he has shiny hair and the boy can fuck. Or that her cons had it’s Malfoy listed twice. Her cheeks heated at the very thought.

“Oh, you know,” she said vaguely, waving her hand as if to dismiss the topic. “The usual things. Intelligent, ambitious, um… good conversationalist.”

Draco leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze never leaving hers. “Good conversationalist? That’s what you’ve got? For me?”

“Well,” she stammered, her blush deepening. “I had more, obviously, but those are… the highlights.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a lazy grin. “I feel like you’re holding out on me, Granger. What else? Handsome? Charming? Devilishly talented?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, though her face was undoubtedly scarlet by now. “Why don’t you share your list, Malfoy?” she countered, hoping to shift the focus away from herself.

Draco sat back, his smirk morphing into something almost predatory. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “My pros list was easy. I want you. My cons list…” He trailed off, his smirk widening as he held her gaze. “Let’s just say I decided it wasn’t relevant.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, her mouth suddenly dry. His words were bold, unabashed, and dripping with a confidence that left her both infuriated and flustered.

“Well,” she managed, struggling to sound unimpressed, “that’s… concise.”

Draco chuckled, his tone turning teasing. “I don’t waste time on things I’ve already decided, Granger.”

“Oh? And what have you decided?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended, though her curiosity got the better of her.

He leaned in, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “That I’m going to make you forget every single item on that ridiculous list of yours,” he said, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “And by the time I’m done, you won’t need a list at all.”

Hermione’s fork clattered against her plate, and she barely suppressed a squeak. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, reaching for her drink to cover her flustered state.

Draco’s laugh was low and wicked as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying her reaction. “I think you mean irresistible.”

“Definitely insufferable,” she shot back, though the corners of her mouth twitched in a betrayed smile.

They ate in companionable silence for a moment before Hermione couldn’t help herself. “Seriously though,” she said, her voice quieter now, “why are you really doing this?”

Draco set his knife and fork down, his expression softening as he considered her question. “Because, Granger,” he said finally, his tone earnest, “for once, I don’t want to look back and regret not trying.”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. She didn’t have a clever retort or a sarcastic quip, so instead, she smiled – small but genuine. And for the first time that evening, Draco Malfoy looked like he wasn’t entirely in control either.

The quiet moment lingered between them, the hum of the Great Hall’s magic wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Finally, Draco cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone lightening as he leaned back in his chair. “Enough reminiscing. Finish your pie, Granger. You’re about to see the real crown jewel of this castle.”

“The Slytherin common room?” Hermione asked, smirking. “I’m sure it’s terribly impressive, what with all the green and silver.”

“You have no idea,” Draco replied, his lips quirking into a playful grin. “But let’s see if you’re still so smug when you’re surrounded by history, grandeur, and the undeniable superiority of Slytherin House.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Lead the way, Malfoy. Let’s see if your dungeon lair lives up to the hype.”

Draco smirked, standing and offering her his hand. “Oh, it will. And I’ll have you know, it’s not a lair. It’s a sanctuary.”

As they left the warmth of the Great Hall behind, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. The castle, it seemed, still had secrets left to share – and maybe so did they.

The Slytherin common room had been everything Hermione imagined – dark, elegant, and infused with the subtle arrogance of its house. Draco’s stories about his time there had left her laughing so hard she almost cried, especially the one about Pansy’s failed attempt to brew Amortentia, which resulted in Theo falling in love with his own reflection for a week.  

When it was her turn, Hermione led Draco to Gryffindor Tower. His wide-eyed disbelief at the cosy but slightly chaotic atmosphere amused her to no end. His mock horror at the mismatched furniture and perpetually warm tones made her grin. He, of course, couldn’t resist teasing her, and she couldn’t resist reminding him that at least Gryffindors had heart, not just style.  

Draco had tried - oh, how he had tried - to coax her into one of the dormitories for a bit of "rule-breaking nostalgia," but she had rolled her eyes and dragged him away before his smirk could grow any wider.   

Now, they stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower. The air was crisp and cold, the stars scattered across the night sky like diamonds. Despite the beauty of the scene, a faint unease lingered between them. The weight of all that had happened here, all the choices made and paths altered, pressed down like a ghostly presence.  

“Why are we here?” Hermione asked softly, her voice breaking the stillness.  

Draco cleared his throat, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. For a moment, he didn’t meet her eyes, but when he finally did, they were filled with something raw and vulnerable.  

“I guess,” he began slowly, “this is the place where everything went to shit that sixth year. So I thought… maybe I could replace it with a new memory. One where my life got significantly better.”  

Hermione tilted her head, her heart thudding in her chest. “Draco…”  

He held up a hand, his expression almost comically serious. “Wait. Let me finish. I practiced this. Even made my now paid house-elves listen to it. They cried, by the way - so no pressure.”  

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, nodding for him to continue.  

“I hope, this time it will be  the place,” he said, his voice steady now, “where the brightest, most amazing, and the most beautiful witch agreed to date a recovering piece of shit.”  

Her mouth opened to reply, but he shook his head quickly. “Nope, not done. Don’t ruin my moment.”  

Hermione crossed her arms, raising an amused brow, but she stayed quiet.  

Draco took a step closer to her, his silver eyes gleaming in the starlight. “You already know I was a little bit obsessed with you at school,” he admitted, his tone softening. “We both know how that went for me. And then years later, when you started hanging out with Pansy and after… with all of us, I told myself it was just curiosity. Some fascination with how infuriatingly perfect you were.”  

Hermione’s breath hitched, but she stayed rooted, her eyes locked on his.  

“But then,” Draco continued, his voice gaining weight, “The Veil happened. That first night. Suddenly, you wanted me too - probably only in secret and with the thought that we’d never remember each other after. But I did. And Merlin, Granger, I will thank every single deity out there that the charm didn’t work. That I never forgot it was you.”  

His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through, his hand lifting to brush a stray curl from her face.  

“Because you, Hermione Jean Granger, will always be the most unforgettable obsession I’ve ever had. And I hope… I hope you’ll let me be your obsessed boyfriend, because now that I’ve had a taste of you, of us, I can’t stay away. I don’t want to stay away.”  

Hermione felt her heart constrict, the sincerity in his words wrapping around her like a spell. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.  

He searched her face, his usual smirk replaced with something softer. “So… what do you think? Can I get promoted from recovering piece of shit to obsessed boyfriend?”  

She let out a shaky laugh, her voice thick with emotion. “Draco…” She paused, gathering her thoughts as her chest swelled with a warmth she hadn’t felt in so long. “You make me feel alive again,” she whispered. “Like I can breathe, like I can be me. And yes. Yes, you ridiculous man, you can be my obsessed boyfriend.”  

His grin spread slowly, lighting up his face. “Good. Because I’ve already decided.”  

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the chill of the night melted away under the heat of their passion.  

Draco’s lips left hers reluctantly, his breathing heavy and uneven. Hermione’s heart thundered in her chest, her fingers gripping his arms as if he might disappear if she let go. But he didn’t. Instead, he smirked in that maddening, irresistible way and murmured against her lips, “Come on, Granger. I’ve got one last surprise for tonight.”

“What surprise?” Hermione asked breathlessly, her brows furrowing. Her body still buzzed from his kiss, and the idea of him stopping now was almost unbearable.

“You’ll see,” he replied, his voice dripping with mystery as he took her hand, pulling her through the halls of Hogwarts.

They walked briskly, Draco leading her with purpose, his strides confident and unhurried. Hermione’s mind raced with questions, but she stayed silent, trusting him despite her growing nerves. The castle seemed alive in the stillness, shadows flickering on the stone walls as the faint sound of their footsteps echoed.

Finally, Draco stopped in front of a familiar door. Hermione blinked, recognising it instantly. “The Potions classroom?” she asked, incredulity lacing her voice.

Draco turned to her, his smirk widening. “Surprised?”

“Surprised isn’t the word,” she muttered, her gaze darting from him to the door. “Why are we here?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he opened the door with a flick of his wand and gestured for her to enter. The room looked almost exactly as she remembered it – rows of desks, shelves lined with dusty jars, and the faint, lingering smell of herbs and chemicals. A chill ran down her spine, both from the nostalgia and the mystery of what Draco was planning.

“Draco…” she began, but he cut her off with a soft shush, his hand resting lightly on her arm.

“Relax, Granger,” he said smoothly, guiding her to the front of the room and sitting her down in the first-row desk. “I promise, you’ll enjoy this. Just trust me.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as she watched him move, his wand held loosely in one hand. “Trust you? In the Potions classroom? After hours? That doesn’t exactly scream comfort.”

Draco chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Fair point. But I think you’ll find this particular experience… enlightening.” His silver eyes gleamed with mischief as he pointed his wand at her.

Hermione tensed instinctively, but the spell hit her before she could protest. A faint shimmer enveloped her body, and when she looked down, her jaw dropped. Her old Hogwarts uniform now clung to her, though it was... different. The skirt was scandalously short, barely skimming her thighs, and the white blouse strained against her chest, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of lace from a magically conjured bra. Her tie hung loosely around her neck, completing the ensemble.

“Draco,” she hissed, her cheeks flaming. “What is this?”

But he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back, waving his wand over himself. His robes shimmered and transformed into a sharp, tailored black suit, the cut and details resembling an old-school professor’s attire. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh, Merlin,” she muttered under her breath, her pulse quickening.

Draco smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket before sauntering toward her. “I believe it’s called indulging in dark academic fantasies,” he said smoothly, his voice rich with amusement and heat. “Something tells me this has crossed your mind at least once, Granger.”

Hermione stared at him, her mind a flurry of emotions – indignation, embarrassment, and, to her horror, a growing excitement. “This is completely inappropriate,” she managed to say, though her voice betrayed her.

Draco leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk in front of her, his face inches from hers. “That’s what makes it fun,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

“Draco…” she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers trailed along her jawline, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his tone dropping to a whisper. “If you don’t want this, say the word, and I’ll drop the act.”

Hermione swallowed hard, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. But the words never came. Instead, she found herself whispering, “And if I don’t want you to stop?”

Draco’s smirk widened into a full-blown grin, and his eyes darkened with desire. “Then, Granger,” he said, his voice velvety smooth, “you’re about to get the detention of your life.”

Hermione felt the heat rise in her cheeks, spreading down her neck and into her chest. Her breathing quickened as Draco's words echoed in her mind: "You're about to get the detention of your life." The weight of his tone, the playful yet commanding look in his eyes, and the sheer audacity of the situation stirred something deep within her. She hated how her body betrayed her, the way her thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to quell the growing ache.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, noticing how they quirked into a knowing smirk. His presence – towering yet calm – seemed to fill the room, amplifying the charged air between them. She felt utterly exposed, sitting in her altered school uniform, her skirt scandalously short, the thin fabric of her blouse barely concealing the flush spreading across her skin.

Draco’s fingers brushed the edge of the desk, his touch so close yet so maddeningly far from hers. His silver eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unrelenting, as if he could see straight through her feeble attempts to maintain control.

“I can practically hear you thinking, Granger,” he said softly, his voice like a caress. He leaned in closer, his lips a mere breath away from her ear. “Care to share what’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours?”

Hermione’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into the wood of the desk as she fought to compose herself. “I… I think you’re absolutely ridiculous,” she managed, though her voice wavered, giving away the storm of emotions raging inside her.

Draco chuckled quietly, the sound reverberating through her like a current. “Ridiculous, am I?” he murmured, straightening and adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit. “And yet, here you are, sitting in front of me, blushing like mad and hanging on my every word.”

“I’m not hanging on anything,” she snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. But the way her chest rose and fell, the quickening of her pulse – everything about her screamed otherwise.

Draco’s smirk deepened as he stepped around the desk, closing the distance between them. He leaned down, his hands bracing on either side of her chair, effectively trapping her. “You’re such a terrible liar, Granger,” he whispered, his voice a rich, intoxicating purr. “But you’re very welcome to keep pretending. It’s quite entertaining.”

Hermione glared at him, willing her body to cooperate with her brain. “And what exactly are we doing here, Malfoy?” she demanded, though her voice faltered under the weight of his gaze. “Are we just indulging your overinflated ego, or do you actually have a point?”

Draco tilted his head, feigning consideration. “Hmm,” he mused, his eyes trailing over her flushed face and down to the faintly trembling hands resting in her lap. “I suppose you could call it an… educational experience.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Educational?”

“Of course,” he said smoothly, straightening and gesturing to the classroom around them. “This is a school, after all. And you’ve always been such an eager student.”

His words sent a jolt of both annoyance and undeniable excitement through her. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, crossing her arms defensively, though the movement only served to accentuate her unbuttoned blouse.

“And you’re irresistible,” Draco shot back without missing a beat, his gaze darkening further. “But we already knew that.”

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing. She was caught somewhere between wanting to strangle him and wanting him to do exactly what he was suggesting. The tension was unbearable, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to break it.

“You said something about a ‘dark fantasy’ earlier,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost tentative. “What exactly did you mean by that?”

Draco’s smirk softened into something more sincere, though no less dangerous. He reached out, his fingers skimming the edge of her tie before tugging on it gently. “I meant,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “that there’s something undeniably thrilling about the forbidden, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hermione’s throat felt dry as she nodded wordlessly. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her – it was like he had written her thoughts before she even had the chance to form them.

“And tonight, Granger,” Draco continued, his lips curving into a wicked smile, “I intend to make all your forbidden dreams come true.”

Draco’s voice was steady, commanding, as he gestured toward the desk in front of them. “Lie down, Granger,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Hermione stared at him, her pulse racing as her mind raced with conflicting thoughts. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him just how absurd this was, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself frozen, caught between indignation and the undeniable pull of curiosity.

“Go on,” Draco said, his smirk softening into something almost reassuring. “I promise, you’ll enjoy this.”

Hermione hesitated for another moment before exhaling sharply. Her heart pounded as she slowly turned back toward the desk, her fingers trailing along the edge before she leaned forward, lowering herself onto the cool, polished surface. The wood was smooth against her skin, grounding her even as her nerves buzzed with anticipation.

She turned her head slightly, glancing up at him with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “Happy now, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice tinged with sarcasm, though it wavered slightly.

Draco chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Getting there,” he murmured, his silver eyes gleaming with something that made her stomach flip.

Her breath hitched as he reached out, his hand brushing along the curve of her back before moving lower. But then, the sensation changed. It wasn’t his hand – it was something else, something smooth and deliberate. Hermione’s eyes widened as she realised he was holding a wand, but it wasn’t the usual length she’d seen him carry. This one was longer, sleeker, and its polished wood glinted in the dim light of the classroom.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” she snapped, craning her neck to look at him, her voice caught between surprise and indignation.

“Relax, Granger,” he said smoothly, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “This is all part of the plan.” He twirled the wand between his fingers before letting it glide along the length of her spine, the gentle pressure sending a shiver through her.

Hermione swallowed hard, her body tensing as the wand continued its deliberate path. She felt the cool air on her legs as Draco’s fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, lifting it ever so slightly.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice a mixture of indignation and undeniable arousal.

Draco leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Giving you what you didn’t even know you wanted.”

Before she could process his words, she felt the first sharp smack against her backside. A startled gasp escaped her lips, the sound reverberating through the empty classroom. Her head whipped around to glare at him, but he was already smirking, his wand tapping lightly against his palm as if daring her to protest.

“Careful, Granger,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “You wouldn’t want to earn more… detentions, would you?”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but the next smack cut her off, sharper this time, and accompanied by a quiet, murmured incantation. The heat from the impact spread through her skin, tingling in a way that sent a rush of sensation straight through her.

She closed her eyes, biting her lip as she tried to maintain some semblance of control. But as Draco continued, alternating between whispers she couldn’t quite make out and the firm yet measured rhythm of his actions, Hermione realised she was losing herself completely in the moment. Her fingers curled into the edge of the desk, her body arching slightly as a low, involuntary moan escaped her lips.

“That’s it,” Draco purred, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Good girl.”

The words sent another jolt through her, her cheeks burning even hotter as she struggled to process the intensity of what she was feeling. She had no idea how far this would go, but one thing was certain: Draco Malfoy was pushing her boundaries in ways she had never imagined – and she didn’t want him to stop.

Draco stilled for a moment, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race. She barely had time to process the shift before she felt his hands on her wrists, firm but not painful, guiding them together. The unmistakable texture of silk brushed against her skin as he wrapped the fabric around her wrists, binding them securely. 

“Malfoy – Draco – what are you – ” she began, but her words were cut off as he effortlessly lifted her, placing her on the desk as if she weighed nothing at all. 

Hermione’s breath hitched, her body tensing as she watched him take a step back. His gaze roamed over her, dark and hungry, lingering on every curve and bare patch of skin. She could feel the heat of his scrutiny, her cheeks flushing under his intense appraisal. 

“Perfect,” he murmured under his breath, almost as if to himself. His hand moved to her knees, parting them with deliberate care, and Hermione froze. 

It was only then that she realised – she wasn’t wearing any underwear. 

Her mind scrambled, searching for answers. When had they disappeared? Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she glanced down at herself, then back up at Draco, who now wore a smirk that could only be described as utterly wicked.

“Malfoy,” she said, her voice shaky but carrying a hint of warning.

His response was to trace the tip of his wand along her jawline, the cool wood sending shivers down her spine. He trailed it down her throat, over her chest, pausing for a playful tap against her breasts that made her gasp, before continuing lower. When the wand reached her inner thighs, he gently nudged her legs further apart, and Hermione couldn’t suppress the soft whimper that escaped her lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, laced with praise that sent a spark of heat through her. He knelt before her, his hands sliding up her thighs to rest just below where she ached for his touch.

Draco’s eyes lifted to meet hers, a devilish grin curling his lips. “Now, I’m going to feast,” he said, his voice a sinful promise.

Hermione barely had a moment to process his words before his mouth was on her, hot and insistent, his tongue moving with deliberate precision. She gasped, her head falling back as her body arched toward him. Her hands strained against the silk bindings, her fingers curling uselessly as waves of pleasure coursed through her.

“Oh, Merlin,” she breathed, her voice trembling as he worked her with a skill that left her mind blank and her body thrumming with need. She squirmed, her hips moving instinctively, but his hands gripped her thighs firmly, holding her in place as he continued his relentless assault.

Her moans grew louder, unrestrained, echoing in the empty classroom as Draco’s mouth and tongue drove her higher and higher. She could feel the tension building within her, the knot of pleasure tightening until it was almost unbearable.

“Draco,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as her body trembled on the edge. 

He hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt of sensation through her, and that was all it took. Hermione shattered, her cry of release filling the room as her body arched off the desk, her thighs quivering against his grip.

Draco didn’t stop, drawing out every last wave of her pleasure until she was left breathless and trembling, her chest heaving as she tried to come back to herself.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistened with evidence of his devotion, and his silver eyes burned with satisfaction as he looked up at her. “You taste better than I imagined,” he said, his voice low and rough, and the sheer hunger in his gaze made her shiver despite the heat flooding her body.

“Draco…” she managed, her voice barely a whisper, her mind struggling to catch up with her body.

He stood slowly, his hands trailing up her legs as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “We’re not done yet, Granger,” he murmured, his tone full of promise that made her stomach flip. “Not even close.”

Draco moved with purpose, his strong arms lifting her effortlessly from the desk. Hermione felt weightless in his grasp, her body trembling, her legs barely able to support her as he set her down.

“Come,” he commanded, his voice low and firm, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand remained on her waist for a moment, steadying her, before he strode toward the large desk at the front of the room.

Hermione hesitated, her heart racing as she watched him take a seat in the professor’s chair. The way he leaned back, exuding control and confidence, made her stomach flip. Her breath hitched as his hands moved to the waistband of his trousers, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He unbuttoned them, the sharp sound of the zipper cutting through the charged silence of the room.

When he freed himself, Hermione’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she took in the sight of him. He was fully hard, his arousal evident, and the heat that had been simmering inside her roared back to life.

“On your knees,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with an edge of command. His silver eyes bore into hers, leaving no room for hesitation.

Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps as she stepped closer, her legs trembling with every movement. When she reached him, she sank to her knees before him, the cool stone floor pressing against her skin as her hands hovered uncertainly at her sides.

Draco’s hand reached out, tangling in her hair, the firm but not painful grip sending a wave of heat coursing through her. He guided her forward, his voice dropping to a sinful murmur. “Now suck.”

Her lips parted as she obeyed, leaning in to take him into her mouth. The moment her tongue brushed against him, his grip on her hair tightened slightly, a low groan escaping his lips. The sound sent a thrill through her, spurring her on as she moved slowly, testing her limits, her hands coming up to steady herself against his thighs.

He praised her again again, his voice rough with pleasure. His fingers flexed in her hair, guiding her movements as she worked him with growing confidence. The heat in his gaze, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world, made her heart pound and her own arousal spiral higher.

Hermione’s focus sharpened, her mind zeroing in on the sounds he made, the way his body tensed and relaxed under her touch. Each reaction, each guttural moan, was a reward, fueling her determination to please him.

“Fuck, Granger,” Draco groaned, his head falling back against the chair as his hips lifted slightly, meeting her halfway. “You’re so – perfect.”

His words sent a spark of pride and pleasure through her, and she redoubled her efforts, her pace quickening as she adjusted to his rhythm. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the raw, unrelenting intensity of the moment. Hermione moved with increasing confidence, her tongue teasing and lips working him with deliberate care. Draco’s groans filled the air, his fingers tightening in her hair as he guided her movements, the tension in his body coiling tighter with every passing moment. 

Her mouth enveloped him, her cheeks hollowing as she took him deeper, her eyes fluttering closed. The taste of him, the sheer heat and power she could feel under her touch, sent a thrill through her body, making her pulse race in time with his quickening breaths.

“Granger,” Draco growled, his voice rough and unsteady. “I – fuck – I can’t…”

Before he could finish, his control snapped. In a swift, fluid motion, he pulled her away, leaving her breathless and wide-eyed as he stood, towering over her. 

Draco grabbed her waist, his grip firm but steady, lifting her effortlessly to her feet. Hermione barely had time to process what was happening before he spun her around, pressing her front against the smooth, cool surface of the desk. Her palms braced against the wood as she felt his hands tugging her hips back, positioning her exactly where he wanted her.

“You’re going to take me now,” he growled, his voice thick with need, and before she could reply, he thrust into her in one powerful stroke.

Hermione cried out, her body arching as the sudden, overwhelming sensation consumed her. He didn’t give her time to adjust, his hands gripping her hips as he set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving her closer to the edge. The desk creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with her gasps and his guttural groans.

“Fuck, Granger,” he rasped, his voice filled with a raw, primal intensity that sent shivers down her spine. “You feel… so perfect.”

Her fingers curled against the desk, her breath hitching as the pleasure built with every movement. Draco leaned over her, his chest brushing against her back as his lips found her ear. “This is mine,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous promise. “You’re mine.”

Hermione couldn’t form a coherent response, her mind fogged with the overwhelming sensation of him, the relentless pace of his thrusts driving her to the brink. Her moans grew louder, her body tightening as the heat inside her spiralled out of control.

Draco’s hand slid from her hip to her hair, tugging gently as he tilted her head back. “Come for me, Granger,” he commanded, his voice dark and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

And she did, her body shuddering violently as the climax ripped through her, leaving her breathless and trembling beneath him. Her walls clenched around him, drawing a deep, guttural groan from Draco as he drove into her one final time, his body tensing as he followed her over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, their ragged breathing the only sound in the room. Draco leaned over her, his forehead resting against her shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath.

Hermione’s breath was still ragged, her chest rising and falling against the cool wood of the desk. She felt like her entire body was humming, every nerve ending alight, and a heady, dizzying sensation coursing through her. It was almost as if she could take flight, weightless and free.

A shaky laugh bubbled out of her as she shifted slightly, her arms barely strong enough to push herself upright. “Well,” she said, her voice hoarse but laced with amusement, “if I’d known detentions were like this… I might’ve tried earning one back in school.”

Draco, still leaning over her, let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against the back of her neck. “Careful, Granger,” he murmured, his voice teasing but dark. “Keep talking like that, and you might find yourself in a permanent detention.”

She turned her head just enough to shoot him a playful glare, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “Is that a threat, Malfoy?”

He straightened slightly, pulling her flush against him as he smirked against her ear. “It’s a promise,” he whispered, his hands skimming her sides in a way that made her shiver all over again. Draco's smirk grew as his fingers travelled lower, drawing a startled gasp from Hermione. “And I’m not quite done proving it.”

Before she could reply, he swept her off the desk with ease, carrying her toward the professor's chair with an unmistakable glint in his eye.

Chapter Text

“And then he did what?” Ginny squealed, her eyes wide with excitement as she leaned forward over the kitchen table, practically bouncing in her seat.

Hermione sighed, nursing her tea as her cheeks turned a shade of pink she was sure rivalled Ginny’s hair. She pushed the eggs around her plate absentmindedly, her appetite still shaky after everything that had happened yesterday.

“Well,” Hermione mumbled, taking another sip of tea as if it could steady her, “he took me into the empty classroom, and you know… we had… some fun.”

Ginny nearly choked on her own tea. “Some fun?” she echoed, grinning wickedly. “Hermione Granger, some fun? You can’t just say that and leave it hanging there like some vague mystery! Details! Give me something!”

Hermione groaned, dropping her head onto the table with a soft thud. “Ginny, I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of my love life!”

“Oh, come on, you owe me at least a little something after the months of you swearing up and down that you and Malfoy would never happen,” Ginny teased, unabashed. She was practically glowing with excitement, a gleam in her eye as if she’d won some great bet. “Honestly, Hermione, good for you. You really needed someone to shag the weight of the world off your shoulders. It’s been long overdue.”

“Ginny!” Hermione gasped, her face now scarlet.

“What? I’m happy for you! And don’t worry, I’ll have the best speech at your wedding,” Ginny added dreamily, already pretending to examine dresses in her mind.

Hermione smacked Ginny’s leg under the table, glaring. “Snap out of it! He just asked me to be his girlfriend, so stop your romantic arse from imagining the wedding already!” She huffed, running a hand through her wild curls. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I should be telling you this. We somehow forgot to discuss all of it – if we’re telling everyone or keeping it a secret, at least for a while… and…”

“Stop spiralling, Hermione!” Ginny cut in firmly, setting her tea down with a thud. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. You know I can keep a secret.” She softened, offering Hermione a reassuring smile. “But you really should talk to him about it. Soon, preferably.”

Hermione exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, grateful for Ginny’s promise. Still, her mind buzzed with uncertainty. How had she not thought to ask Draco about telling people? Were they a secret? Did he even want them to be? The idea of hiding it made her stomach twist uncomfortably. She wasn’t ashamed of him – of them.

Ginny seemed to pick up on Hermione’s brooding, because she continued with a mischievous grin. “And don’t worry about moving too fast. Honestly, I need at least one of my friends to start having kids soon. I refuse to make new friends just for playdates.”

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed, horrified, nearly dropping her tea. “Too soon. Too soon.”

“Right, right,” Ginny said, waving a hand dismissively. “Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry at all. If anything, she looked more amused than ever.

Hermione huffed, leaning down to scratch Rhysand’s soft black fur as the cat curled up near her chair. “I should have just vented to my cats instead.”

Ginny snorted, nodding toward Crookshanks, who was perched on the windowsill giving her an all-knowing look. “Your poor cats need a break. They look like they need therapy themselves from all your overthinking.”

Hermione glanced at Crookshanks, who did indeed seem to give her a look of exasperated agreement. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Anyway,” Ginny said, rising from the table and gathering their plates, “we’ll revisit this conversation after you and Malfoy talk. For now, the sex shop won’t open itself.”

Hermione groaned, pulling on her boots and coat as Ginny bustled around her kitchen like she owned the place. “Just don’t tell Pansy and Theo yet, please,” Hermione pleaded. “You know they can’t keep a secret to save their lives.”

“You got it,” Ginny said easily, waving a hand. “And stop overthinking it, Hermione. He wants you. You want him. Everything will be fine, okay?”

Hermione paused, her fingers hovering over the buttons of her coat as she took in Ginny’s words. He wants you. You want him. It really should be that simple, shouldn’t it? So why did she feel like her brain was determined to complicate it?

She nodded, forcing a small smile. “Okay.”

“Good.” Ginny grabbed her bag and gave Hermione an encouraging wink before striding to the door. “Now let’s go. We’ve got wizards to scandalise.”

Hermione chuckled despite herself, casting one last look at Rhysand and Crookshanks before closing the door to her flat. The chilly morning air hit her cheeks as they stepped outside, and Hermione let herself take a deep breath, the crispness of it clearing some of the lingering tension from her mind.

Ginny, of course, was already chattering away about all the ideas before the grand opening and all the products she had to test, but Hermione only half-listened. Her thoughts were already spinning again – about Draco, about yesterday, about them.

He wants you. You want him. Everything will be fine.

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite colleagues!” Theo shouted dramatically as he spotted Hermione and Ginny entering the shop. Before either could react, they were pulled into one of his infamous bear hugs, their feet nearly lifting off the ground.

“Merlin, Theo! Let me breathe!” Hermione protested, wriggling in his arms, though she couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

“Hurry up, you two,” Pansy called from behind the counter, her usual sharp tone softened by a smirk. “We have business to discuss, and we’re already late on schedule.” She shoved two glasses into their hands with an air of authority that left no room for argument.

Hermione blinked at the sparkling orange liquid in her glass. “It’s 9 AM, Pansy, and you’re already drinking?” She turned toward Ginny, who was halfway through chugging her own glass. Ginny froze mid-gulp when she caught Hermione’s scandalised look, her eyes wide as she slowly lowered the glass.

“That’s not juice?” Ginny attempted, her voice a picture of faux innocence, though her poorly concealed grin betrayed her.

Pansy rolled her eyes in a way that could have made McGonagall proud. “Relax, Granger. It’s a Mimosa. I’m not an animal.”

“Yeah, Granger,” Theo chimed in, leaning on the counter with a lazy grin. “It’s just MimOOsa, not MimosAA. You’ll survive.”

The entire group burst into laughter as Hermione shot them all a withering glare. Huffing dramatically, she downed the glass in one go, the fizz tickling her throat. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day,” she muttered, earning approving cheers from Theo and Ginny.

They settled around a large table at the back of the shop, a pile of papers, sketches, and empty Mimosa glasses already cluttering the space.

"Alright," Pansy began, straightening her posture and running a hand through her sleek, dark hair. "As I was saying, our idea is nothing short of brilliant. By combining our coffee shop with a partnership deal with the owner of The Veil, we’re taking our business to an entirely new level."

“Brilliant doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Theo added, his enthusiasm palpable. “Imagine this – a café-style shop for adults. You come in, grab a coffee, maybe a scone or two, and browse through shelves filled with the smuttiest romance novels imaginable.” He spread his arms as if unveiling a masterpiece. “And here’s the kicker: every book comes with a discreet parcel containing an adult toy as a bonus.”

Ginny snorted into her drink. “So like a Happy Meal for adults, right?”

“Exactly!” Theo said, pointing at her triumphantly. “A Happy Meal for adults! Why should kids get all the fun surprises? Picture this: You grab a smutty book, something tasteful yet utterly filthy, and bam – a little something extra for when the mood strikes.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “That’s… certainly a unique idea,” she said cautiously, though a smile tugged at her lips. “You think people will actually go for that?”

Pansy shot her a sly look. “Granger, have you seen the market for adult products and romance books lately? People eat this stuff up. And with our name already associated with The Veil’s… more hands-on products, we’ll have a ready-made customer base.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “So, The Veil will be for the… let’s say adventurous, and this shop will cater to a more subtle crowd?”

“Exactly!” Theo grinned, practically bouncing in his seat. “It’s genius, isn’t it? We’ll have your everyday romantics coming in for a latte and a steamy novel, and they can leave with their purchase all wrapped up discreetly. No one will ever know there’s a little wand vibrator in that parcel.”

Ginny choked on her drink, laughing as Hermione covered her face with her hands. “Merlin, Theo!” she groaned. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Why should I? We’re all adults here,” he said with a wink.

As Hermione recovered, something struck her. “Wait…” she began slowly, narrowing her eyes at Pansy and Theo. “How do you two know the owner of The Veil anyway? You’ve never mentioned it.”

Pansy and Theo exchanged a look that was far too smug for Hermione’s liking.

“What?” Hermione pressed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, Granger,” Pansy said airily, though the mischievous glint in her eye said otherwise. “It’s just… connections, you know. We’re very well connected.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Theo clapped his hands, cutting her off. “Alright! Enough interrogation, Granger. We’re brainstorming names for the shop. We can’t keep calling it the ‘dirty café’ forever.”

“Dirty café?” Hermione repeated, her tone horrified.

“It was a working title!” Theo said defensively. “We’re open to suggestions.”

Ginny leaned forward, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Something elegant but still suggestive. You know, to keep the theme of books and… well, the other stuff.”

“Ink and Silk,” Hermione blurted out without thinking.

The group went silent, all eyes turning to her.

“Ink and Silk?” Pansy repeated, her expression intrigued.

“It’s perfect,” Ginny said, beaming. “It’s classy but still sexy. Ink for the books, silk for… well, the fun.”

Theo grinned like a child on Christmas morning. “Granger, you’re a bloody genius. Ink and Silk it is!”

Hermione felt a surge of pride despite herself, though she tried to play it off with a shrug. “I’m just glad you won’t be calling it the dirty café.”

Pansy raised her glass – a refill, Hermione noted with amusement. “To Ink and Silk! The classiest little magical smut shop in Britain.”

“Hear, hear!” Theo added, clinking his glass against hers.

As they stood debating names for their new business venture, a voice interrupted from behind. 

“There you are,” came the unmistakable drawl.

Hermione turned sharply, her heart skipping a beat as Draco Malfoy appeared in the doorway, looking effortlessly put together in his sharp, dark coat. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his hand through it a few too many times, and there was an edge to his gaze that immediately softened when it landed on her.

“Draco?” Theo blinked, looking surprised. “What are you doing here, mate? Came to give us some business advice?”

“No,” Draco said smoothly, a familiar smirk playing on his lips. “Just here to pick up my girlfriend.”

The word hit the room like a spell, freezing everyone into stunned silence. Hermione felt her heart thud violently against her ribcage, her cheeks flaming instantly.

“Girlfriend?” Pansy repeated, blinking in disbelief. Theo nearly choked on her drink, and Ginny looked as if someone had just hexed her mid-laugh.

Before Hermione could even gather her thoughts to form a response, Draco closed the distance between them. His hand found her waist, pulling her toward him as he tilted her chin up. 

And then he kissed her. 

It wasn’t hurried or shy – it was confident and possessive, like he was making a statement to the room and the world beyond. Her breath hitched, her brain sputtering to a stop as the kiss lingered just long enough to make her forget her own name. 

When he pulled back, Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, her face burning. Draco looked down at her, utterly pleased with himself, his smirk firmly in place.

“Keeping me a secret, Granger?” he teased, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Well, not anymore.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something – anything – but nothing coherent came out.

“Let’s go,” Draco continued, turning back to the others. “I’m sure you’re done here.”

“Well, we still have – ” Hermione began, but Theo cut her off with a grin.

“Yes, yes, we’re done for today. Off you go, lovebirds,” Theo said, practically shoving Hermione toward the door. “Have fun!” he called, grinning ear to ear as he slammed the door behind them.

Hermione stumbled slightly as Draco caught her hand, his fingers wrapping firmly around hers. She was still processing what had just happened. 

“Hi,” she managed shyly, her voice soft as they stepped out into the cool air. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her heart hadn’t slowed in the slightest.

Draco turned to her, looking impossibly smug. “Hi,” he replied, clearly amused by her flustered state. 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest – to ask why he’d felt the need to make such a show of things – but he beat her to it.

“Let’s go to your place,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’ve had a horrible day dealing with incompetent idiots, and I could use some curly distraction.” He winked, his tone both teasing and sincere.

Hermione blinked up at him, her brain still struggling to catch up. Curly distraction? Her hair, of course. She almost rolled her eyes, but the warmth in his voice melted any annoyance she might have pretended to feel.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, but the faint smile on her lips betrayed her.

“And yet, you still like me,” he quipped, tugging her gently along as they walked hand in hand toward her flat. 

Hermione glanced at their joined hands, feeling an unfamiliar but welcome sense of contentment settle over her. For once, she didn’t care who might see them. It didn’t matter anymore.

“What are you smiling about?” Draco asked, glancing at her with curiosity.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, though the blush on her cheeks deepened.

Draco smirked knowingly. “You’re terrible at lying, Granger.”

Hermione laughed softly, shaking her head as they reached her door. “Fine. Maybe I’m just glad you came to find me.”

His expression softened for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he leaned closer. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight anytime soon.”

“So, what do you want to – ” Hermione didn’t even get to finish her sentence before she was pressed against the door, Draco’s body flush against hers, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, urgent kiss. She gasped, her fingers instinctively tangling in his hair as he moved his lips to her neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. His hands were already roaming, gripping her waist, pressing her closer until she felt every inch of him.

“Couldn’t wait any longer,” he murmured, his voice rough and breathless between kisses.

Their coats hit the floor with a soft thud, and they stumbled their way toward her bedroom, clothing falling in a haphazard trail behind them. Hermione felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the heat of him, by how he looked at her – like she was something he couldn’t get enough of. When he reached for her stockings, she almost tripped trying to kick them off, but his strong arms caught her mid-stumble. Before she could protest, he scooped her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his hips.

“Careful, Granger,” he teased, his lips brushing against her ear. “Don’t want you getting away.”

Hermione laughed breathlessly, though the sound turned into a soft moan when he nipped at her collarbone. He carried her the rest of the way to the bed and tossed her down gently, standing to shed the last of his clothes. His grey eyes were molten as they roamed over her flushed and dishevelled body.

“Hope you’re ready for me,” he said, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. “Because I’m ready to be buried inside that perfect pussy of yours.”

“Draco – ” Hermione barely managed his name before he thrust into her in one swift movement, making her gasp as the sudden stretch stole her breath.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss her, muffling her moans as he set a relentless pace.

Hermione clung to him, nails raking down his back as he drove her closer to the edge with every deep thrust. When he paused to shift her legs over his shoulders, her eyes flew open. The new angle had him hitting a spot that made her cry out in pleasure, her hands fisting the sheets as he resumed his fast, punishing rhythm.

“So fucking… perfect,” he growled between thrusts, his voice low and raw. “And mine.”

His hand found her clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, while his other hand teased and squeezed her breast. The dual sensations were too much – her body arched into him as she spiralled toward her climax.

“Draco, harder – please!” she moaned, barely coherent.

He smirked above her, clearly enjoying how undone she was beneath him. He reached for her hair, wrapping it loosely around his hand and tugging just enough to hold her steady. His pace increased, and suddenly, Hermione felt the cold metal of his signet ring press against her clit. The contrasting sensation pushed her over the edge. She cried out his name as her orgasm crashed through her, leaving her trembling. Draco groaned as he followed her, spilling inside her with a few final, deep thrusts before collapsing against her, breathless and satisfied.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Hermione lay there, catching her breath, a soft smile tugging at her lips. But then Draco propped himself up on one elbow, his grey eyes dark with mischief as he looked down at her.

“So pretty when you come,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Do you think you can handle one more?”

Hermione’s heart raced as she looked up at him. “Just one?” she teased, arching an eyebrow.

Draco chuckled, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Well, let’s get to it.”

He grabbed her hips, clearly intending to flip her over. But Hermione, still high on adrenaline and mischief, decided to be playful. She squirmed slightly, trying to jump forward, but the unexpected move caught Draco off guard. The result was catastrophic. Hermione’s head collided with the headboard with a loud thud.

“Bloody hell!” she hissed, clutching her head.

“Shit, are you – ” Draco started, but in his panic to check on her, his leg tangled in the sheets. Hermione, dazed and trying to sit up, managed to stumble sideways off the bed. Unfortunately, her head smacked into the corner of the bedside table as she went down.

“Fuck! Hermione!” Draco lunged for her, but the sheets betrayed him completely. He tripped, falling directly onto her with an ungraceful thud. His forehead connected with the same bedside table she’d just hit, and he let out a muffled groan of pain.

“Draco!” Hermione gasped, startled by his sudden weight. Trying to get up, her leg kicked forward reflexively, her knee slamming straight into his eye.

“Fuck!” Draco shouted, clutching his face and rolling off her, tangled in the sheets like a trapped fish.

For a moment, the room was silent except for their groans of pain and mutual shock. Hermione, sprawled on the floor and still holding her head, glanced at Draco, who was lying beside her, half-covered by the sheets and clutching his face.

They stared at each other, utterly baffled.

And then they burst into laughter.

Hermione laughed so hard her sides hurt, tears streaming down her face. Draco joined in, his laughter muffled by the hand still pressed over his bruised eye.

“What the hell just happened?” Hermione managed to choke out between fits of laughter, her face red.

“I think we almost died,” Draco said, still wheezing. “Death by headboard and rogue sheets. What a way to go.”

Hermione sat up, rubbing her sore head, and shot him a playful glare. “Well, maybe next time you’ll warn me before you start manhandling me.”

Draco groaned, still grinning. “I was trying to be romantic, Granger. It’s not my fault you’re a bloody menace.”

She snorted, crawling back onto the bed and reaching for his hand. “Come on, let’s assess the damage.”

Once their laughter subsided, Hermione sat up, rubbing her head gingerly. Draco groaned as he shifted, still holding his rapidly swelling eye.  

“We’re a disaster,” Hermione said, biting back another laugh.  

“Speak for yourself, Granger. I look ruggedly handsome,” Draco replied, wincing as he poked at his bruised eye.  

“Let me heal that for you.” Hermione reached for her wand, but Draco waved her off.  

“Absolutely not. I’m keeping it.” He smirked, gingerly pressing his eye again. “Theo will think it’s hilarious. A black eye courtesy of his favorite Gryffindor. I’ll get a whole evening of sympathy drinks out of it.”  

“You’re impossible,” Hermione muttered, shaking her head before casting a soft healing charm on her own bruises.  

Once they were both somewhat patched up, Draco grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the kitchen. “Come on, Granger. After nearly concussing ourselves, we need food.”  

“Food? Are you ordering takeout?” she teased as she followed him.  

“Takeout?” Draco scoffed, setting his bag on the kitchen counter and pulling out an assortment of ingredients: eggs, pasta, a chunk of guanciale, and cheese. Hermione blinked in surprise.  

“Wait, you brought food? Ingredients?” She arched an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “What are you planning to do with those? Hide a house-elf under the counter and make it cook for us?”  

Draco shot her a glare as he rolled up his sleeves. “You wound me, Granger. I’ll have you know, I can cook.”  

“You? Cooking?” Hermione laughed incredulously. “Since when?”  

Draco shrugged, pulling out a pan and setting it on the stove. “Blaise made me take a Muggle cooking class once. There was this girl he wanted to impress – terribly high-maintenance – so he roped me into it. Turns out, I was annoyingly good at it.”  

“Good at cooking?” Hermione repeated, still skeptical.  

“Yes. Cooking is basically potions class, Granger, except you don’t get detention if you taste your work.” He smirked as he unwrapped the guanciale. “Even the Italian instructor said my carbonara was the best she’d ever had.”  

“Oh, this I have to see,” Hermione teased, perching herself on the edge of the counter as she watched him work.  

Draco moved with surprising ease and confidence, slicing the guanciale into perfect cubes and setting them to render in the pan. The kitchen soon filled with the delicious aroma of sizzling meat and rich, earthy cheese as Draco whisked the eggs and pecorino together. Hermione found herself both impressed and slightly enchanted by how focused he looked, his brow furrowed and hands steady.  

“Okay, you’re full of surprises,” she admitted, unable to hide her smile.  

“Told you,” Draco said smugly, turning to grab a small piece of guanciale from the pan. He whistled softly, and both Crookshanks and Rhysand padded into the kitchen, their eyes wide and alert. He tossed each of them a piece, which they snatched eagerly before retreating to their spots.  

“Great,” Hermione muttered, narrowing her eyes at her cats. “Now they’ll love you even more. Traitors.”  

“Smart creatures,” Draco said, smirking as he plated the finished pasta. He brought the two dishes to the table and set one in front of her. “Dinner is served. Try not to faint from how good it is.”  

Hermione took a forkful, twirling the pasta and bringing it to her mouth. The moment she tasted it, her eyes fluttered shut, and a low, involuntary moan escaped her lips.  

Draco froze, staring at her with wide eyes. “I – what – Granger,” he protested, smirking but looking almost affronted. “That moan was louder than the one earlier. Should I be pleased or annoyed?”  

Hermione burst out laughing, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at him. “I can’t help it! This is amazing. Marry me, Malfoy.”  

Draco chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Careful with those propositions, Granger. I just might take you up on it.”  

They ate in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional teasing remark or contented sigh. By the time the plates were empty, Hermione felt completely satisfied – both from the food and from the quiet, easy warmth that surrounded them.  

After clearing the table, they collapsed onto the couch, Hermione nestled into Draco’s side with Crookshanks and Rhysand sprawled across their legs, purring softly. Draco draped an arm around her, pulling her closer.  

“I think this is the most at peace I’ve felt in… I don’t even know how long,” he murmured, his voice soft and almost hesitant.  

Hermione turned her head to look up at him, her heart squeezing at the vulnerability in his expression. “Yeah,” she said quietly, smiling. “Me too.”  

They sat like that for a while, the fire crackling softly and the cats’ rhythmic purring filling the room. Finally, Hermione shifted slightly, glancing up at him with a mischievous smile.  

“So, I was thinking… Do you want to go over some ideas for Theo’s birthday party? I’ve got a few themes in mind.”  

Draco groaned dramatically. “Please tell me this won’t involve glitter or Pansy forcing me into some ridiculous costume.”  

“No glitter, I promise.” Hermione grinned. “And then we can watch a movie. I promise it won’t be anything like Twilight this time.”  

Draco shot her a glare, though his lips twitched with amusement. “I’m holding you to that, Granger. If I see one sparkling vampire or brooding werewolf, I’m leaving.”  

Hermione laughed, reaching for the notebook she’d left on the coffee table. “Deal.”  

As they settled into planning and lighthearted bickering, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like everything had fallen into place – like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Chapter Text

Sergeant Bill Carter leaned back in his rickety chair, sipping a lukewarm cup of tea as he watched the clock tick painfully slow toward the end of his shift. It had been an absolutely mental night, and his younger partner, PC Davies, was still recovering from the chaos they’d just witnessed.

“Right,” Carter said, shaking his head as he glanced through the glass window of the holding cell. “Tell me, Davies, ‘cause I must be losin’ it – did we really just nick a group of what can only be described as pissed-up, delusional nutters?”

Davies rubbed his face with both hands, looking as if he’d aged twenty years in the past hour. “I swear, Sarge, I’m gonna need therapy after tonight. Therapy and a new bloody job.”

Carter chuckled. “Aye, lad, but this lot’s special, aren’t they? They’re not just your usual drunks, oh no – they’re magicians .”

Davies groaned and sank lower in his chair. “Don’t remind me.”

Carter set his tea down and leaned forward with a grin. “Go on then, you were the one called to that pub. Tell me again, what exactly happened? Because I’m still not sure I believe half of it.”

Davies sighed dramatically and began recounting the tale. “Alright, so we get the call around midnight, right? Bloke from The Death Witch pub says there’s a bar fight going on – nothing new, standard stuff. But when I get there, the landlord’s sweatin’ bullets and swears up and down that this group of loons –” he gestured toward the cell, “– are actual, real-life magicians .”

“Magicians,” Carter repeated with a straight face, though his lips twitched.

“ Yeah! Magicians, Sarge. Says they’ve got sticks – wands, I think he called ‘em – and they were casting spells.” Davies pointed at the group in the cell for emphasis. “And I’m thinkin’, ‘Right, well you’ve had a few too many, mate.’ But then he swears one of ‘em turned another bloke into a frog .”

Carter snorted. “A frog? Come on.”

“I’m not kidding! When I got there, there’s this fella crouched under a table, screamin’ he’s been ‘cursed’ and ribbitin’ like his life depends on it – proper hysterical. Meanwhile, two of this lot – that one with the black hair bawling in the corner, and that blonde bloke over there – are shoutin’ at each other and waving what look like sticks. The owner’s panicking, swearing blind they’ve got knives , so I search ‘em, right? And guess what? Bananas. Just sticks and bloody bananas, mate.”

Carter burst out laughing. Bananas, Davies? You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.”

“I wish I was.” Davies rubbed his temples as if the memory itself pained him. “I nearly lost it when I shouted, ‘Drop the weapon!’ and turned around to see a bloke holding a half-peeled banana . Turns out, Sarge, it wasn’t a gun - it was just fruit.”

Carter wheezed with laughter. “What about the frog-man? I’m dyin’ to know.”

Davies threw his hands up. “Not a frog, obviously. He was just a lad named Gary, who was three sheets to the wind and probably on some dodgy pills. But he was cryin’ like a toddler, swearin’ he’d been cursed and screamin’, ‘ I can’t feel my hands! ’ over and over again.”

Carter slapped his knee, barely able to breathe. “Bloody hell, Davies. I should’ve come with you.”

“Oh, you say that now,” Davies grumbled. “But it got worse. After we told them all to calm down, the blonde fella - him - starts shoutin’ threats at me, sayin’ he’ll ‘turn me into a rat.’”

Carter’s eyebrows shot up. “A rat? ”

“ Yeah! A rat!” Davies threw a glare toward the cell where Draco Malfoy was leaning against the bars, looking both smug and slightly worse for wear. “And that curly-haired one there – what’s her name – Curly Girl , I’ll call her – she starts trying to shut ‘em all up. Keeps sayin’, ‘You’re making it worse!’”

Carter nodded sagely. “Always one responsible one in a group. Go on.”

“Well, that’s when the girl with the black hair –” Davies pointed toward Pansy, who was sniffling dramatically in the corner, “– starts bawlin’ her eyes out, screamin’ that we’re all gonna send ‘em to ‘Azkaban’.”

“Azkaban?” Carter asked, grinning.

“Don’t ask me what that is. Prison, maybe? I dunno. Anyway, by then, the other two blokes – them ,” he gestured toward Theo and Blaise, who were still laughing hysterically on the bench inside the cell, “– were rollin’ on the floor, cryin’ with laughter. One of ‘em starts shoutin’ for his ‘wand,’ but he’s holdin’ a banana as well!”

“Wait – another banana?”

“Yes! I already confiscated all their sticks – wands, whatever – because the owner and a few others were terrified of them. They’re all screamin’ some nonsense like ‘Acio wand’ or somethin’ while pointing the bloody bananas at me.”

“‘Acio?’” Carter frowned, suppressing a chuckle.

“Or something like that,” Davies muttered, exasperated. “Anyway, it all kicked off again when the blonde one threatened to ‘hex’ us if we didn’t give him his wand back, and I swear, Sarge, the lot of them started chanting weird words like they were summoning the devil.”

Carter snorted. “New drug, you reckon?”

“Has to be. Something strong . Either that or they’re all genuinely mental.” Davies shook his head, glaring toward the cell.

Inside, Hermione was now trying to shush Draco, who had clearly decided he’d had enough. “Oi, copper!” he shouted through the bars, smirking despite his black eye. “Let us out before I really turn you into something unpleasant.”

“Draco, shut up!” Hermione hissed.

“Blonde menace has a death wish,” Carter murmured under his breath, chuckling.

From the other side of the cell, Pansy’s voice wavered. “We’re going to Azkaban , I know it!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Pansy, pull yourself together!” Hermione snapped, massaging her temples.

“Yeah, Pansy, we’ll get out,” Theo chimed in between giggles. “All we need is our wands – acciooou wand!”

Blaise collapsed into another fit of laughter, while Draco shot him a glare. “You’re not helping.”

Carter wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “So, what now, Davies? D’you reckon we just let ’em sleep it off?”

“I don’t know if I can take much more of this lot,” Davies replied, shaking his head. “The curly one was beggin’ me for a phone call. Maybe she’ll get someone sane to come bail them out.”

“Yeah, let her. Anything to shut ’em up,” Carter agreed with a tired grin. “Magicians, bananas, and Azkaban – what a bloody night.”

10 Hours Earlier

Hermione stretched out on the sofa, the warm ache in her muscles a pleasant reminder of their earlier activities. She swung her legs over the edge, ready to finally get up and start preparing for the evening, when Draco’s arm snaked around her waist, yanking her unceremoniously back onto his lap.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear. His hands began their familiar wandering, and she didn’t miss the unmistakable press of his arousal against her.

“Draco!” she exclaimed, a mix of exasperation and amusement colouring her tone. She slapped his hand away as it made a bold attempt to slide between her thighs. “We just had sex! Merlin’s beard, are you some kind of nymphomaniac?”

“Probably,” he said, smirking as he nipped her ear. “But can you blame me? Look at you.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I’m not done with you yet. And honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, though she rolled her eyes to hide her reaction. “Draco, we’re going to be late for Theo’s party, and I will not have my carefully planned evening ruined because you can’t control yourself.”

“Don’t care,” he replied, kissing a slow trail along her jaw. “Theo’s party will survive without us. I’d rather stay right here – in you, to be precise.” His smirk widened at her indignant huff.

“You are impossible!” she said, pushing at his chest, though she was clearly fighting a grin. “Up. Now.”

Draco groaned, leaning back dramatically like a man who had just been asked to climb Mount Everest. 

“I planned this party, Draco. And I promise, no haunted houses, no rollercoasters – nothing that could possibly bruise your delicate pureblood ego.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “That haunted house wasn’t my fault. How was I supposed to know that bloke was an actor? He looked like he was going to attack you!”

“It was a muggle haunted house!” Hermione said, her arms crossing. 

Draco grinned, entirely unapologetic. “I panicked. It was a stressful situation.”

“It was embarrassing,” she countered, though her lips twitched with amusement. “Now go get ready, or so help me, I’ll go without you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged, his voice low and teasing.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Draco sighed, dragging his feet as he made his way toward the bedroom like a man facing the gallows. “Fine. But if this party drags on, I’m dragging you back here the second I’ve had enough.” He turned, his grey eyes darkening as they swept over her. “And when I do, you’d better be ready.”

“Later,” she said firmly, swatting his backside as he walked away.

A few minutes later, Hermione found him in the bedroom, shirtless and frowning at a tie like it was a particularly stubborn potion ingredient.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, laughing as she stepped up to him.

Draco smirked, holding the tie out to her. “I’m just giving you an excuse to touch me again.”

“You don’t need an excuse,” she said, rolling her eyes as she looped the tie around his neck and began to knot it.

“I’d rather see you tied up with this,” he murmured, his hands resting on her waist.

“Who says we can’t do that later?” she replied with a cheeky wink, smoothing the tie into place and patting his chest.

Draco leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, the kiss starting soft before deepening into something that made her knees weak.

“You’re too good for me,” he murmured against her lips.

“I know,” she said, grinning as she stepped back and grabbed his blazer. “Now come on, Malfoy. I promise you’ll survive the evening.”

With one last dramatic sigh, Draco followed her out of the room, already plotting ways to get her alone again before the night was over.

8 hours earlier

"Alright," Hermione said, clapping her hands together as the group stood outside the unassuming shooting range. Her excitement was palpable, though her companions looked far less convinced. "You all loved shooting roses at the funfair, so I thought – why not up the ante? Purebloods and guns? That could be fun."

Before she could even finish, Theo was bouncing on his heels like a child high on sugar. “Oh, I’m so going to shoot you all!” he blurted, grinning ear to ear.

Hermione froze. “Theo, no, that’s not –” Her inner monologue turned frantic. Oh, Merlin, this was a bad idea. Don’t panic. Enchant the bullets to be like Nerf darts. Or set up protective shields. What was I thinking? Fun? This is going to be a disaster.

Draco and Blaise exchanged knowing looks, their expressions flickering between amusement and pure mischief. Blaise leaned in slightly, smirking. “You’re giving these three weapons? Have you met them, Granger?”

Pansy flashed Hermione a wicked grin. “Oh, I am definitely shooting you in the balls,” she said, pointing at Draco, Theo, and Blaise in turn.

“Circe help me,” Hermione muttered, leading the group inside.

After a brief and somewhat chaotic safety demonstration – during which Hermione realised renting the range for private use was both a blessing and a curse – she directed them to their individual booths.

“Right,” Hermione began, pulling a box onto the workbench and carefully unpacking its contents. She handed out protective earmuffs and goggles to the small group gathered around her. “Let’s start with something simple. These will –”

Draco picked up the earmuffs gingerly, holding them between his thumb and forefinger as though they were some particularly offensive Muggle contraption. His expression twisted into one of pure disdain as he inspected the bright yellow pads.

“These go on my head?” he asked, his voice dripping with incredulity. “Absolutely not.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, planting her hands firmly on her hips. “Yes, Malfoy. They’re earmuffs. They go on your ears. To protect them. From the noise.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, still holding the earmuffs at arm’s length as if they might bite. “I’ve faced curses that could turn my insides out, Granger. I think I can handle a bit of noise without... this.” He gestured to the offending item, as though the mere idea of wearing them was an insult to his dignity.

Hermione sighed, her exasperation mounting. “It is loud, Draco. So unless you want to spend the rest of the day in the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey regrows your hearing, I suggest you put them on.”

“Ridiculous,” he grumbled, casting a spell to muffle his hearing instead. He looked insufferably smug until Blaise, Theo, and Pansy insisted on doing things the Muggle way, earning him a chorus of mocking laughter and an exaggerated eye roll.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Pansy asked, slipping on her earmuffs. Her tone was far too innocent, and Hermione didn’t trust it for a second. “What if it backfires? Or worse – what if I accidentally shoot Draco in the dick? That would upset you, wouldn’t it?”

Theo and Blaise erupted into laughter as Draco shot Pansy a murderous glare. Without missing a beat, he cast a protective shield charm over his groin. Blaise and Theo, inspired by Draco’s paranoia, quickly followed suit.

“Seriously?” Hermione asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Instead of shielding your whole bodies, you’re only worried about your - ”

“Priorities,” they said in unison, smirking.

Pansy, unfazed, grabbed her gun and aimed it. “Still shooting you there,” she said with a grin.

Hermione sighed and gestured for them to focus. “Just follow the instructions. Point the gun at the target – not at each other – and don’t touch the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”

The first shot came from Theo’s booth. The sound echoed through the range, startling everyone.

“Merlin’s saggy pants!” Theo yelped, jumping back. “That thing is loud! How do Muggles not go deaf?”

“That’s what the earmuffs are for, you dolt,” Draco said, though he looked equally rattled.

“Alright, my turn,” Pansy said, stepping up. “How hard can it be?”

She raised the gun, aimed vaguely at the target, and squeezed the trigger. The recoil sent her staggering backward, nearly knocking over Blaise, who had been leaning casually against the wall.

“Bloody hell, Pansy!” Blaise shouted, clutching his chest. “You nearly took me out!”

“It’s not my fault!” Pansy snapped, glaring at the gun as though it had personally betrayed her. “This thing has a mind of its own!”

Meanwhile, Draco was taking his time, examining the gun from every angle and muttering under his breath about “Muggle nonsense.” When he finally fired, the bullet missed the target entirely and hit the ceiling instead.

“Oops,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Draco!” Hermione shouted, exasperated. “You’re supposed to aim at the target!”

“I did aim,” he said defensively. “It’s the gun’s fault.”

“User error,” Blaise muttered with a smirk.

“Alright, Blaise,” Draco shot back, his tone sharp with irritation as he adjusted his stance. “Let’s see you do better.”

Blaise stepped up to his booth with the kind of confidence that made Hermione roll her eyes. He exuded an air of nonchalance, as though the entire event were beneath him, yet he was determined to win anyway. Picking up the Muggle air rifle, he inspected it with an exaggerated flourish, making a show of testing its weight and balance.

“Simple enough,” Blaise said, casting a sideways glance at Draco, whose scowl deepened by the second. “No magic required, right? Just point and shoot.”

“Congratulations, Zabini,” Draco drawled, crossing his arms. “You’ve grasped the concept.”

Blaise smirked, clearly enjoying the attention as a small crowd began to gather. Hermione watched with a mix of amusement and curiosity, already predicting how this would play out. Blaise was confident, yes, but his arrogance was matched only by Draco’s indignation - fuel for inevitable chaos.

Blaise lined up his shot, taking his sweet time. He adjusted his grip on the gun, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were savoring the anticipation. Hermione glanced at Draco, who was visibly grinding his teeth. Finally, Blaise pulled the trigger. The crack of the shot echoed across the booth, and the pellet struck the target dead center with a satisfying plink . A perfect bullseye.

Blaise turned, flashing an infuriatingly smug grin. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, his tone dripping with mock humility. “Beginner’s luck, I suppose.”

“Oh, shove off,” Draco muttered, scowling.

By the halfway mark, chaos reigned supreme. Theo managed to jam his gun in record time, waving it around as he shouted, “It’s broken!” Hermione fixed it with a single adjustment, leaving Theo red-faced. Pansy dropped her gun twice, screaming that it was “possessed” each time. Draco, to everyone’s surprise, was steadily improving, his smirk growing insufferable with each successful hit. Blaise, naturally, was perfect from the start and made sure everyone knew it.

Then came the enchanted targets. Hermione, ever the overachiever, pulled out her wand and cast a complex spell that transformed the targets into boggarts. “These will work like Boggarts,” she explained, “but instead of fear, they’ll reflect something– or someone – you’re particularly frustrated with. Think of it as therapeutic shooting.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but Pansy stepped up first with her signature confidence. As the spell took hold, her target morphed into not one, but three figures: Draco, Theo, and Blaise, each smirking in their most insufferable way.

“Oh, come on,” Theo groaned. “Shooting a birthday boy? That’s low, Pansy.”

Pansy gave him a saccharine smile, her gun already aimed at his chest. “Oh, Theo, darling. You’re absolutely right. Birthday boy first.” She pulled the trigger, and the boggart version of Theo clutched his chest dramatically before crumpling to the floor in a theatrical heap.

“Huh,” Theo said, tilting his head as he watched his copy dissolve into smoke. “I look so pretty when I die, don’t I?”

Pansy ignored him, turning her attention to Draco’s boggart, which was actively dodging her aim, a smug grin plastered across its face. “Oh, you think you’re clever, don’t you?” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. She adjusted her stance, and with a sharp crack, her shot hit the boggart Draco squarely in the arse. The illusion staggered, yelping indignantly before disappearing.

Draco, the real one, folded his arms and glared. “Really, Pansy? The arse?”

“Seemed appropriate,” she replied sweetly, not even sparing him a glance as she aimed at Blaise’s boggart.

Blaise’s copy didn’t stand a chance. Pansy hit it cleanly between the eyes on her first try. Lowering her gun, she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a smug grin. “And that, gentlemen, is how it’s done. Clearly, I should be a Muggle sniper.”

Theo let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “A Muggle sniper? Where on earth did you even hear that, Pans? I bet you don’t even know what it means.”

Pansy spun to face him, her expression scandalised. “Of course I know what it means!” she huffed, crossing her arms defensively. “I saw it on TV.”

Theo smirked, leaning lazily against the booth. “On TV,” he repeated, his tone dripping with mockery. “Right. And which riveting program was that? The Adventures of Oblivious Pansy Watching the Muggle Channel ?”

“You’re so rude, Theodore,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing slightly as she glared at him. “I know perfectly well what a sniper is. It’s a… a Muggle with a gun. Who shoots… things. Very accurately.”

“Oh, very convincing,” Theo drawled, his smirk widening.

Theo’s boggart shifted into Charlie Weasley, looking rugged and handsome as ever, a small dragon cradled in his arms. The sight made Theo freeze for a moment, his expression torn between admiration and fury. “It’s not fair!” he finally shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “My birthday, and he’s spending it with that stupid winged lizard instead of me!”

“Bit jealous of a dragon, are we?” Blaise teased, earning a glare from Theo.

“I’ll show him who’s better with fire,” Theo muttered under his breath, raising his gun. His first few shots went wide, missing entirely. The group started to snicker, but Theo ignored them, focusing all his frustration on the boggart. Finally, with a determined growl, he fired again, hitting the illusion square in the chest. It dissolved into smoke, leaving Theo glaring at the empty space. “There. Happy now?” he snapped, though no one was quite sure if he was talking to the group or the imaginary Charlie.

Blaise stepped up next. His boggart transformed into his father, an imposing figure with a cold, unyielding expression. The room fell silent, the atmosphere suddenly tense. But Blaise seemed unfazed. He rolled his shoulders, raised his gun, and fired without hesitation. The bullet struck the boggart dead center, and he fired two more rounds for good measure, each shot precise and deliberate.

When he lowered the gun, he turned to the group with a calm, almost bored expression. “What?” he said when he noticed their stares. “It’s just a boggart.”

Draco gave a low whistle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Oh, you’re already there,” Blaise replied smoothly, stepping aside for Draco’s turn.

Draco’s boggart shifted into Voldemort, tall and menacing, his snake-like features twisted in disdain. For a moment, the group froze, unsure how Draco would react. But he just smirked, tilting his head as if assessing an old rival. “Well, this is nostalgic,” he drawled, raising his gun.

He took his time, lining up the shot with meticulous care. When he finally pulled the trigger, the bullet hit the boggart Voldemort square between the eyes. The figure dissolved into smoke, leaving Draco looking far too pleased with himself.

“Why didn’t anyone think of this during the war?” he asked, his tone light but dripping with sarcasm.

Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Draco, because clearly all we needed to defeat Voldemort was some Muggle guns and maybe a tank.”

“A tank?” Theo cut in, his brow furrowing as he turned to Hermione. “What in Merlin’s name is a tank?”

Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown. “You… you don’t know what a tank is?”

“No, Granger, I don’t,” Theo said with a smirk, folding his arms. “Do enlighten me. Is it some kind of oversized cauldron? Or maybe a very angry, metal-skinned dragon?”

Draco snorted, clearly enjoying this. “Go on, Granger,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “Educate the poor, unwashed pure-blood masses.”

Hermione shot him a glare before turning back to Theo. “A tank,” she began, her tone overly patient, “is a heavily armored combat vehicle used by Muggles in warfare. It has tracks instead of wheels, carries a massive cannon, and is designed to destroy other vehicles, buildings, and, well, anything else in its path.”

Theo stared at her for a moment, his expression blank. Then he raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “So… it’s like a mobile fortress? With wheels? That shoots things?”

“Well, tracks, not wheels,” Hermione corrected, but Theo waved her off.

“Right, right,” he said with a grin. “So basically, Muggles decided to build giant, metal Nifflers, but instead of stealing gold, they steal lives.”

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, and then groaned. “You are impossible.”

Draco chuckled, leaning back against the booth. “I mean, he’s not entirely wrong, is he? A destructive Niffler would’ve been quite the addition to the war effort. Maybe we should have tried Muggle methods after all.”

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” Hermione muttered, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Theo leaned toward Draco, his grin widening. “So, Malfoy, what do you think? You, me, a tank, and Granger as our tactical commander? Voldemort wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Draco smirked, glancing at Hermione. “As long as I don’t have to wear earmuffs.”

Theo laughed. “Fine, I’ll drive the tank. You can sit on top and look pretty.”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she fought to hide her amusement. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Theo echoed, winking at her. “We’re visionaries, Granger.”

Finally, Hermione stepped up. The group watched curiously as her boggart took shape. To their surprise, it transformed into Ron Weasley, standing smugly with a plate of chicken drumsticks in hand. His grin was infuriatingly self-satisfied, and he even took a bite of a drumstick as he looked at her.

Hermione didn’t hesitate. She aimed for his groin and fired. The boggart Ron doubled over, clutching himself before dissolving into smoke.

The room erupted into cheers and laughter.

Draco leaned over to Blaise, his voice low and amused. “Remind me never to piss off Granger.”

Blaise nodded, his expression a mix of respect and wariness. “Noted.”

Hermione set down her gun with a satisfied smile. “Alright, anyone else need more practice, or have we finally worked through our issues?”

The group exchanged glances, and Theo raised his hand. “Do I get another turn? I feel like I wasn’t dramatic enough.”

The collective groan from the others was deafening.

6 hours earlier

“That’s the best burger ever!” Theo declared, wiping his mouth with a flourish as his second massive burger disappeared in record time. He leaned back with a satisfied groan, patting his stomach as though it had done some heroic feat. “Honestly, I might write a letter to the Ministry recommending mandatory burgers at all magical gatherings.”

“Merlin help us,” Pansy muttered, daintily nibbling on a chip from her still-unfinished first burger. She shot Theo an incredulous look. “I’ve no idea how you can eat and drink this much and still stay so skinny, Theodore. Do you have an internal vanishing cabinet or something?”

Theo grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially as if about to reveal the secrets of the universe. “Easy. I have loads of sex. Keeps you in shape.”

The table collectively groaned. Blaise, who had been mid-sip of his drink, nearly choked. “Merlin, Theo, can’t you go five minutes without bringing up your sex life?” he asked, glaring over the rim of his glass.

“Tragic?” Theo scoffed, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded. “My love life is legendary. Unlike some people, I actually get - ”

“Finish that sentence,” Pansy cut in sharply, brandishing a chip like a dagger. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but there was a glimmer of amusement behind her mock warning.

Theo smirked, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I wouldn’t dream of insulting your impeccable romantic record, Pans.” His voice dripped with mock sincerity.

“Oh, good,” Pansy said sweetly, before tossing the chip directly at his forehead. It hit with a satisfying plop, leaving a greasy smudge before sliding down his face.

Theo laughed, unabashed. “Violence at the table, Pans? What would our esteemed Granger think of your lack of decorum?”

Hermione, who had been quietly observing the exchange, raised an eyebrow. “I think Pansy showed impressive aim,” she replied dryly, reaching for her drink. “Honestly, Theo, you do set yourself up for these things.”

“I’m a giver,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh, dabbing at his forehead with a napkin. “And speaking of giving – drinks, everyone! My only birthday wish is for all of you to get absolutely, completely legless tonight.”

“Cheers, you lunatic,” Blaise said, raising his glass with a smirk.

The group clinked their glasses together with a collective cheer, though Hermione muttered something about responsible drinking as the others dove into their drinks with abandon.

“Responsible drinking?” Theo echoed, giving Hermione a look of mock horror. “Granger, you’re breaking my heart. It’s my birthday. Loosen up!”

“I’ll consider it,” Hermione said, her tone light but teasing, “when you consider the long-term consequences of your... let’s say, exuberant lifestyle.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart with a dramatic gasp. “My exuberant lifestyle is the stuff of legends, Granger. People will write ballads about it.”

“Ballads about you getting a hangover and complaining for two days straight?” Draco chimed in, his smirk sharp.

“Rude,” Theo replied, though his grin didn’t waver. “But fair. Still, I live life to the fullest, and you lot benefit from my generosity.” He raised his glass again. “Now drink, you joyless lot. I insist!”

Pansy rolled her eyes, but even she raised her glass, smirking as she muttered, “Here’s to Theo and his endless quest for attention.”

“To Theo,” Hermione added with a laugh, clinking her glass with his. “May he never stop being... well, Theo.”

“And may we survive it,” Blaise muttered, earning another round of laughter from the group.

5 hours earlier

Blaise went first, presenting a sleek, black dragonhide wallet. “For the man who’s always funding everyone’s alcoholism. It’s enchanted to always give you the correct currency when you’re too drunk to remember – no more Galleons for Muggles.”

Theo flipped it open and immediately burst out laughing as a tiny, holographic Blaise popped up inside, striking a dramatic pose. “Why am I not surprised you’ve put your face in here?”

“Because,” Blaise said smugly, “you’d miss me too much otherwise. Plus, it insults anyone who tries to take your money. Go on, give it a whirl.”

With a mischievous grin, Theo tilted the wallet toward Hermione. Holographic Blaise sneered, crossing his tiny arms. “Back off, Granger. He earned those Galleons by existing fabulously.”

Next up was Draco, who handed Theo a finely wrapped box. Inside was a monogrammed silver flask engraved with To Theo, the prettiest disaster I know.

Theo doubled over laughing. “You know me so well. Does it refill itself?”

“Obviously,” Draco drawled. “But only with Firewhisky. Anything else would be beneath you.”

Pansy went third, presenting a beautifully decorated box containing a shimmering vial of potion. “It’s an enchanted cologne,” she explained, smirking. “You smell like Firewhisky and regret most of the time. This might help.”

Theo plucked the vial from the box, dabbing some onto his wrist. The air around him instantly transformed, carrying a sophisticated blend of oakmoss, bergamot, and… victory. “Do I smell like a better class of Firewhisky now?”

“It’s charmed to make people forgive your nonsense,” Pansy added, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “I had to commission it specially.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “What did you call it? Theo’s Eau de Sorry? ”

“No,” Pansy replied smugly. “It’s called Charmed, I’m Sure. ”

Theo pressed a hand to his chest in mock adoration. “You lot spoil me. I can’t decide if I feel loved or thoroughly roasted.”

“Both,” Blaise quipped, raising his glass. “Exactly as it should be.”

Finally, Hermione stepped forward, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Uh, so... this is from me and Charlie.”

The group immediately perked up at the mention of Charlie Weasley.

“Oh, this ought to be good,” Blaise muttered, leaning back in his chair with a smirk as Hermione handed Theo a small, neatly wrapped package.

Theo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What’s this, Granger? A Ministry-approved guide to being less insufferable?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. “Hardly. Just open it.”

With exaggerated care, Theo unwrapped the package, peeling back the paper as if it contained something delicate. Inside was a small wooden frame, its edges carved with intricate patterns. Behind the glass was a moving photograph of a tiny dragon, its scales shimmering a soft silver in the light. The dragon’s wings were barely developed, fluttering awkwardly as it let out the smallest puff of fire. The smoke curled lazily, forming little loops before fading away.

“His name’s Sappy,” Hermione said, her tone softening. “He’s a dwarf dragon. Charlie’s been training him at the reserve, and we thought - well, Charlie thought - you’d enjoy spending next week with them. He wanted me to tell you that he’s looking forward to it.”

For a moment, Theo didn’t move. He simply stared at the photo, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as Sappy stretched his tiny wings, attempting another feeble puff of fire.

“I - ” Theo’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Thank you.” His tone was uncharacteristically soft, his usual bravado replaced with something quieter, more genuine.

Draco, sensing an opportunity, leaned forward with a wicked grin. “Don’t cry, Theo. We wouldn’t want your legendary reputation to crumble.”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Theo snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He blinked rapidly, clearly fighting to keep his emotions in check. “I’m not crying. It’s just - Sappy is adorable, alright? Look at him!”

The table erupted into laughter, but the teasing was lighthearted. Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. “A dragon named Sappy for someone as sappy as you. It’s poetic, really.”

“Watch it, Zabini,” Theo said, holding the frame closer to his chest as if to shield the dragon from further mockery. His grin betrayed his true feelings, though, as he looked back at the photo with something akin to awe. “Merlin, he’s perfect. I can’t wait to meet him.”

Hermione smiled, warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of Theo’s unguarded reaction. “Charlie said Sappy has a bit of a mischievous streak, so I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”

“Obviously,” Theo said, his confidence returning as he puffed out his chest dramatically. “Sappy and I will be best mates by the end of the week. Just you wait.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin help the poor creature.”

Pansy smirked, leaning her chin on her hand. “Oh, please. That dragon is going to outshine Theo in charm and wit within minutes.”

“Impossible,” Theo declared, holding up the frame as if Sappy himself could defend his honor. “This dragon and I are destined for greatness.”

“Or chaos,” Blaise quipped.

“Same thing,” Theo replied breezily, earning another round of laughter from the group.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as well, the warmth of the moment settling over her like a cosy blanket. Watching Theo cradle the tiny frame, his eyes alight with genuine excitement, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride. For all their teasing, this group – her friends – knew how to cherish the little things that truly mattered.

And as Sappy let out another tiny puff of fire in the photo, Theo beamed, his earlier bravado forgotten. “This might just be the best birthday present ever.”

4 hours earlier

“Alright, Granger,” Blaise said, leaning back in his chair, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Spill. What’s the deal with you and Malfoy?”

Hermione choked on her drink, coughing as her cheeks flushed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Blaise drawled, drawing out his words like he was savouring the drama, “how did this happen? You and Draco? I need details. Full story.”

Draco rolled his eyes, swirling his drink lazily. “It’s really not that interesting.”

“Not interesting?” Theo exclaimed, grinning like a madman. “You two met at a bloody sex club. That’s hilarious and extremely coincidental!”

Hermione’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. “It wasn’t like that!” she spluttered. “And isn’t that how everyone meets these days? Even you and Charlie, might I add, Theodore.”

Theo raised his glass, utterly unbothered. “Touché, Granger. But still, you can’t just call that ‘not interesting.’”

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Fine. It was… an experience, alright?”

“An experience , Granger?” Draco repeated, feigning offence as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re underselling it. If I recall correctly, it was the best sex of your life. The one that made you so obsessed with me you agreed to be my girlfriend.”

Hermione shot him a withering glare. “Are you sure it’s me who’s obsessed, Malfoy? Shall I recount all the love confessions you made to me back at Hogwarts?”

The group collectively perked up, their attention snapping to Hermione like Kneazles spotting a mouse.

“Please do,” Pansy begged, practically bouncing in her seat.

Draco, however, smirked and leaned forward, clearly enjoying the spotlight. “No need. I’ll tell them myself. I’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, the rest of you could use some pointers.”

The table erupted into laughter as Draco launched into a highly embellished and overly dramatic retelling of their first date, complete with grand gestures, heartfelt declarations, and an exaggerated rendition of how he’d asked Hermione to be his girlfriend.

“And then,” Draco concluded, placing a hand over his chest with exaggerated flair, “I said, ‘Granger, you will always be the most unforgettable obsession I’ve ever had...’”

Hermione’s cheeks flamed as the table erupted into cheers and laughter. She pressed her lips together, half-embarrassed, half-amused. Her heart betrayed her, however, giving a traitorous flutter at the memory of those words. She glanced at Draco, who looked far too pleased with himself, his smirk daring her to react.

Pansy clutched her chest dramatically, mimicking Draco’s tone. “Who’d have thought Draco Malfoy was such a romantic? I’m positively swooning.”

“Not me,” Blaise said, his smirk growing as he raised his glass. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Hermione’s mortification deepened, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. As much as she wanted to hex Draco for his dramatics, there was something disarming about the way he owned his ridiculousness.

“Well,” Theo interrupted, rising from his chair and holding his glass high, “cheers to our two lovebirds! The greatest plot twist Hogwarts has ever seen.”

The group laughed, glasses clinking together in a celebratory toast. Hermione shook her head, trying to suppress her grin as her heart swelled with a confusing mixture of mortification and warmth. She looked over at Draco again, only to find him watching her with an unmistakable glint in his eye.

2 hours earlier

By now, the group was thoroughly drunk, their laughter echoing through the pub as the cosy, subdued atmosphere gave way to their increasingly raucous antics. Empty glasses cluttered the table, and the smell of spilled ale mixed with the faint aroma of pub food lingering in the air.

“To me!” Theo declared, standing unsteadily and raising his glass with an exaggerated flourish. “The prettiest, sexiest, and greatest wizard in history!”

“Cheers!” everyone chorused, lifting their glasses with varying levels of enthusiasm. 

“Your modesty is truly inspiring,” Pansy muttered, rolling her eyes as she sipped her drink.

“Don’t encourage him,” Blaise added with a smirk. “His ego’s already insufferable.”

“Insufferable but deserved,” Theo shot back with a wink, flopping back into his chair with a satisfied grin.

Blaise leaned forward, finishing the last of his drink and setting the glass down with a decisive clink. “We should go somewhere else. A pub crawl, maybe? Or a club?”

“Yes!” Theo shouted, leaping to his feet so enthusiastically he nearly knocked over the table. He steadied himself by grabbing Pansy’s shoulder, who groaned in protest. “Let’s make it a proper night out!”

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione muttered, rubbing her temples as her head swam. Her earlier drinks were catching up with her, and the thought of more chaos made her stomach churn.

“This is going to end badly, isn’t it?” she said, her voice half-lament, half-resignation.

Draco leaned in, his arm sliding easily around her waist as he pulled her close. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver up her spine, and the mischievous glint in his eyes was entirely too infectious. “Oh, absolutely,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “But it’ll be fun.”

Before she could respond, Theo let out a triumphant yell and started toward the door, already shouting instructions to the group about their next destination. Blaise was right behind him, his laughter ringing out as he teased Theo about his balance – or lack thereof.

Pansy downed the rest of her drink in one graceful motion, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Alright, let’s see what kind of chaos awaits. Someone keep Theo out of traffic, though.”

Hermione let out a groan as she stumbled to her feet, Draco steadying her with a firm grip. “This is insane,” she muttered.

Draco smirked, his hand lingering on her waist. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“Did I?” she shot back, though her lips twitched with a reluctant smile.

With that, the group poured out into the cool night air, their laughter carrying down the street as Theo led the charge. His voice was already hoarse from shouting, but that didn’t stop him from declaring himself the leader of the “best bloody night out Hogwarts alumni will ever have.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh despite herself as she allowed Draco to guide her along, the chaos of the night stretching ahead of them like an unpredictable, wild adventure. Whatever awaited them next, one thing was certain: it was bound to be unforgettable.

1 hour before

The group staggered through the dimly lit streets, their laughter bouncing off the brick walls. Theo led the way, clutching a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky in one hand and waving his wand in the other, much to Hermione’s growing alarm.

“For Merlin’s sake, Theo,” Hermione slurred, making another failed grab for his wand. “Stop waving that around! Someone’s going to see!”

Theo twirled out of her reach, narrowly missing a lamppost. “Let them see! Let the whole bloody world see! It’s my birthday, Granger, and I’m a wizard! A sexy, brilliant, magical wizard!”

Draco snorted. “You’re a drunken idiot, that’s what you are.”

“Same thing!” Theo declared, throwing his arms wide.

Pansy, who was clinging to Blaise for balance, squinted into the shadows. “Where are we even going? This doesn’t look like Diagon Alley.”

“That’s because it isn’t, genius,” Blaise muttered. “We’ve been wandering around Muggle London for the past half hour.”

Theo suddenly froze mid-step, causing Hermione to stumble into him. He pointed dramatically at a crooked wooden sign hanging above a narrow alley. The words The Dead Witch were scrawled in faded paint, the edges of the sign blackened as though it had been through a fire.

“The Dead Witch!” Theo bellowed, his eyes gleaming. “This is it! This is where we’re going!”

Draco frowned at the dilapidated exterior. “It looks like a breeding ground for diseases.”

“It looks like destiny!” Theo proclaimed, marching toward the door.

The group tumbled into The Dead Witch with all the grace of a herd of drunken hippogriffs. Theo shoved the door open triumphantly.

“Behold!” he announced, his voice echoing through the dingy room. “The finest establishment in all of London!”

The pub was somehow worse inside. Damp wallpaper sagged from the walls, the air reeked of stale beer and wet socks, and a broken jukebox droned an unrecognisable tune in the corner.

At a table near the bar sat five burly men nursing pints, their eyes narrowing at the newcomers. Behind the counter, the bartender – a hulking man with a greying beard – watched them with a mixture of suspicion and boredom.

“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered, wrinkling his nose. “Theo, what have you dragged us into?”

“It’s perfect!” Theo declared, spinning in place. “Rustic. Atmospheric. Full of character.”

“Full of mildew,” Draco corrected, eyeing a particularly dodgy stain on the ceiling.

Pansy pouted. “And no cocktails. Can we leave now?”

Before anyone could retreat, one of the men at the table snorted loudly, drawing their attention. “Oi, look at this lot,” he said, grinning. “Bunch of posh kids out past their bedtime.”

His friend laughed, gesturing to Hermione and Pansy. “The girls can stay, though. Leave the little boys to go to their mummies.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, sweetheart,” the man said, his grin widening. “Ditch the prats. We’ll show you a real night out.”

Draco’s wand was in his hand in an instant. “Apologise, or I’ll hex that smirk off your face.”

The men roared with laughter. “What’s that? A little stick? You gonna poke me with it, blondie?”

Blaise raised his wand too. “Poke you? No. Turn you into something slimy and unpleasant? Absolutely.”

“Oi, none of that!” the bartender barked. “You lot need to calm down!”

“Calm down?” Pansy scoffed, reaching into her coat. “I’ll show you calm.” She pulled out a pepper spray, tossing it to Blaise.

“What the hell is this?” Blaise asked, holding it gingerly.

“Just in case,” Pansy said smugly.

One of the men stood up, pulling a knife from his coat and pointing it at Theo. “Think you’re funny, do you?”

Hermione grabbed Theo’s arm. “Theo, don’t!”

But Theo was grinning manically. “You know what you look like, mate? A frog. And I think it’s time you embraced your true self.”

Before anyone could stop him, Theo flicked his wand. “ Anurafors! ”

The man let out a strangled yell as his body twisted and shrank. In seconds, a slimy green frog sat on the table, croaking indignantly.

The room fell silent for a beat, everyone staring at the frog.

Then Pansy screamed. “Theo! You can’t just turn people into frogs! We’re going to Azkaban!”

The other men surged to their feet, shouting.

“Witches!” one of them bellowed. “They’re bloody witches!”

“We’ll burn you!” another roared, grabbing a chair.

Draco raised his wand. “Touch that chair, and I’ll turn you into a slug.”

“Draco, stop!” Hermione cried, but her voice was nearly drowned out by the chaos.

Blaise sealed the door with a quick “ Colloportus! ”

“You’re all dead!” one of the men shouted, pulling out another knife.

Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat. “Stop! Everybody, stop!”

But it was too late. The shouting escalated, and more knives appeared.

“We’ll hex you first!” Blaise shouted.

In a panic, Hermione waved her wand wildly. “ bananafors! ”

The knives instantly transformed into bananas.

The room descended into absurdity. Pansy was sobbing about Azkaban, Theo was doubled over laughing, and the men were shouting about witch-burning while brandishing bananas.

“We’ll kill you!” one of them yelled, waving a banana.

“Bananas!” Theo howled. “Brilliant, Granger!”

But the men weren’t amused. “You think this is funny?” one bellowed.

Before things could spiral further, Hermione spotted the frog still croaking indignantly on the table.

“Oh, Merlin,” she groaned, pushing past Draco to reach it. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

With a flick of her wand, she muttered, “ Finite Incantatem! ” The frog stretched and morphed back into the man, who lay gasping on the table.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he croaked, clutching his chest.

“You’re fine,” Hermione said quickly. “No harm done.”

“No harm?” he spluttered. “You turned me into a bloody frog!”

Before the shouting could resume, the wail of police sirens cut through the air.

“The Muggle police!” Hermione gasped, her face going pale.

The door burst open, and two officers stormed in, their torches cutting through the chaos.

“Alright, what’s all this, then?” one demanded.

The group froze, wands and bananas still raised.

“Bloody hell,” one officer muttered, staring at the man sprawled on the table. “What’s all this, then?”

Now

The doors to the station swung open, and Harry stepped in, his sharp green eyes scanning the room. He quickly spotted the group of his very drunk friends in the holding cell. Hermione, looking frazzled, perked up at the sight of him, while the others either groaned or grinned, depending on their level of sobriety.

Sergeant Carter and PC Davies were at the desk, the former nursing a lukewarm cup of tea while the latter looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“And who are you?” Carter asked, his tone skeptical as Harry approached the desk.

Harry flashed a polite smile. “I’m here to sort this out. My name’s Harry. Harry Potter.”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “You know this lot?” He gestured toward the cell.

Harry nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. They’re my friends.”

PC Davies leaned back in his chair, looking Harry up and down. “And why do I get the feeling you’re here to do more than just apologise for their behavior?”

Harry kept his expression neutral. “I’d like to take responsibility for them. They’ve clearly had too much to drink, and this has been a bit of a… misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Carter repeated, setting down his tea. “We’ve got reports of shouting, threats, and waving sticks around like they’re bloody magic wands. Not to mention, one of them was going on about prison and hexes. They’re lucky we didn’t charge them for public disorder.”

Harry chuckled lightly, as though amused by the absurdity. “I can understand how that might’ve seemed… odd. But they’re harmless, really. A little eccentric, maybe, but harmless.”

PC Davies snorted. “Eccentric’s putting it lightly. The blonde one threatened to ‘hex’ me. And don’t get me started on the girl crying about some prison called Azza-something.”

“Azkaban,” Harry corrected instinctively, then winced. “I mean, that’s just what she calls her strict boarding school. It’s an inside joke. They all went there.”

Carter frowned, unconvinced. “Inside joke or not, this is still a bloody mess. We’ve got one fella screaming about being turned into a frog, and these posh types waving bananas like they’re guns. It’s like a Monty Python sketch gone wrong.”

Harry held his hands up in a placating gesture. “And I completely understand your frustration. But I promise, I’ll take them off your hands, and they’ll never set foot in your jurisdiction again.”

Davies leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “And what exactly do you do, Mr. Potter? You sound like you’ve had to bail this lot out more than once.”

Harry gave a tight smile. “You could say I specialise in solving… unusual situations.”

Carter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Unusual, eh? And how do you plan on solving this one?”

Davies scoffed. “Yeah, what’s your plan, Mr. Potter? Wave your magic wand and make it all go away?”

Harry’s smile widened slightly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Something like that.”

Before either officer could react, Harry pulled out his wand, his movements calm and deliberate. “I promise, this won’t take long.”

“What - ” Carter began, but Harry’s wand flicked before the words could leave his mouth.

“Obliviate.”

A faint shimmer passed over Carter and Davies, their eyes glazing over for a moment before they blinked, looking around the room with confused expressions.

“Strange night, wasn’t it?” Harry said conversationally, pocketing his wand as though nothing unusual had happened. “You were just saying how quiet things have been.”

Sergeant Carter scratched his head, frowning. “Right… quiet. Not much happening tonight.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed, clapping his hands together. “And my friends? Just a misunderstanding. You’re letting them go, no harm done.”

Davies nodded slowly, his earlier frustration gone. “Yeah, no harm. Just some drunk posh types.”

Harry tucked his wand away, his expression placid. “Right, lads,” he said brightly, clapping his hands together as if nothing unusual had happened. “Now let’s get this lot out of here.”

Inside the cell, Draco snorted. “Oh, of course. Harry bloody Potter saves the day again.”

Harry smirked, unlocking the cell door with a flick of his wand. “What can I say? Once a saviour, always a saviour.”

Theo, still slightly drunk, stumbled toward the door, pointing a finger at Harry. “You’re enjoying this far too much, Potter.”

“Absolutely,” Harry replied, not missing a beat. “Now, out you go, all of you. Before I decide to leave you here.”

Hermione hurried forward, her voice low and urgent. “Did you get the cameras?”

Harry sighed, as if she’d just insulted his intelligence. “Hermione, please. I’m thorough.” He gestured toward the CCTV cameras, which were now sparking and flickering. “No footage, no memories. It’s like we were never here.”

“Efficient,” Blaise remarked, looking mildly impressed. “Alright, Potter, you’ve earned yourself one drink on me.”

“I’ll pass,” Harry shot back. “You lot are trouble enough sober.”

As they filed out of the station, Theo threw an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “You know, Potter, for a bloke who spent his youth playing hero, you’re surprisingly good at breaking the law.”

Harry shrugged him off with a laugh. “What can I say? I’m versatile.”

As they disappeared into the night, Harry couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “You owe me, Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Put it on my tab.”

Chapter Text

4 Months Later

It was a bright, peaceful morning. The air was filled with the scent of lavender and freshly brewed coffee drifting through the open windows of a sunlit villa in France. The same villa where Hermione’s life had turned upside down two years ago when she caught Ron cheating. Gods, that felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, as she lay cocooned in warmth, Hermione couldn’t help but marvel at how drastically her life had changed. The villa, once a place of heartbreak, was now filled with love, laughter, and the sounds of her friends being their chaotic selves. Somewhere downstairs, she could hear Theo rumbling loudly about “Sappy’s whereabouts” and Charlie’s soothing laughter in response.

She turned her head to the man sleeping peacefully beside her. Draco’s face was relaxed, his usually perfect hair adorably tousled. Her heart swelled with affection. Their journey from reluctant allies to lovers had been anything but smooth, but here they were – happy, together, and so deeply in love it still caught her off guard sometimes.

Hermione smiled mischievously, lowering her hand under the duvet to gently run her fingers along his abdomen. She’d meant to tease him awake, but instead – 

“OW!” she yelped, jerking her hand back as something tiny and sharp bit her finger.

Draco stirred at the sound, his grey eyes blinking open in confusion. Hermione glared at the lump beneath the covers, pulling back the duvet to reveal the culprit: a tiny dragon, curled up on Draco’s lap. The little beast gave Hermione a smoky snort, clearly offended at being disturbed.

“Oh, hello there, you cute thing,” Draco murmured, stroking the dragon’s scaly head with a fond smile.

Hermione gaped. “What is it with you and beasts, Malfoy? First, my cats couldn’t get enough of you, and now it’s dragons? What’s next, kneazles? Hippogriffs?” She sucked on her sore finger, though her annoyance melted into a grin despite herself.

Draco smirked. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.” He scratched the dragon under its chin, earning a pleased rumble. “Besides, I think Sappy just appreciates my charm. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Before Hermione could respond, Draco called out, “Theodore! Your child is here!”

There was a loud thumping of footsteps, and Theo burst into the room, his face a mix of panic and exasperation.

“Daddy’s here, precious,” Theo cooed as he scooped Sappy off Draco’s lap. The tiny dragon immediately curled around Theo’s neck like a scarf, puffing smoke contentedly.

“Please keep that giant thing between your legs away from children, Malfoy,” Theo grumbled, though his wink at Hermione betrayed his amusement.

“Hey, that’s not my fault,” Draco shot back, smirking. “He probably just has a thing for dicks, considering you’re the biggest one I know – and he adores you.”

Theo snorted, rolling his eyes. “Language, Malfoy,” he replied with a mock sigh, before retreating down the stairs, Sappy’s tail trailing lazily behind him.

As the door closed, Hermione and Draco dissolved into laughter. Hermione’s heart swelled as she watched Draco – so light, so free, like the weight of his past had finally lifted from his shoulders. Without thinking, she blurted, “I love you.”

Draco froze, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, something infinitely tender. But instead of responding, he groaned dramatically and buried his face in the pillow.

“What?” Hermione asked, startled by his reaction.

“I had plans, Granger,” Draco mumbled, his voice muffled. “I had plans! A speech. The greatest ‘I love you’ confession in wizarding history. There were going to be fireworks, enchanted roses, maybe even a string quartet!”

Hermione couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Fireworks? Really?”

Draco lifted his head to glare at her playfully. “You’ve ruined it now. Completely ruined. Do you have any idea how much time I spent perfecting that speech?”

Hermione leaned closer, brushing a kiss against his lips. “I don’t need fireworks, Malfoy. I just need you.”

Draco’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Well, you’ve got me, you insufferable witch. I love you too.”

Before Hermione could respond, Draco flipped her onto her back, his grin turning wicked. “And since you’ve ruined my grand moment, I’ll just have to settle for making you scream my name instead.”

Draco's wicked grin sent a thrill down Hermione's spine as he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a slow, teasing kiss. His hands slid to the hem of the oversized shirt she was wearing – his shirt – and he began to tug it upward, his fingers grazing the soft skin of her thighs, her hips, her waist. Hermione shivered under his touch, her breath hitching as the fabric slid higher.

“I believe this belongs to me,” Draco murmured, his voice a low, seductive drawl. He lifted the shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. His gaze roamed over her, his silver eyes darkening with desire. “Merlin, Granger. You’re absolutely stunning.”

Hermione flushed under his intense scrutiny, but before she could muster a response, his lips were on her neck, trailing heated kisses down to her collarbone. His hands roamed her body, mapping every curve with reverence and care.

“You drive me mad,” Draco muttered against her skin. “Every inch of you – perfection.”

His mouth moved lower, his tongue flicking over the sensitive swell of her breast before capturing her nipple between his lips. Hermione gasped, arching into him as his other hand cupped her, his thumb brushing over the other peak in deliberate strokes. The sensations sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her, and she threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him close.

Draco chuckled softly, his warm breath sending shivers across her skin. “I could worship you forever,” he whispered, switching to her other breast. His tongue teased her, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp his name. “You’re incredible, Hermione. My Hermione.”

She whimpered, her body melting into his touch as his hands continued their exploration, sliding down her sides and over her hips. His kisses traveled lower, trailing across her stomach as he whispered against her skin, “You’re everything to me. Do you know that?”

Hermione’s heart swelled, and she could barely form a coherent thought as his lips continued their descent. But just as the tension built to an almost unbearable point, Draco shifted, returning to hover over her, his eyes locking with hers.

“I love you,” he said softly, his voice steady and filled with emotion. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long. You’ve ruined my speech, but I couldn’t care less, because saying it like this – with you here, like this – is perfect.”

Hermione’s chest tightened, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Draco –”

He silenced her with a kiss, deep and consuming, before positioning himself between her thighs. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he looked down at her, his gaze intense but tender.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice like a vow. “And I’m going to show you just how much.”

With that, Draco slid into her slowly, his movements deliberate and measured. Hermione gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders as he filled her completely, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

Each thrust was purposeful, his touch worshipful, his lips constantly seeking hers or trailing over her skin. He whispered her name like a prayer, his love for her evident in every kiss, every movement, every look. And as their passion reached its peak, Hermione knew with absolute certainty that she had never felt so loved, so cherished, or so utterly complete.

By the time Hermione and Draco made it downstairs, the villa was alive with noise and commotion. Theo stood in the middle of the room, shouting at Charlie, while smoke curled ominously from the curtains near the window.

“I told you not to feed him spicy sausages!” Theo yelled, frantically waving his wand to extinguish the small flames licking at the fabric.

Charlie, leaning casually against the table, looked utterly unbothered. “He likes them!” he replied with a grin.

Sappy, the tiny dragon in question, perched proudly on the breakfast table, crunching on a piece of toast as though nothing had happened. His tail flicked lazily, narrowly missing a jar of jam, while his bright eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Your child is a menace, Theodore,” Draco commented as he and Hermione took their seats, watching the chaos unfold.

“Don’t blame me,” Theo snapped, glaring at Charlie. “This is clearly his fault. Sappy’s diet was perfectly fine until Mr. Dragon Whisperer over here decided to spoil him!”

“I spoil him because he deserves it,” Charlie retorted, walking over to scratch the dragon affectionately under the chin. Sappy let out a contented puff of smoke, which Theo quickly vanished with a flick of his wand.

Hermione hid a laugh behind her coffee cup. “This is what you get for adopting a dragon together,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Theo.

Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Honestly, Granger, you should be grateful. Compared to this circus, I’m practically low-maintenance.”

“Debatable,” Hermione quipped, earning a chuckle from Blaise, who was buttering a croissant with a languid grace that suggested he was entirely unfazed by the morning chaos.

Pansy strolled in moments later, taking one look at the scene and groaning dramatically. “Merlin, the amount of love in this room is nauseating,” she declared, collapsing into a chair. She gestured between Theo and Charlie, then Hermione and Draco. “I’m surrounded by couples. Blaise, promise me you’ll never fall in love. It’s disgusting.”

Blaise grinned, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Don’t worry, Pans. When we’re old and decrepit, we’ll just marry each other. Problem solved.”

“Charming,” Pansy deadpanned, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

As the laughter died down, Pansy perked up and turned to Hermione with a sly grin. “Speaking of love, how did Narcissa take the news of you dating her precious baby boy?” She glanced at Draco, who snorted into his tea.

“Surprisingly well,” Draco said dryly. “I think she saw it as the ultimate PR campaign to salvage the family name. No one can say a word against us now when she tells everyone her future daughter-in-law is Hermione Granger.”

“Oh, how strategic,” Blaise said, smirking. “She gets her redemption arc, and you get eternal bragging rights. Win-win.”

Hermione shook her head with a hopeless smile. “That might be true, but last week’s tea outing with Narcissa in Diagon Alley was… well, unexpected.”

“Unexpected how?” Theo leaned forward, practically bouncing in his seat. “Spill, Granger. I live for this.”

Draco rolled his eyes, clearly anticipating where the story was going. “You mean the part where she turned tea into a surprise wedding cake tasting and insisted we ‘hurry up’ because she refuses to be an old and ugly grandmother?”

The table erupted into laughter, Theo nearly spilling his drink in the process.

“Wait,” Blaise said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Are you saying Narcissa Malfoy is already planning your wedding?”

“She’s not planning it,” Draco said flatly. “She’s commandeering it.”

“She’s got a point, though,” Pansy chimed in, raising her glass. “You two might as well get on with it. The rest of us need an excuse for a massive party.”

Draco smirked at Hermione, leaning back lazily. “See? Peer pressure.”

Hermione groaned, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “Merlin help me.”

“Oh, don’t fight it, Granger,” Theo teased, wagging a finger at her. “You’re already halfway down the aisle. Might as well embrace it.”

“I hate all of you,” Hermione said, but her smile betrayed her affection for the chaotic group surrounding her.

Later, the group gathered in the villa’s cosy sitting room, the morning chaos replaced by a relaxed, productive atmosphere. They lounged on couches and armchairs, sipping wine or tea, and discussing their joint ventures.

“The coffee shop and sex shop are doing better than I ever imagined,” Hermione said, her tone equal parts astonished and proud. “I mean, I knew there was a market for it, but it’s practically funding my unicorn sanctuary in Scotland at this point.”

“And yet you still won’t name a drink after me,” Blaise complained, though his tone was playful.

“Because ‘Blaise’s Dark Roast’ sounds filthy,” Pansy retorted, smirking.

“Exactly,” Blaise said with a wink.

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about expanding into other projects, but I’m not sure what yet.”

Theo perked up. “We should do what Muggles do – online shopping. But, you know, the wizarding way.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You want to turn the magical world into Amazon?”

“No,” Theo said, gesturing animatedly. “We’ll make it better. Imagine enchanted leaflets that people can browse and then place orders with a charm. The products just appear at their doorsteps!”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Hermione mused, her mind already racing with possibilities.

“We could even expand into education,” Pansy suggested. “You know, use our popularity to reform wizarding sexual education. Merlin knows Hogwarts could use a class or two.”

Charlie laughed. “Can you imagine? A sex-ed class at Hogwarts. The chaos would be unmatched.”

“Someone’s got to do it,” Hermione said, grinning. “Maybe we’ll be the ones to start.”

As the evening rolled in, the group gathered around the dining table, glasses of wine in hand, the room buzzing with the warm glow of laughter and candlelight. Theo, who had been unusually quiet for the past few minutes – a rarity in itself – suddenly cleared his throat, his dramatic timing earning everyone’s attention.

“Pansy and I have a confession to make,” he announced, his expression unusually serious, though the mischief in his eyes was impossible to miss.

Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, this should be good. What have you done this time, Nott?”

Theo’s grin turned positively devilish. “Remember how you two reconnected at The Veil?” He looked pointedly between Draco and Hermione. “Well, that wasn’t exactly… a coincidence.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed as she exchanged a glance with Draco. “What are you talking about?” she asked slowly.

“We know the owner,” Pansy chimed in, her smirk rivalling Theo’s. She took a leisurely sip of her wine before continuing. “And we might have… nudged things along a bit.”

“Nudged?” Hermione repeated, incredulity creeping into her tone.

Theo chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, fine. We made sure Draco remembered everything about that night while you didn’t. Thought it’d be hilarious.”

Hermione froze, her wineglass hovering mid-air. “You’re telling me all that chaos – my confusion, the awkwardness – it was your fault?”

“Guilty,” Pansy replied unapologetically, raising her glass like a toast.

“You meddling little…” Hermione trailed off, her face a mix of shock and indignation. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? I thought I was going mad!”

Draco, however, was grinning, a rare lightness in his expression. “I should’ve known. Only you two could orchestrate something so ridiculous. And frankly, it’s exactly your style.”

“Thank you,” Theo said with a flourishing bow from his seat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. But as she glanced at Draco– who looked happier and more at ease than she’d ever seen him – her irritation began to melt away. She sighed, shaking her head. “Well,” she admitted grudgingly, “I suppose it worked out in the end.”

Draco reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “Worked out perfectly,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

As the conversation shifted and laughter resumed, Theo leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. “Well,” he began, raising his glass dramatically, “seeing as my wingman job ended so splendidly, perhaps it’s time for me to take on another project. What about –”

“Nooooo, Theo!” the group groaned in unison, cutting him off before he could finish.

Even Sappy, perched on Theo’s shoulder, let out a tiny puff of smoke in protest, earning a round of chuckles.

Theo clutched his chest, feigning offense. “Fine, fine. I guess this marks the end o Theo the Wingman’s illustrious career. A true loss to the wizarding world.”

Draco smirked, clinking his glass against Hermione’s. “Thank Merlin for that.”

“I’m a legend,” Theo declared, puffing out his chest. “And you all know it.”

“More like a menace,” Pansy quipped, rolling her eyes as she reached for another chip.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, darling,” Theo teased, throwing her a wink. “There’s still time for me to work my magic on you and Blaise.”

Blaise, who had been contentedly sipping his drink, immediately held up his hands in mock surrender. “Leave me out of this, mate. I’m perfectly happy flying under your matchmaking radar.”

The table erupted into laughter, the warm, chaotic energy enveloping them all. Hermione leaned into Draco, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder as she let the moment sink in. The laughter, the camaraderie, the unspoken love between them all – it was perfect.

“Here’s to Theo’s ‘retirement,’” she said with a small smile, raising her glass.

“To Theo!” everyone echoed, their glasses clinking together as the night stretched on, the villa filled with the sound of joy and memories they knew they’d carry forever.

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