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Chapter Text

The clock in Hermione Granger’s dormitory ticked louder than usual. Or, perhaps that was her heart pounding in her ears.

She stood in front of the mirror, straightening the sleeves of her crimson red cardigan for the sixth time. Her curls had been half tamed, not by magic. No no no, she wanted this to be real, but by hours of carefully applied product, clips, and soft coaxing.

Tonight wasn’t just any night.

It had been seven years since the Yule Ball. Seven years since Viktor Krum, international Quidditch star, Durmstrang’s golden boy, had asked her to the dance. He’d been quiet, kind, unexpectedly shy. Back then, she hadn’t realized the flutter in her stomach when he’d looked at her like she wasn’t just "Harry Potter’s clever friend." She hadn't understood what it meant to be wanted like that. But now, at nineteen, sitting deep in her third year of university-level magical studies at WADA, the Wizarding Academy for Domestic Advancement, she knew exactly what those butterflies meant.

And she was done ignoring them.

He’d been nothing but warm and gentle in the few times they’d seen each other on campus. It turned out Viktor had taken a step away from Quidditch to pursue magical literature of all things. And Hermione, ever the academic, had fallen all over again watching him read Muggle poetry in that thick accent of his during their shared elective.

This time, she was ready to do something about it.

Hermione inhaled deeply and stepped into the hallway, the cool stone of WADA’s corridors grounding her. She passed portraits of various notable witches and wizards, each murmuring their usual gossipy greetings, though one or two raised their eyebrows at her anxious pacing.

She reached Viktor’s dormitory in the Upper Tower, a space reserved for visiting international students. Her knuckles hovered over the door.

You can do this, she told herself. You survived a war. A little vulnerability won’t kill you.

So she knocked.

The door opened slowly, revealing Viktor, still lean and still hot as ever, his dark hair grown out slightly, and wearing a simple grey shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

“Hermione,” he said with a smile that made her heart stutter.

“Hi, Viktor,” she breathed. “Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?”

A small frown touched his lips. “Er… yes, but—”

“Oi, Viktor!” a familiar voice barked from inside. “You just gonna stand there or are we still recording?”

Hermione froze.

That voice.

No. No no no no.

Before Viktor could react, she brushed past him, her nerves beginning to fray and stopped dead.

There, in the middle of the room, sat Ron.

Ron Weasley.

Her ex-boyfriend.

Holding a charmed camera orb hovering above them, clearly enchanted to stream live to Merlin knows where. A glowing banner floated at the bottom: “Wizards Unfiltered: Dorm Life with Viktor Krum!”

Ron turned, chewing on some crisps and smirking as he caught sight of her. “Well, well. What a surprise. Didn’t expect to see you here, Moine. Come to recite the library index or confess your undying love?”

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face.

“I—” she started, but Ron’s grin widened as he caught her expression.

“Oh bloody hell, you did, didn’t you?” he laughed, pointing toward the camera. “You lot, get this! Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, just came here to pine over Viktor Krum! Seven years late, love!”

There was laughter, real laughter, from someone off camera, maybe Seamus, maybe Dean, who sometimes helped Ron with his channel.

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Ron—”

But Hermione wasn’t listening anymore. Her chest burned. Her vision blurred.

“Turn it off,” she whispered.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Oh come off it, Hermione. It’s just a bit of fun.”

She turned and ran.

She didn’t remember how she got out of the tower, only that her feet pounded against the stone steps, her vision streaked with tears. Her cardigan billowed behind her like a cape as she shoved open the heavy doors to the courtyard.

She crashed into something, no, someone. And hard.

“Bloody hell! watch it—”

The body steadied her. Pale hands gripped her arms before letting go quickly, as if burned.

Hermione blinked through her tears.

Draco Malfoy.

Great. Just perfect.

Of all people.

He looked like he’d just come from the library, a thick book clutched under one arm. His platinum blond hair was slightly tousled, and his tailored black cloak had a faint shimmer of enchantment. He eyed her tear streaked face and visibly tensed.

“Granger?”

Hermione tried to walk past him.

“Granger, hey. What happened?” he said, catching her by the elbow, much gentler this time.

She sniffled and shook her head, her pride nearly cracking her in two.

“Nothing. Just.. go away.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” His tone had lost its usual snideness.

She didn’t know why she stopped. Maybe it was the rawness of it all. Maybe she just needed someone to not laugh.

So she told him. In broken sentences. Through hiccuped breath. How she’d liked Viktor since they were teenagers, how she finally got the courage to tell him, and how Ron had humiliated her for it. On a live stream.

Draco listened. Silent. Frowning deeper with every word.

When she finished, she looked down, ashamed. "I was an idiot to think Viktor would... I don't know. Like me. Maybe Ron was right. I'm awkward. I ramble. I don't know how to flirt or be... desirable."

Malfoy tilted his head slightly. "Is that what this is about?"

She nodded miserably.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk. Not cruel, not mocking. Just... intrigued.

"well," he said. "You're lucky I'm feeling generous."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"I have an offer. A trade."

She crossed her arms. "Why do I already regret this?"

He ignored her. "I need help with my Magical Philosophy coursework. It's complete tripe and the professor hates me."

"And?" she asked cautiously.

"In return, I'll teach you how to flirt."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You-you can't be serious."

"Deadly."

"Why would you help me?"

Malfoy shrugged, feigning disinterest. "Because I hate Ron's face. And because , shocking, I know I owe you."

Hermione snorted through her sniffles. "For what? Not hexing you when you were a git?"

He actually chuckled. "That too."

She hesitated. "And you think you can teach me to... be more confident?"

Draco leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "Granger, I was raised by the most image obsessed pureblood family in Britain. I know charm, seduction, and social manipulation like I know how to breathe."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How comforting."

"Look," he said, suddenly more serious. "You want to make that pompous git regret laughing at you? You want Viktor to see you for the confident woman you are? Then let's make a deal. Two nights a week. You teach me how not to fail Philosophy, I'll show you how to get under someone's skin."

Her heart thudded.

This was madness.

And yet...

"Fine," she said, lifting her chin. "But if you pull one joke, one prank, one Slytherin special, it's over."

He extended his hand. "Deal."

They shook.

And just like that, Hermione Granger found herself in a most unthinkable alliance... with Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

A week passed in silence.

Hermione hadn’t heard from Draco since he walked out of her dorm with that last, clipped statement. And she hadn’t tried to reach him either.

Not because she was angry, though maybe she was, a little. But because he was right. He didn’t owe her more than what they agreed. Still, the sharpness of his words stuck with her.

And yet…

She still found herself sitting outside on a bright Saturday afternoon, in the elevated stone bleachers overlooking WADA’s Quidditch Pitch. The air smelled like trampled grass and chalk dust spells. Rows of enchanted banners shimmered in house colors as the crowd buzzed with anticipation.

Draco was playing.

The captain and the star of the team. He'd managed to advance to the final round, and apparently Malfoy’s ruthless strategy had carried them undefeated all season.

Hermione didn’t usually attend Quidditch matches. She only half understood the rules, and she'd spent most of her Hogwarts years pretending to enjoy the sport for Harry’s sake.

But she came today with a purpose.

Because Viktor Krum was here. And she had learned. She had practiced. And whether Malfoy spoke to her again or not, she wasn't going to waste it.

She spotted Viktor immediately, seated in the center row, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the field. Even from a distance, he looked imposing. Still broad shouldered. Still unreadable. Still undeniably hot.

Hermione swallowed and climbed the steps toward him.

“Hi,” she said brightly, easing onto the bench beside him.

He didn’t turn. “Granger.”

Not Hermione. Just her surname, flat and cool.

Her smile flickered, but she held it. “Didn’t know you were a fan of malfoys.”

He shrugged without looking at her. “I know Malfoy. Wanted to see how he plays.”

Hermione blinked. “You know him?”

“Briefly. We’ve spoken at events. He’s focused. Unapologetic.” A pause. “Effective.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

She looked out at the field instead. The players were warming up hovering in formation, circling high and low.

Draco was easy to spot. He hovered at the center, black robes trimmed in emerald green, barking orders with the same precision he used when critiquing her posture. Even from this distance, his face was unreadable, tight lipped, eyes scanning the pitch like it owed him something.

Hermione’s stomach flipped, though she wasn’t sure why.

She forced herself to focus on Viktor.

“So,” she tried, tilting toward him slightly. “Have you seen many games here? Or just mine?”

He glanced sideways at her, unimpressed. “You play?”

“No,” she laughed. “That was meant to be… flirty.”

He didn’t respond.

Hermione cleared her throat. “You look… good. By the way.”

That got a reaction. Barely. His brow twitched.

“You’ve always had that quiet intensity,” she added. “It’s kind of magnetic.”

Viktor finally looked at her briefly. “You are… different lately.”

Her heart jumped. “In a good way?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Hermione stared.

“Oh,” she said softly.

He looked away again, focusing on the field where the match was starting. The Quaffle shot into the air, and both teams lunged forward. Malfoy cut through the chaos with startling control, his broom movements sharp and deliberate.

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked after a long silence.

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened. “You are a lot more talkative today.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“nothing.” he said. "Itd just be nice to focus on the game without hearing you desperately trying to get my attention."

The words struck like cold water.

Hermione’s face flushed. “I—I just thought.." she paused and looked down. "I’ve been working on confidence.”

“Why are you tellint me this?” he said, still not looking at her. “I mean.. congrats? I think.”

She went quiet.

Down on the field, the Slytherin Beaters executed a clean double-bluff block, allowing the Chasers to score. The crowd erupted. Draco raised a hand once, no grin, no celebration. Just a signal before darting back into formation.

Hermione felt Viktor’s words sink under her skin like lead.

“I just.. I..” she said at last as she tried to find the words. “Im just… learning new things.”

Viktor’s response was low. “From Malfoy?”

The name sounded bitter on his tongue.

“Yes.” she said defiantly. “He’s helping me.”

He turned to her finally, eyes narrowing. “Is that what you want?”

Hermione stiffened. “I don’t understand.”

“Attention,” he said. “Admiration. Or whatever it is you think I would respond to.”

She shook her head. “That’s not.. Viktor, I’ve liked you for years. Since the Yule Ball. I’m not trying to trick you into liking me back.”

His gaze hardened. “Then why come to me like this? With this act?”

“It’s not an act!” she snapped, louder than intended. Heads turned. She lowered her voice, face flushed. “It’s… I’m just trying to be more open. More.. more willing to take chances.”

He leaned away slightly. “Right..”

She didn’t know whether that was supposed to be comforting or condemning. All she knew was that it hurt.

“Why did you just stand there when Ron humiliated me?” she asked suddenly.

Viktor blinked. “What?”

“In your dorm. The stream. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t even tell him to take it down.”

“Was I supposed to?” he asked evenly. “I didn’t stop it because it wasnt any of my business.”

She stared at him, the sting behind her eyes growing sharper. “So letting him humiliate me was better than stepping in?”

Down on the pitch, a whistle blew, Draco had just intercepted the Quaffle mid air, spun sharply, and sent it sailing toward the goalpost with brutal precision.

His teams side erupted into cheers.

Hermione stood.

Viktor looked up at her. “Where are you going?”

“To be alone,” she said. “Dont worry. Its none of your business, you dont need to intervene.”

He said nothing. She turned and left.

As she descended the stairs, she glanced once more at the field.

Draco was hovering above the rest of the players, mouth set in a grim line, his eyes locked on the other team’s Seeker. A streak of silver passed overhead as the Snitch darted near the stands.

His gaze flicked upward and for the briefest moment, he saw her.

Their eyes met.

No wave. No smirk. Just a cold flicker of acknowledgment before he shot after the Snitch like a knife through wind.

Hermione turned away as the tears began to spill. She wasn't about to let Viktor nor draco see her cry.

The stone corridor outside the changing room echoed with the sharp sound of Draco’s boots as he stepped into view. Hermione hadn’t moved from her place by the pillar. She wasn’t hiding exactly. Just… existing, where the air was a bit quieter.

Her heart jumped, but she forced her face into something neutral.

His hair was damp now, pushed back from his forehead, and his green uniform robes were replaced by a loose, dark jumper and crisp slacks. He looked like he’d stepped off the page of a Slytherin alumni catalogue. Impeccable. Icy.

He looked at her. Not hostile. Not warm. Just Draco.

“You enjoyed your seat, then?” he asked.

Hermione blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Next to Krum. Center section.” His tone was flat, like he was commenting on the weather. “Was it intentional? Sitting where everyone could see?”

“I didn’t think about that,” she said defensively. “It wasn’t a scheme, Malfoy.”

He gave a slight, skeptical arch of his brow. “No? You’ve been practically rearranging your identity for him. I assumed public seating was part of the campaign.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “That’s cruel.”

“It’s accurate.”

She stepped toward him, her voice low. “I was trying to be brave. I thought that’s what you were teaching me.”

Draco’s gaze didn’t waver. “There’s a difference between bravery and desperation.”

The words hit harder than she expected.

Hermione swallowed. “Why do you care where I sit, anyway?”

“I don’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He shrugged. “I care about my reputation. And right now, I’m tied to your… flirtation crusade. If you make it pathetic, that reflects poorly on my instruction.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “Pathetic?”

“Did you see yourself up there?” he continued, tone clinical. “Leaning in. Laughing at nothing. Practically begging for him to look at you. You think that makes someone want to chase you?”

She stepped back, jaw clenched. “You’re a bastard.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Hermione took a breath, calming herself before she could say something stupid. “I don’t understand you.”

“No one asked you to,” he replied.

And then, without another word, he turned and walked off down the corridor, hands in his pockets like she hadn’t just sunk into the floor in front of him.

She watched him go, lips pressed tight, heart bruised and aching.

And for the first time that day, she didn’t feel humiliated. She felt furious.

~~~~~~~~~Later That Evening.~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner at The Copper Owl

The little café off the edge of campus buzzed with warmth and low conversation. Fairylights draped from the ceiling beams, twinkling over the rustic wooden booths. Hermione stirred her tea, steam rising in little spirals, as Ginny shoved a plate of scones toward her.

“Eat something. You look like you haven’t touched food since breakfast.”

“I haven’t,” Hermione muttered.

Across from her, Ginny wore a fitted Muggle leather jacket, her copper hair tied into a bun. Beside her, Pansy Parkinson elegant in a silky black blouse, her dark lipstick precise, lifted an amused brow.

“You really are a mess,” Pansy said bluntly. “I always admired that about you.”

Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “This week has been hell.”

“Well, start at the beginning,” Ginny said, nudging her with a smile. “What happened?”

Hermione looked up, cheeks already burning. “I told Viktor how I felt.”

Ginny straightened. “Wait... really?”

Pansy tilted her head, sipping her wine. “Bold. Disastrous. Continue.”

Hermione winced. “It was supposed to be private. I went to his dorm. But Ron... he was there. He live streamed it. Dozens of people saw. He laughed when I said I liked Viktor.”

Ginny’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to hex him.”

“Get in line,” Pansy muttered.

“And Viktor,” Hermione continued, “acted like I was a stranger. He usually is so nice. Especially when we have coffee. I dont understand.”

There was a pause.

Pansy blinked. “Oof.”

Ginny swore under her breath and leaned in. “Hermione, that’s awful.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I felt so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Ginny said quickly. “You were hopeful. That’s brave.”

Hermione laughed softly. “Draco didn’t think so.”

Ginny blinked. “Malfoy?”

Hermione stirred her tea again, avoiding their eyes. “He found me after. I… I was crying. He didn’t say anything kind... just offered me a deal.”

Pansy sat up straighter, suddenly very interested.

Hermione sighed. “He said he’d help me learn to flirt. To act confident. Said I was too stiff. That no one finds someone attractive if they act like a walking encyclopedia.”

Pansy smirked. “He’s not wrong.”

Hermione glared. “I am an encyclopedia.”

“We know, love,” Ginny said with a smile.

Hermione fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “In exchange, I’m helping him with pass a class. He’s failing.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Of course he is. He probably skipped half the lectures.”

“He’s not stupid,” Hermione said before she could stop herself.

They both looked at her.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Hermione.”

Hermione flushed. “I mean, he’s not. He just doesn’t care.”

Pansy exchanged a slow glance with Ginny, then leaned forward with a grin. “So let me get this straight. You confessed to your Bulgarian Quidditch crush, got humiliated by your prat ex, got emotionally eviscerated by Viktor himself, and now you’re in some strange flirtation bootcamp… with Draco Malfoy?”

Hermione covered her face. “It sounds worse when you say it out loud.”

“Oh no,” Ginny said, amused. “It sounds exactly as bad as it is.”

“But,” Pansy said slowly, eyes glittering, “it’s also terribly interesting.”

Hermione groaned. “Please don’t make this worse.”

“Why not?” Pansy shrugged. “Draco’s insufferable, but he knows how to manipulate a room. You might learn something. And if not, at least he’ll pass and stop whining to me about the Theory professor hating him.”

Ginny frowned. “Wait... you knew about this deal?”

“Of course,” Pansy said breezily. “He asked me if it was weird to flirt with someone who corrects your Latin.”

“I do not correct his Latin,” Hermione snapped.

Ginny smirked. “You do, though.”

Hermione sank lower in her seat.

Pansy leaned back, swirling her wine. “Don’t worry, Granger. If anyone can survive a month of Draco’s ice blooded critique, it’s you.”

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered, “I think.”

Ginny reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to become someone else to be liked.”

Hermione looked up. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”

“I think,” Ginny said gently, “you’re trying so hard to be wanted that you’re forgetting you already matter. To people who actually know you.”

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. “I just wanted someone to see me.”

Pansy raised her glass. “He’ll see you soon enough.”

Ginny gave her a sideways glance. “Who?”

But Pansy just smiled, wicked and unreadable. “You’ll see.”

After dinner Hermione found herself back in her dorm. She lit the last candle on her desk with a flick of her wand, the soft glow casting long shadows across the spines of open books. The window beside her let in a crisp breeze from the courtyard beyond, rustling the parchment under her fingers as she scanned a passage for Draco’s next tutoring session.

The night was quiet. She liked it that way.

Her quill tapped thoughtfully as she scribbled a few notes. For once, she wasn’t overthinking. Not about Viktor. Not even about Draco. It felt good to be focused, grounded in something she could control.

Which was why, when the knock came at her door, three sharp raps, it shattered the moment entirely.

She frowned and stood, smoothing the hem of her jumper. Most people used the common room's messaging board or their mirrors after hours. Only professors or drunks came knocking.

When she opened the door, her stomach dropped.

Ron stood there.

His red hair was mussed, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. His shirt was half untucked, and he reeked of firewhiskey and sweat. The sight of him struck something inside her, a blend of old pain and caution.

He smiled. But it wasn’t the charming, lopsided grin he used to wear. This one was bitter.

“Well,” he slurred, leaning on the doorframe. “Heard you’re learning how to spread your legs like a proper Slytherin now.”

Hermione recoiled. “Ron.. what the hell?”

“Viktor told me.” His words were thick, the syllables dragging. “Said you’ve been taking lessons. From Malfoy, of all people. Flirting lessons, he said. Is that what you’re calling it?”

She stood taller, cold crawling up her spine. “You’re drunk. Go sleep it off.”

“No,” he snapped, pushing off the frame and stepping into her doorway. “No, I want answers.”

Hermione held up her hand. “Don’t you dare come into my room.”

He stopped, wobbling slightly, nostrils flaring. “This is who you are now? Throwing yourself at blokes who only ever tolerated you? Letting Malfoy paw at you so you can feel pretty?”

She inhaled sharply. “Get out.”

“Why him?” Ron demanded. “Why Draco bloody Malfoy? After everything he’s done? After how he treated us at Hogwarts?”

She looked him square in the eyes. “Because he’s honest. Cold, yes. But honest. He doesn't pretend to like me when he doesn't. He doesn't smile to my face and laugh behind my back.”

His expression flickered.

Hermione didn’t stop.

“He doesn’t humiliate me in front of an audience. He doesn’t stream my worst moments for fun. He doesn’t punish me for moving on.”

Ron’s mouth opened, but no sound came.

Hermione stepped forward now, chin lifted. “You’re not angry that I’m around Malfoy. You’re angry that I’m not with you. You’ve always needed to be the center of everything. Even when we broke up! You never let me leave. Not really.”

His face crumpled in an instant, rage rising again. “Don’t act like I’m the bad guy, Hermione. You broke up with me because I wasn’t smart enough. Because you outgrew me.”

She flinched, but stood her ground. “I broke up with you because we stopped listening to each other. Because we fought more than we laughed. Because I was exhausted from carrying the weight of your insecurities on my back.”

His fist hit the doorframe, the wood cracking slightly. She didn’t jump. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

“You’re not the only one who got hurt, you know,” he growled.

“No,” she whispered. “But I’m the only one who bled publicly.”

Ron looked at her then, really looked, and for a moment, his face broke into something almost human, almost apologetic.

But then it vanished, replaced by the glazed anger of too many drinks and too much pride.

“I hope he ruins you,” he said quietly. “Because that’s what he does.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “You already did that.”

And then she slammed the door in his face.

She stood there for a long time, hand still on the knob, breathing hard and hands shaking. She heard his footsteps stagger away down the hall, then silence.

A part of her wanted to scream. Another part wanted to cry.

Instead, she sat back at her desk and stared blankly at her notes. Her breath was now shaky and her mind going a million miles an hour as she fought back the memories of how Ron got during their fights. This time it didn't get physical. But how long would that last? That was the question she was struggling to answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Theo's POV~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Theodore Nott leaned against the shadowed archway at the end of the corridor, arms crossed and face half hidden in the dim torchlight. He hadn’t meant to linger. Only caught sight of Weasley stomping towards hermiones dorm floor like a pissed off troll and decided, instinctively, to follow.

Drunk. Sloppy. Loud.

The moment Ron banged on Hermione’s door, Theo’s brows drew together. He couldn’t hear every word, but he heard enough. The venom in Ron’s voice wasn’t about heartbreak, it was about ownership. About control.

He fought the urge to step in when Ron's fist connected with her doorframe but kept his composure.

Then the door slammed shut.

Theo didn't move. He simply stood there, breathing slow, hands clenched tight inside his coat sleeves. His jaw ached from how hard he was grinding his teeth.

He hadn’t expected to care. But he had seen the way Hermione winced at Ron’s words, the way her voice shook with anger, not fear. And he had seen enough. Enough to know that this wasn’t over.

With one last glance at the closed door and the stumbling figure of Weasley disappearing down the stairs, Theo pushed off the wall.

He needed to find Draco. Now.

Because whatever deal the Ice Prince and the Gryffindor bookworm had, this crossed a line. And Theo knew Draco would agree, whether he admitted it out loud or not.

Chapter Text

The morning air was too bright for Draco's liking.

He blinked against the sunlight as he stepped onto the stone path outside the dormitory, the weight of his satchel slung carelessly over one shoulder. His schedule was full. Two advanced lectures, a strategy meeting with his Quidditch team, and Hermione Granger’s reluctant presence at their tutoring session in the evening.

He wasn’t looking forward to any of it. But it was better than boredom.

He adjusted the strap and started toward the east courtyard when a familiar figure detached from the shadows of the arched hallway.

“Morning, sunshine,” Theo drawled, stepping into pace beside him with hands in his pockets and a glint of mischief, no, purpose, in his eyes.

Draco gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re up early. That’s never a good sign.”

“I could say the same about you,” Theo replied with a shrug. “But you’re predictable. You like mornings. Quidditch. Control. It’s unnatural.”

“Did you intercept me just to offer your usual mediocre banter, or is there a point buried in there?”

Theo’s smile thinned. “Actually, yeah. I thought you might want to know about a certain red headed embarrassment who decided to make a late night scene outside a certain Gryffindor’s room.”

Draco paused mid step.

He didn’t need clarification. “Weasley?”

Theo nodded once. “Drunk. Loud. Nasty.”

Draco’s expression didn’t change. He kept walking.

Theo followed.

“He went to her dorm. Banged on the door like he owned the place. I watched from the corner was heading to the tower myself, saw the whole thing play out.”

Draco’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “And?”

“And,” Theo said slowly, “he called her some... choice things. Accused her of spreading her legs. Said Viktor told him you’d been giving her ‘lessons.’ Sound familiar?”

Draco didn’t answer.

“I didn’t interrupt,” Theo continued, his tone sharpening, “but I was two seconds from hexing his teeth out. The only reason I didn’t is because she handled it.”

Draco still said nothing, eyes fixed forward.

“She told him to leave. Shut the door on him. But you could hear it, even from the hall. It wasn’t just shouting. It was something... mean. Ugly. He wanted to hurt her.”

“I’m not her keeper,” Draco said finally, flatly.

Theo stopped walking.

Draco didn’t.

“You’re not,” Theo agreed, raising his voice slightly, “but you made a deal with her. Which means she’s under your protection. In your orbit. That has consequences, mate.”

Draco exhaled slowly and turned to face him. “She’s not a pet, Theo. She’s a grown woman. And she’s handled worse than Weasley before breakfast.”

“Right,” Theo said, nodding with mock agreement. “Except this time it’s different. Because this time, you’re involved. Whether you like it or not.”

Draco’s jaw ticked.

Theo stepped closer, voice low now. “Don’t pretend you don’t care. You may not like her. Hell, I know you don’t, but you hate when people like Weasley pretend they’re still the heroes. When they throw their weight around because they think they can.”

There it was. That flicker of something behind Draco’s carefully guarded expression. Not anger. Not pity. But.. calculation.

Theo saw it and smiled, dark and satisfied. “There it is.”

Draco turned away. “This is none of your business.”

“I made it my business the second I saw that bastard slam his fist against her door,” Theo said. “The second she didn’t flinch.”

Draco didn’t respond. He walked toward the library, shoulders stiff, eyes unreadable.

Theo didn’t follow this time. He didn’t need to.

He’d lit the fuse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Meanwhile~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The scent of parchment and dust was oddly comforting.

Even with the buzz of quiet whispers around her, the library was a pocket of calm that Hermione needed. She sat cross legged in a corner study nook, sunlight filtering lazily through stained glass.

Across from her, Luna Lovegood flipped through an illustrated Herbology text, tracing her finger over hand painted mushrooms. Next to her, Pansy Parkinson, lazily draped in a Slytherin green sweater far too large to be hers, was pretending to read but mostly watching Luna with a fond, distracted expression.

Hermione, meanwhile, stared down at her open Transfiguration notes and realized she’d copied the same sentence twice. Her hand hovered over the parchment like it had forgotten how to write.

“You’re not studying,” Pansy said without looking up.

Hermione startled. “What?”

“You’re staring at words and chewing on your quill like it insulted your lineage.”

Hermione blinked down and noticed the ink stained corner of her lips. “Oh. Right.”

Luna gave her a kind smile. “Is your head somewhere else today?”

Hermione exhaled through her nose, setting the quill down. She hadn’t planned to talk about it. She’d managed to keep it together since the night Ron had shown up, shoving her heartache into a tightly sealed box and burying it under textbooks.

But now, with both girls looking at her in that soft, expectant way… the box cracked.

“I’m not sure how to tell you two..” she said, voice quiet.

Luna tilted her head. “About Krum?”

Pansy raised a brow. “Or Malfoy?”

Hermione gave a tired laugh. “Neither, actually. It’s Ron.”

Both girls stiffened subtly. Pansy’s eyes sharpened. Luna blinked slowly, like she knew already.

Hermione twisted her fingers together in her lap. “He showed up at my dorm. Drunk. Angry.”

Pansy sat up straight. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Luna asked, gentle but concerned.

“I didn’t want to...” Hermione faltered, voice catching. “I wasn’t ready. I thought I’d handled it, but… I think I was just pretending I had.”

She took a breath and told them everything.

How she’d answered the knock, surprised to see Ron swaying in her doorway, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. How he’d stumbled forward, slurring accusations. How he'd called her names.

Pansy’s knuckles whitened around her quill.

Luna’s expression didn’t change much, but Hermione saw her eyes grow sad.

“He punched my doorframe until it cracked..” Hermione said, voice low. “I didnt flinch.. its Ron afterall. I expect things like that from him. I asked him to leave. He didn’t, not at first. Kept ranting. Kept calling me names like he thought he had the right to. Eventually, he stormed off.”

There was a moment of silence.

Pansy stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor. “I’m going to murder him.”

“No, you’re not,” Hermione said quickly.

“I don’t care if he’s your ex. No one talks to you like that.”

“He was drunk,” Hermione murmured.

“And that makes it okay?” Pansy snapped. “You’re Hermione bloody Granger. You survived a war, rebuilt half of wizarding society, and he thinks he gets to throw tantrums because you’re finally moving on?”

Luna reached up and tugged gently on Pansy’s sleeve. “Anger is justified, but Hermione doesn’t need revenge. She needs care.”

That softened Pansy immediately.

She sat down again, breathing hard through her nose.

Luna looked at Hermione. “Have you spoken to Malfoy about it?”

Hermione hesitated.

“No..” she admitted. “I dont think he needs to know. We only have a deal and lessons. Nothing more. He isn't my protector."

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You and your lessons.”

Hermione flushed. “It’s not like that.”

Luna tilted her head. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s just a deal,” Hermione said, more forcefully than she needed to. “He wants to pass his class, and I want… to stop being so painfully awkward. I want Viktor to see me. Actually see me.”

Neither of the girls responded immediately.

Pansy crossed her arms. “Look, I hate to say this, but if I had to pick between Malfoy and Weasley right now, only one of them hasn’t shown up at your door drunk and yelling.”

Hermione laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was bitter. Small.

“I keep asking myself if I was blind,” she murmured. “With Ron. I thought I understood him. I thought we cared about each other. But he turned cruel so quickly.”

Luna leaned forward and placed her hand over Hermione’s. “That’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is. Thats why I want these lessons. But I feel like im faking it. Forcing myself to be someone else.”

“You’re not the one doing harm,” Luna said. “You’re just trying to be seen.”

Hermione’s throat tightened.

Pansy reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny chocolate frog box. “Here. Emergency frog.”

Hermione smiled weakly as she took it.

“I’m serious,” Pansy said. “You deserve better. Ron is a coward. Viktor’s a self absorbed statue. And honestly? Well.. I wont say anything. In time things will be clear.”

Hermione laughed, nearly choking on her chocolate.

“you a fortune teller now, pans?"

Luna smiled as she looked to Pansy. "She's very intuitive."

Pansy blushed. “Yeah yeah. Im serious though. Things will change. And I for one cant wait to see that happen.”

For the first time in days, Hermione felt the weight start to lift.

Maybe not entirely.

Maybe not forever.

But right now, in this warm, dim library corner with friends who knew how to hold space for her wounds, she felt less like a girl unraveling, and more like someone slowly stitching herself back together.

Later That night:

The corridors were nearly empty now. Just the echo of Dracos thoughts pacing louder than his footsteps.

He couldn’t stop picturing it.

Weasley. Slurring. Shouting. Punching her doorframe.

Theo’s words had been clean. Precise. Just the facts.

“He was drunk. Loud. Wanted to hurt her. But he was furious. Heard from Krum about your ‘lessons.’ Called her a slag.”

Draco’s jaw had gone tight.

He didn’t ask what happened next. He didn’t want to know. The image alone had been enough to make his stomach clench tight, hard, ugly.

He forced it down. That wasn’t his place.

He wasn’t her protector.

He wasn’t anything to her, and she certainly wasn’t anything to him. Just a means to a grade.

Still, the image gnawed at the edge of his focus as he finally pushed the study room door open.

Hermione was already there again. She always was. Punctual, precise, and increasingly tired looking.

Tonight, she sat curled in the chair with a thick textbook cradled in her lap. She looked up when he entered, eyes flickering over his face. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but paused. Then closed it again.

He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

Draco tossed his satchel onto the table and sank into the opposite chair, dragging one hand through his hair. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at the books between them like they held answers to questions he hadn’t even asked.

After a pause, she spoke. “Rough day?”

He glanced at her. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

Hermione gave a short, humorless laugh. “Join the club.”

That image again.

Her, shrinking back in her doorway.

Weasley’s fist on the door.

He turned a page in a book he hadn’t even registered opening.

“You’re distracted,” she said quietly.

He looked up sharply. “So are you.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something. maybe about Ron, or Viktor, or the endless humiliation stitched into the week she’d had. But she shook her head instead.

“Let’s just study.”

Draco didn’t argue.

But as the minutes dragged by, he found himself reading the same sentence four times. Her fingers kept fidgeting with the hem of her jumper. Her notes were sloppy. Her hair had more flyaways than usual, and her eyes, though trying to stay focused, kept darting to the window, the clock, the fire.

He shut his book.

“Stop.”

She blinked. “What?”

“This isn’t working. You’re a disaster tonight.”

She stiffened. “Well, sorry if I’m not at peak performance.”

“You’re not even halfway to functioning.”

“I’ve had a long week, Malfoy.”

So have I, he almost said. But didn’t.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.

“Is it Weasley?” he asked, carefully detached.

Hermione froze.

Her silence was answer enough.

He exhaled through his nose. That ugly feeling crept up again, tight, tense, tangled in something he didn’t want to name.

“You should stay away from him,” he said simply.

Her gaze flicked to him. “You heard.”

He didn’t answer.

“I handled it,” she said.

“Doesn’t mean it should’ve happened.”

Her eyes widened just slightly. “Are you... actually concerned?”

He shot her a look. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t want my study partner turning up black eyed and sobbing before finals.”

Hermione stared at him for a beat, something unreadable behind her eyes. “Of course.”

He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back.

“Lesson time,” he said, voice cooler again. “If you’re going to be an emotional mess, may as well channel it into something useful.”

Her brow rose. “You’re such a charmer.”

“And you’re still tragically awkward.”

He didn’t wait for her sarcasm. He walked to the middle of the room and gestured for her to join him. After a second, she did, standing stiffly across from him.

“This is about proximity,” he said. “Your body language gives you away before you speak.”

“I know.”

“You say that every time.”

“And you still say it like it’s news.”

He ignored her and stepped into her space. She didn’t move. That was new. A few weeks ago, she’d have practically tripped trying to create distance. Now, she held her ground.

Draco studied her face. Her jaw was set. Her hands at her sides, not clenched.

Not afraid.

That image of Ron rose again, him shouting at her. Drunk. Cruel.

Draco’s lip curled before he could help it.

Hermione noticed.

“You okay?” she asked.

He stepped back. “Fine.”

“You looked like you were about to hex someone.”

Because I should have. He wanted to say.

Instead, he reached for his wand and flicked it toward the old record player in the corner. A low, sultry jazz melody began to drift through the room.

Hermione raised a brow. “Really?”

“You want to learn charm or not?”

She sighed, stepping toward him. “Fine.”

He extended a hand. She hesitated, then placed hers in his. He didn’t comment on how small it felt. Or warm. Or how her pulse fluttered at her wrist when his fingers closed around it.

They moved slowly at first, swaying rather than dancing. The lesson was about closeness, eye contact, timing. Draco guided her through it like a practiced tutor, adjusting the angle of her shoulder, the tilt of her chin.

She kept looking up at him.

Not away. Not down.

“You’re getting better,” he muttered.

Her lips quirked. “You say that like it pains you.”

“Because it does.”

She laughed, and it was real. Unrestrained. And for a moment, it quieted everything in his head. Ron. Krum. Theo’s voice. The memory of red hair and a slurred voice and her name being spat like an accusation.

But the quiet didn’t last.

She stumbled slightly, and instinctively, his arm tightened around her waist to catch her. Her body pressed into his, and they froze.

Too close.

Way too close.

He didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Her eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second.

Then up to his eyes again.

Draco’s hand was still at her waist. His mind screamed at him to pull away.

But all he could think about was how Ron had become violent. How he’d raised his voice. Made her shrink.

she wasn’t pulling away and he wasn't sure what to make of that fact.

He finally stepped back, letting the distance cool the air between them.

“Lesson’s done,” he said, voice lower than before.

Hermione swallowed. “Right.”

He picked up his satchel. She crossed her arms. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said at last.

He looked up. “Do what?”

“Help me. Train me. Humiliate yourself just to get a study partner.”

He watched her. “It’s not about you.”

“Then what is it about?”

Draco stared at her, quiet.

And said nothing.

Then he turned for the door.

“Goodnight, Granger.”

She didn’t stop him.

But her eyes followed him as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The campus was quiet this late at night. Just the occasional hoot of an owl overhead and the rustling of trees. The cobblestone path beneath Hermione’s boots echoed softly as she walked toward the Astronomy Tower’s edge garden. After hours of studying, she’d needed a moment of stillness.

She wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself as a breeze swept past, stirring the loose curls around her face. She didn’t expect anyone else to be out this late. That was what made the familiar voice behind her send a jolt up her spine.

“Hermione?”

She turned quickly and there he was.

Viktor.

He stood a few paces away, dressed in a simple jacket and slacks, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. But it was his expression that startled her the most.

He was smiling.

“Viktor?” she asked, cautious. “It’s late.”

“I was just coming back from the pitch,” he said, stepping closer. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh.” She shifted her weight awkwardly. “Me neither.”

“I saw you from the courtyard,” he said, and the smile on his face stretched. “Thought I’d say hello. You look… different.”

Hermione blinked. “Different?”

“Confident,” he said, eyes trailing over her. “In a good way.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Well… thanks.”

He stepped closer, just enough to shorten the distance between them to something more intimate. Hermione swallowed.

“I never told you how good you looked at the match,” he said, his voice lower now.

Her heart stuttered. This wasn’t like before. The polite indifference. The polite distance. This...this was something else.

Something, charming. A little too smooth.

“You’re being very forward tonight,” she said with a half laugh.

“I’m just being honest,” he said, and when he leaned a little closer, Hermione stepped back instinctively.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that,” she said quickly. “I just..”

“You’ve changed since we were younger,” he interrupted, his voice almost admiring. “More sure of yourself. More… daring.”

Hermione tilted her head. “You barely spoke to me at the match.”

“I was distracted,” he said. “But I’ve had time to think.”

Something about that answer didn’t sit right. Not with how cold he’d been. Not with how he’d spoken to Ron behind her back.

And yet… he was smiling now. Warm. Inviting.

It should have felt good. But something inside her didn’t relax. Didn’t trust it.

She forced a smile. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

He didn’t stop her as she turned and walked away, but she could feel his eyes on her back all the way to the next corridor.

Draco had seen the moment Krum appeared. Had felt the shift in Hermione’s posture from relaxed to uncertain. He leaned against one of the tall stone arches that framed the courtyard’s edge, half concealed by vines and flickering torchlight.

He hadn’t meant to follow her when he saw her walking around late at night he had to. After what Theo told him about Ron he just had to. And now he watched.

Watched Krum lean in, that polished little grin on his face.

Watched Hermione fumble under the attention.

And then, watched her walk away from him.

Draco’s arms were crossed over his chest, his face unreadable.

She looked confused when she turned the corner. Not flattered. Not pleased. Just… unsettled.

His jaw flexed.

Something about Krum’s sudden change of heart didn’t sit right. Men like him didn’t do things out of kindness. They played games. And if this was one, Hermione was caught in the middle of it.

She wasn’t stupid. far from it, but Draco knew how disorienting it could be when someone shifted the rules mid match. One minute cold, the next warm. Pretending to offer what you’ve been craving just to see how easily you reach for it.

Pathetic, really.

Still, the image of Krum leaning in like that made something tighten in Draco’s gut. Something he shoved down immediately.

He didn’t care.

She was a study partner. An obligation. An equation he had yet to solve, not because she mattered, but because the balance of their deal depended on it.

Right.

Still. He didn’t like the look on her face.

He turned and disappeared into the shadows, the stone arch swallowing his silhouette.

Tomorrow, he would see her again. And they would continue as planned.

He wouldn’t mention Krum.

Wouldn’t mention the way Hermione had folded her arms around herself like armor.

Wouldn’t mention how he couldn’t stop seeing it even after he walked away.

He didn’t care.

He just didn’t like loose ends.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the large trees, casting pale light over the cobbled walkways as Hermione made her way to her first class. Her footsteps were steady but her mind was elsewhere, lost in thought as she mulled over the events of the past few days. Viktor's sudden attentions felt odd.

The campus was unusually quiet for this time of day. The hallways were barely populated, save for the occasional student rushing to class. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to focus on the lecture that awaited her. She had a lot of catching up to do in her studies, and that was the only thing that seemed to ground her anymore.

As she passed through the archway that led to the main courtyard, a familiar voice cut through her thoughts.

“Oi, Granger!”

Her stomach twisted before she even had to turn around. She already knew who it was.

Ron.

With an involuntary sigh, she paused, turning slowly to face him. He was standing just outside the door to the main hall, his hair messy, face flushed from the brisk morning air. But his eyes, his eyes were still bloodshot from the nights before.

“Ron, what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice strained.

“I’m just enjoying the view,” he said, glancing at the students milling about. But then his eyes locked on her, a wicked glint flashing behind them. “Actually, I’m about to give the people what they want.”

Before Hermione could react, Ron pulled out his phone, tapping away at it quickly.

“Ron, please, don’t..”

But it was too late.

With a few swift taps, he was live again. The notification that Ron Weasley was streaming appeared on the students' phones in the courtyard like wildfire. The low murmur of voices stilled as students began to gather, phones raised, their eyes on Hermione.

Her heart skipped a beat. The familiar sinking feeling settled in her chest, a weight so heavy she could hardly breathe.

She tried to move away, but Ron was faster. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm with a force that made her flinch.

“I told you this wasn’t over,” Ron said, his voice laced with a mocking amusement. “Now, let's talk about the big news.”

Hermione pulled her arm free, her mind racing. She couldn’t do this again. Not after last time. She turned her head away, trying to hide her shame.

But Ron wouldn’t let her.

“Viktor Krum,” he said, his grin growing wider, “has been charmed. That’s right, Granger. He’s under a bloody spell. I found out from someone who knows someone. Krum didn’t start showing you attention because he suddenly liked you. No, no. It was all part of the plan. You were charmed into thinking you meant something to him.”

Hermione froze. Her heart hammered in her chest, panic starting to rise. She didn’t know whether to be furious or heartbroken, but the combination of both hit her in waves.

“Ron, stop,” she said, her voice a mere whisper, though the crowd was already listening.

“Oh, no, Granger. You’re going to hear this. You were just a project for him. He doesn’t give a damn about you. You were probably nothing more than a bet. Could Viktor charm the little bookworm? Guess what? He did.”

Her face burned. Her mouth went dry.

“Even before he was charmed. He was only nice because he felt sorry for you.” Ron continued, speaking to the growing crowd, “You know, you look a bit pathetic, Granger, letting someone like Viktor toy with you.”

The comments flooded in. Students murmuring, some laughing, others watching with wide eyes as the drama unfolded live. The humiliation was more public than the last time, more invasive. It was raw. Unforgiving.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she wanted to run. She wanted to flee the courtyard and hide away from the world. From everyone.

But before she could even step back, a voice from behind her interrupted.

“Weaslebee.” came a cold, calm voice. The voice of someone who would never let a scene like this unfold without their interference.

Draco Malfoy.

She turned, startled, and saw him standing with Theo, just at the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against the stone pillar like he had all the time in the world to watch. His expression was unreadable, though his stance, his arms crossed, lips slightly curled spoke volumes.

Ron also turned to face him. “What do you want, Malfoy?” he sneered, still holding his phone up in front of him.

“You’ve gone and made quite the spectacle, Weasley,” Draco said, his voice smooth. “But then again, you always seem to enjoy doing that.”

“What are you going to do about it, Malfoy?” Ron shot back, his tone aggressive. “What, you think this isn’t true? You think I’m lying?”

Draco’s eyes flicked toward Hermione briefly just a brief moment before he returned his gaze to Ron. His face betrayed nothing, not even the faintest glimmer of concern. “No, I don’t think you’re lying. But what I do think is that you’re pathetic. We all saw what you did last time, Weasley. Trying to embarrass her again?”

Draco took a deliberate step forward, his eyes narrowing. The subtle hint of something darker flickered in his gaze as he added, “It’s not just pathetic. It’s sad.”

Theo stood a bit to the side, arms folded, not saying anything, but watching with quiet amusement. He seemed to take no issue with the scene, but there was a sharp edge to his expression. He was enjoying the discomfort in the air, but even he recognized that Ron was pushing too far this time.

Hermione couldn’t look at Draco. She couldn’t. The last time he’d spoken to her like that, it had been in private. Distant. Detached. But this felt different. This felt like he was actually defending her.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was just about the deal between them.

She didn't know.

Ron scoffed. “I’m not stopping, Malfoy. She’s embarrassing herself. She wants to play games with that idiot Krum? Fine. I’ll make sure everyone knows how badly she’s been played.”

“Enough.” Draco’s voice, low and commanding, cut through the tension like a blade.

For a moment, Ron hesitated. He glanced at Hermione, seeing her broken expression, before sneering again. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll stop,” he muttered, though the malice in his tone was still evident.

With a final flourish, he ended the stream. The screen on his phone flickered off, and the crowd dispersed as quickly as it had gathered, leaving behind a charged silence.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment, her heart still thundering in her chest. Her face burned, her chest tight with the remnants of public humiliation. She couldn’t look at anyone. Not even Draco.

She heard his footsteps approaching, though he didn’t say a word. Instead, he simply walked past her, stopping just a few steps away, his back to her.

“Are you done yet, Granger?” he asked quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Or should I expect another round of this nonsense soon?”

She didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. Instead, she took a shaky breath, and when she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

Draco didn’t answer immediately. He stood still, his back still facing her, eyes focused on the now empty courtyard. “Because I’m tired of watching you get humiliated.”

She was taken aback by the honesty in his tone, though his posture remained unchanged. Then he added, almost dismissively, “And because it’s convenient. Don’t overthink it.”

It wasn’t the answer she had hoped for, but it was more than she expected. It was more than Ron had ever given her. Even if it was cold, it still felt like something.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Draco added, finally glancing back at her. His eyes flicked over her face, unreadable as always. “You’re better than him.”

She stood there, still processing everything, her thoughts a chaotic storm. The sting from the live stream still lingered in her chest, and yet… Draco had stepped in.

For the first time, she wasn’t sure if it was just another part of the deal.

Later that evening:

The knock came at precisely seven o'clock.

Hermione didn’t jump. She’d been sitting cross legged on her bed for the last fifteen minutes, pretending to read the same paragraph for the third time. Her mind had not recovered from the morning. Not really. Not since Ron’s twisted little performance in the courtyard.

She closed her book slowly and rose, smoothing her skirt as she made her way to the door.

When she opened it, Draco Malfoy stood on the other side, shoulder slouched slightly, books under one arm, gaze sharp but unreadable.

“You’re surpsisingly on time.” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Don't be too shocked.” he replied coolly, brushing past her into the room like he owned the place. “You expect me to be early? I don’t cater to optimism.”

She sighed and shut the door behind him.

His eyes swept over the modest space, her study desk was littered with scrolls and parchment, a half empty cup of tea cooling beside a stack of Charms texts. Her wardrobe stood slightly ajar, a frumpy maroon jumper poking out.

“How was the rest of your day?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

She snorted, walking toward the desk. “Oh, just peachy. Spent most of it avoiding anyone with a working phone or a pair of eyes. I should start wearing an Invisibility Cloak.”

Draco didn’t answer right away. He placed his books on the edge of her desk and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Weasley’s a bastard. But you knew that already.”

She blinked, surprised to hear him say it outright. “Still… seeing it happen in real time was humiliating.”

“Most emotional wounds are.”

Her laugh came out small and tired. “You’re quite the comfort.”

“I’m not here to comfort you,” he replied flatly. “I’m here to make you less… whatever it is you are.”

She glared at him, but it lacked heat.

He walked over to her wardrobe, eyeing it with the kind of judgment he usually reserved for Potions gone horribly wrong.

“Do you have anything in here that wasn’t stitched by a librarian in 1892?”

“I like comfort,” she replied defensively. “And modesty.”

“You like hiding.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You hide behind books. Behind Ron. Behind Viktor. You think you’re doing it for all the right reasons, but you’re scared of being looked at.”

Her lips parted. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He turned, arms still crossed, gaze narrowed. “If I asked you to put something on right now that shows off your legs or your collarbone or Merlin forbid, your waist, would you?”

“I...” She floundered, then shut her mouth.

“Exactly.”

Silence stretched between them like wire.

Hermione’s eyes dropped to the floor. She hated that he was right. Hated it more that some small part of her knew she wanted to change it.

When she looked up, Draco was already opening her wardrobe and rifling through the hangers with disdain.

“May I?” he asked dryly.

She sighed. “Do I even have a choice?”

“No.”

His hands moved with precision, pulling one drab sweater after another free from the collection. A pair of jeans three years too old, a shapeless grey tunic, an old Hogwarts hoodie, he tossed them all onto the bed.

Then he paused.

From the very back, almost wedged behind a thick winter coat, he pulled out a silky midnight blue dress. Knee length, sleeveless, with a subtle sweetheart neckline.

“Now this,” he murmured, holding it up to the light, “is something.”

She flushed instantly. “That’s from Ginny. She got it for me last Christmas. Said I’d wear it on a date one day.”

“And have you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Hermione’s fingers twisted in her sleeves. “Because it’s… not me.”

He arched a brow. “Then who is it?”

She didn’t have an answer.

Draco stepped closer, still holding the dress. “Put it on.”

Her eyes widened. “What, now?”

“We’re not going to practice flirting while you’re dressed like a substitute professor, Granger.”

Her face burned, but something in her, stubborn and oddly curious, pushed her forward. She grabbed the dress from him and marched into the bathroom without another word.

When she stepped out ten minutes later, the room fell quiet.

She smoothed her hands nervously over the soft fabric, the hem brushing just above her knees. Her shoulders were bare, and for a moment, she felt incredibly exposed. Like her thoughts were visible just beneath her skin.

Draco didn’t speak.

He stared at her.

She shifted. “Say something.”

He cleared his throat, gaze flicking from her neckline to her eyes. “It’s… better.”

She almost smiled. “Better?”

“Less nun. More… presentable.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small flush that lingered on her cheeks. “You mean more objectifiable?”

“More noticeable,” he corrected smoothly. “Which is the point. You want Krum to look at you and regret treating you like a coat rack.”

Her smile dropped.

“Right,” she said. “That’s still the goal.”

He gave a small nod and stepped aside, gesturing to the mirror across the room. “Go look.”

Hermione walked over and took a deep breath before facing her reflection.

She stared.

It wasn’t about looking pretty. She’d looked pretty before, on her best days, maybe even beautiful. But this… this was different. This felt like someone who wasn’t apologizing for the space she took up.

She didn’t look like a version of herself designed to shrink.

She looked bold. Like someone who knew what she wanted and didn’t care how uncomfortable it made people.

Draco appeared behind her in the mirror, standing a polite distance back, but watching.

“This,” he said quietly, “is what people remember.”

She turned to face him. “And you think clothes make the difference?”

“I think how you wear them does,” he said. “Posture. Voice. Intent. But the clothes help.” He tilted his head. “And you wear this well.”

Their eyes met for a moment too long.

Then he looked away. “Don’t get used to compliments.”

She laughed softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He picked up his book bag again and slung it over one shoulder. “Lesson over. Next time we work on tone and delivery.”

“You mean my voice?”

“You mumble when you flirt.”

“I do not!”

He gave her a look.

Hermione huffed. “Fine. I’ll work on it.”

As he opened the door to leave, she called after him. “Draco?”

He paused.

“Thank you.”

His voice came without turning back. “Don’t thank me. You’re helping me pass.”

And then the door clicked shut.

Hermione stood there for a long moment, staring at the space where he’d been.

A warmth settled in her chest she didn’t know how to name.

The door had barely clicked shut behind Draco when the next knock came. Quick, urgent, and followed by the creak of the door swinging open without permission.

Hermione barely had time to turn before Ginny, Luna, and Pansy came barreling into her dorm.

"Hermione! You are not going to believe what.."

Ginny stopped dead in her tracks.

Luna tilted her head curiously.

Pansy blinked.

All three pairs of eyes landed squarely on Hermione.

Standing in the center of her room. Wearing the midnight blue dress Ginny had gifted her last Christmas. Still barefoot, still a little stunned.

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "Is that..?"

"It is," Pansy breathed, arms crossing with a grin. "Finally, some justice for that dress."

Hermione flushed, tugging at the hem as if it could offer her any kind of defense.

"Draco insisted," she mumbled. "Said I needed to stop dressing like a substitute professor."

"He’s not wrong," Pansy said immediately.

Luna floated across the room, a dreamy smile on her face as she looked Hermione up and down. "You look radiant. The fabric catches light like confidence."

Ginny let out a low whistle and grinned. "See? I told you that dress would be a game changer."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the smile curling at her lips.

Pansy clapped her hands. "Perfect timing, too. Because as of twenty minutes ago, you officially have plans."

Hermione blinked. "What plans?"

"Girls night," Ginny said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "New club opened up just off campus. Neon Fox. Super exclusive. Music, dancing, drinks, we’re going."

Hermione stepped back. "Wait, no, I have studying and a paper on memory theory...."

"Nope," Pansy said, grabbing her shoulders and gently but firmly turning her toward the mirror. "You look like this, and you're going to waste it on theory? Absolutely not."

"But.."

"But nothing," Ginny said, already rifling through Hermione's accessories. "You need this. After Ron? Viktor? All the drama? You deserve a night to not care."

"It could be good for you," Luna added softly. "Sometimes joy is the best revenge."

Hermione stared at her reflection, heart fluttering. Part of her still wanted to stay buried under books and silence. But another part, the one wearing this damn dress, wanted to walk into a room and not feel invisible. Wanted to laugh without worrying who was watching.

And she trusted these girls.

She turned slowly. "Okay."

Three whoops of victory echoed through the dorm.

Pansy grabbed her makeup kit. "Let the transformation continue."

As Luna moved to braid part of Hermione’s hair, Ginny handed over a clutch that matched her heels. Laughter and perfume filled the air. For the first time in weeks, Hermione let herself relax.

It wasn’t about Viktor. Or Ron. Or even Draco Malfoy.

It was about her.

And tonight, she wouldn’t let anyone take that away.

Later:

The music at Neon Fox hit like a wave. Deep bass, pulsing lights, and a crush of bodies swaying in rhythm. Color streaked across the walls, glittering like spells caught mid air. The scent of something sweet and spiced hung in the air, and Hermione felt it all at once: the freedom, the distraction, the glittering promise of escape.

She clung to Ginny’s hand as they maneuvered through the crowd. Pansy led the way like a comet, dragging Luna close behind, both laughing, wild eyed and electric.

They settled into a booth that curved against the wall like a velvet crescent. Ginny ordered drinks without asking, and within minutes, their table was filled with vibrant, glowing cocktails that shimmered like potions.

"To reinvention," Pansy said, raising her glass.

"To freedom," Luna added.

"To saying screw it," Ginny laughed.

Hermione hesitated, then smiled and lifted her glass. "To us."

They clinked together with a soft chime, and Hermione sipped. It was sweet and sharp and made her cheeks flush.

The music pulsed harder. Luna grabbed Pansy and pulled her toward the dance floor. Ginny leaned in to Hermione, her voice soft against the thrum of sound.

"You look beautiful tonight."

Hermione gave a sheepish smile. "Thanks. I feel... different."

Ginny nodded. "That's because you are."

Before she could respond, Pansy returned, grabbed Hermione by the wrist, and hauled her up. "You're not allowed to brood tonight, Granger. Dance. Come on."

She didn’t resist.

The dance floor was heat and light and chaos. Hermione let herself go, feet moving, head swaying, body alive in ways she’d forgotten. Ginny danced beside her, wild and free. Pansy’s hands never left her waist. Luna twirled on the edge of their circle, eyes glowing.

For a while, there was nothing else. No classes. No heartbreak. No rumors or gossip or humiliation caught on livestream.

Just this. Laughter. Sweat. Lights.

Hermione caught a glance of herself in the mirror lining the far wall. For a moment, she didn’t recognize the woman looking back.

And maybe that was okay. Grabbing the girls she took a series of photos, posting them all to her social media.

Back at their booth, flushed and breathless, they collapsed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. More drinks arrived. Pansy stretched her legs across Luna's lap. Ginny laid her head on Hermione’s shoulder.

"You’re not the same girl you were at Hogwarts," Pansy said suddenly, watching her. "And that's a good thing."

Hermione tilted her head. "No?"

"No. That girl was brilliant but scared. You? You're still brilliant. But you're starting to take up space."

Hermione went quiet.

Then, she smiled.

And under the neon lights, with her friends all around her, she let herself believe it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~meanwhile~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door creaked slightly as Draco leaned back in his desk chair, his dorm quiet except for the soft rustle of parchment as he flipped through the notes he and Hermione had compiled. Her handwriting covered nearly every inch of the margin, meticulous and color coded. Ridiculously neat.

He paused, fingertips tracing a line where she’d corrected his Arithmancy translation. Her small comment in parentheses made him smirk. She was insufferable. But brilliant.

His phone buzzed against the desk. Once. Twice.

Draco glanced at it.

His smirk vanished.

There, front and center on his screen, was Hermione. Hair loose, eyes bright, that damn midnight blue dress hugging her like it was made for no one else. Ginny and Pansy flanked her in the first photo. The next one showed Hermione laughing with a drink in her hand, Luna mid spin behind her. The caption read: Girls Night. No regrets.

Draco stared.

It wasn’t jealousy. That would be absurd.

Still, something ugly coiled in his chest as he locked the screen and set the phone face down.

The door banged open.

"Oy! You’re actually studying on a Friday night?" Theo Nott strolled in like he owned the place, Blaise Zabini right behind him with two drinks in hand.

Draco didn’t move. "Some of us value our academic standing."

Theo collapsed onto Draco's bed. "More like you value studying with a certain Gryffindor."

"She’s helping me pass, that’s all," Draco said, flipping the notes shut with a little too much force.

Blaise raised an eyebrow as he took a slow sip. "Didn’t look like just academic success when she posted that photo in the blue dress. Damn."

Draco said nothing.

Theo leaned forward. "You okay? You look like someone just stole your broom."

"Perfectly fine," Draco replied, cold and clipped.

He reached for a different book, one that didn’t have Hermione's notes inside.

But even as Theo and Blaise talked about their night plans, the club, and the buzz around campus, Draco couldn’t stop thinking about those photos. About the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes. About how hard she was trying to look like she didn’t care.

He knew better.

And as much as he hated how it twisted inside him, Draco also knew that tomorrow, she’d pretend none of it had affected her.

He’d let her.

But not without watching every step.

Chapter Text

The club was hot. And loud. And swaying.

At least, Hermione thought it was swaying. Or maybe that was her?

She shoved open the club doors with a dramatic flair that nearly sent her backward, the sudden rush of night air smacking her in the face like a cold towel.

“I’m fine,” she declared to no one in particular as she stumbled onto the cobbled walkway. “Perfectly sober. Steady as a Hungarian Horntail.”

She passed a potted shrub and gave it a solemn nod.

“You understand,” she told it. “You’ve been rooted. Betrayed. Trimmed without consent.”

The shrub didn’t answer. Rude.

“I have every right to be drunk,” she muttered. “I tried. I planned a confession. To Viktor Krum. And what do I get? Ron ruddy Weasley going live like it’s bloody Quidditch commentary..”

She tripped over the edge of the path, went flailing like a baby deer on ice, and let out a squeak.

But instead of kissing the grass, she landed in someone’s arms.

“Woah! Granger?”

Hermione blinked. Or tried to. Her vision was doing weird things, but she recognized the smell. A mix of cedarwood, aftershave, and cigarettes.

She squinted up.

“Nott!” she said cheerfully. “Have you been following me? That’s not creepy. Stalkerish, sure, but a little charming.”

Theo arched a brow. “You’re drunk.”

“Only mildly,” she said, then hiccupped violently. “Okay. Fine. A medium amount.”

Theo sighed, adjusting his grip as she slumped further into him.

“You can’t go back to your dorm like this.”

“I absolutely can. I know the way. Left at the statue with the big sword, then past the vending machine that doesn’t accept sickles and.... wait, did I already pass that?”

He didn’t answer. Just started walking.

“Oh! Are you kidnapping me?” she asked with interest. “Because I should warn you, I know self defense.”

“You cried trying to open your purse once.”

“That was emotional,” she snapped. “Zippers are stressful when you’re heartbroken and your fingers don’t work.”

**

Theo’s dorm was warm and quiet when they arrived. He set her down gently on the couch, where she immediately collapsed like a Victorian damsel.

“Gods, your furniture is comfy. Do all Slytherins have plush couches, or are you the only emotionally repressed one with good taste?”

“I’m going to get you water before you start quoting Shakespeare.”

“I’d never quote Shakespeare drunk,” she said. “That’s for sobbing in bathrooms.”

Theo grabbed a glass from the kitchenette, filled it with water, then reached for his phone. Hermione was still babbling in the background.

“...and then I told Ginny, ‘No, I do not want to drunk text Draco Malfoy just because he says words like ‘clever’ like it's an insult.' But do you know what she said?”

Theo looked over. “What?”

“She said, ‘You like it.’ Can you believe that?” she gasped, hand over her heart. “As if I, me, Hermione Granger would swoon over Draco Malfoy. Honestly. He’s probably too busy combing his eyebrows and plotting the downfall of society.”

Theo didn’t answer. Just typed a quick message.

Text to Draco: Granger tried to wander back to her dorm drunk. Almost ate the pavement. I brought her to mine. She’s fine. Loud, dramatic, hilarious. Come if you want. Thought you should know.

Draco’s reply came quickly.

Draco: I’m coming.

**

Back on the couch, Hermione had rolled onto her back and was humming something suspiciously like the Hogwarts school anthem badly.

Theo handed her the glass. “Drink.”

She stared at it suspiciously. “Is this poison? Are you trying to poison me?”

“It’s water.”

“Seems like something a poisoner would say.”

He didn’t respond. She took it anyway and promptly spilled half of it down her front.

“Well,” she said brightly. “Now my shirt’s hydrated too.”

Theo wiped his face with both hands and groaned. “Why me?”

**

Draco arrived ten minutes later, dressed in black and looking like a thundercloud had taken human form. His eyes flicked immediately to the couch.

Hermione was lying on her side now, swaddled in a blanket Theo had begrudgingly given her, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.

“She vomit?” Draco asked flatly.

“Nope,” Theo said. “Just declared war on zippers and accused me of being a charming kidnapper.”

Draco approached, his gaze lingering on her face.

There was a smear of makeup under her left eye. Her curls were a bit tangled. She looked like a mess.

But also… oddly peaceful.

“She okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

“She’s fine,” Theo replied. “Just very drunk. And very much in denial about liking you.”

Draco stiffened. “She said that?”

“She said a lot. Most of it while lecturing my furniture.”

Draco crouched down beside the couch slowly. Hermione stirred.

“Draco?” she slurred, peeking at him with one eye.

He didn’t move. “What?”

She pointed at him. “You do have great eyebrows.”

Theo snorted from across the room.

Draco glanced over his shoulder, glaring. “Shut up.”

Hermione reached for his hand but missed entirely and poked his knee instead. “You always show up,” she mumbled. “Even when I don’t ask.”

Draco didn’t answer.

Her eyes were closing again. “You pretend not to care…but I see it.”

Draco froze.

She let out a sleepy sigh. “Sneaky snake…”

Within moments, she was asleep again.

Draco sat still beside her, jaw tight. Then, slowly, he reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his hand lingering just a moment too long.

Theo watched from the kitchenette and said nothing.

But he noticed the way Draco’s expression softened only when her eyes were closed.

Hermione woke with the grace of a troll falling down a staircase. Theo walked her back to her dorm where she'd fallen asleep all over again. Now waking up, again, she frowned.

Her skull was throbbing, like a herd of centaurs had breakdanced across her brain. Her mouth felt like cotton. Her stomach was doing somersaults.

She sat up with a groan that sounded vaguely like “why.”

Bits of last night came in fragments. Club. Drinks. Laughter. And then..

Her face flamed.

Theo Nott. Taking her to his place. Her yelling at a shrub. The couch. Water?

And Draco.

She distinctly remembered Draco Malfoy showing up. Had he actually been there, or was that her subconscious trying to humiliate her?

She kicked off the blanket tangled around her legs, stumbled into the bathroom, and stared at her reflection.

“…sweet Merlin.”

Her curls were a mess, mascara smudged under her eyes, and there was glitter on her collarbone that hadn’t been there when she left her dorm. She looked like a party ghost. A very tired, very hungover party ghost.

She spent ten minutes scrubbing her face and another five trying to tame her hair into a messy bun. She didn’t dare cast a spell, her magic felt sluggish and unpredictable in her current state, and she had no intention of setting her sheets on fire with a misguided Scourgify.

What she did need was caffeine. And silence. And possibly a new personality to crawl into.

Dressed in leggings, a hoodie two sizes too big, and sunglasses that took up half her face, she slipped out of her dorm and made her way toward the campus coffee shop.

It was still early, and the walk helped clear her head a little. The air was crisp, with the smell of wet stone and morning dew lingering in the breeze. Students passed her with half lidded eyes, many looking just as rough as she felt. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering.

The shop, Perk & Prose, was a small, cozy place with ancient oak shelves, handwritten chalkboard menus, and enchanted mugs that warmed your hands without burning your skin. She loved it here. It was usually her sanctuary. Her escape.

The bell above the door jingled softly as she entered, and the warm smell of espresso and cinnamon wrapped around her like a blanket.

She approached the counter, mumbled an order for a triple-shot latte, and barely resisted the urge to collapse onto the floor in relief when the barista handed it over.

She turned to find a table and froze.

In the corner, seated in his usual spot by the window, sat Draco Malfoy.

He looked far too put together for someone who had been woken up in the middle of the night to deal with her inebriated nonsense. He wore black slacks, a dark green button up, and his signature indifference like armor. A book lay open in front of him, half a pastry on his plate, and a steaming black coffee by his elbow.

She hesitated.

Turn around. Save yourself. Pretend you didn’t see him.

Too late. He looked up.

His eyes met hers. He didn’t raise a brow, didn’t smirk, didn’t greet her. Just…watched.

Hermione swallowed thickly and made her way to his table like a soldier heading into battle.

She stopped beside his booth and gestured vaguely. “Is… this seat taken?”

He gestured just as vaguely to the seat across from him. “It’s a public shop, Granger.”

She sat down, wincing slightly as her body protested. The headache was still thumping, but the caffeine helped. She wrapped both hands around her cup and stared into it like it held answers.

“I don’t remember everything from last night,” she admitted.

Draco didn’t look surprised. “Shocking.”

She shot him a look over the rim of her sunglasses.

“I remember the club,” she continued. “Then trying to walk back alone. Then… Theo.”

She winced. “Did I...was I… embarrassing?”

He sipped his coffee without looking at her. “Define embarrassing.”

“Oh no.”

“You yelled at a shrub.”

She groaned. “Did I cry?”

“No. But you accused Theo of being a charming kidnapper and kept complimenting his furniture."

She dropped her forehead to the table. “Please stop.”

He flipped a page in his book. “You also said I had ‘great eyebrows’ and claimed I plotted the downfall of society in my spare time.”

Hermione didn’t lift her head. “That part sounds accurate.”

He glanced at her briefly, eyes flicking over her mess of a bun and her oversized hoodie. “You look like you’ve been mugged by your own conscience.”

“I feel like I’ve been mugged by my own conscience,” she muttered.

A pause stretched between them.

Then, more hesitantly, she asked, “You showed up… didn’t you?”

He didn’t respond at first. Just reached for his coffee again.

“Theo thought you’d wake up and panic if you were alone. So he messaged me.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”

Liar. She didn’t call him out on it.

Another pause.

“I remember something,” she said slowly. “Something I said.”

Draco raised a brow.

“I might have told you… that you always show up. Even when I don’t ask.”

He set his cup down, eyes narrowing. “You were drunk.”

“But not wrong,” she said softly, meeting his gaze now.

He didn’t answer that. His expression didn’t change. Detached. Impenetrable.

Draco looked away, out the window, jaw tight.

“I didn’t want to be a mess in front of you,” she said finally. “You’re always so… together. Controlled.”

“Not always,” he said quietly.

That surprised her. The hint of vulnerability.

She didn’t press.

Instead, she said, “Thank you.”

He turned back to her. “For what?”

“For showing up. Even if it was just because Theo asked.”

Draco didn’t reply. But something softened in his eyes.

Hermione sipped her coffee again, watching him over the rim of her cup. “So. Hypothetically… if I invited you to get coffee again sometime, and I was completely sober and not talking about your eyebrows… would you come?”

He didn’t look up. “Hypothetically?”

She nodded.

He marked a sentence with his thumb and finally met her eyes again.

“I might.”

A beat.

“But only if you promise not to try and yell at any more shrubbery.”

“No promises,” she said, grinning now.

And for the first time in days, the ache in her chest felt a little lighter.

Viktor stood outside the coffee shop, his mobile clutched tightly to his ear. Outside, the sun was bright. Birds chirped. The world was normal.

But for viktor everything was tense.

Static crackled faintly through the earpiece. Then, the voice came. Distorted, deepened, as if cloaked by multiple magical filters.

"You received the file?" the voice asked.

"Yes," Viktor answered, keeping his voice even. "You wish for me to get close to Hermione."

"We need her accessible," the voice confirmed. "Sooner rather than later. There’s something we need from her."

Viktor's brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"Not your concern."

"You want me to lie to her, use her, and you won’t tell me why?"

There was a pause, then a calm reply. "We’re offering you more money than your entire Quidditch contract ever paid in two years. In return, you fake interest. Gain her trust. Get close. Make sure she’s alone when the time comes. We’ll do the rest."

Viktor’s nodded.

His family's finances had dwindled, his career had died after his last injury, and his agent had disappeared under suspicious circumstances last month. Viktor was smart enough to know when he was being cornered.

They wanted Granger. And they wanted him to lead them to her.

Millions.

He inhaled slowly, then said: "Fine. I’ll do it."

There was no hesitation in his voice.

"Excellent," the voice said. "Start now."

The line went dead.

Viktor stared at the phone, then began making his waytowards Hermione.

Hermione stepped out of the café, her coffee still warm in her hand and her mind racing with a hundred complicated emotions. Most of them Draco shaped.

She’d expected awkwardness. She hadn’t expected honesty. She hadn’t expected care.

She was halfway down the cobblestone path toward the greenhouse courtyard when a voice called her name.

“Hermione!”

She turned.

And froze.

Viktor Krum jogged toward her, slowing as he approached, hair slightly windblown, his long black coat unbuttoned and moving like a cape behind him.

She blinked.

“Viktor?”

He smiled, awkward, hesitant, sheepish. “Yes. It’s me. I was hoping I might catch you.”

She shifted her weight, confused.

“Are you okay?” she asked cautiously.

Viktor rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. I.. I panicked. I vas angry. Not at you,” he added quickly.

She blinked, startled by the sudden honesty.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he continued, “but I’d like a chance to make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner.”

Hermione hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek.

Something in her gut fluttered. confusion, uncertainty, maybe leftover affection from years ago. She remembered how excited she’d been to tell him how she felt. How hard she’d worked to build up the confidence. And how fast it all fell apart.

“Dinner?” she echoed.

“Yes.” His voice was soft. “Just dinner. A real conversation. No cameras. No interruptions. Just us.”

She looked down at her coffee, then back up at him.

Viktor looked genuine. A little nervous. Nothing like the stoic, untouchable Quidditch star she once crushed on. He seemed… human.

She sighed.

“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose I already embarrassed myself in front of you. Can’t get worse than that.”

He smiled. “So… yes?”

“I’m not promising anything,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “But I’ll hear you out. One dinner.”

“Thank you,” he said, and he looked genuinely relieved.

She turned, walking beside him toward the central path. “When?”

“Tonight, if you’re free.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Aren’t you confident.”

He smirked faintly. “Just hopeful.”

As they walked away, Viktor glanced over his shoulder, just once.

No one followed them. But he could feel the weight of invisible eyes.

They were watching.

And he’d just opened the door.

Later that evening, as he prepared for dinner, dark shirt, combed hair, clean shave, Viktor stared into the mirror above the sink and tightened his grip on the counter.

He didn’t know what they wanted from her.

But he did know this.. he was in too deep to turn back now.

Hermione hadn’t meant to get her hopes up.

When she agreed to dinner with Viktor, she told herself it was closure. One dinner. One chance to reclaim her dignity after everything fell apart. She wasn’t expecting romance or redemption.

And yet, as she sat across from him at the candlelit table, sipping red wine and listening to his low, accented voice tell her about his travels and what he'd been doing the past few years, she felt it. The flicker of something warm. Familiar.

He laughed more than she remembered. Smiled easier. His shoulders weren’t as tense. He wasn’t the larger-than life Quidditch star tonight, he was just Viktor. A man she admired and had the most pathetic crush on, now sitting across from her, carefully slicing his steak and genuinely listening when she talked.

He wasn’t constantly checking his watch. He wasn’t cutting her off to talk about himself. He asked about her studies, about her research, about the causes she cared about. He even remembered that she hated olives.

“I remember you picked them off every salad at the Yule Ball dinner,” he said with a smirk, nudging his plate toward her. “I think you started a pile on the table.”

Hermione laughed, genuinely. “I was nervous! And they were so salty.”

He grinned, and she felt her stomach flutter.

Maybe she’d been too hard on him. Maybe she wasn’t the only one trying to recover from Ron’s humiliating broadcast.

Maybe… there was still something here.

When dessert came, a shared chocolate mousse he insisted on ordering, she found herself smiling more than she had in weeks.

“You’re not as grumpy as you used to be,” she teased, spooning a bite into her mouth.

“I have learned to appear friendly,” he replied, deadpan. “I smile now. It confuses people.”

She snorted into her wine.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her hands were warm. Her heart… cautiously light.

“I’m going to run to the loo,” she said, rising from her seat. “Don’t eat all the mousse.”

“I will try,” he said with mock solemnity.

Hermione laughed and walked toward the bathroom, unaware that the night was about to shift in a way she couldn’t predict.

Draco didn’t mean to be there.

He’d been dragged out by Blaise, who had insisted that Draco needed “a decent meal that didn’t come out of a takeaway bag and wasn’t served over a stack of parchments.” Blaise had made a reservation and promptly gotten himself distracted by a phone call, leaving Draco to walk in alone.

The restaurant was upscale but cozy. All warm wood and soft lighting. Exactly the sort of place that was private without being suspicious.

Draco paused at the entrance, adjusting his cufflinks, eyes scanning the room out of habit.

And then he saw him.

Viktor Krum.

Alone, seated at a corner table, absently twirling a spoon in a half melted chocolate mousse.

Draco stilled.

Krum’s presence wasn’t suspicious in itself, but something in Draco’s gut twisted.

Viktor wasn’t eating. He wasn’t looking around.

He was waiting.

Then, slowly, Krum pulled out his phone and held it to his ear, speaking in low tones. Draco’s eyes narrowed. Something about the way his shoulders hunched, the furtive glance he cast around the room…

Draco moved closer, staying behind a decorative column. The ambient music helped. So did the murmuring of other tables.

He didn’t hear everything.

But he heard enough.

“...yes, she’s opening up now. Relaxed. It’s working.”

Pause.

“No, she doesn’t suspect anything. She thinks I wanted a second chance.”

Another pause.

Draco’s jaw clenched.

“She’s easy to talk to. Still brilliant. Still kind. I can see why you wanted her close. She trusts me again.”

Draco felt something shift in his chest. Not surprise, he had known something about Krum’s sudden reappearance had reeked of manipulation.

But hearing it…

That was different.

Draco couldn’t hear the other end of the call, but Viktor responded after a beat.

“Yeah. I’ll make sure she’s alone. Soon.”

That was enough.

Draco turned, slipping back toward the front of the restaurant before Viktor could see him. His expression remained calm, cold, practiced.

But inside, something sharp had taken root.

It was none of his business who Hermione chose to spend time with. It never had been.

But it was his business now.

Back at the table, Viktor had just ended the call when Hermione returned, cheeks flushed from the wine and the warm lighting.

“Did you eat it all?” she asked, eyeing the mousse suspiciously.

“Only half,” he said, his smile smooth. “I was good.”

She grinned and slid back into her seat, taking another bite before he could reach for the spoon again.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Hermione didn’t notice the tension in Viktor’s shoulders or the faint hum of urgency in his smile. She didn’t notice the way he checked his phone once under the table.

And she definitely didn’t notice the figure standing just beyond the large glass windows of the restaurant’s front entrance.

Draco.

Watching.

His hands were in his pockets, his posture relaxed, face unreadable.

But his eyes... his eyes never left her.

Not once.

When Viktor walked her back to her dorm later, Hermione was almost hopeful.

He was sweet. Thoughtful. He didn’t pressure her. He didn’t even try to kiss her goodnight. Just smiled and told her he’d had a lovely time, and he’d like to see her again.

And she, in a moment of quiet bravery, said she would like that too.

She closed the door to her dorm with a flutter in her chest.

She didn’t see Draco, across the courtyard in the shadows, watching from beneath the archway.

Didn’t see his jaw tighten, or the muscle ticking in his cheek.

Didn’t see the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Something was wrong.

And if Viktor Krum thought he could play Hermione Granger like a fool? He was about to learn how far Draco Malfoy would go to stop him.

Chapter Text

The night pressed in around her, soft and cool against the exposed skin of her arms. Hermione stood outside Draco's dorm building, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She reread Draco's message from earlier.

"Study and lesson tonight. 8 PM. My place."

Simple. Direct. Typical Draco. It lacked warmth, as most of his messages did.

Her thoughts soon went back to her date with Viktor. It had been… surreal.

After years of wondering what it might be like to have his full attention again, she finally had it. The way he looked at her during dinner, as if she were something rare and fascinating, had made her cheeks warm and her smile clumsyily.

And yet… something had felt off.

After returning from the bathroom she could she how he had tensed up.

Still, she couldn’t dismiss the thrill of it. He’d made her feel wanted. Beautiful, even. That mattered.

But then there was Draco.

Detached, unreadable, and now oddly colder than usual. It nagged at her more than she cared to admit.

She knocked twice, then entered when she heard the low "Come in" from inside. A stack of worn books rested by the desk, and their usual study materials were already laid out.

"You're late," Draco said without looking up, scribbling something in the margin of a parchment.

"Only by three minutes," she countered, easing the door shut behind her.

He finally glanced up. His expression didn’t shift. "Three minutes is still late."

Hermione sat across from him, setting down her bag. “Hello to you too.”

He handed her a fresh set of notes, his handwriting as infuriatingly perfect as ever. “Start with this. Let me know if anything needs fixed.”

They worked in silence.

It was the sort of silence that hummed with too many unspoken things. Her thoughts drifted again to Viktor.

Every few minutes, she glanced at Draco. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a near frown. There was something else too. Restlessness? Resentment?

The tension was unbearable.

"So," she blurted out, breaking the silence, "when exactly are you going to teach me the actual flirting stuff? And, you know… kissing?”

Her voice sounded too loud in the stillness of the room. Draco froze mid sentence, the quill stilled in his hand.

Slowly, he set it down and looked up. His face betrayed nothing.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asked coolly.

Hermione blinked. “Well, yes. I mean.. we talked about this. You offered to help me. If I’m going to have a chance with Viktor, I need to..”

He stood suddenly, pacing toward the bookshelf like her words had stung him. She paused, thrown off by his reaction.

“I didn’t realize you were that eager to impress him,” Draco said, back turned.

“I’m not. It’s not just about impressing him,” Hermione said, rising from her seat. “I just… I’ve never been good at this, and Viktor, he’s finally noticing me again. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Draco’s shoulders stiffened.

He turned slowly, eyes meeting hers with a coolness that cut straight through her. “And you think learning how to bat your lashes and pout your lips will keep his attention?”

Her brows drew together. “What’s your problem tonight?”

“You’re my problem,” he said flatly.

She stared at him, startled. “Excuse me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident now. “You don’t see it. You never do. You think he’s noticing you because he suddenly remembered you exist? Granger, people like Krum don’t just change overnight. There’s always a reason. And it’s rarely good.”

Her voice was a whisper. “You think he’s using me?”

“I know he is.”

She swallowed, throat dry. “How?”

He hesitated. She saw the war in his eyes, whether or not to tell her what he overheard. But in the end, he didn’t.

“I just do,” he said instead. “And if you're smart, you’ll stop chasing after him before it’s too late.”

Hermione folded her arms, her voice tight. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “Fine. Let’s get this over with, then.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You want to learn how to flirt? Fine. Let’s start with posture.” He moved toward her, his voice void of emotion now, clinical, like a professor giving a dull lecture. “Straighten your spine. Shoulders back. Don’t slouch. It makes you look unsure of yourself.”

Hermione obeyed reluctantly.

“Now eye contact. Don’t look away. Not even for a second.”

He stepped closer, their bodies mere inches apart. She met his gaze, heat blooming in her chest. This wasn’t how she imagined it would feel being taught by Draco, standing so close, his breath brushing her cheek.

“Say something flirty,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Something you’d say to Viktor.”

Hermione’s mind blanked. “I—I don’t know.”

He exhaled sharply. “You’re overthinking it. Just say what you’d say if you wanted to be noticed.”

She hesitated, then said, “You’ve got really nice eyes.”

Draco raised an unimpressed brow. “That’s it?”

“I’m new at this,” she snapped.

“You’re not new at speaking,” he said, stepping even closer. “Flirting is just controlled vulnerability. You want someone to see you, but on your terms.”

She faltered under his stare. “What would you have said?”

His eyes dropped to her lips, just for a second. “I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because when it’s real, you don’t need words.”

The silence between them changed, charged now, electric.

Hermione’s heart pounded.

And then it was gone. Draco stepped back, hands stuffed into his pockets, expression unreadable once more.

“We’re done for tonight.”

Her throat tightened. “Just like that?”

“You’ve had your lesson,” he said coldly. “Go practice on Krum.”

Her chest burned. “You’re such a—”

“Careful, Granger.”

He didn’t say it like a threat. He said it like a plea.

Hermione picked up her bag with shaking hands and moved toward the door. Before she could open it, she paused and looked back.

“Why do you even care?” she asked.

Draco didn’t look at her.

“I don’t,” he said.

And then he shut the door behind her.

But as she walked down the corridor alone, her chest aching and her eyes burning, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he did.

He just didn’t know how to show it.

***

The following day the echo of footsteps and murmured voices filled the corridor. Blurring together in the late afternoon lull between classes. Hermione walked briskly down the hallway, clutching a book she barely remembered borrowing. Her thoughts weren’t on Arithmancy or the upcoming exam. They were still tangled in last night’s study session with Draco.

Something was wrong with him.

He had been colder than usual. There was something simmering under his careful mask. She had seen it in the way his fingers curled into fists when she’d mentioned Viktor, in the way his voice had tightened when she asked about kissing. He hadn’t even looked at her when she left.

The memory made her chest feel oddly heavy.

She turned a corner near the east stairwell, intending to cut through the lower hallway, but paused when she heard voices ahead, two of them. Low, hurried, male.

She knew those voices.

Theo.

Draco.

Hermione froze in place, about to step forward to greet them, but something stopped her. It wasn’t instinct or suspicion, it was curiosity. A quiet, crawling pull in her gut that made her hesitate. She couldn’t hear them clearly from where she stood. Not yet.

So she moved. Just a few steps back, her back pressed against the wall, hidden by a large pillar near the staircase. She knew it was wrong. She wasn’t the sort to eavesdrop. But after last night, after the way Draco had shut down, she needed to understand what was happening.

Her breath caught as their conversation came into focus.

“I’m telling you, Theo,” Draco was saying, his voice low but tense, “I didn’t imagine it. I heard him.”

Heard who?

“Krum?” Theo’s voice was skeptical. “Are you sure he meant Hermione?”

Draco sounded exasperated. “She had just left for the bathroom. I was at the table behind him. He didn’t even notice me. He was on the phone with someone, I don’t know who, but he said, ‘I’ll have her alone soon."

Hermione’s stomach dropped.

Draco continued. “He said it like she was a package. A thing. Not a person.”

Theo was quiet for a beat. Then, cautiously, “Maybe it wasn’t what it sounded like.”

“You didn’t hear his tone,” Draco said flatly. “He wasn’t sweet talking anyone. He sounded... smug. Calculating. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold.

She pressed her hand to her chest, willing her heart to calm. Her mind screamed that this couldn’t be true. Viktor wouldn’t do that. He had been warm, attentive, almost nervous when they first sat down. He’d complimented her, asked questions, remembered things about her. He’d smiled.

But Draco had been there. She hadn’t even seen him. He’d overheard everything.

Hermione’s breath hitched.

“You can’t tell her like this,” Theo said quietly. “Not unless you’re sure.”

Draco’s voice was hard. “I don’t care if I sound paranoid. If he tries anything, I’ll—”

She didn’t wait to hear the rest.

She turned, her shoes silent against the stone as she slipped away from the staircase. Her legs felt like lead, her mind a roaring storm of disbelief and denial.

It wasn’t true.

She wouldn’t believe it.

Viktor wouldn’t hurt her.

Would he?

She clenched her fists and kept walking. Repeating to herself, like a mantra: It wasn’t true. Draco’s wrong. He’s jealous. He hates Viktor. He’s always hated him.

And as if the universe had a cruel sense of timing, she turned the next corner and collided directly into Viktor’s chest.

“Oh!” she gasped, stumbling.

Strong arms caught her, and his familiar voice broke through the fog. “Hermione! Are you alright?”

She stared up at him, her heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.

His dark eyes scanned her face, and his expression softened with concern. “You look... shaken. Did something happen?”

She tried to steady her voice. “I—I’m fine. Just startled.”

He didn’t push. He simply smiled and reached for her hand. “Let me take you to lunch. My treat. You look like you need a break.”

Hermione hesitated. She should have said no. She knew she should have.

But then he smiled again, warm and easy, and it reminded her of their dinner, the way he’d listened to her, made her laugh. She clung to that memory like a lifeline.

Maybe Draco was wrong. Maybe Viktor was just awkward on the phone. Maybe it wasn’t about her.

“Alright,” she heard herself say. “Lunch sounds... nice.”

They walked together down the steps and into the courtyard. Viktor’s hand hovered near the small of her back, not touching, but close enough that she felt the heat of it. Her thoughts whirled as they reached a quiet café just off campus. One with enchanted vines along the ceiling and tables that glowed faintly with warmth.

She chose the booth farthest from the windows, as if hiding would help untangle the knots in her chest.

Viktor ordered for them both, remembering her favorite tea from their last outing. He smiled when he handed it to her, and it made her feel… safe.

She tried to focus on the present. On him. On the easy rhythm of their conversation.

But Draco’s words replayed in her mind.

Her spoon clinked against the side of her teacup as her hands trembled. She forced a smile when Viktor asked about her classes. Nodded along when he complimented her hair. Laughed, too loudly, when he joked about how difficult Transfiguration had become.

She didn’t taste her food.

She couldn’t stop watching his eyes, his hands, the curve of his mouth as he spoke.

Everything he did now felt calculated, even when she didn’t want it to.

“You’re quiet today,” Viktor said gently, breaking through her thoughts. “Is it the exam schedule?”

Hermione blinked, then nodded. “Something like that.”

He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. His touch was soft. Measured.

“I’m glad we’re seeing more of each other,” he said sincerely. “I missed this.”

She wanted to believe him.

She wanted to fall into the illusion of old feelings, of what they used to be. But doubt had cracked the glass, and no matter how she turned it, the light shone through.

She forced another smile and said nothing.

Because she didn’t know what to believe anymore.

***

The green flames flashed once, then again, before Draco stepped cleanly into the living room of Pansy and Luna’s shared flat.

He brushed a few stray ashes from his shoulder and looked around. It was warm inside, too warm, and dimly lit with soft fairy lights draped across the ceiling like twinkling ivy. The scent of peppermint tea and some faint incense clung to the air. The fireplace crackled softly behind him as the girls turned to look.

Pansy was curled on the couch under a Slytherin green throw, half a bowl of popcorn in her lap. Luna lay sprawled beside her in a loose lilac jumper and starry socks, both of them watching an old, grainy Muggle.
Neither of them said a word at first.

Draco took one step into the room, exhaled, and ran a hand through his hair. Pansy tilted her head slowly, her sharp eyes sweeping over him like she was reading footnotes on a scroll.

"Something’s wrong," she said before he could even speak.

Luna, smiling faintly and never looking away from the screen, added, “His aura’s buzzing like an angry wasp hive.”

Draco raised a brow. “Not even a hello?”

Luna finally glanced over, dreamy and curious. “Hello, Draco.”

Pansy pushed herself upright. “What happened?”

Draco hesitated. He hadn't meant to talk about it. Not really. He’d just needed to go somewhere. Away from the suffocating stillness of his dorm, away from the echo of Hermione’s voice when she’d asked him when he’d teach her to flirt and kiss.

She wanted to learn for Krum.

He exhaled again, slower this time. “It’s Granger.”

Both girls sat up straighter.

Luna blinked. “Is she hurt?”

“No. Not yet.” He dragged a hand down his face. “At least… I don’t think so.”

Pansy was off the couch in an instant, crossing to him. “What do you mean, not yet?”

Draco looked at her. “I followed her last night.”

Luna perked up. “How romantic.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Draco snapped, then caught himself. His tone softened. “She was on a date with Viktor. I… I happened to be at the same restaurant. I wasn’t spying.. at first.”

Pansy folded her arms. “But you did stay.”

Draco nodded. “She went to the loo halfway through dinner. Krum made a phone call. I overheard him say, and I quote, ‘I’ll have her alone soon.’” He met Pansy’s gaze. “No name. No context. Just that.”

The room went still.

Even the movie faded into the background as the girls absorbed his words.

“I knew he was sleazy, but that’s some next level creeper behavior,” Pansy muttered.

Luna’s smile slipped. “He could be involved in something bigger. Something dark.”

Draco’s fists clenched. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Before he could say more, green flames burst again in the fireplace.

All three turned toward it, surprised as Ginny Weasley tumbled through, breathless and pink faced.

“There you are!” she gasped, brushing hair from her forehead as she stepped into the room. “Pansy. Luna. Thank Merlin.”

Pansy moved forward. “Gin? What’s wrong?”

Ginny straightened, still winded. “I just saw Hermione. She's out at a café. With Krum.”

Draco stilled.

Ginny added, “They were sitting close. Laughing. She looked tense, though.”

“Where?” Draco’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

All three girls turned to look at him.

“The café near the corner of Elmwood Lane. The one with the floating flowers in the tea,” Ginny said cautiously. “Why?”

But Draco was already moving.

He strode toward the fireplace, wand in hand.

“Draco—” Pansy started.

“She doesn’t know what he is,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “But I do.”

And with that, he vanished into emerald flames.

The room was quiet in his wake.

Pansy blinked once, then turned to Ginny.

“You just threw gasoline on an already raging fire.”

Ginny held up her hands. “I didn’t even see him here! I thought it was just you two!”

Luna finally sat up properly, her hands clasped together as she stared at the fireplace.

“Do you think he’ll hex Viktor in public?” she asked in her usual dreamlike tone.

Pansy didn’t answer immediately. She just sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I think,” she muttered, “we’ve got about ten minutes before he does something Draco-ish.”

All three girls exchanged the same look.

The one that said: He’s already gone too far.. but maybe not far enough.

***
Across town.

Draco Apparated with a crack, landing just beyond the stone archway outside the café.

He spotted them instantly through the enchanted glass. Hermione, seated across from Viktor, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Viktor leaned forward, smiling, saying something that made her laugh but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Draco felt his magic hum beneath his skin.

He moved closer, unnoticed.

He should’ve waited. He should’ve been rational, calm, careful. But rationality didn’t matter when he saw her sitting across from someone who might be planning to hurt her.

His heart pounded in his chest, sharp and fast.

What was she thinking? Hadn’t she noticed how wrong Krum’s energy felt? The possessiveness in his tone? Or had she been so eager to feel wanted, she’d blinded herself to danger?

The bell above the café door chimed as Draco walked in.

A few heads turned, but he only had eyes for her.

Hermione looked up, her expression startled, confused.

“Draco?” she said, voice cautious.

Viktor leaned back in his seat, brows raised in lazy surprise. “Malfoy?”

Draco stopped at the edge of the table. His jaw was tight.

“I need to speak with you,” he said to Hermione, ignoring Krum entirely.

Hermione blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Krum frowned. “We are in the middle of something.”

Draco shot him a look that could’ve frozen fire. “So was I, when you decided to make that phone call during your date.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

Viktor stilled.

Draco didn’t give either of them a chance to respond.

He reached for her hand, not forcefully, but firmly.

“Please,” he said, low. “Come with me.”

Hermione searched his face. Something in her expression cracked, some wall of denial finally giving way.

She stood.

And followed him out the door.

Hermione’s shoes clicked sharply against the cobblestones as she followed Draco out of the café, her breath rising in thin clouds from her lips. The moment the door shut behind them, the hum of lunchtime chatter dulled into a distant buzz.

Draco didn’t stop. He kept walking, fast and purposeful, one hand clenched at his side like he needed to keep himself from turning back and doing something reckless.

Hermione had to half jog to keep up.

“Draco!” she called. “Stop walking!”

He didn’t.

“Draco Malfoy!”

Finally, he halted under the arch of a quiet alley beside the apothecary, just far enough from the street to be private. The dim light filtered through the narrow space, cutting golden lines across his pale face. His chest rose and fell with unspoken emotion.

Hermione stormed up to him and jabbed a finger at his chest.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, voice sharp with frustration. “You can't just burst into a café and drag me out like you're... like you're some brooding knight with a hero complex!”

Draco’s eyes snapped to hers. “I asked you to come with me.”

“You commanded me,” she hissed. “You embarrassed me in front of everyone—”

“Including the man who's been lying to you.”

Hermione recoiled slightly, her mouth falling open.

Draco ran a hand through his hair again, the strands messy now and less perfectly styled than usual. “Do you know how insane it’s been to watch you play right into his hands?”

“You don’t know that he’s done anything wrong!” she said, her voice pitching.

“I do,” Draco snapped. “Because I overheard him, Granger. On the phone. The night of your date. He didn’t see me! I was behind him. He said, ‘I’ll have her alone soon.’ Who do you think he meant?”

Hermione took a step back.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It could’ve been about...anything.”

“You don’t even believe that,” he said quietly, his eyes dark.

She looked away, the wind catching her hair and tossing it across her face. She brushed it aside with trembling fingers. Her throat felt tight. Her stomach churned.

“I want to believe it wasn’t about me,” she admitted. “Because if you’re right, then I’ve been… blind. And stupid. And—”

“Don’t,” he said. “You weren’t stupid.”

She looked up at him. His anger had dimmed now, replaced by something raw. Worry. Frustration. Something more.

“Why didn’t you tell me after you had heard him? Directly after? ” she asked, quieter now.

Draco exhaled. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you. And because you were so happy he was giving you attention. You looked at him like he was all you ever wanted.”

Hermione’s heart twisted.

“And what do you want?” she asked even softer.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked away.

She waited. But when it became clear he wouldn’t say anything, she stepped back again.

“Right,” she said. “That’s what I thought.”

Draco flinched, but she didn’t let herself soften this time.

“Next time you want to storm into my life and pull me away like some possessive lunatic, maybe try using your words first,” she said, her voice cool now, crisp like brittle parchment.

Then she turned and walked away.

***
Back in the café...

Viktor Krum sat motionless, his tea growing cold in front of him. The chair opposite him was empty now, Hermione’s coat still draped across the back.

He stared blankly through the glass, though his eyes weren’t watching the street.

Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black phone.

He typed one message, just one.

Time for plan B. Someone knows and she may know soon too. You’ll have her within the next few days.

He hit send.

His fingers curled around the phone like it might shatter in his grip.

***

Hermione didn’t make it far. Maybe twenty paces before the adrenaline started to wear off and her body began to tremble. She stepped into a quieter alley, leaning against the cool brick, her mind spiraling.

Draco had been right there the whole time.

Watching. Listening.

Not because he was nosy. Not because he enjoyed meddling. But because he was worried. About her.

And what did she do? She ignored his warning. She sat across from Viktor and forced herself to pretend everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.

She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to breathe.

Something was coming. She could feel it in her bones, like a storm rolling in.

And this time, she wasn’t sure she could face it alone.

***

Later that night...

The skies darkened early.

Draco sat on the windowsill of his dorm, legs drawn up, a half drunk Butterbeer in hand. The bottle sweated in the summer air, but he barely noticed it.

He closed his eyes.

She’d left without looking back.

And worse than her anger… was the hurt.

But Draco knew one thing.

He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Not while he was breathing.

Even if she never forgave him.

He'd still protect her.

Because that’s what you do when you care about someone. Fuck... he cared about her.