The Malfoy manor had finally settled into a rare calm, the heavy shadows of the past months replaced by a softer warmth.
In the dim light of the study, Draco sat slouched against the leather chair, the tension in his muscles betraying the exhaustion behind his composed facade.
Hermione entered quietly, the faint scent of jasmine and vanilla clinging to her as she approached. Her eyes flickered with a mix of tenderness and something darker — a hunger born from months of stolen moments and quiet longing.
She placed a steaming cup of enchanted tea in his hands, fingers brushing his skin, sending an electric shiver up his arm.
"Drink this," she murmured, voice low and velvet. "Then let me take care of you."
Draco's gaze flicked up, dark and intense. "I don't mind being taken care of… especially by you."
Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile as her hands slid under the hem of his shirt. The buttons came undone one by one, the fabric falling open to reveal skin flushed with heat.
Her fingertips trailed over the defined planes of his chest, teasing, coaxing, every touch a silent promise.
Draco's breath hitched, his eyes locking with hers as the distance between them vanished.
She leaned in, her lips barely grazing his collarbone, the softest kiss that made him ache.
With a deliberate slowness, she let her hands wander—down his sides, to the curve of his hips—drawing him closer until the heat between them was almost unbearable.
Draco caught her wrists gently, pulling her to meet his lips in a kiss that was hungry, demanding, yet tender.
Their bodies pressed together, skin on skin, every touch igniting sparks that raced beneath their calm exteriors.
In that quiet room, away from the past's ghosts and the world's expectations, Hermione and Draco gave themselves over to the flame they'd been fanning for so long—wild, consuming, and entirely theirs.
The next week was just for them, and them only.