Draco was lying on his bed, tapping his quill against the open book in front of him — a decoy, hiding the small piece of parchment he was using to jot down and scratch out ideas.
He wasn't nervous.
Malfoy men didn't get nervous.
It was just dinner.
With Granger.
After weeks of… whatever it was they'd been doing. Flirting? Fighting? Flirting by fighting?
He shook his head.
It didn't matter.
Not really.
He'd asked her to dinner, and she'd given him a thumbs up — he still wanted to laugh when he thought of it — and that counted for something.
He scowled down at the parchment, re-reading the latest messy list:
Dinner in Hogsmeade? (too public)
Bring food and eat outside? (Too cold and gloomy)
Common Room picnic? (I'm asking to get hexed)
Room of Requirement? (What if she thinks I'm tricking her into working on the cabinet?)
Draco raked a hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse. This wasn't supposed to be difficult. He wasn't supposed to care this much. He could take any other girl to Madam Puddifoot's with a wink and a shrug, barely breaking a sweat.
He groaned, scratching them all out and starting a new list.
Astronomy Tower? (Too many feelings)
Kitchens? (Annoying house-elves)
Ask her???? (I'm going to kill myself)
She was going to hex him if he made it weird. Or worse — what if she pitied him?
The door to his room was pushed open and Daphne walked in, raising an eyebrow at him. "Draco, are you planning on eating today, or are you skipping lunch as well as breakfast?"
Draco snapped his book shut and looked over at her with wide eyes. "Busy."
"Writing sonnets?" she teased, reaching for the book.
He quickly moved it behind his back. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"
She rolled her eyes. "No. Though I have half a mind to."
She flopped onto the edge of his bed and stared up at the canopy. "You're not taking her to a ball, are you?"
"I'm not an idiot."
"You're a Malfoy."
Draco snorted. "And that's exactly my problem."
Daphne's face softened as she turned to look at him.
He sighed at the expression on her face. "Don't do that."
"I haven't done anything," she whispered, but the sadness was plain as day in her blue eyes.
"You're pitying me."
Daphne's lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, Draco was sure she would say something to confirm his fears — something about how he was doomed to mess this all up, or how he was still playing at being someone he wasn't. But instead, she just looked at him. Long, searching, almost as if she could see right through him.
"You just don't know how to do this without doing it the Malfoy way. It's not a bad thing, it's just… not Hermione."
Draco leaned back against his headboard. It was true. He was trying not to go overboard, but that was all he knew, wasn't it?
He didn't know how to do this without pulling out all the stops — the grand gestures, the manipulative finesse, the Malfoy style. But none of that felt right with Hermione. She wasn't someone he could impress with wealth or power, and he wasn't sure she even wanted the kind of attention his name and family so often brought.
He placed his book in his nightstand, waved his wand to lock it, and stood up. "You mentioned lunch?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.
---
Hermione sat in the Great Hall, pushing her food around her plate while her friends talked around her.
"I'm telling you, it totally ruined the mood!" Ron was complaining to Harry. "She didn't even want to grab dinner after that bloody class."
"Ron, we don't want to hear about how your girlfriend won't shag you," Ginny sighed, elbowing Hermione. "Right?"
Hermione looked up from her plate. "Sorry?"
Ginny frowned. "You're out of it today."
"I'm fine," she assured.
Harry snorted into his goblet, and Hermione shot him a glare.
"She's just traumatised," he said, actively avoiding any mention of Malfoy — he'd made a promise. Five days.
Hermione laughed weakly, picking at her food again. It wasn't a lie — Madam Pomfrey's little talk had been mortifying — but that wasn't why her brain felt like it was only half plugged in.
She couldn't stop thinking about Draco.
Or the way he'd looked when he stood up to walk her out of the Hospital Wing, trying to cover the fact that he was har—
Well.
She wasn't thinking about that.
Except she absolutely was.
And then the way he'd said he wanted to walk her.
Like it was normal.
Like it was them.
He wanted to take her to dinner. Properly take her to dinner.
And he'd told her all of that while talking her to orgasm.
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, hiding her smile behind her goblet as her cheeks tinted red at the memory.
She'd given him a thumbs up. A thumbs up. Like a complete idiot. But she hadn't trusted her voice not to waver, not to sound properly undone.
"You should come with us to Hogsmeade," Ginny said, dragging Hermione's attention back. "We were going to grab sweets from Honeydukes."
Hermione opened her mouth to agree — and then shut it again, remembering. "I actually have plans."
"Plans?" Ron asked.
"Yes, Ron, plans. I…"
Think, you idiot.
"I have to tutor some first-years today." She finished. It was a horribly dull excuse, but she could hardly tell them she'd agreed to a date with Draco, and she was wary of using the Slytherins as a cover — especially with whatever was going on between Pansy and Harry.
Harry grinned at her knowingly over his goblet, and Hermione had to stop herself from kicking him under the table. He wasn't saying anything, but she could feel the weight of his amused suspicion across the table.
"Malfoy," Harry said, and Hermione's eyes went wide. Her mouth opened to remind him about his promise when he continued — "to what do we owe this displeasure?"
Her mouth shut as she spun around in her seat. Draco, Theo, and Daphne were standing just behind her.
Draco's eyes landed on Hermione, hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets. "Displeasure, Potter? If I recall correctly, you're the one stalking me." Even as he spoke to Harry, his voice drawling, his eyes didn't leave Hermione.
And, to Hermione's absolute horror, she laughed.
"You're welcome to join us," Ginny said with a grin. "Tell Pansy and Blaise to come over too."
Theo grinned. "As great as that sounds, I just needed to ask Hermione about the Ancient Runes homework. Draco here didn't take any notes." He rolled his eyes.
"And apparently neither did you," Hermione shook her head fondly. "Two-page essay. Pages 382 through 400."
Theo groaned. "Seriously? Almost a bloody book."
"It's twenty pages. I think you can manage," Daphne said flatly.
"Casual reading," Draco agreed, emphasising the word casual with a glance towards Hermione — a silent signal.
"Casual?" Hermione asked, eyeing him.
He nodded, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Well, I wouldn't recommend he wear dress robes. Perhaps nice trousers and a jumper."
That she understood. "I'm sure you can finish reading it by six, Theo."
Six o'clock. That was it then. She was free after six.
"Come on," Daphne said, tugging on Theo's sleeve. "You'll survive. Barely."
"Doubtful," he muttered, letting her drag him away.
Draco gave the group a curt nod before heading after his friends.
Hermione bit into her toast, leaning back slightly as she watched them go.
"Stop looking so suspicious," Harry muttered under his breath, leaning over under the guise of grabbing a roll.
Hermione blinked at him. "I'm not doing anything."
---
Hermione waved her wand over her hair for the third time, watching it reset in the mirror as she put in a pair of earrings. She was dressed simply: a casual pink jumper over a white camisole and a pair of blue jeans.
She had considered cancelling after spending an hour trying to figure out what to wear. It wasn't like her to care this much. She had spent the entire day wondering what Draco Malfoy's idea of a date actually looked like. She'd assumed it would be something lavish — and yet he'd told her casual, so here she was.
What if I mess up? she thought to herself. I talk a lot. Too much. What if I say something inappropriate? Or make a bad joke?
Hermione sighed heavily, tossing her wand onto the bed and glaring at her reflection.
It's just dinner, she reminded herself as she laced up her shoes. With Draco Malfoy. Why didn't he do something fancy? He seemed like the type. Was it because he thought she wouldn't fit in that setting? That she'd embarrass him?
She swallowed and stood up.
She was being ridiculous and she knew it.
He'd asked her to dinner. Properly. He could have had his way with her, and she wouldn't have stopped him. But he'd said he wanted to take her out.
She glanced at the clock: five fifty-eight. With a soft sigh, she headed out of her dormitory, through the common room, and out through the portrait hole.
Her breath caught as it swung shut behind her. Draco was standing just a few feet away, glancing at his watch and tapping his foot.
She looked up and down the empty corridor before stepping towards him. "Waiting for someone?"
Draco looked up at the sound of her voice, and for one breathless second, he just stared.
It wasn't fair, Hermione thought helplessly.
He was dressed in black trousers and a simple black jumper, and he still managed to look entirely put together.
A smile broke across his face as he looked her over. "You look nice."
She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You said casual, and you're still in trousers."
He huffed. "Come on, Granger, before you change your mind." He nodded for her to walk.
She couldn't quite suppress the smile that crept onto her lips. "So where are we going?" she asked as they walked, shoulders brushing every so often. Neither of them made any effort to stop it, and neither mentioned it.
"A restaurant in the village," he said simply.
"The Three Broomsticks?" she wondered.
Draco glanced at her and shook his head. "Somewhere less… crowded."
She met his eyes, then quickly looked away. "Right. Okay." She hadn't meant for her voice to come out quite that quiet.
He frowned. "Unless — unless you want somewhere more public."
Hermione stopped walking and turned to face him fully. "I expected something different," she admitted, not wanting to lie. "And I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you by saying that, but I'd just sit across from you all night wondering why. I figured you'd probably — like, when I — oh, Merlin, I sound completely mental."
Draco reached out, placing his hands on her arms to stop her. "Granger," he whispered, "I figured you'd want something more subtle. That the whole Malfoy thing wasn't really for you."
She'd prepared herself for the usual Draco — distant, aloof, a touch sarcastic — but here he was, actually trying to make this work.
"If I were someone else —"
"I didn't ask someone else to dinner." He cut her off. "Granger, if you —" He stopped himself with a shaky exhale, running a hand through his hair. "I could owl ahead and make a reservation at the finest restaurant in wizarding Britain if that's what you really want. I could buy you robes and jewellery to match so you outshine every witch in the room. If that's what you want, I'll do it. I'll spoil you rotten. But I've been driving myself mad all day trying to think of something that wouldn't frighten you off."
She watched him, her shoulders relaxing under his touch as his words washed over her. "I don't want you to pretend for my sake."
His hands slid from her arms. "I'm not pretending. There'll be people, just not… not anyone we know. I don't know if — we haven't even — do you want people to know?" His brows pulled together as he watched her, trying to read her.
Hermione felt her heart skip.
Do you want people to know?
The weight of those words hung in the air between them, and for a moment she just stared at him, caught in the uncertainty of it all.
"I —" she started, but her voice faltered.
She cleared her throat. "Harry has some idea. Not everything. Not even close." She laughed softly, ducking her head. "But I don't… I want to make up my own mind before I have anyone else in my ear telling me I'm insane."
Draco let out a soft scoff, turning his head away for a moment and closing his eyes.
"Of course Potter knows," he muttered to himself before turning back. "I'm not mad," he rushed to add. "But he's been on my case about it, and it's starting to make sense."
She groaned, bringing her hands to her face. "I'm going to kill him."
"Daphne knows too."
She dropped her hands. "What?"
"Not everything. Quite a bit, actually, but not everything. She knows we kissed. She knows I asked you out. But she won't tell anyone — I told her not to."
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, then laughed, dropping her head forward so it brushed lightly against his chest. "I'm shocked it wasn't Pansy."
"Merlin, she would've talked me out of it. I'm not an idiot, Hermione." Draco grinned. "No one else has to know, yeah?"
She nodded, smiling as she straightened up again. "Come on. We've got a dinner to get to."
He gave a small, relieved laugh and tilted his head in a silent after-you gesture.
They started walking again, falling into step easily, the tension between them easing into something lighter and more familiar. Hermione could feel the warmth of him beside her, his hand brushing against hers every so often in a way that made her whole body hum with nerves. Good nerves.
As they neared the castle's exit, she asked, teasingly, "So what's this 'less crowded' restaurant? Hopefully not Madam Puddifoot's."
Draco made a strangled noise in his throat, scandalised. "Give me some credit, Granger. I may not have pulled out the full Malfoy arsenal, but I'm not Weasley."
She laughed — bright and unexpected, even to her own ears — and Draco turned to look at her, his expression softening for a moment.
He watched her laugh, bright and easy, and instinctively reached out to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered against her cheek a moment too long.
Before he could say anything, a soft gasp cut through the moment, and he pulled his hand away.
Pansy stood at the door, cheeks slightly flushed, hair dishevelled, and lips a touch redder than usual — looking very much like someone who'd been caught mid-something. "Draco! Hermione!" She looked from one to the other.
Her eyes were wide, darting between them like a cornered Niffler, clearly trying to assess how much trouble she was in and how quickly she could lie her way out.
"What are you two doing?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.
Draco blinked. "Oh. Uh, we were just — I was heading to the pitch. Left my broom. Ran into Granger."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at Pansy, taking in the dishevelled state of her. "I was on my way back from the library."
Pansy raised her eyebrows. "On your way to where?"
"Where are you coming from, Pansy?" Draco asked, trying to steer the conversation away from them. "You look… flushed."
"Running."
"In a blouse?" Hermione asked, glancing at Pansy's hastily buttoned top.
"It's good exercise. Really gets the heart pumping."
Hermione crossed her arms, a wicked sort of amusement bubbling up. "Just the heart?"
The messy hair, the red lips, the blouse fastened on the wrong buttons. The only thing missing was Harry Potter himself — but judging by the state of her, he wasn't far.
Pansy hummed, walking towards them and linking her arm through Hermione's, spinning her around. "Why don't you two come join us for drinks? I heard Blaise invited Ginny."
Hermione stumbled slightly at the sudden grab and glanced back at Draco for help.
Draco stepped in front of them. "She was actually going to walk me to the pitch."
"You can get your broom tomorrow," Pansy said simply. "Come on. Daphne's already started. I promise it's not margaritas again."
Draco's jaw twitched at the mention of that particular night.
"I have an early morning, Pans," Hermione murmured. "Besides, I'm sure you're tired after all that cardio." She put a slight emphasis on the word.
Draco looked at Hermione over Pansy's head, his expression clearly communicating: well, bloody hell. Hermione swallowed a groan. She didn't want to go. She wanted to have dinner with him — just him — not spend the evening pretending they weren't desperately, stupidly gone on each other in front of half their friends.
But if they argued too hard, it would look suspicious.
Pansy was watching them closely, her expression bright and artificial — that particular Pansy smile that meant I know something, or I'm about to.
Draco sighed. "One drink."
---
Three drinks later, it was clear they weren't going anywhere near a restaurant.
Theo was deep in a story about his last detention, Daphne laughing far too loudly beside him.
Draco stayed close — not so close that anyone would find it suspicious unless they were paying attention, but always near enough that Hermione was acutely aware of him. His hand brushed her back when she shifted. His knee stayed pressed against hers. His arm bumped hers whenever they reached for drinks. Every touch was subtle; every glance lingered just a moment too long.
Pansy caught Hermione's eye once or twice across the room, her gaze sharp but unreadable. Hermione just smiled tightly and looked away.
Hermione had stretched out, taking up most of the sofa, her legs draped lazily over Draco's lap — casual enough to brush off as too much Firewhisky and a general air of exhaustion.
Draco's hand found her ankle under the guise of shifting her legs to give himself more room, but even after moving them, he didn't let go. His fingers found the bare skin just above her sock and traced light, absent shapes.
She smiled to herself, tilting her head back against the armrest, doing her very best to pretend she hadn't noticed.
"McGonagall has it out for me!" Theo huffed.
"You set her desk on fire," Hermione pointed out.
He turned to her, looking deeply offended. "At least I don't take up entire couches."
Draco gave Hermione's ankle a quiet squeeze.
Hermione scoffed, her lips twitching as she shifted her foot just enough to nudge his thigh with her toes — playfully, teasingly. "I'm petite."
"And feisty," Draco muttered under his breath.
Daphne snorted into her drink and shot Draco a look.
"I am not feisty," Hermione scoffed, stretching her arms above her head. She'd taken her jumper off earlier, the warmth of the common room and the alcohol getting to her.
"I would highly disagree," Draco said.
She glanced at him to find him watching her with that infuriatingly attractive almost-smirk on his mouth.
She let her legs fall flat against his thigh — a silent dare. "You're pompous."
"You punched me," he laughed, resting his hand against her calf.
Even through the thick denim, she could feel the heat radiating off him. "That was third year! I've evolved."
"You're sprawled out on my couch."
"I didn't realise the Malfoys owned the Slytherin common room," she said sweetly.
He hummed. "Maybe not. But your legs are taking up my entire lap."
"Maybe I'm just trying to make you squirm."
"Oh? You mean like —"
She sat up so fast she got dizzy, fixing him with a look that said, clearly: If you mention yesterday, I will hex you into next Tuesday.
Draco paused, lips twitching as he caught the look in her eyes. His expression softened, just slightly, but the mischief didn't fade. He leaned back against the cushions, stretching out casually as though nothing had happened.
"I wasn't going to say anything," he replied, a touch too innocent. "But you're right — I wouldn't want to incur your wrath."
Hermione gave him a pointed look, her legs still resting on his lap.
"You're such a pain," she muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused.
Draco's hand was still resting against her calf, and it remained there — not pulling away, not pressing forward, just present. The touch was light, almost an afterthought, but unmistakably there.
"Well, you do like it," he said, his voice laced with arrogance and something softer underneath. "If you didn't, you'd move."
Hermione's pulse quickened despite herself. She should move — just to prove a point. But she didn't want to.
She ignored him instead, turning to the group. "Ginny didn't come?" she asked Blaise.
He shook his head. "Said she had a date with Thomas."
She hummed. "Dean treats her well."
Draco squeezed her calf but said nothing.
The common room had grown pleasantly hazy with warmth — low firelight flickering against the stone walls, drinks half-finished and abandoned on every surface, the hum of conversation and laughter weaving between them all.
It wasn't the night they'd planned. No candlelit restaurant, no stolen kisses in quiet alcoves. But somehow, sitting here with him, her legs over his lap, his hand against her skin, his smile quietly hers — it felt nice.
It felt like the beginning of something.
Something dangerous and thrilling and inevitable.
Something that wasn't just physical.
Beneath it all, Hermione couldn't stop noticing the way Draco's fingers kept tracing over her skin. The way he glanced at her sometimes as if he'd forgotten anyone else was in the room. The way she desperately wanted to grab him by the collar and drag him out of there so they could have their night.
Later, she'd probably laugh at the fact that she, Hermione Granger of all people, had become the one itching to sneak off.
But for now, she just closed her eyes, let Theo's voice and Daphne's laughter wash over her, and let Draco's touch anchor her there.
They stayed like that for a good while, caught in the soft hum of everything unspoken, until slowly, gradually, the night began to fray at its edges.
One by one, people retreated to bed. Pansy left first, then Theo. Daphne stood up not long after, squeezing Draco's shoulder as she went and reminding Hermione she was welcome to crash in her room if she didn't fancy sneaking back to Gryffindor Tower.
"If you two decide to have a go tonight, do remember the Silencing Charm," Blaise murmured as he stood.
Hermione choked on a laugh, her face warm both from the Firewhisky and the joke.
Blaise smiled to himself. "Goodnight, darling," he said with a wink before departing.
Hermione sighed as Draco's fingers curled around her leg again. "You know, if I'd known before that you were this good at giving massages, I'd have agreed to date you much sooner."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are we dating, then?"
But even as he said it, his thumb brushed a slow, lazy circle against the inside of her ankle, just above the edge of her sock. It was maddeningly gentle, almost idle — but there was an unmistakable possession to it, as if he had every right.
Hermione sighed, a shiver running through her despite the warmth, and Draco laughed softly as she leaned back against the armrest. "Are we?" she asked quietly.
Draco leaned forward slightly — just enough for her to feel the warmth of him, just enough to make her crack one eye open to look at him.
"I will take you out properly. Without all of them getting in the way." He whispered. "Somewhere nicer than I'd planned for tonight."
She hated how easily he did that — how a single sentence and a single look could undo her so thoroughly.
She sat up slightly, bracing on her elbows, her legs still across his lap. Her hair fell loosely around her face, and she knew she probably looked a flushed, rumpled mess.
Draco looked at her as though she were something worth unravelling, and it made her chest ache in the best possible way.
"You really don't have to do the whole Malfoy production," she said quietly. "I just assumed —"
"You think highly of me," he cut her off with a teasing grin.
She huffed. She hated how much she liked this — the easy banter, the heat simmering beneath it all, the way he made her feel reckless and safe at the same time.
Draco's hand slid a little higher up her calf, deliberate now, no longer pretending it was accidental. "You'll dress all nice for me. Wear that pretty necklace I bought you." His fingers pressed lightly into the muscle, massaging slowly. "A real date."
Hermione bit her lip, torn between daring him to continue and daring herself to stop this before she lost all sense.
Humming softly, she leaned towards him. "You're very certain of yourself," she murmured.
Draco only smirked. "Only with you." Her heart skipped a beat as his fingers drifted a little higher, a little more daring, tracing a slow path behind her knee. His touch was maddening — teasing, careful — as if he was seeing just how far she'd let him go.
Her eyes flickered to his lips.
Draco caught it and smirked. "Something you want, Granger?"
Hermione swallowed and looked up at his eyes. When had they got so close?
"Normally, in the Muggle world," she murmured, watching his lips twitch, "when a date ends, the bloke kisses the girl goodnight. I don't know how much you purebloods know about that."
Draco huffed a soft laugh, as though he knew perfectly well she was baiting him. He moved anyway, his hand curling around the back of her knee as if to hold her in place, drawing a shiver from her. "I am familiar with the concept," he said, his breath ghosting over her face.
The common room had gone nearly silent. The only sounds were the fire and their breathing. The air between them stretched thin and taut.
His nose brushed hers — a fleeting, feather-light touch — and Hermione nearly groaned aloud, certain he would draw it out and tease her the way he always did.
She reached up and curled her hand into the front of his jumper. "Scared, Malfoy?"
She watched the flicker cross his face as his usual composure faltered. "Terrified," he breathed.
That single word — raw and unguarded — made something unravel in her, and she closed the distance, pressing her lips to his.
His hand around the back of her knee tightened as he pulled her towards him, almost into his lap, as if he was afraid she'd disappear.
His lips were soft against hers — unhurried, without desperation. He kissed her like he was memorising the feeling.
She sighed softly against his mouth and tilted her head a little, her hand sliding from his shoulder up into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.
He kissed her as if he had all the time in the world to learn exactly what she liked. His hand moved from her knee to her hip as she shifted closer, and he groaned softly when her fingers threaded through his hair.
He pulled away after a moment, pressing soft kisses along her jaw and making his way towards her ear as she laughed.
He stopped just below her ear, then pulled back and brushed her hair aside. "You're gorgeous, Hermione."
She smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips. "Careful. You'll get used to saying that and let it slip in front of someone."
Draco chuckled. "You're the one who sprawled all over me."
"I was comfortable," she argued, sighing softly as she stood and reached for her trainers. "I should head back before I take Daphne up on her offer."
Draco stayed seated, watching her with a lazy smile as she fumbled with her laces. "You could. Stay."
She snorted and grabbed her jumper from where she'd left it on the sofa, watching the way firelight played across his features. "I could," she agreed, her voice testing the word.
"I'm not going to drag you into my room, Granger. Tempting as that might sound," he said, standing with a soft stretch.
His jumper lifted slightly, and she barely caught the way her tongue slipped between her teeth before she pulled her gaze away. "Yes, you made that clear yesterday."
He raised an eyebrow and stepped closer. For a moment, she thought he'd kiss her again. Instead, he reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the exposed skin of her collarbone, drifting towards the hollow of her neck.
She held her breath.
"I won't pretend I don't want to," he murmured, his eyes moving over her. "But when I finally get you into my bed, Granger, it won't be with my roommates sleeping on the other side of the curtains."
She could feel the goosebumps rise on her skin.
"Wear the necklace next time?"
She arched a brow, masking the riot inside her chest. "Demanding, aren't you?"
Draco only smirked, as if he had all the time in the world to wear her down — and knew perfectly well that he would. His hands slid from her shoulders down her arms in a slow, lazy drag, leaving a trail of warmth behind.
"I like seeing you wear things I've given you," he said simply, almost too simply, as if it weren't a confession at all.
She huffed a laugh and shook her head. "I hate you."
"You like me."
---
When Hermione walked into Gryffindor Tower, she was smiling to herself.
The fire was still crackling low in the hearth, throwing long shadows across the room, and for a moment she thought she might make it up to her dormitory unseen.
"You were out late," Harry said from the sofa, and she cursed under her breath.
She sighed and walked over to him, slipping into the seat nearby and pulling her legs up. "I ran into Pansy. She dragged me in for drinks. It was strange — she looked rather flushed." She was still smiling even as she teased him.
Harry snorted and tossed a throw pillow at her, which she batted away lazily. "You're grinning like an idiot."
"I fear I've lost a couple of brain cells," Hermione agreed, making no effort to stop smiling.
"Still complicated?"
"Still shagging Pansy?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow. "We have a deal. No Malfoy talk until Tuesday."
Harry ran a hand over his face. "Longest five days of my life."
"And it's only been one," Hermione pointed out as she stood, walking over to him. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Night, Harry."
Harry recoiled with a groan. "If you're going around kissing Malfoy, keep that bloody mouth away from me."