It was a hot day, the ends of spring bringing the start of summer, the sun hot and bright, no wind in the air. He'd set up under one of the larger weeping trees, the leaves able to hide them from view.
Just because their friends- on both sides- were aware didn't exactly mean they were confirming their relationship for anyone else.
He paced around. Then stopped. Then paced again.
What was wrong with him? Why did she make him act like this?
He ran his hand through his hair.
This wasn't him. This was some version of him that had slowly begun to unravel when Hermione Granger stepped into his life in a role other than just the annoying girl who knew the answer to every bloody question.
This version of him was disgusting.
Really.
Pathetic.
The way his hands would sweat and shake, the way a lump would grow in his throat, and his chest would tighten. The way he fought to get her to just look at him. Merlin, he really was becoming clingy.
And it had only become worse after they started going out. And worse, after when she'd seen the Dark Mark on his arm and yelled at him for letting her love him. Even worse, when she had decided to stay with him despite what he had to do.
Every minute felt like ten.
His hand went into his pocket, fingers brushing over a small velvet box.
He pulled it out, flipping it open just to check that the bracelet was still there, as if it might have disappeared.
It was a simple gold bracelet with a knot in the middle. To the unsuspecting eye, there was nothing special.
But there, hidden within the knot, he had carved many nights of work into. Runes, far more ancient than anything Babbling had taught them, were hidden within.
There were five.
There were alerts woven in—silent, subtle pulses he'd feel in his ring if something went wrong. A quickening of her heart rate. A loss of movement. Danger.
The connection to his Malfoy signet ring was sealed through blood magic—his blood, her blood, which he'd gotten by pricking her finger with a needle when she slept.
She would be horrified.
But he'd done it anyway.
Because there was something unbearable about the thought of not knowing.
It would pulse just once if her heart stopped.
His jaw twitched, and he shut the box, putting it down on the blanket.
The other rune was a protection. It would only work a handful of times, if she was ever in any real danger, she couldn't get out of. It would react however she needed it to react. A shield, a stunning charm, a puff of smoke. Whatever she needed for the situation. It wouldn't stop whatever it was that was after her, but it would buy her enough time. It would keep her alive.
The third rune was a tracking charm.
Not in a creepy way. He'd agonized over that rune, wanting it to be just right.
He wouldn't be able to track her every movement, to see where she was at all times, and what she was doing.
No. His ring would be cold if she were far, and warm if she were near. Enough to tell him if she was there that coming night when he'd have to complete his task.
The fourth rune was the simplest. An anchoring charm for when she thought of him and touched the bracelet. It would give her a sense of familiarity, as if he were in the room. No protection. Nothing. Just… simply there.
The fifth and final rune was the hardest. It used the blood magic he'd already used for the first rune.
It was the oldest rune, not one he found in a book, buried in some forgotten tome in the Restricted Section.
It was a story.
A memory.
Something his mother used to murmur to him at bedtime when he was small—before everything in his life became dark and hard and sharp.
A rune that, according to Narcissa Malfoy, the purest of the pureblood families had been using for centuries.
His mother had whispered it to him as a child, describing how pureblood families once used it to bind not just people, but bloodlines, vaults, estates. It was an inheritance rune—an ancient sigil of trust and transfer, meant for marriages or sacred pacts.
'We've always protected what's ours." His mother had said as she put him to bed, "The Malfoys. The Blacks. Magic purer than the blood in our veins."
It was tradition. The final seal. Something old families wove into wedding bands, into home wards, into vault protections—granting spouses access to ancestral holdings, private homes, and magically sealed belongings. A bond of trust. A mark of forever.
Draco had… modified it.
He'd tinkered with it.
Changed it.
It wouldn't bind Hermione to him, not in the way the traditional spell intended.
He wasn't insane. He knew what they were and what they weren't.
But it would give her something far more practical.
Access.
Something that said, she's allowed in.
To Malfoy Manor. To his Gringotts vault. Even to wards sealed by blood. It would act as a magical skeleton key—not all powerful, but precise. Specific. Quietly threaded through the cracks of his world, giving her access in case everything fell apart.
He didn't even know why he'd done it, not exactly.
There was no reason for it.
But one night, when he hadn't quite been able to perfect the tracking rune yet, he remembered the nights with his mother, and before he knew it, he'd carved the rune in.
He heard her footsteps on the grass, the rustle of the tree as she moved the branches.
He turned sharply, eyes wide.
Hermione's eyes glanced around, taking in the scene and then she laughed.
His heart plummeted.
"Right," He muttered, heat crawling up his neck, "Brilliant. Yes. Just laugh."
And she did, almost doubling over.
"I'm leaving." He decided.
As he moved around to leave, Hermione quickly grabbed his arm, still laughing lightly, "No. No, really, please, I'm not, I'm not laughing at you."
Draco looked at her, face tinted pink, and she grinned at him, her hand slipping down his arm and into his.
"You're adorable."
He winced.
She laughed again, "I didn't expect this when you told me to meet you by the lake."
"Well, I wasn't planning on drowning you!"
She tilted her head, "I don't think I've ever seen you nervous before."
He huffed, "I'm not nervous."
She raised her eyebrows.
"I'm not!"
Hermione stepped closer, the sun catching in her hair as she kissed him softly, "You keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll believe it." She pulled him towards the blanket, sitting down.
He hated how much he liked it when she smiled at him like that.
"You did all this yourself?" She wondered as Draco opened the basket.
"Well, I didn't grow the fruit." He muttered.
She rolled her eyes, grabbing one of the sandwiches— the crust cut off just like she liked, "This is a date."
"You've heard of those, yes?" He said defensively, his pride scrambling to get back up.
"Yes, Malfoy. I've heard of dates. I've been on plenty of them."
He looked at her sharply then.
"Plenty?" He repeated before he could stop himself.
She nodded, biting into her sandwich, "Krum took me on a few. Vaisey. McLaggen. I went out with a muggle boy over summer a year or two ago, too."
She saw the way his eye twitched and heard him mutter something about breaking Bulgarian broomsticks as he served them both some pumpkin juice. She was pretty sure he didn't mean literal broomsticks.
Draco passed her the glass with a stiff, dignified sort of silence that only made Hermione smile wider. She took it from him, watching his jaw flex as he stared somewhere over her shoulder.
She sipped slowly.
"You asked."
He didn't look at her. "I didn't really want to know."
"Well, then you shouldn't have asked!" She was laughing again.
"Noted," he snapped.
She was watching him, "You're jealous."
"I am not."
"You are." Her voice had turned teasing, "It's cute."
"So I'm adorable and cute." He said, "There goes any shred of dignity."
"You cut the crusts off my sandwiches."
He groaned, "I was trying to be thoughtful, not completely emasculate myself by hearing about the other boys you've shagged!"
Hermione choked on her bite of sandwich, coughing hard as she reached for her glass of pumpkin juice, quickly swallowing it, "Malfoy!"
He screwed his eyes shut, "I didn't mean… dated. Obviously." He rubbed a hand over his face.
She stared at him, somewhere between horror and amusement.
Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still half-laughing, half-coughing. "You really know how to kill a moment, you know that?"
"I'm aware," Draco muttered, not meeting her eyes.
"You're the one who asked if I knew what a date was." She pointed out.
"Because you said 'this is a date,' like you didn't know."
"Because you've never taken me on one!" Hermione accused.
He did turn to look at her then, offended, "I've taken you on plenty."
"You've snuck me into the kitchens and you've sat across from me in the library and snogged me stupid in cupboards, but you've never taken me out."
Draco huffed, "I tried taking you out, we got interrupted. Next time I'll owl bloody Krum and ask him for advice."
"Don't you dare owl Viktor Krum for dating advice."
"Why not? Clearly, the man knows how to plan one."
She threw a strawberry at him.
He caught it, smug.
She narrowed her eyes, "If you must know, I didn't shag Viktor Krum. I would rather die than shag McLaggen. I dated Vaisey to prove a point to you. And though the muggle boy was rather nice, I didn't want to risk my magic shorting a bloody lamp again if I had shagged him." Her face had gone red, muttering something else Draco couldn't make out as she looked through he basket, pulling out some blueberries he'd brought.
Draco's lips twitched, eyes narrowing slightly with that dangerous gleam she knew too well—the one that always came right before he said something either wicked or devastatingly smug.
"If you're going to make a joke about how I'm a virgin, I don't want to hear it." She said, rather fast, swallowing down her embarrassment with the blueberry she plopped into her mouth.
Draco paused.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, but no words came out.
He bit into his sandwich, his own face growing red as he chewed, slowly.
Hermione glanced at him, "You're not going to make a joke?"
"I actually hadn't pieced it together until the word virgin left your mouth." He admitted quietly.
Hermione froze mid-chew, a horrified sort of realization dawning on her face. "Oh my god."
Draco stared determinedly at the lake. "Yeah…"
"Oh my god! Forget I said anything!"
Hermione was beet red now, her sandwich halfway to her mouth and completely forgotten. She stared at him like she wished she could obliviate the last ten seconds from both their memories.
Draco still wasn't looking at her. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense, as if not acknowledging the moment might erase it.
"You said it with your whole chest, Granger. Bit late now."
She covered her face with both hands and groaned.
And he couldn't help it—he laughed.
It started low in his chest, involuntary, unexpected, and completely sincere. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just… amused. Disarmed.
Hermione peeked through her fingers, glaring at him. "It's not funny."
Draco wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. "It's a little funny."
"Glad to know my humiliation brings you joy."
"I just didn't expect you to announce it so boldly."
She reached across the blanket and smacked him on the arm.
"Oi!" He laughed.
There was something light in her expression now, a soft kind of amusement under her embarrassment curling at the corners of her mouth. He could breathe again.
They ate in relative silence for a moment, the sounds of birds and the rustling leaves overhead filling in the space between bites. The occasional splash from the lake drifted up on the warm breeze. Hermione sat cross-legged now, her skirt tucked neatly beneath her, one hand propping her up as she tilted her face toward the sun.
Draco watched her in spite of himself.
Always watching.
She hadn't asked. She'd heard rumors about him—snippets overheard in corridors, whispers from girls who giggled too loudly when his name came up. The way some of them talked, like he was some dangerous game, a secret to be conquered or feared. But a part of her didn't want to know. Didn't want to unravel the stories behind those rumors or count the notches in his belt.
She could have asked. She probably should have. It was most likely the only time she'd be able to seamlessly ask without having to explain herself.
A simple, "Well, now that you know about me… what about you?"
But she didn't.
She could still feel him watching, "What?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I am." He agreed, "I have a gift for you."
Hermione blinked, "Something absurd and shiny?"
He hummed, "We both know you like the shiny gifts." He said, grabbing the small velvet box, tossing it at her.
Hermione caught the box easily, turning it over in her hands. The velvet was soft, but the weight of it felt heavier than it should, like it carried a secret.
"What is it?" she asked, curiosity lighting her eyes.
He shrugged, "Open it."
She pushed the top open, eyes softening as she looked at the simple gold bracelet, "Draco…"
"It's nothing special." He said, moving to take it out of the box, motioning for her to give him her arm.
She held her arm out, letting him clasp it into place, feeling the soft hum of magic. "It's charmed."
"Warded against corrosion." He lied easily, "Basically means you can wear it in the shower. Pansy does it to all her jewellery. I had her show me."
He hadn't told her. He wouldn't. If she knew, she'd argue about boundaries, or independence, or how she could take care of herself.
But she wasn't safe. Not anymore. Not with what was coming.
The fire had burned low in its hearth, long shadows cast over the room, Hermione fast asleep on the seat closest to the warmth, a Flipendo Spellbook splayed across her chest, forgotten.
"She's going to snap her neck like that," Ginny commented as she traded her chocolate frog card with Seamus.
"Let her." Ron muttered, moving his pawn, nodding to Dean that it was his turn, "Maybe she'll wake up sane."
"Ron," Harry said, "You can't be mad forever."
"Watch me."
Seamus set his chocolate frog cards down, looking through them for another to trade, "Not that it's any of my business, but do you all feel like finally bringing the rest of us into the know?" He wondered, referencing himself and Dean.
Dean nodded, moving his chess piece, "Please. Because we were all here when Hermione blew up at Harry over attacking Malfoy, but we're not totally sure why."
Ginny looked at him, rolling her eyes as if he were an idiot.
He held his hands up, "I mean, we have our guesses!"
Ginny leaned back against the arm of the couch, arms crossed over her chest, her gaze flitting briefly to Hermione, still fast asleep by the dying fire. "If you've guessed, you probably already know."
"Cryptic, Gin, thanks."
"She's lost her bloody mind, is what's happening." Ron said, "Shagging Malfoy."
"Dating." Harry corrected.
"Right, that's why he said what he said about her mouth."
Seamus snorted, "What did he say about her mouth?"
Ginny scoffed, "Don't encourage him."
"He really didn't say anything." Harry pointed out, "Just that she has a… good mouth… on her. It doesn't sound any better without the implications, if we're honest."
Dean laughed.
Ginny smacked Harry over the head, "I hope she wakes up and kills you."
"I didn't want to hear it in the first place!" Harry argued, "Pansy thought it was fucking hilarious."
"Oh, are we allowed to talk about Pansy then?" Seamus asked.
Harry felt his blood run cold. "What?"
"The fact you two are shagging." Dean said, knocking over Ron's knight.
Ginny snorted as Ron's head snapped up.
"What are you- what?" Harry asked.
"So we're still pretending." Seamus nodded, "Got it."
"Why would you- why? Why do you think Parkinson and I are- why? Why?" Harry was sputtering.
"Smooth, Potter," Ginny whispered.
Dean sighed, "Months ago, we were coming back to the dorm, and when we walked in, Parkinson and Hermione were there. Hermione was obviously breaking her out. She threatened us not to tell you we knew. She can be scary."
Harry rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something that sounded like "bloody hell" into his palms.
"Pansy bloody Parkinson." Ron laughed, clapping Harry on the back, "I mean, she's mental, but she's still fit."
Ginny scoffed, "You're kidding me."
Ron glanced at her, "What? You got to admit, Parkinson is—"
"The female version of Malfoy." She cut him off, "Harry shacks up with her, and he gets congratulated. Hermione falls in love with Malfoy, and that's a problem."
"It's not the same."
"Isn't it?" Dean asked.
Ron threw his hands up, "Malfoy is- he's Malfoy! His father's in Azkaban. Besides, it's not like Harry's dating her. He shagged her."
Harry spoke that time, "So if Hermione had just shagged Malfoy you'd be okay with it?"
Ron turned red, scowling. "That's not what I meant."
"You're just upset you didn't get to her first," Seamus muttered.
"That's not- I didn't- I don't- Harry doesn't like it either!" Ron yelled.
Hermione stirred where she lay, still asleep, something that sounded suspiciously like 'Draco' leaving her mouth.
"I don't like Malfoy." Harry said, keeping his voice down so as not to wake the sleeping girl, "But I don't really care what Hermione does. I want her to be happy."
Hermione was still murmuring in her sleep, "No… stop… library." It was only bits and pieces of whatever she was saying in her head.
Ginny glanced over at Hermione, rolling her eyes, "Only Hermione would dream of the library."
The Flipendo Spell book slid off her chest and thudded onto the rug, but she didn't wake. Her hand twitched, a smile forming on her face.
Ron huffed, "For Merlin's sake, she's smiling."
Dean snorted, "That's the smile of a girl who's getting snogged in the restricted section."
Harry snorted despite himself, "I fear that might not be a joke."
"She used to yell at us for talking during study sessions." Seamus huffed, shaking his head.
"She's probably casting the silencing charms now." Dean clicked his tongue.
Ron groaned, "Can we not talk about this?"
"Why?" Ginny tilted her head. "You had no issue talking about Harry and Pansy."
Hermione moved again, and they glanced over, "Don't… Dra… Malfoy... stop..."
Ginny stood up then, "I'm waking her." She decided, not asking their opinion, as she moved over to Hermione.
She crouched beside the armchair, one hand hovering just above Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione," she said gently, then a little firmer, "Hermione, wake up."
Hermione groaned softly, swatting her away, mumbling something unintelligible.
"Oi, princess," Ginny said, a bit louder now, tapping her shoulder. "Do I need to get Malfoy to wake you? If I hear you start moaning his name-"
That did it.
Her eyes blinked open, and she sat up, rubbing her face, stretching. "What did Draco do now?" She asked, still mostly asleep as she made to lie down again.
Ginny scoffed, "You tell us, Sleeping Beauty. You were putting on a show."
Hermione froze halfway through settling back into the cushion. "What do you mean?"
"Something about Malfoy and the library and you either wanted him to stop or really didn't want him to stop," Harry said from where he was in the room.
She sat bolt right then, looking over at the four boys. "Oh my god, no, that's not- that makes it sound really bad, I wasn't-" She dropped her face into her hands, her brain trying to catch up.
"It sounded pretty straightforward," Ron muttered.
"I was arguing with him in my dream. Really." She said from behind her hands. "Something about charms? And- and pineapples and how I had to get to the library and he..." She raised her head then, "It was a dream, it makes no sense once you're awake!"
She sighed, picking her book up from the floor. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was… revising."
Ron folded his arms, unconvinced. "Arguing with Malfoy in your dreams? Sounds more like you're having a private lesson in snogging technique."
Hermione shot him a glare that could have wilted a mandrake. "You know, if you spent half as much time studying as you did scolding me, you'd be top of the class."
"Why lie if you're not ashamed?"
Harry stood, "I'm going to bed if you two are going to start fighting."
Hermione huffed, standing up as well, "I'm not in the mood to fight when I'm barely awake, Ron."
The air was biting up in the astronomy tower, Draco leaning against the edge of the fence, staring out at the grounds.
He'd heard her footsteps before she spoke, but he was kind of surprised as to who it was.
"It's a little late for an astronomy lesson, no?"
He turned around, raising an eyebrow at Daphne, "What are you doing here?"
She shrugged, stepping towards him, wrapping her coat tighter around herself, "I had a feeling you wouldn't be in your room."
He laughed softly, "Well, congratulations."
Daphne hummed, leaning next to him. She let them stand in silence for a moment, the only sound being the blowing wind and owls outside the castle.
"You're not going to let her help when they get here, are you?" She asked quietly, looking at him.
Draco's lips twitched, not meeting her eyes, staring into the distance like he was imagining a future that had yet to be written. "They'll kill her." He said quietly. "She doesn't know what she's walking into."
She nodded, as if agreeing, "She's the brightest witch of our age. I don't think there's any way she's not aware of what she's entangled in."
Hermione's blouse was open, Draco's weight pressed gently on top of her, one hand splayed against the mattress by her head, the other enthralled in her curls like it was the only place it wanted to be.
His mouth moved hungrily against hers, her hands running over his bare chest, her legs bent, knees brushing against his hips every so often.
"Draco." She groaned, knees pressing tighter against his hips, fighting the urge to wrap her legs around him and drag him closer.
Draco grinned against her mouth, biting her bottom lip as he pulled off, kissing her neck, her collarbone, making his way down to her chest, teeth grazing lightly against the exposed flesh of her left breast just above her bra.
"Tease," She gasped, hips shifting slightly.
His grin widened as he settled his weight more fully between her thighs, groaning softly.
She huffed, bringing one of her hands up to his hair, pushing his face down between her breasts, "Get back to it, Malfoy."
Draco chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as he nuzzled back between her breasts, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her sternum. Her skin was warm and flushed beneath his mouth, the faint trace of her perfume dizzying up close.
"You're very bossy when you're half-naked," he murmured, kissing the edge of her bra, letting his teeth graze the fabric before lifting his gaze to meet hers.
She groaned, "Yeah well," a soft gasp, "You can take charge when you finally get your dick up to fuck me."
Draco laughed and mercilessly rolled his hips, "You mean like that?"
"Oh my god!" Hermione gasped in shock, practically screaming as her nails dug slightly into his shoulders, back arching as her hips jutted up to meet his.
His eyes rolled back as he moaned against her skin, "Good oh my god or bad oh my god?" He murmured against her skin as he rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, testing the waters he hadn't dared to let himself cross.
Her thighs tightened around him in response, a moan leaving her as he ground down against her again, "Don't you dare stop, Malfoy."
His mouth was back on hers, needy, urgent, like he couldn't get close enough. Hermione kissed him back with equal desperation, her fingers threading into his hair, keeping him exactly where she wanted him.
His hips rolled again, slower this time, more deliberate. The friction of his trousers against the thin cotton of her knickers pulled a shuddering gasp from her mouth into his, her thighs tightening around him like a vice, skirt having ridden up.
"Fuck," he groaned.
Hermione dragged her nails down his back, not enough to hurt, just enough to leave a trail of something he'd feel later. "Don't stop," she whispered again, voice wrecked and breathless.
He didn't plan to.
His hand slid from the mattress to her waist, fingers curving around the swell of her hip, holding her in place as he pressed into her, slow and rhythmic. Her hips rose instinctively to meet his, grinding up, matching him, the heat between them unbearable.
She let out a helpless noise, head lolling back with a moan as he shifted on top of her, picking up a new rhythm as he did so, sucking on her neck as his hips pressed perfectly against the spot that made her hips jerk.
She felt him everywhere—his hands at her waist, in her hair, his mouth at her neck, his hips pressing hard and steady between hers.
"Fuck, Granger, Hermione, 'Mione, darling," he moaned against the hot skin of her neck, "You're going to kill me.
Hermione moaned, "Then die, just don't stop."
Draco buried his face in her neck, groaning her name like a prayer, his hips grinding down with more force, more intention. She whimpered, hips rising to meet him, chasing every friction-filled movement, her breath stuttering as her nails dug into his sides.
She was going to die like this. She was certain. She was going to die, and she was going to thank him.
She could feel how hard he was, could feel every ridge and pulse of him through the thin, worn barrier of cotton and wool, and she wanted—
He thrust again, grinding hard, and she arched into it as Draco's hand slipped down her waist, her hip, following the curve of her thigh until it reached the back of her knee, hitching her leg further up.
"Draco, Draco- fuck, Malfoy, Merlin, fuck, Draco, fuck," The change in angle made Hermione cry out, one of her hands fell down to the bed spread, clutching at it as if it were life itself.
Draco moaned at the sound of his name falling from her parted lips. His hand slid up under her thigh, gripping it tight enough to bruise, keeping her in place as he ground against her again, harder, more frantic now.
He was kissing her again, "Say my name. Come on. Just like that, love. Say my name." He murmured against her lips.
She shook her head, eyes screwed shut as she held onto the duvet for dear life, "No- no- fuck- fuck- Draco- Draco- Draco I'm going to- oh god no no no-"
Draco groaned as if the sound itself was dragged from the depths of his soul, "Do you- fuck, Hermione- do you want me to stop?"
"No. No. Don't you dare stop, Malfoy." She tightened her legs around him, "Please, I- fuck I'm going to-"
"You're going to what?" he asked, voice dark and full of lust, teeth brushing her jaw as he rocked into her again. Slow. Deep. Precise.
"Fuck, I don't know, combust." She gasped.
He chuckled, breathless, teeth dragging along her neck before nipping gently at the skin just below her ear. "Combustion sounds promising."
She groaned and bucked up hard against him, forcing a surprised sound out of his mouth as their hips collided just right again—heat and friction building dangerously fast.
"Merlin, Granger," He moaned, glancing down between them, "You're soaked."
Hermione's only response was a strangled moan, her head falling back against the pillow, curls spilling out like a halo around her. Draco watched her for a moment, eyes drinking her in like he couldn't believe she was really here, under him, open and flushed and wild.
He rolled his hips again, harder this time, dragging the full length of himself against her through the frustrating barrier of fabric between them, and she cried out, her thighs clenching tight.
"Fuck, darling," he breathed, voice ragged, lips hovering over hers, "I want you. All of you. I want you. I want you to cum for me. Cum for me screaming my name. Will you do that, darling? Will you do that for me?"
Draco's voice poured into her like warm honey, thick and slow and sinful.
The friction was maddening—the way the fabric caught and dragged and pressed against her in just the right place, relentless and unyielding.
"You feel that, darling? That's me. That's all me. That's what you do to me." He panted, rutting his hips.
She arched into him, meeting his thrusts with hungry, frantic rhythm, the fabric between them soaked through and clinging, every motion slick and desperate. Her thighs were shaking from the pressure, her body strung tight like a bowstring ready to snap.
Draco's hand curled around the back of her knee again, pulling her even closer, grinding his hips hard into the cradle of hers until she gasped—half-moan, half-sob. She could feel it, every traitorous inch of him, so close yet so far to finally being inside her.
"Come on, Granger, you've been begging me to fuck you for weeks. You want me to fuck you? Really fuck you? Be a good girl. Be a good girl and say my name, will you? Only good girls get to cum."
She shook her head around her moans, "No- no- fuck- I can't- I can't-" because as much as she wanted it, wanted him, as much as she would have killed for a moment like this, she hated the idea of losing her control.
Draco growled low in his throat, something primal and impatient, and pressed down harder with his hips, dragging against her with enough pressure to make her cry out. "You can. You can. I know you can. Fuck, Hermione, you're perfect. Every fucking sound you make. The way you move. So bloody perfect. Like you were made for this, darling, like you were made for me. Made for my cock."
His trousers were damp from where she'd soaked through her knickers, the pressure of her grinding up against him turning his thoughts to nothing but static.
He felt how her thighs trembled, heard how she gasped as he buried his face in her breasts.
"Draco, Draco, gods, Draco, please, please don't- please, gods, Draco," she sobbed, one hand finding his back, nails dragging down his skin, her other tightening on the duvet again.
Draco didn't stop. Couldn't have if he tried.
Her voice wrecked him—gutted him from the inside out, all sobbed gasps and breathless pleas, his name falling from her lips like it was the only thing she still remembered. He dragged his hips hard against her again, catching the spot he knew now, the spot that drove her mad.
"Please what, love?" he whispered into her skin, lips pressing to the underside of her jaw now, tasting the salt of her sweat, the frantic thrum of her pulse beneath her skin. "Tell me. Tell me what you need."
She whimpered, body trembling beneath him, a flush rising to her cheeks.
"You gonna cum for me, darling?" He grunted, "Just from this? Come on, darling, cum for me. It's okay. I've got you. All of you. I've got you. You're mine. My beautiful, beautiful witch."
Her back arched violently as it hit her—white-hot, full-body, unstoppable. A cry tore from her throat, so sharp it felt like it broke something open inside her. Her thighs clenched hard around his hips, her nails raked down his back as she shattered beneath him, every inch of her locked tight, pulsing with the force of it. "Draco- Draco- fuck, Malfoy. Draco." His name stumbled from her lips again and again.
Draco groaned—deep, guttural—as he felt her come apart, felt the heat and tremble and wetness soak through everything. His own body was right there on the edge, his hips grinding harder, seeking any relief, but he didn't let up. Didn't stop whispering her name, didn't stop holding her like she was precious. Not when she came apart under him. Not when he caught the way the lights flickered around them, going dark a few seconds too long, as she came, her magic spilling from her fingertips almost as hard as her orgasm.
Draco lifted his head from her shoulder, gazing at her as if she were something holy. Or cursed. He wasn't quite sure.
Her magic still buzzed in the air, and she was still mumbling his name.
He kissed her, slow, deep, his hips still moving against her now much more sensitive cunt, still painfully hard in his trousers.
Hermione whimpered into his mouth, breath hitching as his clothed cock ground against her overstimulated cunt—each stroke sending little lightning bolts of sensation up her spine.
"Draco—" she gasped against his lips, the sound half-plea, half-laughter, "S-sensitive—wait—"
But she didn't stop him. Her hands curled into his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, as if she needed something to anchor her, to remind her she hadn't entirely left her body.
"I know," he murmured, voice rough and low, pressing his forehead against hers, "Just… a little longer. Just—fuck, Hermione, I need—"
She nodded, dazed, mouth parted, still panting. "Okay. Yeah. Okay." She was sure she'd agree to whatever he asked of her if he asked it now.
His rhythm grew erratic, need pulsing through him like wildfire, the damp heat of her soaked knickers against him absolutely ruining any hope of composure. He hissed through his teeth as he rutted harder, chasing friction, pressing his cock against her with wild, helpless desperation.
He ground into her again, and her whole body jolted at the sensation—soaked fabric dragging against swollen, tender flesh, sending white-hot sparks up her spine. Her back arched despite herself, a half-sob caught in her throat.
"Shhh," he murmured, breathless, kissing her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "You're doing so well, darling. So fucking good for me. Just—fuck—just let me—"
Another thrust. Another jolt of unbearable sensitivity. Her legs shook. Her hips twisted. She didn't know if she was trying to escape or to hold him tighter. Both, maybe.
"Draco—" she gasped, eyes flying open, glassy and dazed. "I—can't—"
"Yes, you can," he growled, barely able to form the words as he gripped her hip hard, pulling her flush against him. "You're already doing it. Let me—fuck, Hermione, I'm gonna—"
He groaned like he was dying, like it was being torn out of him, and then—
He thrust against her one last time, hard, the rough drag of his cock against her unbearably slick, sensitive core the final push he needed. His body tensed, went rigid, and a loud, broken sound tore from his throat as he came, hips jerking once, twice, again, lost in it.
Draco shifted, finally easing the pressure between her legs, but the sudden absence made her whimper, twitching again. Her hips jerked at the ghost of sensation, at the unbearable emptiness that followed.
"Shh, love, I've got you," he murmured, easing his weight off her, rolling onto the bed, pulling her towards him as he did so, chest rising and falling heavily as he tried to catch his breath.
He held her close, running his hand up and down her arm as he murmured in her ear. "That's my girl. Such a good girl. Perfect, really. You felt so good, and I wasn't even- you're perfect, Hermione."
She whimpered again, flushing at the praise, "Feels like you hexed me." She mumbled against the skin where she was pressed into his side.
He laughed, the sound escaping from deep in his chest, "Says the girl who made the bloody lights go out."
They lay in silence for a few minutes, Draco's hand still running over her skin, carefully. At some point, he'd pulled a blanket over her.
"Not to ruin the moment, Granger," Draco finally drawled, "But if I don't change into some new trousers…"
Draco's voice was low, rough with exhaustion and satisfaction, but there was an edge of humor beneath it. Hermione shifted slightly in his arms, her body still humming from the intensity, but she couldn't help smirking at the interruption.
"If you'd taken them off…" she said, "Go. Be fast."
He laughed softly, kissing his forehead as he moved off the bed.
As Draco left, Hermione rolled onto her back, looking up at the canopy roof of the bed. She ran a hand over her flushed face, glancing down at herself, her bra barely in place, skirt askew around her waist.
She flattened her skirt down in some decorum of modesty, sitting up as she buttoned her blouse back into place.
Draco came back out of the bathroom in a new pair of trousers, plopping down on the bed, "You owe me new trousers."
Hermione hummed, "What's your favorite dessert?"
Draco blinked at her, thrown by the question. His lips twitched. "What?"
She smoothed the last button of her blouse into place and looked over at him with that maddening, knowing little tilt of her head, "I feel I deserve to know your favorite dessert."
"You deserve to know?" He asked with a laugh.
He narrowed his eyes at her, pretending to consider. "Baked Alaska."
"Predictable."
"It's a good dessert."
"It screams money," she countered, smoothing her hair back with her fingers, trying in vain to tame the wild curls he'd thoroughly ruined
He huffed, "I like chocolate, too. Especially if you feel like wearing it."
Hermione arched a brow. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Malfoy."
Draco smirked as he sank back against the pillows, arms folding behind his head. "That's demonstrably false."
She scoffed but couldn't quite hide the twitch of a smile.
"So," he wondered, "what's yours? Apple pie?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I've been leaning towards lava cake lately."
Draco hummed at that, the sound low and pleased, eyes fixed on her as she adjusted her blouse and smoothed her skirt again. "Are you planning on asking me more questions then?"
Her eyes darted away from him and to the bracelet on her wrist, considering his question before answering, "I don't know if I'm allowed to ask them." She admitted softly.
Draco's eyes softened, and he glanced down at the bracelet she was now turning in her hand.
"You can ask me anything you want, Granger."
She looked back up at him, lips twitching, "That's a dangerous invitation."
He smiled at her, "Been through worse."
Hermione huffed, "Okay. Okay, yeah, sure, um, I… favorite class?"
Draco blinked, "That's what you weren't sure you could ask me?" His lips twitched to smile.
"I'm working up to it."
"Potions." He answered.
"Song?"
He shrugged, "Anything on the piano. Not much of a Weird Sisters fan."
She didn't speak for a moment, biting her bottom lip as she looked at him.
"What?" he asked, quieter now, watching her teeth tug at her lip.
"What do you want to do after Hogwarts?"
Draco faltered slightly, the question hitting him like a bucket of ice water.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected her to ask, though he was sure it wasn't a question on what exactly he thought his future looked like.
She seemed to notice his hesitation because she was quick in taking it back, "Forget it. I shouldn't have- I don't even know why I-"
"No." He cut her off, "I- I want to answer. You're allowed to ask. I…" his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, "Well, I guess, that depends on a lot of things."
"Things?"
He glanced down at his hands, "Well, I assumed I'd do something in politics, probably. Anything that made the Malfoy name… bigger. Louder."
She nodded.
He looked back at her then, "Now though," he slowed, trying to find the words.
Now?
Now he wanted to live.
To make it out of what he'd found himself stuck in.
To not end up in Azkaban next to his father.
"Now?" She pressed quietly.
He swallowed, "I think I'd like to disappear, if I'm being honest."
Hermione was quiet.
She sat with her legs curled beneath her, fingers worrying the edge of her skirt as she looked at him, not the way one looks at someone with pity, or even concern, but with understanding. With the weight of someone who knew what it meant to want something so small and human that it felt impossible.
To disappear.
To just be, without expectation or fear or legacy bearing down like a noose.
She swallowed thickly. "Where do you think you'd disappear to?"
He huffed softly, "That negates the point, doesn't it? If I tell you, I wouldn't really be disappearing."
She smiled faintly, "I suppose so. Well, I guess that answers the other questions I had."
"Other questions?" He wondered.
Hermione shook her head, "Doesn't matter now."
Draco sat up a little, "No, you can't do that, Granger. I'm curious."
"Well, curiosity killed the cat."
He stared at her, "That's a really fucking weird sentence. Good thing I'm not a- a cat? I don't- the fuck does that mean?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "It's a Muggle saying."
"Clearly. I just remembered why we're meant to hate them. You're all weird as fuck." He muttered, shaking his head, "Okay, ask your questions."
Getting on her knees, Hermione moved towards him, kissing him slowly, hoping maybe he'd get distracted enough to forget.
Draco kissed her back, slow and lingering, his thumb brushing against her waist, content but not distracted.
When she pulled back, she sat back down, ready to move on to the next topic.
"That didn't work." He practically sang. "Hermione, you don't have to be afraid of the answer."
"I'm not afraid." Hermione said, almost a little offended, "I just know the answers now."
He frowned, "That's not fair. You're assuming the answer."
"I'm usually right." She pointed out, picking at a thread on her skirt once more.
Draco's hand twitched, and he grabbed his forearm, pulling it towards himself as if visibly closing himself off from whatever he'd opened, and he finally looked away from her, eyes falling to the dark mark hidden beneath his shirt sleeve.
Hermione saw it happen—the shift. The way he turned inward, the way his jaw clenched, how his hand gripped his forearm like Hermione had practically spat on him and called him everything in the book.
She watched the way his thumb pressed into his skin, just above where she knew the mark lay beneath the fabric. That cursed, branded piece of him he couldn't wash off no matter how hard he scrubbed.
Her voice was quieter when she spoke again, careful. "I didn't mean—"
"I don't care." His voice cut hers off, rougher than before.
She swallowed thickly, "Draco—"
"Do you want to know what I want to do after Hogwarts, Granger?" He asked, "I want to not end up in the cell next to my father, that I'm sure already has my name on it."
He ran a hand over his face, "Fuck, Hermione." It was less anger and more defeat.
Hermione ducked her head, and quietly let out her question, "I was going to ask where you wanted to live. What you think your future looks like. If you-" she swallowed her nerves, "If you ever wanted to get married. Not- not to me, just- just in general. If you want kids or- or a cat or a dog."
Draco was quiet.
She looked back at him then, "I just wanted to know you other than the dark and brooding stuff that keeps taking up all our time." She admitted quietly. "I didn't mean to… none of it has to do with me. I don't have to be involved in this make-believe future."
"You want to know the boring stuff?" he asked, voice low, almost hesitant.
Hermione nodded, folding her hands in her lap.
"I-" he sighed, "I don't know, Hermione. Somewhere with trees. Or maybe near the ocean. Somewhere quiet. But not… not quite like the Manor. A garden."
She smiled softly, "A castle?"
"A cottage. For a few years. Maybe I'd get sick of it. Want a big house. A room for my mum when she gets older. A library."
She could almost see him barefoot, hair messier than usual, wearing worn-in shirts and drinking tea in the morning.
"A library?" she asked, her voice careful, laced with something like hope.
Draco looked at her, eyes softer now. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Her eyes flickered, "Does it matter what I'd like?" She asked carefully.
He shrugged, dropped her eyes again, "I- well- I- you- you could visit." He scratched the back of his neck, as if he'd accidentally said too much.
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "Visit?"
Draco didn't look up, and she could see how his ears turned pink.
"Just… if you wanted to," he muttered, still not looking at her. "It's hypothetical."
"Right," she said softly, tucking a curl behind her ear as she fought the warmth blooming in her chest. "Totally hypothetical. Just visiting."
He made a vague sound of agreement, noncommittal and thoroughly uncomfortable.
Hermione leaned forward slightly, her tone teasing but quiet. "Would this hypothetical cottage have a guest room?"
Draco swallowed, "Do you- do you want a guest room?"
"Well, I'd rather not sleep on your couch."
He looked back at her then, "You wouldn't sleep on the couch."
Hermione glanced away, laughing softly, "The floor then."
Draco nodded, his smile bordering between happy and sad. Like he knew what she was trying to wriggle out of him, but was too afraid of saying it and being wrong.
"I'll make sure to have an extra pillow then." He said.
"You'd need to have kneazle food. I'm not leaving Crookshanks." She whispered, "And keep your dog on a leash."
"I never said anything about a dog."
Hermione sighed, "Yeah, but you'd have one. Big. Shaggy. Probably gets mud everywhere. I'd hate him."
Draco chuckled under his breath, the sound dry but warm. "You'd pretend to hate him. But he'd follow you everywhere, and you'd start sneaking him treats when you thought I wasn't looking."
Hermione gave a soft, conspiratorial smile. "He'd probably sleep on your bed."
Draco grinned at her, "You can name him."
"Not your wife?"
Draco's grin faltered for the barest moment, "I didn't say I had one."
"Just making sure she wouldn't be upset if I named your dog and slept on your floor."
"And alphabetized my library?"
She nodded, "By author. Not title."
Draco smiled softly.
"There's still one question you didn't answer." She whispered.
Draco blinked, thinking back to Hermione's little moment of word vomit.
Where, what, married, dog, cat, kids.
"I don't think I want any, no." He answered, "I don't think I'd be a good father."
She nodded, knowing better than to argue.
"What future do you want, Granger?" He asked quietly.
Hermione shrugged, "I like visiting your place. Your cottage is probably a regular person's nice house."
He grinned, "Probably. What about yours, though?"
"I'd have a big kitchen. So you can bake for me when you come to visit."
"And your library?"
"I have a library?" She wondered.
He nodded.
"Two floors. Spiral staircase. A reading nook."
Draco clicked his tongue. "Sounds a lot like my cottage."
Hermione blushed, looking away again.
There was a second of silence.
"And… marriage? Kids?"
She didn't look at him, "I… yeah. I think I'd like that."
Draco nodded, slowly. Maybe the idea of a little person asking him why the sky was blue or how a broomstick flew wasn't as terrifying as he once thought. But then again, what kind of child would want to look up to him?
Hermione glanced at him once more, "But I think I'd be willing to give that up if my hypothetical husband didn't want them."
Draco stared at her, the curve of his jaw tight, like her words had hit some invisible seam inside him and cracked it open.
"You'd give that up?" he asked, voice low, disbelieving.
Hermione didn't answer at first. She kept her eyes trained on her lap, fingers smoothing the fabric of her skirt again like the motion might anchor her to something. Then, carefully, like the truth might break them both if she wasn't gentle enough, she said, "I think… if I loved someone enough, I'd find a way to want something else. Or find new things to want. I don't think everything has to be set in stone."
Then, he said something besides himself, "I wouldn't make you give it up. If- if I were your… You know."
Hermione's head lifted slowly. She looked at him like he'd just said the most impossible thing. Maybe he had.
"I'd want to work." She whispered, as if it was safest to move away from that, "I used to think the ministry or something in wizard politics."
"Used to?"
Hermione nodded, "I think I'd like to go back to the Muggle world. Finish my education. Get my bachelor's. Maybe my master's. I'll figure out work after that."
Draco hummed, "Then maybe we'd have to go to the Muggle world."
"… I'm telling you I was in the common room and the lights went out!" Blaise huffed at Pansy.
"And I'm telling you there hasn't been a power outage in Hogwarts history." Pansy said back, "So unless you're going to start documenting it for a revised edition of Hogwarts: A History-"
Hermione plopped into the open seat. "What are we talking about?"
Pansy raised an eyebrow, "Nice of you to join us. You're late."
"Blame Draco." She scoffed, "He needed help revising his potions essay. Took longer than expected." It wasn't technically a lie. She had gone to the dorm to help Draco revise. They'd just gotten a little distracted.
Blaise looked at her as if he'd won the lottery, "So you were in the dorms?"
Hermione glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before answering, "Well, yes. Why?"
"Then you can tell Pansy! I'm trying to tell her how the power went out for a minute, but she doesn't believe me!"
The tips of her ears turned pink as she pulled out her essay. "I didn't notice anything odd."
Pansy shot Blaise a smug look. "Ha. See? If anyone would have noticed an anomaly in the common room, it would've been Hermione bloody Granger."
Blaise groaned and slumped in his chair. "I know what I saw. Or rather, what I didn't see. Everything went black."
Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't look up from uncapping her ink bottle, her hand shaking ever so slightly. "Maybe you blinked."
"I didn't blink."
"Then maybe you had a small seizure, who knows?"
Pansy snorted into her parchment. "Honestly, I'm more inclined to believe that than some Hogwarts-wide blackout only you experienced."
Blaise crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. "I didn't say Hogwarts-wide. Just the Slytherin common room and dorms. Somebody else had to have noticed. I'll ask Theo. His class was cancelled. He was probably in the common room, and I didn't notice because it went black."
Hermione's quill paused as she looked up at Blaise. "Pretty sure you would've known if Theo was there. And if he was and you're wrong, he's going to think you're mental."
"Then I'll ask Draco."
She blinked, spine straightening slightly, "If Draco noticed anything, he would've said so when we were there. Don't bother."
Pansy snorted, "You're tense."
"Dumbledore hasn't left the castle in a while." She said, crossing out a sentence on her parchment, "Which could be good news or bad news. What if he doesn't leave again before end of term?"
"Then he stays alive," Blaise muttered, and Hermione's quill snapped in her hand.
The two Slytherins glanced at her wearily.
"'Mione—" Pansy whispered.
"Don't call me that." She shook her head, digging through her bag for a new quill.
Pansy frowned, leaning forward as she lowered her voice, "Hermione," she drawled out her name, "If things happen how they're supposed to happen… if we follow the plan you made…" She glanced at Blaise for some help.
"Dumbledore leaves and, well, skipping a couple steps in the middle, he comes back and dies." He was trying to be gentle, "That's the point, isn't it?"
Hermione's hands stilled. The new quill trembled between her fingers. The words on her parchment blurred and bled together as the sting of that truth—their truth—settled like lead in her lungs.
She didn't look up. "I didn't make a plan for Dumbledore to die. I made a plan for Draco to live."
Pansy frowned, placing her hand on top of Hermione's trembling one, "I know you won't believe me, and I'm not sure it'll help whatever it is you're dealing with inside, but Dumbledore isn't as great as you and Potter and Weasley may think."
Hermione huffed a quiet laugh, pushing her hair behind her ears, "I don't need a lecture on Dumbledore. I've read between the lines far more than enough over the years."
"You could back out." The other girl said quietly, "Leave. Pretend you don't know what he's doing— what he has to do."
"That's the plan, isn't it? I pretend I don't know what's happening and just hope Draco doesn't die or get dragged off to Azkaban?" She asked.
There was a beat of silence, Hermione staring down at her parchment, eyebrows pulling for the briefest second.
"You've got another plan," Blaise whispered, watching her knowingly.
Pansy blinked, "What do you mean?" She asked, glancing at Blaise.
Hermione didn't answer right away. The weight of Blaise's words hung in the air like the thick fog that rolled off the lake in the early mornings—dense, quiet, inescapable. Her grip on the quill tightened.
"I don't expect him to follow the one we all agreed on." She said softly, "If I'm right, which I usually am, he's going to try and keep me somewhere I can't… get in trouble in, I guess, is what he'd say. He's probably going to try and lock me in his room."
Pansy snorted, "What are you planning?"
She looked up at Pansy and Blaise, "I'd bring you in on it. Eventually."
"Granger." Blaise huffed.
"I've almost had a month of knowing. That's all you need to know."
The corridors outside were hushed as she walked away from the library, having left Hermione and Blaise to finish their assignments once she'd finished.
Portraits dozed. Suits of armor stood unnaturally still, as if they too were holding their breath.
When she reached the main stairwell, something—a flicker of motion—caught her eye. Pansy slowed, turned, drawn to the tall window that overlooked the Quidditch pitch.
Out in the dark, beneath the moonlight and faint haze of stars, someone was flying.
Not just flying. Darting. Spiraling. Darting upward, then dropping hard—too hard. Like they were trying to outrun something invisible.
She stared. And something in her chest pulled tight.
Letting out a sigh, she stopped her way down to the dungeons, turning into the main corridor to head out the grand wooden doors.
The grass was slick with dew, the air holding its breath for a coming storm.
He didn't see her, not right away. She stepped into the pitch, leaning against a wall, watching as he dove down for the gold snitch. When he pulled up, feigning left, her lips twitched with a smile, raising her hand in a silent hello before she could stop herself.
He saw her then, eyebrows raising slightly as his broom faltered to a stop.
Internally, she cringed, lowering her hand. Why did she do that?
Harry hovered, mid-air, for a beat too long—just watching her. His hair, always windswept even when he wasn't flying, stuck to his forehead with sweat. The moonlight cast his face in half-shadow, but Pansy could still read the shift in his posture when he recognized her: the stiffening, the quick blink, and then he laughed.
"Did you just wave at me?" He asked, lowering his broom.
She huffed, "Don't flatter yourself, it was reflexive."
Harry hummed, hopping off his broom, "Reflexes usually mean habit. I don't see you wave often, Parkinson."
"It's late. Maybe I've lost my mind."
"Thought you hated flying," he said, brushing hair out of his eyes. "Why are you out here?"
"I do," Pansy replied, arms folded, though her voice wasn't biting. "I was heading to the dungeons. Saw you through the window."
Harry nodded, dropped his broom to the grass beside him and sat down without ceremony, pulling at the damp cuff of his sleeve. "It's quieter at night," he offered. "No one's around to stare. Or ask what I'm doing. Or tell me I shouldn't be."
"You mean like I'm doing now?"
He half-smiled. "You're different."
Pansy raised a brow. "Different?"
Harry didn't answer, just looked up at her in a way that made Pansy's stomach twist uncomfortably. "Sit, Parkinson."
Pansy hesitated. Her instinct was to toss back a snide remark, to remind him that Parkinson's don't sit on damp grass next to Gryffindors with savior complexes and sweaty hair. But something about the way he looked at her—open, unguarded, like he wanted her there—tugged at something in her, something she didn't want to name.
She sat.
Carefully, like she was testing the ground, brushing her robes beneath her as a flimsy barrier from the wet earth. Her knees bent, arms still crossed over her chest, even as she leaned back to glance up at the sky.
They sat in silence for a moment. Not uncomfortable. Just… strange.
"Why'd you do it?" She asked quietly, as if she'd been trying to make sense of it for weeks now.
Maybe she had.
Harry turned his head to look at her, his own mind running through that day once more. How many nights had she spent lying awake in bed trying to make sense of the scene she'd walked in on? How many days did she look at the scars on Draco's face— the scars that disappeared into his shirt? How many hours did she question why Harry had done it? Were they as many as Harry spent doing the same?
Pansy exhaled through her nose. She wasn't angry—not exactly. She didn't even know what she wanted from him. An apology? An explanation that didn't feel like an excuse? Maybe she just wanted him to admit what she already knew.
"He almost died." Her voice was even, but her fingers dug into the damp grass at her sides.
"I know." He said quietly, frowning.
"And you just stood there, watching him bleed out."
Harry's eyes dropped, fixed on a patch of grass between them, the green turned silver by the moon. He didn't speak right away. The silence stretched, not heavy, but brittle. Ready to crack.
"I didn't know it would do that." He said, "The spell. I didn't… he tried to crucio me, and I panicked. I- I can't do or say anything to fix it, but you have to believe me, Pansy, I'm sick over it."
The breeze caught a strand of her hair, lifting it across her cheek, and she didn't bother brushing it away. Her gaze stayed ahead, fixed on the goalposts looming like dark sentinels in the distance.
Harry's words hung between them, trembling on the edge of apology and explanation.
"There are days Hermione will get back to the common room and she won't even look at me, and I know- Godric, I know- that she was just with Malfoy, and I know she saw the scars." He ran a hand through his already mussed hair.
Pansy's lips twitched slightly at that, "I don't think that's all your fault. She's just… been a little off. Draco. You. Weasley. It's all weighing on her." She wasn't sure why she wanted him to feel better.
She shifted, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on her knees. "The truth is, I don't think you meant to hurt him like that. I don't. But you did. And meaning doesn't erase impact."
Harry's jaw flexed, but he didn't speak.
Pansy continued, "Draco isn't… blameless. None of us are. We all have dirt on our hands." She turned her head towards Harry, "I hate you for hurting him."
Harry scoffed, looking away from her.
"What?" She asked.
He shook his head, "Parkinson, you've always hated me."
But when he looked back, she was laughing. Head thrown back, actually laughing. "I don't make a habit of shagging boys I hate, Potter. I never liked you very much. And if I think about you too often, I get nauseous… but I didn't hate you. Not until you almost killed my best friend."
Pansy Parkinson was laughing on a damp Quidditch pitch under the moonlight, admitting she didn't hate him until he gave her a reason. There was something terrifying about her clarity.
"So, why are you out here, Potter?" She asked, trying to change the topic away from Draco.
He shrugged, "Too many things in my head. Figured if I couldn't sleep, might as well do the only thing I'm good at."
"You're good at more than flying," Pansy muttered, picking at the grass.
"Like what?" he asked, and his voice wasn't cocky—it was curious. Honest.
Pansy shrugged, pulling a blade of grass between her fingers with a soft smirk. "You're good at not dying."
Harry chuckled, low and warm. "Well, that's something, I guess."
The library doors had locked fifteen minutes ago.
Hermione hadn't moved. She sat cross-legged just outside them, her back against the cold stone wall, arms wrapped loosely around her knees. The corridor was dim, just the low hum of sconces flickering down the long hall. The scent of old parchment still clung to her robes.
She didn't cry. She hadn't in weeks.
She just… sat.
She'd been doing it for a few days now.
Finding herself out in the halls, sitting on the floor in silence.
It was the only time her brain finally seemed to stop running.
The sound of footsteps echoed, and Theo plopped down beside her.
He didn't say anything. Didn't ask if she was okay or make a joke about how she should be in bed. He just sat, stretching his legs out, rolling his neck as he'd done since he first found her in the halls a week or two ago.
The days were blurring for her.
"I miss when things were simple." She whispered.
Theo snorted, "When were things ever simple?" He didn't look at her. "You and Draco have been dancing around each other all year, Pansy's got some bloke in her pocket, your little red-haired menace is off with Blaise somewhere, and Daphne…" he sighed softly.
Hermione let her head drop onto his shoulder, closing her eyes.
In the great hall for breakfast a couple of days later, Hermione sat next to Ginny, Harry across from them, and Ron nowhere to be seen.
It wasn't normal, but it was nice. Harry, for his part, had chosen to ignore the elephant in the room and not mention anything to do with Draco.
"I've been in the library recently," Hermione said as she searched for the jam, "Trying to find more information about The Half-Blood Prince."
"This again?" Ginny groaned.
"I just feel we need more information about who might make a hobby of inventing dark spells-"
"It was one spell, Hermione," Harry muttered.
"My point stands— where is the jam?!" She huffed.
Harry snorted, nodding towards the Slytherin table, "Pretty sure your boyfriend stole it." He muttered.
Hermione blinked, then glanced over toward the Slytherin table where Draco was leaning back in his seat, smirking as he carefully spread a generous layer of jam on a piece of toast. She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at her lips.
"I'll eat something else than." She decided, serving herself some eggs, "As I was saying, there's no real princes in the wizarding world. However," she pulled out an old piece of newsprint, "Eileen Prince."
Hermione unfolded the yellowed newsprint carefully, smoothing it out on the table between them. The headline was faded, but the name stood out clearly: Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstone Team.
"Prince, Harry. Her mother was a Muggle! She's a half-blood."
"It's not a girl," Harry said.
"You just think a girl wouldn't be clever enough to—"
Ginny laughed, "Please stop. Hermione, if Harry's spent six years around you and thinks girls aren't clever, he's really an idiot."
"Well then, why—"
Hermione was cut off, Jimmy Peakes walking up to Harry with a scroll of parchment.
"Dumbledore wants me in his office. Quick as I can."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she looked at Harry, spine straightening.
Dumbledore wants me in his office.
Quick as I can.
She pushed her plate away, breakfast forgotten, "You don't think… he hasn't found…"
"Better go and see." Harry said, standing, "I'll see you both later, yeah?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
Hermione swallowed, glancing over her shoulder towards the Slytherin table, Theo was already watching her.
"Hey," Ginny said softly, "Are you alright?"
She turned back to the redhead, tilting her head for a moment as she tried to collect herself, "I… have a date." She said quietly, standing up, "Sorry."