This chapter has only been read through by me so far, sooooo some minor changes might happen here and there later!

TW: Masturbation

Draco sat at his desk in Malfoy Manor, staring at the blank parchment in front of him. He wasn't sure why he felt so compelled to write, but the idea had lodged itself in his mind and refused to leave. His recent conversations with Hermione Granger had left an odd sense of unfinished business, and against his better judgement, he had decided to suggest a meeting.

He dipped his quill in ink, the tip hovering over the parchment as he considered how to phrase his letter. Something casual? No, that wasn't his style. He opted for formality instead, letting his old habits take over.

Dear Hermione Granger,

I hope this letter finds you well. After our recent encounters, I thought it might be worthwhile to have a more direct conversation. If you are open to it, perhaps we could meet for coffee during one of your lunch hours. I believe there are a few things we could discuss further.

Please let me know if you have time in the coming days.

Sincerely,

D.L.M.

He sealed the letter and sent it off, feeling a mix of satisfaction and unease. It was a simple enough request, but Draco couldn't shake the feeling that he had just crossed some invisible line.

A reply came sooner than expected, delivered by a brisk owl that nearly knocked over one of the ancient vases in the study. He unrolled the parchment and felt a wry smile tug at the corner of his lips as he read.

Dear Malfoy,

Coffee? That's not quite what I expected from you, but I suppose I'm intrigued. Thursday at 1 o'clock works for me—there's a Muggle café in Bloomsbury called The Corner Bean. It's quiet and we won't have to worry about prying eyes.

You might even find the Muggle experience refreshing.

Best,

H.J.G.

He raised an eyebrow. A Muggle café? Of course she would choose that. He could almost hear the teasing lilt in her tone as he read her suggestion. He shook his head and reached for his quill once more.

Granger,

A Muggle café? How very fitting. I suppose it'll be an… educational experience. Thursday at 1 it is.

And for the record, I'm not as out of touch with the Muggle world as you might think.

Regards,

Malfoy

Draco sent off the letter, smirking to himself as he imagined her reaction. The truth was, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of a Muggle café, but the curiosity—about both the place and the conversation to come—kept him from overthinking it.

The next letter came back quickly, and this time, there was an air of familiarity to it, as if the layers of formality were beginning to peel away.

Malfoy,

We'll see about that. I'll try not to overwhelm you with Muggle culture all at once.

By the way, I hope you're not planning to brew any experimental potions beforehand to prepare yourself for this experience. I wouldn't want to have to explain any 'incidents' to the café staff.

Best,

Granger

Draco chuckled. It seemed Granger wasn't above some light banter. He tapped his quill against the parchment before penning his response.

Granger,

I assure you, no potions will be involved—this time. But I'll admit, the idea of slipping something into my coffee to dull the inevitable shock of Muggle customs is tempting.

I look forward to seeing what you have in store.

Regards,

Malfoy

The owl delivered her reply that same evening. This time, her tone was more teasing, and Draco found himself genuinely looking forward to their meeting.

Malfoy,

Just don't blame me if you end up liking it. I'd hate to be responsible for you turning into a regular at Muggle cafés.

See you on Thursday.

Best,

Granger

The casual banter in her letter made Draco feel oddly at ease, something he hadn't expected. He stared at the parchment for a moment longer, wondering how they had reached this strange place where their interactions felt less like old enemies circling each other and more like… well, something else entirely.

He wrote his final reply, keeping it brief.

Granger,

I'll do my best to keep an open mind—though no promises.

Regards,

Malfoy

As he sealed the letter, Draco leaned back in his chair, staring out of the window. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was shifting between them. He had reached out, half-expecting her to refuse, but instead, she had engaged—matching his wit, offering her own brand of humour. And now, they were set to meet in a few days' time.

What, exactly, was he getting himself into?

Draco wasn't sure. But he was curious to find out.

The following day, Draco arrived early, the sound of Muggle traffic buzzing in the distance as he approached the small café Granger had chosen. It was a quiet little place, tucked away down a side street, with a few tables scattered outside beneath a large awning. It had a homely, welcoming feel—decidedly unpretentious. He entered and spotted Granger already seated at a corner table, a half-filled cup of coffee in front of her.

She looked up as he approached, offering a small smile, her gaze a little hesitant but not unfriendly. "Malfoy," she greeted him, standing briefly before gesturing for him to sit.

"Granger," he replied, nodding as he took the seat opposite her. He glanced around the café, taking in the Muggle patrons sipping their coffees and chatting quietly. It was peaceful, much more relaxed than the bustling wizarding establishments he was used to.

"Thanks for agreeing to meet here," Granger said, breaking the silence. "I thought it might be better for… well, privacy."

Draco nodded, adjusting his cloak as he settled into the chair. "It's fine. I suppose we don't need to draw unnecessary attention."

She smiled faintly, taking a sip of her coffee before speaking again. "So, how have you been?" Her tone was casual, but Draco could sense the curiosity beneath it. They both knew this meeting wasn't about pleasantries.

"I've been… keeping busy," Draco replied, though the words felt hollow. He glanced down at the coffee the waitress had brought him, the unfamiliar aroma rising into the air. "And you?"

"Work's been… well, you know how it is at the Ministry," Granger said, her voice slightly weary. "It never slows down. But Rose keeps me grounded."

Draco nodded, his thoughts lingering on Rose for a moment. "She's a bright girl," he said, almost to himself. "A lot like you."

Granger laughed softly, though there was a trace of sadness in her eyes. "Yes, well… she doesn't get everything from me." She paused, looking down at her cup, the conversation veering into more personal territory. "It's been hard, with Ron. I didn't expect him to… drift away like this."

Draco frowned, his curiosity piqued. He had known from their earlier conversations that Weasley had become more distant, but now he could see the full weight of it on her face. "He's… not in her life anymore?"

Granger sighed, setting her cup down and running a hand through her hair. "He's around, but not nearly as much as Rose needs him to be. He's… well, he's remarried now. They've had a baby, and most of his time is spent with his new family." The bitterness in her voice was subtle but unmistakable.

Draco felt an unexpected surge of anger rise in his chest, his hand tightening around his coffee cup. Weasley had a new family? And had let his daughter fall by the wayside? It was a kind of abandonment Draco hadn't expected from him. "He's prioritising them over Rose?" The words came out more sharply than he'd intended.

Draco watched Granger intently as she spoke, her words pulling at a frustration he hadn't realised had been simmering beneath the surface. The pain in her voice was unmistakable, but it wasn't just her words that set his jaw tight and his hands clenching his coffee cup a little too firmly. It was the thought of Rose—bright, trusting Rose—being hurt by someone who should be protecting her.

"He promised he'd be there for her," Granger said, her voice cracking slightly, though she held herself with the dignity he'd come to admire. "But… promises don't always hold up when there's a new baby involved."

Draco's grip on his cup tightened, the ceramic dangerously close to cracking. He set it down with deliberate care, his jaw clenching as he looked away from her. "I don't understand it," he said, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. "How can he just… leave his own daughter behind like that?"

Granger's eyes flicked to him, her brows furrowing slightly as if surprised by the intensity in his voice. "I don't think he means to hurt her," she said cautiously, her tone soft but laden with frustration. "But it feels like he's made a choice, and it wasn't us."

Draco's shoulders stiffened, a surge of protectiveness rising unbidden within him. He hated the thought of Rose being treated as an afterthought, a child who had to wonder where her father's priorities lay. "She doesn't deserve that," he muttered, the words slipping out almost without his permission.

Granger watched him closely, her expression thoughtful. There was a weight in her gaze that Draco found himself unable to meet for too long. "No," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "She doesn't."

The room seemed to grow quieter, though the soft hum of the café and the distant clinking of dishes continued around them. Draco stared at the table for a moment, trying to quell the storm of emotions that her words had unleashed. His chest ached with an unfamiliar heaviness, one he realised came from a place deeper than he was prepared to admit.

"You care about her, don't you?" Granger's voice was gentle but probing, pulling his eyes back to hers.

He hesitated, the question hitting him squarely. Of course, he cared about Rose—how could he not? But voicing it felt dangerous, as if acknowledging it would expose too much of himself. "She reminds me…" he began, his voice quieter now, "...of what could have been."

Granger's expression softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories," she said, her tone careful, almost apologetic.

Draco shook his head, brushing off her concern. "It's not your fault," he said, though his voice betrayed the weight of his grief. "I just… I don't understand how someone can have a child and not do everything in their power to protect them."

Granger reached out, her hand resting lightly on the table between them, close enough to his that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "Ron isn't a bad person," she said softly. "But he's made choices that have hurt her. And me."

Draco nodded, his gaze drifting to the swirling pattern of the tabletop. "It's his loss," he muttered, though the tightness in his chest remained.

A silence settled over them, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Granger looked at him with an expression that was equal parts empathy and curiosity, as if she were trying to piece together the man sitting across from her.

Finally, she broke the quiet, shifting the conversation. "How's your mother?" she asked, her voice cautious, as if she wasn't sure if the topic would be welcome.

Draco straightened slightly, his expression guarded. "She's… not the same," he admitted, the words heavier than he anticipated. "Losing my father, as complicated as he was… it's changed her. She stays in the Manor, and I visit when I can. But she's… diminished. A shadow of who she used to be."

Granger nodded slowly, her gaze steady. "I'm sorry," she said simply, her sincerity palpable. "It can't be easy."

Draco exhaled, his fingers drumming once on the table before he stilled them. "It isn't," he said, his voice quieter now. "I brew her potions—Calming Draughts, mostly. It helps, but it doesn't change much."

The café's gentle bustle continued around them as Granger leaned back slightly, her own cup untouched. "You're carrying a lot," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco met her gaze, and for a moment, he saw the reflection of his own struggles in her eyes. "So are you," he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Granger's lips curved into a faint smile, her hand brushing against the table as if she wanted to reach for his but thought better of it. "I suppose we both are," she said.

For a moment, the world outside the café seemed to fade away. They weren't Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, adversaries from a past life—they were simply two people, both carrying the weight of their histories, finding solace in each other's presence. It was a fragile connection, but it was there, undeniable and growing stronger with every shared word.

Draco found himself surprisingly at ease as he sat across from Granger in the Muggle café. The atmosphere was quiet, a low hum of conversation filling the room. The coffee had been… well, it hadn't been terrible , though he had refrained from admitting that to Granger. They had talked about a range of things, but now, as they neared the end of their coffee appointment, the conversation had taken a lighter turn.

"I still can't believe you didn't know about house-elves before fourth year," Draco said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he took a sip of his drink. "I would've thought Granger, of all people, would have read every book in the library by then."

Granger rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smile playing on her lips. "There are a lot of things I didn't know then," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "And besides, it's not as if you were some model student of magical creatures."

Draco let out a low chuckle. "Fair enough. I seem to remember you had a bit of an obsession with that blasted Hippogriff."

Granger laughed, a genuine, warm sound that caught him off guard. "You still hold a grudge, don't you?" she teased. "Buckbeak did nothing wrong, and you deserved it for being rude."

"Rude?" Draco placed a hand to his chest in mock offence. "He attacked me."

"He warned you," she corrected, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You're lucky it wasn't worse. Hagrid might have been fired because of you, you know."

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, I'm sure you gave me plenty of lectures about it back then."

"You deserved them."

"I probably did," Draco admitted, leaning back in his chair, a rare hint of self-awareness slipping through. "Though I was a bit dramatic, wasn't I?"

"A bit?" Granger's eyes widened in mock disbelief. "Malfoy, you milked that injury for weeks. You limped around the corridors like you'd fought off a dragon."

He grinned, unable to deny the truth of it. "I had to keep up appearances, didn't I?"

They both laughed, the tension from their earlier conversation completely dissolved now. It felt oddly comfortable—bantering like this, as if they weren't weighed down by the history that so often defined them. There was no mention of the war, no lingering bitterness. Just… two former classmates talking about the past, finding humour in the small, more innocent things.

As their conversation trailed off, Granger glanced at the clock on the café wall and sighed. "I should get back to the Ministry. My lunch break is almost over."

Draco nodded, feeling a strange reluctance to end the afternoon. "I'll walk you back," he offered, surprising himself with the suggestion.

Granger looked at him for a moment, as if trying to gauge whether he was serious. Then, with a small smile, she nodded. "Alright."

They left the café and stepped out into the busy streets of Muggle London, the cool breeze carrying the familiar sounds of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians. As they walked, the conversation between them flowed easily again.

As they walked, Granger glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, the light banter continuing easily between them. "You know," she began, "you were always so smug about being Slytherin's Seeker. I'm surprised you didn't go into Quidditch professionally after Hogwarts."

Draco scoffed lightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his expression. "Oh, I was very proud of my Seeker skills, Granger, no question about that. But professional Quidditch?" He shook his head. "I had… other things to deal with."

Granger raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his nonchalance. "Other things? Like what?"

Draco smirked, his lips twitching. "My family wasn't exactly keen on me becoming a Quidditch star. My father had his own expectations for what I'd do after Hogwarts."

"Ah," Granger nodded knowingly, her voice teasing. "So Lucius wasn't too pleased about the matches you didn't win, I take it?"

He gave a small chuckle. "He wasn't exactly subtle about it, no. He thought Quidditch was more of a... distraction."

Granger grinned, her pace slowing as they neared the Ministry entrance. "And here I thought you just got bored of showing off."

"Bored?" Draco raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "I'll have you know, I was never bored of showing off. I just had better things to focus on—like not getting killed."

Granger laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Fair point," she said, shaking her head.

They fell into a companionable silence as they approached the Ministry's Muggle entrance. Draco glanced at her, feeling an odd sense of ease. It was strange to talk about Hogwarts like this, to reflect on those years without the weight of animosity pressing down on them.

"You weren't half bad, though," Granger admitted, breaking the silence.

Draco gave her a sidelong glance. "Careful, Granger. That almost sounded like a compliment."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Don't let it go to your head."

"I'll try," Draco said with a smirk.

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the towering buildings of Muggle London looming above them. Draco glanced at her from the corner of his eye, noting how relaxed she seemed. It felt… different, this easy rapport. He couldn't quite believe they were walking together like this, the old animosity between them barely a memory now.

As they reached the entrance to the Ministry's Muggle entryway, Draco slowed to a stop and turned to face her. "Well, here we are," he said, his voice lighter than usual.

Granger looked up at him, her expression soft but still carrying that spark of amusement from earlier. "Thanks for the walk," she said, her tone matching his.

"Thank you for the coffee," Draco replied, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Surprisingly tolerable, for Muggle fare."

Granger chuckled, shaking her head. "I knew you'd come around."

They stood there for a moment, the bustling streets around them fading into the background. Draco felt a strange sense of ease, as if the weight of their shared past had been momentarily lifted.

"Same time next week, then?" Granger said, teasingly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Trying to make this a regular thing, Granger?"

"Maybe," she said, her smile widening before she added, "It's good for you to get out of that stuffy manor every now and then."

He smirked. "I'll think about it."

With a small, final nod, Granger turned and headed toward the Ministry entrance, disappearing through the doorway. Draco stood there for a moment longer, watching her go. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stir within him—something he couldn't quite name, but it was there nonetheless.

As he turned to leave, he found himself already looking forward to their next encounter, whatever form it might take.

As Hermione walked back into the Ministry, her mind lingered on the coffee she had just shared with Draco Malfoy. It had been far more pleasant than she anticipated, their conversation flowing with an ease that surprised her. She had even asked if he'd like to meet again the following week—something she hadn't planned but had done instinctively.

She made her way through the bustling atrium, absentmindedly nodding to a colleague as her thoughts remained on Malfoy. It was strange to think that the boy who once tormented her had grown into someone she could sit with, talk to, and actually enjoy the company of. Their conversations had been light, even humorous, and despite her reservations, there was an undeniable sense of curiosity pulling her back to meet him again.

She sat down at her desk, her quill in hand, but her thoughts drifted. Why had she asked him? Was it simple curiosity, or something more? His vulnerability about Astoria and his lost child had struck her, reminding her that beneath the polished surface, he was as human and complicated as anyone.

Rose's fascination with him also played on her mind—how Malfoy had shown more patience with her daughter than she expected. That was a contrast she couldn't ignore, given Ron's increasing distance. It wasn't fair to compare, she reminded herself, but the thought nagged at her.

She glanced at the stack of parchment in front of her, but the thought of meeting Malfoy again next week tugged at her mind. There was something building between them—something unexpected, and she found herself quietly looking forward to whatever came next.

As Hermione attempted to focus on the pile of Ministry reports in front of her, a familiar knock came at the door. She looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway, his usual warm smile in place.

"Hey, you," he greeted, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "Just thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing." He gave her an appraising look. "You look... lighter than usual."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "Lighter?"

Harry shrugged, his smile turning into a teasing grin. "I don't know, maybe it's just me, but you don't seem as weighed down as you usually are. Something on your mind?"

She gave him a thoughtful look, not quite ready to reveal what—or rather, who —had brightened her mood. "I'm fine, Harry. Just... trying to stay positive with everything going on." She waved a hand at the clutter of parchments on her desk, trying to deflect. "You know how it is."

He nodded, though his gaze was searching, as if waiting for her to share more. "You sure? You seem... I don't know, like something's different today."

Hermione offered him a smile, trying to keep her tone casual. "It's nothing, really. Just a good day so far, I suppose."

Harry tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, though he didn't press. "Well, whatever it is, it suits you. It's been a while since I've seen you this relaxed."

Hermione chuckled softly, feeling a slight twinge of guilt for keeping the details to herself. But she couldn't quite bring herself to say it aloud—that a coffee with Draco Malfoy made her smile. The idea seemed ridiculous, even in her own head.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, deciding to leave it at that. "I'll take the compliment."

With a friendly nod, Harry turned toward the door. "Well, don't work too hard, alright? Maybe we can catch up later this week."

"I'd like that," Hermione replied, watching as he left her office.

As the door clicked shut, she leaned back in her chair, her thoughts drifting once again to her coffee and grey eyes. It was strange, she mused, how that single meeting had lightened her day. She hadn't expected it—hadn't expected him to have any effect on her mood at all. And yet, here she was, feeling a little lighter, a little less burdened.

The fact that it was Draco Malfoy, of all people, who had that effect made the whole situation all the more intriguing.

Around five o'clock, Hermione made her way towards the Ministry Floos, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The day had gone by smoothly, and she was in good spirits—a feeling that had lingered since lunch. It still baffled her, but she wasn't about to question it too deeply. Now, she was eager to pick up Rose from the Burrow and enjoy a cosy evening with her daughter.

The Ministry was quieting down, with most employees heading home for the evening. The flickering Floo flames lit the hall as Hermione approached, her mind already drifting to what they might do for dinner. Lasagne, she decided. It was Rose's favourite, and a warm, homey meal felt right for the evening ahead. Perhaps they'd watch a movie together, snuggled up on the sofa—the perfect way to unwind.

Hermione tossed a handful of Floo powder into the nearest fireplace, watching the flames turn green. "The Burrow!" she called, stepping into the hearth and feeling the familiar sensation of being pulled through the network.

She arrived at the Burrow a moment later, brushing off the faint ash from her cloak. The warm, inviting smells of Molly's kitchen greeted her immediately, along with the sound of children's laughter drifting in from the garden. Before she could even take a step forward, a small, excited voice called out.

"Mummy!" Rose bounded into the room, her curls bouncing as she threw her arms around Hermione's waist.

"Hello, darling," Hermione smiled, kneeling down to hug her. "Did you have a good day?"

Rose's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I did! I helped Aunt Ginny in the garden, and we caught the gnomes! I caught two !" she said, her voice full of pride.

"Well, aren't you clever!" Hermione laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "And what else did you do?"

"We baked ginger biscuits with Granny," Rose added, her eyes wide. "And they're so yummy!"

Hermione smiled, glancing at Molly, who stood in the doorway with a warm expression. "Thank you, Molly. She always has the best time here."

Molly waved off the thanks. "It's no trouble at all. She's been an angel. A very energetic angel, but an angel nonetheless."

Hermione chuckled and stood up, holding Rose's hand. "Well, I think it's time we head home, Rose. I was thinking we could have lasagne for dinner, and then we can watch a film. How does that sound?"

Rose's face lit up with excitement. "Yes! Can we watch The Little Mermaid again?"

Hermione nodded with a smile. "Of course. Let's get home and start dinner, then."

Draco lounged in the grand armchair by the fireplace of his bedroom at Malfoy Manor, the flames casting a warm glow over the elegant furnishings. The manor was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the burning logs. He swirled a glass of firewhisky thoughtfully, his mind replaying the afternoon's unexpected encounter.

He had met Hermione Granger for coffee—a simple, civilised meeting that had turned out to be anything but ordinary. Draco was surprised by how much he had enjoyed her company. Her sharp wit and intelligence were as keen as ever, but there was a softness to her now, a maturity that hadn't been there during their school days.

His thoughts drifted to her outfit. She had worn a grey jumper with long sleeves that hinted at the delicate lines beneath, paired with a black pencil skirt that hugged her figure in a way that was both modest and alluring. The knee-high black boots added a touch of sophistication, clicking softly against the café floor as she walked. Draco found himself recalling the way the fabric clung to her curves, the subtle sway of her hips as she moved.

He stared into the flames, the amber liquid in his glass forgotten. Her long mocha-coloured curls had framed her face beautifully, cascading over her shoulders. And her eyes—those golden brown eyes that held depths of wisdom and warmth—had met his with an openness that unsettled him in the most intriguing way.

A faint heat rose within him as he remembered the way she had laughed at one of his dry remarks, her eyes lighting up with genuine amusement. The sound had been melodious, stirring something in him that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, realising with a mix of surprise and reluctance that he was becoming aroused. He groaned softly, leaning his head back against the chair. No matter how he tried, he couldn't shake the image of Granger from his mind—the curve of her smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the graceful way she carried herself.

With a resigned sigh, he set the glass aside and loosened his tie, the constriction suddenly too much. The room felt warmer, the air thick with unspoken desires. Succumbing to the pull of his thoughts, Draco allowed himself to imagine her once more—her fingers brushing against his as they reached for the sugar at the same time, the subtle scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

He closed his eyes, letting the fantasy take hold. His hand moved to unfasten his belt, the cool air meeting his skin as he freed himself from the constraints of his clothing. The need for her was overwhelming, a tide that he could no longer hold back.

As he gave in to his desires, his thoughts remained solely on Granger—the way her lips had curved into a knowing smile, the soft blush that had risen to her cheeks as he had teased her. He imagined the warmth of her body pressed against his, the taste of her lips, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

The crackling of the fire provided a rhythmic backdrop as Draco found release, a quiet murmur of her name escaping his lips. In the aftermath, he felt a complex mix of relief and introspection. This unexpected attraction to Hermione Granger was something he hadn't anticipated, and it left him unsettled.

He sat there for a while longer, the fire slowly dying down and casting elongated shadows across the rich fabrics of his bedroom. A flush of embarrassment crept over Draco as the reality of his actions settled in. The usually composed façade he maintained had slipped, revealing desires he wasn't prepared to confront.

With a sigh, Draco rose from the armchair, adjusting his clothing and running a hand through his hair in an attempt to regain his composure. The room felt cooler now, the warmth from the fire diminishing as the embers glowed softly in the hearth. He moved towards the large four-poster bed, the silk sheets neatly turned down by the house-elves earlier in the evening.

He changed into his nightclothes, the familiar routine bringing a small measure of comfort. Climbing into bed, Draco pulled the covers up, staring at the ornate canopy above. Sleep did not come easily. His mind was a tumult of conflicting emotions—curiosity, attraction, and a nagging apprehension about seeing her again.

With a resigned sigh, Draco closed his eyes, willing himself to find rest. Perhaps with the clarity of morning, he could make sense of the unfamiliar territory he found himself navigating. Tomorrow was a new day, and despite his reservations, a part of him was eager to see where this path might lead.

Thank you!