So sorry I posted so late. I am at my in-laws and there has been so much Christmas stuff that I haven't really had a break! I hope you enjoy some more domesticity in this chapter!
Sunday morning was buzzing with excitement, particularly from Rose, who had been bouncing around the flat since they had woken up, unable to contain her enthusiasm for Draco's visit. The low hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes filled the kitchen as Hermione busied herself with preparing brunch. The air was warm, not just from the fire crackling in the hearth, but from the sense of anticipation that had settled over the morning.
Hermione glanced over at Rose, who was currently tidying up her toys and books in the living room, her rust-coloured corduroy dress swaying as she moved. The white collar gave the outfit a charming, vintage touch, and Hermione couldn't help but smile at her daughter's enthusiasm.
"Do you think Draco will like playing a game after brunch?" Rose asked suddenly, looking up from where she was stacking books.
Hermione paused in her task, thoughtfully slicing fruit for a platter. "Maybe," she replied, "but perhaps we could start with something a bit easier? Like baking cookies together. What do you think?"
Rose's face lit up, her eyes wide with delight. "Baking cookies? Yes! That sounds even better!" she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over.
"Perfect," Hermione said with a warm smile. "We'll make a batch after we eat."
She returned to her work, assembling the last of the food while dressed in a cosy cream-coloured knitted sweater, its soft fabric hanging loosely on her frame, giving it a comfortable yet stylish look. The relaxed fit paired nicely with her flowing, pleated skirt that boasted vibrant but warm colours—burgundy, orange, and yellow—making her feel both at ease and put together. The flat was already filled with the comforting scent of fresh bread, herbs, and coffee.
Just as Rose finished tidying the last of her toys, the fireplace roared to life, and with a soft whoosh , Malfoy stepped through the Floo. Hermione turned from the kitchen, her smile widening as he dusted off a bit of soot from his dark grey overcoat.
Malfoy looked perfectly put together, as usual, his light grey ribbed knit sweater peeking out from beneath the coat, paired with slim-fit black trousers that gave him a sleek, modern look. His grey ankle boots completed the ensemble, polished yet relaxed—he seemed comfortable in the warm, homely atmosphere of Hermione's flat.
"Good morning," Malfoy said, his voice smooth but light as he offered a small smile.
"Draco!" Rose exclaimed, rushing toward him with the kind of excitement that only a child could muster. She gave him a quick hug around his waist before stepping back, her face beaming. "We're going to bake cookies after brunch!"
Malfoy chuckled softly, his expression softening at Rose's enthusiasm. "That sounds like a plan."
"And look," he added, holding up a small basket. "I've brought some pastries—courtesy of the house-elves at Malfoy Manor. They've been... rather keen to bake for more than just me and my mother."
Hermione laughed as she took the basket from him. "I'm sure they were thrilled to have something new to do."
They moved toward the table, Malfoy helping Hermione set the last few dishes while she arranged the pastries he'd brought. The table was a beautiful spread—there were warm, buttered croissants, freshly toasted bread, eggs scrambled with herbs, sautéed mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, and a fruit platter brimming with strawberries, grapes, and sliced oranges. Alongside the pastries were fluffy scones served with jam and clotted cream, and Malfoy's additions of perfectly baked danishes and eclairs added a sweet touch. The smell was divine.
Once everything was in place, they sat down, Hermione and Malfoy sipping coffee while Rose, already halfway through a glass of pumpkin juice, bounced slightly in her seat.
As they began eating, Rose wasted no time launching into her questions. "Draco, Mummy says you went to Hogwarts too! What house were you in? And how do they sort you?"
Malfoy set his fork down, smiling at Rose's excitement. "I was in Slytherin," he answered. "It's one of the four houses at Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat decides where you belong based on your qualities—whether you're brave, loyal, intelligent, or ambitious."
"Did you want to be in Slytherin?" Rose asked, her curiosity evident.
Malfoy chuckled softly. "I didn't really think about it much at the time. But yes, it ended up being a good fit for me."
Rose's eyes widened with excitement. "And did you play Quidditch? Were you good?"
Hermione glanced at Malfoy, the mention of Quidditch making her feel slightly uneasy given how much Ron focused on it during his visits with Rose. But Malfoy, ever aware of the tension, handled the question smoothly.
"I did play," Malfoy said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I was a Seeker for my house team, but I don't fly as much anymore. These days, I prefer reading or brewing potions."
Rose's face lit up again. "Potions? Like the ones Mummy talks about?"
Malfoy nodded, glancing at Hermione with a knowing look. "Exactly. Your mum was one of the brightest students when it came to potions. She knew her ingredients better than most of the professors."
Hermione blushed, her cheeks warming as she took a sip of coffee, trying to deflect. "I wasn't that good."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief in his gaze. "You were. You saved more than a few students from melting their cauldrons."
Rose giggled, looking at her mother with newfound admiration. "Wow, Mummy! You're really smart!"
Hermione smiled sheepishly, still a little flustered by Malfoy's compliment. "Thank you, love. But everyone has their strengths at Hogwarts. You'll find yours when you go."
The conversation continued, with Rose firing off more questions about Hogwarts—the classes, the teachers, the grand castle—and Malfoy answering each one with patience and amusement. The tension Hermione had felt earlier melted away, replaced by something lighter, something warm. She found herself smiling more than she had in weeks, Malfoy's presence adding to the sense of ease in the room.
As they ate, the room was filled with laughter and chatter, the warmth of the fire matching the cosiness of the meal. For a moment, Hermione allowed herself to relax, to enjoy the simple pleasure of being here—watching Rose animatedly talk about her future at Hogwarts, laughing at Malfoy's playful banter, and feeling the sense of connection that had grown between them.
Once they had finished eating, the plates were empty, and Rose had wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in a way that had Hermione smiling despite herself. Hermione looked over at her daughter with a gentle nudge.
"Rose, why don't you go and wash your hands while Draco and I clear the table? Then we can get started on those gingerbread cookies."
Rose nodded eagerly and dashed off toward the bathroom, her rust-coloured dress swirling as she ran. Hermione watched her go, her smile lingering as she turned back to Malfoy, who had already begun gathering the plates and cutlery.
"Let me help with that," Malfoy said, reaching for the fruit platter.
"Thanks, but I've got it." With a casual flick of her wrist, Hermione cast a spell, and the dishes lifted themselves off the table, floating into the kitchen with graceful precision. The pans and plates began cleaning themselves, and the leftover food was promptly put away in the refrigerator, all without a sound.
Malfoy paused mid-reach, his eyebrow arched in surprise. "Impressive," he murmured, glancing from the floating plates to Hermione. "I always thought you were one for proper wand work, but that was... something else."
Hermione grinned, pleased with his reaction. "It's just something I've practised over the years. Makes things quicker around here."
Malfoy chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "And here I was, thinking I'd mastered magic by now."
She laughed softly, brushing a loose curl behind her ear, feeling oddly proud of the compliment. Before the conversation could go further, Rose reappeared, her hands freshly washed and her excitement renewed.
"All clean!" Rose announced brightly. "Can we make the cookies now?"
"Of course, love," Hermione said, moving to the counter. "Let's get the ingredients out."
Malfoy stepped up beside her, helping to take down bowls, flour, sugar, and all the spices that would fill the flat with the unmistakable smell of gingerbread. As they worked together, measuring ingredients and mixing the dough, Hermione couldn't help but notice how much Malfoy seemed to be enjoying himself. There was a certain lightness to his expression that hadn't been there before—a kind of quiet contentment she hadn't expected to see. It warmed her heart to watch him interact with Rose so easily, as if this sort of domestic simplicity wasn't foreign to him.
They rolled out the dough, Rose cutting the gingerbread men with focused precision, her little tongue poking out in concentration. "Draco, look! I made a wizard gingerbread man!" she said, holding up a slightly wonky figure with a crooked hat.
Malfoy smiled, looking at her creation with genuine interest. "Well done, Rose. That looks brilliant. I think it might even be a Slytherin wizard."
Rose giggled at that, delighted by the idea. "I'll make more Slytherins then!"
Hermione glanced at Malfoy, catching the faint smile on his face, and felt her heart swell. She enjoyed seeing him this relaxed, a side of him she hadn't often seen before. He wasn't just the composed, occasionally distant man she had grown accustomed to; he was present, fully engaged, and seemed to be genuinely enjoying the simple act of baking with them. It was a rare glimpse of ease in him, and it warmed her in ways she hadn't expected.
Once the cookies were in the oven, filling the flat with the scent of cinnamon and ginger, they moved into the living room. Malfoy and Hermione settled onto the sofa with cups of tea, and Rose pulled out her stack of cards, bouncing over to them with her usual excitement.
"Draco, do you know how to play Go Fish ?" Rose asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Malfoy hesitated for a moment, glancing at Hermione. "I can't say that I do," he admitted, his voice laced with amusement. "But I'm sure you're an excellent teacher."
Rose beamed, wasting no time in explaining the rules. It was a simple card game, but it was one of Rose's favourites, and Hermione watched with quiet amusement as Rose taught Malfoy with all the seriousness of a professional instructor.
"Now, if you don't have the card I ask for, you have to say, 'Go Fish!'" Rose instructed, shuffling the cards expertly.
Malfoy listened intently, nodding as if he were learning an intricate magical formula. "Got it," he said, his tone mock-serious. "I'm ready."
They began to play, Rose taking great joy in every "Go Fish!" she got to say, and Malfoy obliging her with exaggerated expressions of defeat whenever he had to pick up another card. Hermione leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea and watching the two of them interact. There was something undeniably heartwarming about seeing Malfoy, usually so composed and restrained, relaxing and allowing himself to have fun with her daughter.
Every now and then, their eyes would meet, and Hermione would smile—grateful for the warmth and comfort of this unexpected friendship, and for the joy it seemed to bring Rose. It was a sight she never thought she'd see: Draco Malfoy, once her school rival, sitting in her living room, playing a Muggle card game with her daughter as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As the cookies baked, the flat felt even cosier, the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth and the soft laughter from the card game filling the room. For the first time in a long while, Hermione felt like the three of them were part of something that, though unplanned, was starting to feel like the beginning of something special. It wasn't something she had anticipated or planned for, but as she watched Malfoy patiently humour Rose's attempts to win at Go Fish , she realised how easily he had slipped into their lives.
Eventually, as the afternoon drew to a close and the cookies were cooling on the counter, it was time to say goodbye. Hermione stood up, clearing away the last of the teacups while Rose bounded over to Malfoy, her little arms stretched wide.
"Goodbye, Draco!" Rose exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug.
Malfoy looked momentarily surprised, but his expression quickly softened as he knelt to Rose's height and returned the hug, a genuine smile on his face. "Goodbye, Rose," he said warmly, his tone unusually gentle. "I'll see you soon."
Rose beamed up at him, her eyes shining with affection before she dashed back toward her room, her rust-coloured dress swaying with her steps.
Hermione lingered near the fireplace as Malfoy stood, pulling on his coat. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the room seemed to still, the unspoken tension between them hanging in the air. Neither of them moved, but the pull was there—strong and undeniable.
Hermione took a breath, stepping closer to him. "Thank you for coming over today," she said softly, her voice warmer than usual. "It was... really nice."
Malfoy nodded, his usual composure faltering slightly. "It was. I enjoyed it. And... Rose," he added, pausing for a moment as though he was weighing his words, "she's something special."
Hermione smiled, feeling the warmth of his words spread through her. "She likes having you here, you know."
"I like it too," Malfoy admitted, almost shyly.
There was a beat of silence, and then, without really thinking, Hermione moved forward and hugged him. It was a spontaneous gesture, but it felt natural. She wrapped her arms around him, her head resting lightly against his chest. For a moment, she thought Malfoy might recoil, but instead, he hesitated only briefly before returning the hug, his arms circling around her gently.
They stood like that for a second longer than necessary, and when Hermione pulled back, her heart was racing. Before she could think too much, she leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, her lips brushing against the coolness of his skin. "See you soon, Draco," she murmured, stepping back with a smile.
Malfoy blinked, clearly taken by surprise, but he managed to return her smile, albeit a little more softly than before. "See you, Granger," he replied, his voice low.
He turned towards the fireplace, stepping into the Floo. With one last glance in her direction, he murmured, "Malfoy Manor," and disappeared into the green flames.
As the room fell quiet, Hermione stood by the hearth for a moment, her heart still fluttering in her chest. She touched her fingers to her lips, feeling the ghost of that brief contact, and smiled to herself. Whatever this was—whatever was growing between them—it was becoming harder to ignore. And though it scared her, it also filled her with something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope.
Over the next two weeks in December, Draco found himself at Granger's flat more often than not—weekday dinners, where they talked over meals that were far more intimate than he was used to, and Sundays filled with the warmth of brunches that felt increasingly like a ritual. The initial awkwardness of their gatherings had slowly melted away, replaced by something more comfortable, more familiar. Yet, beneath the ease of their growing friendship, there was something else—a tension that neither of them spoke of but both felt.
The flat had become a place of refuge for Draco, though he would never admit it aloud. It was a stark contrast to the cold, echoing silence of Malfoy Manor. Here, in Granger's modest but welcoming home, he found warmth. There was always the scent of something cooking, the sounds of Rose's laughter, and the quiet hum of conversation. It wasn't grand or impressive, but it was... cosy. And, if Draco was honest with himself, that was something he had craved for longer than he cared to admit.
One evening, they were sitting together in the living room after finishing a simple meal of roast chicken and vegetables. Rose had already gone off to bed, leaving the flat quiet except for the crackling of the fire in the corner. The glow from the flames danced across the room, casting soft shadows as they sipped their tea. Draco found his eyes lingering on Granger longer than they should, watching the way the light flickered across her face, how the warmth made her skin glow. She was wearing a soft grey jumper, casual and comfortable, but there was something about the way it hung on her that drew his attention.
He quickly averted his gaze, mentally chastising himself. Stop it, Draco , he thought. This is not where your thoughts should go. But the longer they spent together, the more difficult it became to push those feelings aside. Granger had become more than just an acquaintance, more than just a person he saw because of Rose. He admired her, appreciated her strength and intelligence, and he couldn't deny the growing pull he felt towards her.
Granger, for her part, seemed equally conflicted. There were moments—small, fleeting ones—where Draco would catch her looking at him, only for her to quickly look away, as though she were afraid to let him see the thoughts running through her mind. There was a subtle shift in the air between them, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge but could no longer ignore.
It was on one such evening, after a particularly relaxed dinner, that the tension became more palpable than ever. Since Rose had already gone to bed, they found themselves sitting together on the sofa, a bottle of wine between them. It had become something of a routine—these quiet moments after Rose was asleep, where they could talk about anything and nothing all at once.
Draco shifted in his seat, glancing over at Granger. "You've been quieter than usual tonight," he observed, his voice soft, almost hesitant. He wasn't sure why he said it, but the silence between them had grown heavy, and he needed to fill it with something.
Granger gave a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just thinking," she replied, turning her gaze to the fire. "About how things have changed."
He raised an eyebrow. "Changed?"
She hesitated for a moment before continuing, her voice quieter now. "You've become... well, a part of our lives. I didn't expect that."
Draco felt his chest tighten slightly at her words. He knew what she meant—how this had all started as something casual, something unexpected, and had grown into something neither of them could have predicted. But hearing her say it aloud made it more real.
"I didn't expect it either," he admitted, surprising even himself with the honesty of his reply. He took a sip of wine, the smoothness of the drink doing little to ease the tension that had settled in his chest. "But... I don't mind it."
Granger's eyes flicked to his, and for a moment, they held each other's gaze. There was something unspoken between them, something that hung in the air, heavy and confusing. Draco felt it—the pull, the desire to reach out, to close the distance between them. But he couldn't. He shouldn't .
The silence stretched, thick and loaded with everything neither of them dared say. Finally, Granger broke it, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's... nice, having you here. Rose... she adores you."
Draco smiled faintly at that. "Rose is... well, she's brilliant," he said softly. "It's hard not to adore her in return."
Granger's smile widened slightly, but there was still that tension, that lingering uncertainty in her expression. She shifted in her seat, her hand brushing against his for the briefest moment as she reached for her glass. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through Draco that he couldn't ignore. He glanced down at where their hands had touched, then back up at her. Granger's cheeks had flushed slightly, and she quickly pulled her hand back, as if the contact had startled her just as much as it had him.
They both sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Draco wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension that was threatening to overwhelm them. But the words stuck in his throat.
This can't happen, he thought, trying to reason with himself. Hermione Granger— Granger , for Merlin's sake—was someone he was growing far too close to, and the very idea terrified him. She had her own life, her own struggles, and there was Rose to think about. He couldn't allow himself to get swept up in whatever this was, no matter how much he was starting to care.
After what felt like an eternity, Granger finally stood, breaking the moment. "I should check on Rose," she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too quick.
Draco nodded, understanding the need for distance. "Of course."
As Granger disappeared down the hall, Draco leaned back on the sofa, his mind racing. He couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, but he also couldn't allow himself to act on it. Not now. Not when everything was so precariously balanced. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stared into the fire, the warmth doing little to ease the cold confusion inside him.
He didn't know where this was going, but he knew one thing for certain: it was becoming harder and harder to stay away from her.
As Hermione walked down the hall, her mind felt as chaotic as the rapidly pounding beat of her heart. She'd left the living room under the pretext of checking on Rose, but the truth was she needed a moment—a distraction, anything to quell the unfamiliar rush of emotions swirling inside her. The closeness with Malfoy had stirred something within her, something confusing and frightening, something she wasn't prepared to face.
She reached Rose's room and quietly opened the door. The soft light from the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating Rose's peaceful, sleeping form. Her little chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and her face, nestled into the pillow, was serene. Hermione stood in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, trying to let the calmness of the scene ease the tension building inside her.
Get a grip, Hermione , she thought. This is Draco Malfoy. She was acting as though they hadn't just spent years apart, as if the shared history between them wasn't filled with tension and rivalry. And yet, these past few weeks had shown her a different side of him—a side she couldn't stop thinking about. He had become part of her life, and the more time they spent together, the more she found herself thinking of him in ways that felt... dangerous.
She quietly closed Rose's door and padded toward the bathroom. Once inside, she flicked on the light and stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face flushed from the evening's emotions. The soft glow from the overhead light highlighted the uncertainty in her eyes. She let out a slow breath before turning on the tap, letting the cold water run over her fingers before she splashed some onto her face. The coolness helped, if only for a moment.
"What am I doing?" she whispered to herself, the sound barely audible above the gentle rush of water. She couldn't deny what was happening between her and Malfoy, but the thought of it terrified her. What if this was just a fleeting connection, something bound to end in heartbreak? She had Rose to think about, her responsibilities. Letting someone into her life like this felt too risky.
Hermione dried her face with a towel, her mind racing. She needed to steady herself, to pull back before these feelings spiralled out of control. But even as she thought that, she knew it was too late. The unspoken tension between them was undeniable, and pretending it didn't exist was growing more difficult by the day.
Taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom and returned to the living room, where Malfoy was still seated by the fire. The room felt different now, the air thick with the unspoken emotions that had lingered between them all evening. As Hermione sat back down, there was a palpable shift—a charged silence that neither of them seemed willing to break.
Malfoy looked at her, his grey eyes searching hers for something unsaid. She could feel it—the pull between them, stronger now than ever. For a moment, Hermione thought he might stay, that something between them might shift permanently. But as the tension built, Malfoy shifted slightly, his expression softening but remaining guarded.
"I should probably go," he said, his voice low, almost regretful.
Hermione nodded, her heart sinking slightly even though she knew it was the right thing. "Yes, of course," she replied, though her voice sounded distant, as if she wasn't entirely convinced.
They both stood, moving toward the Floo. The warmth from the fire cast soft shadows across the room, heightening the intimacy of the moment. Hermione hesitated as they reached the fireplace, her thoughts whirling. She had to fight the impulse to say something—to stop him from leaving, to acknowledge the unspoken tension that had been building between them for weeks.
But instead, she stepped forward and hugged him. It was a simple gesture, one that felt natural, but the closeness between them sent her heart racing again. Malfoy's arms wrapped around her in return, holding her tightly for a brief moment. She could feel the warmth of him, the solidness of his presence, and it made her feel both safe and vulnerable at once.
As she pulled back slightly, their eyes met, the charged silence between them thickening. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, the attraction between them undeniable now. She smiled softly, almost shyly, and stepped back to give him space to leave.
But Malfoy surprised her. Instead of stepping into the Floo immediately, he gently took her hand, his fingers warm against her skin. He held it for a moment, his eyes locking with hers, and then, in a gesture that sent a shiver down her spine, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on it.
"Goodnight, Hermione," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, full of something that felt both tender and unresolved.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her heart stammering as she looked at him, unsure how to respond. "Goodnight, Draco," she finally managed, her voice softer than she intended.
With one last glance, Malfoy stepped into the Floo, and in a flash of green flames, he was gone. The room felt colder without him there, the fire still crackling in the hearth, but the warmth that had filled the space seemed to have left with him.
Hermione stood by the fireplace for a long moment, staring at the spot where he had just been. Her heart was still racing, her mind awash with confusion and uncertainty. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected any of it. But now, there was no denying the truth: something was happening between her and Malfoy, and it was growing harder to ignore. And as much as the thought scared her, it also intrigued her in a way she hadn't felt in years.
With a sigh, she turned away from the fireplace, knowing that whatever lay ahead, it was something she couldn't avoid forever.