Chapter 3
a lesser woman would've lost hope
I believe a strong woman may be stronger than a man, particularly if she happens to have love in her heart. I guess a loving woman is indestructible."
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Narcissa Malfoy always stood proud, always graceful. She never begged for anything, never showed weakness. Watching his mother, proud, regal Narcissa, reduced to pleading with Snape, was like witnessing the collapse of a monument.
She was supposed to be untouchable, unbreakable.
But her voice strained, hands shaking, desperation bleeding through every word.
"Please, Severus." She grasped his arm. "You know the Dark Lord is only doing this to punish Lucius. He expects Draco to fail. He cannot fail. He's all I have left."
Draco had never heard her request for anything in his entire life.
Draco watched from the shadows. He always saw Narcissa as strong and poised. She never showed fear, never asked for help. But here, terrified for his life, she begged. The sight was gut-wrenching.
But at the same time, he understood her fear and desperation. The Dark Lord's hold over their family was suffocating and she would do anything to protect her family.
Draco's newly formed mark burned, seared into his skin like a cancer. A constant reminder of his impossible mission. It no longer hurt, but the thought of it embedded in his arm made him want to itch it bloody and raw.
Bellatrix snorted. "And what am I? Chopped liver, Cissy?"
Narcissa waved a hand at her sister dismissively. "You know what I mean, Bella."
Did she, though?
His aunt wore the Dark Mark like a badge of honour, a twisted form of pride. She didn't feel the same dread, the suffocating anxiety. She couldn't understand how Draco's life was hanging by a thread, that the mission he'd been assigned a death sentence.
But his mother did. She knew, and that knowledge was tearing her apart.
Draco wasn't meant to be here. He'd spotted his mother and aunt sneaking away under the cloak of darkness. A cast disillusionment spell, and he followed. They met in a private room at the local magical pub.
Draco watched as Snape's gaze hardened, his expression unreadable, yet something in his eyes hinted at the weight he was about to shoulder. When his mother's voice cracked with desperation, Draco felt a mix of shame and rage. He wasn't supposed to burden her, make her beg for him.
"Severus, please," Narcissa said again.
Draco's heart twisted, guilt settling like lead in his stomach.
Draco couldn't bear to watch his mother like this, reduced to begging Severus Snape for aid. For him. All because his father had failed his own mission miserably and ended up in Azkaban. He hadn't been enough to protect his family.
Watching his mother's shame, Draco knew he wouldn't be enough. He couldn't protect her, from the Dark Lord, from anything. Because he was nothing but a pawn in a larger game. His choices made for him since the moment of his birth.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out the image of his mother's pleading face. He couldn't shake feeling helpless, of watching his family's world crumble and being utterly powerless to stop it. The mark branded on his skin was meant to symbolize power and loyalty, but to him, it was nothing more than a shackle. He'd traded his freedom for this brand, given up any chance of a future outside of this nightmare.
He couldn't protect his mother. And he couldn't protect Granger. Not when he was assigned an unfeasible mission. He was doomed to fail from the beginning. They were doomed to fail, despite their reassurances at the end of the last school year. That was before everything changed.
Before he received the Dark Mark, its black lines screaming at him each time he viewed it. He refused to wear short sleeves any longer, even in the manor, even in the sweltering heat of the summer.
He hated it. Hated the mark, hated feeling useless, hated seeing his mother pleaded and imagining his almost-girlfriend in the same state pleading for his life.
He couldn't do that to her. He couldn't let Granger—Hermione—get caught up in this. Not any more than Potter already had. Not any more than he already had. She was brilliant, fierce, a light in the relentless darkness they'd both been pulled into, and he'd never forgive himself if that light went out because of him. Every time he pictured her face twisted in fear, her body battered by the dangers that had become a part of his daily existence, the guilt slashed through him, hot and unbearable.
But he knew better. She didn't belong here, tangled in shadows, bound to someone condemned.
She couldn't be tied to him. Not with his path laid out in blood and violence. Not when he was bound to the all-consuming demands of the Dark Lord. She deserved freedom, safety, a life beyond the reach of darkness. She deserved people who could keep her safe, not drag her deeper into danger.
The decision settled in his chest, sharp and unyielding, but with it came a pain so intense it was as if he were severing a part of himself. Letting her go felt like watching every chance at redemption, every stolen moment of happiness, slip away forever. His chest tightened, his stomach twisted, the despair creeping up and suffocating him.
He wanted to fight it, to cling to whatever fragile hope they'd managed to carve out together. But he knew it was selfish.
He was selfish. He admitted that. But he wouldn't be this time. He couldn't be.
So… he would let her go. He would turn away, shut her out, build walls to keep her safe. It was the right choice; the only choice. But it felt like a knife, sharp and merciless, plunging straight through his gut.
Even if he survived this war, that part of him never would.
And then he saw it—Snape reaching for his mother's arm, his long fingers closing over her wrist. Draco's heart skipped a beat as Snape murmured the words of the Unbreakable Vow, binding himself to the mission that Draco had been given. A flare of panic rose in him. Snape was tying himself to an impossible task, just as doomed as Draco.
Magic swirled around them, sealing the vow, and Draco felt a strange mix of relief and terror. Snape agreed to help, but now, if Draco failed, Snape would pay with his life.
The shame of it crawled under his skin, searing him from the inside out.
He couldn't let this happen. He was no killer; he knew that in his bones. But he was trapped, shackled to this destiny he couldn't escape, this path that would only lead to ruin.
The mark on his arm throbbed. He watched Snape's magic dissipate, resentment surging. They were all pawns—Snape, his mother, himself—caught in the Dark Lord's twisted game. But he couldn't walk away, couldn't abandon them. He was bound as surely as Snape was now.
Bellatrix's laughter echoed through the room, sharp and mocking, as if she could sense his inner turmoil, as if his suffering was nothing more than entertainment for her. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.
He took a shaky breath, swallowing his anger, his frustration, and forced himself to step back into the shadows.
He couldn't save himself, couldn't save his family, but maybe, just maybe, he could protect her.
Harry was convinced—absolutely certain—that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater.
His relentless obsession with it was draining the life out of Hermione. It seemed that every conversation, every moment of stillness, somehow circled back to Malfoy. She braced for it whenever Harry opened his mouth, waiting for the inevitable mention.
She was beyond weary of it.
More than once, she'd debated dropping a snide comment to shut them both up.
Something like, "Have you seen him naked recently to confirm your suspicions?"
The thought almost made her smile.
Almost.
She couldn't explain why she was certain Malfoy didn't have the Dark Mark.
Not that she'd seen him naked recently.
The truth of it—her real frustration—was the cold distance that had settled between them since the start of their sixth year. Malfoy hadn't looked at her since they'd returned to Hogwarts. Not a single stolen glance, sneer, or hushed word in passing. It was like she didn't exist to him anymore. It gnawed at her more than she cared to admit, and she hated herself for it. She wouldn't let him know how much it bothered her.
If he wanted to play pretend, she could play, too.
And she'd be better at it.
"I wonder what he's up to…" Harry muttered for what felt like the thousandth time, his eyes glued to the Marauder's Map, tracing Malfoy's footsteps as he moved through the castle. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his fingers tapping restlessly against the table's edge.
Hermione clenched her teeth, her patience wearing thin. It was bordering on obsessive, this fixation of his.
"It's none of our business," she snapped, trying to keep her voice despite the irritation seeping through.
"None of our business?" Ron echoed, his tone sharp with disbelief. "His father is a known Death Eater. He's in Azkaban!" His voice rose with indignation, as if this had somehow slipped her mind.
"He's not his father," Hermione shot back, a little more sharply than she intended.
She reached for the map, tired of Harry's fixation and Malfoy being at the centre of all their conversations, of her entire world, but Harry's Seeker reflexes kicked in. He snatched it from her grasp just in time, holding it high, out of her reach.
"He's always in the Room of Requirement." Harry frowned down at the map. "He's doing something in there. Something bad."
Hermione's patience snapped.
"Enough!" she huffed, her voice echoing louder than intended in the common room. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, a flush of anger and something else she didn't want to name.
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs to her room, her footsteps heavy on the worn stone.
She slammed the door behind her, her chest heaving with frustration. She didn't want to hear another word about Draco Malfoy—good or bad.
The image of his indifferent face flashed in her mind, his gaze sliding past her like she was just another shadow on the wall. It made her stomach twist, a bitter mix of anger and hurt. She didn't want to care.
She refused to care.
Yet, here she was, in her empty room, her heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with Harry's paranoid theories. She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to block out the thoughts spinning in her mind—the what ifs, the maybes, the why won't he look at me?
A soft, frustrated growl escaped her lips. She'd spent too much time thinking about him.
And for what?
A cold shoulder and a permanent spot in the pit of her stomach where she'd buried everything that had ever happened between them.
No. Hermione Granger was done with Draco Malfoy.
Hermione had tried to ignore him. She really had.
She told herself that Draco Malfoy was none of her concern. Whatever was going on with him was his problem and his alone.
But with each passing week, the resolve she'd built around herself began to crack, much like the facade he wore around him.
At first, it was subtle.
Malfoy had always been cocky, exuding self-assurance with every step he took. He strolled through the halls of Hogwarts with an air of ownership, always armed with a sharp retort or a smug grin. His laughter had once echoed through the Slytherin common room as he bantered with his friends, his clever wit making even the cruellest jokes seem charming to those who cared to listen.
But now, he was different. He moved like he was angry at the world, his usual swagger replaced by a hard, driven pace. His eyes, once bright with arrogance, now carried a shadow, the kind that lingered even when he laughed—though she rarely saw him do that anymore.
Hermione noticed the dark rings under his eyes, bruises of exhaustion that told the story of too many sleepless nights. His posture was stiff, and his shoulders were pulled back with almost military rigidity. He looked ready to crumble.
His face, always pale, had lost its healthy, almost porcelain glow and taken on a sickly grey hue.
He was wasting away, as if something gnawed at him from within.
Something was wrong with Draco Malfoy—something more than just the shame of his father's imprisonment or the whispers about his family's disgrace.
And it wasn't just his appearance.
Malfoy quit the Slytherin Quidditch team, which sent a ripple of shock through the school. Malfoy loved Quidditch. For him to walk away from it… Hermione's stomach twisted at the thought.
She'd tried to confront him, catching him as he left Potions.
"Malfoy!" she called, her voice edged with concern despite herself.
But he didn't even seem to hear her. His eyes were distant, unfocused, as if she were nothing but a ghost. He brushed past her, his face unreadable, and vanished into the crowd without a second glance.
He skipped prefect meetings, too. Malfoy had always been insufferably proud of his badge, not just because of its power, but because he liked to flaunt his authority. Yet now, he didn't even show up, leaving Hermione and the other prefects to cover his rounds.
It was unlike him—unlike the Malfoy she knew.
He was unravelling before her eyes.
The final straw came during Transfiguration.
"Detention, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall's voice was sharp, cutting through the usual classroom buzz. "For failing to complete your homework—again."
Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. Malfoy never failed to complete his homework. Never. He was always just a step behind her at the top of the class, fiercely proud of his academic standing—even if it was a notch below hers.
She studied him as he slumped in his chair, staring blankly ahead, not bothering to muster up his usual sneer or defensive retort. His face was devoid of its usual haughty confidence, replaced by something hollow, almost defeated.
Whatever was happening with him wasn't just bad—it was catastrophic. And Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that it was only getting worse. She could no longer pretend that she didn't care. She could no longer ignore the gnawing concern that had taken root in her chest.
Something was wrong with Draco Malfoy. He was spiralling before her. And she wasn't about to sit by and let it destroy him. Not without finding out the truth. Not without trying to help.
She set her jaw, her eyes narrowing with determination.
Hermione had served plenty of detentions over the years—usually for something involving Harry or Ron. Mostly Harry, if she were being honest.
She'd never before tried to earn one.
She eyed Malfoy's chair from across the room, her wand hidden beneath her desk, her heart pounding with nerves and anticipation. Malfoy sat there, staring ahead, exhausted and disinterested.
She wanted to help, but fury burned inside her.
He promised things last year. Then returned after summer break, ignoring her.
Now she would unleash her full devilry.
She muttered the incantation under her breath, her lips barely moving.
A moment of stillness passed as the spell took effect, then chaos erupted.
The wooden chair beneath Malfoy shimmered, twisting and warping, and before anyone could register what was happening, it transformed into a large, white, writhing snake. Malfoy nearly toppled backward as he shot out of his seat, eyes wide, his usual arrogance replaced by genuine shock. The hissing serpent coiled beneath him, its scales glinting in the classroom light.
Screams and shouts filled the room, interspersed with gasps and laughter. Harry and Ron were doubled over, howling with laughter as they pointed at the stunned expression on Malfoy's face. Even Seamus and Dean couldn't hold back, their eyes wide with terror and amusement.
Professor McGonagall's reaction was immediate. She rushed forward, her wand raised, and with a quick flick, the snake disappeared, the chair returning to its original form. She stared between Malfoy and Hermione, her eyes sharp with alarm and suspicion, as if trying to decipher what had transpired.
"Hermione Granger," she said, her voice tight, betraying disapproval and bewilderment. "Detention. Tonight."
Hermione didn't flinch. She nodded, her face impassive, even as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. She caught Malfoy's eye for a split second and swore she saw something flicker there—surprise, perhaps, or dread. But then he turned away, his expression slipping back into that cold, guarded mask.
Harry and Ron didn't question her much as they left the classroom, still too busy praising her.
"Did you see his face?" Ron wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Priceless! I didn't know you had it in you, Hermione!"
Harry clapped her on the back, a broad grin on his face. "Yeah. I reckon Malfoy'll be looking over his shoulder for weeks now."
Hermione forced a smile, a small, tight curve of her lips. She gave a nonchalant shrug, pretending to bask in the glory of their laughter.
"Well," she said, keeping her tone light, "I just thought he deserved a little surprise."
They continued their banter, lost in amusement, but Hermione's mind was elsewhere. She'd achieved what she'd set out to do, and now she'd have a chance to get him alone.
She wouldn't let Draco Malfoy slip away again, not this time. Not without finding out what haunted him. And why she cared so much.
That evening, Hermione marched to detention with renewed determination and purpose.
She worried about him, even though they weren't together. Never really were.
He needed to speak with someone, and she would force him if necessary.
Surprisingly, when she entered, Malfoy was already in the classroom, sitting near the front. Without hesitation, she marched up and set her books down beside him. He jolted at the sudden noise, then looked at her with dawning horror.
"I am disappointed with you both," McGonagall said once Hermione was settled. "Mr. Malfoy, you have always been a studious and devoted student. If something is happening that is hindering that, I hope you will speak to me or your Head of House about it. And Ms. Granger, the behaviour you displayed today was uncharacteristic of you, and I hope you have time to reflect on it."
Both nodded, looking down in remorse. It was neither of their first detentions, and they knew what was expected.
"Excellent. We have an hour together tonight. I advise using that time wisely, Mr. Malfoy, and catching up on the missed assignments."
"Yes, Professor."
"And Miss Granger, perhaps a short essay on why we don't turn our classmate's chairs into live animals in the middle of instruction."
"Yes, Professor."
The next hour was filled with the scratching of quills on parchment. Hermione finished her assignment in record time and glanced up at McGonagall, who appeared to be concentrating on grading some recent assignments.
Hermione muttered a silencing spell under her breath, feeling the slight shimmer of magic settle around them like a protective bubble. Tearing a piece of parchment from her roll, she scribbled, her quill scratching against the paper: We need to talk.
Without hesitation, she shoved the note onto Malfoy's desk atop his half-finished assignment. She watched him, her eyes narrowed, as he glanced down at the parchment. His nose flared, and he shot her a sharp, warning look before pushing the note back toward her with a flick of his fingers, dismissive and cold.
Oh, he wanted to play like that, did he?
She gritted her teeth, heat rising in her chest, and shoved the paper back at him with more force, the parchment crumpling under her grip. She was done being ignored, done being dismissed like she was nothing more than a nuisance.
Malfoy let out a low, frustrated breath, his eyes darting to McGonagall at the front of the room to ensure she hadn't noticed their exchange. Then, with a quick, practiced movement, he scribbled something on the note and flicked it back toward her.
No.
That was it? After months of silence—after the entire summer of radio silence and weeks of him pretending she didn't exist—that was all she got? A single curt refusal. As if their… whatever it was meant nothing to him. She felt a hot surge of anger inside her, a fire that licked at her nerves and made her hand tremble.
Those months clearly made him forget her temper.
Fine. Maybe it was time to remind him.
Yes. She wrote back, her hand moving with quick, angry strokes. Or the next thing I transfigure won't be your chair, Malfoy. Don't test me.
She shoved the note back at him, her eyes blazing with challenge. She could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, a flicker of something dangerous in his grey eyes. He read the note, his lips pressing into a thin, white line. She knew she had him cornered. He hated not being in control, hated being pushed.
For a moment, she thought he might retaliate with another dismissive reply, but instead, he crushed the parchment into a tight ball, his movements sharp and angry. With a final, seething glare, he shoved the crumpled note deep into his pocket, his nostrils flaring.
Hermione couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at her lips. She'd take that as the most reluctant fine she'd ever received.
"Well, that concludes our time together this evening," McGonagall said as the hour ended. She packed her things. "I hope you have both learned your lesson."
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," they said in unison.
McGonagall exited the room first.
Hermione and Malfoy sat in silence, neither making a move to gather their things or break the heavy stillness between them. Hermione glanced over at Malfoy. He stared straight ahead, back rigid, his fingers interlocked on the desk. His knuckles were white, the tendons straining under his skin as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.
She wanted to be angry. She wanted to lash out, to scream at him for shutting her out, for ignoring her for weeks. The frustration and confusion had been building up inside her like a pressure cooker. Now that they were finally alone, she thought she'd let it all out.
Instead, as she watched him, her fury deflated like a punctured balloon. He seemed so… broken, holding on by a thread.
"What can I do to help?" she finally asked, her voice softer than she intended.
It was the same question he asked her last year. In that corridor, desperate and panicked as her world crumbled around her.
Malfoy let out a jagged, mean laugh as he finally turned to face her. "You don't understand what you just asked."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she finally held his gaze. His light eyes were almost completely dilated, making them appear black. The feeling was unsettling, and a chill crawled down her spine.
"I just want to help you," she pleaded, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I can see you're struggling. Let me help."
"No one can help me." Malfoy would normally have retorted with a jeer, maybe even an insult. Instead, he felt monotonous and bored.
Hopeless.
He slipped away, like he was entering another world.
A pit grew in her stomach, and her panic rose to fill the space.
Without thinking, she lunged forward, cupping his face between her hands. It was a mirror of what he had done for her last year when she'd spiralled into her panic attack.
"Draco," she said, alarmed, looking back and forth between his eyes. "Something is wrong. What is going on? Your eyes…"
He blinked, the haze beginning to fade but still there. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Malfoy," she snapped, her frustration mounting. "I know something is going on."
Malfoy looked away, his eyes now fixed on the classroom window. "What do you want me to say?"
"Anything!" Hermione burst out. "Something. You've ignored me all term. I don't understand what's happening, and you keep getting worse and worse. I just want to understand."
Silence filled the room; only the clock ticked, marking time's passage.
"I feel like I'm losing you." The words slipped out against her will, soft and hurt.
Malfoy tensed, his whole body going still as stone.
"I was never yours to lose."
A lump formed in her throat, and her vision was blurry with tears that formed despite her best efforts. She nodded a few times.
"I suppose you're right." Her voice cracked as she spoke.
Malfoy still refused to look at her.
"Look at me!" Hermione demanded, grabbing Malfoy by the arm and forcing his body to turn towards her.
His head followed, a small frown forming on the carved marble. "We should have known better. We should never have started this. How else could it end, Granger?"
"End?" she scoffed, a humourless, hurt laugh bubbling out of her throat.
She watched his eyes betray him, flickering down to the top buttons of her shirt, which were undone, revealing a hint of skin. His gaze flicked to her lips for a heartbeat before snapping back to her eyes. It was like a reflex, something he couldn't control.
That was confirmation enough.
Fine. If Malfoy didn't want to play nice with her or sort out whatever he was going through, she'd play dirty.
She always was better at playing games where she could stack the deck.
Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, and she moved just a little closer, her breath mingling with his. She reached up, her fingers brushing through the strands of his hair that had grown too long in front, pushing them back from his face with a deliberate, slow touch.
"We haven't even really begun," she whispered, her voice both a warning and a promise.
She stood, turned on her heel, and left him alone in the empty Transfiguration classroom. His eyes tracked her every step as she disappeared through the door.
Merlin, he prayed she was right.
The potions classroom was filled with the low hum of murmured conversations and the soft clinking of glass vials and stirring rods. Gryffindors and Slytherins shared the class, rivalry simmering beneath the surface.
Professor Slughorn stood at the front of the room, his round belly protruding beneath his green velvet waistcoat, his face beaming with pride and excitement as he gestured to the cauldron.
"Gather around, everyone!" he called, clapping his hands together. "Today, we have a special treat! Does anyone know what this potion is?"
Ever the eager student, Hermione stepped forward without hesitation, her eyes narrowing as she studied the cauldron's contents. The liquid inside shimmered with a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rose from it in delicate, spiralling tendrils.
She knew it immediately.
"Amortentia," she answered. "The world's most powerful love potion."
Slughorn's face lit up with approval. "Very good, Miss Granger! Ten points to Gryffindor! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"
Hermione nodded, stepping closer to the cauldron, her gaze still fixed on the swirling liquid.
"And the steam rising in spirals," she continued, her voice steady but with a hint of curiosity, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us according to what attracts us."
The students leaned in closer, curiosity piqued, and Slughorn encouraged them. "Yes, yes! Very good! Everyone, take a moment. Find out what you smell. It's always quite interesting, I find!"
Hermione leaned over the cauldron, inhaling deeply, expecting to smell the familiar scents she always did.
"I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—" she began, but then her words caught in her throat, her voice trailing off as a new scent flooded her senses.
Mint. The crisp, clean scent filled her nose, fresh and sharp. It was so clear and distinct that it cut through the other smells, overwhelming them. She blinked, her eyes darting up without thinking, seeking the source of the scent she hadn't expected, and landed on Draco Malfoy.
Draco stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his face neutral. But the moment Hermione's gaze locked onto his, she saw the shift. His grey eyes widened, his face paling. There was a flicker of something—panic, maybe—in his eyes, and she realized he'd caught her reaction.
"And mint," she finished, tearing her gaze away.
She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, her heart pounding. She stepped back from the cauldron, trying to distance herself from the potion that had betrayed her.
Other students murmured, caught up in their own reactions.
But Theo Nott, standing next to Draco, noticed the exchange and was snickering quietly, his lips curling into a sly smirk.
"Merlin's beard, Malfoy." Theo elbowed Draco in the side, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat. "I think Granger's got a thing for you. Who would've thought?"
Draco shot him a warning glare, his face still pale, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack.
"Shut it, Theo," he hissed under his breath, his eyes darting back to Hermione before looking away.
Pansy Parkinson, who had been watching Hermione like a hawk, caught the glance between them and narrowed her eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. Her lips twisted into a sneer, and she folded her arms across her chest, leaning closer to Draco, her posture possessive and protective.
"Well, isn't that just precious," she spat, her voice dripping with venom as she stared daggers at Hermione. "The little Mudblood thinks she has a chance with you, Draco."
Hermione's cheeks burned even hotter, but she refused to rise to the bait. She wouldn't give Pansy the satisfaction. She wouldn't give any of them the satisfaction.
"Shut the fuck up, Pansy," Draco growled. "You've shagged half of the Slytherin. At this point, you've got less chance than she does."
Theo guffawed, laughing as Pansy's face burned bright red.
Hermione refocused on the potion, forcing her mind back to the task. She ignored the fluttering sensation in her chest, the way her mind kept circling back to that scent.
Mint.
Draco battled his own demons. He tried to control his breathing, his eyes fixed on a point just above Slughorn's head, trying to disappear.
She'd smelled him.
Panic surged, washing away that thought. They were on dangerous ground.
Discovery meant danger.
He stole another glance at Hermione and saw how she bit her lip; her brow furrowed as if deep in thought. She looked up, catching his eye again. There was something there—a flicker of shared understanding, of mutual fear.
And maybe something more.
He needed to stay away.
But it was already too late.
Across the room, Slughorn continued to ramble on about the properties of Amortentia, but neither Draco nor Hermione heard him.
Hermione was beginning to enjoy it—this game she played with Draco Malfoy.
Maybe it was born out of frustration.
Maybe it stemmed from a need to push him. She needed to see how far she could push him before he snapped.
Whatever it was, she couldn't seem to stop herself. She liked getting under his skin. She enjoyed making him squirm.
It started small, just little things that she knew would irritate him. A lingering look across the library when she knew he was trying to study. She leaned over the table, arching her back, aware of his gaze. She'd flash him a sweet, innocent smile whenever their eyes met, pretending she didn't notice how his gaze would darken, his jaw would tighten.
The more she pushed, the more she noticed his reactions—the way his hands would clench into fists, the way he'd grit his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping with tension. This spurred her on, testing his limits.
Today, though, she decided to up the ante.
Theodore Nott was Malfoy's best friend. No matter how much Malfoy might deny it, whenever Theo had come up in their conversations, Hermione had noted the change in Malfoy's demeanour. He talked about Theo and Blaise like Hermione spoke about Harry and Ron.
Hermione's gaze slid over to Theo, lounging in the corner of the library with Blaise and Malfoy. Books were spread around them in an apparent study session, looking every bit the picture of calculated indifference. Theo's fingers drummed against the arm of the chair, his eyes half-lidded as though he were unaware of anything around him.
But Hermione knew better.
She caught the flicker of his gaze, noting how he tracked her movements. Malfoy's attention seemed to follow her every step like a shadow.
Theo's mouth curved into a slow, almost knowing smirk the second their eyes met. His gaze held a conspiratorial edge, a willingness to join the game she was setting in motion.
Hermione swallowed, feeling a rush of nervous energy at the idea forming in her mind.
She could use this.
Use Theo's easy charm, his relaxed confidence, to push Malfoy—just enough to make him act. It was risky, maybe a little dangerous.
She strolled to the corner, leaning on the chair where Theo sat next to Blaise. Her heart was beating too quickly, but she forced herself to keep her expression calm, a hint of amusement playing at the edges of her lips.
"Hey, Theo." She let her voice carry just enough to reach Malfoy's ears across the table. She could feel Malfoy's gaze intensify like a blade sharpened to a fine point. Hermione twirled a lock of curls in her finger like she'd watched other girls do when they wanted to get their way. "I was having some issues with my ancient runes paper, and I heard you're brilliant at it. If you have time, can you review this later? I'm not fully confident in my equations."
"That depends, Granger." Theo raised an eyebrow, feigning a look of innocent surprise. "On why you're trying to get me alone."
The playful glint in his eye told her he was all too aware of her intentions, but he leaned in, playing along, allowing their proximity to feel just a bit too close.
"It's purely academic, I assure you."
"Of course." Theo nodded and rolled his eyes. "Because a little fun would kill you."
Hermione's mouth quirked into a smirk, and she tilted her head, pretending to consider his words.
"I don't know," she replied, challenging his gaze. "Maybe fun with me would kill you, Nott."
Theo chuckled, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from her shoulder. "Well, I suppose I could review your work… but you'd have to ask very nicely, Granger."
Hermione didn't miss the way Theo's voice lowered suggestively, loud enough for Malfoy to hear. She could feel Malfoy's attention like a physical weight, and her pulse spiked, knowing she was treading a thin line.
Before she could respond, a cold voice cut through the air.
"Nott." Malfoy's tone was sharp, laced with a barely restrained edge of anger. "I'd be careful if I were you. Granger is more likely to bite you than play, I think."
Theo leaned back, unperturbed, and flashed Malfoy a lazy grin.
"Funny, I didn't think she was complaining," he replied, winking in Hermione's direction.
Malfoy's jaw clenched. His gaze shifted to Hermione, and she felt the heat of his stare, intense and searching.
"You're not wasting your time with him, are you, Granger?" he asked, his voice cool yet carrying an unmistakable note of possessiveness.
Hermione raised her chin, meeting his gaze with a hint of defiance.
"Is it any of your concern, Malfoy?" She let the challenge hang between them.
She didn't miss the slight flicker of something dark in his eyes, a possessive glint that betrayed his carefully maintained facade of indifference.
Theo, sensing the tension, chuckled.
"I don't know, Drake," he drawled, casually stretching his arms out along the back of the chair. "She seems more than happy to entertain a little conversation. Unless, of course, you're saying she has… other obligations?"
"I can confirm there are none." Hermione fluttered her eyelids for added effect.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped, a dangerous undertone colouring his words. "Be careful, Nott."
Theo held his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk never faded.
"Relax, Drake. Just keeping the lady company." He cast a sidelong glance at Hermione, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Granger, if you want more stimulating conversation, you know where to find me."
Hermione bit back a smile, sensing the silent battle waging between the two boys. She'd stirred something raw and untamed in Malfoy, possessive and unrelenting.
"Granger," he said, his tone simmering with tension, "I'd reconsider who you spend your time with. Nott isn't as harmless as he seems."
Hermione's heart pounded as she held Malfoy's gaze, feeling the electricity sparking between them, the unspoken emotions hovering beneath the surface.
"And what about you, Malfoy? Are you as harmless as you seem?"
A flicker of something dark passed over his face.
Theo, watching the exchange with a smirk, leaned back and chuckled under his breath. "Careful, Granger. Malfoy's got a bit of a jealous streak. Wouldn't want you caught in the crossfire."
Malfoy shot him a glare before turning his full attention back to Hermione. "Don't worry, Theo, there's no chance of that."
But Hermione only smiled, a slow, knowing smile.
The courtyard was bathed in the gentle warmth of the early afternoon sun, casting a honeyed glow over the worn stone floor and the climbing ivy creeping up the castle walls. Theo leaned back on the bench confidently, his gaze sharp and appraising as he studied Hermione. She had to admit, there was a certain charm to him. He was snarky but thoughtful in a way that allowed conversation to flow easily. She hadn't expected to enjoy his company, but he was full of quiet wit and just enough rebellion to keep things interesting.
Theo tilted his head toward her, his voice dropping to a playful murmur.
"So, Granger," he whispered, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "what would your Gryffindor friends think if they saw you here, all cozy with a Slytherin?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips.
"They'd probably think I'm gathering intel on the enemy," she said. Her hand rested on the cool stone of the bench, fingers inches away from Theo's arm.
"Is that what this is?" His eyes sparkled, daring her to play along. "Should I be careful, then? Don't want to end up spilling all our deepest, darkest secrets."
Hermione leaned in a fraction closer, drawn into the teasing atmosphere he created. "Oh, don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me. As long as you don't give me any reason to spill them."
Theo's gaze drifted over her shoulder, and Hermione followed it, catching sight of Malfoy across the courtyard. He was lingering under the archway, his posture tense, his gaze fixed on them. Even from this distance, she could feel the possessiveness radiating off him, a taut energy connecting them that seemed to tighten with each shared glance and murmured word between her and Theo.
Her heart gave a small thrill, knowing that Malfoy was watching, that his focus was entirely on them. Foolish or dangerous, a part of her couldn't resist pushing him.
She shifted closer to Theo, letting her fingers brush against his arm in an unmistakable gesture. Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned in, his voice a low, teasing murmur.
"You know, Draco's going to snap if you keep this up." He glanced over at Malfoy with a grin. "I haven't seen him this wound up since… well, ever."
Hermione shrugged, though the rush of confidence that filled her was undeniable. "I have no idea what you're referring to."
Theo leaned back, crossing his arms with a sly grin. "Just don't say I didn't warn you. He doesn't share well."
"I have no idea what's wrong with Malfoy. It doesn't concern me. Let him come over here if he has something to say," she replied, knowing full well Malfoy would rather stay where he was, watching, seething quietly.
Testing his patience had become a strange, exhilarating game, and while she didn't know where it would lead, she couldn't stop.
Theo's amusement shifted into something a bit more genuine.
"It's clear why he's so infatuated with you," he said, more to himself than to her. "Not that I'd ever tell him."
Hermione's breath hitched at the admission, a warmth spreading through her that surprised her.
"You didn't know?" Malfoy, watching murderously, caught Theo's eye.
She glanced back at Malfoy, her heart pounding. She sensed something, but hearing it confirmed, especially by his best friend, made it real, both thrilling and terrifying.
"You're not helping, Theo." Her voice held warning with a note of affection. "Besides… I'm here for you to help me with runes. Not to talk about Malfoy."
"If you say so, Hermione." With a grin, Theo leaned back, throwing one arm over the back of the bench and stretching his legs out in front of him. "We both know you're more than capable with runes. You can admit that you want to spend time with me. I know my presence is astounding, but it's okay to admit. I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Hermione laughed, the sound carrying through the courtyard, and she didn't miss the way Malfoy's jaw clenched, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. She knew she'd pay for this later. Yet, she wasn't concerned, lost in the moment's lightheartedness with Theo.
She envisioned a world where things were different. The war didn't hang over their heads; bloodlines and family allegiances didn't matter. She could… choose.
Would she have developed a close relationship with Malfoy's best friend? Invite him to join them when they were together, to hang out?
It was a dangerous thought.
She leaned back, embracing the sun's warmth, letting herself bask in the treacherous notion.
Draco couldn't stand it anymore. She'd been driving him mad for weeks, teasing him at every turn, testing his control. And now, watching her with Theo, seeing the way she leaned in so close, her lips dangerously near Theo's ear—something in him snapped.
Before he could stop himself, Draco was on his feet, his book discarded, his steps quick and purposeful as he crossed the courtyard. His eyes were locked on Hermione, fury blazing in his silver gaze, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his blood thrumming.
Theo noticed him first, his smirk widening as he leaned back as if he'd just accomplished exactly what he'd intended.
"Granger," Draco growled, his voice low and dangerous. "A word. Now."
Hermione looked innocent, but he saw mischief in her eyes, a smirk on her lips. Her top three buttons were undone, showing a more than generous amount of cleavage.
"Oh? Is something the matter, Malfoy?" she asked sweetly, her tone mocking.
He didn't respond, his jaw tightening as he grabbed her arm—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make it clear that she didn't have a choice. He ignored Theo's amused chuckle and pulled her away from the courtyard, steering her into a narrow, deserted corridor, away from prying eyes and ears.
"What the hell are you doing?" Draco hissed once they were alone, his face inches from hers, his voice rough with barely contained rage.
Hermione tilted her head, her lips curling into a slow, teasing smile.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, her voice soft and sultry, her breath brushing against his lips. "I was just talking to Theo. He's actually quite charming."
His grip on her arm tightened, his eyes narrowing. "Don't play dumb, Granger. I know what you're doing. You've been taunting me for weeks—smiling at me, teasing me, throwing yourself at bloody Nott. What game are you playing?"
She let out a soft, breathy laugh, leaning in closer until their bodies were nearly pressed together, her chest brushing against his.
"Maybe I just like seeing you like this," she whispered, her voice a low, seductive purr. "All angry and desperate."
He could feel his restraint crumbling, his body reacting to the heat of her words and her body's proximity.
"You think this is funny?" he growled, his voice rough with frustration.
"Immeasurably." Her lips were so close to his that he could almost taste her.
He snapped.
Draco's mouth crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands gripping her waist and pulling her flush against him. She gasped against his lips, but then she was kissing him back, just as hungry, just as desperate, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, deeper. She could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body was taut with restrained desire.
They stumbled back against the wall, Draco pinning her there, his hands roaming over her curves, sliding up under her blouse, his touch burning against her skin. She moaned softly into his mouth, arching into him, her body responding to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She wanted this.
She needed this.
She needed him.
His lips trailed down her neck, hot and insistent, and she let out a breathy sigh, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Malfoy," she whispered, his name a plea on her lips.
He growled low in his throat, his breath hot against her ear.
"You drive me mad," he muttered, his voice rough with frustration and need. "You're insufferable. You know that?"
She smiled against his mouth, her hands sliding down his back, pulling him closer. "And yet you can't stay away," she teased, her lips brushing against his. "You don't want to stay away."
He didn't deny it. He couldn't.
Instead, he kissed her again, deeper, more demanding, his hands exploring every inch of her they could reach, his need for her overwhelming every rational thought. He wanted her. He needed her like he needed air. And he was done pretending otherwise.
Hermione's fingers slipped beneath his shirt, her touch sending shivers down his spine, and he groaned, his lips moving back up to claim hers in another bruising kiss. He could feel her smiling against his lips, and it only fuelled his desire, his need to make her lose control just like he was.
The heat and tension consumed them both. His hands were at her hips, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, their bodies aligning perfectly. She could feel every inch of him, could feel how badly he wanted her, and it sent a thrill through her that made her heart race.
"This can't happen again," he muttered against her lips, his breath ragged, his voice thick with frustration and need.
She pulled back. Her eyes were dark with desire but filled with a wicked, teasing light.
"Then make it worth it," she whispered, her lips curling into a challenging smile.
His response was a low growl as he kissed her again, harder, his hands gripping her tighter, his body pressing her further into the wall.
Despite his words and their attempts to convince themselves otherwise, they realized the damage was done.
They were addicted. And they couldn't resist another taste.