Chapter 44: Draco

Don't Hold Back

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed." — Jane Austen,Pride and Prejudice

Moments Earlier—

Draco had almost immediately regretted not accepting Granger's offer to call off the duel.

One day of consulting—he could have survived that. Probably. But being so close to her, breathing the same air … just the idea of it had stretched the limits of his self-control. It had taken every ounce of Draco's self-control to keep himself from pinning her against the wall of the Dueling Arena when she'd asked him for that one day so bloody earnestly.

Her earnest demeanor had been gone when they had mounted the dueling platform. Granger's braided hair exposed her face entirely, and she was so easy for Draco to read. Every minuscule shift in the muscles of her face betrayed her thoughts. She was angry at him, frustrated, and as regretful as he was.

Why were they doing this?

As soon as Draco cast the first spell—a wildly aimed thing designed to get the duel started—he decided to let her win. Granger should have everything she wanted—even his time, even if it might drive him mad. Even if it meant he'd have to see Ersilia again and face the memories he'd spent years trying to bury.

So, he danced through their duel for a while and then gradually began reigning in his power, adjusting his aim, and leaning into a few spells. He held back for her.

But then he'd gone too far: Granger had been able to tell Draco wasn't giving his all. When she snapped at him—"Fight me, Malfoy! What are you doing?"—his stomach dropped. His act wasn't convincing.

She wanted a duel, and Draco obliged. He increased the ferocity of his casting, though, still aiming slightly off-center, reducing the speed of their trajectory. Feigning a duel proved more difficult than actually dueling.

By Merlin, Granger was good.

How had he ever believed Muggleborns didn't deserve magic? Had stolen magic? Watching Granger like this—as if she were magic itself—he felt even more like an unworthy idiot.

Draco knew he could still win if he wanted to. He'd learned things Granger couldn't ever imagine—tricks whispered to him in the dark by his father, Bellatrix, and occasionally the Dark Lord himself. He possessed horrific knowledge that he could never forget, that clung to him like a second skin. But Draco would never reach for those tricks. Not ever.

Not with her.

So instead, Draco started pulling back again, his spells deliberate but weak. They were spells Granger didn't deserve. She deserved an equal, a partner who could match her power with something tangible.

He sent a half-hearted stunning spell toward her chest, sluggish and faint, something even a first-year could dodge or block. It wasn't real.

But Granger didn't dodge or block.

Draco's chest tightened as he watched the spell hit her squarely. He wasn't truly worried. The spell wasn't enough to stun a crup, much less a fully grown witch. But then—Granger fell.

What?

Was Draco hallucinating? Granger was flat on her back, unmoving, one arm outstretched, her wand rolling away from her limp hand.

The world around Draco blurred. The crowd's cheers and jeers became a distant hum, and all Draco could focus on was the figure crumpled on the platform. Granger looked stunned—but that wasn't possible. He hadn't given that spell any energy. He narrowed his eyes like a hawk, and then Granger's fingers, which had moments earlier gripped her wand, twitched.

She was faking it!

Draco, hypocrite that he was, rankled at the idea of Granger letting him win. It didn't matter thathehad been trying to let her win; he had no scruples or morals to preserve. But Granger was light, good, and righteous—she would not dare throw a formal duel like this.

Someone jostled Draco's shoulder, and he blinked in a daze. Suddenly, the arena's shouts and echoes flooded his head, shocking him back into awareness. He turned to find Theo at his side with a pitying expression.

"You won."

"I didn't."

Theo looked confused. "You did—and you made a lot of money for the DA. I don't think a single person bet on you. It's a big upset."

Draco scowled and turned back to Granger. Potter and Weasley had arrived beside her, and Potter was pressing a wand to her chest. As the Rennervation Charm activated, Draco saw Granger wince and gasp, coming to consciousness a bit too dramatically.

Un—fucking—believable.

Theo stepped before Draco, separating him from the Golden Trio and turning to face the crowd.

"Draco Malfoy wins!"

No, Draco Malfoy did not fucking win.

Granger stood with help from Weasley. She turned, gave Draco a sad, knowing look, and nodded at him. And then—the gall, the audacity—Granger sent him a thumbs-up.

Draco seethed.

Potter, Weasley, and Granger descended from the platform into the waiting crowd, who enveloped them with warm embraces and sympathetic expressions. He saw a gaggle of Gryffindors and DA members he had begun to recognize over the last couple of months; he saw George and Angelina pat Hermione on the back; he saw Granger make excuses and slip away toward the women's locker room with the sister Weasley.

Draco clenched his fists as Granger retreated with She-Weasley at her side, their heads bent close in conversation. She did not just get to walk away from this, not after that farce.

Before Draco realized it, he was striding after her, leaping down from the platform and weaving through the crowd. Theo called his name, but he ignored it. Some attendees balked as Draco shoved them out of his way, but he cared not for them, either.

"Granger!" he called, his voice sharp. She didn't stop, but She-Weasley glanced over her shoulder. Draco reached them just as they neared the arched doorway to the locker room.

"Granger, we're not finished," he snapped.

Granger turned to face him, her brow furrowed. "We are absolutely finished, Malfoy. You won. Go celebrate."

"You know full well I didn't," he growled.

She-Weasley stepped forward, her wand hand twitching. "She said you're done, Malfoy. Don't make me hex you in front of all these witnesses."

"This has nothing to do with you, Weaslette," Draco replied coldly, his gaze fixed on Hermione.

"Oh, I think it does," She-Weasley shot back, her voice rising. "Hermione doesn't need your posturing right now. Back off."

"Ginny," Granger said firmly, touching her friend's arm. "It's fine. He won the duel, and we should work out the terms. Leave us to talk?"

She-Weasley looked unconvinced. "Are you sure? Malfoy's being … himself." The red-haired witch shot Draco a withering glance, which he happily returned.

"I'm sure," Granger said. "I'll meet you in a minute."

She-Weasley hesitated, her gaze flicking between them before letting out a low sigh. "All right. But if you need backup, shout. I'll be listening." She shot Draco one last scathing glare—it was rather impressive, and Draco thought he might enjoy exchanging further barbs with her—before disappearing through the doorway.

Granger turned back to Draco. "What do you want?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to something low and menacing. "You let me win."

"I did not. That's ridiculous," she said, crossing her arms. She did not look him in the eye.

"Don't lie to me," Draco demanded. "I saw it. You didn't block my last spell, and we both know you could have."

"I didn't—"

"Why?" he pressed, leaning forward, his tone sharp and cutting.

Granger's eyes were fiery when she replied. "Why did you half-arse your casting?"

Draco smiled. She did notice, then. He ignored the point of her question and pressed on. "Correct, Granger. That spell couldn't have knocked out a newborn babe. Quite the performance you pulled off. Why did you fake it? Was it guilt? Do you think I need your pity?"

Granger's jaw tightened. Draco was close enough to notice the skin beneath her earlobes pull. Her hands dropped and curled into fists at her sides. "You're mistaken," she snapped.

"Am I?" he mocked, his lips forming a smirk. "What was it, Granger? Were you afraid to face me in the end? Did all that Gryffindor courage leave you? Were you worried I would begin fighting back? Let me guess … you realized you were outmatched, saw an easy exit from the fight that you started, and then took it."

Draco knew he was egging her on, but he was reeling. Granger let him win. Why would she do that? The only answer was that she did feel guilty for strong-arming him into consulting for the DMLE—and the only reason she would feel such guilt was if she gave a shit, not about her case—but about his feelings.

Granger should not give a shit about him.

Granger's nose pinched into a pathetic attempt at a sneer. Draco almost laughed. She said, "You won, Malfoy. Let it be. I'll leave you alone now—"

"I think not," Draco dismissed her with a dangerous look. He took a step closer, and Granger was forced to retreat, her back pressing into the wall of the arena. Draco wanted to press up against her—cage her in, make her confront this thing between them.

He wanted a rematch, and he was going to get one.

"Come on, Granger. Rematch. Best two out of three."

"What?" She looked shocked and then shook her head. "No. Enough—"

"Flitwick must be a bollocks instructor if that was all you could give me," Draco interjected. Granger visibly rankled, and Draco relished the sight. Yes, he was going to get what he wanted that night. He knew just where to poke. "Unless—you weren't good, after all. Beating Theo last month must have been a fluke. No talent. No instinct. It makes sense, come to think of it—a big disappointment to old Flitwick, were you?"

Granger glared at him, pink blooming deliciously on her cheeks. She jutted her chin toward Draco—their faces were just inches apart—and hissed, "I could beat you with my eyes closed and my wand arm tied behind my back!"

Draco's smile turned darker and sharper as his gaze raked over Granger's body. "If you want me to tie you up, Granger, you need only ask."

Granger's cheeks flamed. Draco wanted to reach out and caress the blush with his fingers, feel the heat of it.

Salazar, what had come over him? All the impulses he had carefully dismissed and controlled over the last months of his life were seeping through the cracks of his mind. His internal Room of Hidden Things, his boxes of feelings and memories, were all in shambles.

This dance he and Granger had been doing had upended his life, and he needed to know if it affected her, too. Poking, teasing, suggesting, Draco would do all of it—anything—to figure this out.

His words worked, it seemed. Granger's frustration boiled over.

"Fine," she bit out, her voice like acid. "You asked for it. But not here. Not—in public."

Draco's smirk deepened. "Of course not," he said smoothly. "Allow me to escort you upstairs to the private dueling chambers."

The crowd from their duel had somewhat dissipated, but the arena was still busy, especially for a midweek evening. Draco kept to the walls and covertly led Granger to the concealed stairwell. He spotted Theo talking to two very tall and burly men in the distance, thankful his friend was distracted; Theo would have undoubtedly meddled.

They reached the doorway to the private upper levels, and Draco used his wand to unlock the entrance. Theo had keyed him in weeks ago.

Their footsteps echoed off the walls in the stairwell. An eerie calm had washed over Draco, and when they emerged onto the private floor, Draco was relieved to find it empty. He did not need Theo or his partners there to ask questions—not when Granger looked ready to bolt. Her eyes were wide, and her shoulders hunched like a lost foal.

Draco hesitated as he approached the first of the dueling rooms. He almost backed out then and there.

But—no. No. They were doing this. This time, it would be his choice. Draco opened the door and held it for Granger.

"After you," he said, sweeping his arm out.

Granger looked around, suspicious. "Who comes here?"

Draco tried to keep the previous edge in his voice at bay as he spoke. "The offices are down the hall. Just the owners and me, I believe."

Granger nodded and entered the room. Draco followed. Granger was examining the rune-covered brass-paneled walls when Draco turned from shutting the door.

Floating orbs at the four corners of the ceiling lit the room. It was bigger than the dueling boxes downstairs but not as large as the platforms. Unlike the dueling boxes, there was no window in the doorway. They were enclosed and completely alone.

Draco did not know how to begin.

But Granger did. An ochre-colored jet of light sailed for Draco's head without any preamble. He ducked just in time to dodge it. The spell hit the back of the door and seeped into the embossed panel. The runes glowed bright as they absorbed the magic.

"The fuck, Granger?" Draco hissed. "Was that a burning hex?"

He looked at her incredulously. Hermione "Golden Girl" Granger was sending semi-dark hexes directly at his head.

Draco's groin involuntarily twinged.

"Don't hold back this time, Malfoy." Granger quirked a brow as if to challenge him. "I want a real fight."

Draco smirked. He would not pull out the Death Eater tricks—never again—but he might still give Granger an outlet for all that rage.

"As you wish, princess."

Granger startled and sneered at the pet name—Draco liked that—and then raised her wand again. "Stupefy!"

Draco sidestepped the spell easily, the bolt of red light seeping into a brass-paneled wall. He barely had time to taunt her before she fired again—a whip-like jet of blue energy crackling past his ear.

"I had thought you might be good at this," Granger taunted in between two powerful hexes.

"Careful, Granger," Draco drawled. He sent a pathetically weak jinx spiraling toward her legs. She deflected it with a lazy Protego, the shield shimmering gold before fading. Granger let out a growling exhalation of anger.

"Don't—" Granger ground out the word through clenched teeth. She sent another hex at his head. He blocked it.

"Hold—" She followed up with a series of quick stunners that forced Draco to backpedal toward the wall.

"Back!" A cutting hex severed the hem of Draco's right sleeve and dented the brass panel behind him.

Draco stared at her, open-mouthed, alarmed, and fucking obsessed that she would send truly dangerous spells his way. He fingered the raw edge of his cut sleeve and felt his stomach swoop possessively toward her. He smiled. He could take whatever Granger wanted to throw at him.

"Is that all you have?"

Granger let out a semi-feral cry that delighted Draco to no end—and then she unleashed herself.

Draco dodged and blocked—one after another, his wand moving with exacting precision. He had intended to truly fight, cast full-strength spells to put her on the defensive and appease the witch. But whenever Draco looked at Granger, he could not bring himself to cast a spell against her.

Granger's scowl deepened when Draco blocked a Nausea-Inducing Hex and did not move to cast something in return.

"Rematch? You're a liar," she snapped, firing another series of hexes at him. The room lit up in bursts of green and purple as the spells collided with Draco's counter-spells midair, each crackling and dispersing in a shower of sparks.

"Why do you care about this so much?" Draco demanded. He was beginning to struggle to keep up with the required shields and counters to Granger's prolific repertoire of magic.

Granger hesitated. "We had an agreement," she said. "It's a duel!"

"Fuck the duel!" Draco yelled. He sent a jet of red light at her shoulder, which Granger deflected nonverbally.

She responded by casting a Ventus Charm so strong that Draco was thrust hard into the wall behind him. All the breath left his lungs.

When Draco recovered, Granger was smirking and pacing on the other side of the room. He could see little wisps of her hair escape the braids on either side of her head as if they were too much to contain. The temperature of the room was high—even Draco was beginning to glisten at his temples.

"I thought I was a criminal. Why do you want me on this case so much?" Draco retorted. He could not care less about this blasted duel, but he did care about Granger's motives.

"I already said I was sorry about that." Granger stopped pacing. She looked sheepish. Why did she look fucking sheepish?Enough.

Draco took advantage of the pause in her casting. He strode forward and was halfway across the room before Granger could blink. She raised her wand again, but Draco moved like lightning. "Accio!"

His spell collided with Granger's chest, and the magic pulled her across the room, her boots skidding on the wood floor before she cast a finite.

They stood a mere arm's length from one another. Looking. Breathing.

She was glorious.

She had let him win.

Draco swallowed at the dryness in his throat. "Granger—"

"Gravitas!" she shouted, pointing her wand at his chest.

It was a gravity-altering charm. Draco felt the pull immediately, his body yanked forward, but something was wrong. Instead of the spell targeting only him, the entire room shifted. Granger looked shocked as she realized her mistake—the charm had been too broad and powerful. Gravity twisted around them, and Draco stumbled as the wall behind Granger turned into the floor.

They both fell.

Draco landed with a thud against the brass-paneled wall—now the floor—and Granger was beneath him. His weight knocked the breath from her lungs, and for a moment, they were frozen like that.

Draco scrambled. He thrust his hands on either side of her shoulders to hold his body up. Granger grunted and caught her breath, panting. Her wild, errant curls framed her flushed face as she stared at him wide-eyed.

"Cancel it, Granger," Draco muttered, his voice low and rough.

Granger's wand hand trembled, but she whispered the counter-charm. Gravity shifted again, and they landed upright, their bodies sliding against the wall as their feet hit the proper floor. Draco didn't move away. They were close enough for Draco to smell her intoxicating shampoo.

Granger spoke first. "Wand up. We're not done."

Relentless witch.

Draco frowned and cast a nonverbal Expelliarmus. Granger's wand flew from her hand and clattered to the floor.

Granger hardly reacted at all. She stood frozen, her gaze locked on her wand where it lay across the room. She didn't move to retrieve it, didn't do anything but stand there, her chest heaving like she'd just run miles. The room felt smaller now, the air thick between them.

Draco kept his gaze trained on Granger. He lifted his arm and ever-so-slowly let his wand slip from his grasp. The sound of it hitting the floor echoed through the stillness like a crack of thunder.

Granger flinched. Her eyes snapped to his. Draco was afraid to shatter the moment, but he had to know. He had to know.

"Tell me not to hold back," he uttered, each word clear and deliberate.

Her lips parted and closed. Warm brown eyes met grey. And then, so quiet that he had to strain to make out the words, Granger spoke:

"Don't hold back."

Draco closed the gap between them and kissed her.

He didn't give himself time to think—if he thought, he might lose his nerve. His hands found her face, cupping her jaw with a firm grip that was more to keep himself from shaking than anything else. Their lips pressed together, and time stopped.

Granger didn't move. She just stood there, frozen. Panic clawed at the edge of Draco's consciousness. He should pull away. He was kissing Granger, and she was shutting down.

But then Granger inhaled sharply, and her mouth softened beneath his. It was Draco's turn to freeze. Granger was letting him kiss her.

She was letting him kiss her.

And then—Merlin help him—she kissed him back.

It was hesitant, a slight movement of her lips against his. Testing. But it was enough for Draco to completely splinter apart. A wave of disbelief rolled through him. Granger was kissing him back. He could feel her heart pounding under his fingertips, which dug into the soft skin behind her jaw.

Her hands rose to clutch at the lapel of his robe, fingers tangling in the fabric like she couldn't entirely trust herself to stand. A low hum of pleasure stirred in Draco's throat, and his grip on her face shifted, one hand sliding back into her hair. Her two French braids were loose, and he tangled his fingers into their weave, wrecking the careful pattern. He tilted her head back, deepening the kiss, unable to stop himself now that she was responding.

Draco tugged at her scalp, and Granger gasped into his mouth, parting her lips—and Draco seized the opportunity. He opened his mouth and tasted her.

His tongue found hers, rubbing, sliding,savoring. Draco did not have the words for how she tasted. It was perfection. He never wanted to taste anything else again.

Granger's grip on his robes tightened, pulling him closer, and Draco swore the ground beneath him might as well have vanished. He kissed her like a man falling, like this might be the last moment before gravity truly righted itself and they hit the ground. Indeed, at any moment, Granger would realize exactly who Draco was—who he had always been—and run.

She didn't.

Draco wrenched his lips away, making a wet, popping sound, and looked at her. Granger's eyes had been closed, but she blinked them open, almost dazed. She was flushed and mussed, and already her lips were swollen from his work. Draco panted, ragged and desperate.

"Well, Granger," Draco murmured. "Now what?"

Up Next: Hermione has a reckoning.

Author's Note: An explicit version of this chapter is available on AO3.