Chapter 32: Draco

Touch of Fire

"At the moment when her eyes closed, when all feeling vanished in her, she thought that she felt a touch of fire imprinted on her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner." — Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

One Day Earlier—
Friday, August 3, 2007

Dear Malfoy,

I am writing to thank you for your actions after the recent explosions at the Westbrook Apothecary. Harry and my healers have informed me that I may not have recovered without your potions, especially the antivenin you made.

I never imagined I'd find myself in a position where I owe you such gratitude, but here we are. Thank you. Please know that I genuinely appreciate everything you've done.

I've left the hospital and feel much better—almost back to myself. When the opportunity arises, I'd like to thank you properly in person. I understand if you'd prefer to keep things as they are, but I wanted to extend the offer.

Best,
Hermione Granger

Saturday, August 4, 2007
The Dueling Arena

Draco Malfoy stood against the wall, his gaze fixed on the elevated dueling platform where Theo and Granger were squaring off. The din of broom games in the background barely registered as his attention zeroed in on the duel before him. Granger's determined focus matched Theo's usual confident smirk, and Draco could not look away.

His eyes followed Granger's every movement, taking in how she carried herself—sure and strong.

She was wearing some Muggle athletic gear, fitted and practical, yet it showed off her figure in a way that made Draco's breath hitch slightly. He could see how the fabric clung to her, highlighting the curves of her legs and exposing the strength in her arms.

He didn't dare look at her arse, afraid of what it would do to him.

Her hair had been cut recently, shorter than he'd ever seen, tamed into a style that framed her face. The curls bounced around with every wand movement she executed. It was mesmerizing.

Draco recalled the last time he'd seen her, just days ago, slumped and unconscious in St. Mungo's. The sight of her now—awake—and fiercely dueling Theo was a relief he hadn't anticipated. She was back to her old self, or as close to it as he could determine, not that he knew her well enough to gauge what "normal" was for Granger.

She had thanked him.

Granger took the time to owl him in her delicate, bubbly script. He spent longer than he'd care to admit looking at her letter the previous evening when it had arrived. He could tell instantly that she'd never taken lessons in penmanship. He liked how she dotted her i's with a tiny hollow circle rather than a mere touch of the ink.

She asked to see him in person. And now here he was, lurking.

Draco watched as Granger moved across the platform with a confidence that rivaled any seasoned duelist, and he couldn't help but admire her. She commanded the stage in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else. Even Theo, who was no slouch when it came to dueling, seemed impressed.

He watched, transfixed, as Granger transformed Theo's snake into a whip. The black leather handle contrasted with the pale tone of her hand.

A fucking whip.

His breath caught in his throat—he hadn't expected her to react with such quick wit, let alone with such controlled power. As she cracked the whip against the dueling platform, Draco felt something unsettling bloom in the area of his groin.

He could not contemplate that at the moment.

Theo spoke: "You know, Hermione, I've never been attracted to women, but you're tempting me greatly right now."

Theo's words sent an unexpected jolt of irritation through Draco. He couldn't quite place why it bothered him—was it the casual innuendo or the way Theo's eyes sparkled with playful delight? Whatever it was, Draco found himself scowling, his attention still locked on Granger, who seemed to be enjoying the duel far too much for his comfort.

And then Granger let out a furious barrage of casting.

Draco's gaze lingered on how she smiled as she cast her spells, a genuine, almost carefree smile.

Theo made her smile—made her laugh. Draco wasn't sure if he had ever heard Granger laugh like that; if he did, he had not cared enough for it to register. In truth, he probably would have hated it in the past.

But tonight, he loved the sound of it.

When the duel finally ended with Granger stunning Theo into unconsciousness, Draco found himself torn between relief that it was over and a strange sense of loss that he couldn't quite place. As Granger helped Theo to his feet, Draco's gaze remained on her.

Something warm, furious, and undeniable grew in his chest.

Theo handed Granger a transfigured yellow rose, making eye contact with Draco as he did so. Draco rolled his eyes; Theo had known he was watching the entire time.

It was a yellow rose of friendship. Theo knew … the fucking prick. Draco didn't know how, but Theo knew.

"What, Draco? No applause? I thought that was pretty spectacular," Theo said.

Prick, prick, prick.

Granger whipped around and looked at him. He met her gaze—it was unavoidable—and even from this distance, from his lowered position, he could identify the fiery color of her eyes. She looked surprised to see him, and then her mouth quirked. Draco knew he should speak but did not want to interrupt the moment.

So, Draco clapped. He clapped his hands and walked over to Granger and Theo standing on the platform, still elevated above him. By the time he arrived, he had recovered enough to speak.

"Seeing you finally get put in your place, Theodore? It was spectacular." Draco looked up at Granger, then, and unfortunately, from this new angle and the way her body was contorted to watch him, Draco had a great view of her arse.

Bugger. It was a very nice arse. Draco did not know what to do with that information.

"Oh, look! We've started a trend." Theo exclaimed eagerly, pointing at the furthest platform from them, where two witches Draco did not recognize had just begun to face off. "Thank you, Hermione, my evil plan has worked. We have officially broken in the semi-public dueling platforms."

Granger sheathed her wand in a brown leather holster on her left forearm, and she turned to angle herself more appropriately to speak to the both of them, eyeing the other platform. "Semi-public?"

"This is still an exclusive, invitation-only club, Hermione. I know you value your privacy."

Then, Theo jumped from the platform, reaching up to help Granger step down. She took his hand and gracefully leaped to the floor.

Granger's breaths were audible, and Draco noticed sweat on her brow. She did not look at Draco again, even though they were now mere feet from each other and on the same level. He wanted to meet her eyes again, to know what she was thinking.

"I appreciate that," Granger said to Theo. "Are there bathrooms?"

"Of course, let me show you the way. Then we can have a drink!" Theo exclaimed, guiding Granger toward the far wall with a hand lightly touching her shoulder. Granger looked like she was about to protest—and how could Theo possibly be so daft?—but then the prick was speaking again. "Come on, Draco!"

Draco momentarily glared at their retreating forms before cursing under his breath and following them.

Before Draco caught up to them, Granger disappeared into the women's locker room. When her form disappeared, he asked Theo, "What are you on about?"

Theo looked at him in confusion. "I'm on about having a lovely evening, sir, and I shan't have you spoil it."

Draco watched as Theo casually leaned against the wall, a smirk on his lips. "By all accounts, you saved Granger's life, Draco," Theo teased, his tone light, but something knowing in his gaze made Draco's skin prickle.

Draco's irritation flared. "Aurors and Healers saved her life," he interrupted, the words coming out sharper than intended.

Theo's smirk only widened, undeterred by Draco's dismissal. "You helped save her life, and that's worth celebrating, don't you think? Why shouldn't we have a drink?"

Draco clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Did Theo know how he felt? Was this just another one of his games?

The truth was that when Draco had Left St. Mungo's that frightening night last week, he had gone home to his lab, downed two doses of invigoration draught, and did not sleep for two days, ferrying increasingly potent doses of neutralizer and antidote to the hospital—and one time to Granger's very room, where he had gotten into a scuffle with Weasley—the worst Weasley—and Potter, who had defended Draco. He avoided Granger's room from that point on. Draco went home to bed only when healer Wells had told him that all the patients were stable on Tuesday morning.

He slept for an entire day.

And Theo had, of course, inserted himself. He asked Draco annoyingly astute questions while Draco was in his manic state. Draco had been so focused and hazy that he hardly remembered the conversations. But clearly, Theo knew the situation with Granger. The thought that Theo might have also picked up on Draco's growing feelings for Granger made him feel exposed and vulnerable.

The prick.

He opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment, the door to the locker room creaked open, and Granger reemerged, looking more composed and calm.

Her hair was still slightly messy in a way that made Draco's chest tighten. Draco liked the way her now-shorter curls bounced at her shoulder blades. He wondered if he should tell her.

Why did these ridiculous thoughts keep coming over him?

Draco nodded to Granger, struggling to keep his expression neutral, but before he could say anything, Theo jumped in, as always, with impeccable timing.

"Come on, let's get that drink," Theo announced, ushering them down the causeway toward the bar. He kept the conversation light and meandering, discussing everything from needing to order more bronze panels because of Potter and Granger breaking his favorite box—"No, don't look like that Hermione, I said don't worry about it!"—to his musings on the decor, to their current search for a receptionist.

"I could get a hunky wizard with big muscles for my own personal appreciation. And then he could also double as a bodyguard! You never know when you might need one of those. But of course, I do also enjoy the fairer sex in terms of general aesthetic appreciation … but then Angelina told me that's sexist, and I suppose it is, but I am who I am."

Granger rolled her eyes at Theo's ramblings, but Draco caught the hint of a smile on her lips.

Finally, they reached the bar. Theo, ever the gracious host, turned to Granger with a flourish. "We're charging for drinks to break even with the ordering, but your drink's on me, Granger. What'll it be?"

Granger hesitated, then said, "I don't know, maybe a Butterbeer?"

Theo gave her a look, feigning exasperation. "Hermione, you almost died last week. How about something stronger?"

Granger shook her head with a hint of amusement. "Okay, I'll have a fire whiskey."

"That's the spirit!" Theo said, clearly pleased, and promptly ordered three fire whiskeys on the owner's tab. The bartender handed them their drinks, and Theo led the way to a table in the farthest corner of the DA, away from the noise and activity.

The corner was secluded, offering a rare moment of privacy amidst the bustle of the club. From here, Draco could barely make out the shapes of other people, only the occasional broomstick zipping by overhead in the distance, just visible over the tops of the dueling boxes. Theo pulled out a chair for Granger with an exaggerated gesture, and she rolled her eyes yet again before sitting down.

"No, Hermione, chivalry is not dead," Theo declared with mock seriousness as he took his seat.

Draco scoffed, settling into his chair with a quiet grumble. The three of them sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks. The fire whiskey burned pleasantly in Draco's throat, but it did little to quell the swirling thoughts in his head. Theo's earlier teasing, the letter, the duel, Granger's laughter—everything blurred in a confusing mix of emotions that Draco wasn't sure how to navigate.

"This is lovely," Theo finally commented, breaking the silence.

Granger shook her head in exasperation but didn't respond. Draco rolled his eyes and tried to tamp down on the nausea caused by the awkward, charged atmosphere between them.

"So, where did you learn to fight like that, Hermione?" Theo asked, leaning across the table at Granger with his drink still in his hand.

Draco listened intently, trying to conceal his interest. Granger had been good in school, but she had never been like that.

Granger chuckled. "Like what?"

"Like you're good enough to beat me," Theo quipped. "Not to toot my own horn, but I trained to fend off my brute of a father since before I had a wand."

Draco was surprised that Theo was so open, and Granger was surprised, too. Her brow furrowed, and her mouth pursed in concern. Theo did not continue, though, so Granger eventually responded.

"I begged Professor Flitwick to train me during our last year at Hogwarts—after the battle, our NEWT year. I wanted to be better." She took a sip. "Just in case. I … there were times I wished I had been better at fighting."

Draco recalled the snatchers forcing Granger into his drawing room and took a long sip of his drink.

"Flitwick, eh? Well, he did a great job. You know, Hermione, Draco and I wondered why we didn't see you in the library at all hours. Didn't we?" Theo met Draco's eyes knowingly because, yes, they did indeed have a conversation like that at one point. "It seems you were off learning something physical instead."

Granger nodded at them as she sipped.

"And you still aced all your NEWTs, I suspect," Theo said suggestively.

"Of course," Granger sniffed, and Theo cackled in delight. All Draco could do was roll his eyes.

Draco thought he should contribute something to the conversation. But as Draco opened his mouth to speak, a loud crash echoed in the distance, shattering the quiet.

Theo jumped to his feet, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Oh dear, better go check on that. Co-owner and all." Theo was gone before Draco or Granger could protest, leaving them alone at the table.

With Theo gone, Draco was acutely aware of how close he was to Granger. They were practically on the same side of the small circular table, their chairs touching and mere inches separating their arms from where they rested on the tabletop.

Granger was the one to speak first after clearing her throat.

"Malfoy—"

"I got your owl," Draco said. Stupid—why had he cut her off?

She looked at him. Draco had to shift his position slightly to face her. He should have moved to the opposite side of the table, but he didn't.

"Oh, good," Granger said, nodding. "So … yes. Thank you, again, for saving my life."

Draco felt hot in the neck and took another sip of his whiskey. "I played a tiny part in what the hospital staff accomplished, Granger. Please don't think of it."

"Still—"

"I'm just glad you're well." Stupid! Why could he not just let her speak?

"—thank you," she finished, and Draco nodded.

"I've learned a lot about you this week," Granger commented, taking another sip of her drink and meeting his gaze over the rim of her crystal glass. Something intriguing twinkled in her eyes.

Draco blinked. "Such as?"

"I know you've been supplying Wolfsbane potion and fresh aconite to Harry for the werewolf packs," she said.

Draco hissed in a breath. "Did Potter—"

"No." Granger shook her head. "Harry didn't tell me anything—until I figured it out, and he confirmed it. You sent the first batch in a one-of-a-kind goblin-made silver ewer, plus your jars and vials are monogrammed."

Draco's face soured.

Granger was looking at him inscrutably. "I also know you operate the Charitable Potions Trust, a not-for-profit 12987-F organization, which currently supplies St. Mungo's with twenty-nine percent of its standard potion's supply free of charge and fifty percent of specialty brews."

Draco choked on his whiskey, coughing. "How did that come up?"

"As a recent patient of the Poisonings Ward, I have directly benefitted from the Trust. Also, it's public record, which I checked," Granger said primly. "I also know you employ a recent Hogwarts graduate named Willy, and he thinks you're not as scary as some of the papers say."

Draco rather thought that he'd better scare some bloody discretion into Mr. William Englebert, but then he spotted Granger's face, and her lips were pursed together like she was about to laugh.

"Well, Granger, it seems you know all my secrets," Draco said. All of them, except one, he thought. He looked down at his glass. It was almost empty now.

"Why the secrecy?" She asked. Like all the bloody Gryffindors he knew, Longbottom and Potter especially, Granger was impossibly earnest. Her expression was open and unguarded, and Draco was taken aback for a moment that he was there having an honest conversation with her, of all people.

Who else got to witness these expressions of hers? He wondered.

"I don't like my information plastered in The Prophet," Draco replied, eventually. "My business is my own."

To Draco's surprise, Granger nodded as if she agreed with him.

Draco stared at the table, feeling the weight of Granger's gaze. The flickering light from the nearby sconces cast shadows that made the space between them feel suffocating.

"Your life seems a bit more ... involved than I expected," Granger remarked, her tone light but with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. "It must be hard—to stay private."

He gave a noncommittal shrug, still avoiding her eyes. "I'm not a figure of public interest anymore. What else is there to do?"

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "I don't know if I agree with that. And … a lot of things."

Draco felt a flicker of discomfort at her words. "I do what I want," he muttered. "It's not as if I'm rescuing kneazles from trees."

She laughed, and Draco almost spit out his whiskey. It was glorious, her laugh.

"Maybe not," Granger agreed, "but you are making a difference. And that's more than most people can say."

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he took another sip of his whiskey instead. The liquid burned as it went down, but it gave him something to focus on other than how her words made him feel.

After a moment of silence, Draco decided to change the subject. "How are you feeling?"

Granger hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Almost back to a hundred percent, I'd say. But I'm still a bit tired." She paused, her expression shifting slightly as she remembered something. "When I woke up on Tuesday, my skin felt on fire. But that antivenin you made helped. I was back on my feet by the next day."

He nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and pride. "I'm glad it worked. We—weren't sure for a while."

"I still have some left," she said, her voice quiet. "They sent me home with it. I can tell that it's one of a kind. Would you like it back?"

Draco shook his head, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "No, Granger. You get into more trouble by noon each day than I have in the last five years. Keep it."

She laughed softly, the sound warming the space between them. "That's probably true."

The mood shifted slightly, and Granger's smile faded as she became more serious. "I'm in trouble all the time now, it feels like. I'm not sure if I'll get my job as Deputy Head back when my leave is up next month."

Draco frowned, taken aback. "Why wouldn't they take you back? The Ministry firing Hermione Granger would be a PR disaster."

She let out a dark laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, haven't you heard? I'm a jezebel who's led my best friend on for our entire lives and an international pariah."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So you've listened to Potterwatch?"

"Ron's wife, Lavender, listens and keeps me informed," she said with a grimace. "I hate that rubbish. I hate Witch Weekly, too, even though it has the most domestic readership." She looked at him with a twinkle, and Draco decided that he really liked those eyes. "Have you? Listened, that is?"

He hesitated before answering. "I heard your episode by accident, but if it helps you to know—it was very obvious that it was a piece of rubbish when they said Potter was smarter than you. One need only speak to Potter for thirty seconds to know that's not true."

Granger fell silent, her expression thoughtful as she ignored his jab at Potter. After a moment, she looked at him, her eyes searching his. "What do you think I should do?"

Draco felt a tightening in his chest at the vulnerability in her voice. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking with hers. "Don't get hurt again if you can help it." Granger let out a sound, half-breath, half-laugh.

He hesitated, then added quietly, "Make yourself invaluable to the Ministry. You are invaluable already—make them realize it. Make the public realize it. Make yourself impossible to ignore."

"How?" she asked. Her voice was almost a whisper.

"It won't be hard."

The intensity of the moment took him by surprise. They were close, too close, and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his face. Her eyes were wide, searching his for something he couldn't quite place.

Draco leaned in slightly before he could think better of it, his lips barely brushing hers.

For a split second, the world seemed to freeze. The air between them crackled—vibrated—and Draco felt his heart slam against his ribcage.

Was this happening? He could feel her breath caress his face; he could feel the heat of her skin.

Did he dare lean in closer…?

But then Granger jerked back, her eyes wide with panic.

"Thank you for the advice!" she blurted out, her voice shaky. "I need to go."

And before Draco could react, she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts, three glasses, and a haunted nothingness where her presence had been just a moment earlier.

Draco sat there, staring at the empty seat next to him.

The feel of her lips against his—it was not even a kiss, just the barest, lightest touch—it burned. He felt like he was on fire. He felt like he was frozen in ice. He felt like he was falling into a chasm.

He had never expected this—this longing, this sudden need to be close to her. And now that she was gone, it was all he could think about.

Up Next: Hermione makes a move.