Hermione's POV

I retreated to my room, my pulse still unsteady, my mind tangled in knots.

I had hugged Draco Malfoy.

The realization sent a strange shiver down my spine, not because I regretted it—but because I didn't.

I sank onto my cot, gripping the thin blanket in my hands. The plan was all I was supposed to be thinking about, all I was supposed to care about. Two days. That was all the time I had left in this house. And yet…

His words replayed in my head.

"Back at Hogwarts, I thought you were brilliant."

I had spent so many years believing Draco Malfoy had hated me—mocking my blood status, throwing insults my way, trying to make me feel small. And now he was telling me he had admired me? That he regretted it?

I had told him it didn't matter. That I didn't want to talk about it.

But the truth was… it did matter.

Because if Malfoy could change, then maybe everything I thought about him—about this place—wasn't as simple as I wanted it to be.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling shakily.

I didn't trust him.

Not completely.

But there was something real in his apology. Something that made me believe, even just for a moment, that he was telling the truth.

And when he had looked at me just now—eyes full of something raw, something I couldn't quite name—I hadn't felt fear.

I had felt safe.

That scared me more than anything.

I curled up against the thin pillow, my mind still racing.

I couldn't afford to think about this. Not now. Not when escape was so close.

Because no matter how much Draco Malfoy had changed, I still had to leave.

And when I did, I wasn't sure if I'd ever see him again.

For some reason, that thought didn't bring me as much relief as I thought it would.

Draco's POV

I couldn't sleep.

I had tried—Merlin, I had tried. I had paced my room, stared at the ceiling, even attempted to drink myself into unconsciousness. But nothing worked. My mind wouldn't shut off.

Because all I could think about was her.

Hermione.

Her voice, her words, the way she had hugged me.

It had been brief, barely long enough for me to process it, but the warmth of it lingered on my skin. No one had touched me like that in years—not with kindness, not without expectation.

She had told me it was in the past. That she didn't want to think about Hogwarts, about everything she lost.

But I wasn't sure I could let it go that easily.

I had spent years being cruel to her. Years convincing myself she was beneath me, that her brilliance was a threat rather than something to admire.

And now?

Now I was helping her escape.

Helping her disappear from this house, from my family, from me.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.

Why did that bother me so much?

I had no right to be conflicted. This was what she needed. What she deserved.

So why did I feel like I was unraveling?

I stood abruptly, crossing the room in a few strides and yanking open the top drawer of my desk. Inside, beneath stacks of parchment and Ministry documents, was a small silver key. The same one I had shown her earlier.

The key to her freedom.

I rolled it between my fingers, staring at it like it might give me an answer I wasn't ready to hear.

I was doing the right thing.

I had to believe that.

Because if I let myself admit what I was really feeling—

If I let myself acknowledge that some part of me didn't want her to leave—

Then I wasn't sure I'd be able to let her go at all.

Hermione's POV

The manor was silent. The kind of silence that made my skin crawl.

I was lying on my cot, curled beneath the thin blanket, my mind drifting in and out of restless thoughts. Sleep had been impossible since last night, since him. Since the way Lucius Malfoy had pressed against me, his voice a smooth, taunting whisper in my ear.

I hated how I could still feel it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my body to relax, to push it away, to pretend it didn't happen. Two days. Just two more days.

Then—

Knock, knock.

I froze.

The sound was soft but deliberate.

I swallowed hard, sitting up slowly. My hands curled into the blanket, my heart already pounding against my ribs.

I knew who it was.

The air in the room felt too thick, pressing down on me as the door creaked open.

Lucius Malfoy stepped inside.

I forced myself not to recoil, though every instinct in my body screamed to run. To hide. To fight.

He didn't speak at first. He simply looked at me, his pale gray eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. He was dressed in his usual impeccable robes, his expression calm, composed.

Too composed.

I didn't move. I barely breathed.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

"You looked so lovely at the party the other night," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Quite graceful, even."

I said nothing.

"Such a shame," he continued, his voice smooth as silk. "That you've wasted so much potential. You could have been something, Miss Granger."

His fingers brushed against my cheek.

I flinched.

His smirk widened, his hand sliding lower, trailing dangerously toward my collarbone.

My entire body locked up. No. No, no, no—

He leaned in, his breath cold against my skin.

"Do you know," he whispered, "that I quite enjoy watching you?"

I was going to be sick.

His fingers traced down my arm, featherlight.

I forced myself to move, to jerk away—but his grip tightened.

A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

"You really should learn to be more grateful—"

"Get your fucking hands off her."

Lucius barely had time to turn before he was yanked backward.

Draco.

I gasped as he shoved his father away from me, his face a mask of fury. His hands were clenched into fists, his entire body rigid with anger.

Lucius straightened himself, smoothing his robes like nothing had happened.

"Draco," he drawled, his voice far too calm. "That is no way to speak to your father."

Draco's chest heaved. "You don't get to touch her," he snarled, stepping forward, his shoulders squared.

Lucius arched a brow, regarding his son with mild amusement. "You seem awfully concerned, boy."

Draco didn't flinch. "If you ever come near her again, I swear—"

Lucius chuckled, shaking his head. "You swear what, exactly?"

Draco's fists trembled at his sides.

I could feel his rage, his barely-contained need to strike, to hurt, to end this.

Lucius watched him carefully, then turned back to me. His gaze dragged over me one last time, a sickening smirk curling at his lips.

Then, with an infuriating air of nonchalance, he stepped toward the door.

"You should learn to control your emotions, Draco," he mused as he opened it. "It makes you weak."

Draco didn't move until the door clicked shut.

Then, suddenly, he did.

He turned on his heel, running a hand through his hair, his breath ragged, his entire body vibrating with anger.

I still couldn't move. I felt trapped in my own skin, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Draco noticed.

His gaze softened instantly. "Granger," he murmured.

I sucked in a shaky breath, wrapping my arms around myself.

"He—" My voice broke, and I hated it. "He—"

"I know." His voice was quiet, controlled. "I know."

Silence stretched between us.

I didn't want to cry. I wouldn't cry.

But then Draco knelt in front of me, his hands hovering as if he wanted to touch me but didn't know if he should.

"He won't touch you again," he said, his voice a promise. "I won't let him."

I met his eyes.

For once, I believed him.

Draco's POV

I couldn't let her stay here.

Not for another day. Not for another minute.

Not after what I saw last night.

Lucius had always been a monster, but watching him touch Hermione—seeing the way she flinched, the way she froze, the raw terror in her eyes—had snapped something inside me.

I wasn't waiting two more days.

She was getting out tonight.

We met in the kitchen, candlelight flickering off the polished countertops as I spread out the plan before her. She was still shaken, but there was a steeliness in her now, a determination that hadn't been there before.

"Tonight?" she asked, her voice steady but cautious.

I nodded. "I won't risk him coming near you again, Granger. We do this now."

She exhaled, rubbing her temples. "The wards—"

"I'll handle them," I cut in. "I know how my father thinks. The passage under the manor—I'll break the locks, disable the enchantments. You just need to get to it without being seen."

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Why are you doing this?"

I clenched my jaw. "Because I want to," I said simply. "Because I need you safe."

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't press it.

Instead, she nodded. "Then let's do it."

Hermione's POV

The plan moved faster than I could process.

Draco was sharp when he worked, his wand moving with precise, silent efficiency as he took down enchantments I hadn't even noticed before. He had grown up in this house, knew its weaknesses, its blind spots.

The passage was hidden beneath the eastern wing, just beyond the wine cellar. A set of warded iron doors stood between me and the outside world—doors that had been sealed for years.

Draco worked quickly, breaking through layers of security his father had left behind. His breath came in shallow bursts, his brow furrowed in intense focus.

"Almost," he muttered, his wand tracing a final rune.

A quiet click echoed through the corridor.

And then—the doors creaked open.

A burst of cold, fresh air rushed in.

Freedom.

I stared at it, my chest tightening. This is it.

Draco turned to me, his gray eyes dark with something unreadable. "You go now," he said. "Straight through the tunnel, past the boundary line. There's an old Floo network just beyond the trees. It's inactive, but I left you enough powder to get to London."

I nodded, my throat dry. I had planned for this moment, dreamed of it. But now that it was here, something inside me twisted painfully.

I met his gaze. "What about you?"

Draco hesitated, his fingers curling into fists. "I'll stay. If I go missing at the same time, they'll know."

My chest clenched.

"Malfoy—"

"Go," he said, his voice softer now. "Don't look back, Granger. Don't stop."

I should have just gone. I should have run.

But instead—

I stepped forward.

And before I could stop myself, I threw my arms around him.

Draco tensed for half a second—then his arms came around me, holding me tighter than I thought he was capable of.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice shaking. "For everything."

His grip tightened. "Be safe," he murmured. "Please."

I pulled back, searching his face. He looked different in the dim torchlight—less like the arrogant Malfoy I had known, and more like someone else entirely.

Someone real.

I turned before I could lose my resolve.

And then, without another word, I ran.

Out of Malfoy Manor.

Out of his life.

Out into the night—where I was finally free.