Draco's POV

I had never worked a day in my life.

Not really.

Sure, I had studied, trained, spent hours perfecting spells, practicing dueling techniques, and sitting through mind-numbing lessons on Pureblood history. But actual work—the kind that required standing for hours, lifting boxes, and assisting Muggle customers—was entirely foreign to me.

And I hated it.

I shot a glare at the pile of books in my arms. Alphabetizing? Seriously?

"Having fun?"

I turned to find Hermione watching me with a smug expression, her own stack of books neatly shelved behind her.

I scowled. "Do I look like I'm having fun, Granger?"

She smirked. "You look like you're about to throw that entire stack out the window."

I exhaled sharply, shoving a book onto the shelf with unnecessary force. "This is beneath me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're not above honest work."

I shot her a sideways glance. "That's debatable."

She huffed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Well, if you ever want to eat something other than my aunt's brownies, I suggest you try to enjoy this."

I grumbled under my breath but didn't argue. I knew she was right.

The money we earned here wouldn't last forever, but it was a start. A way to keep moving forward, to prepare for what came next.

Because we couldn't stay here.

We both knew it.

And even though Hermione hadn't said it outright, I could tell she was restless—always looking over her shoulder, always waiting.

Because sooner or later, my parents would find us.

And when they did… I had no idea what would happen.

I shook the thought away and focused on the task in front of me, shoving the last book onto the shelf before dusting my hands off. "Done."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, stepping forward to inspect my work.

I watched as she scanned the titles, her fingers trailing along the spines. Then she frowned.

"Draco."

I sighed. "What now?"

She turned to me, crossing her arms. "You shelved these completely wrong."

I blinked. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." She gestured to the books. "You alphabetized them by author's first name instead of last name."

I stared at her. "And?"

She groaned, rubbing her temples. "And that's not how you do it!"

I smirked. "Well, it is now."

"Malfoy."

"Yes?"

"Fix it."

I sighed dramatically but began pulling books from the shelf anyway, muttering under my breath about ridiculous Muggle organization systems.

Hermione just rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like Purebloods.

Despite myself, I grinned.

Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

⸻

A few hours later, after the shop had closed, we returned to the house.

Aunt Gertie was already settling in for the night, leaving Hermione and me to our own devices.

I stretched, letting out a groan as I rolled my shoulders. "I think I pulled something carrying those ridiculous stacks of books."

Hermione snorted, tossing her coat onto the chair. "Oh, please. You've endured dueling practice with your father. You'll live."

I shot her a look. "That's debatable."

She laughed, shaking her head.

And for some reason, that sound did something strange to me.

It was light. Unburdened.

Something I had rarely heard in all the time we had been trapped in Malfoy Manor.

And I had caused it.

I swallowed, unsure what to do with that realization.

"Granger," I said after a moment.

She turned to me, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

I hesitated.

Then, finally, I said, "I think we make a pretty good team."

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. But then, slowly, she smiled.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I think so too."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt hopeful.

Hermione's POV

The day had been long, but in a way that wasn't exhausting—just full.

Working at the bookstore had given me something I hadn't felt in a long time—purpose. It wasn't life-or-death decisions, it wasn't fear hanging over me like a cloud. It was just normal, and I clung to it like a lifeline.

But now, as the evening settled over the house, the tension in my body caught up to me.

I needed a hot shower.

I slipped into the bathroom, letting the steam rise around me as the water poured down my back. It was soothing, washing away the exhaustion of the day, the weight of everything I had been holding onto.

For a little while, I let my mind drift.

Not to them.

Not to the looming threat of Lucius and Narcissa hunting us down.

Just to the simple feeling of warmth, of being safe—if only for now.

By the time I stepped out, my skin was pink from the heat, my hair damp as I combed through it carefully. I braided it loosely, letting it fall over my shoulder before slipping into one of my aunt's old nightgowns. It was soft, well-worn, smelling faintly of lavender and home.

I sighed, content for the first time in weeks.

But when I stepped into the living room, I froze.

Draco was already asleep on the couch.

His body was curled slightly, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting across his chest. The blankets had slipped slightly, revealing the steady rise and fall of his breath.

His face was relaxed—softer than I was used to seeing.

No sharp words, no carefully crafted mask of indifference.

Just him.

Something warm stirred in my chest.

I hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, gently pulling the blanket back over him.

But then, instead of retreating to my own space, I found myself curling up beside him.

The couch wasn't big, and it was impossible not to be close. His warmth radiated against me, comforting in a way I hadn't expected.

For a second, he stirred, shifting slightly—his arm moving, instinctively pulling me closer.

I held my breath.

But then he settled, exhaling deeply, his grip around me loose but steady.

And, without thinking, I let my eyes flutter shut.

I should have been thinking about everything—about the risk, about what this meant, about him.

But in that moment, all I cared about was the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body beside mine.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I fell asleep without fear.