Draco's POV

The sun hung low in the sky as I leaned back in my chair at the private table Blaise had reserved at The Leaky Cauldron. Pansy was perched beside me, chatting animatedly about some ridiculous gossip she'd overheard at Flourish and Blotts. Blaise and Theo sat across from us, nursing their drinks with the kind of lazy amusement only they could manage.

"You've been quieter than usual," Blaise commented, his sharp eyes flicking toward me over the rim of his glass. "Something on your mind, Malfoy?"

I shrugged, swirling the Firewhisky in my glass. "Just family business," I replied smoothly.

Pansy laughed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "When is it not family business with you? Honestly, Draco, you need to learn how to relax. Maybe spend less time brooding in that enormous house of yours and more time with us."

I forced a smirk. "And miss out on hearing you complain about every person you've ever met? I couldn't possibly."

She swatted my arm, laughing, but Blaise's gaze remained steady, his expression thoughtful. He could always see through me, and I hated how easily he could read the tension I was trying to mask.

Theo leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "Speaking of family," he drawled, "where's the rest of the illustrious Malfoy clan today?"

"My mother's at a meeting with some of the Ministry wives," I said, keeping my tone light. "And my father…" I trailed off, frowning.

"At home, I assume," Blaise finished for me, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yeah," I said, my grip tightening around my glass. "He's at the manor."

The thought of leaving Hermione alone with him gnawed at me, but I forced it down. He wouldn't do anything… would he? No, he'd promised to back off. And yet, I couldn't shake the unease that had settled in my gut the moment I'd walked out of the house this morning.

Hermione's POV

The house was eerily quiet. Narcissa had swept out early in the morning, dressed to the nines for some Pureblood social gathering. Draco had left shortly after, his usual air of indifference masking whatever thoughts were brewing behind those cold gray eyes. That left me alone with Lucius Malfoy.

I kept my head down, focusing on my tasks and staying as far away from him as possible. The last thing I wanted was to draw his attention.

By mid-afternoon, I found myself in the drawing room, scrubbing the fireplace hearth. The repetitive motion was soothing, and for a brief moment, I let my guard down, losing myself in the rhythm of the task.

That was when I felt it.

A presence.

I glanced up and saw him standing in the doorway, his pale eyes fixed on me like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Miss Granger," Lucius said, his voice smooth and unsettling. "Hard at work, as always."

I straightened slowly, clutching the rag in my hand like it was a lifeline. "Just doing what I'm supposed to," I replied evenly, refusing to let my fear show.

He stepped into the room, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. "You've been very quiet lately," he remarked, his gaze raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "I hope you're not finding your new position too… difficult."

I didn't answer, keeping my eyes fixed on the fireplace.

"Good help is so hard to come by," he continued, circling me like a snake. "It's a shame, really, that someone of your… intellect finds herself in such a position. But then, that's what happens when you choose the wrong side of history."

My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to stay silent.

"You know," he said, stopping in front of me, "I've always admired your spirit. Even now, you hold your head high, as if you're still equal to us." He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Fascinating."

I took a step back, my heart pounding. "If there's nothing else, sir, I'd like to get back to work."

His smirk widened, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might step closer. But then he inclined his head, his expression cold and calculating.

"Very well," he said smoothly. "Carry on."

He turned and left the room, his departure leaving a chill in the air.

I sank to the floor, my hands shaking as I gripped the rag tightly. The encounter left me feeling exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless.

But beneath the fear, a spark of anger burned. He could watch, he could mock, but I wouldn't let him break me.

Draco's POV

By the time I returned to the manor, the unease in my chest had grown into a full-blown storm. The sight of my father lounging in the drawing room, sipping tea as if he didn't have a care in the world, didn't help.

"Father," I said, my voice carefully controlled.

He glanced up, his smirk as smug as ever. "Draco. Enjoy your outing?"

"It was fine," I said shortly. "Where's Granger?"

His smirk faltered for just a second before he waved a dismissive hand. "Somewhere in the house. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I lied, turning and heading toward the servants' quarters before he could question me further.

When I found her, she was sitting on the edge of her cot, staring blankly at the wall. She didn't look up as I entered, but her shoulders stiffened.

"What happened?" I asked, stepping closer.

"Nothing," she said quickly, her voice flat.

I crouched in front of her, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Granger," I said firmly, "did he—"

"Nothing happened," she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "Just leave it alone, Malfoy."

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the tension between us thick and suffocating. Finally, she turned away, her hands curling into fists.

"I don't need your pity," she said softly, her voice trembling.

"It's not pity," I said, standing. "Just… be careful."

She didn't respond, and I left, the knot in my chest tightening with every step.

Whatever had happened while I was gone, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was only the beginning.

Hermione's POV

The tension in the manor was palpable the next morning. Narcissa had returned from her meeting, Draco had resumed his usual cold distance, and yet it was Lucius who cast the darkest shadow over my day.

I felt his gaze on me long before I saw him. The weight of it was heavy, suffocating, even when I wasn't in the same room. As I scrubbed the stone floor near the dining hall, I heard the familiar click of his polished shoes echoing down the hallway. My stomach tightened, but I didn't stop working.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he said smoothly as he entered the room. "Always so diligent."

I didn't respond, keeping my head down and my hands busy. The last thing I wanted was to engage him, to give him any reason to linger.

"Do you enjoy your work here?" he continued, his voice low and calculated.

"It's not my place to enjoy or not enjoy it, sir," I replied evenly, forcing myself to remain calm.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "So dutiful. Admirable, in a way."

I said nothing, focusing on scrubbing the stubborn stain on the floor as if my life depended on it.

He moved closer, his shadow falling over me. "You know," he said, his tone conversational but laced with something darker, "there's something… intriguing about you, Miss Granger."

I froze for a fraction of a second before resuming my work, keeping my face carefully neutral.

"You're intelligent," he continued, circling me like a predator. "Resilient. Even now, you hold yourself with such… defiance. It's fascinating."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Most people in your position would have broken by now," he said, stopping directly behind me. "But not you. No, you're different."

My hands trembled slightly as I wrung out the rag, but I forced myself to stay silent.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "do you ever wonder what might have been? If you'd been born into the right family, the right bloodline?"

My anger flared, but I buried it deep, refusing to let him see how his words affected me.

"I don't waste my time wondering about things I can't change," I said finally, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

He chuckled again, the sound low and mocking. "Ah, but isn't that the tragedy of it all? Such potential, wasted on someone like you."

I stood slowly, gripping the rag tightly in my hand. My heart pounded in my chest, but I met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.

"With all due respect, sir," I said, my voice cold, "I believe my potential is none of your concern."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he smiled—a slow, predatory smile that made my skin crawl.

"You're right," he said, stepping back. "It isn't."

And with that, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Draco's POV

I found her in the hallway later, her face pale but her eyes blazing with anger. She didn't notice me at first, too caught up in her own thoughts as she carried the bucket of soapy water toward the servants' quarters.

"Granger," I called, stepping into her path.

She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at me. "What do you want?" she snapped, her voice sharp.

"Calm down," I said, holding up my hands. "I just—what happened? You look like you're ready to hex someone."

"Your father," she said bluntly, her grip tightening on the bucket handle. "He keeps watching me, making these… comments. I don't know what game he's playing, but I don't like it."

My stomach turned, anger flaring in my chest. "What kind of comments?"

She hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the hallway as if expecting Lucius to appear at any moment. "It doesn't matter," she said finally, shaking her head. "He's just trying to get under my skin."

"He's succeeding," I muttered, more to myself than to her.

She scowled, stepping around me. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Malfoy. Just stay out of my way."

I let her go, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I hated my father. I hated the way he looked at her, the way he pushed boundaries just to see how far he could go. And I hated that no matter how much I tried to distance myself from him, his shadow loomed over me at every turn.

But most of all, I hated the way Hermione's words stuck with me, echoing in my mind long after she was gone.

Because she was right. Whatever this was, whatever he was doing—I wasn't doing enough to stop it.