Draco's POV

The stack of reports in front of me blurred as my mind drifted for the third time in the last hour. I ran a hand through my hair, sighing in frustration. I had work to do—important work, things that required my full attention. And yet, I couldn't focus.

Because I kept thinking about her.

Hermione.

It wasn't intentional. At least, I told myself it wasn't. But every time I forced my attention back to the parchment in front of me, I found myself wondering what she was doing back at the manor. If she was all right. If my father was leaving her alone.

Lucius had returned last night, and though I hadn't seen him much this morning, the knowledge that he was home left me uneasy. My mother was there too, which was… both a relief and a complication. She kept him in check when necessary, but she also upheld the idea that Hermione was nothing more than a servant under our roof—one that should learn to "adapt" to her circumstances.

I hated that.

I drummed my fingers against the desk, staring blankly at the Ministry-issued paperwork in front of me. My job wasn't particularly demanding—most of it was just maintaining appearances, making sure the Malfoy name wasn't entirely tainted after the war. A respectable position, as my mother called it, but it bored me.

And now, I could barely even pretend to care.

I didn't know when it had started—this thing with Hermione. At first, I told myself it was just guilt, a desperate attempt to distance myself from my father's cruelty. But it was more than that.

I thought about the way she had smiled this morning, even if just for a second. The way she had laughed, a real laugh, not one laced with bitterness.

It was strange, the things I'd come to notice about her.

The way she chewed her bottom lip when she was thinking. The way her brows furrowed when she read something particularly frustrating. The way she refused to flinch, even when she was terrified.

She was resilient. Stronger than anyone I knew.

And that terrified me.

Because it meant she wasn't just a responsibility. She wasn't just a reminder of my family's mistakes.

She was Hermione, and she was getting under my skin.

I cursed under my breath, shaking my head. Get a grip, Draco.

I glanced at the clock. A few more hours until I could leave. Until I could go back and make sure everything at the manor was fine.

But a sick feeling twisted in my gut.

Because I wasn't sure if it was fine.

And I wasn't sure what I would do if it wasn't.

Hermione's POV

The acrid scent of cleaning potion filled the bathroom, stinging my nose as I scrubbed at the grout between the marble tiles. My knees ached from kneeling on the cold floor, but I barely noticed. I had long since learned how to push through discomfort.

The rhythm of cleaning was almost hypnotic—scrub, rinse, repeat. It gave me something to focus on, something that wasn't the weight of my situation or the nagging questions in my mind.

Like why Draco Malfoy was being so much nicer to me lately.

I couldn't understand it. He had spent years tormenting me at Hogwarts, mocking me, treating me like I was beneath him. And yet, now, in this place where he had every advantage over me, he was… different.

He had brought me books. Given me candy. Talked to me as if I were someone worth talking to, not just a servant in his house.

And this morning—he had made me laugh.

I pressed the brush harder against the grout, as if trying to scrub away my own thoughts.

I couldn't trust him.

It didn't matter how many times he looked at me with something like guilt in his eyes, or how he seemed to notice when I was struggling. He was still a Malfoy. He still owned me, just like the rest of them.

And yet…

I let out a frustrated sigh, shaking my head. It doesn't matter. Stop thinking about him.

I reached for the cleaning rag, shifting my position to scrub at a tougher stain. My movements were quick, efficient. I just needed to get through the rest of this task and move on to the next.

But then—

A sudden, unwelcome pressure against me.

A firm bump, a weight pressing against my backside.

My breath caught in my throat as my entire body tensed.

No.

Panic surged through me, my blood turning to ice. I didn't have to look to know who it was.

Lucius Malfoy.

His presence was unmistakable, suffocating.

He didn't speak. He didn't move away.

And I—I couldn't breathe.

The cleaning rag slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft, wet sound.

The walls of the bathroom closed in.

And then—

Darkness.