The days blended together in a whirlwind of research, late nights, and unresolved tension. The high-profile cases they worked on seemed to only add fuel to the fire of their strained partnership. Every time they crossed paths—whether it was in their shared office or on the case itself—the unspoken friction between them simmered just below the surface.
It was another morning in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the usual chaos unfolding around them. Hermione was hunched over a case file, scribbling notes, when Draco's voice broke through her concentration.
"Granger," he drawled, the tone of his voice enough to make her bristle even before she turned to face him. "You've missed a detail in your report. The whole thing's a mess."
She snapped her head up, narrowing her eyes. "I don't need you to critique my work, Malfoy. I'm quite capable of handling it on my own."
Draco's smirk was maddeningly smug, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. "Seems like you could use a little help, considering you've been staring at that parchment for the last half hour and haven't made any progress."
Hermione's grip tightened on the quill in her hand. "You've been in this department longer than I have, Malfoy. Maybe you should worry about your own mess instead of poking around in mine."
His eyes flashed with something sharp, but instead of responding with his usual biting retort, he stepped closer to her desk, his presence crowding her space. The subtle shift in his posture, the tightening of his jaw, made her pulse quicken. It was the same feeling she always got whenever he was near—like the air itself thickened, making it harder to breathe.
"You really think I'm the one who's messy?" Draco's voice lowered, the words carrying an edge. "Look at your desk. All those files, all that disorganization. How do you even find anything in this chaos?"
Her fingers curled into fists. "I don't need to justify how I work to you."
Draco leaned in, so close that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she could have sworn that the rest of the office had faded into nothing. It was just the two of them, locked in a standoff that neither of them was willing to back down from.
"Maybe you should," he muttered, his voice rough with something dangerous, almost like a growl. "Maybe if you paid attention to the details, you wouldn't be so—" He paused, eyes darkening. "—so bloody irritating."
Hermione's heart thudded against her ribs, but she refused to let him see it. She stood up abruptly, sending her chair skidding back. "I've had enough of this. Every day, it's the same thing—your constant need to pick at me. I'm not one of your bloody toys, Malfoy."
His gaze flickered with something dangerous, but he didn't take a step back. "I'm not the one picking at you, Granger. You're the one who can't stop throwing insults. Maybe you're just angry because I'm right. Maybe you've always known I was better at this than you."
The words hit her like a slap. She recoiled, her mind reeling. "Better? At what? Being a smug, self-righteous prat?" she snapped. "You think just because you've been here longer, you have the right to act like you're some bloody expert? You're still the same arrogant, insufferable—"
But Draco was already cutting her off, his voice a low growl. "You're the one who won't let go of the past, Granger. Still clinging to your little moral high ground. Maybe that's why you can't see the bigger picture. You don't know how to get your hands dirty."
Hermione froze at his words. There it was again—the subtle insinuation, the accusation that she was somehow less because she didn't indulge in the darker sides of magic, of the world. She had spent years fighting against the darkness that had consumed so many, and to have Draco—of all people—throw it in her face was more than she could take.
Her voice shook with barely contained fury. "I don't need your approval, Malfoy. And I certainly don't need your lectures."
The space between them felt small, suffocating. Their bodies were tense, coiled like springs ready to snap.
Draco's eyes hardened. "Then why the hell are you still here? If you think I'm so terrible, why not just leave and work with someone else?"
For a long moment, neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. The weight of his challenge hung in the air, filling the silence with a tension that crackled like static.
Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice quieter but no less fierce. "I'm not the one who can't move on, Malfoy. You can keep pretending like you're fine, like you're unaffected, but you're not fooling anyone. Not me. Not anyone."
His expression faltered, just for the briefest moment, and it was enough to make her stomach twist. Was it guilt? Was it regret? Or was it something darker?
Before she could analyze it further, he turned on his heel, striding towards the door. "Don't flatter yourself, Granger," he shot back, the familiar sneer returning to his face. "I'm not the one who's stuck in the past."
Draco turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing through the bustling Auror office as he made his way toward the exit. Hermione stood frozen, her breath coming faster than she was willing to admit. She was furious—furious at him, furious at herself—but most of all, furious at how badly her heart was pounding in her chest.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew the worst part of it all was that, despite everything, she was still drawn to him.
A soft cough broke through her thoughts. Hermione turned to find Neville Longbottom standing nearby, his brow furrowed in concern. He'd been watching the entire exchange, and though he wasn't one to pry, the look on his face said it all.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" Neville asked gently, his voice calm and steady. He always had that knack for being a grounding presence when everything around her felt like it was spinning out of control.
Hermione opened her mouth to snap something—anything—but the words caught in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to lash out at Neville. He wasn't the one making her feel this way. And, frankly, she wasn't sure who she was angry at anymore.
"Yeah… just—just fine," she muttered, trying to shake off the discomfort creeping up her spine.
Neville's gaze softened, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "I know things have been tense with Malfoy," he began, his words measured and carefully chosen. "But he's not the same person he used to be."
Hermione stiffened at the mention of Draco's name, her pulse quickening. "You don't know what he's like now, Neville. He's still—"
"Still who?" Neville cut her off, his eyes sharp and understanding. "The arrogant prat from school? The one who tortured people and hung around with a bunch of Death Eaters?" He paused, his gaze never wavering. "Hermione, we've all changed. Even him."
Hermione felt the weight of his words pressing down on her, and though she didn't want to admit it, a small part of her knew that Neville was right. She couldn't keep holding onto the past, not if she was going to work with Draco every day. It was too exhausting.
"He's… not like that anymore," Neville continued, his voice softening. "And I know it's hard to see it sometimes, but he's trying. I think he really is."
Hermione's lips parted, but no words came out. She wasn't sure how to respond to that. The idea of Draco being anything other than the man she loathed seemed so… foreign. But then again, she couldn't deny the complexity she saw in him now. There was more to him than the sneering Slytherin she'd spent years despising.
"You're right," she finally said, her voice quiet. "I just… I don't know how to deal with it."
Neville gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's not easy, I know. But don't let your past with him cloud your judgment. You're both working on the same team now, and—well, sometimes, it's better to focus on that than the things that happened before."
Hermione nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the conversation settle on her shoulders. It wasn't easy. It wasn't even close to being easy. But Neville was right. There was more to Draco than the years of animosity they shared, and if she was going to get through this case—hell, if she was going to survive working with him—she'd have to start seeing him differently.
Neville's smile softened, and with a gentle pat on her shoulder, he turned and walked away, leaving Hermione to think over his words. She still wasn't sure what to do with her emotions, but one thing was for sure—this war with Draco Malfoy was far from over.
Hermione could feel the heat building in her chest as Draco paced across the room, his footsteps sharp, each one a strike against her composure. His usual smug expression was replaced with a hardness that only seemed to make her more furious. She wasn't sure what had triggered it, but something in her snapped.
She opened her mouth to say something biting, something that would put him in his place, but he spoke first, his tone dripping with condescension.
"You know, Granger, it's not just about being right. It's about showing everyone that you're better than the rest of us. And you're doing a pretty piss-poor job of it."
Her fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as she struggled to keep her temper in check. She'd dealt with Draco Malfoy's insults for years, but this—this was something different. It was too much.
"You don't get it, do you?" she shot back, her voice rising with anger. "You really think I care about proving something to you? To anyone? I don't need your approval. I'm not here to win some petty game."
Draco's lips curled into a mocking smile, his eyes glinting with something darker. "Of course you care. You've always cared, Granger. You've spent your whole life trying to be better, trying to be the hero everyone else needs. But we both know it's just a mask. A way to keep people from seeing the real you."
She felt her breath catch in her throat. The words cut deeper than they should have. And though she hated him for it, a sick part of her knew there was some truth to what he said.
But she wasn't going to let him get under her skin. Not again.
Her voice was cold as ice when she responded. "And what about you, Malfoy? What's your excuse? Always hiding behind your father's name, your money, your power. You think that somehow makes you better than me?"
Draco's smirk faltered for just a moment, and that was all it took for Hermione to see through his facade. But the moment passed, and he took a step toward her, his eyes hard. "I'm not hiding, Granger. I'm just playing the game better than you are."
The words hit her like a slap. She recoiled, her heart pounding against her chest. "You think I don't see it?" she spat, taking a step forward. "You think I don't see the way you're trying to prove something? It's pathetic."
For a brief second, they just stood there, locked in a silent standoff. But the silence only made her anger flare hotter, the years of resentment bubbling up inside her.
Draco didn't speak at first, but his eyes—those cold, piercing eyes—never left hers. For a moment, Hermione saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he tried so hard to keep hidden. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. "You really don't know anything, do you?"
The words stung, but Hermione refused to back down. She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. "I know enough."
The tension in the room thickened, an electric charge hanging in the air. Hermione's breath was coming faster now, the anger in her chest smoldering, ready to erupt. Draco's eyes were icy, but there was something else there—something raw, something dangerous. But before either of them could say another word, a voice broke through.
"Enough."
Harry's voice was sharp, cutting through the rising storm between them. He stood in the doorway of the Auror office, arms crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. Behind him, the other Aurors had stopped their work, their eyes flicking between Draco and Hermione as the tension unfolded.
Harry's gaze flickered between the two of them, and his jaw clenched. "We don't have time for this childish behavior. Both of you—get back to work."
Hermione glanced around, realizing for the first time that everyone in the office was watching. The hushed whispers had already started. She could feel the weight of their eyes on her, a mix of curiosity and judgment. She looked back at Draco, her chest tightening, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything more.
Draco, however, stood silently for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned his gaze back to Hermione, the hardness in his eyes flickering for the briefest of moments, before he spoke. His voice was low, tinged with something that could have been a challenge—or maybe something else entirely.
"I know you're just as broken as everyone else in this room. Just like me."
The words hung in the air between them, lingering like a promise neither of them had intended to make. For a moment, neither of them moved, their eyes locked in a silent exchange. But the moment was broken as Harry cleared his throat, stepping forward.
"Both of you. Now."
Hermione exhaled sharply, breaking eye contact with Draco as she turned toward her desk. The quiet buzz of the office returned, but the tension between her and Draco felt like a heavy weight she couldn't shake.
Harry's voice was softer now as he addressed the room. "We're all professionals here. Let's act like it."
As Harry walked away, Hermione's mind raced. Draco's words echoed in her mind. Just as broken as everyone else… Had he meant it? Or was he just throwing out one of his usual jabs?
She couldn't quite tell. But something in her chest tightened.
Hermione made her way to the break room, the heavy silence of the office still hanging in the air as she walked. She needed a moment to herself, to try to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her after the confrontation with Draco. She found herself at the kettle, watching the steam rise, feeling the tension slowly begin to ease.
As the water began to heat, the door to the break room creaked open. She turned, and there stood John Dawlish Jr., his usual overzealous grin plastered across his face.
She wasn't in the mood for small talk, especially not with Dawlish Jr., but she forced a smile, trying to remain polite. "What's up, Dawlish?"
His grin faded slightly, and he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. "I just wanted to say—I completely agree with you, Granger."
Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "Agree with me about what?"
He gave a small, knowing laugh, his eyes narrowing with an almost predatory gleam. "About Malfoy. You can't trust him. I mean, look at him. Ex-Death Eater. That kind of darkness never goes away, no matter how much he tries to hide it. It's in his blood."
Hermione's chest tightened at the mention of Draco's past. The weight of his words hung heavy in the room, and for a moment, she wanted to give in to the resentment she'd carried all these years—the disgust, the anger that still simmered beneath the surface.
But something in her wouldn't let her. Guilt? Curiosity? She wasn't sure.
Her mind lingered on the way Malfoy's eyes had looked earlier—just for a split second, unguarded. There had been no sneer, no coldness, just… something raw. Human.
A flicker of vulnerability.
And that flicker unsettled her more than all his arrogance combined.
Because if she let herself believe that he could be more than the boy who'd taunted her for years—if she even opened the door to that possibility—what did that say about her? About the walls she'd so carefully built to protect herself?
She drew in a steady breath, fingers tightening around her teacup. The anger was easier. Familiar. But it didn't quite fit the same way anymore.
And that was what scared her the most.
She turned slightly to face him, her voice guarded. "I'm not sure it's that simple."
Dawlish raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by her response. "Oh? What, you think he's changed? That he's some sort of redeemed hero now?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Please, Granger. You know better than that. People like him don't change."
The words hit harder than she expected, and Hermione felt a pang of doubt claw at her. She had every reason to hate Draco—to loathe him for the things he'd done, for his family, for the way he'd treated her and everyone she loved during the war. But was that really all there was to him? Could she just write him off as a lost cause, like Dawlish seemed to want her to?
She took a breath, trying to steady herself before speaking, but her voice came out quieter than she intended. "I'm not saying he's perfect. I'm not even saying I trust him. But—" She hesitated. "People can change, Dawlish. I believe that."
Dawlish Jr. snorted, clearly unconvinced. "That's where you're wrong, Granger. Some people are just too far gone. They can't be fixed. Especially someone like him." His eyes narrowed, his voice darkening as he continued. "You're better off keeping your distance. Don't let his charm fool you. He's still a Malfoy."
Hermione felt her stomach tighten, her old resentment flaring up. The past, the things Draco had said and done, were still fresh in her mind. She had every right to distrust him, didn't she? She should walk away, stay far away from him, and keep her focus on the case—on what mattered.
And yet, the words felt hollow. In the back of her mind, something—something small, but persistent—whispered that she wasn't entirely sure if Dawlish was right. Was Draco really still that same person? Could the scars of his past be washed away with time?
But that wasn't something she could let herself think about, not here, not now.
"Maybe," she said slowly, her voice cold, "but I don't need you to tell me how to handle my business, Dawlish."
He smirked, his stance relaxing slightly as he made his way to the door. "Just looking out for you, Granger. But don't say I didn't warn you." He paused in the doorway, glancing back with a slight sneer. "After all, you don't want to be caught on the wrong side of a Malfoy again."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Hermione standing alone in the break room, the kettle now whistling softly. She stood there, staring at the steam rising, lost in her thoughts.
Could she really trust Draco? Could she let go of all the anger and fear and see him for who he was now? Or was Dawlish right—was he still the same person he had been before?
She didn't have the answers, and maybe she never would. But one thing was certain: the doubt was there, gnawing at the edges of her mind.
The little wizarding bistro off Diagon Alley was warm and cozy, with flickering lanterns hovering above the tables and soft jazz drifting through the air. Hermione sat across from Harry and Ginny, her dinner half-picked at while she swirled the contents of her wine glass in quiet agitation.
Ginny, ever perceptive, leaned forward and tilted her head. "You've been glowering into that wine like it owes you money. Want to talk about it?"
Hermione sighed. "It's nothing."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That nothing wouldn't happen to have platinum blond hair and an attitude problem, would it?"
She scowled. "Don't start."
Ginny chuckled and exchanged a glance with Harry. "You know, you're not as subtle as you think. From what I heard half the department could feel the tension between you two today. And I don't mean professional tension."
Hermione bristled. "There is nothing between me and Malfoy. He's infuriating, arrogant, smug—"
"—And he's not the same Draco Malfoy we knew at Hogwarts," Harry cut in gently "Look, I get it. I didn't trust him for a long time either. But he's… he's different now."
Hermione's gaze flicked up to meet his, skeptical. "You honestly expect me to believe that you and Malfoy are friends now?"
Harry smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I do. We're not best mates, but yeah. He's proven himself. He's a good Auror, he's solid in the field, and he has your back. Hell, he's had my back."
Ginny nodded. "And he's never once tried to use his family name to get out of anything since he joined the department. If anything, he's gone out of his way to stay clean. You know he took the hard route through the Ministry training instead of going back to Hogwarts. No favors. No shortcuts."
Hermione looked down at her plate. "That doesn't erase who he was."
"No," Harry agreed. "But it does show who he's trying to be. He didn't have to join the department. He didn't have to take the kind of cases he does. He chose it. And he's earned our trust, Hermione. He's earned mine."
Ginny leaned closer, her voice softer now. "And maybe what's really bothering you isn't that he hasn't changed. Maybe it's that he has, and you don't know what to do with that."
Hermione froze at that, her breath catching just slightly.
Harry gave her a pointed look. "You don't have to forgive the past. But don't let it blind you to the present. He's not trying to play games. He wants to be better. And if you gave him half a chance, you might actually see that."
Hermione sat in silence for a long moment, the low hum of the restaurant filling the space between them. She hated how much their words got under her skin—hated even more that some part of her agreed with them.
"I'm not saying I like him," she muttered.
Ginny smirked. "No one asked you to. Just… maybe don't hex him next time he tries to be decent."
"I didn't hex him," Hermione grumbled into her wine.
Harry and Ginny both laughed, and for the first time that evening, Hermione let the corner of her mouth curve upward.
Just a little.
She had been glaring at the case file in front of them, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. It had been a long day—too many hours, too little progress, and far too much of Malfoy.
"You know," she said sharply, not looking at him, "I sometimes wonder if you're actually helping on this case, or just pretending to care so you can check the 'reformed' box."
That did it.
The moment her words left her mouth, she realized too late how far she'd gone. The silence that followed was suffocating.
Draco's entire body stilled, his expression darkened. Slowly, he turned to her, his gaze turning hard as steel, his voice dropping to a quiet, lethal calm. He took a step toward her, closing the space between them until there was barely an inch separating their bodies.
"Say that again," he said, his tone soft but crackling with restrained fury. "Go on. Say it like you mean it."
Hermione's heart thundered in her chest. She refused to back down, lifting her chin in defiance even as her pulse betrayed her.
"I just don't know if you've really changed," she said, quieter this time, but no less firm. "Maybe you're just playing a role. Maybe that darkness is still right beneath the surface."
His jaw clenched, but he didn't move away. Instead, he stepped in closer, his breath warm against her cheek, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.
"Maybe that darkness is still there," he said, eyes locked onto hers. "But maybe you're just too scared to admit you see something else in me too."
Hermione's breath caught, but she didn't flinch. Didn't move.
Absolutely not," Hermione said sharply, arms crossed as she stood in front of Harry's desk. "You can't seriously expect me to go out in the field with him."
Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're the best curse breaker we have, Hermione. I love you like a sister, but if you can't pull your head out of your arse and do your job, I'm going to have to reassign you."
She recoiled slightly, stunned. "You're threatening me?"
"I'm trusting you," he said, meeting her gaze. "And I'm asking you to trust Draco. He's earned that much."
Hermione didn't respond. Her throat felt tight.
The case was a minor one—an old estate out in Yorkshire that had reported some strange magical activity. Nothing deadly, but enough to warrant an investigation. Harry assigned Hermione, Draco, and Aurora Sinclair to check it out.
The estate was weather-worn and surrounded by wild hedges and gnarled trees. Inside, the magical residue clung to the walls like smoke—thick, old magic that pulsed faintly under the floorboards.
Hermione was scanning a cursed mirror when the trap activated. A shimmering rune flared to life under her feet, and she barely had time to register it before the magic exploded outward. A stunning spell—powerful and fast.
But Draco moved faster.
He shoved her out of the way, taking the brunt of the blast against his shield. The spell ricocheted with a loud crack and sent them both tumbling, Hermione landing hard on the dusty floor beside him.
Aurora was already dispelling the lingering magic by the time Hermione sat up, coughing.
"Are you—are you mad?" she snapped, turning to Draco. "You could've been seriously hurt!"
He sat up with a groan, brushing dust off his robes. "You're welcome," he said dryly.
She blinked. "You protected me."
"Obviously." He gave her a look, equal parts irritated and insulted. "What, you thought I'd let you get hexed to bits? Don't flatter yourself, Granger."
Her mouth opened, then closed. She didn't have an answer.
He stood, offering her a hand without looking at her. "Come on. Let's finish the sweep. The cursed artifacts aren't going to catalog themselves."
She took his hand.
The Leaky Cauldron had thinned out. The fire still burned, casting shadows that danced lazily on the walls, but most of the evening crowd had cleared. The noise had dulled to a low murmur.
Draco sat in the far booth, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, tie long gone, and his fingers drumming restlessly on the side of his glass. Theo lounged across from him with all the ease of someone who knew exactly where this conversation was heading and had no intention of interrupting it.
"I swear to Merlin, she's infuriating." Draco's voice was low and sharp, as if he were trying to keep it contained—but failing.
Theo raised an eyebrow, casually sipping his drink. "She's smart, assertive, and keeps you on your toes. Sounds like someone you'd admire."
"I don't admire her," Draco snapped.
Theo's brow lifted higher.
"I mean—fine, she's competent. Brilliant even. But she can't stop pushing. Always has to have the last word. Always has to test me. It's like she enjoys riling me up just to see how far she can push before I break."
Theo tilted his head thoughtfully. "And you hate that."
Draco scowled. "Of course I bloody hate it."
Theo smirked. "Right."
There was a long pause. Draco looked away, jaw tense, eyes dark. The firelight flickered across his face, catching in the silver threads at his temple.
"She always knows exactly how to twist a knife," Draco muttered. "She gives me this look—like she's daring me to do something about it. And when I don't, she gets this smug little smile like she's won. But if I do respond, she doubles down, like she's been waiting for me to snap."
Theo swirled his drink lazily. "You realize you just described foreplay, right?"
Draco nearly choked on his whisky. "What?"
Theo's grin widened. "I'm just saying… it's got that tension, that heat. You two have practically been circling each other like a pair of dragons in a mating dance."
Draco glared. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not. You rant about her like she's the bane of your existence, but every time she walks into the room you stand up straighter and pretend you don't care that her hair's falling out of that prim little bun."
Draco opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, his scowl deepening.
Theo leaned forward, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "Look, you don't have to admit it. But don't act like the rest of us haven't noticed. The way you look at her? The way she looks back? There's something there. And whatever it is—it's not exactly hatred anymore."
Draco was quiet for a moment, staring at his drink.
"She's… chaos," he said finally. "And I don't trust chaos."
Theo leaned back with a slow smile. "Maybe not. But sometimes, chaos is exactly what you need."
Draco didn't respond. He just downed the rest of his whisky and set the glass down a little harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet room. But he didn't deny it again. He didn't have to.
Theo's smug grin lingered all the way to the door.