The office was filled with the usual hum of activity, the soft rustle of parchment and the rhythmic flicker of quills filling the air. Hermione sat at her desk, surrounded by stacks of case files, the day's work demanding her full attention. She carefully sorted with a wave of her wand.
The room, though small and cluttered, was alive with the quiet buzz of magic at work. Enchanted memos flitted through the air like paper birds, delivering updates across the Ministry, the occasional flicker of a spell as a colleague hastily jotted down notes on a hovering piece of parchment.
Across the room, Draco stood at the blackboard, his wand tapping lightly against the map pinned to its surface. A web of names, locations, and key events stretched before him—pieces of a puzzle they had been trying to solve for weeks. His finger traced a familiar pattern along the inked lines, his expression unreadable as he considered their next move.
Hermione had seen that map dozens of times. The same locations. The same suspects. The same frustrating dead ends. She hadn't slept well the night before, and exhaustion pressed against her temples, making her irritable. The stress of the case weighed heavily on all of them, the air in the office thick with an unspoken tension, like the charged silence before a brewing storm.
She knew she shouldn't speak. Knew that biting remarks wouldn't move the case forward. But they'd been working in silence for too long, and frustration clawed at her, demanding release.
"If you think staring at the same damn map is going to get us anywhere, you're wrong," she snapped, lifting her gaze to meet his. "We're running in circles, Malfoy. Again. You can't just sit here and pretend we're making progress when all we have are more dead ends."
Draco paused, his fingers stilling on the map. His head turned slowly, eyes narrowing with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "What the hell are you talking about?" he shot back, his usual mask of indifference slipping for a fraction of a second. "We're following the case as best we can."
Hermione let out a humorless laugh, standing up to face him. "Is that your excuse? Your best?" she challenged, arms crossing tightly over her chest. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been dragging your heels ever since we started working together."
She knew she should stop there. But exhaustion and frustration loosened her tongue, and before she could think better of it, the words tumbled out.
This isn't a game, Malfoy," she snapped, her words spilling out faster than she intended. "You don't get to sit back and hesitate like you did back then. If you don't take this seriously, we're going to end up with nothing but more bodies and a pile of paperwork."
The moment the words left her mouth, the air in the room changed. Heavy. Unforgiving.
She regretted it instantly.
Draco's expression shuttered, his posture going rigid. There was no need to clarify what she meant. The war. His choices. The moment at Malfoy Manor when he stood between her and his family, wavering.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Hermione swallowed, the sharpness of her own words settling like a stone in her chest. "Malfoy, I—" she started, the apology forming instantly.
But he didn't let her finish.
His eyes darkened, lips curling into something sharp and dangerous. "Careful, Granger," he murmured, his voice quieter now but edged with something that sent a shiver down her spine. "You might not like where this conversation goes."
The words hung in the air like a slap, the room falling into a tense silence. Draco's jaw clenched, his body stiffening with the sting of her accusation. He was used to insults—used to her sharp tongue, even—but this was different. This dug beneath the surface, scraping at wounds he wasn't ready to acknowledge.
Hermione's chest tightened, but she didn't back down. "It's hard to take you seriously when you're more interested in flaunting your pure-blood superiority than actually solving the case."
Draco's eyes flashed with anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "Is that how you see me, Granger? A spoiled little rich boy who doesn't care about the lives affected by this case?"
Hermione didn't flinch. "You make it easy to see that side of you."
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Draco's breath, ragged and controlled. His posture stiffened, and his gaze hardened with something more than just anger. It was frustration—an emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time, not with her.
"I'm trying," he muttered, his voice tight. "But you wouldn't know what that's like, would you? Always so quick to judge, quick to tear me down, without ever considering that maybe I've changed."
Hermione's expression faltered, but she pressed on. "Change? You think I'm supposed to just forget what you've done? Forget who you were? Forget that your family destroyed lives, including mine?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and as soon as they left her mouth, she could see the shift in his eyes. The anger was still there, but something darker, more vulnerable, began to bleed through the cracks. For a moment, he seemed lost, caught between the weight of his past and the person he was desperately trying to become.
Draco's mouth pressed into a thin line, his whole body rigid. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he were holding himself back from saying something he'd regret.
Then, without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out, the door swinging hard behind him with a dull thud.
Silence followed in his wake, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. Hermione barely had a moment to process before she felt eyes on her. She turned, meeting the concerned gaze of Harry, who had been watching from his desk across the room.
"That was too much, Hermione," he said quietly, standing up and crossing the space between them. His voice wasn't angry, but there was a weight to it, a quiet disappointment. "I know you have your reasons for not trusting him. I get it. But he's not the same person anymore."
She swallowed hard, her arms wrapping around herself instinctively. "I—"
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry held up a hand, stopping her.
"Look," he continued, his tone softening. "I wouldn't have asked you to go into the field with him if I didn't believe in him. He kept you safe, Hermione. "He's not the same person he was back then," Harry continued, his voice gentle but firm. "And you know better than anyone how hard he's worked to prove that. That wasn't just about the case, and you know it."
Ron, who had been leaning against his desk, arms crossed, let out a low whistle. "Look, I'm never gonna be Malfoy's biggest fan," he admitted. "The ferret's still a dick most days, but… even he didn't deserve that."
Hermione felt something twist in her chest. Guilt.
She had wanted to hurt him, and she had. More than she intended.
And now, she wasn't sure how to fix it.
The following day Draco was the first to throw the punch. His words came casually, almost like a game, but there was a sharp edge beneath them. "Must be nice, being so bloody perfect all the time. Do you ever get tired of sitting on that high horse, Granger, or is the view just too good?"
His tone was cool, calculated, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable. He wanted a reaction. He wanted her to feel even a fraction of what he'd felt the day before.
She felt the sharp sting of his words, but she refused to let him see it. Her response was quick, sharp-edged.
"Better than wallowing in self-pity, Malfoy." She leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on his. "At least I didn't need a last name and a vault full of gold to matter. Maybe you should've asked your father to pay for some better lessons on decency."
The words landed hard, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression—something raw. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that cold, infuriating mask of indifference.
"You always have to bring that up, don't you?" Draco's voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. "Your precious morals. Your righteous little crusades."
Hermione felt the weight of his words settle in her chest, her breath catching for a moment. The bitterness in his tone stung more than she expected.
For a long beat, there was only silence between them. His expression tightened, the sneer taking over his features, but this time, it was different. The usual quick retort didn't come. Instead, something darker, something far more vulnerable, flashed in his eyes. It was gone in an instant, but the brief glimpse made her question herself—was this still just about the case?
Before Hermione could say anything else, Harry's voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"Enough." His tone was firm, but there was a quiet understanding in it, an unspoken plea for them both to stop. He stepped into the room, his gaze flicking between the two of them with a hint of frustration. "We've got a case to finish, not a personal war to fight."
He turned his gaze toward the rest of the team, who had been hovering nearby, sensing the building tension. "Everyone, gather up. We're having a meeting—now. Let's get back on track."
With one final glance toward Hermione and Draco, Harry gave them no room for argument. His leadership was quiet but effective, and the tension in the room was thick—but it was clear: there would be no more fighting today. Not here. Not now.
As the team began to shuffle toward the meeting area, Draco's eyes lingered on Hermione. "I'm not my father," he muttered, the words almost a hiss. His gaze flashed with a mix of frustration and sorrow before he turned away, following the rest of the team. The moment had passed. For now.
The following days passed in a blur of parchment, case notes, and team discussions. The office, with its tall windows overlooking the bustling streets of London, hummed with quiet energy, everyone lost in the details of their work. Hermione tried to keep her focus on the case, but her mind kept drifting back to the argument with Draco. Every time she caught a glimpse of him across the room, the guilt gnawed at her—sharp and insistent.
They were both professional, of course. Draco had thrown himself into the investigation with his usual single-minded intensity, and Hermione found herself doing the same. But there was an unspoken tension between them now, as if a wall had been erected that neither of them was willing to tear down just yet.
Hermione had wanted to apologize—needed to apologize—but the words never came. She didn't even know how to begin. She had been so angry, so quick to lash out, and part of her was afraid that any apology would feel weak. What if it didn't fix anything? What if it only made things worse?
She glanced over at Draco, who was in the middle of a heated conversation with Ron about the details of a potential lead. His tone was clipped, and though his words were sharp, there was no real venom behind them. It was just another argument—a typical Malfoy-Ron exchange. But despite his outward composure, Hermione could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw. He was still upset, still processing everything.
Maybe I should just say something, she thought, chewing on the edge of her pen. But what if it only makes things worse?
Her eyes flickered to Harry, who was deep in conversation with Neville about the next steps in the case. Harry had been unusually quiet around her these past few days, ever since the argument, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he was waiting for her to fix things with Draco. She hadn't asked, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know, but the silence between them felt like a subtle reminder of the mess she had made.
"Mione', are you even listening?" Ron's voice broke her from her thoughts.
Hermione blinked, shaking her head. "Sorry, what?"
Ron's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. "Never mind. Just wanted to make sure you were still alive in there. You look a bit like a zombie."
She forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine. Just... a bit distracted."
"Yeah, I noticed," he said with a grin. "Maybe you should get some fresh air. Get out of that head of yours for a bit."
Hermione nodded absently, her gaze drifting back to Draco, who was now pouring over a stack of parchment, a frown etched across his face. The temptation to speak with him, to somehow bridge the gap between them, was overwhelming, but she knew she wasn't ready. Not yet.
The day stretched on, each moment ticking by slowly as they continued to work through the case. By the time the afternoon wound down, Hermione felt a growing sense of exhaustion, both mentally and emotionally. It had been a long week—longer than most—and the weight of everything was starting to press on her chest. She needed a break. They all did.
As the clock neared five o'clock, Harry stood from his desk and stretched, glancing around at the team. "Alright, I think that's enough for today. We'll reconvene on Monday. But for now, how about we all grab a drink? I don't know about you lot, but I could use something stronger than coffee."
The suggestion was met with a murmur of agreement, and Hermione felt a small, fleeting sense of relief. She wasn't one to turn down a chance to unwind, and maybe—just maybe—a night out would help clear the air, give her a moment to breathe without the constant undercurrent of tension.
"Sounds good," Neville said, grinning. "I'm in."
Draco, who had been unusually quiet all day, raised an eyebrow. "You're all planning to drink away your work troubles, then?" His voice was laced with sarcasm, but there was something almost... wistful in his tone, as if he didn't quite belong to the group, yet a part of him wanted to.
"Don't knock it 'til you try it, Malfoy," Ron said with a smirk. "It's the only way to survive this job some days."
Hermione glanced at Draco, her stomach tightening. Would he join them? Would it be awkward? But then again, it was just drinks. It was just one night. They didn't have to talk about what had happened.
"Alright, alright," Harry said, clapping his hands together. "Let's head out then. I'm buying the first round."
As the group made their way to the door, Hermione lingered behind, her eyes flickering to Draco one last time. He was already moving toward the door, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression unreadable. She sighed softly, feeling the weight of the unspoken words still between them.
Maybe tonight would help. Maybe it wouldn't. Either way, she knew she had to face him eventually.
The Leaky Cauldron was alive with the familiar buzz of magic and laughter, a perfect spot to unwind after a long week. The wooden beams above were crooked with age, and the pub itself held the charm of something well-worn but never weary. The faint smell of butterbeer mixed with the rich aroma of roasting meats, and the flickering fire in the hearth cast long, golden shadows along the walls.
Hermione stepped inside, grateful for the change in scenery. The noise of the bar seemed to fade away, replaced by the warmth of familiar faces. Harry and Ginny were already seated in the corner, Ginny leaning comfortably against Harry's side, their ease with one another effortless. At the bar, Theo was gesturing animatedly as he spoke, his grin sharp and mischievous, while Ron laughed, already caught up in whatever ridiculous scheme was being concocted. Pansy, dressed in sleek black robes with a silver clasp at her shoulder, rolled her eyes at them but didn't bother hiding the amused smirk tugging at her lips.
Hermione's gaze flickered to the bar, where Draco stood, scanning the drink menu with exaggerated focus. He wasn't avoiding her, not exactly, but he wasn't acknowledging her either. A familiar ache of guilt settled in her stomach. She still didn't know how to approach him—how to start undoing the words she had thrown at him earlier in the week. But tonight wasn't the night for that.
"Round of drinks for the team?" Harry called as Hermione reached the table, grinning.
Ginny, dressed in deep emerald robes that made her hair even more striking, nudged Harry playfully. "Let's hope this lot can handle it."
Draco finally stepped away from the bar, his presence immediately drawing a few looks. "Don't worry, Potter, we'll find something stronger than you're used to," he remarked dryly. His voice still held the sharpness from their last argument, but beneath it was something else—a flicker of hesitation, uncertainty. His gaze flicked briefly to Hermione before he masked it with an easy smirk.
She quickly looked away, her heart beating a little faster at the unspoken tension between them. Before the silence could stretch too long, Ginny broke it.
"Come on, Draco," she said, her tone warm and inviting. "You're part of the team. Sit with us."
Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shrugged, slipping effortlessly back into his usual arrogance. "Well, if you insist."
Neville and Luna arrived a few minutes later, their presence bringing a new kind of energy. Neville, dressed in deep brown robes, looked slightly out of place but happy, his arm wrapped gently around Luna. She, in contrast, was perfectly at ease, wearing soft lavender robes that billowed slightly as she moved, her wide, dreamy eyes sweeping the pub as if seeing something no one else could.
As the group expanded, Ron clapped his hands together. "Right then, let's make some room."
With a flick of his wand, he pulled a nearby table over, and Theo, always eager to turn something mundane into a spectacle, exaggerated the motion with a grand wave of his own wand, causing the chairs to skitter across the floor dramatically.
"Oh, very impressive," Ron drawled. "You'd think you were auditioning for a stage show."
Pansy, watching from the sidelines, smirked. "More like a circus act."
Theo clutched his chest in mock offense. "Pans, you wound me."
"Not nearly enough," she quipped back.
As Ron and Theo bickered playfully, they waved their wands again, this time carrying over several trays stacked with drinks. One wobbled dangerously midair, and Ron barely caught it in time.
"Try not to spill the first round, Weasley," Draco commented, arching a brow.
"Oh, shut it, Ferret," Ron shot back, but there was no heat in his words—just the usual gruff camaraderie that had developed between them.
As the last table clicked into place and everyone settled in, the tension from the week seemed to finally ease, even if just for the night.
Harry raised his glass to the team, a little less ceremonious than usual but no less genuine. "To surviving another week, and to solving the case before it drives us all to drink even more."
"To that," Ron added, grinning, before taking a long swig of his firewhisky.
Hermione let herself relax for a moment, allowing the easy atmosphere to sink in. It was nice—no investigation, no office pressure, just a simple evening out with colleagues who had somehow become friends. She could almost forget the unresolved tension lingering between her and Draco.
Ginny leaned over to Hermione, her voice low but playful. "So, have you finally given Malfoy the apology he deserves, or are you waiting for him to make the first move?"
Hermione winced. "I... I'm not sure how to apologize without making it worse."
Ginny's eyes softened with understanding. "You'll figure it out. You're a smart one. Just don't leave it too long, yeah? No one likes holding onto things like that."
Hermione sighed, taking a sip of her drink to hide the unease she felt. She hadn't expected Ginny to know so much about the situation, but then again, they were close. She just wasn't sure if she was ready to face Draco again.
"You should've seen Theo trying to teach Neville how to dance at the last office party," Ron said suddenly, breaking through Hermione's thoughts. "It was a disaster."
Theo smirked, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "It was not a disaster. It was... artistic."
Luna, who had been quietly watching the exchange, tilted her head with a serene smile. "I think Neville has a very good sense of rhythm. You just weren't ready for his... unique style."
Neville flushed slightly but smiled back at Luna pressing a kiss to her temple, clearly grateful for her support. "Thanks, Luna."
Hermione laughed, feeling the tension inside her slowly ease as the warmth of their camaraderie wrapped around her. The group had settled into an easy rhythm, playful banter flowing as drinks were passed around. Yet, beneath the laughter and clinking glasses, the familiar tension between her and Draco lingered like a shadow at the edges of the room.
She wanted to apologize—to bridge the gap she had widened between them—but every time she tried to form the words, they caught in her throat. Across the table, Draco sat quietly, his expression unreadable, but his fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass—a restless, unconscious movement.
Instead of speaking, she took another sip of her drink, letting the conversation pull her along, even as the weight of unspoken words settled between them.
As the clock neared midnight, Harry pushed himself up from his chair, swaying slightly as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "I'm calling it a night before we make more of a mess of ourselves than we already have," he announced, his words slightly slurred.
Ginny chuckled, slipping her arm around his waist to steady him. "Come on, love, let's get you home before you start singing again," she teased, guiding him toward the door.
One by one, the group followed suit, exchanging tired but content goodbyes. Some promised to catch up over the weekend, while others simply muttered, "See you Monday," as they filtered out into the cool night air.
Hermione lingered, her gaze flickering toward Draco. The warmth of alcohol thrummed in her veins, giving her just enough courage to finally say what had been sitting heavy on her chest for days. She stepped closer, reaching out slightly as if to catch his attention.
"Draco, I—"
But he didn't let her finish. Not unkindly, but with a quiet finality, he shook his head. His expression was unreadable, but the hurt was still there, just beneath the surface.
"Not tonight, Granger," he murmured, his voice softer than she expected. Then, without another word, he turned and stepped out into the night.
Hermione stood there for a moment, the words she had been holding onto slipping away as she watched him go.