The fire in the Gryffindor common room had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the scarlet rug. Most of the students had gone to bed hours ago, but Hermione sat curled in the corner armchair, legs tucked beneath her, a book open but forgotten in her lap.

Her eyes weren't moving across the page. Her mind was somewhere else.

Back in the corridor.

With him.

Draco.

She should've known better.

She did know better.

Everything about this was ridiculous. He was Draco Malfoy. Former Death Eater. Slytherin golden boy. The boy who used to mock her every chance he got, who spat the word "Mudblood" like it tasted rotten in his mouth.

And yet… that wasn't who he was tonight.

Tonight, he'd been careful. Quiet. Honest.

Tonight, he'd looked at her like she was something fragile and brilliant all at once.

And worse—so much worse—was that she felt something back.

It hadn't been like this with anyone else. Not even with Ron.

Ron had been familiar. Safe. Expected.

Draco was none of those things.

He was all sharp edges and shadows. Complicated in ways that pulled at her curiosity. But also… different now. Like someone rebuilding themselves one brick at a time.

And Merlin, that smile. The small, rare one. Not smug. Not performative. The one he gave her after she teased him about smirking too much. It had stayed with her, lodged behind her ribs.

She shut the book.

This was dangerous. Not because of who he had been—but because of who he might be now.

Because if she let herself hope… and it wasn't real?

If he changed his mind, or worse—if he hadn't changed at all?

She could get hurt.

And Hermione Granger did not do reckless when it came to her heart. She calculated. She protected. She had watched the world fall apart once already—she had no desire to watch herself do the same.

Still… the way he walked beside her tonight. The way he listened. The way he saw her.

It was a version of Draco Malfoy she wasn't ready for.

And yet, a part of her—quiet and traitorous—wanted to see more.

Hermione stood slowly, closing the book without marking the page. She wouldn't be reading tonight.

She climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory, whispering a silencing charm behind her, and slipped into bed.

Her thoughts followed her under the covers, curling beside her like something uninvited and warm.

She wasn't ready to trust him.

But for the first time… she wasn't sure she could keep ignoring him either.

The morning sun spilled gold across the courtyard, casting long shadows between the ancient stone pillars. A breeze tugged at cloaks and rustled pages of forgotten books as students gathered in quiet clusters before the first lesson.

Hermione sat on a bench beside Harry and Ron, her satchel propped against her leg, half-listening to Ron rant about the state of the breakfast porridge.

"Honestly," Ron was saying, waving his arm like a wand, "it's like they're trying to poison us with blandness."

Harry snorted. "You could always cook your own."

"Please, I'm a danger with a frying pan. Ask Mum."

Hermione smiled absently, but her eyes drifted—unconsciously at first—toward the far edge of the courtyard.

And froze.

Draco Malfoy stood beneath one of the archways, back to the stone, his arms loosely crossed as he talked to Blaise Zabini. He looked relaxed—effortlessly so—but Hermione noticed the subtle flick of his eyes. Like he was scanning the crowd for something.

And then, as if pulled by gravity, their eyes locked.

The courtyard seemed to go silent around her.

It was nothing, really. Just a glance. A few seconds.

But her pulse stuttered like she'd been jolted.

He didn't smirk. Didn't sneer. He just looked at her—steady and unreadable, like he was trying to decide something.

And then, very slightly, his expression shifted.

Not a smile. Not quite.

Just the smallest lift at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. But it felt like lightning.

Hermione felt her breath hitch in her throat.

And then Blaise nudged him, saying something that made Malfoy glance away, shaking his head.

The moment broke.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice pulled her back. "You alright?"

She blinked. "What? Yes. Just… thinking."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "You were staring at something."

"Was I?" she said too quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear and reaching for her book. "Must've zoned out."

Ron turned slightly, following her line of sight—and froze when his gaze landed on Malfoy.

"Oh, come on, Hermione."

"What?"

"You were staring at him."

Harry groaned softly. "Don't start, Ron."

Hermione's cheeks warmed, but she didn't back down. "He hasn't done anything."

"Yet," Ron muttered. "I don't trust him."

"You don't have to trust him," she said, voice sharp. "I'm not asking you to."

That shut him up—at least for the moment.

But the damage was done. Her heart was still hammering, and she could feel Malfoy's presence like heat across the courtyard, even with his back turned.

Whatever this was… it wasn't going away.

Ron leaned back against the bench with a loud sigh, clearly not done. "Look, I'm just saying—you can't forget who he was. What he did."

Hermione's jaw tightened. "I haven't forgotten anything, Ron."

"You sure?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "Because it looked like you were one meaningful glance away from writing his name in your diary."

"Ron." Harry's voice was quiet, but firm. "Ease up."

Ron turned to him, incredulous. "You're not seriously okay with this, are you?"

Harry looked between the two of them, brows drawn. "I'm not saying I'm throwing him a birthday party. But… he cannnot be the same as he was. Not entirely."

"Not entirely?" Ron huffed. "That's a bit of a gamble, isn't it? He spent six years making our lives hell and the seventh nearly getting us all killed."

Hermione folded her arms, her voice cool and controlled. "People can change."

"Some people," Ron shot back. "But Malfoy?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful. "He was different during the battle. Scared. Lost. You could tell he wasn't in control of any of it. And since we've been back, he's kept to himself. No grand speeches. No Pureblood lectures."

"Maybe he's just playing nice," Ron said, glaring. "You know, waiting for the right time to stab someone in the back. Again."

Hermione looked away, eyes fixed on the archway where Draco had been. "Maybe," she said softly. "But maybe he's just trying to figure out who he is now. Like the rest of us."

Ron scoffed under his breath, but Harry nodded.

"I don't know if he's changed," Harry said honestly. "But I know war messes people up. And maybe he's trying. That's more than we can say for some."

Hermione turned to Harry and offered a grateful, small smile. She appreciated that he wasn't pushing her. That he trusted her enough to let her make her own judgments.

Ron crossed his arms, muttering, "I still think it's mental."

"Noted," Hermione said, grabbing her bag and rising to her feet. "And ignored."

Harry snorted. Ron looked betrayed.

She started to gather her belongings, not because she was reeling about Ron's perception of Draco—but because the conversation was over.

At least out loud.

Inside? Her mind was still spinning.

Because as much as Ron's protectiveness annoyed her… part of her was wary.

But the other part—the quiet, restless part—wanted to know what was waiting behind Draco Malfoy's eyes when he looked at her like that.

And that part was growing louder by the second.

Hermione turned to leave, the strap of her bag slipping off her shoulder as she took a step toward the archway.

But something made her pause.

That strange sense again—like being watched. Like the world had gone quiet just before something changed.

She glanced back toward where Draco had been standing with Blaise.

Gone.

Her brows knit together slightly, a flicker of disappointment tightening in her chest before she could stop it.

And then—

"Granger."

She turned sharply.

Draco stood just behind her now, hands in his pockets, his usual practiced coolness replaced with something far more deliberate.

His grey eyes met hers, steady and sure, and even though he hadn't raised his voice, the sound of it seemed to echo between the pillars.

She blinked. "Malfoy."

Ron nearly dropped his half-eaten apple.

Harry arched a brow, quietly watching.

"I—" Draco shifted his weight slightly, gaze flicking to Ron and Harry, then back to her. "Are you heading to class?"

Hermione tilted her head. "Eventually."

He gave a short nod, lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smile. "Mind if I walk with you?"

Silence fell again.

Ron's expression twisted like he'd just bitten into something sour.

Harry, for his part, looked between them and—of all things—smiled faintly to himself.

Hermione took a breath, heart thudding in her chest like it was trying to answer for her.

She didn't know why he was asking. Why he looked almost nervous. Why her chest ached with warmth and confusion all at once.

But she knew one thing.

She wanted to say yes.

So she did.

"Alright."

Draco stepped beside her, still watching her carefully, like he wasn't quite sure she'd really agreed.

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and gave him a sideways glance. "You're not lost, are you?"

"Tempting as it is to say yes just to spend more time with you," he said under his breath, "no. I know where I'm going."

She tried not to smile.

Behind them, Ron sputtered. "What—?"

Harry gave a low chuckle. "Just let it happen, mate."

Draco matched her pace as they turned into the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the flagstone.

The silence between them wasn't awkward—at least, he hoped not. It felt… suspended. Like both of them were trying to decide what this was.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She looked composed, chin lifted, eyes straight ahead—but he didn't miss the way her fingers tapped against the strap of her bag. A nervous habit. He remembered it from years ago, back when she'd be about to raise her hand with some impossible answer.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said finally, voice low.

Hermione blinked, looking up at him. "Interrupt?"

He nodded vaguely back toward the courtyard. "Your chat with Potter and Weasley."

"Oh," she said, with a light shrug. "It was mostly Ron doing what he does best."

"Talking?" he offered.

"Bickering."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "I'm familiar."

A pause. Her eyes searched his face like she was trying to work something out. He didn't flinch under it.

Good.

Let her see.

He'd spent too long hiding behind what people thought he was.

"I know he hates me," Draco said carefully. "Probably always will."

Hermione glanced away, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "He's… protective."

"And you?" he asked before he could stop himself. "Are you protective of yourself?"

She shot him a look, one brow raised. "Is that your subtle way of asking if I trust you?"

"No," he said. "That would imply I think I deserve it yet."

Her steps slowed just slightly.

Draco didn't look at her directly. He kept his gaze forward, giving her room to choose how close she wanted to stand beside him.

"But I want to," he continued. "Deserve it, I mean. I'm not who I was. And I'm not pretending I didn't… make things worse for you. Or that I can erase it."

Hermione was quiet.

Draco swallowed, the words tasting heavier now that they were out in the open. But they were honest. That had to count for something.

"I used to think being cold made me strong," he said. "That cruelty was armor. But after the war, after everything… I realized it just made me a coward with good hair."

That earned a soft sound from her—something between a laugh and a scoff. He'd take it.

"I'm not trying to impress you," he added. "Though that's probably a lost cause anyway."

She tilted her head at him. "You sure? Because you've been surprisingly charming."

His heart stuttered.

She was teasing him.

And she hadn't walked away.

That had to mean something.

He dared to smile—this time, real and unguarded. "Maybe I'm just desperate for a good influence."

"Lucky for you," she said, her tone wry, "I have a lot of experience keeping reckless boys in line."

They reached the classroom door then, the chatter of other students just beginning to fill the corridor.

Draco paused beside her.

"I meant what I said," he told her, quieter now, so only she could hear. "I want to show you who I really am, who I am trying to be. Even if it takes time."

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. Her eyes were unreadable—but not closed off.

"Then I guess we'll see, won't we?" she said.

And just like that, she slipped inside the classroom.

But when she glanced back at him—just for a second—there was the ghost of something like hope in her eyes.

Draco stood there, steady, the corner of his mouth lifting as the door clicked shut.

First step taken.

Now, the real work began.