The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual. Most students had gone to bed or were tucked into corners with books and warm mugs. Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by parchment and open textbooks, but her thoughts were far from her Arithmancy assignment.
She'd been distracted all day. Ever since that walk with Draco.
And even more so after catching the subtle glances he kept stealing during class, like he was trying not to look at her and failing miserably.
It had gotten under her skin.
Not in a bad way.
In a dangerous way.
She sighed and reached for a fresh sheet of parchment.
But when she unrolled the scroll, something shimmered—just briefly—across the page. Almost like a ward. Like a signature spell. She frowned, inspecting the edges.
And then—
Ink began to appear on the parchment, letter by letter, curling across the page in unmistakably elegant, slanted handwriting.
You looked like you were somewhere far away today.
Hope it was somewhere nice.
– D.M.
Hermione's heart skipped.
She stared at the message, her fingers barely brushing the parchment. It was subtle. Charming. Magic in its most personal form. A spell woven into paper, connected to another piece somewhere in the castle.
He enchanted this.
Just for her.
Her mouth parted, stunned by the simplicity—and the boldness—of it.
She picked up her quill before she could talk herself out of it and wrote just below his message.
And what makes you think it wasn't just the distraction of someone watching me the entire lesson?
There was a beat of stillness.
Then ink curled into view beneath her line.
Was I that obvious?
Painfully.
Suppose I'll have to be more subtle tomorrow.
Don't. I like catching you off guard.
Hermione sat back against her pillows, biting her lip to hide the smile she couldn't quite suppress.
This was dangerous.
And yet… warm.
Private.
Like the start of something that might burn slowly—but deeply.
You enchanted the parchment, she wrote.
Why?
A pause.
Because you fascinate me, Granger.
And I didn't know how else to say it.
She stared at the words for a long moment.
The fire crackled across the room, soft and distant.
She wrote just one more line.
Then don't stop.
The ink shimmered again, his next reply curling into view slowly, deliberately.
Don't stop? You sure about that?
I tend to be a bit much, I've been told.
Hermione snorted softly, dipping her quill back to the page.
A bit much is one way to describe it.
Arrogant, insufferable, dramatic—shall I go on?
There was a beat. Then—
Only if you say it with that smug little smirk you get when you're trying not to smile.
Her quill paused.
He noticed that?
She shook her head, lips tugging up against her will.
You're far too observant for someone who supposedly hated me.
I never hated you.
She blinked at the ink.
That response came quickly. No hesitation.
Her stomach did something traitorous.
Another line appeared below it.
I didn't know what to do with you, if I'm being honest.
You were always… too much of everything I wasn't allowed to want.
Hermione stared at the page, heart suddenly thudding in her chest. The playful current between them quieted for a moment—something deeper slipping between the lines.
She hesitated, then wrote carefully:
And now?
A pause.
Then—
Now I'm trying to be the kind of person who deserves you to even ask me that question.
Her breath caught. She bit her lower lip, warmth blooming in her chest.
It wasn't a grand declaration. It wasn't even a confession.
But it was something.
Something real.
She looked at the glowing ink until it faded into the parchment like a whispered secret.
Good night, Malfoy, she wrote finally.
The reply came quickly.
Sweet dreams, Granger. I hope I show up in them.
Hermione closed the parchment slowly, her fingers lingering at the edges.
She didn't sleep for a while.
But when she finally did, her dreams were full of silver eyes and a voice that no longer felt like the enemy
The next night, Hermione sat curled at the edge of her bed, parchment spread out in front of her, quill tapping absently against her knee. Lavender lay on her stomach across the other bed, flipping through a stack of magazines, humming to herself between page turns.
The room was lit by the warm glow of a single lantern. Crookshanks was snoring under Hermione's desk.
Everything seemed ordinary.
Until her scroll shimmered.
Hermione's breath caught just slightly. She adjusted the parchment, folding it partway over itself so Lavender wouldn't see.
Ink bloomed across the page in Draco's familiar hand:
Still studying?
You're going to make the rest of us look bad.
Hermione glanced sideways. Lavender was still preoccupied with some article on magical skincare charms.
She dipped her quill and wrote quickly, her movements casual.
Someone has to set the standard.
A pause.
Then:
And here I thought you liked being admired in quieter ways.
Her hand paused mid-stroke.
She bit back the tiniest smile.
That depends on the admirer.
Careful, Granger. I might start thinking you enjoy this.
I haven't told you to stop, have I?
Hermione heard Lavender shift on her bed. She looked up to find her friend watching her with narrowed eyes.
"Who are you writing to?" Lavender asked, not bothering to pretend it wasn't obvious.
Hermione blinked. "No one. Just… notes to myself."
Lavender didn't buy it for a second. "You're smiling."
"I smile."
"Not like that."
Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to angle the parchment more discreetly. "It's nothing."
Lavender grinned. "Nothing is always something."
Hermione ignored her, dipped her quill again, and scribbled carefully.
You're going to get me caught.
Caught doing what? Smiling at shadows?
Don't worry. I won't tell.
She bit the inside of her cheek to suppress another smile.
You're insufferable.
You already said that.
But you're still writing.
Her chest tightened—not unpleasantly.
Lavender stretched, flipping onto her back. "Just don't fall for someone ridiculous. Like a Slytherin. Or worse—a former Slytherin you used to hate."
Hermione didn't respond.
She was too busy reading the last thing he'd written.
You looked tired today.
Don't forget to take care of yourself.
Something in her chest softened. She wrote carefully, trying not to show anything on her face.
You notice too much.
His response came slower this time.
Only when it comes to you.
She closed the scroll gently, heart quiet and loud all at once.
Lavender was still talking about someone in Ravenclaw she thought Hermione should date.
But Hermione wasn't listening.
Because she was already thinking about tomorrow.
And whether he'd look at her the same way he wrote to her now.