The corridor outside Advanced Transfiguration buzzed with the usual chatter, but Hermione barely heard any of it. Her books were clutched against her chest, a practiced expression of calm on her face.

She nodded along to something Harry said, but her thoughts weren't quite with him.

They were still tangled up in the folds of parchment from last night.

The scroll was tucked safely in the bottom of her satchel, but the words were burned into her mind.

You looked tired today. Don't forget to take care of yourself.

He noticed her.

Not the way others did—not the way Ron was noticing her now, eyes narrowed, protective for reasons he wouldn't admit aloud. Not the way Lavender did, suspicious and whispering behind her back this morning.

No—Draco noticed the cracks she tried to hide. The weight she carried when no one was watching.

And now he was watching.

Across the corridor, just a few paces down, Draco stood with Blaise and Pansy. Blaise was saying something smug. Pansy was laughing in that airy, knowing way of hers.

But Draco…

He wasn't listening.

He was looking at her.

Their eyes met, and the din of the hallway faded into nothing. Just for a second.

Hermione felt her breath catch, sharp and unexpected. His gaze was unreadable—cool on the surface, but there was something else there. Something familiar now. Like last night's words were still hanging between them, visible only to the two of them.

She blinked, looked away quickly.

Ron noticed.

"You okay?" he asked, frowning. "You seem… off."

"I'm fine," she said a little too quickly.

Harry watched her for a beat, quiet in that way he always was when he knew something was happening but wasn't sure if it was his place to say it.

Hermione shifted her weight, fingers tightening around her books. "Just didn't sleep well."

Draco's voice broke through the hum behind her—low, amused. Blaise laughed.

She glanced his way again.

This time, he was still talking. But his eyes flicked back to her. Brief, deliberate.

And then—subtle, almost imperceptible—he smirked.

Not the cruel, cocky smirk she remembered from before.

This one was different.

This one was a secret.

Her stomach twisted, and she didn't know if it was in warning or in want.

But when the classroom door opened and students began to file in, she walked past him without a word—without even looking.

Still, she could feel his gaze trailing her.

And worse—she wanted it to.

Draco leaned against the wall just outside the classroom, arms folded, half-listening to Blaise go on about some Ravenclaw he was seeing—or stringing along, more likely.

He gave the occasional nod, the usual smirk. He even let Pansy tug at the cuff of his sleeve like she always did when she was bored.

But his focus was elsewhere.

Hermione Granger stood across the corridor with Potter and Weasley. Laughing softly. Eyes tired but alert. One hand brushing back her curls the way she always did when she was overthinking something.

She was wearing that look again—the one that said her mind was a mile away, chasing thoughts no one else could catch.

Except maybe him.

She looked up then, and their eyes met.

A quiet pause. Barely a second.

But his breath hitched all the same.

She looked away too fast.

Too obvious, he thought grimly.

"You've got to be joking," Blaise said beside him.

Draco blinked, turning toward him. "What?"

Blaise gave him a look. "Don't 'what' me. You were staring so hard I thought you were trying to cast Legilimency."

Pansy raised a brow. "Granger, really?"

"Don't start," Draco muttered, pushing off the wall as the classroom door creaked open behind them.

But Pansy wasn't done. "You know people are noticing, right?"

"No one's noticing anything," he said too fast.

Blaise made a low, amused noise. "Mate. You've got it bad."

Draco rolled his eyes and stepped into the classroom. "I don't have anything."

"Right," Blaise said, following him with a knowing smirk. "Except enchanted notes, long stares, and a death wish for a girl who's smarter than all of us combined."

Draco didn't respond. He didn't have to.

Because the truth was—Blaise was right.

He slid into his seat, jaw tight, trying to shake the weight of the moment. Of her.

But then Granger walked into the room, books hugged to her chest, and—without meaning to—her eyes flicked to him again.

Brief. Careful.

But there.

And suddenly, he didn't care if Blaise or Pansy noticed.

Because for one second, she looked like she was thinking about him too.

Draco was halfway through pulling out his quill when movement beside him caught his eye.

He didn't register it at first—just a flicker of Gryffindor red and curls.

Then it hit him.

Hermione Granger was walking toward his desk.

He froze.

Pansy's voice cut in, sharp and disbelieving. "Oh, no way—"

Hermione didn't say a word. She slipped into the empty seat beside Draco, placing her books down with quiet finality like she'd been doing it all term.

Draco blinked.

Then blinked again.

Across the room, Ron was staring with his mouth open, halfway into his own seat next to Harry. Harry didn't look shocked so much as… resigned.

Draco smothered the smirk rising on his lips.

"You're in the wrong seat, Granger," Pansy said tightly, eyes narrowing.

Hermione didn't even look at her. "I don't think there's a rule about where we sit."

There was a faint flush to her cheeks—subtle, but there—and Draco caught it. Her jaw was set, her posture straight, like she was daring the entire room to make a comment.

He leaned a little closer, voice low. "What's this, then? A social experiment? Or are you trying to start a riot?"

She didn't look at him, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch. "Just trying something new."

Draco's grin threatened to break through. "You always did like to disrupt the status quo."

From across the room, Ron was still staring. His knuckles were white around his quill.

Draco let himself lean back in his chair, smug satisfaction curling in his chest.

For once, he didn't have to say a word.

Hermione had done it for him.

And damn if she didn't look good doing it.

Draco didn't hear a word Professor McGonagall was saying.

Not really.

Something about nonverbal transfiguration, about the limitations of wandless magic, about how focus is the foundation of control—but focus was the one thing he didn't have.

Not with Hermione Granger sitting right next to him.

Not when her sleeve brushed his as she reached for a quill.

Not when the scent of her shampoo—something like vanilla and old pages—drifted faintly his way every time she leaned forward to scribble notes.

Behind them, Ron was whispering furiously.

"I don't like this."

Draco almost laughed. Of course you don't, Weasley.

Harry's voice was quieter, harder to catch. "Just let it go. It's a seat."

"It's Malfoy."

Draco couldn't help it—he turned his head ever so slightly, just enough for Hermione to catch the look in his eye. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She arched an eyebrow. Behave, it said, without a single word.

But her hand slid across the desk as she turned a page, and for a moment, their fingers brushed. Barely there. A spark. A pause.

Draco didn't move.

Neither did she.

He tilted his head, voice low enough only she could hear. "If you keep touching me like that, Granger, people will start talking."

She didn't look at him—but her lips curved just slightly.

"People already are."

His heart knocked once, hard.

He swallowed it down and leaned back, careful to keep his expression composed. But inside, he was reeling.

Hermione Granger, of all people, was flirting with him.

Not in the playful, clever, sparring way they used to. Not with taunts and glares and hexes just waiting to fly.

This was… subtle. Quiet. Deliberate.

She shifted slightly beside him, her knee brushing his beneath the table.

And Draco Malfoy—once the sharpest tongue in the room—suddenly had no idea what to say.

But for once, that didn't matter.

Because she was still beside him.

And she hadn't moved away.

Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the room, firm but even. "You'll work in pairs for the next twenty minutes. Quietly. Page 218—nonverbal transfiguration theory applications. Notes, not wandwork."

A shuffle of parchment and scraping of chairs followed.

Draco didn't move. He didn't have to. Granger was still beside him. Still his partner.

"Lucky me," he murmured under his breath, flipping to the correct page.

Hermione didn't dignify it with a full response—just a sidelong glance that was equal parts warning and amusement. "Don't get too comfortable, Malfoy."

He leaned in just slightly, voice low. "Too late."

Behind them, Ron let out an audible scoff. Draco didn't even bother turning around. He could feel the heat of Weasley's glare digging into the back of his skull.

Harry chuckled under his breath. "Told you," he murmured, clearly to Ron.

Hermione cleared her throat softly and bent her head over her notes, brushing a curl behind her ear. Draco watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Gods, she was infuriating.

And stunning.

And sharp, always sharp.

"You know," he said quietly, dipping his quill in ink, "if I'd known all it took to get you to sit beside me was a few charming letters, I might've started earlier."

Hermione didn't look up. "Those letters weren't charming."

"But you're still writing back."

A pause. Her quill stilled just for a moment.

"Maybe I was curious."

"Dangerous thing, curiosity."

Hermione finally glanced at him then. Her eyes were steady, unreadable. "So is arrogance."

He smirked. "And yet you chose to sit here."

"I didn't say I had good judgment."

He laughed softly, the sound entirely too real and entirely too pleased with himself. Across the desk, her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Ron made a frustrated noise behind them.

Harry whispered something to him—probably something about keeping his cool—and Draco could practically feel the restraint vibrating off the ginger idiot.

Which only made this sweeter.

Draco leaned his elbow on the desk and turned slightly toward Hermione, lowering his voice even further. "You know, Granger, for someone who used to hex me for breathing too loudly… you're awfully calm sitting next to me now."

Hermione didn't take the bait. She simply turned her page, eyes fixed on the text, though her voice held a thread of unmistakable warmth.

"Maybe I'm just waiting for the perfect moment to strike."

Draco grinned, tapping the edge of his parchment with his quill. "Can't wait."

The final minutes of class ticked by, a quiet murmur of quills scratching parchment and pages turning.

Draco's notes were… serviceable. Not brilliant. But he'd made it look like he was paying attention.

Truth was, most of his attention was still on the witch beside him.

Hermione's brow was furrowed slightly as she wrote, curls shadowing her face, and Draco caught himself watching the rhythm of her hand, the way her lips parted slightly as she concentrated.

He turned toward her just a bit. "You know," he murmured, "if this whole transfiguration thing doesn't work out for you, you could make a killing tutoring hopeless Slytherins."

Hermione gave him a dry look. "Is that supposed to be your way of asking for help?"

"No," he said, tapping the end of his quill against his parchment. "It's my way of asking if you'd consider spending more time with one."

She paused, eyes flicking up. "Are you offering tutoring sessions… or something else?"

Draco smiled, just barely. "Depends. Are you the type who likes studying with coffee? Or—"

Ron pushed back from his seat with a loud scrape, cutting the moment clean.

He didn't say a word.

Just stood, grabbed his bag, and walked straight out of the classroom, jaw clenched so tight Draco was surprised his teeth didn't crack.

Harry sighed but stayed in his seat, watching the door close behind Ron. Then he looked over at Hermione and Draco—brows raised, but smiling slightly.

Hermione let out a soft breath, closing her notebook. "Subtle."

Draco shrugged. "I didn't even say the word 'date.'"

"But you were going to."

"Was I?"

She gave him a look that said obviously.

He leaned in, eyes sharp, but tone softer. "Would it be such a terrible idea if I did?"

Hermione didn't answer right away. Just looked at him, studied him, and then—with a quiet shake of her head and the smallest of smiles—gathered her things.

"Class is over, Malfoy."

He grinned. "I noticed. Still waiting on your answer."

As she passed him, she murmured just loud enough for him to hear, "Maybe next class."

Harry stood up behind them with a soft chuckle. "Merlin help us all."

The corridor outside the classroom was mostly empty. A few stragglers lingered in quiet conversation, but most students had already moved on to their next classes or lunch.

Draco and Hermione walked side by side.

Close, but not touching.

Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor, neither of them speaking at first.

Until Draco broke the silence. "So… coffee?"

Hermione didn't look at him, but her lips curved slightly. "Still trying, are we?"

"Persistent," he corrected. "And ambitious. Isn't that supposed to be a Slytherin trait?"

She glanced at him then, amused. "Also manipulative."

He gave her a look of faux offense. "I haven't even used my full arsenal yet."

"Please don't."

He laughed, but it faded into something softer. "I'm not playing at anything, Granger."

That made her pause. She looked up at him, cautious but curious.

"I meant it," he said, slower now. "About wanting to spend time with you. About wanting you to see that I'm… not who I was."

Hermione's smile faded, but not completely. It shifted—less teasing, more thoughtful.

"I don't know if I trust you," she said honestly.

He nodded, hands in his pockets, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. "Fair."

They kept walking, their pace slower now.

"But I'm trying," he added. "Not just for you. But… I think maybe you're the only one I want to notice that I am."

That stopped her cold.

Hermione looked at him—really looked. No clever lines, no walls up. Just the boy who used to be cruel, who now stood here quiet, a little too proud to beg, but too sincere to lie.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly not so smug. "I know I'm not your first choice. Or second. Or your friends' last. But if I asked you properly… like really asked—"

"You'd fumble it," Hermione said gently, a hint of laughter in her voice.

He smirked again, though this one was smaller. "Probably."

She exhaled through her nose, then nodded once, almost to herself.

"Fine."

Draco blinked. "Fine?"

Hermione started walking again, leaving him stunned behind her. "You get one coffee."

"Just one?"

"For now."

A grin bloomed on his face as he caught up. "I'm not going to pretend I didn't just win the lottery."

She glanced sideways at him. "Don't push it, Malfoy."

"I'm not. I'm savoring it."