Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, a blanket around her shoulders and a teacup balanced on a stack of books she hadn't bothered to put away. Ginny was painting her nails with a shade of red called Dragon's Breath, while Lavender flipped through Witch Weekly and made dramatic comments about who wore what at the most recent Ministry gala.

It was meant to be a girls' night. And it was.

Sort of.

If Hermione could stop thinking about a certain Slytherin who had a habit of turning up in her life—and her head—more and more often.

The classroom. The smirks. The subtle brushing of hands. The quiet conversation in the corridor. His words. That almost-smile.

She could still hear him: I think maybe you're the only one I want to notice.

"Merlin, you're zoning out again," Ginny said, waving a freshly painted hand in front of her face. "What's going on in that frighteningly brilliant brain of yours?"

"Nothing," Hermione said a little too quickly.

Lavender looked up. "Which usually means everything."

Before Hermione could respond, her bag rustled at the foot of the bed.

A slip of parchment, slightly glowing at the edges, floated up and into her lap.

Lavender definitely noticed.

Ginny leaned in, grinning. "Please tell me that's what I think it is."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. She picked it up, unfolded it, and tried to hide the blush rising in her cheeks.

Malfoy's handwriting was unmistakable.

Granger,

Hypothetically… if someone were to invite you on a date (this someone being annoyingly persistent, unfairly handsome, and possibly a Slytherin)… where would the bar be set? Asking for a friend. A charming, witty, not-at-all-nervous friend.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

Another line appeared below.

Also, are you allergic to roses? Asking for the same friend. He's very thorough.

Ginny craned her neck. "Oh, he's definitely trying to plan a date. Look at that effort."

Hermione grabbed a quill, careful not to let them see what she wrote back.

Hypothetically, the bar is set at thoughtful, not flashy. Not allergic to roses, but daisies are better. And your "friend" should worry more about being genuine than charming.

A beat passed.

More ink scribbled across the parchment.

Your standards are alarmingly high, Granger. It's infuriating. And weirdly… motivating.

Hermione shook her head, amused.

Lavender swooned dramatically. "He flirts like a Regency novel. It's a little annoying how good he is at it."

"Don't start," Hermione muttered, folding the parchment and hiding it under her pillow.

Ginny raised her brows, grinning. "Oh, we're past starting. You've got it bad."

"I do not—"

"Granger and Malfoy sitting in a tree," Lavender sang in a whisper.

"Honestly, we're not twelve," Hermione said, but her blush betrayed her.

And deep down, as she lay back on the bed, the parchment warm beneath her pillow, she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

Not at the note.

Not at the teasing.

But at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about her just as much as she was thinking about him.

Another note floated into Hermione's lap, curling softly like it already knew it was welcome.

Ginny and Lavender had abandoned any attempt at pretending they weren't deeply invested. Ginny had grabbed a chocolate frog from her bag and was now cross-legged on the floor, staring expectantly at Hermione like she was mid-way through reading a scandalous romance novel.

Lavender scooted closer. "Well? Don't keep us in suspense."

Hermione tried to hide the flutter in her chest as she opened the parchment.

Okay, what about this? Hypothetically… the date involves something simple. Books. Tea. A walk by the lake. Nothing dramatic. Unless, of course, you're into drama. In which case, I'll stage a duel at sunset. For your honor, of course.

She snorted.

Ginny leaned closer. "That's adorable. Merlin help me, I think I actually like him now."

Hermione tucked the parchment beside her and drew in a slow breath, letting herself fall back onto the pillows.

"It's…" she started, searching for the right word, "unexpected. Being friends with him. Or whatever this is."

Lavender propped her chin on her hand. "A slow-burn enemies-to-lovers arc?"

Ginny elbowed her, but Hermione laughed.

"I don't know what it is," she admitted. "But it's… exhilarating. Talking to him like this. He's not the same boy he used to be. Or maybe he is, just—less of the cruelty. More of the sarcasm. More… himself."

"Hmm," Ginny said, thoughtful now. "And you believe he's changed?"

Hermione hesitated.

"I want to."

Lavender nodded, gentler than usual. "But?"

"But I don't know if anyone ever really changes completely," Hermione said quietly. "I keep asking myself if I'm falling for someone new… or if I'm falling for someone who still has a little of the old Malfoy in him. And I don't know which is scarier."

Ginny reached over and squeezed her hand. "You don't have to figure it all out right now."

Another note appeared, gently nudging Hermione's arm.

Tell your friends I'm not evil anymore. Unless you think that ruins my mystique.

Hermione smiled despite herself.

"He makes me laugh," she said softly. "He makes me think. And when I'm around him… it's like I'm being pulled toward something I didn't know I wanted."

Lavender gave her a look. "Girl, that's not just a crush. That's trouble."

"Maybe," Hermione said, eyes flicking to the parchment again.

And if I mess this up… you have full permission to hex me. But until then—tell me what you're most afraid of, Granger. So I can promise not to be it.

The room was quiet.

Even Lavender didn't have a comeback for that.

Hermione picked up her quill, hands shaking just a little.

I'm afraid of trusting someone who doesn't know how to stay.

She hesitated, then sent it.

And this time, there was no instant reply.

The parchment lay quiet beside Hermione now—no more ink, no more clever lines. Just silence and the weight of vulnerability.

She stared at it, heart caught somewhere between ache and anticipation.

Ginny spoke first, her voice quieter now. "You know, you're not the only one trying to figure people out. We all are. After the war… I don't think anyone walked away untouched."

Lavender, surprisingly perceptive in moments like this, nodded. "It's not about who we were before. It's about who we're becoming now. And maybe—" she gestured vaguely toward the note, "—maybe Malfoy's doing the same."

Hermione looked between them. "But what if who he becomes still hurts me?"

"Then you handle it when—or if—it happens," Ginny said. "But don't shut something out just because it might not work. Especially if it already means something."

Hermione swallowed, fingers tracing the edge of the parchment. "He's been… careful. Patient. I didn't expect that from him."

Lavender smirked. "That's how you know it's real. You've disarmed the Slytherin prince."

"Oh, don't call him that," Hermione groaned.

Ginny grinned. "Well, what do we call him now? Your not-quite-a-boyfriend?"

"Your potential library date?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips.

Lavender leaned back dramatically. "Honestly, if you don't kiss him by the end of the month, I might."

Ginny threw a pillow at her. "Down, girl."

They all burst out laughing, the tension breaking like a popped bubble. The warmth in the room swelled, easy and familiar. For a moment, everything was simple—just three girls on a dormitory floor, talking about crushes and change and things too big for any of them to fully grasp.

Hermione shook her head fondly. "I don't know what I'd do without you two."

"Probably overanalyze yourself into a panic spiral," Ginny said.

"Or worse," Lavender added, "end up married to Ron."

The laughter hit a new octave.

Hermione laughed the hardest.

And as the parchment sat quietly beneath her fingertips, she thought—not for the first time—that maybe this new version of her life didn't need to follow anyone's script. Not the world's. Not her friends'. Not even the one she'd written for herself.

Just… one honest moment at a time.

Draco sat at the edge of his bed, parchment unfolded in his lap, Hermione's delicate handwriting glowing softly under the low light of their shared dormitory.

I'm afraid of trusting someone who doesn't know how to stay.

The words pressed against his chest like a slow, deliberate bruise.

He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared.

Blaise looked up from the other side of the room, where he was casually polishing his wand with a rag and a bored expression.

"Let me guess," Blaise said, voice dry. "She finally told you you're not as charming as you think you are?"

Draco didn't answer.

Blaise frowned. "Wait—she rejected you?"

Draco slowly shook his head.

Blaise raised a brow. "So…?"

"She's afraid I'll leave," Draco said quietly, still staring at the note.

There was a long silence between them.

"Right," Blaise said finally. "Because of who you used to be."

Draco looked over at him, jaw tense. "Because of who I wasn't."

Blaise tossed the rag aside and walked over, sitting on the edge of the opposite bed.

"You can't blame her," he said simply. "You made it your life's mission to be insufferable to her for six years."

"I know," Draco muttered.

Blaise tilted his head. "But also? You're not that boy anymore."

Draco gave him a sharp look. "A lot of people would disagree."

"Then stop trying to convince them," Blaise said. "Start convincing yourself. You keep talking like you're trying to be someone new, but maybe the problem is you still think you're not allowed to be."

Draco exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly.

Blaise leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We all walked out of that war with blood on our hands, Draco. Some of us just got better at hiding the stains. But what you do now—that's the only thing that gets to define you."

Draco glanced down at Hermione's note again.

"She's scared I'll hurt her."

"Then don't," Blaise said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Don't let your demons decide that for you. Don't let the past make you forget who you're becoming."

Draco sat in the quiet, the words slowly working through him.

I'm afraid of trusting someone who doesn't know how to stay.

After a beat, he folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into his drawer like something worth protecting.

He didn't need Blaise to spell out what that meant. He already knew. And he knew it wasn't something he could fix with charm or clever notes. It had to be real. Earned.

Blaise watched him silently for a moment before speaking again. "So. You still planning that little date of yours?"

Draco huffed, the smallest of smirks tugging at his mouth. "Obviously."

"She actually said yes?" Blaise teased, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"She did," Draco replied coolly. "Turns out persistence works."

"Merlin, I hope you're not taking her to the library. She'll never leave."

"I want her to enjoy it, Zabini. Not hex me."

Blaise snorted. "No promises either way."

Draco leaned back against the headboard, letting out a slow breath. "I just… I don't want to mess it up."

"You won't," Blaise said, and then added, "Unless you quote Shakespeare or start talking about your tragic past. Don't get all broody. That's my thing."

Draco laughed under his breath. "So no tragic monologues?"

"Save those for your memoirs."

There was a beat of quiet, then Blaise grinned. "Honestly, I still can't believe you're into Granger."

Draco rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. "You'll live."

"Oh, I plan to. Long enough to give the best man speech at your wedding."

Draco launched a pillow at his head.

Blaise dodged, laughing.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Draco felt something that almost resembled hope.