"I don't have anything to wear."
Hermione stood in the middle of her room, hands on her hips, glaring at her wardrobe like it had personally offended her.
Lavender, lounging on her bed, raised a brow. "You say that like we haven't lived in the same dorm for seven years. I know for a fact you have at least three date-worthy tops."
Ginny poked her head in from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. "Just wear something that makes you feel like you. And maybe a little hot."
Hermione let out a breath and sifted through the hangers again, her fingers landing on a flowy, silky green blouse she didn't even remember buying. She hesitated.
Lavender tilted her head. "That one. Definitely that one."
"It's Slytherin green," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose.
"Exactly," Ginny said, grinning around her toothbrush. "Subtle power move."
She eventually paired it with a worn-in pair of distressed jeans and her favorite boots. Comfortable but… kind of cute. The blouse brought out the warmth in her skin and made her curls look even fuller. She stared at herself in the mirror, heart picking up speed.
"Merlin," she muttered. "I'm going on a date with Draco Malfoy."
Lavender gave her a wink. "And you look like the kind of girl who knows he's lucky to have her attention."
Before Hermione could spiral into another round of second-guessing, a knock echoed from the common room.
And then, unmistakably, a voice.
"Granger. You ready?"
Her stomach dropped—and then soared.
She rushed out, cheeks warm, only to find Malfoy standing near the fireplace in his usual swagger, looking far too confident and far too good in a fitted black jumper and charcoal trousers.
The whole common room had gone quiet.
Ron, seated with Harry by the fire, stood up immediately. "You're joking."
Hermione winced.
Draco, on the other hand, looked downright amused. "Evening, Weasley. Potter."
Harry gave a small, tight nod. Ron looked like he might explode.
Draco's gaze slid to Hermione, and for a beat, the noise faded into nothing. His eyes traveled over her—quick, appreciative—but lingered just a second too long on the blouse.
He smirked. "Slytherin green, Granger? I'm flattered."
She flushed, but lifted her chin. "It's just a shirt."
"Mhm," he said, clearly not buying it. "Looks good on you."
Ron made a noise that sounded like choking on a pumpkin pasty.
Draco offered Hermione his arm with all the smug gallantry of someone who lived for theatrics.
"Shall we?"
Hermione hesitated for only a second before sliding her arm through his. "Let's."
As they walked out of the common room, she didn't dare look back—but she definitely heard Lavender giggle and Ron mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "Unbelievable."
And beside her, Draco leaned in just a little and murmured, "You wear my house colors better than most Slytherins."
She rolled her eyes.
But she didn't let go of his arm.
The walk to Hogsmeade was quiet at first—comfortable, but laced with a current of nerves neither of them seemed eager to address head-on.
Hermione glanced sideways at Draco. "So… this is weird, right?"
He smirked. "Weird how?"
"You and me. Walking. Together. On purpose."
Draco chuckled. "For what it's worth, it's not how I pictured it back in sixth year."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And how did you picture it?"
"Oh, you know," he said airily. "You throwing a hex at me. Me pretending it didn't sting."
She laughed. "Sounds about right."
They passed the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the gravel path crunching beneath their feet.
"You're not what I expected," she said after a beat.
Draco looked at her, genuinely curious. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "A smug Slytherin still trying to prove something. Maybe even a little meaner."
He smirked. "I can still be smug, if it makes you more comfortable."
"Please don't."
A pause stretched between them before Draco spoke again, softer this time. "I'm not really sure what you expect of me now. That's the part that scares me."
Hermione blinked. The honesty caught her off guard. She looked down at her boots.
"I'm scared too," she admitted. "This… whatever it is—it's new. And you were… well, you were someone else for a long time."
"I know," he said quietly. "I'm still figuring out who I am without all of that."
They stopped at the edge of the village, and Draco turned toward her, something unspoken hanging between them.
"You don't have to figure it out all at once," she said.
He looked at her like he wanted to say something else—something real—but then, with a mischievous glint, he cleared his throat. "Right. Now that we've done the emotionally healthy part of the date…"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"
He pointed down the lane. "This way."
They walked the winding path past Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks until they stopped in front of Tomes and Scrolls, the charming little bookstore Hermione knew far too well.
She blinked. "You're taking me… here?"
A flicker of disappointment slipped into her voice before she could stop it. He noticed.
"Relax, Granger," he said, lips curling. "I wouldn't drag you into a bookstore unless I had an ulterior motive."
"Oh, great," she said dryly. "That's comforting."
He reached for the door—and Hermione paused.
There was no bell jingling. No patrons bustling in or out.
Inside, the store was quiet. Still. Empty.
Her brow furrowed. "Wait, it's… closed?"
"Not quite," Draco said, pushing the door open for her.
Hermione stepped in—and froze.
Soft candlelight flickered along the high wooden shelves. The scent of parchment and old magic filled the space. And not a single other soul was inside.
She turned back to him, stunned. "You rented out the bookstore?"
He shrugged. "Had a little help from Madam Rowle. Apparently, even Slytherins can make friends if they're charming enough."
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. "You… did this for me?"
Draco stepped closer, watching her with amusement and something warmer beneath it. "Of course I did. Books, peace and quiet, and no Ron breathing over your shoulder."
She laughed, still slightly in disbelief.
"And you have free rein," he added. "My dime. Pick anything. Or everything."
Hermione looked around, heart full and confused. "This is… actually perfect."
Draco leaned down, just enough for his voice to dip near her ear. "And it's only the beginning."
The air inside Tomes and Scrolls felt different without the usual hum of customers and rustle of pages being turned by too many hands.
It was quiet.
Sacred.
Hermione moved slowly through the stacks, fingertips brushing over spines like greeting old friends. Her face was lit with something Draco hadn't seen before—something soft and golden that had nothing to do with wandlight.
She was glowing.
And it was because of him.
She tilted her head as she scanned a high shelf, a smile tugging at her lips. "I've been meaning to come in for weeks. I've got a whole list I've been trying to get through."
Draco leaned against one of the large display tables near the front, arms folded, eyes never leaving her.
"You've got a list for everything, don't you?" he said, voice low and amused.
"Obviously," she replied, pulling down a title and flipping through it with the reverence of a priestess holding scripture. "What kind of monster doesn't keep track of their reading goals?"
Draco chuckled but didn't answer.
Instead, he watched.
The way she read the back of the book, then the first page, then hugged it to her chest before sliding it under one arm. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear absentmindedly while reaching for another. The way she moved like she belonged here—of course she did—and how proud he felt to be the one who'd brought her.
His heart was thudding heavier than it should have been.
This was just a bookstore. Just a date.
Except it wasn't.
He was in the middle of an impossibility—Hermione Granger, in green, smiling because of him, choosing books like they were stardust and he'd handed her the sky.
And gods help him, he didn't want to mess this up.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and forced himself to stay leaned against the table, even though every part of him itched to go to her—to help her find books, to make her laugh again, to tuck a curl behind her ear the way she always did when she was focused.
She glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring.
He didn't look away.
Neither did she.
Something passed between them then. Something warm and dangerous and quiet.
She turned back to the books with pink rising in her cheeks—and Draco felt the corners of his mouth lift in a helpless smile.
This—this—was what he wanted.
Not just her attention.
Not just her flirtation.
Her trust.
And he was going to earn it, one perfect page at a time.
Hermione stood near the back of the shop, half-lost in the familiar scent of ink and parchment. The book in her hands was one she'd been meaning to read for years, but now she couldn't focus on the words. Not really.
Because she could feel him.
A shift in the air. Footsteps softened by old floorboards.
Then his voice—close, low, right behind her.
"I've thought about this moment since the second I asked you."
Her breath caught.
Draco's tone wasn't teasing. There was no smugness, no mask. Just quiet truth.
She stayed still.
And then she felt him move closer, not touching, but close enough that her skin prickled.
"You. Here. Laughing. Letting me in. I didn't think you'd say yes."
Hermione turned a page in the book, but her fingers had stopped working. She swallowed.
"I almost didn't," she whispered.
"I know." His voice was even softer now. "But you did. And I'm not going to pretend that doesn't mean something."
Slowly, carefully, he reached around and touched the edge of the book she was holding—just his fingertips brushing hers, steady and warm.
And then he gently turned her by the shoulder.
Hermione looked up, heart thudding, and met his eyes.
No walls. No masks.
Just Draco.
"I can't promise I'll get everything right," he said, voice thick with something that sounded far too raw for a boy raised on poise and polish. "But I can promise you this: if you keep trusting me—even a little—I will not disappoint you."
Hermione's lips parted.
She wanted to say something. Anything. But no words came.
There was only the pounding of her heart and the way he was looking at her like she was the first warm light after years of winter.
So instead, she nodded.
Just once.
Small, but certain.
Draco's shoulders eased—just a bit—and his lips curved into the ghost of a smile.
"Good," he said, almost to himself.
They stood there in the hush of the shop, shelves towering around them like silent witnesses. Neither reached for the other, but they didn't need to. Not yet.
The space between them was no longer filled with uncertainty.
Only promise.
The silence between them stretched, golden and breathless.
Hermione's heart was pounding. She couldn't look away from him—his eyes, soft and uncertain, flickering between her lips and her eyes like he was caught in the same pull she was.
It felt like gravity.
The kind of moment she had only let herself imagine in fleeting, foolish daydreams. But now… here it was.
Her fingers curled tighter around the book in her hands.
She leaned in, just slightly—tilting her chin, heart thudding louder.
And just when she thought his hand might reach for her waist, or his mouth might close the small, electric space between them—
Draco stepped back.
Just enough.
Not away. Not rejection.
But enough to change the moment.
He reached behind him to one of the side shelves, fingers landing on a worn, emerald-bound book.
"I, um…" he cleared his throat. "I picked this out earlier. Thought you might like it."
Hermione blinked.
Then looked down at the book he held out to her.
"Magical Theory and Practical Ethics: A Reimagined Approach."
A first edition.
Her breath caught again, but for a very different reason.
"This is… rare," she whispered, carefully taking it from him. "I've only ever read excerpts in the library—"
"I know," he said. "Figured you might like to have something that makes your brain light up."
She looked up at him again, this time searching.
There was no smugness. No teasing.
Just Draco—clearly nervous, clearly unsure—but still showing up with a book like it was a piece of his heart.
Hermione smiled, touched beyond words… and also just the tiniest bit disappointed.
She'd thought—
No. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he just didn't feel that way after all.
Still, she tucked the book gently under her arm. "Thank you. Really."
He gave a small, almost boyish shrug, avoiding her eyes. "Don't thank me yet. There's still more."
Hermione tilted her head. "More?"
Draco offered his hand.
This time, when his fingers brushed hers, they lingered.
"Come on, Granger," he said softly, trying for light but not quite able to hide the weight in his voice. "We've got a date to finish."
And she took it—his hand, the moment, the promise.
Still unsure. Still a little breathless.
But ready to see where it would go.