Hermione's POV

The cold air of the hallway did little to calm the nausea that churned in my stomach. I gripped the bucket tightly, my fingers digging into the metal handle as I forced my legs to carry me back to the servants' quarters. My wrists still ached from last night, and now my skin crawled from the way Lucius had looked at me.

I needed to compose myself. Falling apart wasn't an option here, not when every moment was a game of survival. I reached my room, set the bucket down, and leaned against the wall, letting my head rest against the cold stone.

Just breathe, Hermione. Just breathe.

A soft knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. My heart jumped, panic briefly taking over before I forced it down. The door creaked open, and there he was—Draco Malfoy, leaning casually against the frame, his expression unreadable.

"What do you want?" I asked, straightening up and crossing my arms. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. I didn't have the energy to pretend.

His gaze flicked over me, lingering for a moment too long on my wrists. "You look like hell," he said, his tone as dry as ever.

"Thanks for the observation," I replied, my voice flat. "If you're here to deliver more chores, I'm not interested in your commentary."

He sighed, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. "I saw you coming out of the dining hall earlier," he said. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, too quickly.

His eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me, Granger. You looked like you'd just seen a dementor."

I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to react. But his gaze was steady, piercing in a way that made it hard to hold my ground.

"It doesn't matter," I said finally, turning away from him.

"It does if it involves my father," he said, his voice sharper now.

I froze, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "Why do you care?" I asked, spinning around to face him. "You're just like him, aren't you? You think I don't know that?"

He flinched, just barely, but enough for me to notice.

"I'm not him," he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like regret.

I wanted to argue, to throw his words and actions back in his face, but I hesitated. There was something different about the way he looked at me now. The arrogance, the cruelty—it was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it wasn't as strong.

"Fine," I said finally. "If you must know, he was watching me while I was cleaning. He…" I trailed off, unsure how to explain the way Lucius's gaze had made my skin crawl. "He made me uncomfortable."

Draco's expression darkened, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I'll handle it," he said abruptly, turning to leave.

"Handle it?" I repeated, incredulous. "What does that mean? What are you going to do?"

He paused at the door, his back to me. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

And then he was gone, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding in my chest.

Draco's POV

I stormed through the halls, my mind racing. I knew exactly what my father had done, even without Hermione spelling it out. I'd seen that look on his face before—the smug satisfaction, the predatory glint in his eyes.

He was always testing limits, always pushing boundaries to remind everyone who held the power.

But this? Hermione?

It didn't sit right with me, no matter how much I tried to rationalize it.

I found him in his study, seated behind his grand desk with a glass of Firewhisky in hand. He looked up as I entered, his expression cool and unbothered.

"Draco," he said, leaning back in his chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I closed the door behind me, keeping my tone as even as I could. "Granger mentioned something about this morning. You were… watching her."

His lips curved into a smirk, and my stomach churned. "She's a servant, Draco. Observing her work is my prerogative."

"You made her uncomfortable," I said, my voice harder now.

His smirk faltered slightly, and he raised an eyebrow. "And what does that matter to you?"

I hesitated, my fists clenching at my sides. I couldn't tell him the truth—that I was beginning to feel something I didn't understand when it came to her. Something dangerous. Something I couldn't afford.

"She's a tool," I said finally, forcing the words out. "If you keep pushing her like this, she'll break. And then she'll be useless."

Lucius studied me for a moment, his gaze calculating. Then he laughed, a low, humorless sound that made my skin crawl.

"Always thinking ahead," he said, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Very well, Draco. I'll leave your precious Mudblood alone. For now."

I nodded curtly and turned to leave, my jaw tight.

As I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just crossed a line I couldn't uncross. But I didn't care. Whatever this was—whatever she was—it mattered more than I was willing to admit.

And I wasn't going to let him hurt her.