Draco's POV

The soft light of the early morning filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the marble countertops. I leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew, my mind already half-dreading the day ahead. Between my family's endless scheming and the Ministry's demands, there wasn't much to look forward to anymore.

As I reached for a mug, I heard soft footsteps approaching. Hermione appeared in the doorway, her expression wary as always, though there was a faint tiredness in her eyes that made me frown. She'd barely spoken since the party, keeping to herself unless directly addressed.

"Morning," I said casually, taking a sip of the bitter coffee and wincing.

She nodded, glancing toward the kettle. "Morning," she muttered, her voice quiet.

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you want some?" I asked, gesturing to the coffee pot.

She blinked, clearly surprised. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?" I shrugged, pouring a second cup. "Unless you'd rather stick with tea. Though personally, I think tea is overrated."

That earned me a flicker of amusement—a slight twitch of her lips—but it was gone so quickly I almost missed it.

"You think everything's overrated," she said dryly, stepping closer to take the cup from my outstretched hand.

"Not true," I said, smirking. "I'm quite fond of coffee. And books. And—"

"Yourself," she interjected, her tone sharper but not without humor.

I let out a laugh, setting my cup down. "Fair enough. But in my defense, I am excellent company."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched again, and this time, the faintest smile broke through. It was small, tentative, but it was there.

"Merlin's beard," I said, pretending to be shocked. "Was that a smile, Granger? Did I actually witness you smiling?"

She huffed, shaking her head as if to brush it off, but I could see the faint blush creeping into her cheeks. "Don't get used to it," she muttered, taking a sip of the coffee.

I grinned, leaning back against the counter. "I think that's the first time I've seen you smile since you've been here," I said softly. "It suits you."

Her expression shifted, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly looked away, her fingers tightening around the mug. "Well," she said quietly, "there hasn't been much to smile about."

The weight of her words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, the easy humor between us faded.

"I know," I said, my voice just above a whisper. "But maybe it's not too late to change that."

She glanced up at me, her guarded expression softening ever so slightly. For the first time, I thought I saw a glimmer of something like trust—or at least the beginnings of it.

The sound of the grandfather clock in the hallway broke the moment, and I straightened, brushing a hand through my hair. "I've got to go," I said, picking up my coffee and heading for the door.

"Thanks," she said suddenly, her voice stopping me in my tracks.

I turned, raising an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For…" She hesitated, then shook her head. "Never mind."

I gave her a small smile, nodding. "I'll see you later, Granger."

As I walked out the door, I couldn't help but feel lighter than I had in weeks. It wasn't much—a small smile, a brief moment of connection—but it was enough. Enough to remind me why I was trying so hard to be different.

And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to make her believe in that, too.