The following day went by in a flurry of new books. Theo had spent the morning scouring the library, returning with a precarious stack that threatened to topple with every step. Anything that so much as whispered of magical bonds had earned a place in their growing collection.
The common space had descended into chaos. Books were scattered in every direction –open, closed, stacked sideways, spilling across the dining table in disarray. Abandoned breakfast and lunch plates lingered, crusted with remnants of toast and congealed eggs. Crumbs dusted every surface, a fine trail of evidence left behind by distracted hands too busy flipping pages to eat properly.
Malfoy was sat at one end of the dining table, leaning back into his chair, feet propped up on the table. His glasses sat helpfully on his nose and Hermione watched as he scanned the pages of a black silk bound book for the fifth time that day. Theo was sat adjacent to him, hunched over a grey linen bound book, his head resting on his palm as he hopelessly flipped through the pages.
Hermione, who had been buried in her own mountain of texts since dawn, felt like her bones were made of lead. A dull ache had settled deep in her spine, her vision blurring at the edges from too many hours spent squinting at cramped handwriting and ink-smudged margins.
"I think I need some air," she muttered, her voice thick with weariness. She rose stiffly, her joints protesting as she pushed herself up from her seat. The boys didn't look up—only murmured vague acknowledgements, still held hostage by their books. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back later," she added, already drifting toward the door. The boys merely hummed in acknowledgment.
As she stepped outside, a cold breeze brushed against her skin, carrying with it the clean, sharp scent of early spring—damp earth, blooming grass, and woodsmoke. She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake free the knots that had formed along her spine. Having spent most of the day hunched over an endless pile of books, it was getting difficult to decipher where Malfoy's pain began and her own started.
A thin plume of smoke billowing from Hagrid's hut encouraged her to follow the path down to her friend. In her ever-changing life, Hermione found her visits to Hagrid were becoming few and far between. A pang of guilt struck her chest as she reflected on what a terrible friend she had been of late. Not just to Hagrid but to Ginny, Neville and Luna too. Not to mention she hadn't written even once to Harry since school returned in the new year. His letters had begun to pile up on her desk on just the third day back.
By the time she reached Hagrid's hut, tears were pricking her eyes. She raised her arm to knock on the door but she didn't manage to get a knock in before the door was opening. A chorus of boisterous voices rang out, startling her back down the steps.
"Hermione!" A warm, familiar voice greeted. Stood before her was Charlie Weasley, all rugged charm in his worn dragonhide leathers and scuffed brown boots. He had a beard now, short and coppery, and it aged him just enough to make the memory of their impulsive kiss months ago feel all the more absurd.
"Charlie, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, stepping forward to greet him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
"Afternoon, Hermione," Hagrid greeted, emerging from behind Charlie with a broad smile. "Charlie here was just droppin' off some supplies."
"Good to see you, Hagrid," she said, offering him a tired but genuine smile. "What kind of supplies?"
"Oh, just some dragon scales, teeth, eggshells," Charlie replied with a casual shrug. "That sort of thing."
"Mr Nott has quite the interestin' lesson planned for the first-years next week," Hagrid added with a chuckle.
"I see," Hermione observed suspiciously.
"I was just about to introduce Charlie here to a flock of Diricawl's I've been keepin' for Professor Thistlewick's Muggle Studies class," Hagrid explained. "Care to join us, Hermione?"
She smiled and nodded, falling into step beside them as they followed the path toward the animal pens. She found herself enjoying the sound of Hagrid's booming voice as he talked enthusiastically about the plump, flightless birds.
Charlie, brushing feathers off his jacket, sighed theatrically. "Would be nice working with creatures that aren't always trying to bite your head off."
"You'd be bored in a week," Hermione teased.
He grinned. "Fair."
After feeding the Diricawls a second helping of their afternoon snack, Hagrid bid them farewell, muttering about a staff meeting he couldn't miss.
"Care for a walk?" Charlie asked once he'd gone, his eyes searching hers.
Hermione hesitated, feeling the echo of her body's complaints ripple beneath her skin. She wasn't quite sure what her new limits were yet. "Sure," she said softly, before her doubts could take hold.
The pair meandered along the castle's perimeter, boots crunching over gravel as they spoke of nothing in particular - half-formed thoughts about life, dragons, classes, and the latest Weasley gossip. The late afternoon sun painted everything in soft gold, and the distant squawks of crows echoed through the surrounding trees.
Eventually, Hermione's curiosity, which had been quietly simmering beneath the surface, bubbled over. She tilted her head, eyeing Charlie with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. "So, tell me again what you're doing here?"
"I told you," he said, his tone defensive but light. "I had to drop some supplies off to Hagrid."
Hermione raised a brow, her mouth curling in disbelief. "Charlie, I don't believe they send dragon handlers on supply delivery trips."
He gave a sheepish shrug and kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering across the dirt path. "You're not wrong," he muttered.
"So…" she drawled, dragging out the silence between them.
"I came to see you," he admitted, his voice low.
Hermione stopped walking. The sudden stillness made the world around them seem unnaturally quiet. Charlie stood a few paces ahead, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line. His eyes darted to hers, gauging her reaction with uncharacteristic nervousness. "Charlie," she said softly, her tone edged with concern.
"Not like that," he added quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. The invisible knot in Hermione's chest loosened slightly. "What I meant was… I came to check on you."
"To check on me?" she echoed, confused.
He sighed heavily and dragged a hand through his unruly red hair. The gesture was weary, uncertain. "I sent you Essence of Dragon's Breath," he began cautiously.
"Yes…" Hermione nodded slowly. "For a school project. You did get my owl, thanking you, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Yes, I did," Charlie replied, though the way he avoided her eyes suggested the owl hadn't been enough to put his mind at ease.
"It's just… something about it didn't sit right with me," he continued hesitantly. "I mean, I'm no potions master, but I asked a mate of mine who dabbles."
Hermione's brows furrowed. "I see," she said carefully, unsure of what was coming next.
"Look, Hermione," Charlie rushed, the words clumsy and unpolished. "If you're in trouble… I can help."
"In trouble?" she repeated, blinking. "I'm sorry, Charlie, I have no idea what you're talking about."
He inhaled sharply and spoke quickly, like he wanted to get it out before he lost the nerve. "I know that Essence of Dragon's Breath is the key ingredient in a Clementia Draught."
"A Clementia Dra— Oh!" The realisation hit her like a sudden gust of wind. Her cheeks flushed crimson with the weight of sexually inexperienced as she was, Hermione had done her fair share of reading on the topic. In the wizarding world, a Clementia Draught was used to end a pregnancy. Due to its highly volatile nature, could only be obtained through a licenced potions master. "Oh, Charlie, no! No, no, no. That's not what I needed it for at all!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with embarrassment and disbelief. Charlie's expression relaxed almost instantly. "Merlin – I am so sorry for worrying you."
"That's a relief," Charlie sighed, the tension falling noticeably away from his brow. "I'm sorry for assuming. It's just, my mate said it's a pretty uncommon ingredient and when he mentioned what it's usually used for, I just couldn't stop thinking about it." He rubbed the back of his neck, flustered. "I thought about writing, but I didn't know what to say. Then I thought about asking Ron or Harry, but I wasn't sure if you'd told them anything and I didn't want to – well – I didn't want to make things worse. I just… Shit, Hermione, I'm sorry."
Hermione released a small chuckle. "It's okay," she reassured him honestly. "It was awfully sweet of you to come and check on me… and offer to help for that matter. But really, I'm fine. It really was just for a research project."
"Right," Charlie said, chuckling weakly as he stared down at his boots. "Well… I hope it worked out."
"Mostly," she said honestly.
The awkward tension between them began to dissolve, fading like the last traces of fog beneath the setting sun. They continued their walk, the rhythm of their steps syncing once more. The air grew cooler as they wandered back toward the castle, and Charlie offered to walk her to her dormitory. Their conversation softened into casual small talk, laced with familiarity and the quiet comfort of old friends.
But as they reached the castle's inner halls, a growing tightness began to coil in Hermione's chest. It started as a small discomfort, a tightening that was easy enough to ignore. But as they rounded the final corner toward the Head's dormitory, the pressure grew unbearable. She doubled over with a sudden, violent cough that clawed at her throat.
"Are you okay, Hermione?" Charlie asked, concern knitting his brow as he placed a steadying hand on her back.
"Fine," she said quickly, brushing him off with a wave of her hand. But her lungs burned, and the coughing refused to stop.
A subtle draught drifted from the far end of the corridor. Hermione's eyes flicked toward the balcony – its door ajar. The faint but unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air like a ghost. It coated her tongue and invaded her lungs, confirming what she already suspected.
Not wanting to alarm Charlie further, she forced the cough down, swallowing the irritation like broken glass. "Thanks again," she said, voice raw but composed. "Really. For everything."
He nodded, offered a final smile, and turned back the way they had come. The moment his footsteps disappeared down the corridor, Hermione leaned against the wall, letting the air rush out of her lungs. The cough returned with a vengeance, raking through her chest like fire.
Frustrated, she marched for the balcony door, swinging it open with fervour. As expected, the cool evening air carried with it the acrid scent of cigarette smoke—and there they were. The Slytherin boys leaned lazily against the stone balustrade, smoke curling from their lips into the dusky sky like whispered defiance.
"You're back," Theo greeted enthusiastically. "Care to join us?"
He extended the cigarette pack toward her, the gesture casual, almost playful. But Hermione batted it away with a swift swipe of her hand, her lungs still trembling with the remnants of her coughing fit. "No thank you," she snapped, voice clipped and tight. Her eyes flared as she turned her gaze to Malfoy. "And so long asthisis still a thing-" she gestured sharply between them "-you won't be joining him either."
Without hesitation, she plucked the cigarette from Malfoy's lips and, with a quick flick of her wand and a sharpevanesco, it vanished into a curl of enchanted mist.
"Hey!" Malfoy protested, straightening up. "That was rude."
"What's rude," Hermione huffed, "is you causing me to have a coughing fit in the middle of a conversation with Charlie Weasley!"
"Charlie's here?" Theo questioned.
"Yes," Hermione responded sharply. "He came to check on me."
"Why?" Malfoy asked dryly.
"Because, Malfoy," she said with icy condescension, "he thought I needed an abortion." Theo choked mid-inhale, coughing violently through his cigarette smoke. Malfoy's face flushed a deep pink, but neither of them offered a retort. The silence that followed crackled with tension. "I had to lie—again—about what I was using the Essence of Dragon's Breath for, to reassure him that I didn't need it to end a teenage pregnancy!"
"Shit, Granger," Malfoy muttered unhelpfully.
"That must have been an awkward conversation," Theo added, though his tone suggested he wished he hadn't said anything at all.
Hermione shot them both a look sharp enough to slice glass. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest now, each breath shallow, her eyes blazing with exasperation. "What are you two even doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you beresearching?"
"We weren't making any progress," Theo admitted with a sigh, his voice suddenly heavier, tinged with honest defeat. "We just needed to spend a few minutes without our heads buried in books."
Hermione exhaled, her breath visible in the cooling air. "Right, well," she muttered, rubbing at her shoulder. "I'm going to go lie down. That walk did no good for this stupid pain."
Malfoy's eyes dropped to the floor. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he turned to Theo and murmured, "Finish your cigarette. I'll meet you back at the dining table in a bit." Theo gave a small nod and turned back to the balustrade, exhaling slowly into the wind as if trying to empty himself of the tension.
Malfoy stepped closer to Hermione and rested his hand gently on her upper arm, his touch surprisingly light. Without a word, he began to steer her back inside. "Where are we going?" she asked, her tone still laced with irritation, though the fight in her voice had softened.
"Just come with me, would you?" he replied, already guiding her down the hall, his voice quieter now, measured.
Malfoy didn't speak as they moved through the dim corridors, and Hermione followed in brooding silence, her irritation smouldering just beneath the surface. Each step sent a dull throb down her spine, amplifying the ache that had begun to pulse more insistently. She considered pressing him for answers—demanding to know where they were going—but the rare, resolute expression etched across his face made her pause. This wasn't one of his flippant games.
They turned a few more corners before stopping in front of a familiar door.
"The Prefect's bathroom?" Hermione asked, brow lifting with suspicion. "Why are we here?"
Without responding, Malfoy raised his wand and murmured the password. The door creaked open, revealing a golden-lit haven beyond—smooth white marble floors, glittering taps inlaid with gemstones, and the grand, sprawling bath that looked more like an opulent indoor lagoon than something meant for washing.
He turned to her, voice quieter now. "You said the pain was getting worse. This'll help."
Hermione looked at him, her irritation softening around the edges. "Do you do this often?"
"With pain like this? More than I'd like to admit," he said, voice dry with honesty. "Go on."
She huffed, an amused breath slipping through her lips. "Fine. But I'm not bathing with you watching."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Relax, Granger. I'm not here to sneak a peek. I'm here to make sure you don't pass out and drown."
She narrowed her eyes but when he didn't move to leave, she turned toward the taps. With a flick of her wand, water began to pour into the enormous bath, warm and scented with lavender. Steam immediately coiled upwards, curling through the air like silk and casting the room in a gauzy haze.
"I can manage, you know," she muttered, toeing off her shoes and unbuttoning her blouse. Malfoy didn't answer, but he turned his back respectfully as she stripped down.
Once she slid into the bath, the heat enveloped her like a sigh. Magic woven into the water pulsed gently beneath the surface, working through her muscles like invisible hands. Tension melted from her shoulders, pain dulled to a hum. She let her head loll back against the smooth marble edge, her eyes fluttering closed.
With the bubbles forming a modest barrier, Malfoy turned back. "Better?"
Hermione cracked one eye open, lips twitching. "Almost enough to forgive you for the cigarette."
They settled into a rare, easy silence – comfortable and still. Then, Hermione spoke, voice drifting across the water. "You don't have to babysit me, you know."
Malfoy gave a lopsided smile. "Hardly torture, sitting here while you soak like a wilted flower."
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched. "Wilting or not, I'd say this is the most relaxing moment I've had in a while. It might even be… pleasant, if you weren't looming."
Malfoy chuckled but didn't respond.
A silence stretched between them, not awkward but charged. The steam curled in the air, softening the sharpness of the room. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed again as she let her body relax gently into the marble of the tub.
Then the water stirred. She opened her eyes just in time to see him sliding beneath the surface, emerging again just across from her, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. To her relief, he was far enough away to allow both of them to remain concealed by the lavender scented bubbles.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" she asked, voice tight with surprise.
"Joining you," he replied simply, sweeping water from his eyes with both hands.
"You're impossible," she muttered, voice thick with disbelief.
"Want me to leave?" he offered, teasing.
She shot him a look but didn't answer. The water was too warm, too calming. And the strange, almost electric stillness between them was… not unpleasant.
Minutes passed in a hush, only the drip of enchanted water breaking the silence. Hermione sighed again, her body sinking deeper into the embrace of the bath. Malfoy shifted slightly, sending a ripple across the surface that nudged against her skin. She didn't move away.
"This isn't how I pictured my evening," she murmured, heat from the water making her voice languid.
"No?" he asked, one eye cracking open.
"I thought I'd be elbow-deep in dusty pages."
He chuckled. "Nowthatsounds like you."
"But," she added, quieter now, "I'm glad. That you brought me here."
Malfoy turned to her, something unreadable in his gaze. "You don't need to thank me."
"I know," she said softly. "But I'm going to anyway."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The haze of steam and the hush of the bath seemed to wrap around them, folding them into a private little world. Hermione shifted slightly, moving closer, her arm brushing against his under the surface. Malfoy stilled.
"I didn't bring you here to–"
"I know," she interrupted him.
Hermione leaned forward first, and Draco met her halfway. The kiss was slow — not hesitant, just… deliberate. Measured, like they were both waiting to see if it would break the spell around them.
It didn't.
Instead, it deepened.
His hand came to rest at the back of her neck, fingers wet and warm against her skin. She moved closer, the water lapping softly between them as her arms slid around his shoulders. The kiss grew hungrier, their bodies pressing together under the bubbles. She felt the weight of him, the solidness of his frame beneath the water, and it sent a shiver racing up her spine — not from cold, but anticipation.
Malfoy's hands moved carefully at first – reverent, almost unsure – like he was afraid the moment might dissolve if he touched her too quickly. But Hermione leaned into it, into him, her fingers finding the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, the curve of his neck, the place just below his jaw that made his breath hitch.
The water moved softly around them as she slid herself into his lap, the bubbles still clinging protectively to her skin. Her thighs bracketing his, her chest brushing lightly against his as their bodies found a rhythm even in this still, enchanted place.
Draco's breath grew ragged. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, eyes closed. "This doesn't feel real," he whispered.
Hermione nodded, her lips brushing against his. "I know."
His hands found her waist, his fingers splaying against her damp skin beneath the water. She could feel him hard against her thigh, her breath catching as her body leaned into his. Her lips found his again, slower this time, deeper – a conversation without words, all instinct and aching need. His hands slid up, thumbs tracing over her ribs before moving higher, and she gasped into his mouth, her fingers digging gently into his hair.
The gasp seemed to ignite something in both of them – not urgency, but intensity. A pulling gravity. Hermione felt like the heat in the room had doubled, not from the water but from the press of his mouth, the glide of his fingers, the way every touch felt like a question he didn't quite know how to ask.
With the arch of her spine, with the hitch in her breath, with the way she let her forehead rest against his and whispered, "Don't stop."
Malfoy's mouth curved faintly into a smirk against hers, but it was softer than usual – absent of arrogance, full of something that felt suspiciously like reverence. "Wasn't planning to."
In one swift motion he moved her body gently to the side, allowing her to rest against the edge of the bath. Malfoy's breath hitched again, and one of his hands slid down her side, tracing the shape of her hip beneath the water. He hesitated just long enough to be sure, and when she didn't pull away – when she met his eyes with quiet certainty – he moved.
His hand slipped lower, beneath the surface, beneath the line of bubbles. Hermione's breath caught sharply in her throat as his fingers found her – gentle, exploring, purposeful. Her eyes fluttered closed, head tipping back slightly. The steam curled around them like a veil, muffling the soft sound that escaped her lips as his fingers moved, coaxing and precise. She gripped his shoulders, grounding herself, her breath quickening against the side of his neck.
Draco watched her, lips slightly parted, reverent and captivated. "Tell me if you–"
"Keep going," she whispered, cutting him off, her voice thick with want.
The pace between them shifted again. Focused, Malfoy's free hand came up to cradle the back of her neck as his other worked her slowly, drawing soft gasps from her lips that made his heart pound in his chest.
Hermione's forehead pressed against his, her breath brushing across his skin. Her fingers dug gently into his back, her thighs tightening around him, and then –
A quiet gasp. Her body arched. She tensed, then unravelled in his arms, the water lapping softly around them. She squeezed her eyes shut as his hand slowed and eventually stopped. When she opened them, he was smirking at her. Hermione felt an intense blush flood her cheeks but the pure relief of the pain in her body made any lingering embarrassment dissipate. Once the moment was over, Malfoy collapsed back against the edge of the bath, releasing a relaxed sigh.
"Thanks," Hermione said awkwardly, her voice soft.
Malfoy chuckled. "Pleasure."
A short silence later, Hermione sat up abruptly. "What about you?"
Malfoy smirked and released a quiet laugh. "I'm fine," he reassured her. "We're bonded, remember. It felt nice for me too."
"Oh," Hermione gasped, cheeks flushing anew. "Did you…"
"Not exactly," Malfoy said hesitantly. "But it still felt good."
Hermione was quiet for a moment. "Interesting."
"Very."