A Dangerous Proposition
23 January 1997 – The Next Night
The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty, save for the three of them huddled near the fire, their voices hushed and urgent. Hermione’s quill scratched furiously across parchment as she mapped out her plan, brows furrowed in concentration. Harry and Ron sat across from her, watching as she muttered under her breath, occasionally tapping her wand against the parchment to copy a phrase or flipping rapidly through the pages of a worn book on enchanted furniture.
Ron crossed his arms. “Tell me again why we aren’t just setting the damn thing on fire?”
Hermione sighed, exasperated. “Because it’s a Vanishing Cabinet, Ronald. If we destroy it outright, they’d know at Borgin and Burkes! Not to mention we risk trapping someone between dimensions—or worse, leaving the passage permanently open. We cannot risk that.”
Harry leaned forward. “Then what do you have in mind?”
She looked up, determination burning in her gaze. “A poisoning hex.”
Harry’s expression darkened. “Like what happened to Katie?”
“Not exactly,” Hermione clarified quickly. “This would be a targeted hex—one that only activates when someone comes through the cabinet. It won’t affect anyone going in… just in case we need an escape ourselves.”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly are we supposed to pull that off without Malfoy noticing?”
Hermione hesitated. “I’ll have to do it when I’m with him…” She planned on telling Malfoy the truth—that she would hex the cabinet herself, that he could help her stop the Death Eaters—but she knew how Harry and Ron would react. They wouldn’t trust him. They hadn’t seen the fear in his face when he told her what he was being forced to do.
She straightened and lied. “Behind his back.”
Harry and Ron exchanged a look, worry hanging heavy between them.
Ron exhaled sharply. “You really think you can pull this off?”
Hermione met his gaze, unwavering. “I have to.”
Harry nodded slowly. “And we’re sure we don’t want to tell Dumbledore?”
Hermione frowned. “You already made the argument yourself, Harry. Snape knows what Draco is up to. And Dumbledore—” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “—Dumbledore trusts Snape. Even if we went to him, he’d listen to whatever Snape told him. And after last year, he’s more focused on you learning Occlumency than anything else.”
Harry clenched his jaw but didn’t argue.
Ron sighed. “Then we’ll cover for you. Just… be careful, Hermione.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand, grateful, before rolling up her parchment. “I’ll handle Malfoy. You two just be ready.”
1 February 1997 – Saturday.
The Room of Requirement was dim, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows over the towering Vanishing Cabinet. It loomed before them like an omen.
Draco stood with his arms crossed, watching as Hermione traced her fingers over the wood, her mind already working through the spellwork she would need.
“This is risky,” he muttered.
Hermione shot him a pointed look. “And what you’re doing isn’t?”
He had just shown her the notes he had compiled—every charm, every test, every theory on where the connection had fractured. She had been impressed by his precision, by how much his findings aligned with her own research. They were undeniably on the right track.
Draco’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have a choice.”
She turned to him fully, stepping closer. “What if I told you that you do?” Her voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “You already sealed your fate by bringing me here. So let’s go all the way with your deception.”
His brows furrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
A slow, almost devious smile tugged at her lips. “It means I have a plan.”
Draco scoffed, exhaling sharply. Merlin, she was scary cute. And brilliant, which was terrifyingly enticing. “And what’s your grand idea, Granger?”
“A hex,” she said simply, “One that ensures anyone who steps through is incapacitated—long enough for us to fight back or eliminate the threat before it even begins.”
He stared at her, something unreadable flickering behind his stormy gaze. “You’re serious.”
“As serious as you are.”
Draco ran a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh. “You’re mad.”
Hermione tilted her head. “And yet, you’re still listening.”
Her eyes flicked back to the cabinet. “Ultimately, we need the Death Eaters to think the connection is stable. That part is easy,” she gestured toward him. “You’ve already identified the problem. You run a few more tests and involve them just enough to keep suspicions down. Meanwhile, I’ll work on a hex—one with a delayed effect. We wouldn’t want it activating too soon, after all. Let them all come through, nice and confident, and then—” she snapped her fingers, “—they drop like flies.”
Draco stared at her for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle, rubbing his knuckles along the sharp line of his jaw.
Scary. Cute.
“You’re really something, you know that?”
She smirked. “So I’ve been told.”
He listened as she explained the hex in more detail—how it wouldn’t be lethal, just strong enough to incapacitate them until the Aurors arrived. Azkaban would be full by the end of this plan. More cellmates for his father.
And then, the silence stretched between them.
Draco exhaled slowly, the weight of everything settling into his bones. He had spent his whole life preparing for the future that had been chosen for him, only to find himself standing on the edge of a choice he never thought he’d have. Hermione was handing him a different path; an equally, if not more, dangerous one.
But maybe—just maybe—it was the only one that wouldn’t end in ruin.
When he looked up, she was watching him. Her warm brown eyes pierced right through the walls he had spent years constructing.
She stepped closer, closing the space between them. “You’re not alone in this,” she murmured.
She didn’t really know what came over her. She sometimes felt this energy when she was scheming with Harry and Ron but maybe it was because Malfoy was different. He wasn’t like a brother to her in any way. He was tall and blonde and handsome and broken in ways she could only imagine when she rehearsed what she’d share with him. He’s been constantly on her mind.
Something flickered in his chest, something terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
His breath hitched as she looked at him with that fire in her eyes. Her gaze flickered to his lips, just for a moment, before snapping back up to his.
“Granger—”
And then she kissed him.
It wasn’t desperate like the last one, the one he had stolen from her. It was deliberate, assured—like she had decided something he hadn’t yet caught up to.
Draco froze for half a second before he gave in, his hands gripping her waist as if to steady himself. The kiss was chaste at first, then deeper, her tongue teasing his mouth open. His pulse pounded in his ears. She was warm, soft, and dangerous.
When she finally pulled away, he looked dazed.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed.
Hermione smirked, she'd been doing that a lot lately, her heart racing. She couldn't believe her bravado and maybe it was too fast but it felt right, the best kiss of her life. “Told you you had a choice.”
Draco let out a breathless laugh, running a hand over the back of his neck, still reeling from the kiss. From her.
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
She grinned. “Not if I can help it.”