Fractures and Flames
Hermione stormed down the halls of Malfoy Manor, her heels clicking against the pristine marble floor, her mind whirling with a mess of frustration and something else—something infuriatingly unnameable.
The audacity of Draco Malfoy.
Possessive. Territorial. Utterly insufferable.
She had expected challenges in this marriage, but she had not expected Draco to behave as though she were a piece of treasure in his vault—something to be hoarded and defended against anyone who dared look too long.
She needed to cool off.
But, of course, Malfoy Manor had other plans.
She barely made it down a side corridor before a strong, firm hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her to a sudden halt. Her breath caught as she was spun around, her back colliding softly with the cold stone wall.
Draco.
His storm-grey eyes were molten, simmering with something he was barely restraining.
"Running already, Granger?"" he murmured, voice a silken taunt, but his grip on her wrist was controlled—not tight, not painful, but unyielding.
Hermione smirked then narrows her eyes. "It's Malfoy. Remember?"
She caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes—the briefest moment of something pleased, something dangerous.
Draco’s narrowed eyes faltered, only for a fraction of a second, before he recovered. "Merlin help me, you're insufferable."
She laughed softly and leaned back against the wall until he spoke again.
Tilting his head slightly. "I'm not letting you go until you admit you know exactly why Theo deserved what he got."
She scoffed. "Oh, I see. You’re holding me hostage for an admission of guilt? That’s very on brand for you."
He leaned in, and despite herself, Hermione felt her breath hitch for a split second—because he was close, close enough that she could see the flickers of challenge dancing in his gaze.
"I don’t care what you think of me, Granger," he said lowly. "But I do care that you understand one thing—Theo was playing a game he had no business playing."
Hermione’s eyes searched his, looking for an opening, a weakness, anything that would explain why Draco Malfoy seemed so genuinely rattled about something as ridiculous as Theo’s teasing.
"It was harmless," she said, her voice quieter now, more measured.
Draco’s jaw ticked. "It was a test. He wanted to see how far he could push me."
Hermione sighed. "And you failed that test, Malfoy. You let him win."
Draco exhaled sharply, his grip on her loosening just slightly, as though he hadn’t thought of it that way. Hermione took the moment to pull herself free and take a step back, arms crossing over her chest.
"Is that what this marriage is going to be?" she asked. "You threatening every man who dares speak to me?"
Draco ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident. "I won’t apologize for shutting Theo up."
"Of course you won’t," she muttered.
Draco took another step forward, and for some reason, Hermione didn’t move away this time.
"But," he said, voice softer now, more controlled, "I’ll admit that maybe—just maybe—I could’ve handled it differently."
Hermione blinked. Did Draco Malfoy just concede a point?
She stared at him for a moment, trying to decipher the shift in his demeanor. His jaw was still tight, but his shoulders were more relaxed, his expression no longer quite so hard-edged.
For the first time since this ridiculous arrangement had begun, Draco Malfoy looked almost... human.
"That’s a start, I suppose," she said, voice lighter now, teasing. "Careful, Malfoy, if you keep making personal growth like this, I might actually start to tolerate you."
Draco huffed a laugh, and for a fleeting second, Hermione saw something dangerously close to amusement flicker across his face.
"Merlin forbid," he drawled.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The tension was still there, but it had shifted, no longer razor-sharp but something deeper, more unspoken.
Hermione shook her head, breaking the moment before it unraveled into something neither of them was ready for.
"I’m going to bed," she announced. "And I’d rather not be interrupted by another display of your fragile ego."
Draco smirked but didn’t stop her as she turned and walked away. "Wait."
Hermione hesitated, then turned to see him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite place.
"Before you storm off entirely," he said, his voice lighter now, less sharp-edged, "I want to show you something."
She crossed her arms. "If this is another ridiculous attempt to prove some point—"
"It’s the Malfoy library."
Hermione’s words died in her throat.
Draco smirked. "Interested?"
Her book-loving heart betrayed her. "Maybe."
"Then come on, Granger—sorry, Malfoy," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement as he led the way.
As they entered the stunning, two-story library, filled with ancient tomes and enchanted texts, Hermione felt her irritation at him soften—just slightly.
Draco leaned against a bookshelf, watching her, his expression unreadable. "So? Have I been forgiven for being a right prat?"
Hermione ran her fingers along the spines of the books, inhaling the scent of parchment and ink, pretending she didn’t feel the weight of his gaze.
"Books aren’t an apology, Malfoy," she said, but her voice lacked the bite she intended.
"No," he agreed, tilting his head slightly. "But they’re a decent distraction."
She exhaled, shaking her head. "That, they are."
A pause. A shift. The air between them felt charged again, but different this time—less like a battlefield and more like a quiet truce.
Hermione turned, eyes meeting his. "You’re not forgiven."
Draco smirked, pushing off the bookshelf. "Didn’t expect to be."
"But," she added, watching his expression carefully, "I suppose I can tolerate your presence long enough to find something worth reading."
His smirk deepened, something smug but oddly satisfied. "High praise, coming from you."
She rolled her eyes, reaching for a book at random. "Let’s not get carried away."
But as she settled into one of the armchairs, Draco sat across from her, a book in his own hands—watching, but not pressing.
And for once, the silence between them didn’t feel like a battle waiting to happen.