Unraveling Threads
The library had been a temporary ceasefire—an unspoken truce in the endless war between them. But as the glow of candlelight flickered against the high-arched walls, Hermione knew peace was always fleeting with Draco Malfoy.
Especially when the man in question had no concept of personal space.
"You do realize," she muttered, turning a page, "that there are hundreds of places to sit in this library?"
Draco, who had taken the seat beside her instead of literally anywhere else, smirked. "And yet, here I am."
Hermione exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus on the book in her hands rather than the infuriating warmth of him so close. "You’re insufferable."
"You’ve mentioned."
Minutes passed, heavy with something unspoken. The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound between them.
Then—
"Why him?"
Hermione frowned, glancing up. "What?"
Draco leaned back against the plush chair, arms draped over the sides in that maddeningly effortless way of his. "Theo. Of all people, why entertain him?"
She narrowed her eyes, her grip on the book tightening. "I wasn’t entertaining him, Malfoy. We were talking."
Draco scoffed. "He was testing me, and you were letting him."
Hermione arched a brow. "Oh, so now I’m responsible for your fragile self-control?"
His jaw ticked, but his voice remained deceptively smooth. "Granger—"
"Malfoy," she interrupted, mocking his tone.
His lips pressed together in a tight line, but something like amusement flickered beneath his frustration. He let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly.
"You have to understand something," he said, and there was a dangerous calm to his voice now. "People like Theo? They don’t do things without an agenda."
Hermione searched his face, looking for the game, for the smug arrogance—but it wasn’t there. He was serious.
Her grip on the book loosened slightly. "You’re saying he had ulterior motives?"
Draco smirked, but there was no real humor in it. "I’m saying you underestimate how much people love to push boundaries. Especially now that you’re—" He hesitated, then exhaled sharply, like the word itself pained him. "Mine."
Something electric sparked in the air between them.
Hermione should have scoffed. She should have rolled her eyes and told him that she didn’t belong to anyone. But instead, she sat there, feeling the weight of the claim settle over her like a silk-threaded chain—light and heavy all at once.
"Possessiveness doesn’t suit you, Malfoy," she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction.
His gaze darkened. "You have no idea what suits me."
Silence stretched, taut and suffocating. Hermione’s fingers curled around the edges of her book, as if the parchment could ground her.
Then, as if snapping himself out of something, Draco stood abruptly.
"Go to bed, Granger," he said, turning away before she could respond.
Hermione watched him go, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Because for the first time since this whole charade began, she wasn’t entirely sure who was playing whom.
The next morning, Hermione found herself in the breakfast parlor, sipping tea and pretending not to notice Draco’s arrival. He entered with the effortless grace that only purebloods seemed to master, his presence demanding attention without a single word.
"Sleep well?" he asked casually, pouring himself a cup of coffee as if the previous night hadn’t left the air between them unbearably tense.
Hermione hummed, noncommittal. "Like a baby."
Draco smirked over the rim of his cup. "Liar."
She didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she turned the page of her book and let the silence settle between them, heavy and charged.
A new voice cut through the quiet. "Oh, for Salazar’s sake, finally!"
Hermione glanced up just as Pansy Parkinson strode into the room, looking positively exasperated. She wore a perfectly tailored emerald robe and had the air of someone who had been suffering through far too much secondhand tension.
"You two are exhausting, you know that?" she announced, dropping into the chair across from Hermione and giving them both a once-over, as if assessing just how deep their mutual stupidity ran.
Draco groaned. "How did you even get in here, Parkinson?"
Pansy waved a dismissive hand. "Please. I have my ways. You should know better than to think I’d leave you to ruin your own marriage without interference."
Hermione frowned. "And why, exactly, do you care?"
Pansy smirked, propping her chin on her palm. "Because, darling, the tension in this room is worse than the time Theo tried to outdrink Blaise and ended up hexing his own trousers off."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Spare us, Parkinson."
Pansy ignored him, twirling a spoon between her fingers. "You know, if you two actually just—" She made an indistinct gesture. "Got on with it, life would be a lot easier for everyone."
Hermione frowned. "Got on with what?"
Pansy smirked knowingly. "Oh, I don’t know. All that pent-up frustration?"
Draco choked on his coffee. Hermione promptly set her tea down with a clink.
"You’re delusional," Hermione said flatly.
Pansy only laughed, standing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling. Just know that the rest of us are so tired of this little dance."
With that, she sauntered off, leaving Hermione and Draco in silence once more.
Draco sighed, rubbing his temple. "She’s insufferable."
"You’ve mentioned," Hermione said dryly, mirroring his words from the night before.
A smirk tugged at his lips. "Clever, Granger."
"Malfoy."
Their eyes met, something dangerous flickering between them, something neither of them was ready to name.
Hermione took a deep breath, determined to change the subject before she lost whatever sanity she had left. "I have plans today."
Draco leaned back in his chair. "Do you, now?"
"Yes. I’ll be going to Diagon Alley."
His expression darkened instantly. "Alone?"
"Is that a problem?"
He exhaled sharply, setting his cup down. "You’re not walking around the Alley alone, not now."
Hermione bristled. "I can handle myself."
"That’s not the point."
She huffed. "Then what is the point?"
Draco’s jaw tightened. "The point is that you’re not just you anymore, Granger. You’re my wife. That comes with certain—"
"Complications?" she supplied.
"Responsibilities."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. But if I regret this, Malfoy, I’m hexing you."
Draco smirked, standing from his seat. "Duly noted. Now hurry up. We’re leaving in ten minutes."
As Hermione followed him out of the room, she already regretted it.