Unspoken Allegiances
The balance they had found—however fragile—was already being tested.
Draco had known, deep down, that their carefully constructed truce wouldn’t last. Too many forces were at play, too many watching eyes waiting for a misstep. And despite their best efforts, the outside world was beginning to seep into the cracks they had barely started to mend.
Hermione
Ministry politics had never intimidated Hermione. She had worked too hard, fought too long to be shaken by whispers and veiled threats.
But she wasn’t a fool. She knew the way things worked in the pureblood aristocracy, even if she had never been a part of it. And now, by virtue of her marriage, she had been thrust directly into its core.
"Granger—I mean, Malfoy." Theo slid into the seat across from her in the Ministry’s café, his expression almost amused. "You’re in high demand these days."
Hermione stirred her tea, unimpressed. "Am I?"
"Oh, certainly," he drawled. "Between the old guard who want to know if you’re an unfortunate casualty in Draco’s rebellion, and the reformists who think you might be the key to finally severing the Malfoy name from its past—let’s just say you’ve become quite the topic of conversation."
Hermione set her cup down. "And what do you think?"
Theo smirked. "I think you should watch your back."
Hermione’s fingers curled slightly. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"Neither." His gaze flickered with something unreadable. "Just a friendly observation."
She held his stare for a moment before nodding. "Noted."
Theo tilted his head. "You know, the fact that you didn’t immediately tell me to bugger off proves you’re learning."
Hermione exhaled through her nose, picking up her tea again. "I’ve always been a quick study."
Theo grinned. "That’s what worries them."
Draco
Draco had spent years perfecting the art of not reacting.
It was a skill that had served him well in the war, in his trial, in the years that followed when the world had been waiting for him to prove them right.
But when he stepped into the conference room and saw his father waiting alongside Minister Shacklebolt, that carefully honed restraint almost faltered.
"Draco," Shacklebolt greeted, his deep voice even. "Have a seat."
Draco did as he was told, ignoring the expectant way Lucius observed him, as though he were still a boy under his thumb.
"I assume this meeting isn’t a social call?" Draco asked dryly.
Lucius’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "We are discussing your future."
Draco’s jaw tensed. "How generous."
Shacklebolt clasped his hands. "There are concerns about your position, Draco. Your recent marriage has placed you in a precarious spotlight."
"Because I married Hermione?" His voice was edged with something sharp. "Or because the Ministry doesn’t know whether to treat me as an asset or a liability?"
Lucius exhaled in a way that suggested he found the entire conversation tiresome. "Because you have yet to choose a side."
Draco’s hands curled into fists under the table. "I wasn’t aware I needed to."
Lucius gave him a pointed look. "Everyone must, eventually."
Shacklebolt leaned forward. "No one is asking you to renounce anything, Draco. But the time is coming when you will need to be clear about your allegiances."
Draco met his gaze evenly. "I know where my loyalties lie."
Lucius hummed, unimpressed. "Do you?"
Draco didn’t answer.
Because, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure.
Hermione & Draco: Behind Closed Doors
The tension followed Draco home.
He strode into the library, expecting to find Hermione buried in work, and he wasn’t wrong. But his gaze caught something else first—her dinner, still on a side table, barely touched and now completely cold.
Draco frowned. "Are you planning to eat that, or is it meant to be some kind of decoration?"
Hermione barely looked up from her reports. "I got distracted."
His jaw ticked. "So distracted that you forgot basic survival?"
She sighed, finally setting down her quill. "Draco, I’ll eat later."
"You’ll eat now," he countered, already lifting the plate. With a flick of his wand, the food reheated instantly before he set it down in front of her. "Because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to sit here and watch you eat every single bite."
Hermione gave him a flat look. "That’s a bit dramatic."
"No, what’s dramatic is you running yourself into the ground because you’re too stubborn to take care of yourself properly." His voice was even, but there was an edge to it, something raw beneath the usual sarcasm.
Hermione blinked at him, caught off guard by his insistence. "Draco—"
"It irks me," he admitted, crossing his arms, "the thought of you being hungry just because you were too distracted to eat."
Hermione’s lips parted slightly, something flickering in her expression. "You... care?"
Draco scoffed, looking away. "Don’t make it weird, Granger."
She smirked, but instead of pushing, she picked up her fork and took a bite. "Happy?"
He exhaled. "Getting there."
Hermione chewed in silence for a moment before setting her fork down. "You didn’t have to do that, you know."
Draco leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully. "Maybe not. But I wanted to."
She studied him, something unreadable in her gaze. "Why?"
His throat bobbed as he considered his answer. Then, with an almost imperceptible shrug, he muttered, "Because you're my wife. And I take care of what’s mine."
Hermione’s breath caught, but Draco had already looked away, as if he hadn’t just shaken something loose between them.
She picked up her fork again, the simple act now feeling like a much bigger surrender.
Draco didn't push. He simply sat there, waiting, like he always did—letting her decide if she wanted to acknowledge what had just passed between them.
And for the first time in a long time, Hermione wasn’t sure if she wanted to fight it.
When Hermione was done eating, she stood, taking her time as she gathered her reports and straightened them into a neat pile. Draco watched her, expecting her to leave without another word.
But just as she reached the doorway, she hesitated. Then, without turning around, she said, "Draco?"
Draco stiffened at the unexpected sound of his name from her lips. "Yes?"
She turned her head just slightly, her voice smooth, controlled. "It’s Malfoy, not Granger."
And with that, she left the library, leaving Draco staring after her, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his lips.
Draco let out a dry laugh, looking away. Then with a deep sigh, he says to himself. "Merlin, she'll be the death of me."
And follows after her.
End of Chapter 13