Art of War
The crack of Apparition echoed softly in the still air as they landed in their bedroom, the warm glow of sconces casting flickering shadows along the walls. Hermione barely had time to take a breath before Draco was already moving, shrugging off his coat with practiced ease, his movements smooth, effortless.
Her gaze flickered to him as she stepped toward the walk-in closet. It wasn’t intentional, at first—just a glance, a passing acknowledgment of the man beside her. But then she made the mistake of actually looking at him.
At the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the way his fingers deftly unbuttoned the cuffs before rolling them up his forearms, revealing strong, sinewy muscles beneath.
Damn him.
Draco Malfoy was unfairly attractive, and worse—he knew it.
A slow smirk ghosted across his lips as if he could feel her eyes tracing over him. "See something you like, Granger?"
Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes as she turned toward the vanity where she kept her jewelry. "Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy."
She reached up to unclasp her necklace, her fingers steady as she placed it in the small velvet box. She could still feel him watching her, his presence as tangible as the warm air around them.
"You’re quiet," she noted as she reached for her earrings. "That’s unlike you."
Draco let out a slow breath, toeing off his shoes before straightening. "I’m considering my next move."
"Mm." Hermione smirked, reaching for the clasp of her bracelet. "And here I thought you always had the upper hand."
His laugh was quiet, edged with something unreadable. "I usually do."
"Then why do you look like you just lost a battle?"
Draco leaned against the doorway, arms crossing over his chest, his expression unreadable. The way his grey eyes flickered over her, slow and assessing, sent a shiver down her spine.
"Because my wife keeps disarming me," he admitted, his voice rougher now, lower. "And I can’t quite decide if I like it or not."
Hermione’s hands stilled briefly, just for a fraction of a second, before she continued sliding off her bracelet. She met his gaze in the mirror, her lips curling.
"You like it," she murmured, voice soft. "You just hate that you do."
His eyes darkened.
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he pushed off the wall and stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. Hermione refused to look away, refused to let him think he had the upper hand. But Merlin, when he was this close—when she could smell the faintest trace of his cologne, see the way his hair was just slightly mussed from running his fingers through it—it was distracting.
Draco reached for her wrist, his touch light, teasing. "Tell me," he murmured, voice like silk and smoke, "did you enjoy making me jealous tonight?"
Hermione arched a brow, turning slightly to face him. "Jealous? Of Michael?"
Draco didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifted her wrist, brushing his lips against the delicate skin there, his breath warm against her pulse. The touch was light, almost thoughtful, but it sent a sharp thrill through her all the same.
"You knew what you were doing," he continued, his voice deceptively calm. "You knew I’d notice."
Hermione exhaled slowly, keeping her expression smooth. "And if I did?"
Draco hummed, considering. "Then I’d say you’re playing with fire."
"Good thing I know how to handle fire, then," she mused, her lips curling.
His fingers tightened around her wrist, just for a second. "Careful, Granger," he warned, but there was no real bite to it.
She smirked, her gaze flickering over him once more, unashamed this time. "You love it."
Draco exhaled sharply through his nose, releasing her hand as he shook his head. His throat bobbed, his eyes flickering over her face, searching—for what, she wasn’t sure.
Then, almost as if the words slipped out before he could stop them, he murmured, "What are you doing to me?"
Hermione inhaled, a slow pull of air as her fingers moved to the straps of her heels. She bent slightly to unfasten them, her movements steady, controlled. But then she shifted, and she felt it—the cool air brushing against her exposed thigh, the slit of her dress parting as she moved.
Hermione inhaled, a slow pull of air as her fingers moved to the straps of her heels. She bent slightly to unfasten them, her movements steady, controlled. But then she shifted, and she felt it—the cool air brushing against her exposed thigh, the slit of her dress parting as she moved.
Draco’s gaze dropped.
And lingered.
His eyes darkened, the raw intensity of his stare making the air thick between them. The tension between them crackled, palpable, a dangerous thing that neither of them seemed able to ignore. He took a step toward her, the distance between them closing, the space now so small it was almost unbearable.
For a heartbeat, Hermione thought he was going to kiss her, his lips so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. His chest was rising and falling unevenly, his hand hovering just inches from her cheek. He was fighting something—himself.
Her heart raced, her pulse quickening as her lips parted slightly, her breath shallow. She could feel the weight of his control teetering on the edge, like he was barely holding it together.
But then, with a deep breath, he pulled back. Just enough to break the moment.
"Merlin help me," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair, stepping away from her, his composure splintering for just a moment.
Hermione’s smile softened, her heart still thumping in her chest, her own control warring with the heat rising between them. She had to do something. Had to say something.
But all she could manage was a quiet, knowing whisper. "This war is far from over, Draco."
And with that, she turned, fully aware that they had just crossed into dangerous territory.
Here’s the near-kiss scene with the added yearning, eye contact, and a dramatic interruption:
Draco took a step closer, his body a breath away from hers. The air between them was charged, crackling with tension, as if the room itself was holding its breath. His grey eyes never left hers, the intensity of his gaze turning her insides to liquid. Every small shift of her body, every inhale, seemed to draw him in closer.
Hermione could feel the heat of his presence, the way his fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach out, but was stopping himself. The control he was so famous for—so proud of—was beginning to unravel, and she couldn’t help but savor it.
Their lips were a hair's breadth apart now. She could feel his breath, warm and uneven, brushing over her skin. She had never been this close to him, not like this—on the verge of something that could tip the balance into a kiss that would shatter every careful boundary they had set.
“You’re making this impossible,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, raw with restraint. His hand was just inches from her face now, hovering, aching to touch her.
Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat of him, the strength of his desire, even if he wasn’t touching her. The space between them felt impossibly small, but she didn’t step back. She was just as lost in it, lost in him.
"You're the one who can't control yourself, Draco," she whispered, the teasing note in her voice just barely masking the hunger she felt, the way his proximity made her body ache.
His gaze darkened, eyes flashing with something dangerous. "Don’t tempt me, Granger," he rasped. "Because I will kiss you, and you won’t be able to stop me."
Hermione swallowed, the words sinking deep into her, a knot of heat twisting low in her belly. “Then why don’t you?” she breathed, her lips parting ever so slightly, as though inviting him.
Draco leaned in just a fraction closer, the space between their lips evaporating. His breath was warm against her mouth, every nerve in her body screaming for him to close the distance, for him to do what they both knew was inevitable.
Just as the moment stretched, fragile and electric, and Draco’s lips were so close she could feel the brush of his breath against her skin, a sharp knock sounded at the door. The sudden interruption was like cold water on a fire.
Draco froze, his body tense, his eyes flicking toward the door with visible irritation. Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat, her lips aching from the near-touch. She could feel the magnetism between them, the almost-kiss lingering in the air like a promise.
"Who the hell is that?" Draco muttered under his breath, the frustration in his voice unmistakable. He gave her one last lingering look, his eyes still heavy with desire, before he turned toward the door, his expression darkening.
Hermione couldn’t help but feel the loss as he moved away, the tension between them evaporating with every step he took. She stood frozen for a moment, catching her breath, before trailing behind him.
Draco flung open the door, clearly irritated, his jaw clenched. Standing in the hallway were Blaise and Theo, grinning like they had all the time in the world.
“Fancy a drink, mate?” Blaise asked with that casual smile, leaning against the doorframe. “We’re just heading out to the pub. Thought you might like to join us.”
Theo’s gaze immediately flicked to Hermione, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "Well, well, Granger... You look stunning tonight," he said, his tone dripping with flirtation. “Didn’t realize you had a knack for making the place look better just by walking in.”
Draco’s expression darkened, his jaw ticking as he glanced back at Hermione, clearly trying to suppress the irritation bubbling up. Hermione just laughed, shaking her head in amusement at Theo’s antics.
“I’m sure you didn’t, Theo,” she said, her voice light and playful as she met his teasing gaze. “I just got lucky tonight.”
Theo’s grin only widened. “You’re being modest. I’d say it’s your luck and your looks that have the place lit up." He leaned closer, flashing her a wink, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having.
Hermione chuckled softly, giving him a wink in return. “You never change, do you?” she quipped, clearly not bothered by the teasing.
Draco, on the other hand, was barely holding it together. His frustration was palpable. "First Michael, and now you?" he muttered, throwing Theo an exasperated glare. "I can't take this tonight, all right?" His tone was sharp, irritation creeping into his voice.
Theo just shrugged, still grinning, clearly unfazed. "What? Can’t a man appreciate the beautiful woman in his presence?" He flashed Draco a cheeky look.
Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got some nerve, Theo,” he muttered. “I’ve had enough of this for one night.” His eyes flicked briefly to Hermione, his frustration mixing with a flicker of something deeper—something he was still trying to control.
Blaise, watching the exchange with amusement, chimed in with a raised eyebrow. “We’ll let you two have your fun. We’re going to the pub, Draco. Are you coming or not?”
Draco shot them both a look, his jaw still tight. “I’ll catch up. Don’t wait for me.”
Blaise gave a short nod, smirking. “Sure thing. We’ll save you a seat,” he said, before both men turned and walked away, leaving Draco standing in the doorway, seething with frustration.
Hermione watched the two of them leave, the irritation in Draco’s posture still obvious. The tension from their near-kiss still hummed in the air, but she couldn’t help but smile, amused at the situation.
“Let me guess,” she said, her voice teasing, as she leaned against the doorway with a smirk. “I ruined your night, didn’t I?”
Draco shot her a look that was half-annoyed, half-amused. “You have no idea, Granger.”
Her smile softened as she took a step closer. "And what if I don’t care?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.
Draco sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I swear, this is getting ridiculous."
Hermione just laughed, her tone light but with a hint of something deeper underneath. “Maybe you should join them for that drink, Draco. You clearly need it.”
“Not without you,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, as he turned away to shut the door with a soft thud.