Always Looking
Hermione’s POV
The morning began like any other. Her tea was the right temperature, the fire in her office crackled gently, and the Ministry was oddly quiet for once.
She had almost started to enjoy it.
Until he walked in.
Michael Corner stood just inside her doorway, arms crossed like he had every right to be there. His presence alone made her chest tighten—not with guilt, but with irritation.
“You have five minutes,” Hermione said coolly, not looking up from the parchment in front of her.
Michael didn’t move. “I came to talk. Properly this time.”
“You mean without you lacing your words with insults?” she replied, raising an eyebrow as she set her quill down. “Charming.”
He sighed, stepping forward. “Look, Hermione… I’m just trying to understand. This isn’t you.”
Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know me anymore.”
“I used to. And this—this thing with Malfoy—it’s not real. It’s not you. You’re playing house with a man who’s manipulated every moment of his life to control people. You think he’s changed? You think he—”
“Stop.” Her voice was sharp, firm. “You don’t get to walk in here and rewrite who I am. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Michael’s expression faltered, but his eyes flicked to her arm. “Do you? Because this—this whole act—you flinch when people say his name, Hermione.”
She stared at him. “No. I flinch when people assume they know me better than I know myself.”
Before he could respond, a shadow passed through the doorway.
“Is this a bad time?”
Draco’s voice was quiet, almost disinterested—but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.
Michael straightened immediately, mouth flattening into a tight line. “Malfoy.”
“Corner,” Draco said, strolling into the room with the casual elegance of someone who owned every space he entered. He looked between them. “I came to surprise my wife for lunch. Didn’t realize I was interrupting… whatever this is.”
Hermione stepped back instinctively, caught off guard by the sudden shift in atmosphere.
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “I was just leaving.”
Draco moved forward. Smooth, silent, like a predator circling. “That’s wise. Because if you ever touch her arm like that again, you won’t walk away with your pride intact.”
“Draco,” Hermione warned softly, but he didn’t break his stare.
Michael scoffed, but there was a nervous twitch to his mouth. “You always did talk like the world owed you something.”
Draco’s smile was slow. Dangerous. “It doesn’t. But she does deserve more than secondhand affection from someone who never had the courage to chase her properly.”
Michael left without another word.
And the moment the door shut, silence fell.
Hermione turned to Draco, her voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t have to do that.”
His gaze slid to her, softer now. “I did.”
Draco’s POV
Theo wouldn’t shut up about it.
“You should’ve seen yourself,” he said later that evening, laughing into his wine. “Corner looked like he’d swallowed a dungbomb. You were this close to hexing him, mate.”
Draco gave him a flat look. “I don’t recall asking for your commentary.”
“Oh come on, it was brilliant. You practically growled. Mine, written all over your face.” He grinned, then turned to Hermione. “You should’ve kissed him on the spot. It would've completed the effect.”
Hermione laughed, wine glass tilted lazily in her hand. “He’s exaggerating.”
Draco glanced at her. She was wearing soft grey robes, her curls pinned back, neck exposed. She looked like home and war all at once.
Theo leaned closer. “But seriously—when are you two going to stop pretending this marriage is fake?”
Draco tensed.
Hermione’s laugh faltered. “Who says we’re pretending?”
“Oh, don’t get shy now,” Theo teased. “Come on, Hermione. Admit it. He gets under your skin.”
Draco’s voice was low. “That’s enough.”
Theo looked up, eyebrows raised.
The air shifted.
“I was joking—”
Draco stood. “I’m done being a joke to you.”
Hermione placed a hand on his arm, grounding. “Draco.”
Theo went silent.
Draco’s eyes stayed locked on the floor for a long moment before he muttered, “I’m going for air.”
Hermione’s POV
She found him outside near the old stone fountain, arms crossed, jaw set like stone.
“You didn’t deserve that,” she said softly.
He didn’t answer.
She stepped closer. “What’s really bothering you?”
Draco looked at her, something raw flickering in his eyes. “You want the truth?”
Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He stepped closer, closing the distance. His voice dropped—quiet, dangerous in its honesty. “I never stopped looking at you.”
Her breath caught.
“Not since sixth year. Not since you hexed me in third. Not when you were arguing in the common room. Not when I married you. Not a single damn day, Hermione.”
He was standing so close now, she could feel the tension crackling in the air between them.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured. “You challenge every inch of who I am. But I see you. Every second. You’ve always been the exception to everything.”
Her heart was thudding wildly in her chest.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she whispered.
“Because I didn’t think I deserved it,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “Not you.”
Hermione reached for him slowly, fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt, resting above his heart.
“I knew,” she said. “I knew the night you brought me tea. When I couldn’t sleep. You didn’t ask questions. You just sat beside me. You didn’t need me to be okay for you to stay.”
She looked up at him, eyes shimmering.
“That’s when I realized… you weren’t pretending. And neither was I.”
Draco’s hand came up, cupping her jaw with reverent slowness. His thumb brushed her cheek, and his other hand hovered at her waist, not touching yet—like he didn’t trust himself if he did.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
Her voice broke on the words. “I stopped pretending.”
His forehead dropped to hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet. The moment crackled with everything unspoken.
He didn’t kiss her.
But Merlin, it felt like he did.