Days later, Hermione was walking through the Ministry’s grand atrium, her arms full of parchment and reports, when a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Herm-own-ninny!"
She turned sharply, eyes widening in surprise as she took in the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Viktor Krum standing before her. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, his stance as solid and confident as she remembered.
“Viktor!” she exclaimed, a genuine smile breaking across her face. It had been years since she had last seen him—since the war, since her life had become consumed with rebuilding and reforming the wizarding world.
Viktor chuckled. “It has been too long.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I am visiting for Quidditch business,” Viktor explained in his thick Bulgarian accent. “Meetings with the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” His gaze softened as he looked at her. “But I also heard about all you have done, Herm-own-ninny. Your charity work, your laws for house-elves… you have become quite the force in the Ministry.”
Hermione flushed slightly at the compliment. “I’m just doing what I can to make a difference.”
Viktor nodded approvingly. “I vould like to know more. Let me take you to lunch?”
Hermione hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “I’d like that.”
They found themselves at The Silver Cauldron, a small but elegant restaurant tucked away in Diagon Alley. Over a meal of roasted lamb and buttered vegetables, they caught up on everything—their lives, their work, their past.
Viktor spoke about his continued success in Quidditch, how he was mentoring young players now, and how he sometimes considered retiring.
Hermione, in turn, told him about her charity work, the recent law she had passed, and the struggles of navigating politics in the Ministry.
“You always had a kind heart,” Viktor said warmly, lifting his glass to her. “I am proud of you, Herm-own-ninny.”
Hermione felt a rush of gratitude. “That means a lot, Viktor.”
“And because I am proud of you,” he continued, “I vould like to donate to your cause. Whatever you need, I vill help.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Viktor, you don’t have to—”
“I vant to,” Viktor interrupted with a firm but kind smile. “The vork you do is important. And I am lucky to call you my friend.”
Hermione’s heart swelled at his sincerity. Without thinking, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug. “Thank you, Viktor. Truly.”
He chuckled, patting her back gently. “It is no problem, Herm-own-ninny.”
Neither of them noticed the soft click of a camera from a hidden corner of the restaurant.
Unbeknownst to them, a Daily Prophet reporter had been lurking nearby, always on the lookout for a juicy story.
And a photograph of Hermione Granger intimately hugging Viktor Krum—one of the most famous Quidditch players in the world—was exactly the kind of scandalous image that would make headlines.
The next morning, Hermione walked into the Ministry, oblivious to the murmurs and sidelong glances being thrown her way. It wasn’t until she reached her office and saw a copy of the Daily Prophet on her desk that she realized why.
"MINISTRY WAR HEROINE & QUIDDITCH LEGEND—OLD FLAMES REIGNITED?"
Beneath the bold headline was a photograph of her and Viktor, frozen mid-hug. The moving image made it look far more intimate than it had been—Viktor’s hands on her back, her face pressed against his shoulder, eyes closed for a fleeting moment.
Hermione’s stomach plummeted.
"Oh, no."
She didn’t care much for gossip, but this was exactly the kind of thing that could snowball into ridiculous rumors. The Prophet had a way of twisting innocent moments into scandals.
She barely had time to process the situation when her office door swung open without warning.
Draco stood in the doorway, a copy of the newspaper clenched in his fist, his grey eyes flashing with something dangerous.
“Granger,” he said in a sharp tone, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.
Hermione groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Draco, please don’t—”
“Oh, I’m going to,” he cut her off, tossing the newspaper onto her desk. “Care to explain this?”
She exhaled, trying to remain calm. “It’s nothing. Viktor was in town for business, and we had lunch. That’s it.”
Draco let out a scoff, folding his arms across his chest. “Right. Because the Daily Prophet always publishes photos of two just friends looking like they’re about to start shagging in the middle of a restaurant.”
Hermione bristled. “That is not what it looks like, and you know it.”
Draco arched a brow. “Do I?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he walked toward her desk, planting his hands on the surface as he leaned in closer. “Tell me, Granger—did you enjoy it? Having lunch with Krum? Getting cozy with him in public?” His voice dropped lower. “Or was it nice to be seen with a man who doesn’t have to keep you a secret?”
That stung.
Hermione stood abruptly, pushing her chair back. “That’s not fair,” she snapped. “You have no right to be angry with me.”
Draco’s gaze darkened. “You’re mine, Hermione.”
Her breath hitched. “No, I’m not.”
Silence.
A storm passed through Draco’s eyes, emotions flickering too fast to read. For a moment, Hermione thought he might kiss her—he had that same dangerous intensity in his expression, the same one he had the night in the Muggle hotel when they first gave in to their desires.
But instead, he straightened, schooling his face into a mask of indifference.
“Fine,” he said smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “If you say it was nothing, then it was nothing.”
Hermione hated how cold his voice had become.
Draco turned, heading for the door. But just before he stepped out, he glanced over his shoulder and muttered, “Just don’t expect me to pretend I didn’t feel something when I saw that bloody photo.”
Then, without another word, he left.
And Hermione was left standing there, feeling more conflicted than ever.
Days passed, and Draco had not responded to Hermione’s letter.
At first, she told herself that he was probably busy with work, dealing with his international potion trade and his responsibilities as a husband and father. But as the days stretched on, it became clear—Draco Malfoy was ignoring her.
It was childish. Infuriatingly childish.
Hermione had had enough.
So, instead of sending another letter or waiting for him to come around, she marched straight to Malfoy International Potions Trade and strode past his assistant with nothing more than a polite but firm, “I won’t be long.”
The door to his office swung open with force as she stepped inside.
Draco was at his desk, looking over a set of parchment documents, but at the sight of her, he leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.
“Well, well,” he drawled lazily, tapping his quill against his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Granger?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, cut the act, Draco.” She marched toward him. “You’ve been ignoring me for days. It’s pathetic, and you know it.”
Draco arched a brow. “Pathetic? That’s a bit harsh.”
“What else would you call it?” she snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum.”
Draco exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say, Hermione? That I hated seeing you with him? That I’ve been trying to shake off this ridiculous feeling that I have no right to have?”
Hermione’s breath caught.
Draco stood abruptly, rounding the desk. He didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
His voice was lower now, rougher. “You don’t understand what you do to me.”
Hermione swallowed hard. “Draco…”
“I tried,” he murmured, his fingers grazing her wrist. “I tried to be mature about this. I told myself that I should stay away, but it’s bloody impossible when all I think about is you.”
Her resolve cracked. Everything cracked.
Because the next thing she knew, she had grabbed the front of his robes and kissed him.
Draco groaned against her lips, his arms wrapping around her as he pressed her against his desk, scattering papers onto the floor. The kiss was rough, desperate—a release of all the tension that had been building between them.
His fingers tangled in her hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer, like he never wanted to let her go.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths were ragged, their foreheads pressed together.
“This is dangerous,” Hermione whispered.
Draco smirked, his thumb tracing her cheek. “That’s never stopped us before.”
She should have walked away.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she pulled him into another kiss.
Draco's hands roamed over Hermione's body, gripping her hips possessively as he kissed her deeply. He lifted her onto his desk, knocking over a vase of flowers in the process. The shattering of ceramic barely registered as he pushed her skirt up, revealing her thighs.
"You're mine," he growled against her lips, his fingers hooking into her knickers and tugging them down. "Say it."
Hermione gasped as cool air hit her bare skin. She looked up at Draco, his grey eyes dark with desire, and felt a rush of heat between her legs.
"I'm yours," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist. Draco groaned, his hands squeezing her thighs as he pressed his hardness against her core through his trousers. He kissed her again, biting at her bottom lip, before trailing his mouth down her neck.
"Tell me what you want," Draco pulled back slightly, his chest heaving. With a flick of his wand, he cast a muffliato on the office, ensuring their privacy. The lock on the door clicked shut, sealing them inside.
"There," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Now no one will disturb us."
Hermione's heart raced as Draco's hands slid back up her thighs, his thumbs brushing teasingly close to her center. She bit her lip, arching into his touch.
"I want you," she whispered, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "I want to feel you inside me."
Draco's eyes flashed with desire. He shrugged off his robes, revealing his muscular chest beneath.His hands moved to his trousers, undoing the fastenings with expert ease.
"Lay back," he commanded, his voice sending shivers down Hermione's spine.
Hermione leaned back on the desk, her hair spreading out around her like a halo. Draco stepped between her legs, his trousers now pooled at his ankles. He gripped his hard length, stroking it slowly as he gazed at her sprawled out before him.
"You're so bloody beautiful," he murmured, positioning himself at her entrance. He teased her with the tip, coating himself in her wetness. "Tell me again, Hermione. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours," she breathed, her hips lifting instinctively. Draco groaned, his control snapping. With one swift thrust, he entered her, burying himself to the hilt.
Hermione cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. Draco stilled for a moment, allowing her to adjust to his size. Then, he began to move, setting a relentless pace that had the desk creaking beneath them.
"Yes," Hermione's legs tightened around Draco's waist as he pounded into her, his hips slamming against hers with each powerful thrust. The desk shook violently, papers and quills scattering across the floor.
Draco's hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he drove deeper, harder.
"Yes, Draco!" Hermione cried out, her head thrown back in ecstasy. She could feel the pressure building inside her, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. Draco leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss as he changed the angle of his hips, hitting that sweet spot inside her that made her see stars.
"Come for me, Hermione," he growled against her lips, his voice strained with his own impending release. His hand snaked between them, finding her clit and rubbing it in tight circles. That was all it took to send Hermione tumbling over the edge.
Hermione's orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her inner walls clamping down around Draco's cock as she convulsed beneath him. She screamed his name, her fingers tangling in his hair as wave after wave of pleasure washed through her. Draco followed her over the edge, his own release tearing through him with the force of a hurricane. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his hot seed.
"Fuck, Hermione," he panted, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax. He collapsed onto her, his weight pressing her into the desk as they both struggled to catch their breath. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as their hearts raced in sync. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the ministry, not their pasts, not the consequences of their actions.
Draco lifted his head, his grey eyes meeting Hermione's as he caught his breath. A rare, genuine smile spread across his face, softening his sharp features.
"I've never done that before," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "Had sex in an office, I mean."
Hermione's brows rose in surprise. Draco chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
"Don't look so shocked. I'm not exactly the type to screw a girl on the desk." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "But with you... I can't seem to control myself. You drive me bloody insane, Hermione." Draco pulled back, his gaze intense. "That was the best sex I've ever had," he confessed, his thumb tracing her jawline.
"And I want to do it again. And again."
Hermione stumbled through the door of her flat, heart racing and mind spinning from the heat of her encounter with Draco. Every kiss, every heated whisper still lingered on her skin like a warm glow. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing away the world and all its expectations, leaving only the chaotic pulse of her thoughts.
She leaned against the door for a moment, trying to catch her breath, trying to sort through the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. But the realization hit her with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs—she was in love with Draco Malfoy.
The very thought sent a wave of warmth through her, followed immediately by a cold wave of panic. How could this be happening?
He was married. He had a family.
But in that moment, none of that mattered. All she could think about was the way he looked at her, the way he held her, and how effortlessly he made her feel alive.
With shaky hands, she made her way to the small cabinet where she kept her potions. It felt like a ritual now, a necessary step to maintain some semblance of control. She retrieved the contraceptive potion, the small vial gleaming ominously in the soft light of her kitchen.
After taking a deep breath, she downed the potion, feeling the familiar bitterness slide down her throat.
Hermione placed the empty vial on the counter, her heart still racing, but now for an entirely different reason. She had to confront the truth of her feelings. This wasn’t just a fling or an affair that would fizzle out. It was a connection she couldn’t deny, a spark ignited by years of unacknowledged chemistry and passion that had finally caught fire.
“I can’t let him go,” she whispered to herself, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. “Not now.”
But then a wave of guilt washed over her. What about Astoria? What about Scorpius? The thought of Draco’s wife and child gnawed at her conscience. They were a family, and she was stepping into dangerous territory, risking everything for the sake of a love that could never fully blossom in the light.
Yet, standing there in her flat, she couldn’t help but feel exhilarated by the idea of pursuing this connection, of allowing herself to embrace whatever this was between her and Draco.
Determined, she pulled out a quill and parchment, deciding to write to Draco.
Dear Draco,
I’m not going to pretend that what we have isn’t real. It is, and I’ve tried to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. You mean too much to me, and I refuse to let you slip away. If this is to be our secret, then let’s embrace it fully.
Yours, Hermione.
She folded the letter, her heart racing as she thought about sending it. There was no going back now.
With one last glance around her flat, she set out to find Draco, knowing that this time, she would fight for what they had—no matter the cost.
