Chapter 3
Pansy and Potter’s new home was a penthouse—a duplex, to be precise—located in Muggle London. The building was discreetly filled with witches and wizards, which conveniently allowed for a Floo connection. Harry still kept his house at Grimmauld Place, but when he proposed to Pansy, they decided to start their life together somewhere new. They wanted a home unburdened by the weight of war history—something fresh and full of promise for their future.
Besides, Pansy was thoroughly enjoying the pleasures of the Muggle world. She had quickly become a fan of shopping centres, spas, restaurants, and all the conveniences that came with living in Muggle London. It also offered them a life free from the lingering shadows of their past.
Sure, the penthouse was a little extravagant for Potter’s usually modest tastes, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do to indulge his future wife. He was utterly besotted with Pansy, and Draco, to his surprise, found himself genuinely happy for both of his friends.
After leaving the kitchen, Draco realised most of the guests were mingling on the terrace. He spotted the She-Weasley with Blaise Zabini, one of the twins—he didn’t bother distinguishing which—and another redhead he vaguely knew worked with dragons. Neville Longbottom had also joined the gathering, along with Daphne Greengrass and Luna Lovegood.
The first to approach him were the Weasley girl and Blaise.
“Malfoy,” the redhead greeted him first, her tone civil..
No ‘Ferret’ today? How refreshing, he thought.
“Weasley,” he replied politely, before turning to his old friend. “Blaise, I thought you were still in Italy.”
“You know how Pansy is, mate. She’d kill me if I missed her housewarming party,” Zabini said, running a hand over the back of his neck with a small smirk. Then, with a glance at the redhead, he added, “Though I was happy to have an excuse to come back sooner and see Red.” He pointed his chin toward his girlfriend. “Managing the family estate has been exhausting. I thought being rich meant I didn’t have to work.”
“Poor darling,” Weasley quipped with mock sympathy. “Speaking of hard work, Harry told me about your last raid to catch Rowle. Congratulations, Malfoy. I’ll admit, I had my doubts about you partnering with Harry, but he’s always gushing about how your teamwork has massively improved the imprisonment rates.”
It was the first time someone outside the Auror Department had acknowledged his efforts in catching Dark wizards. He was so used to being met with mistrust and side-eyed suspicion that the unexpected recognition caught him off guard.
Even though he told himself repeatedly that he didn’t care about others’ opinions—especially a Weasley’s—he couldn’t deny the small warmth blooming in his chest. It felt good, though he’d never admit it aloud.
Luckily, Lovegood appeared out of nowhere, sparing him the indignity of having to say something nice to a Weasley. How she managed to always seem both nowhere and everywhere at once was a mystery Draco would never solve.
She floated into the conversation with her usual ethereal air, her gaze dreamy and distant, as if her mind were permanently residing in an alternate universe.
“Draco,” she greeted, as though she were speaking to a breeze.
Why she thought they were friendly enough for first names, Draco had no idea. But Lovegood had never bothered with formalities like using his surname, and he suspected she never would.
“Lovegood,” he replied dryly, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Her large, luminous eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that felt unsettling, as though she were peering into some part of him he didn’t want seen. She didn’t say anything for a moment too long, and he felt the urge to shift under her gaze.
Just as he was about to step away from the awkward interaction, her voice broke through.
“You’re having quite a lucky streak tonight, aren’t you?”
Draco frowned, caught off guard. “What are you on about?”
Her lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile, her eyes drifting past him for a moment, as though she could see something beyond the veil of reality—something he couldn’t. “Luck can be a curious thing,” she said vaguely, her voice carrying a haunting, melodic note. “Sometimes, it doesn’t give you what you think you want but rather what you need.”
He stared at her, utterly baffled, trying to decide whether her words were profound or nonsensical. Before he could form a response, she hummed softly to herself, nodded as if confirming some internal thought, and began to wander away in that ethereal way she had, as if gravity barely held her to the earth.
But then, a thought struck him—a memory of Theo’s grumbled complaints earlier. Acting on impulse, he blurted, “Lovegood!”
She paused, tilting her head back towards him with a serene expression, her wide eyes blinking slowly.
“So… you’re ghosting Theo?” he asked with a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
Luna’s expression remained serene, a spark of amusement danced in her eyes. “Theo needs time to deal with the Wrackspurts that are plaguing his head,” she said, as though it were the most obvious explanation in the world.
“Right…” Draco replied slowly, trying and failing to make sense of her logic. “So, you’re not ghosting him?”
“Oh, no, I’m definitely ghosting him,” she added matter-of-factly, as if announcing the weather.
“I’m sure he’d love to hear an explanation of why you’re ghosting him,” Draco said, arching an eyebrow.
Luna’s lips twitched into a faint smile, and she replied airily, “Oh, Theo will be fine. He just needs time—he’s not quite ready yet. I prefer to keep my… interactions very diverse.”
Draco smirked. “He’s very diverse himself, you know that.”
“With a Weasley involved? Not yet,” Luna said, her gaze drifting slightly, as though she were watching something behind them.
Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What Weasley are we talking about? Because I highly doubt it’s Red.”
Luna’s lips curved into a smile. “Oh, it’s not the chaser of the family,” she replied lightly. “More like the one who knows how to make people laugh… even when they don’t think they can.”
Draco stared at her, the pieces falling into place. “Bloody hell… you mean—”
But before he could finish, Luna simply wandered off, leaving him baffled and mildly entertained.
Draco’s astonishment was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Theo’s exaggerated laugh, followed closely by Granger stepping onto the terrace. From the way their voices carried, it was clear they were locked in yet another heated debate—this time, judging by the snippets he caught, about Muggle devices.
Theo gestured animatedly, sounding a little exasperated but laced with amusement. Granger, on the other hand, looked ready to launch into a full lecture, her eyes alight with that familiar intensity she reserved for defending her passions.
But Draco was on a mission tonight, so he approached the pair, interrupting their heated conversation.
“Sorry, mate,” he said to Theo with a smirk. “I believe I have an unfinished conversation with Granger here. She left me with some rather… intriguing thoughts while we were talking in the kitchen.”
“Oh!” Theo grinned wickedly. “Don’t mind me.” He shrugged. “I can definitely tell there’s something brewing between you two. But for the love of Merlin, if anything happens… and you’re feeling adventurous,” he leaned in with a mock-pleading expression, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “do give me a call. I call dibs on you both—or at the very least, let me watch!”
Draco shot Theo a glare that could have frozen fire, barely resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. Still, the memory of Lovegood’s comments surfaced, and he couldn’t help but think that Theo might soon call dibs on a different pair entirely.
Granger, on the other hand, looked thoroughly amused, her lips twitching as if she were holding back laughter.
“So… would you like me to fetch you a drink?” Draco asked, noting she wasn’t holding anything at the moment.
“Hmmm,” she murmured as she reached out and plucked the tumbler of Firewhisky from his hand. “If you don’t mind sharing yours.”
Sooner than he could respond, she brought the glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. Her tongue darted out to lick the remnants from her lips, an innocent enough gesture that left Draco entirely fascinated.
“I don’t mind at all,” he replied, his voice lower than he intended.
In truth, he was fixated. Every movement of her mouth seemed to pull him further under her spell, and he could feel tension building in his trousers.
“The Pilates thing,” Draco began, trying to convey nonchalance. You like sports? I thought you didn’t back then.”
Granger scoffed, crossing her arms as her gaze narrowed. “No, I didn’t like Quidditch. That doesn’t mean I fit the stereotype of a swot who doesn’t enjoy sports or having fun. There are plenty of Muggle activities I love. But, of course, you wouldn’t know—seeing as back then, you were far too busy fixating on my blood status to notice anything else.”
He winced at her comment—it stung because it was true. What had he been thinking, talking to Granger as though their shared history wasn’t steeped in animosity? As though he had any right to speak to her so casually?
Before he could even attempt an apology, she surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder. Her expression softened, and she sheepishly added, “Sorry, that came out wrong. I know you’re not the same person anymore. Forgive me. What I meant was, yes, everyone thinks I’m just a swot.”
“Please, you don’t have to apologise,” he said quickly. “I’m the one who should be apologising to you. I know I’ve said it before—when I got out of Azkaban—but I also know it will never be enough, and I certainly don't think you are just a swot.”
He felt the familiar pressure settle in his chest, heavy and suffocating. The weight of his past was always there, lingering, relentless. Some days, it was so overwhelming that it made it hard to breathe.
She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting her hand fall away, offering him a shy smile. “I still don’t like Quidditch, though,” she added, a playful glint in her eyes.
“And yet you’ve been casually seeing a professional Quidditch player for a year,” he blurted before he could stop himself.
“Pansy and her big mouth,” she sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not a big deal. Krum’s easy—we’re both busy, so it works. I enjoy his company once in a while, but I don’t want or need the complications of a relationship.”
“How is it that this is the first real conversation we’ve had after nearly three years of being in the same social circle?” he asked.
She shrugged lightly. “I suppose we’ve both been busy minding our own affairs. Maybe we just never got the chance. Honestly, I never thought you’d be interested in speaking to me, so I just let you be. Besides, I imagine it’s a bit overwhelming, being surrounded by so many loud Gryffindors all the time.”
“Oh, I’m interested. I’ve always been interested—in having a conversation with you, that is,” he said. “I just didn’t want to make it unpleasant for you, having to talk to me.”
Her eyebrows arched slightly, and a small smile played on her lips. “Unpleasant? I don’t know, Malfoy,” she said, teasing him. “You might have underestimated my capacity to tolerate your sneers and your obsession with your hair. So far, I’m surviving this conversation just fine.”
He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips, light and genuine. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope—a chance, perhaps, to move beyond their fraught history. Despite everything, he wanted to know Granger more.
He realised then that his fascination with her in their youth had always been rooted in admiration, though it had been poisoned by bigotry and his own cowardice. Yet, beneath all of that, the admiration had never truly faded.
And now, standing here, he had the strangest feeling. If she let him, if she gave him even the smallest chance, he’d want to keep her in his life. Maybe even forever. He felt a pang in his chest.
Feeling the confidence of the potion coursing through him and emboldened by the moment, Draco asked, “Would you be interested?”
Hermione tilted her head, raising a single, questioning eyebrow. “Interested? In what precisely, Malfoy?”
“In having a casual conversation with me,” he replied.
She smirked faintly. “Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing right now?”
Draco hesitated for a beat before stepping closer, lowering his voice just enough to add a touch of intrigue. “What if I wanted to do it more? Not just now, but on other occasions. What if… I wanted to ask you out?”
“It depends,” she said thoughtfully. “Like I told you, I’m not interested in a relationship. While Krum and I aren’t exclusive, I tend to avoid other… encounters. I don't have enough time and I don’t like making things messy.” She paused, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of curiosity. “But I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. So, if you can respect my boundaries, I don’t see why not.”
“What intrigues you?” he asked, curiosity laced with a hint of vulnerability.
Her gaze lingered on him, slowly trailing from his eyes to his neck, pausing at his lips, then down to his chest before returning to his mouth. Barely above a whisper, she said, “Many things… but right now, I think I’d like to know how your lips taste.”
Bloody hell. If he’d had any lingering doubts about Theo’s concoction working, Granger’s answer obliterated them. She wanted to taste him. And Merlin help him, he wanted—no, needed—to taste her too.
Before he could overthink it, he closed the space between them in one swift, instinctive move. Her hands rose to cradle his face with unexpected tenderness, and then her lips met his, searing and soft all at once.
Her lips were warm and insistent, parting slightly as her tongue teased him in a dance that was both demanding and tender. The kiss sparked something primal within him, a fire that burned hotter with each passing second.
He felt her fingers trail to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair and pulling just enough to send a shiver racing down his spine. She wasn’t just kissing him; she was consuming him, and he was more than willing to be devoured.
A soft moan escaped her lips as she shifted her attention to his neck, her warm breath and open mouth kisses igniting a spark that shot straight to his cock. The tension was unbearable, and he felt like he might come undone right there.
Unable to resist, he grabbed her chin desperately, guiding her mouth back to his. His lips crashed against hers, his hunger for her consuming every thought. He kissed her raw, fervent, and unrelenting, as though he were trying to pour every ounce of desire into her, needing her to feel just how undone she was making him.
He couldn’t control his hands; he needed to feel her, to memorise the way her body fit against him. His fingers trailed down the curve of her back before boldly cupping her deliciously firm ass, she gifted him with a sharp nip in his lower lip when he gave it a possessive squeeze.
This wasn’t just a kiss anymore—it was a claim. And what set his blood aflame was that she wasn’t resisting—she was giving herself to him, entirely and without hesitation.
In that moment of fiery connection, Draco knew he was utterly, irreversibly gone. He wished—Merlin, how he wished—that he could be lucky enough for her to want to keep him. Hell, he wanted her to claim him, to make him hers entirely.
But deep down, in the shadowed corners of his mind, he knew the truth. Hermione Granger wasn’t his to have. This was a fleeting moment—one that seared itself into his soul, branding him with the taste and feel of her. A moment so exquisite it left him aching, but one he knew he could never claim her for himself.
To his immense displeasure, she broke the kiss to gasp for air. They were both breathing heavily, their lips swollen, and Salazar, she was a vision—flushed, tousled, and positively sinful.
How no one had interrupted them, Draco couldn’t fathom. Surely, they were putting on quite the show, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Then, as if regaining her composure, she spoke first. He braced himself for the inevitable retreat, expecting her to step back with a polite excuse. But instead, she did something that left him completely undone.
“Would you like to continue this…” she murmured teasingly, “… in my flat? It’s two floors down.”
And just to make sure he was absolutely ruined, she bit her lower lip, her eyes sparkling with a naughtiness that sent heat racing through his veins.
Draco’s brain was a pile of mush, and all he could manage was a garbled, “Hmm… nhg.”
Apparently, that was enough for her. With a spark of enthusiasm, she yanked him by the wrist, a confident smirk playing on her lips, and led him toward her flat.