Chapter 8
Dinner couldn’t come fast enough. Draco could swear the day was dragging on slower than usual. It was a quiet day in the Auror Department—he had already finished all his paperwork from his last mission, and they were at a dead end in their pursuit of their current targets, Dolohov and Yaxley. He knew the former Death Eaters were in hiding, but every time they closed in on a location, the Dark Wizards were one step ahead.
Potter was equally frustrated—two weeks of dead ends had left him in a foul mood. It was becoming increasingly clear that something dangerous was brewing, and they needed to catch Dolohov soon. He was a big fish these days, and letting him slip through their fingers wasn’t an option.
“What’s going on with you today?” Potter asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’ve got this ridiculous grin on your face, and you’re barely paying attention to work.”
“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco snarled.
“Oh! Does this have anything to do with your date with Hermione today?”
Draco’s head snapped towards him. “And how the fuck do you know about that?”
Potter smirked. “Don’t be naive, mate. Theo told Pansy, obviously—and she told me. You’re practically a favourite topic of discussion these days.”
“Let me guess… this is the part where you give me the whole ‘If you hurt Granger, I’ll hex you into oblivion’ speech?”
Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Do you honestly think I’m worried about you hurting Hermione? If anything, I’m concerned for you —you are absolutely besotted.”
“Yeah, Granger is… ruthless. She seems to have developed an allergy to anything resembling a relationship—unless it involves just shagging.”
Potter grimaced. “Right, well, I suppose I walked into that one. But for Merlin’s sake, spare me the details—I have no interest in hearing about you two shagging.”
Draco smirked, but it faded when Potter hesitated, his expression growing more serious.
“Hermione… after the Battle of Hogwarts, she changed,” he said, trailing off before sighing heavily. “What I’m trying to say is, this whole no strings attached thing—it’s not just about not wanting a relationship. It’s how she copes. She throws herself into work, avoids anything too meaningful… It’s just the way she deals with things.”
A sharp pang of guilt twisted in Draco’s chest. How could he expect her to want a relationship with him, of all people? After everything that had happened between them—the insults, the cruelty, the way he had spat Mudblood at her like it was nothing.
And worse than that, the torture she endured. The torture he witnessed and did nothing to stop.
The very word he once used against her was now carved into her skin, a permanent mark because of his family. Was it any wonder she kept her walls up? That she refused to let anyone, especially him , get too close?
Potter, with his infuriating habit of meddling in other people’s lives—especially his —and his irritatingly sharp intuition, said, “Don’t go there, Malfoy. This isn’t about you. She’s been keeping people at arm’s length for a long time now. The only reason she doesn’t push me away is because we live in the same building… and because Pansy is relentlessly nosy.”
They both snorted.
“No one can keep Pansy away,” Draco conceded with a smirk.
Harry chuckled but then, in a rare moment of sincerity, said, “Look, I know it’s not my place, but I consider you a friend too. And if it helps, I think you and Hermione make sense. You’re a good person, Draco—whether you believe it or not. And the two of you? You’re more alike than you realise.”
Draco groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Potter, do you have to be so infuriatingly nice? It’s getting really hard to hate you these days.”
“Nah, don’t worry—I’ll be back to mocking your ridiculous hair routine in no time. Can’t have you thinking we’re actually friends.”
****
With only minutes left before he Flooed to Granger’s flat and Apparated them to the restaurant, he stood in front of the mirror at the Manor, making the final, necessary adjustments to his hair. His chosen ensemble—a dark grey, perfectly tailored suit—fit him like a second skin. The crisp white dress shirt was left strategically unbuttoned, just enough to maintain an air of effortless charm… and, well, to show off the physique he was particularly proud of. Slim fit trousers and polished black dragonhide chelsea boots completed the look, modern yet refined.
Despite years working as an Auror and keeping a low profile, he still attracted the wrong kind of attention—those who clung to their resentment for former Death Eaters, and frankly, he couldn’t blame them. People had lost loved ones, suffered horrors he could never undo. But it did make choosing a restaurant tricky. He needed somewhere discreet, somewhere that wouldn’t invite unnecessary scrutiny.
A Muggle restaurant had been an option. Over the years, Draco had grown familiar with Muggle cuisine, but tonight, he didn’t want to hold back. He didn’t want to waste energy being cautious or suppressing magic. Tonight, he wanted the night to feel magical—in every sense.
In the end, he chose Lumé, a contemporary European restaurant with an intimate yet elegant atmosphere. A place with soft, floating orbs of light, cascading florals, and a menu that was exquisite. More importantly, the chef knew him—he’d been there before, ensuring a level of familiarity that would make the evening seamless.
After a final sweep of his hair—and nearly downing an entire tumbler of Firewhisky for good measure—he stepped into the Floo at precisely one minute to eight and arrived at Granger’s place.
And nothing— nothing —could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him.
She was standing by the fireplace, waiting for him, and she was breathtaking.
The dress— Merlin’s bloody balls, the dress—clung to her body like sin, deep red silk molding to every devastating curve. The neckline was low and square-cut, teasing just enough to drive a man to madness, while the slit along her thigh hinted at far too many wicked thoughts.
Her hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, long and effortless, framing a face that was both infuriatingly brilliant and irresistible.
And then she smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not one of her usual smirks laced with exasperation. No, this was real, warm, radiant. The Golden Girl.
Draco Malfoy was, for the first time in his life, completely speechless.
“I see you’ve mastered the art of impeccable timing,” she teased, amusement dancing in her eyes.
He straightened, willing himself to keep it together. Do not gawk. Do not act like a fool.
“Please, Granger,” he drawled, forcing himself to sound as casual as possible. “I’m a gentleman—I’d never keep a lady waiting. It’s just one of my many charming qualities.”
She arched a brow. “Oh? And here I thought your charming qualities were limited to your hair routine and insufferable arrogance.”
He took a slow step toward her. Then another. He could smell her now—jasmine, earthy cedar, and the faintest hint of blackberry. Fuck . That scent alone could ruin a man.
His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, letting his breath ghost over hers.
“Granger…” His voice dropped, rich with desire. “You can say whatever you like about how insufferable I am…” He watched, thrilled, as her gaze flicked to his mouth, her tongue darting out briefly to wet her lips, sending a shock of heat straight through his cock. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed the way your breath hitches every time I get close.”
He trailed a knuckle along her throat—slowly—smirking at the shiver that ran through her.
“Don’t think I don’t see the way your body reacts when I’m this close.” His fingers skimmed along her jaw, tilting her chin up, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. “And definitely don’t think I don’t know that you wore this stunning dress for me—to ruin later.” His voice dropped lower. “To peel from your skin before I take my time tasting every inch of you.”
Her breath hitched beautifully.
And sod it, he was gone.
His lips crashed against hers, a kiss that was all heat and hunger and weeks of tension finally snapping. She moaned into his mouth, and bloody hell, that sound alone nearly destroyed him.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers tangling into his hair, pulling, tugging, her body pressing against his.
Salazar, he wanted to let her.
His hands roamed, gripping her waist, skimming over the swell of her hips, mapping the lines of her body like he’d never get another chance.
For a reckless, glorious second, he considered scrapping dinner altogether—considered pressing her against the nearest wall and feasting on her instead.
But then, he forced himself to stop.
Not like this. Not just sex. Not just one night. He wanted more. All of it.
Panting, he tore himself away, barely resisting the urge to dive right back in. Resting his forehead against hers, he breathed her in, steadied himself.
“You…” His voice was rough. “You look beautiful.” It wasn’t a compliment. It was a fact, a confession.
She was still breathless, lips kiss-bruised and wrecked for him, but then she smiled again. “You look handsome too.”
Draco let out a shaky laugh, running a hand down his face, trying to gather himself.
This bloody witch was going to ruin him.
After a moment, she smoothed down her dress, fixing her makeup with a casual flick of her wand. Then, with the same damn teasing smile, she reached for his lips, dabbing away the red lipstick smudged against his skin.
He wouldn’t have minded keeping it there for the whole world to see.
Extending his arm, he smirked. “Shall we?”
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, fingers curling around him like she always belonged there.
“Let’s,” she said.
And with a twist, he Apparated them away.
Lumé was magic—in the most literal and figurative sense.
The restaurant’s name was no exaggeration. Soft orbs of light drifted lazily through the air, casting an ethereal glow across the space. The terrace, where Draco had made their reservation, was particularly enchanting. The floating lights shimmered like scattered stars against the deep indigo sky, while vibrant bougainvillea vines wove around the pillars, their fuchsia blossoms adding a touch of wild beauty to the otherwise sleek space.
Granger inhaled softly, her eyes sweeping over the glowing orbs above them. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” she murmured. “Magic. Sometimes, it feels like stepping into a fairytale.”
Draco, already pulling out her chair, paused at her words.
“Being Muggleborn…” she continued, settling in. “It means I never take any of this for granted.”
He considered her for a moment before lowering himself into his own seat. “I get it… though not for the same reasons.” His eyes traced the soft curve of her smile, the way the candlelight flickered in her whisky-hued eyes.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how breathtaking you are.”
She blinked, her lips parting slightly.
“All of you,” he continued. “Your fire. Your wit. You make everything around you feel more alive.”
For the first time in the night, Granger seemed genuinely caught off guard. A soft blush bloomed across her cheeks, and she tucked a curl behind her ear, looking almost shy.
“That’s…” she exhaled, shaking her head slightly, “that’s very sweet of you to say, Malfoy.”
Draco smirked. “I’m full of surprises.”
Before she could retort, they were interrupted by a well-dressed young man, who welcomed them to Lumé with a polished smile. With practiced elegance, he introduced the evening’s seasonal specials, detailing how each selection was perfectly complemented by expertly curated wine pairings.
Draco opted for a herb-crusted rack of lamb, served with rosemary-infused jus, potato gratin, and charred baby carrots. Granger, on the other hand, chose the pan-seared sea bass, placed over saffron risotto with a champagne beurre blanc sauce.
For the wine, Draco had already planned ahead. A 1989 Château Margaux. Bold, structured, and impossibly smooth—notes of blackcurrant, cedar, and a hint of violet lingered with every sip.
He took a slow taste, letting the deep, layered richness coat his tongue before setting his glass down with a satisfied hum.
Granger followed suit, her lips pressing together thoughtfully as the wine unfolded against the delicate saffron of her risotto.
“I’ll admit, Malfoy…” she said, swirling her glass lightly. “You have exceptional taste.”
Draco smirked, leaning back with practiced ease. “Obviously.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the small, reluctant smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.
And just like that, the night unfolded effortlessly.
Conversation flowed as naturally as the wine. They debated Arithmancy theories, engaged in light-hearted arguments over Muggle technology, and at one point, Granger actually laughed out loud when Draco attempted to demonstrate just how much he’d improved at texting on his mobile.
Everything felt surreal.
Too easy. Too good.
And every single time he was gifted with Granger’s unguarded laughter, Draco had to resist the ridiculous urge to pinch himself—just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.
After a brief lull in conversation. A moment of silence between them. Draco took another slow sip of wine, letting its warmth settle before tilting his head slightly. His lips curled into a smirk.
“It’s not entirely unbearable, is it?” he mused. “Having dinner with me, that is.”
Granger hummed thoughtfully, taking her own measured sip before setting her glass down with deliberate slowness.
Then, teasingly, she leaned in slightly.
“Well…” she said, as if carefully considering her words. “The food is excellent, the wine is exquisite… and you…” She exhaled dramatically. “Are surprisingly tolerable .”
Draco huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, Granger, you’re not the easiest witch to pin down.” He tapped his fingers against the stem of his wine glass. “So, tell me—does surprisingly tolerable earn me a second date?”
Her smile wavered for the briefest moment.
And then, like a shift in the wind, the air changed.
She exhaled a small sigh, fingers tracing along the rim of her glass. “I know I’ve been… very unavailable,” she admitted quietly. “Sometimes, it’s hard to pull myself away from work.”
Her gaze drifted, unfocused, as if she were suddenly elsewhere—lost in thoughts far heavier than the moment.
Barely above a whisper, she added, almost to herself, “I have to save them.”
Draco’s stomach twisted.
His Auror instincts sharpened.
“Granger.” His tone was quieter now, concerned. “Who do you need to save?”
Surely, if someone close to her was in danger, he would know. Potter was his partner, after all—there was no way in hell Potter wouldn’t be relentless in helping her if something serious was going on.
Yet… Draco hadn’t heard a thing.
“All of them,” she answered cryptically.
With measured slowness, she set down her wine glass.
“Being labeled as the brightest witch of your age comes with… burdens,” she admitted. “Especially since I started working as a blood curse breaker.”
Draco watched as she swallowed down the lump in her throat.
He saw it—the quiet battle, the way she was struggling not to unravel right there in front of him.
“I get so many letters,” she whispered. “So many pleas for help. Every case is complicated, unique in its own way. And sometimes… sometimes it feels like I’m drowning.”
Without thinking, Draco reached for her hand, squeezing it firmly.
“Hermione,” he whispered. “You can’t save everyone.”
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
“I know you have a big heart,” he continued, softer now. “And you’ll fight tooth and nail for every single one of them—but that doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself in the process.” He held her gaze.
As if snapping out of a trance, she blinked, her expression shifting.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to dampen the evening with all this.”
Draco didn’t let go of her hand.
“I meant what I said earlier, Granger. I want to know you. All of you.”
She studied him carefully. Then, after a long moment, she exhaled.
Draco let the moment settle before speaking again. “You don’t have to do this alone. Have you ever considered training someone to help with the workload?”
She sighed, rubbing her temple. “I’ve tried, believe me. But my approach is… unconventional. Too intertwined with Muggle science.” Her fingers traced absent circles against her wine glass. “That’s why I’m doing a PhD in Medical Science at Cambridge. But every time I try to train someone, it falls apart when we reach immunology, genetics, or biochemistry. The magical world doesn’t have a foundation in those fields, and bridging the gap isn’t exactly easy.”
Draco frowned, intrigued. “How does all that even work with blood curses?”
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “It’s complicated,” she admitted. “Blood magic is deeply linked to genetics—whether magical or not, we all inherit traits from our ancestors. After all, we are the same species. Muggle science, especially immunology and gene therapy, has advanced so much in understanding how to treat diseases at a cellular level.”
Draco watched as she leaned forward, completely in her element now. He had seen Hermione Granger in many moods—infuriated, smug, determined—but this? This was something else. Her enthusiasm burned bright, and he couldn’t look away.
“So I started researching,” she continued, voice alight with the kind of passion that made him forget everything else. “If Muggle medicine can isolate and treat diseases, why not blood curses? Why not use it to aid magic, like the curse is some sort of infection—target it at the molecular level, weaken its grip, and break it?”
Fuck, she is brilliant . He had spent his life surrounded by rigid, ancient magical traditions that dictated what was possible and what wasn’t. And here was Hermione, casually suggesting something that could rewrite everything they knew.
He let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, Granger. And here I thought I was just taking you out to dinner—not getting a front-row seat to a revolution in curse breaking.”
She huffed a quiet laugh but shook her head. “I just wish people wanted to learn,” she admitted, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. “Every time I explain my methods, they’re either dismissed as too complicated, or worse, brushed off as Muggle nonsense. ” Her voice softened. “It’s a lonely path.”
Draco studied her for a long moment before speaking. Fuck it .
“I want to learn.”
Hermione blinked, clearly caught off guard.
“About your methods, your research,” he clarified. “Maybe even help.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “I am a Potions Master, after all. There’s a chance I could be useful.”
She stared at him, processing. “That’s… unexpected,” she said finally.
He smirked. “I like to keep you on your toes.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “I’d really like that, Malfoy.”
Then, as if the thought had only just struck her, she hesitated, her expression shifting. “Actually… next week, I have a presentation at Cambridge.”
Draco tilted his head, waiting.
“It’s nothing formal,” she added quickly. “It’s part of an outreach initiative—Muggles opening up scientific discussions to broader audiences. Obviously, I won’t be discussing the magical aspects, but—”
“Good,” he cut in smoothly. “Then I’ll be there.”
She blinked. “Just like that?”
He smirked. “What, you expected me to run screaming the moment you said Muggle scientific discussion?”
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, yes.”
Draco scoffed and leaned back. “Granger, I’m an Auror. I think I can handle a room full of Muggle academics.”
She gave him a look.
“…Probably,” he amended.
She let out a snort, shaking her head. “Ron and Harry are Aurors too. Last time I invited them, Harry tried to be supportive, but I could practically see his soul leaving his body halfway through. And Ron—Merlin—he actually dozed off and had the audacity to snore during the Q&A. It was mortifying.”
Draco let out a bark of laughter. “Honestly, Weasley falling asleep during an intellectual discussion might be the most predictable thing I’ve ever heard.”
She rolled her eyes. “It was as if his brain actively fought against absorbing information.”
After both of them laughed, her smile faltered a little. “You… you really want to come?” she asked, shyly.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table. “Granger, I told you—I want to understand what you do.” He smirked. “Besides, I’d love to watch you make an entire room full of Muggles feel intellectually inadequate.”
“It’s not like that. The whole point of these lectures is to make science more accessible, not to—” She caught the knowing look on his face and sighed. “Alright, fine , maybe I do enjoy watching their faces when I explain something complex in simple terms.”
Draco’s lips twitched. There she was.
The night had stretched on far longer than either of them had anticipated. By the time they finally left Lumé , the restaurant was half-empty, the floating orbs of light still lazily drifting above the terrace.
He guided her outside, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The night air was crisp, but the warmth between them made the chill irrelevant.
She tilted her head up at him, amused. “So? What now? Are you going to do something wildly ungentlemanly—Apparate straight into my flat and shag me senseless?”
Draco let out a low chuckle. “Granger, please. I’m a gentleman.”
She flashed him a wicked grin. “Debatable.”
He pointedly ignored her. “Besides,” he drawled, tilting his head, “I was actually thinking of something far more romantic.”
Her brows lifted, intrigued. “Oh? And what might that be?”
His lips quirked, gaze dipping—first to her mouth, then lower, lingering just enough to make her skin prickle with heat.
“I was considering,” he said smoothly, “pinning you against that lamp post over there and kissing you until you forget your own name.” His voice dropped to a velvet whisper. “And then letting you drag me into your flat so you can have your way with me.”
“You insufferable—”
“Ah-ah,” Draco tsked, grinning. “You can pretend all you like, but I know you want me to romance the hell out of you.”
She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “You’re so bloody arrogant.”
He stepped closer, leaning in just enough to brush her neck with his lips.
“And yet,” he murmured, “you’re still standing here.”
She exhaled, her lips parting slightly.
Draco watched as she hesitated—just for a moment—before reaching up, her fingers curling against his collar. He barely had time to react before she grabbed his tie, giving it a sharp tug.
He stumbled forward slightly, and then—Her lips crashed against his.
Bloody hell.
It was fire. Silk. Heat. She tasted like wine and honey, and Merlin , he wanted to devour her.
When she finally pulled away, Draco swallowed hard, his pulse hammering as he fought for composure.
“Right,” he rasped, voice rough. “Well. That settles it.”
Hermione, still breathless, frowned. “Settles what?”
Draco sneered, stepping back just enough to let his gaze rake over her—lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with each uneven breath.
“That I’m officially at your mercy,” he murmured. “Now, go on then, Granger—have your way with me.”
She blinked, momentarily stunned, before letting out an exasperated groan.
“Finally,” she muttered, rolling her eyes so hard he half-wondered if they’d get stuck. “You are so bloody insufferable.”
This time, she Apparated them straight onto her sofa, and the second they landed, her lips were on his—hot, urgent. He groaned against her mouth, his hands greedily roaming the curves of her body, gripping the perfect swell of her arse.
And then, fuck it—he lost all restraint. With a sharp tug, he tore her dress straight down the middle, the silky fabric pooling away from her body like it had never stood a chance.
Draco’s breath caught, his pupils dilating at the glorious sight before him. No bra. Just bare, perfect tits and the most sinful fucking curves he’d ever laid eyes on. His mouth went dry.
“Malfoy!” she gasped, momentarily breaking the kiss. “I really liked that dress!”
He barely heard her, too mesmerized by the way her tits rose and fell, her nipples pebbling under his gaze.
“I warned you I was going to ruin it,” he murmured darkly, dragging his hands up her bare sides before cupping her breasts, rolling his thumbs over the peaks just to hear her sharp inhale. His lips brushed her ear as he added, “And if you let me, I’ll buy you a thousand more. Any dress you want. I’ll lay them at your feet.”
Then, without waiting for an answer, he dipped his head, his tongue tracing her skin before closing his lips around her nipple, sucking just hard enough to make her moan—his new favorite fucking sound.
He laid her down on the sofa, his hands skimming down her body as he hooked his fingers into her tiny black knickers and dragged them down her legs, slow enough to make her squirm. Then, he parted her thighs, settling between them, but instead of diving in right away, he paused—just to look at her.
Fuck.
She was breathtaking. Spread out beneath him, panting, flushed, eyes dark with want. And her cunt—already glistening, already so fucking wet for him. His mouth watered at the sight, heat pooling low in his stomach.
He had never wanted anything more.
Lowering himself between her thighs, he trailed a teasing kiss along the inside of her leg, dragging it out, savoring her little huffs of impatience. Then, finally, finally, he licked a slow stripe over her slit, tasting her.
Merlin, she was divine.
A deep, guttural moan escaped him, his hands tightening around her thighs as he licked her again, greedier this time, lost in her. She was his addiction now—his favorite fucking indulgence—and he wasn’t stopping until she was coming undone on his tongue.
Just as he was about to properly devour her, the room was suddenly bathed in bright silver light. A familiar, infuriatingly unwelcome stag materialized before them.
“Malfoy, emergency—code four. Apparate to our usual meeting point immediately. Big fish spotted. Ron and Seamus are already in position.”
Of course, this wasn’t Draco’s lucky night. Just when he was about to have the most spectacular night of his damn life, Harry fucking Potter had to summon him like a badly timed nuisance. Draco let out a vicious snarl against Hermione’s thigh.
For fuck’s sake.
He let his forehead drop against the inside of her leg, groaning in frustration before looking up at her.
He forced himself to sit up, gripping Hermione’s thighs as if anchoring himself. Then, with a husky rasp, he muttered, “This is a fucking crime, Granger. An injustice of the highest order.”
Hermione blinked down at him, still breathless, still flushed, looking downright wrecked from his touch. And yet—her lips twitched with amusement.
“Well,” she mused, tone far too smug. “Duty calls, Auror Malfoy.”
This isn’t over,” he warned, full of promise.
With one last mournful glance at what could have been, Draco begrudgingly turned to Apparated away.
”Wait!” Granger called out, her voice cutting through the charged air. “Draco… be careful.”
He turned to look at her, caught off guard by the genuine concern in her eyes. It was subtle, but it was there—the way her brows pinched slightly, the way her lips parted like she wanted to say more but held back.
Something warm and dangerously close to hope stirred in his chest. She could fight it all she wanted—this thing between them, whatever it was—but he could feel it now. She was slipping. Maybe not all the way, not yet, but he could tell… she was getting there.
“Don’t worry, Granger. Nothing in this world is going to stop me from getting my hands—and my tongue—back on you. Believe me, I fully intend to finish what I started.”
And with that, he Disapparated.