#SaintxSinner

The morning sunlight streaming through Hermione’s window did little to soften her mood as she stared at her phone, lips pursed in a mix of irritation and… something else she wasn’t ready to name. Her notifications were, once again, out of control. Every time she refreshed her Chatter feed, more comments flooded in, fueled by Sinful_Scales’ latest post.

She hadn’t seen it yet—not directly. But she didn’t need to. Her mentions were a battlefield of fans tagging her with screenshots, all gleefully dissecting his words and intent.

> @DramaLlama: “@Innocent_Enigma He’s DEFINITELY talking about you. Are you going to respond?”

> @CovetChaos: “Saint x Sinner is the collab of the century, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Hermione groaned, sinking deeper into her pillow. Her thumb hovered over the notification for longer than she’d care to admit before she finally caved and clicked.

The video was already familiar—fans had flooded her mentions with clips and screenshots before she’d even gotten out of bed. Still, seeing it firsthand was… something else entirely. The golden lighting bathed him in warmth, softening the sharp edges of his tattoos and making the curve of his smirk that much sharper by comparison. He was seated in the same leather chair as before, his tie dangling from one of his fingers, his other arm draped lazily over the back of his armchair,  the rise and fall motion of his inked chest was unhurried, slow—a tease that paired perfectly with his caption.

> “Some challenges are worth the effort. Your move, love.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. The words were bold, but the delivery—low, smooth, and undeniably smug—was what sent heat curling through her chest. It wasn’t just the pose, the lighting, or the carefully curated tension. It was the way he said it, as if he already knew the answer and was just waiting for her to admit it.

“Arrogant prick,” she muttered, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed. But the image lingered, burned into her mind like the afterglow of staring too long at a bright light. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing herself to focus on anything else.

Instead, her thoughts betrayed her, looping back to the smirk, the tattoos, the challenge in his eyes. He’d posted it for her. Of course he had. The caption alone made that clear, even if his fans didn’t already treat their interactions like the internet’s favorite soap opera. He’d tailored it perfectly to get under her skin—to provoke a response she wasn’t willing to give.

Not publicly, anyway.

She shot him a dismissive DM but even that didn't feel like enough and she knew it. No matter, she didn't need to focus her thoughts on him any further. With a frustrated sigh, Hermione pushed herself up from the bed and padded to her desk. She had work to do—actual work, the kind that didn’t involve analyzing the psychological warfare tactics of a man who looked far too good in black leather. But as she opened her laptop and stared at the blank document in front of her, the words refused to come. Her mind was too busy replaying his video, dissecting every detail with clinical precision.

Why had he chosen that lighting? The golden hues weren’t his usual aesthetic—they were softer, closer to her own style. Had he done it on purpose? Was it a subtle nod, or was she overthinking this entirely?

She groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. “Get a grip, Granger. He’s just a man. An infuriating, self-absorbed, objectively attractive man.”

Her phone buzzed from the bed, and she glanced over despite herself. Another notification. Another tag. Another reminder that the entire internet was waiting for her to make a move.

Her jaw tightened as she stalked back to the bed and grabbed her phone, opening Covet with more force than necessary. If he wanted a proper response, fine. He’d get one. But it would be on her terms, not his.

She scrolled through her camera roll, searching for the perfect shot. Something bolder than her usual content but still undeniably hers. After a few minutes, she settled on a photo she’d taken weeks ago but hadn’t yet posted. The image was subtle—a full-body silhouette framed by soft light spilling through her bedroom window. Her reflection was blurred just enough to keep the air of mystery her fans loved, but her pose—one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other brushing her hair over one shoulder—conveyed a confidence she wasn’t entirely sure she felt in the moment.

She added a caption, her fingers moving instinctively across the keyboard:

> “Grace under pressure. Let’s see if others can say the same. 🕊️✨”

Hermione hesitated only briefly before hitting post. The photo uploaded in seconds, and the notifications began almost immediately. She set her phone down, ignoring the temptation to watch the comments roll in. Instead, she returned to her desk, opening her laptop again with renewed determination.

But even as she tried to focus on her work, a small, defiant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Let him make the next move. She was ready .

Draco’s phone buzzed from where it rested on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a preview of a notification. The smirk on his face widened as he picked it up, already knowing what he’d find. Another post from Innocent_Enigma was spreading like wildfire, her fans tagging him with near-religious fervor.

Her new photo was… bolder. The silhouette of her figure framed by golden light was striking, soft yet undeniably provocative. She’d captured that perfect balance of mystery and allure, her caption cutting right through his latest challenge.

> “Grace under pressure. Let’s see if others can say the same. 🕊️✨”

Draco tipped his head back against the leather couch, his free hand running lazily through his hair. She was good. Better than he’d given her credit for, if he was being honest. Subtle, yes, but sharp enough to draw blood if someone wasn’t paying attention. He opened the post again, his eyes scanning the details of her photo. She’d chosen her words carefully, left just enough unsaid to keep her fans guessing.

And him.

He tapped his thumb against the edge of his phone, debating his next move. She wanted a response, even if she wouldn’t admit it outright. Her post was a direct answer to his own, and the unspoken dare in her caption practically begged for escalation.

“Nice play, Granger,” he muttered to himself, setting the phone down as he leaned forward. The glass of whiskey he’d poured earlier was still half-full, the faint scent of peat and smoke curling in the air. He took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in his chest as he considered his options.

The fans were already going wild. A quick scroll through the comments confirmed that much.

> @CovetQueen: “SINCE WHEN IS ENIGMA THIS BOLD? SCREAMING.”

> @ShipItHard: “Okay but the way they’re practically TALKING to each other in captions? This is foreplay. Don’t @ me.”

> @ThirstyForScales: “Draco… buddy… we need a RESPONSE. She’s calling you OUT.”

Draco chuckled, setting the glass down with a soft clink. His audience had become an active participant in their game, and he… didn’t entirely hate it. The public’s attention was a double-edged sword, but it added an undeniable energy to the back-and-forth. Hermione’s ability to play her part without overreaching only made it more entertaining.

He unlocked his phone and opened Covet, scrolling briefly through his own feed before settling on the camera icon. The idea formed as he adjusted the lighting in the room, dimming the overheads and letting the warm glow from a single floor lamp wash over the leather and metal of his surroundings. He’d let her set the tone; now it was his turn to flip the script.

Draco positioned himself on the couch, leaving his shirt open to reveal just enough of the tattoos across his chest. He reached for the silk tie he’d used in his earlier video, rolling  it around one of his fists while pulling it taut with his other hand as he settled into a relaxed pose. The camera’s timer flashed, capturing the smirk he knew would drive the point home.

Satisfied with the shot, he transferred it to his phone and crafted the caption carefully. No need to be too overt; the point wasn’t to declare victory outright. It was to keep her guessing—to make her think about what came next.

> “Pressure’s a funny thing. Some thrive. Some crumble. Which are you, love?”

The post went live, and the notifications rolled in almost instantly. He set the phone down again, leaning back as the first wave of comments lit up his screen.

> @DramaLlama: “AND THE GAME CONTINUES. SOMEONE CHECK ON ENIGMA.”

> @SweetNSalty: “They’re literally flirting in public, and I can’t handle it.”

Draco’s grin widened as he refreshed the feed, his amusement growing with every new comment. But his mind wasn’t on the fans. Not really. It was on her. He imagined her reaction when she saw the post, the way her fingers might tighten around her phone or her lips would press into that perfect little line he imagined someone like her would make when she was irritated. He could picture it vividly, as if she were standing in front of him now—a reaction he’d only ever imagined, but one he was determined to see for real someday.

His phone buzzed again, and this time, it wasn’t a comment. It was a DM.

> Innocent_Enigma: “Cute. But I hope you realize this just means you’re trying too hard.”

Draco chuckled, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he considered his reply. He wanted to push her, but not too far. The line between irritation and intrigue was thin, and he didn’t want to risk breaking the tension. Not yet.

> Sinful_Scales: “Trying? Oh, love, this is effortless. But if you want me to put in the work… just say the word.”

He hit send, knowing it would get under her skin. The game was far from over, and if Hermione Granger thought she could hold her ground, she’d have to prove it.

“Let’s see how much pressure you can handle,” he muttered to himself, the smirk never leaving his face.

The internet had been set ablaze.

Within hours of Hermione’s post, Chatter and Covet alike were flooded with theories, memes, and enough fan edits to make anyone blush. It was chaos—brilliant, ridiculous chaos—and both Draco and Hermione’s names trended relentlessly under the hashtag #SaintxSinner.

> @DramaLlama: “OH MY GOD SHE RESPONDED. The silhouette?? The CAPTION?? I’m deceased.”

> @CovetQueen: “This is not a collab, it’s foreplay. Don’t @ me.”

> @ShipItHard: “The pressure innuendo is off the charts. Someone lock them in a room. Now.”

Screenshots of Hermione’s post side-by-side with Draco’s began circulating almost immediately, with fans dissecting every detail—her soft golden hues, his sultry shadows, the way their captions seemed like a conversation. One particularly popular post paired their photos with a slowed, sultry remix of a song called Red Dress, the lyrics syncing perfectly to their visuals. It went viral within minutes.

> Fan Edit Caption: “Pearls and leather. Grace and sin. They’re killing me.”

Draco’s phone buzzed incessantly with notifications. He’d muted them after the first hour, but curiosity got the better of him. As he scrolled through the frenzy, his smirk grew with every unhinged comment.

> @ThirstyForScales: “Draco’s looking at her post like a man STARVED. You can’t tell me otherwise.”

> @SweetNSalty: “The way their aesthetics clash and complement??? Literal perfection.”

Draco leaned back, stretching lazily as he refreshed the page. The internet was practically frothing at the mouth, and he wasn’t about to stop them.

Hermione, meanwhile, had tried to bury herself in work, but the constant buzzing of her phone was impossible to ignore. She’d silenced the notifications hours ago, but the temptation to peek had finally won. The moment she opened Chatter, she regretted it.

> @CovetChaos: “Hermione’s silhouette is giving ethereal seduction. Draco’s smirk is screaming ‘come closer.’ I’m losing it.”

> @DramaLlama: “THIS IS WHY THE INTERNET EXISTS. FOR THIS.”

Her lips pressed into a tight line as she scrolled through the posts. The theories ranged from amusingly off-base to downright obscene, but what struck her most was the sheer intensity of it all. Fans were treating their posts like pieces of a puzzle, as if decoding them would reveal some secret truth.

She paused at one particular meme: her silhouette edited to face Draco’s leather-clad pose, with the caption “He’d ruin her, and she’d thank him for it.”

Her cheeks burned. “This is insane,” she muttered, locking her phone and tossing it onto the desk. But the image lingered in her mind, the boldness of the words echoing louder than she’d like.

Draco’s amusement, however, only grew as he continued scrolling. One particular post caught his eye: a fan-made thread dissecting their potential dynamic.

> @SaintxSinnerTheory: “Okay, hear me out. Enigma’s whole vibe is restraint and control. Scales? Pure chaos and temptation. She keeps him grounded. He breaks her rules. The tension?? UNMATCHED.”

He let out a low laugh, running a hand through his hair as he imagined Hermione’s reaction to seeing posts like this. She was probably fuming, pacing her pristine little flat while muttering about the absurdity of it all. The thought was almost enough to make him send her another message. Almost.

Hermione’s phone buzzed again, and she glanced at it warily. Another tag. Another fan theory. But as she swiped the notification away, she caught sight of the hashtag—#SaintxSinner.

She hesitated. She’d avoided clicking on it earlier, knowing it would only add fuel to the fire. But now, curiosity won out. Tapping the hashtag, she was immediately bombarded with fan-made content: edits, videos, even an entire thread dedicated to imagined text exchanges between her and Draco.

One particularly bold post made her stomach flip.

> Fan DM Screenshot (Fake): Sinful_Scales: “Patience isn’t my thing, love.”Innocent_Enigma: “Too bad. You’ll have to learn.”

Her jaw dropped. “They’re making up conversations now?” she muttered, rubbing her temples. But despite her irritation, she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. The creativity was… impressive, if nothing else.

And as much as she hated to admit it, there was a tiny part of her that enjoyed it—the idea that their banter, their game, had captivated so many people. That it wasn’t just him getting under her skin, but her under his as well.

“Ridiculous,” she whispered to herself. But she didn’t look away.

The faint hum of her laptop was the only sound in Hermione’s otherwise silent flat. She’d closed her Chatter app hours ago, determined to focus on her actual work, but the lingering tension of the day refused to leave her mind. Every few minutes, her thoughts wandered back to the storm of memes, theories, and comments flooding the internet—all of it centering on her and Draco.

Or rather, Innocent_Enigma and Sinful_Scales.

She pressed her palms to her temples, taking a deep breath. It was absurd, the way he got under her skin. She didn’t even know him. Not really. Their lives existed in parallel, tethered only by the fans who seemed hell-bent on turning their playful jabs into something far more intimate. And yet…

The notification she’d ignored earlier still sat at the top of her inbox. A message. From him.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She’d opened it once, quickly skimming the words before slamming her laptop shut. Now, hours later, the memory of his message lingered like a whisper at the edge of her thoughts.

> “Do you always handle pressure this well, or am I just special?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed at the memory. It wasn’t overtly provocative, but the underlying tone was impossible to ignore. The audacity of him, framing himself as her personal Achilles’ heel. He was insufferable. Infuriating. And maddeningly good at it.

She’d spent the day alternating between irritation and… something else. Something she wasn’t ready to examine too closely. Every time she thought she’d moved past it, her mind conjured the memory of his smirk, the low drawl of his voice in that blasted video.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself for the third time that hour. But even as she said it, her fingers reached for the keyboard.

She hesitated, staring at the blank reply box. What could she even say? Dismissing him outright would feel like a win for him, but engaging meant giving him exactly what he wanted. The balance was delicate, and she hated how much thought she was putting into it.

Finally, she typed:

> “Special? You flatter yourself. Try harder.”

Her heart raced as she hit send, the boldness of her response both thrilling and nerve-wracking. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as she waited. Would he reply immediately? Or would he savor the power of making her wait?

The buzz of her phone startled her. She glanced at the screen, half-expecting to see his name. Instead, it was another wave of notifications from fans dissecting their posts.

> @DramaLlama: “They’re literally flirting. PUBLICLY. What are we supposed to do with this?”

> @CovetChaos: “Draco’s captions are basically love letters at this point. Someone stop him.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she swiped the notifications away. She couldn’t think about them right now—not when her pulse still raced from her own message. The thought of him reading it, of his inevitable reply, sent a shiver down her spine.

When the reply came, it was exactly what she expected.

> “Try harder? Oh, love, I’m just getting started.”

Hermione groaned, her head falling into her hands. He made it sound so easy, so natural. She reread the message twice, her mind scrambling for a response that would match his confidence. But everything she thought of felt either too sharp or too weak.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard again, typing and deleting variations of a reply until finally, she settled on:

> “Effortless confidence isn’t as charming as you think. But I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, the adrenaline coursing through her veins like a live wire. This was dangerous territory—not because of the public scrutiny, but because of the way he made her feel.

The way he made her want to respond.

Minutes passed, stretching into what felt like hours. When his next message came, it wasn’t words. It was a voice note.

Hermione stared at the file, her thumb hovering over the play button. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. But curiosity had always been her weakness, and this was no exception. With a shaky breath, she tapped play.

“Careful, love,” his voice purred, smooth and low. “You’re starting to sound like you enjoy this as much as I do.”

The note ended, leaving her room heavy with silence. Hermione stared at her phone, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. He was good—too good. And for all her indignation, she couldn’t deny the thrill his words sent through her.

Her hands trembled as she typed a single reply:

> “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But even as she hit send, she knew the words rang hollow. Because the truth, unspoken and undeniable, was that she did enjoy it. More than she cared to admit.

Draco stared at her last message, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest as he leaned back against the leather cushions of his sofa.

> “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her words were sharp, but he knew better. If she weren’t enjoying this, she wouldn’t have responded at all. The game was hers to leave, yet she stayed, her wit cutting and her replies measured. He could almost picture her now: cheeks flushed, brows furrowed in frustration, and lips pressed into that perfect line she made when someone truly got under her skin.

He’d never met her, but the thought of seeing her reaction in person sent a flicker of heat low in his stomach. The tension was undeniable, and he wasn’t about to let her brush it off as mere coincidence. Not when she kept coming back for more.

Setting his glass of whiskey down, he picked up his phone and reread the last few exchanges. Her sarcasm was a shield, one he found both maddening and deeply enticing. He could practically hear her voice in his head, laced with irritation and just the faintest edge of curiosity.

“Flatter myself, do I?” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “Alright, Granger. Let’s see how far we can push this.”

This time, he didn’t bother typing. Instead, he hit the record button, his voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl that had always worked in his favor.

“Darling, if you keep denying it so hard, people might think you’re compensating for something.”

He let the pause hang for a beat, savoring the thought of her reaction before finishing.

“Tell me, Granger. How long did it take you to write that last one? Or were you too busy replaying my voice note to think straight?”

Satisfied, he sent the recording and tossed the phone onto the couch beside him. The faint hum of satisfaction curled through him like smoke, mixing with the burn of the whiskey he’d sipped earlier. She’d hear the tone in his voice, the confidence, the deliberate edge of amusement. She’d hate it. And she’d reply.

She always did.

Minutes ticked by, the silence of his flat broken only by the occasional creak of the city outside his window. He scrolled aimlessly through Covet while he waited, smirking at the latest batch of memes under the hashtag #SaintxSinner. His fans were creative, he’d give them that.

One post caught his eye: a black-and-white edit of her silhouette overlapping his own leather-clad pose, captioned: “He’d wreck her, and she’d beg for more.” The sheer audacity of it made him laugh aloud.

“Bloody maniacs,” he muttered, shaking his head. But the image lingered in his mind longer than he’d admit.

His phone buzzed, pulling him back to the moment. A new message. From her.

> “Don’t get too comfortable, Malfoy. You’re not as irresistible as you think.”

He grinned, his fingers moving over the keyboard without hesitation.

> “And yet, here you are, still replying to me.”

Her reply was almost instantaneous.

> “Only because I’m not one to back down from a challenge.”

> “Good. I’d hate to think I’d scared you off.”

He could imagine her rolling her eyes as she read it, muttering something scathing under her breath. But she didn’t leave the conversation, didn’t break the thread that now bound them tighter with every exchange.

Draco leaned back again, the smirk on his lips softening into something more thoughtful. There was something about her—the way she matched his wit, the sharpness of her comebacks, the fire simmering just beneath her words. It was rare, finding someone who could meet him head-on without flinching.

He picked up his phone one last time, typing out a single message before locking the screen.

> “Your move, Granger.”