The Edge of Control
Hermione’s morning began with the same ritual it had for the past week—a notification avalanche courtesy of Chatter. She sat cross-legged on her bed, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, as her phone screen lit up with dozens of tags. For a moment she almost managed to convince herself that she didn't have to look. She could ignore it, focus on her work, and pretend that her life hadn’t been hijacked by a tattooed menace with a devilish smirk.
And yet…
Her thumb hovered over the app before giving in, the feed loading with a flood of edits, memes, and captions. The internet had been busy overnight. It seemed the internet thrived on being busy when it came to Sinner_Scales.
> @DramaLlama: “What do you mean this isn’t foreplay? Have you SEEN their posts? #SaintxSinner”
> @CovetQueen: “She’s keeping it classy. He’s keeping it cocky. WE WIN EITHER WAY.”
Hermione scrolled further, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stumbled upon a particularly popular thread: a timeline of their interactions, complete with screenshots and speculations. People seemed hell-bent on figuring out what—in anything—was the meaning behind their supposed back-and-forth on Covet and Chatter. One post showed side-by-side edits of her softer aesthetic and Draco’s darker, bolder imagery, captioned: “He tempts; she teases. Perfection.”
Her cheeks flushed as she locked her phone and tossed it onto the bed. This is ridiculous. She’d known their banter would attract attention, but the sheer volume of fan theories, fake DMs, and steamy edits was overwhelming. The internet’s obsession was relentless, and it wasn’t helping her already precarious resolve.
To distract herself, Hermione busied herself with mundane tasks: tidying her desk, rearranging her bookshelf, and even organizing the spice rack in her kitchen—because that was, of course, a matter of urgency and importance compared to anything else she could have been doing. But the persistent buzz of her phone kept dragging her thoughts back to him.
She could almost see him now, lounging somewhere with that infuriatingly smug smirk, enjoying the chaos as if he’d planned it all. The thought made her blood boil… and her stomach twist with something she refused to name.
After an hour of futile distraction, Hermione gave in. She grabbed her phone and opened Covet, scrolling through her camera roll. If he wanted to play games, she’d show him exactly what she was capable of.
Her eyes landed on a shot she’d taken weeks ago but never posted. The image was simple yet undeniably charged: a close-up of her lips, slightly parted, with her fingers resting delicately at the base of her throat. The lighting was soft, catching the gleam of her necklace and the faint curve of her jaw.
She hesitated, her finger hovering over the screen. It was bolder than her usual posts, a deliberate departure from the carefully curated image her audience had come to expect. But if he thought he could unnerve her with his cocky smirks and provocative captions, he was in for a surprise.
With a steadying breath, she typed out a caption that was equal parts sharp and teasing:
> “Some games require precision. Others? Intuition. 🥊✨”
She hit post before she could overthink it, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed once more. Adrenaline buzzed in her veins as she paced the room, waiting for the inevitable fallout. She told herself she didn’t care about the reactions, that should wouldn't jump on the device the second the familiar flood of comments would hit, but when her phone buzzed minutes later, she was already reaching for it.
The notifications were immediate and chaotic.
> @ShipItHard: “HERMIONE. WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING.”
> @ThirstyForScales: “Draco, you better match this energy or I’m unfollowing you.”
> @SweetNSalty: “This isn’t a feud. This is seduction, and I’m LIVING for it.”
Hermione scrolled past the comments, her stomach flipping as the likes and shares climbed into the thousands. The fans were eating it up, their excitement palpable even through the screen. Her fanbase has always been active, but this was a whole different world entirely, an amount of chaos and sheer excitement she was never quite the recipient of before. But as much as she hated to admit it, there was only one reaction she truly cared about.
Her phone buzzed with a new message, and her heart skipped a beat as she saw his name.
> Sinful_Scales: “Precision? Intuition? Careful, Granger. You might make me think you’ve been paying attention. Should I return the favor?”
Her breath hitched as she read the message, her fingers tightening around the phone. The audacity of him was staggering, and yet… a thrill ran through her, electric and undeniable. He always knew exactly how to strike, his words calculated to send her mind spiraling in directions she refused to entertain. It was infuriating, unsufferable, the way he played war with her thoughts without even looking like he had to try.
Her reply was sharp, deliberate, and laced with defiance:
> Innocent_Enigma:“If you think this is me paying attention, Malfoy, you’re going to be very disappointed.”
She hit send and set the phone down, her lips curving into a small, triumphant smile. Let him chew on that for a while. But as she returned to her desk and tried to refocus on her work, her thoughts betrayed her, lingering on his words… and the fire they had ignited.
Draco’s morning was already shaping up to be excellent. Lounging in his favorite chair, sunlight cutting through the blinds in warm stripes, he scrolled lazily through Covet. His coffee sat untouched on the table beside him, entirely forgotten the moment Hermione’s latest post lit up his feed.
Her lips. Her neck. Her fingers resting so delicately against her throat.
Draco exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth curling upward. She was getting bold, bolder than he’d expected. He swiped to view the post again, his eyes tracing the line of her fingers against her throat, the slight parting of her lips. The image was deceptively simple, yet every detail was deliberate—the kind of subtle sensuality that hit harder the longer you looked at it.
A flicker of heat tightened low in his stomach, catching him off guard. He had never been one to find subtlety appealing, but it seemed her little games were hitting their mark. She wasn’t just playing; she was winning, and the realization sent an unexpected rush of something both frustrating and thrilling through him. Her caption was equally sharp, perfectly crafted to walk the line between playful and provocative:
> “Some games require precision. Others? Intuition. 🥊✨”
“Bloody hell, Granger.” he murmured, dragging a hand through his hair. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
His fans, predictably, had wasted no time. Notifications filled his phone, tagged comments and reposts flooding his mentions with theories, memes, and unhinged declarations. He chuckled, scrolling through the chaos.
> @DramaLlama: “DRACO. SIR. She’s calling you OUT. What’s the move?! #SaintxSinner”
> @ThirstyForScales: “She’s matching your energy now. Don’t fumble this.”
He smirked, the heat rising in his chest not entirely from the flattery. The game between them had escalated, and she’d just raised the stakes higher than he’d expected. Hermione Granger, so composed, so polished, had managed to throw him off balance.
But only for a moment.
Draco leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at his phone. He could respond publicly, post something cocky for the fans to dissect. Or he could keep it private, push her buttons in a way no one else would see. He liked the latter option—liked knowing his words would linger with her when no one else was around to offer commentary.
Decision made, he opened their private messages and hit the record button. His voice dropped lower, rich and smooth with just the right edge of teasing.
“Precision, intuition… either way, love, it seems you’re thinking of me. Care to tell me what else you’ve been imagining?”
He stopped the recording and replayed it once, satisfied with the way it sounded. There was a deliberate pause in the middle, just enough to make her squirm. His thumb hovered over the send button before a wicked thought struck him. Why stop there?
Draco set his phone aside and stood, shrugging off the soft linen shirt he’d thrown on that morning. He adjusted the lighting in the room, dimming it slightly to cast golden hues across his skin. Grabbing his phone, he propped it against the coffee cup on the table and angled it perfectly. The camera captured him leaning back against the chair, shirtless, with one hand resting low on his abdomen—just above the waistband of his trousers. His tattoos stood out starkly in the warm light, drawing the eye downward.
The shot was perfect. Not too explicit, but suggestive enough to leave her imagination working overtime.
He sent the voice note first, letting it hang in her inbox for a few minutes before adding the photo. His caption was simple, direct:
> “Here’s a thought: some games require surrender. What do you think, Granger?”
Draco sat back, picking up his coffee with a satisfied smirk. Now, he just had to wait. She wouldn’t leave that unanswered—not after the boldness of her own post.
The minutes ticked by, his phone buzzing occasionally with fan reactions, but he ignored them. His focus was entirely on her. The fan reactions were amusing, yes, but hers were infinitely more appealing. He knew she’d seen it by now. She wasn’t the type to let a move like his pass without a reaction—if her earlier fire so far was any indication—but he also knew better than to expect an immediate response.
Draco chuckled to himself, imagining her pacing her neat little flat, her phone clutched tightly in her hand as she debated how to reply. He could almost hear her muttering under her breath, sharp and precise, as if she were weighing the pros and cons of every possible response.
“Take your time, Granger...” he murmured, leaning back with his coffee, now lukewarm. “I’ve got all day.”
The internet, as expected, completely lost its mind.
Within minutes of Hermione’s post going live, hashtags like #SaintxSinner, #PrecisionVsChaos, and #SendHelpThey’reKillingUs were trending. Fans dissected every pixel of her image, pairing it with Draco’s latest Covet post in threads that ranged from unhinged to borderline poetic. The overwhelming consensus? This was no longer a game; it was foreplay, and everyone was along for the ride.
> @DramaLlama: “HER LIPS. HIS HANDS. We’re witnessing art in motion. #SaintxSinner”
> @CovetQueen: “I’m sorry, but how are they NOT a thing? The chemistry is off the charts.”
> @ShipItHard: “Someone lock them in a room and don’t let them out until they’ve sorted this tension.”
One particularly popular post paired Hermione’s soft, golden-hued photo with Draco’s bold, shadow-drenched pose from earlier in the week. The caption read: “Opposites attract? No. Opposites COLLIDE.” It quickly racked up thousands of likes and retweets, with fans flooding the comments to theorize about the “unspoken connection” and the "undeniable heat" between the two creators.
Meanwhile, a viral thread delved into the “evolution” of their interactions, starting with Hermione’s initial playful teases and culminating in the explosive tension of their recent posts. It aimed to show the way the two creators were slowly but surely upping the antes to get under each others' skin, apparently. The thread creator even included imagined DMs between the two, complete with captions like “You can’t tell me this isn’t happening behind the scenes.”
Hermione stared at her phone screen, equal parts mortified and intrigued. She’d checked the hashtag out of curiosity—a mistake, in hindsight. The sheer volume of fan theories, memes, and edits was overwhelming. Before Sinful_Scales entered the picture, she had no idea the internet could be that wild, or invested, nor the length some of them were willing to go to to prove their narrative. It seemed everyone had an opinion about her and Draco, and most of those opinions were… graphic to say the least.
Her gaze landed on an edit that superimposed her photo with Draco’s, the two images blending seamlessly to create the illusion of them standing side by side. The caption read: “When precision meets chaos, magic happens.” Hermione’s cheeks burned, and she locked her phone, muttering under her breath, “Ridiculous.”
But she didn’t put the phone down.
Draco, on the other hand, was thoroughly entertained. Reclining on his bed with his phone in hand, he scrolled through the frenzy with a smug grin. His fans were as dramatic as ever, their reactions ranging from hilarious to downright thirsty.
> @SweetNSalty: “Draco’s hands belong in the Louvre. Hermione’s lips should be their own exhibit. They’re DESTROYING us.”
> @ThirstyForScales: “If these two don’t collab, I’m rioting. This is art. THIS IS HISTORY.”
One comment in particular caught his attention:
> @DramaLlama: “Imagine the actual tension if they were in the same room. Sparks. Would. Fly.”
Draco chuckled, dragging his thumb over the screen as he considered the thought. If only you knew, darling. It wasn’t just sparks; it was fire, one they were both fanning with every move. And the best part? Hermione knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t just playing along; she was keeping up, matching his energy stride for stride.
Draco chuckled to himself as he continued scrolling through the chaos on Chatter. The fans were relentless, their thirst and creativity reaching new heights. After a moment of contemplation, he opened the app and typed out a new post, letting the public have just enough to keep them guessing.
> Sinful_Scales: “Bold moves deserve bold rewards. Careful what you wish for. #SaintxSinner”
Satisfied, he set his phone aside, imagining the uproar this would cause. He didn’t need to message Hermione directly to get under her skin; the fans would do plenty of that on their own.
Hermione’s fingers hovered over the play button on her phone, her chest tight as she stared at the unread voice note sitting in her inbox. Draco’s name, Sinful_Scales, sat mockingly above it, daring her to listen. Her earlier Chatter post had been deliberate—sharp, teasing, a move to regain the upper hand after his latest round of chaos. But this? This felt different. More personal.
Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she tapped the screen. His voice poured through the speakers, low and smooth, dripping with amusement:
“Precision, intuition… either way, love, it seems you’re thinking of me. Care to tell me what else you’ve been imagining?”
The pause between his words was deliberate, calculated, but it wasn’t just the voice note that set her pulse racing. It was the photo that came with it—Draco lounging in that infuriatingly casual way he seemed to perfect, his skin on full display, every glorious inch visible to her eye, tattoos stark against his skin. His hand rested low on his abdomen, just above the waistband of his trousers, the faintest hint of tension in his fingers. Everything about it screamed deliberate, provocative, enticing. He knew exactly the kind of magnetic energy he had and he used it to perfection. To Hermione's great dismay.
Her pulse raced as the note ended, leaving her room silent save for the faint hum of her laptop. She stared at the phone, her thoughts a tangled mess of irritation and… something. Something she refused to look at too closely.
“Cocky bastard,” she muttered, setting the phone down with more force than necessary. But the echo of his words lingered, the weight of his tone pulling at her resolve. He was infuriatingly good at this, his ability to slip beneath her skin maddeningly effective.
Hermione stood and walked to her desk, hoping a change in activity might settle her thoughts, despite having failed at the exact same thing multiple times throughout the day already. She opened her laptop, her fingers poised over the keyboard, but the words refused to come. Her focus had been fractured the moment his voice slipped into her ears, and no amount of determination seemed capable of piecing it back together.
With a groan, she leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Her mind replayed the note unbidden, the deep timbre of his voice sending a shiver down her spine. She’d spent weeks telling herself this was a game, nothing more. A public back-and-forth that would fizzle out as quickly as it began. But with every move he made, every calculated taunt, Draco chipped away at her carefully constructed walls.
And now, here she was—caught between annoyance and intrigue, her body betraying her every time he pushed.
Enough.
She grabbed her phone again, her resolve solidifying. If he wanted to play this game, she’d show him exactly what she was capable of. Her thumb hovered over the record button for a moment before she pressed it, her voice coming out softer than usual but no less deliberate.
“Careful, Malfoy. Surrender doesn’t seem like your style… or are you just waiting for someone to make you?”
Hermione stopped the recording, listening to it once before nodding. The tone was perfect—just enough teasing to keep him guessing, enough bite to remind him who he was dealing with. She sent the voice note without hesitation.
But she wasn’t done. Her gaze shifted to the pearls coiled in a dish on her bedside table. An idea bloomed, bold and slightly reckless, but undeniably fitting. If he wanted bold, she’d give him bold.
She adjusted the lighting in her room, setting her phone up on her desk before moving to the bed. She knelt on the mattress, the soft fabric of her robe slipping slightly from one shoulder as she positioned the pearls in her hand. Her fingers tugged at the strand, tension pulling it taut against her throat, the gesture deliberate and suggestive. The angle of the shot revealed the faint curve of her cleavage, the shadows hinting at more without giving it away. Her lips parted just enough to suggest breathlessness, her gaze cast downward to leave her expression enigmatic.
The result was striking, the kind of image that walked the fine line between elegance and temptation. She sent it directly to him with a simple message:
> “Precision, Malfoy. Do try to keep up.”
The adrenaline hit her immediately, her heart pounding as she tossed the phone onto the bed and walked away. She busied herself with mundane tasks—boiling water for tea, tidying her already spotless counter—but her thoughts stayed with him. Would he reply immediately? Or would he let her stew, as he so often did?
When her phone buzzed minutes later, she glanced at it from across the room, her pulse quickening. The game had shifted, and for the first time, Hermione wasn’t sure who was holding the upper hand. But one thing was certain: she wasn’t backing down now.
Draco reclined in his leather chair, one hand idly tracing the ink on his forearm as he scrolled through his phone. His gaze lingered on Hermione’s latest Covet post for longer than he cared to admit. Her moves had been sharp before, calculated in their subtlety, but this… this was something else entirely.
Her voice note had already played twice in his ears, the soft lilt of her words looping like a taunt:
“Careful, Malfoy. Surrender doesn’t seem like your style… or are you just waiting for someone to make you?”
The sound of it alone had set something smoldering in his chest, but it was the photo she’d sent that had truly unraveled him. His lips parted slightly as he swiped back to it, taking in every deliberate detail. Her hand tugged at the strand of pearls around her throat, the tension in the shot perfectly crafted to suggest restraint and release. The soft shadows skimmed the curve of her cleavage, while the angle hinted at her position—kneeling on the plush bed he had seen in the background of her pictures before, her expression obscured but undeniably enticing.
“Bloody hell...” he whispered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair. She’d raised the stakes in a way he hadn’t expected, her boldness both infuriating and intoxicating. It wasn’t just the picture; it was the audacity behind it. Hermione Granger wasn’t just playing his game—she was mastering it. And, for once in his life, Draco couldn't say he was mad about being on the losing end
Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he considered his response. The temptation to escalate was undeniable. He wanted to push her, to see just how far she was willing to go. But there was something about the vulnerability in her move—hidden beneath layers of confidence—that made him pause.
Still, he couldn’t resist. He picked up his phone and set it against the edge of the low table in front of him, adjusting the angle carefully. He leaned back in his chair, his legs spread just enough to suggest nonchalance but with an undeniable edge of dominance. His shirt was discarded entirely this time, the tattoos across his chest and arms dark against his skin. One hand rested lower than before, his fingers just shy of the waistband of his trousers, teasing at the line between suggestion and provocation. His other hand, relaxed but deliberate, skimmed his thigh, the tension in his posture radiating control and heat. The bulge in his trousers was evident, tightening the fabric in a way that left no doubt as to his current state of mind, or the effect her actions had had on him. He wasn't ashamed of it, quite the contrary. Shy had never been part of his dictionary once in his life.
The lighting was moody, the warm hues casting shadows across the hard lines of his body, every detail meticulously arranged to exude raw, magnetic allure. He let a smirk curl at his lips as he captured the shot, ensuring the composition was both elegant and devastatingly bold.
Satisfied, he captured the shot and added a caption before sending it directly to her:
> “You almost sound like you want to be charge, love. Adorable. But we both know that’s not how this ends.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before hitting send. The thrill of anticipation coursed through him as he leaned back, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He imagined her reaction—the way her fingers might tighten around her phone, her lips parting as she tried to come up with something clever to fire back.
The minutes ticked by, his phone silent. He opened Chatter to distract himself, scrolling through the chaos their fans were stirring up. Edits of her pearls and his tattoos dominated his feed, the captions getting bolder by the hour.
> @CovetQueen: “Draco and Hermione are playing chess, and we’re just watching them strip the board.”
> @DramaLlama: “WHEN DO WE GET THE COLLAB? I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE.”
He chuckled, his thumb brushing idly across the screen. Their audience was relentless, but he couldn’t blame them. The energy between them was addictive, and he was just as hooked as they were.
When his phone finally buzzed with a notification, his pulse quickened. It wasn’t a public reply—no, this was private. He opened the message to find a single line:
> “Your confidence is admirable, Malfoy. But let’s not pretend you’d know how to handle me if you had the chance.”
His grin widened, heat curling low in his stomach as he read the words. She was good. Better than good. Her response wasn’t just sharp; it was designed to cut through his control, leaving him teetering on the edge of restraint. He shifted slightly in his chair, the tension in his body a clear reminder of just how effectively she’d gotten under his skin. That single line wasn’t just a challenge—it was an invitation he couldn’t ignore.
Draco’s hand ran down his thigh as he exhaled, the sharp heat in his chest coiling lower. She knew exactly what she was doing, and it only made him want to push her harder, to see how far she was willing to go. The thrill wasn’t just in the game anymore; it was in the tantalizing possibility of breaking through the walls she so carefully maintained.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across his flat, Draco poured himself a drink. The ice clinked against the glass, the sound grounding him for a moment, but his thoughts were already back on her. He had a feeling this game was far from over. And, for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t just playing to win.
He was playing to keep.