#SaintxSinner

Hermione had barely blinked herself awake when the buzz of her phone pulled her from the lingering threads of sleep. She groaned, blindly reaching for it on the bedside table, already bracing for the wave of notifications she’d grown used to in the past few days.

Her heart stopped for a beat when she saw Draco’s name at the top of her Covet feed.

Against her better judgment, she clicked on it, her pulse quickening the moment the image loaded. It wasn’t just provocative—it was calculated. Draco was sprawled across his bed, the rumpled sheets barely covering his hips. The black-and-white tones of the photo made every detail sharper: the tension in his abdomen, the line of his jaw, the tattoos etched across his chest and arms. His hand rested just above the waistband of his trousers, fingers splayed in a way that made her stomach tighten. And the caption?

> “Games are fun, love. But I play to win. Are you ready to lose?”

Heat prickled at the base of her neck, a flush rising to her cheeks as she locked her phone and dropped it onto the bed. “For Merlin’s sake,” she muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face.

It wasn’t the first time he’d made a bold move, but this… this was another level. She could practically hear the cocky tone in his voice, the smirk that always made her want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. Heat pooled low in her stomach, and for one wild, fleeting second, she considered staying under the covers and letting her hand drift downward to take the edge off the ache his picture had sparked. The thought alone made her sit up abruptly, her cheeks burning as she shoved the duvet aside.

“Absolutely not.” she whispered, chastising herself as her bare feet hit the cool floor. She paced the room, hoping the movement would disperse the haze of desire that clung to her like static. She hated how much he got to her, how his confidence burrowed under her skin like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

Hermione pushed the duvet aside and paced her room, the cool floor grounding her as she tried to collect her thoughts. She wasn’t going to let him win—not like this. If he thought a picture and a clever caption would throw her off balance, he had another thing coming.

She picked up her phone again, scrolling back to the image despite herself. Her eyes lingered on the curve of his smirk, the way his body seemed so effortlessly posed yet entirely natural. The bastard was too good at this, and he knew it.

No, she thought, her resolve sharpening. You’re not getting the last word this time.

Hermione opened their private messages and hit record, her voice steady despite the heat still simmering in her chest.

“Win? Malfoy, that implies there was ever a chance for you to begin with. But do go on—I’m enjoying the effort.”

Her tone was soft, teasing, but with just enough bite to keep him on edge. She played it back once, nodding in satisfaction before hitting send. But even as the message disappeared into the void of their chat, she knew she wasn’t done.

Setting the phone aside, Hermione crossed to her wardrobe and pulled out a silk robe. The deep green fabric fell around her like liquid, brushing against her skin as she adjusted the tie at her waist. She tied it loosely, letting the neckline gape just enough to reveal the subtle curve of her collarbone and the hint of lace beneath. Her fingers brushed the fabric purposefully, parting the robe slightly to show a tantalizing glimpse of her inner thigh as she moved.

She perched herself on the edge of her bed, leaning back slightly, her back arching just enough to emphasize the delicate line of her body. One hand trailed over the strap of her robe, tugging at it idly, while the other rested lightly against her thigh, the emerald silk pooling around her. Her expression settled into something soft yet knowing, a touch of innocence with the undeniable undercurrent of a challenge. The soft morning light filtering through her curtains kissed her skin, giving the image a sensual glow that bordered on ethereal.

It was a stark contrast to Draco’s boldness—subtle, yes, but no less devastating in its intent.

Satisfied, she sent the photo directly to him, her caption succinct:

> “Enjoying yourself, Malfoy? I hope so.”

Hermione locked her phone and set it aside, exhaling as she sat back on her bed. The adrenaline coursing through her veins was electric, but it was accompanied by a nervous energy she couldn’t quite shake. She told herself it was just the game—that this was all about keeping him off balance, about proving she could match his every move.

But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

Her mind wandered unbidden to the way he might react, the way his fingers might tighten around his phone when he saw her picture. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she cursed under her breath. Get a grip, Hermione.

Her phone buzzed, and she bit her lip, the anticipation curling through her like a live wire. She didn’t look at it right away, savoring the moment before finally picking it up.

No reply from him yet, just another round of notifications from Chatter, where the fans were already losing their minds over his post. She scrolled through the comments, her irritation giving way to reluctant amusement as she read:

> @ShipItHard: “Draco’s caption is a WAR CRY and I AM HERE FOR IT.”

> @CovetQueen: “They’re not even pretending anymore. Just kiss already!”

> @DramaLlama: “This isn’t a game. This is foreplay. Someone stop them before we combust.”

Hermione tossed the phone aside, a small smirk tugging at her lips. Let them talk. She had bigger things to worry about—like whether Draco Malfoy could handle losing as gracefully as he pretended to win.

Draco had been halfway through his second coffee of the morning when his phone buzzed with Hermione’s name. The message icon sat at the top of the screen like a taunt, daring him to open it. He took his time—or at least tried to convince himself he was. In reality, the anticipation clawed at him, and within seconds, he tapped on the notification.

Her voice note came first. He pressed play, the familiar lilt of her voice washing over him, smooth and sharp at once.

“Win? Malfoy, that implies there was ever a chance for you to begin with. But do go on—I’m enjoying the effort.”

A slow smile spread across his face as the recording ended, his grip tightening on the phone. She’d always been quick, but this… this was different. There was a lightness to her tone, playful, but beneath it was something sharper, designed to pull him deeper into her game. And if that weren’t enough, the second notification sat just below the first: an image attachment.

Draco’s breath hitched as he opened the photo. The silk robe she wore clung to her in all the right places, the emerald fabric pooling around her thighs. Her back arched subtly, her expression caught somewhere between innocence and seduction. The strap of her robe had slipped down her shoulder, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbone. And then there was the way her fingers toyed with the fabric at her thigh, just enough to show a glimpse of smooth, bare skin.

“Bloody hell...” he muttered, setting his coffee down before he spilled it.

The heat that had been simmering in his chest turned molten, coiling low in his stomach and pooling with an intensity that had him gripping the arms of his chair. His jaw tightened as he dragged a hand through his hair, trying to focus, but the image of her kept flashing in his mind—her arched back, the glimpse of bare thigh, the way her fingers toyed with that damned robe.

For a fleeting moment, the thought of slipping his hand lower crossed his mind, the sheer force of his reaction taking him by surprise. It had been years since anyone had managed to provoke this kind of visceral need in him, the kind that made his body ache to surrender to the fire coursing through his veins. But as tempting as it was, he knew it wouldn’t be enough—not even close. The real thrill was in the game, in seeing her unravel the way she was already doing to him.

“Merlin.” he muttered, leaning forward to dispel the haze. She was playing dirty now, and it was working—more than he wanted to admit.

He stared at the image for a moment longer before locking his phone, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His mind raced with thoughts of how to respond, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. She wanted bold? He’d show her bold.

Draco set his phone against the armrest of his chair, adjusting the angle until it captured everything he wanted. He let his trousers sit low on his hips, the sharp line of his pelvis cutting a deliberate path downward. His shirt lay forgotten on the floor, his chest bare, the intricate lines of his tattoos on full display. One leg bent at the knee, pulling the fabric taut over his thigh, while the other stretched out in a pose that spoke of effortless control. His hand rested low on his stomach, the tips of his fingers just slightly slipping under the waistband of his trousers, as if his hand was about to dive lower at any minute, teasing the edge of propriety.

The lighting was warm and moody, casting deep shadows that emphasized the cut of his muscles and the stark contrast of ink against skin. His lips curved into a smirk, his expression steeped in heat and challenge, as though daring anyone to look away. It was raw, magnetic, and unapologetically sensual, an image crafted to ensure that her eyes would linger longer than she intended.

He hit record, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate drawl.

“Careful, Granger.” he said, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re making it too easy. Though I suppose I should thank you for making the effort. Keep going. Let’s see just how far you’re willing to take this.”

He stopped the recording, replaying it once before nodding in satisfaction. It was exactly the right mix of challenge and heat, a calculated move to keep her guessing. But he wasn’t done. Not yet. He attached the video to a private message, adding a simple caption:

> “Let’s see if you can keep up, love.”

Draco sent the message and leaned back in his chair, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a test—of her, of him, of the tension that crackled between them like a live wire. And with every move she made, he found himself more willing to lose control.

Minutes ticked by, but he didn’t reach for his phone. Instead, he let the anticipation build, the possibility of her response thrumming like an undercurrent in his veins. He knew she’d reply; she always did. The only question was how far she’d take it.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the way she’d looked in the photo. The delicate tilt of her head, the curve of her lips, the flash of thigh that had him gripping the edge of his chair. He’d seen a lot of things in his life—been sent plenty of bold images from admirers—but nothing had ever struck him quite like this. It wasn’t just the physical allure; it was the intent behind it, the way she wielded her power with such precision.

“You’re something else, Granger.” he murmured to himself, a low chuckle escaping his throat. He poured himself a glass of water, hoping the cool liquid might temper the heat that still simmered beneath his skin.

When his phone buzzed again, he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. The game wasn’t over yet.

The internet didn’t just take Draco’s post and Hermione’s tease as fuel—it turned it into a wildfire. Within minutes, hashtags like #SaintxSinner and #PlayingWithFire were trending across Chatter, with fans dissecting every detail of their latest moves. Draco’s bold post, Hermione’s calculated tease, and the ever-growing tension between them had spiraled into a frenzy of edits, threads, and captions that ranged from hilarious to scandalously explicit.

> @DramaLlama: “I’m sorry, but have you SEEN Draco’s latest post? This isn’t subtle. This is war. #SaintxSinner”

> @CovetQueen: “Her lips. His waistband. Someone PLEASE lock them in a room and throw away the key.”

> @ShipItHard: “Draco’s smirk is illegal, Hermione’s pose is criminal, and WE ARE THE VICTIMS.”

Hermione scrolled through the chaos, her cheeks burning as she skimmed through fan edits of her and Draco, their images spliced together in ways that were both artistic and absurd. One particularly bold thread compared their poses side by side: her arching back and playful fingers against the silk of her robe, his low-slung trousers and challenging smirk. The caption read: “This isn’t just banter anymore. This is seduction with weapons drawn.”

“Merlin help me...” Hermione muttered, setting her phone down with a frustrated groan. But she didn’t leave it for long. The pull of the notifications, the sheer absurdity of the internet’s collective imagination, was impossible to resist.

She picked it up again, scrolling through the top posts under their shared hashtag. Her lips quirked into an involuntary smile as she read:

> @SweetNSalty: “We’re witnessing history, folks. This is what happens when two hot people flirt with their entire personalities on display.”

> @ThirstyForScales: “Draco’s caption is foreplay. Hermione’s response is a declaration of war. WE ARE NOT OKAY.”

Draco, meanwhile, was reclining on his couch, his phone in hand as he scrolled through the same chaos. Unlike Hermione, he was thoroughly amused. His smirk widened with every outrageous comment and every fan edit that painted their interactions as something far more intimate than either of them had intended—or perhaps exactly as intimate as he’d hoped.

One post in particular caught his attention: a black-and-white split image of him and Hermione, their poses mirrored as though they were sharing the same bed. The caption beneath it read:

> “The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Or just let them do it themselves.”

Draco laughed, a low, pleased sound that reverberated through the quiet room. He tapped the share button, adding his own caption:

> Sinful_Scales:“Thicker than tension, love. But I’ll let you keep guessing.”

Hermione’s phone buzzed with the notification almost immediately. She opened it, her eyes narrowing as she read his latest jab. Thicker than tension? The audacity of him sent a flare of irritation—and something far more dangerous—racing through her.

“Arrogant git.” she muttered, but her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her lips twitching despite herself. The game was escalating, and Draco wasn’t just playing to win. He was playing to unravel her.

Finally, she tapped out a quick reply, keeping her tone sharp but leaving just enough room for interpretation:

> Innocent_Enigma: “Keep guessing, Malfoy. You’ll need the practice.”

The response was immediate. Draco’s next post lit up her feed within seconds, the caption paired with a bold fan edit that showcased her pearls and his tattoos in a perfectly mismatched harmony.

> Sinful_Scales:“Practice makes perfect, love. But I’m already ahead.”

Hermione groaned, tossing her phone onto the bed, but the warmth curling in her stomach betrayed her irritation. This game was spiraling into territory she wasn’t sure she was ready to navigate, but one thing was certain: she wasn’t backing down.

Neither, it seemed, was he.

Hermione glared at the offending notification on her phone, Draco’s latest post lighting up her screen like a gauntlet thrown at her feet. She didn’t even need to open it to know it would be infuriatingly bold—and, if the heat in her cheeks was any indication, devastatingly effective. But she opened it anyway, her pulse quickening as the image filled her screen.

He’d shared another fan edit, the pearl necklace from her last photo juxtaposed with his tattoos in a way that felt almost too intimate. The caption, though, was what had her clenching her jaw.

> “Practice makes perfect, love. But I’m already ahead.”

“Smug prat.” she muttered under her breath, tossing her phone onto the bed as if the distance might cool the flush spreading across her skin. It didn’t. Her traitorous mind kept replaying the way he’d looked in his last post—all sharp edges and deliberate arrogance—and the way her body had responded to it.

Hermione paced her room, her silk robe brushing against her thighs, the cool air doing little to temper the heat curling low in her stomach. She’d told herself this game was harmless, a way to keep Draco Malfoy in his place while proving she could match his energy. But the truth was harder to swallow. Somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred, and now every move he made left her teetering on the edge of control.

No, she thought fiercely, crossing to her dresser and snatching up her phone. He doesn’t get to win this round.

She opened her camera app, her resolve sharpening as she adjusted the lighting. The emerald robe she still wore caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the subtle sheen of the fabric as it clung to her curves. She let the neckline fall a little lower, the lace of her bralette just visible, and shifted her position until the shot was perfect. Her fingers skimmed the edge of the robe’s sash, toying with it in a way that suggested she might untie it at any moment.

Satisfied, she snapped the photo and stared at it for a moment, her chest rising and falling with measured breaths. It was bold, bolder than she’d ever dared before. But if Draco thought she’d let him take the lead without a fight, he didn’t know her as well as he thought.

She opened their private messages and attached the photo, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she considered her words. Finally, she typed:

> “Ahead? Malfoy, you’re still chasing. Let me know when you’re ready to catch up.”

The moment she hit send, her heart leapt into her throat, the thrill of anticipation washing over her. Hermione set the phone down and leaned back against her desk, her palms flat on the cool wood as she exhaled slowly. The silence of her room felt charged, every nerve in her body attuned to the possibility of his reply.

When her phone buzzed less than a minute later, she couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at her lips. But the smile faltered when she opened the message. Draco hadn’t replied with words. Instead, he’d sent a video. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed play, the screen filling with his image.

Draco was lounging on the same chair as before, his shirt gone, his trousers riding low on his hips. The lighting cast shadows across his chest, highlighting the tattoos she’d only ever seen in snippets before. But it was his voice that made her knees weaken.

“Chasing, Granger?” he drawled, his smirk slow and deliberate. “I don’t chase. But I’ll admit… you’re making it hard to resist catching you.”

The video ended, leaving Hermione staring at the screen, her chest tight and her pulse hammering. She hated how easily he got to her, how his voice and presence could leave her feeling exposed in ways she wasn’t prepared to face.

She locked her phone and set it down again, crossing to the window to put some distance between herself and the source of her current predicament. The cool glass against her forehead grounded her for a moment, but it didn’t dull the ache in her chest or the fire coursing through her veins.

He’s not winning, she told herself firmly. But the truth was harder to ignore. With every move, every calculated word and gesture, Draco Malfoy was pushing her further out of her comfort zone. And the worst part? She wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop.

The game was no longer just about winning. It was about how far they could go before everything between them ignited.

Draco’s phone buzzed in his hand, the message lighting up the screen like a match to a dry forest. He didn’t hesitate, opening it with a sharp flick of his thumb. The photo loaded almost immediately, and his breath caught.

Hermione was a vision of calculated temptation. The emerald silk of her robe draped over her body in a way that was both effortless and deliberate, the neckline dipping low enough to hint at lace. Her fingers rested at the sash, toying with the fabric as though she might untie it at any moment. The camera angle added a layer of audacity, her arched back and parted lips creating a tableau of pure, understated seduction. And then there was her caption.

> “Ahead? Malfoy, you’re still chasing. Let me know when you’re ready to catch up.”

Heat surged through him, settling low in his abdomen. Draco leaned back in his chair, his grip tightening around the phone as he stared at the screen. He should’ve been used to this by now—the way she turned everything into a challenge, a game designed to get under his skin. But somehow, she always managed to throw him off balance, and this… this was different.

“Fuck, Granger...” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. The photo was seared into his mind, every detail etched there with perfect clarity. She’d crossed a line—not the kind of line that required boundaries, but the kind that demanded escalation.

He tossed his phone onto the couch beside him, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. For a moment, he debated walking away, letting the tension dissipate before it could consume him. But the thought vanished almost as quickly as it came. This wasn’t the kind of fire he wanted to extinguish. It was the kind he wanted to stoke, to let burn until there was nothing left but heat and ash.

Draco grabbed his phone again, his mind already racing with possibilities. He opened the camera, his movements deliberate as he set up the shot. The lighting was low, casting his skin in warm shadows as he leaned against the edge of his bed. His shirt was gone, his trousers riding low on his hips, and he let one hand rest just above the waistband while the other gripped the carved wood of the bedframe. He didn’t smile this time; instead, his expression was all heat and hunger, his eyes heavy-lidded as he stared into the lens.

Satisfied, he recorded a short video, his voice a low, deliberate drawl as he spoke.

“Chasing? Granger, I don’t chase. But I’ll admit… you’re making it hard to resist catching you.”

He attached the video to a private message, pausing for a moment as he considered his words. Finally, he added a caption:

> “Careful, love. You’re playing with fire.”

Draco hit send, the rush of adrenaline immediate and consuming. He leaned back against the bed, his phone still in his hand, as he replayed the video once more. The sound of his own voice, combined with the memory of her photo, sent another wave of heat surging through him. He let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“What are you doing to me, Granger?” he muttered, though the question was more for himself than her. It wasn’t just the game anymore. It was the way she looked at him through the screen, the way her every move seemed tailored to dismantle his control piece by piece. And the worst part? He didn’t mind it. Not one bit.

The minutes ticked by, the silence of his flat broken only by the hum of the city outside. He expected her to respond quickly—she always did—but as the seconds turned into minutes, anticipation coiled tighter in his chest. He didn’t like waiting, but for her, he’d make an exception.

His phone buzzed again, and his heart leapt in response. But when he opened the notification, it wasn’t a reply from Hermione. Instead, it was a wave of new comments under his latest post, the fans once again dragging their private game into the spotlight.

> @CovetQueen:“Draco’s smirk. Hermione’s captions. This isn’t a game anymore; it’s foreplay.”

> @DramaLlama: “I’m begging you both to collab. For science.”

Draco chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through the chaos. The fans were relentless, their thirst rivaling even his own. But as entertaining as it was, it wasn’t what he wanted right now.

What he wanted was her.

And judging by the way their game was escalating, he had a feeling she wanted the same thing. The only question was how much longer they could keep playing before the fire between them burned them both.