Haunted

Draco Malfoy leaned casually against the stone wall outside the Gryffindor common room, his polished exterior giving little away. In his hand was a neatly wrapped package—a first-edition copy of Advanced Theories in Alchemical Potioneering. He’d remembered Hermione mentioning the book during one of their study sessions, her eyes lighting up as she talked about its unique insights into potion stabilization techniques. He wasn’t usually one to fidget, but today, he found himself hoping Hermione would appreciate the gesture.

The portrait hole remained stubbornly closed, but the quiet sound of footsteps down the hall caught his attention. Neville Longbottom appeared around the corner, his robes slightly dusty, a satisfied grin on his face as he adjusted his bag. Draco raised a brow as Neville approached, his usual aura of disinterest betrayed by mild curiosity.

“Malfoy,” Neville greeted with a nod. “I am glad I ran into you, I wanted to say thanks. The Lumina Flora arrived this morning, and Professor Sprout was thrilled. The difference in the plants is already noticeable.”

Draco inclined his head, his tone casual. “I’m glad it’s useful.”

Neville hesitated, then continued. “You know, they balance each other out. The Tantaculum Noctis can be temperamental—finicky even—but the Lumina Flora steadies it. Together, they thrive. It’s fascinating, really.”

Draco noted the genuine fascination in Neville’s expression, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Glad to hear they’re already working so well together.”

Neville shifted awkwardly, then ventured, “Speaking of balance... Pansy seems like someone who could use it. What’s she like—really?”

Draco’s lips twitched into a knowing smirk. “Pansy? She’s high risk, high reward. Spirited, but she thrives when paired with someone who knows how to ground her.” He studied Neville for a beat, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Why? Interested?”

Neville flushed but didn’t deny it. “Just... curious,” he muttered, his ears pink.

Before Draco could needle him further, the portrait hole creaked open, and Hermione stepped out. She spotted Draco instantly, her face lighting up as she adjusted her bag.

Neville seized the moment to escape, offering Hermione a quick “Morning!” before disappearing through the portrait.

Draco stepped forward, immediately taking Hermione’s bag from her shoulder and handing her the package. She blinked at it, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “What’s this?”

“A gift,” he said simply.

Her fingers traced the edges of the wrapping as she asked, “Should I open it now or later?”

“Up to you,” he replied, smirking. “But you might want to see it before breakfast.”

With a spark of excitement, Hermione untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper. When her gaze landed on the title, her breath caught. “Is this a first edition?” she whispered, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it over.

Draco shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It seemed like something you’d appreciate.”

“This is... too much,” she protested, clutching the book protectively. “I can’t accept it.”

“Not a chance,” he said firmly, his lips curving into a soft smirk. “And honestly, with the way you’re holding onto it, I don’t think I could take it back even if I tried.”

She hesitated, then smiled softly. “If you keep giving me books, I’m going to run out of space in my dorm.”

Draco filed the comment away, already making plans to ensure she’d have all the space she needed. “Maybe, maybe not,” he said with a smirk. “I have to keep you on your toes. Next time, I might gift you... I don’t know, a dragon egg or the deed to a small island.”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible, but memorable,” he countered, his smirk widening.

Laughing, she tucked the book into her under her arm, and they made their way to the Great Hall, her hand slipping into his. Draco held her bag as if it were second nature, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand as they descended the staircase.

As they stepped into the Great Hall, the usual hum of morning conversation enveloped them. Draco instinctively turned toward the Gryffindor table, but Hermione tugged him in the opposite direction, toward the Slytherin table.

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity etched across his features. “Feeling brave this morning, Granger?”

Hermione grinned, unbothered by the subtle glances from students scattered across the room. “Last time, you ventured into the lion’s den. It’s only fair I try the snake pit.”

Draco chuckled, a mix of amusement and surprise. “Fair enough. Let’s hope they don’t bite.”

They sat down, Hermione sliding onto the bench beside Draco. The muted murmurs at the table didn’t escape his notice, but he was surprised at how quickly the attention shifted elsewhere. Word of their relationship must have already made its rounds.

Blaise Zabini plopped into the seat across from them, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Well, look who’s making waves this morning. Granger, I have to admit, I didn’t think anyone could get Draco to smile before nine o’clock. I’m impressed.”

Hermione smirked, pouring herself a cup of tea. “It’s a gift, I suppose.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “If you’re done with your observations, Zabini, feel free to focus on your breakfast.”

Blaise ignored him, turning his full attention to Hermione. “So, tell me, how does it feel being the talk of the school? Because, honestly, the Slytherin grapevine is buzzing. You might even rival Potter for headline status.”

Hermione shrugged, entirely unfazed. “I’m used to it. Though I imagine Draco’s enjoying all the attention.”

“Thrilled,” Draco deadpanned, earning a soft laugh from Hermione.

Before Blaise could reply, Pansy Parkinson slid onto the bench beside him, her gaze flicking toward Hermione with keen interest. “Morning, Granger,” she said, her tone bordering on cordial—at least by Pansy’s standards. She turned to Blaise. “What did I miss?”

“Just some light-hearted teasing,” Blaise said breezily. “I was about to ask Granger how she plans to survive sitting with us.”

“I’ll manage,” Hermione said with a faint smile.

Pansy tilted her head, her gaze flicking toward Hermione with sudden curiosity. “Speaking of Gryffindors, what’s the deal with Longbottom? He’s looking... well, fitter this year. Is he seeing anyone?”

Hermione blinked, momentarily surprised. “Neville? He was seeing Hannah Abbott, but I think they broke up before term started.”

“Good to know,” Pansy murmured, her lips curving into a sly smile. “There’s something about him this year... might be worth a closer look.”

Blaise smirked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Longbottom was your type, Parkinson.”

Pansy shot him a sharp look but her smile didn’t falter. “Maybe it’s time to mix things up.”

At that moment, the sound of fluttering wings filled the hall as the morning post arrived. Hermione sipped her tea while Draco reached for the elegant envelope that landed in front of him. His name was scrawled across the front in his mother’s delicate handwriting.

He opened it with practiced ease, scanning the contents quickly. His expression shifted—neutral at first, then softening as he folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, her brow arching in curiosity.

“A letter from my mother,” Draco said, his voice carefully neutral. After a moment, he added, “She said she trusts my judgment. That she’ll stand by my choices, even if they’re... unexpected.”

Hermione’s brow arched slightly, her gaze soft but curious. “Do you want to talk about it later? Or... not at all?”

Draco’s lips curved faintly, a mix of gratitude and relief. “Later,” he murmured. “If you’re up for it.”

With breakfast finished, Hermione glanced at the clock. “We should get going.”

Draco stood, already reaching for her bag. “I’ll walk you to class.”

They walked through the corridors at a leisurely pace, Hermione explaining some of her excitement for her Ancient Runes lesson. When they reached the classroom, she turned to him with a smile.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “See you in Potions this afternoon.”

Draco nodded, watching as she disappeared into the classroom. For a moment, he stood there, her kiss lingering like a quiet promise. Then, with a faint smile tugging at his lips, he turned and headed to his own class.

The Potions classroom was abuzz with quiet chatter as Professor Slughorn addressed the class, his jovial tone carrying easily over the bubbling cauldrons and the clink of glass vials. “Now, now, settle down, my bright young minds! This year’s project is not just another essay or essay substitute, no, no! It’s an opportunity for true innovation.”

Hermione leaned forward slightly, quill poised to take notes, though her brow furrowed at the vague introduction.

Slughorn beamed at the class. “Your task is to either improve a known potion or invent something entirely new. And I don’t mean trivial tinkering—your work must be substantiated, innovative, and safe for use.” He waggled a finger. “Don’t want anyone brewing anything too dangerous, do we?”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, though Hermione remained focused.

Slughorn continued, “Not only will this count as a significant portion of your grade, but the winning pair will receive a vial of my prized Rejuvenation Draught—a potion that grants unparalleled energy and focus for an entire week.” He smiled conspiratorially. “A little reward to keep you sharp during exams.”

Excited murmurs broke out among the students. Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully. The Rejuvenation Draught was rare, expensive, and difficult to brew—a prize well worth the effort.

Slughorn clapped his hands. “Now, you have the afternoon to brainstorm with your partners. You’re welcome to stay here or find another space more conducive to collaboration. Be creative, my dears!” He gave a flourishing bow and gestured for them to begin.

Hermione turned to Draco, who was already watching her with a small smirk. “Well, this should be interesting,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Hermione ignored his tone, diving straight into practicality. “We’ll need to narrow down our focus. Do you have any ideas?”

Draco shrugged lightly. “Plenty of ideas, but it depends on how ambitious we want to be. We could refine an existing potion, but I assume you’d prefer something groundbreaking.”

Her lips twitched. “You assume correctly.”

He tilted his head, thinking. “Snape used to tutor me privately in Potions. His methods were... unconventional, but he was a genius. I had his notes sent to me a few weeks ago. They’re in my dorm. There might be something there worth building on.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up at the mention of Snape. “His notes? That could be invaluable! Do you mind if I look at them?”

Draco smirked faintly. “Not at all. I can run and grab them now. Meet you in the library?”

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. “No need. We can just go to your dorm. It’ll save time.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “To my dorm? Granger, you’re making this too easy.”

She rolled her eyes, smacking him lightly on the arm. “Don’t start, Malfoy. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

He chuckled, standing and gathering his things. “Lead the way, then, Granger.”

Hermione grabbed her bag, ignoring the curious glances from their classmates as they exited the classroom together. Her mind was already racing with the possibilities Snape’s notes might hold.

And, though she’d never admit it, a small part of her was intrigued to see what Draco’s dorm looked like.

Draco’s dormitory was immaculate, a stark contrast to the chaotic swirl of emotions he felt as Hermione stepped inside. She wandered in with the curious air of someone entering unexplored territory, her fingers brushing the spines of the neatly arranged books on his shelf. He froze momentarily when her eyes lingered on his desk before turning toward his bed.

It was then that Draco caught sight of the perfume bottle sitting conspicuously on his nightstand—the one he’d impulsively bought because it reminded him of her. His pulse quickened. She couldn’t see that. Moving quickly, he snatched it up and shoved it into the drawer, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“What’s this one about?” Hermione asked, her voice drawing his attention back. She was scanning a particularly dense tome, utterly unaware of his brief panic.

Draco cleared his throat. “Advanced theories in wandless magic,” he said, forcing nonchalance. “Not exactly light reading.”

She hummed, clearly intrigued, and moved to the desk where he’d begun unpacking Snape’s notes. He stiffened as she leaned over him, her proximity sending his mind into chaos. She smelled faintly of vanilla, and the warmth of her presence so close to his bed left him distracted and far too aware of the situation.

“These are incredible,” Hermione said, picking up one of the neatly preserved notebooks. Her focus was entirely on the meticulous handwriting, completely oblivious to the effect her closeness was having on him. “The precision in his notes—it’s almost obsessive.”

Draco tried to focus, but when she moved around him and, without hesitation, settled herself in his lap, his thoughts unraveled.

She flipped open another notebook, absorbed in the scrawled annotations. “This one mentions stabilizing agents. Do you think he was working on a new theory, or just refining an existing one?”

Draco swallowed hard, his voice a touch strained. “Could be either. He was always experimenting.”

Hermione began jotting notes on a scrap of parchment, her quill scratching quickly as she murmured to herself. “Potential ideas... potion stabilization... non-verbal component integration...” She paused, tapping her quill against her chin. “We could also explore a method to reduce volatility in experimental brews.”

Draco tried to focus on her words, but his thoughts kept drifting to the fact that she was perched on his lap, entirely unbothered by the situation. Her warmth, the soft weight of her presence—it was maddening.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked suddenly, glancing over her shoulder with a concerned expression.

“What? No,” Draco said quickly, his hands instinctively settling on her hips to keep her in place. “You’re fine. Stay.”

She smirked, amused by his apparent discomfort, but returned to her work. “Alright then,” she said lightly, resuming her scribbling.

After a few more minutes, Hermione leaned back slightly, holding up her parchment. “Three ideas: refining potion stabilization techniques, incorporating non-verbal magic into brewing, or developing a potion that counters multiple curses simultaneously. What do you think?”

Draco stared at her, blinking. “I think... it’s good you’re so smart because I can’t think at all right now.”

She turned in his lap to face him fully, an impish grin spreading across her face. “Well, it’s a good thing I enjoy doing all the thinking, then.”

Before he could retort, she shifted, straddling him, her hands moving to his hair. “You’re hopeless,” she teased, threading her fingers through the strands.

Draco groaned softly, his hands tightening on her hips. “If you keep doing that, we’re not going to get anything done.”

“Maybe we’ve worked enough for today,” Hermione said, her voice dipping as she leaned closer.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Granger, skiving off schoolwork? Shocking.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t reply, instead adjusting her position. The movement drew a low groan from him, and before he could overthink, his lips captured hers. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, but quickly deepened as they allowed themselves to get lost in each other.

Draco’s mind swirled as Hermione pressed closer, her lips soft but insistent against his. The rational part of his brain—the one that warned him about boundaries and caution—was quickly drowned out by the warmth of her body and the intoxicating scent of her skin.

Hermione shifted again, her hands sliding down to his shoulders for balance, and Draco’s grip on her hips tightened instinctively. His senses were overwhelmed—her warmth, her softness, the gentle hum she made when his tongue brushed against hers.

When she pulled back slightly, her lips were flushed and her breathing uneven. “Maybe we should... move somewhere more comfortable,” she murmured, her eyes flicking toward the bed.

Draco hesitated for half a second before standing, keeping her firmly in his grasp. Hermione let out a soft laugh of surprise as he carried her the short distance, setting her gently on the edge of the bed. She tugged him down with her, and he followed, his weight pressing her into the soft mattress.

For a moment, he froze, hovering over her. The sight of her beneath him—her hair fanned out, her lips parted, her blouse slightly rumpled—sent a rush of heat through him. He leaned down, brushing a trail of kisses along her jaw, down her neck. When he nipped at the sensitive skin near her ear, she gasped softly, the sound making his chest tighten with something primal.

Draco’s hands slid down, pausing at the hem of her blouse. He hesitated, looking up at her for permission. Hermione’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, and she began unbuttoning the shirt herself. “I’m not planning on having sex today,” she said softly, her voice teasing but firm, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a bit of fun.”

His breath hitched as the fabric fell away, revealing her black bra and smooth, golden skin. For a moment, he could only stare, his mind blank. She was stunning, and the realization hit him with a force he wasn’t prepared for.

“Draco?” Hermione’s voice was amused, pulling him from his trance.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice husky. “You just... you look like a goddess.”

She laughed softly, her cheeks flushing, but the sound was cut off as he kissed her again, slower this time. His hands roamed hesitantly at first, exploring the curve of her waist, the delicate line of her ribcage. When his fingers brushed the edge of her bra, she arched into him, encouraging.

His lips followed the path of his hands, trailing down her neck and chest. He paused to press a kiss just above the lace of her bra before his hand covered her breast, kneading gently. Hermione’s soft moans spurred him on, and he reveled in every sound, every shiver that ran through her body.

As she shifted beneath him, her hips pressing up against his, Draco groaned, burying his face in her neck. “Hermione,” he murmured, his voice rough, “you’re going to drive me insane.”

She tilted her head back, giving him better access, her breathing becoming faster. Draco adjusted his position, grinding against her, his movements deliberate. His hand found her nipple, pinching lightly through the fabric, and she gasped, her body trembling.

It didn’t take long before she tensed, her fingers clutching his hair as her body shuddered beneath him. Her soft cry of release sent a surge of pride through him, and he kissed her deeply, swallowing the sound.

When she finally relaxed, her body limp against his, Hermione opened her eyes, staring at him with a mix of wonder and vulnerability. “That was...” She trailed off, her voice breathless, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Draco tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Good?” he teased lightly, though his voice was soft, almost reverent.

Hermione’s lips curved into a shy smile. “More than good,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against his jaw. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

A surge of pride and tenderness swept through Draco. “Well,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “I’m glad I could show you.”

Her gaze dropped, and her smile turned mischievous. “You’re probably in pain,” she said, her voice dipping.

He chuckled. “I’ll take care of it later.”

Hermione’s eyes darkened slightly, her fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw, igniting sparks under his skin. “Or... you could take care of it now.”

Draco stilled, his breath catching as he studied her. “Are you sure?” His voice was softer, tinged with curiosity rather than hesitation, as though he were trying to understand her completely.

She nodded, her gaze steady and filled with an unspoken invitation. “If you’re comfortable.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, curiosity now mingling with something deeper. “I’m more than comfortable,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “Just lay back.”

Hermione obeyed, and Draco settled beside her, his lips never leaving her skin. He kissed her deeply, his hands caressing her waist as he undid the button of his trousers. Slowly, he began stroking himself, careful to keep his focus on her. His lips traced along her collarbone, her neck, and back to her mouth, drawing soft sighs from her.

It didn’t take long before his movements quickened, his breathing growing uneven. Hermione’s hands tangled in his hair, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered his name. The sound sent him over the edge, and he groaned softly, his body tensing as he found his release.

For a moment, they lay there, both catching their breath. Draco murmured a quick cleansing charm before pulling her into his arms. Hermione rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

“How experienced are you?” she asked suddenly, her tone curious.

“Not very,” Draco admitted. “There was a summer fling in France before sixth year, but that didn’t last long. Other than that, just... this.” He glanced down at her. “What about you?”

Hermione shrugged. “I dated Viktor Krum for a bit, but it never went beyond kissing. And Ron...” She trailed off, rolling her eyes. “That was... awkward. It never felt right.”

Draco smirked. “So, no sex?”

“No,” she said, a teasing glint in her eyes. “But I’ve read a lot. I know a thing or two.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning playful. “Well, I’d love to see these books you’ve been reading. Maybe I could help you visualize some of the scenes.”

Hermione chuckled, her fingers brushing against his collar as she settled closer. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re brilliant,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Can we nap before dinner?” she asked softly as she yawned.

“Of course,” Draco said, pulling the covers over them. As they drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t shake the quiet certainty that, for the first time in a long time, he felt completely at peace.