Haunted

Draco stirred awake, the ever-present shadow of his guilt momentarily lifted by the soft rise and fall of Hermione’s breathing. Blinking into the dim light of his dormitory, he noticed the faint silver glow cast by the enchanted ceiling, a quiet reflection of the calm that had settled over him. Hermione shifted slightly, her head tucked against his shoulder, her face serene in a way that seemed almost foreign to him.

She hummed softly, her lashes fluttering as her eyes opened. For a brief moment, confusion clouded her gaze, followed by a flicker of panic. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.

Draco glanced toward the clock on his desk, the faint green glow confirming her fears. “Late,” he murmured. “Past curfew. You should’ve been back in your dorm hours ago.”

Hermione groaned, letting her head fall against his chest. “Honestly, I don’t care. I haven’t slept this well in... I can’t even remember how long.”

He gently pushed a curl from her face, his smirk turning into a grin. “Glad to know I’m good for something.”

Hermione chuckled softly but stayed close. “It’s not just that. It’s... everything. This year, it’s felt... different. Unsettling, almost.”

Draco’s smirk faded, his brows drawing together. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, her voice soft but steady when she finally spoke. “At the start of the year, I kept getting this feeling like someone was watching me. It wasn’t all the time—just little moments when my skin would prickle, or I’d look over my shoulder and see nothing. It left me on edge. And even though I know my friends care about me, I couldn’t tell them. They think I’m the one who always has it together, the one who doesn’t flinch. How could I admit that... I was afraid?”

Guilt coiled in Draco’s chest, sharp and unrelenting. He tightened his hold on her slightly, his mind spinning. He’d never meant to make her feel that way—never wanted to add to her fears. But now, hearing her words, he knew he couldn’t keep this to himself. She deserved the truth.

“Hermione,” he began, his voice quieter than usual. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “What is it?”

Draco hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He knew this could backfire spectacularly, but the weight of his secret had become unbearable. “At the beginning of the year, I... I watched you.”

Her expression stayed neutral, though confusion flickered in her eyes. “What do you mean, you watched me?”

“I don’t mean it in a creepy way,” he said quickly, his fingers flexing nervously against her back. “I was... I was a mess. After the war, after everything—I didn’t know who I was anymore. But you... Granger, you looked like you’d come out of it whole, like you’d somehow managed to put yourself back together. I just... I wanted to understand how you did it.”

Hermione didn’t respond immediately, her eyes searching his face, as though trying to piece together what he wasn’t saying.

Draco drew in a steadying breath, the weight of his confession pulling at him. “But if I’m being completely honest... it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just curiosity.” He hesitated, the words catching slightly. “There was something more. I didn’t want to admit it—not even to myself—but... that was part of it too.”

Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering in her expression. He rushed ahead, the need to explain clawing at him. “I never wanted to scare you, Hermione. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. And if I did... I’m sorry. Truly.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Draco braced himself, his mind racing with possibilities—anger, disappointment, maybe even disgust. Anything but what came next. Instead, she laughed.

He blinked, completely thrown. “You’re laughing?”

She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking as the laughter softened into something warmer, almost tender. “I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just...” She took a breath, meeting his gaze with an unexpected brightness in her eyes. “I’m relieved.”

“Relieved?” Draco repeated, his bewilderment still evident.

“I thought I was going crazy,” she admitted, her smile turning rueful. “I kept feeling like I was imagining things. But now, knowing it was you... it’s almost funny.” She paused, her expression softening. “And if I’m being honest with you... I’ve been attracted to you for a while. But I never let myself think it could go anywhere. You know, given our history.”

Draco’s breath hitched, her words igniting a warm, unfamiliar flutter in his chest. “You were attracted to me?” he asked, a hint of incredulity slipping through his usually composed demeanor.

Hermione rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. “Don’t let it go to your head, Malfoy. Your ego’s big enough as it is.”

A slow smirk curved his lips, the initial shock giving way to something far more self-assured. “Too late,” he teased, his voice low and warm. “It’s not every day I get a compliment from the brightest witch of our age.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer, “you still like me.”

Her lips twitched in amusement as she looked down at their joined hands. “I suppose I do.”

For a moment, the room fell quiet. The faint glow of the enchanted ceiling cast soft silver light across the space. Draco’s thumb brushed absently over her knuckles, the small gesture both grounding and intimate.

“It’s strange,” Hermione admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never imagined we’d end up here.”

Draco tilted his head, studying her with a rare openness. “Here, as in my room? Or... this?”

“This,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his. “But I’m glad we did.”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione glanced at the clock on his desk, her eyes widening slightly. “It’s nearly midnight.”

Draco followed her gaze, then shrugged. “It’s not like Filch is lurking in the dungeons.” He paused, his expression softening. “Stay here. It’s late, and you’re tired.”

She tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “You’re just trying to get me to stay in your bed.”

Draco smirked, his voice teasing but warm. “Can you blame me? But no, really—stay. You’re safe here, and no one’s going to barge in.”

Hermione hesitated, clearly considering it, her fingers absently tracing the hem of the blanket. Finally, she let out a soft laugh. “I would, but... I’m starving.”

Draco chuckled, rising smoothly to his feet and heading toward the small drawer beside his bed. “Lucky for you, I’m a man of many talents. One of them? Anticipating late-night cravings.”

She watched curiously as he pulled open the drawer and retrieved a neatly arranged box. “What’s that?”

“A weekly care package from Mimsy,” he said, setting the box on the bed. With a quick flick of his wand, the stasis charm dissolved in a shimmer, revealing a selection of foods: tiny sandwiches, delicate pastries, vibrant fruit, and slices of pie.

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s all fresh?”

Draco grinned, his tone half teasing. “Naturally. Mimsy doesn’t do things halfway.”

She leaned closer, inspecting the contents with interest, but Draco didn’t miss the faint furrow of her brow or the way her lips tugged downward.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like any of it,” he said, feigning indignation. “Apple pie, Granger. It’s a classic.”

“It’s not that,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just...” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip, clearly hesitant to continue.

Draco tilted his head, his confusion genuine. “What is it?”

Hermione sighed, meeting his gaze. “I know it’s silly, especially with all the house elves at Hogwarts, but... it’s disappointing.”

“Disappointing?” he echoed, still not following. “What is?”

She exhaled softly. “That you own a house elf.”

Understanding dawned, and Draco chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Not exactly,” he said, leaning back against the headboard. “Part of the conditions for my parents’ release—and mine—was to free all our house elves. Mimsy was one of the few who chose to stay.”

Hermione blinked, the tension in her expression easing slightly. “She chose to stay?”

He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “She’s been with my family longer than I’ve been alive. To me, she’s family. And yes, before you ask, she’s paid now. She also gets vacation time, though we haven’t managed to convince her to actually take any of it.”

A small smile tugged at Hermione’s lips, though she still studied him carefully. “And what does Mimsy spend her salary on?”

“Clothes,” Draco said with a faint smirk. “And shoes. She’s obsessed with them. She even has her own wardrobe—tiny racks and all. I think she owns more shoes than my mother.”

Hermione laughed at that, her shoulders relaxing. “Well, that’s... surprisingly wonderful. It’s not what I expected at all.”

Draco leaned in slightly, his smirk softening into something genuine. “I do aim to surprise.”

Her smile widened, and she reached for a slice of apple pie. “Maybe one day, Hogwarts will follow suit.”

She picked up a small slice, taking a delicate bite. A soft hum of approval escaped her, and she pointed the pie at him like a wand. “Alright, I take it back. You’re officially forgiven for keeping a house elf—on the condition that you keep sharing your pie.”

Draco smirked, leaning back against the headboard. “Noted. My eternal absolution hinges on baked goods. Good to know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile as they settled into a comfortable rhythm, sharing bites of Mimsy’s impeccable offerings as the clock ticked quietly toward midnight.

Draco opened the wardrobe at the far side of the room, pulling out a neatly folded pair of silk pajamas. Turning back to Hermione, he held them out. “Here. They should fit well enough.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she accepted them, running her fingers over the soft fabric. “Silk, of course. Why am I not surprised?”

He smirked, leaning casually against the bedpost. “You expected anything less?”

“Honestly? No,” she quipped, heading toward the door he indicated. “Thanks. And, really, a private bathroom? How very Slytherin of you.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Jealous?”

“Let’s just say I’m filing a formal complaint when I get back to Gryffindor Tower,” she teased, disappearing into the bathroom. The soft click of the lock was quickly followed by her voice calling out, “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

Draco leaned back, his tone light. “Not unless you’re brave enough to use mine.”

There was a beat of silence before her playful response came, “Brave? That’s practically the Gryffindor motto, Malfoy. Don’t act so shocked.”

Draco smirked, shaking his head as the faint sound of running water reached him. His thoughts betrayed him almost instantly, conjuring an image of Hermione beneath the shower’s warm spray, water tracing the curves of her skin. A sharp rush of heat surged through him, and he groaned quietly, dragging a hand through his hair. Pull it together, Malfoy. She’s here, in your room, trusting you. Don’t ruin it by being an idiot.

Desperate for a distraction, he began tidying the room with a precision that betrayed his nerves, straightening a stack of books on his desk and smoothing the duvet. The mundane task did little to steady his thoughts.

When the sound of the water ceased, he froze. A few moments later, Hermione stepped out, her damp curls framing her flushed face. She was wearing the silk pajamas he’d given her, the oversized shirt brushing her wrists and the loose-fitting pants hanging just so. She looked... soft. Comfortable. And yet, somehow, stunningly effortless.

Draco swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he took her in. The casual elegance of her appearance was entirely unfair, and his brain scrambled for coherence. Before he could stop himself, he murmured, “How exactly do you expect me to sleep when you look like that?”

Hermione paused mid-step, her brows lifting in playful disbelief. “Malfoy, are you flirting with me, or complaining?”

“A bit of both,” he admitted, a slow smirk curving his lips. “And neither, if it gets me into trouble.”

She walked over to him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” he replied, his voice unintentionally rough. Grabbing his own set of pajamas, he headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The scent of her lingered, subtle and warm, wrapping around him in a way that made him pause. His eyes caught on his toothbrush, sitting slightly askew in its holder. A crooked grin spread across his face. She’d really used it.

The hot water of the shower pounded against his skin, clearing his mind and tempering the thoughts that had threatened to spiral earlier. By the time he was brushing his teeth, a steadier calm had settled over him. He dressed quickly—soft cotton pants and a fitted black shirt that clung just enough to make an impression—and ran a hand through his damp hair, the motion as much habit as it was effort to tame his thoughts, before stepping back into the room.

Hermione was already in bed, nestled under the covers with a book balanced on her lap. She looked up as he approached, her expression soft and inviting. Closing the book, she placed it on the nightstand and shifted, making room for him.

Draco slid into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. Hermione immediately shifted closer, her head finding its place against his shoulder, her arm draping across his chest in a way that felt impossibly right.

“Is this okay?” she asked softly, her voice laced with a quiet vulnerability.

Draco glanced down at her, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Granger, if you think for one second I’d complain about you willingly cuddling with me, you’ve clearly underestimated me.”

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against his chest. “Good. Because this is...nice.”

Draco’s arm curved around her, holding her securely as he murmured, “More than nice.”

Her gentle hum of agreement was followed by her breath evening out, her warmth sinking into him. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around them, soothing in a way he hadn’t known he craved.

As sleep began to claim him, Draco marveled at the ease of it all—the way she fit so perfectly against him, the way her presence chased away the edges of a darkness he’d carried for far too long. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t thought possible.

The week flew by in a flurry of whispers and curiosity. The entire school seemed to be buzzing with the news of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t malicious, Hermione noted—more speculative and amazed. It was as if they couldn’t quite wrap their heads around the idea of the Gryffindor golden girl and the Slytherin prince as a couple.

By Friday, Hermione’s mornings had taken on a new rhythm, one she couldn’t help but look forward to. Each day began with a freshly delivered book, her name scrawled in elegant handwriting on the accompanying note. The messages were brief, sometimes teasing, but always thoughtful. She’d mentioned the lack of space in her dorm as a casual complaint, but it seemed Draco had taken that as a challenge. The growing stack of books on her nightstand now felt less like clutter and more like a testament to his impossible determination—and his knack for making her smile.

And every morning, without fail, Draco was waiting for her outside the Gryffindor common room. On Thursday, determined to surprise him for once, she’d woken up before the crack of dawn, slipping quietly out of her dorm. Her plan had been simple: catch him outside the Slytherin dormitory. But even as the pale light of dawn barely brushed the castle walls, there he was, leaning casually against the stone, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Granger,” he’d drawled, his smirk almost infuriating. “Did you really think you could outmaneuver me?”

The memory still brought a faint smile to her lips as they walked hand in hand toward the Great Hall on Friday morning. The glances from other students were ever-present, with each day feeling less judgement and more curious.

“Granger,” Draco said, his voice cutting through her thoughts like silk. “What are you doing tonight?”

She blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Studying?”

“Wrong answer.” His smirk was maddeningly self-assured. “I’ll be picking you up at seven. Bring an overnight bag.”

Hermione’s brow arched, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “An overnight bag? Should I be concerned?”

“Probably,” he said with a smirk, “but not about this.” His tone was infuriatingly casual. “I’ve already cleared it with McGonagall. We’ll be back by tomorrow morning, but where we’re going... it’ll take some time.”

Her intrigue deepened, suspicion coloring her voice. “And where, exactly, are we going?”

He grinned, stepping ahead to hold open the doors to the Great Hall. “Now, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

Hermione sighed, feigning exasperation even as a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly charming,” he quipped without missing a beat. Steering her toward the Gryffindor table, he launched into a conversation with Neville, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts—and a growing sense of anticipation.

At exactly 7 p.m., Hermione stepped out of the Gryffindor common room, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Draco was waiting for her, leaning casually against the wall with that infuriatingly confident smirk in place. In his hand, he held a small, ordinary-looking button.

“A Portkey?” Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing as she examined the object.

“Efficient, isn’t it?” Draco replied, his tone light and teasing. “We leave in five minutes. You did pack, I assume?”

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “Though I’m still wondering how you managed to convince McGonagall to approve this. And an overnight trip for a first date, Malfoy? A bit much, even for you.”

Draco chuckled, pushing off the wall to stand in front of her. “Well, of course it’s over the top—it’s me. And as for McGonagall... I told her the truth.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “The truth?”

“That this trip is educational,” he said smoothly, the faintest hint of mischief in his voice.

Hermione’s eyes lit up, curiosity sparking like a flame. “Educational?”

Draco’s grin deepened, clearly pleased with her reaction. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Five minutes later, their fingers brushed as they touched the button together. The familiar tug of Portkey travel seized them, pulling them through a whirl of motion. When they landed, Hermione stumbled slightly, but Draco’s hand was already there, steadying her before she could fall.

“Graceful as always,” he teased lightly.

She ignored him, her attention immediately snapping to the towering structure in front of them. Her brows furrowed as she took in the intricate details of the building. Something about it tugged at the edges of her memory, familiar yet elusive.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice tinged with wonder.

Draco stepped beside her, his smirk broadening as he gestured grandly to the imposing structure. “The Library of Alexandria.”

Hermione froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her heart thudded wildly as she turned to him, eyes wide. “The Library of Alexandria? As in... the one that was destroyed? Burned to the ground?”

“The very same,” Draco said, his tone rich with amusement. “Though technically, it didn’t burn down. Wizards of that time safeguarded it. It’s been preserved ever since, maintained in secret by about ten families. Access is extremely limited.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped as she took in the grandeur of the building, her mind spinning with the implications. “And the Malfoys are one of those families?”

“Actually, no,” Draco replied, a hint of smugness in his tone. “It’s Blaise’s mother’s family. He was... generous enough to let me use one of their allocated time slots. You’re fortunate one came up so soon—each family only gets one or two visits a year.”

She turned to him, utterly dumbfounded. “Blaise set this up for us?”

A teasing smile curved her lips as she crossed her arms. “Maybe I picked the wrong Slytherin.”

Draco placed a hand over his chest, feigning mock offense. “I’m wounded, Granger. And after I went to all this trouble?”

Laughing, Hermione stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, her gratitude spilling over in the tenderness of the gesture. “Thank you, Draco. This is... beyond incredible.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, his voice softer now. With a small motion toward the entrance, he added, “We’ve got three hours.”

Her eyes widened, panic immediately flickering across her face. “Three hours? That’s all?”

Draco’s smirk deepened, barely suppressing his amusement as she clutched her bag and bolted toward the grand doors, excitement written all over her. “Steady on, Granger!” he called after her. “Try not to bulldoze any priceless artifacts!”

But she was already through the entrance, her enthusiasm propelling her forward into the legendary library. Draco lingered for a moment, watching her with a rare, genuine smile. Then, shaking his head in amusement, he followed after her, his steps unhurried but his heart lighter than it had been in years.

When they first step inside, Hermione nearly has a meltdown trying to decide which section to visit first. She darts between towering shelves, her eyes widening at titles in ancient languages, her excitement practically vibrating in the air. Finally, she settles on the non-verbal magic section, muttering about the possibilities of integrating non-verbal components into potion-making.

As they browse, Hermione explains her ideas, her voice quick with enthusiasm. “Potions inherently rely on precision and intent. Theoretically, if non-verbal magic could be used during brewing—especially in critical moments of stabilization—it could introduce an additional layer of control. For example, in volatile mixtures like the Draught of Living Death, non-verbal calming spells might reduce the risk of overreactive ingredients combusting. Or,” she continued, pulling a thick tome from the shelf, “imagine using silent incantations to counter inherent magical resistance in hybrid ingredients.”

Draco listens intently, occasionally smirking at her unstoppable energy. He eventually is pulling books from the higher shelves, scanning indexes, and handing her anything that seems relevant. Her parchment quickly fills with meticulous notes, and he’s struck by the sheer force of her curiosity. Her mind, he thinks, is the most captivating part of her.

As the hours pass, Draco notices the librarian approaching—a tall, stooped man with a sharp gaze and a tendency to view most visitors as nuisances. Draco had encountered him before during a visit with Blaise, where the man had made it abundantly clear that Draco’s presence was barely tolerated.

To his shock, the librarian warms immediately to Hermione, engaging her in a lively discussion about obscure magical theories. The older man even offers her his contact information, saying, “Should you require additional resources, my dear, you have but to owl me. I’d be delighted to assist.”

Hermione beams at him, the kind of radiant smile Draco rarely sees her wear, and it does something strange to his chest. When they’re escorted out of the library, the glow of the experience lingers in her eyes.

Outside, as the cool night air envelops them, Hermione suddenly throws herself into Draco’s arms, hugging him tightly. “I meant to do this before, but we didn’t have time. This was... this was one of the best nights of my life.”

Draco wraps his arms around her, his smirk softening into something almost tender. “Well, of course it was,” he teased, leaning close. “I planned it.”

Hermione laughs, swatting him lightly as she steps back, still clutching her bag. It’s past ten, and Draco knows curfew at Hogwarts has come and gone. He retrieves another Portkey from his pocket—a silver cufflink—and holds it out to her.

“Where now?” she asks, her curiosity undimmed.

“To the Malfoy estate near Alexandria,” he replies. “It’s close, and we can head back to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

As they touch the Portkey together, the ancient city fades from view, and Hermione’s smile lingers in his mind as they travel to the next stop on their unforgettable evening.

Draco and Hermione arrived at the Malfoy estate near Alexandria, the grandeur of the villa softened by the warm Mediterranean breeze. Mimsy greeted them at the door, her large eyes sparkling with delight as she took Hermione’s hand. “Miss Granger! Mimsy has heard so much about you!”

Hermione, visibly touched by the warmth, knelt slightly to greet the elf properly. Mimsy’s beam widened as she ushered them inside, a quick supper already waiting in the dining room. While they ate, Mimsy chattered about the estate, how she hurried to prepare everything on short notice, and then, with an exaggerated sigh, announced, “Mimsy is so sorry, but with such little time, she could only ready one room for you both.”

Draco caught the mischievous glint in Mimsy’s eye, the subtle wink she shot his way. He bit back a laugh, nodding solemnly. “I’m sure we’ll manage, Mimsy.”

After dinner, Draco grabbed Hermione’s bag and led her upstairs. The room Mimsy prepared was elegant yet cozy, with soft gold accents and a massive four-poster bed draped in gauzy curtains. Hermione stood in the doorway, taking it all in with a soft, awed smile.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Draco chuckled softly. “It’ll do.”

They changed into their pajamas, settling under the plush blankets. The events of the night buzzed quietly between them as the room dimmed, the golden light of a single enchanted lantern casting a warm glow.

Draco felt Hermione shift closer, her head resting against his shoulder. Her voice broke the stillness, soft and heartfelt. “Thank you, Draco. For all of this. I don’t think I’ve ever had a night like tonight.”

Her sincerity cut through him, and he tilted her chin up, brushing his lips against hers. “You deserve it,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Their kiss deepened, the warmth between them building. Hermione pressed closer, her soft curves molding perfectly to him. Draco’s thoughts raced, his hands trailing down her back. The feel of her, the intoxicating scent of her hair—it was almost too much. But even as desire flared within him, he stayed attuned to her every movement, ensuring her comfort.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen. Her eyes shone with a mix of nervousness and determination. “I want to show you how much I loved tonight,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “I’m not ready for... everything, but if you want, we could... try something else.”

Draco shook his head slightly. “Hermione, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupted, her tone firmer now. “I’ve been thinking about this. About you. I want this.”

His resolve crumbled under the weight of her conviction, and he pressed a kiss to her temple. “If that’s the case,” he murmured, his voice dropping, “then I’d love to taste you.”

Her breath hitched, but she nodded, lying back against the pillows. Draco took his time, his lips trailing down her body as he pressed kisses to her thighs. Slowly, he slipped off her bra and panties, savoring the sight of her. When he finally settled between her legs, her sweet, faintly floral scent consumed him.

He started gently, his tongue exploring her, learning what made her gasp and moan. Her taste was warm and sweet, like honey, and her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she trembled beneath him. When she reached her peak, crying out his name, Draco kept his focus, prolonging her pleasure until she collapsed back against the bed, her body shuddering in release.

Her breathing was uneven as she came down, her face glowing. After a moment, she sat up, her movements deliberate. “Your turn,” she said, her voice low with intent.

Draco blinked, stunned, as she slipped her panties back on and slid off the bed to kneel before him. The soft candlelight cast shadows along her curves, her confidence and vulnerability striking a perfect balance. “I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, glancing up at him through her lashes. “But I’ve read... a lot. If you guide me...”

His chest tightened at the sight of her. “Merlin,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Hermione... you’re going to kill me.”

She smirked, her fingers brushing over the waistband of his pants as she freed him. The sight of her holding him, her lips just inches away, sent a jolt through him that nearly undid him.

She began slowly, her lips parting as she took him in, her movements hesitant but eager. Draco’s head fell back, a groan escaping him as he threaded his fingers through her hair. When she glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, he couldn’t help the curse that slipped out. “Good girl,” he breathed, the words slipping out unbidden.

Her reaction was immediate—her pace quickened, her movements more assured. Draco realized with a jolt that she liked the praise, and he leaned into it. “That’s it,” he murmured, his hand resting gently on the back of her head. “You’re incredible.”

As the tension built, he tried to warn her, his voice strained. “Hermione, I’m—”

She shook her head, her determination unwavering, and he gave in, his release overtaking him as her name fell from his lips. When she finally sat back, her expression was one of pride and curiosity, her cheeks flushed.

Draco collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving as he stared at her in awe. “That... just happened,” he said, his voice filled with wonder. “You’re incredible.”

She laughed softly, climbing back into bed beside him. “So are you. Now, sleep. We’ve had a long day.”

Draco pulled her close, his hand resting against her back. As they drifted off together, the thought settled over him like a warm blanket—Hermione Granger was full of surprises, and tonight, she had utterly unraveled him.