Haunted

Hermione’s gaze darted to the clock just as the her door creaked open. She barely had time to blink before Pansy Parkinson swept into the room, her entrance as dramatic as always. Several oversized bags floated behind her, trailing lazily through the air under the influence of a weightless charm.

“Good evening, Granger,” Pansy announced brightly, setting the bags down with a flourish. “Right on time. I told you I would be.”

Hermione crossed her arms, arching a brow. “How did you get into the tower this time?”

Pansy grinned wickedly, ignoring the question as she began unpacking the contents of the nearest bag. “I have my ways,” she replied cryptically.

Hermione sighed but didn’t press. Instead, she gestured to the assortment of bags now cluttering her usually tidy room. “Do you really need this much stuff for one evening?”

“Absolutely,” Pansy said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She pulled out an array of items and began categorizing them. “This bag is for hair—brushes, curling charms, smoothing potions, you name it. This one is makeup—obviously. The third bag is for accessories: jewelry, heels, and all the little extras. And the fourth—”

“Wait,” Hermione interrupted, holding up a hand. “There’s a fourth bag?”

Pansy gave her a mockingly pitying look. “Granger, of course there is. The fourth is for emergency supplies—spare tights, hairpins, an extra dress just in case of disaster. You didn’t think I’d come unprepared, did you?”

Hermione stared for a moment before shaking her head. “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t have it all, it's just... why don’t you just use an extended bag?”

Pansy blinked, genuinely confused. “An extended bag? That’s pretty advanced magic, Granger. I doubt any of our teachers could even pull of that type of magic.”

Hermione bit back a smile, reaching under her bed and retrieving a small, nondescript beaded bag. “Oh, it's not too hard.” she said, holding it up.

Pansy leaned forward, eyes wide with fascination. “That’s not hard? You’re impossible, Granger. Not even Flitwick could pull that off without making a show of it! Where did you get that?”

“Made it,” Hermione explained, untying the bag and pulling out a few items to demonstrate. “Harry and I used it while we were on the run during the war.”

Pansy’s brow furrowed. “You and Harry? You mean you, Harry, and Ron?”

Hermione’s expression shifted, her fingers pausing on the bag. “Ron left us. He was... struggling. The horcruxes messed with all of us, but it hit him harder in ways I didn’t expect.” Her voice softened, and for a moment, her eyes clouded with something like regret.

“What?” Pansy’s tone was sharp with disbelief. “He left? During all of that?”

Hermione nodded, placing the bag down and sitting on the edge of her bed. “The horcruxes were... difficult. They manipulated us, amplified our worst thoughts. For Ron, it was his insecurities and his... selfishness.”

Pansy had begun setting out hair tools but stopped, staring at Hermione with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “But you didn’t leave Harry. And Harry didn’t leave you.”

Hermione blinked, taken aback. “No. But—”

“It wasn’t the horcrux, then,” Pansy said, her voice almost matter-of-fact. “At least, not entirely. It amplified what was already there. If Ron could leave... it wasn’t just because of the magic.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. Hermione stared at Pansy, her mind racing. “That’s... actually a very interesting deduction,” she admitted after a moment.

Pansy shrugged, returning to her task as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “It’s just common sense,” she said lightly. “Now, sit. Your hair won’t do itself.”

Hermione obeyed, letting Pansy fuss over her curls with surprising expertise. The silence stretched for a few minutes before Hermione broke it. “What about Neville?” she asked, watching Pansy in the mirror. “What do you really want with him?”

Pansy paused, meeting Hermione’s gaze in the glass. “He’s got the backbone to stand up to me, Granger, and I won’t lie—there’s something annoyingly attractive about his courage. Merlin help me, I think might actually like him.”

Hermione tilted her head, studying Pansy’s reflection. “You’re right about Neville. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. But if you’re planning on using him—”

“Oh, I am,” Pansy interrupted with a smirk, reaching for an eyeliner pencil. “But it’s not like he won’t get anything in return.” She winked, her tone dripping with mischief.

Hermione groaned but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Just... don’t hurt him.”

“Relax, Granger,” Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand. “Neville Longbottom isn’t the kind of man you hurt. He’s the kind you hold onto.”

Hermione was still processing that when Pansy stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “There. Your makeup is flawless, and your hair is perfect.” She held up the green dress with a triumphant smile. “Now, put this on and let’s knock Draco Malfoy off his feet.”

Hermione slipped into the dress, smoothing the silk against her sides. The material shimmered under the light, the lace cutouts perfectly teasing without overstepping. When she turned, Pansy whistled, a grin spreading across her face. “Draco Malfoy is not going to survive this,” Pansy declared.

Hermione gave herself one last glance in the mirror, her confidence bolstered by the dress and the night ahead. “Let’s find out.”

The Slytherin common room had been transformed into a dark, glittering haven of debauchery. The flickering glow of green and silver enchanted lanterns cast shifting shadows across the walls, while a low, throbbing bassline pulsed through the room. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, a heady mixture of excitement and danger that hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Draco stood near the edge of the room, one hand idly swirling a glass of Firewhisky as his eyes roved over the crowd. The usual suspects were there—Blaise was holding court near the drinks table, his easy charm drawing a crowd of admirers. A few feet away, Daphne Greengrass twirled in a sheer, glittering dress, laughing too loudly at something she said.

But Draco’s attention wasn’t on them. It was fixed squarely on the entrance, his nerves coiled tightly despite his outward calm. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was the knowledge that Hermione was coming. Or maybe it was the fear of how she might react to the wilder side of Slytherin parties once midnight struck.

He hadn’t had much time to dwell on it, though, before the noise in the room suddenly shifted. The bassline thudded on, but the chatter around him grew quieter, heads turning toward the entrance. It was a slow ripple, like a wave of electricity surging through the crowd.

Draco straightened instinctively, his grip tightening on his glass as Hermione and Pansy stepped into the room.

Hermione was... breathtaking.

The green silk dress clung to her curves in ways that had his throat tightening, the lace cutouts offering tantalizing glimpses of her skin. Her dark curls framed her face, tumbling over her bare shoulders, and her expression was a careful blend of curiosity and confidence. She didn’t look out of place—she looked like she belonged.

Her eyes scanned the room, and when her gaze landed on him, a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. She didn’t look like the Hermione he knew from endless library debates or study sessions. No, this Hermione was playful, a little daring, and entirely too alluring for his peace of mind.

Pansy was the first to speak, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Alright, you lot, stop gawking and carry on,” she said, rolling her eyes as if annoyed by the attention they were receiving. But Draco caught the smirk tugging at her lips. She was enjoying it.

Hermione followed Pansy into the room, her steps deliberate, hips swaying just enough to make his pulse quicken. When her gaze landed on Draco again, she tilted her head, her smile widening. She looked... confident. And gods help him, he liked it.

Pansy, meanwhile, sauntered off toward the drinks table, already zeroing in on Neville, who had shed all traces of nervousness and was laughing easily with Blaise and Daphne.

Draco moved toward Hermione, meeting her halfway. “You’re late,” he said, his tone light but warm.

She gave him a sly smile. “Fashionably so,” she teased, glancing over at Pansy. “Blame her. She said we had to be absolutely perfect.”

His eyes swept over her again, and his breath hitched. “She wasn’t wrong,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed faintly, but her smile didn’t waver. “You clean up nicely yourself,” she said, her gaze sliding over his tailored black suit, the subtle shimmer of green threading through the fabric, and the sleek horns adorning his head. “Though I have to say, the horns are a nice touch.”

Draco smirked, leaning in just enough to make her breath hitch. “I knew you’d like them.”

She laughed softly, her voice low and melodic. “You’re impossible.”

“Only with you,” he countered smoothly, his voice dropping into a near-whisper. “You look stunning, Granger. But I can’t quite place your costume. What are you supposed to be?”

Her smile turned positively wicked as she stepped closer, her hand brushing his forearm. “I’m a viper,” she purred, her tone playful, “though I’d have thought you’d recognize your house mascot a little faster, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, momentarily caught off guard before a slow grin spread across his face. “Touché.”

For a moment, the noise around them seemed to fade, the room narrowing until it was just the two of them. But then Blaise’s voice broke through the bubble.

“Oi, Malfoy!” Blaise called, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Are you going to stand there all night, or are you actually going to enjoy the party?”

Draco shot him a glare but couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. “Patience, Zabini,” he drawled, turning back to Hermione. “Shall we?”

Hermione arched a brow, offering her hand with an exaggerated flourish. “Lead the way.”

Draco chuckled, taking her hand and guiding her deeper into the room. As they moved through the crowd, he couldn’t help but notice the stares they received—some curious, others downright disbelieving. He ignored them all, focusing instead on the warmth of Hermione’s hand in his.

Let them stare, he thought, his fingers brushing over hers. She was here with him, and that was all that mattered.

The energy in the room shifted palpably as the clock ticked closer to midnight. The music deepened into a sultry rhythm, the lights dimmed further, and the crowd seemed to hum with anticipation. Near the front of the room, Pansy Parkinson climbed onto a low platform, commanding attention with the ease of someone who knew how to hold a crowd.

“Alright, listen up, my devious darlings!” she called, her voice slicing effortlessly through the growing hush. Conversations faltered, and all eyes turned to her. “It’s midnight—or close enough—and you know what that means. The kiddies head off to bed, and the real party begins.” She winked, twirling a wand in her hand before flicking it toward the far side of the room. A shimmering barrier materialized, gently guiding younger students toward the exit like a shepherd herding sheep.

“Off you go now, no complaints,” Pansy said with exaggerated sweetness. “You’ll thank me when you’re older.” The crowd chuckled as the younger students grumbled but complied. Once the last of them disappeared, the mood in the room changed entirely.

Pansy raised a goblet filled with a shimmering purple liquid. “Now, for those who remain—you lucky few—it’s time to raise the stakes. Tonight’s signature potion is a diluted Amortentia blend. Don’t panic—it won’t make you fall head over heels. But it will loosen you up. Have a little fun, live a little dangerously. You’re Slytherins, after all!”

A ripple of laughter and cheers spread through the crowd as a tray of goblets floated into the air, courtesy of an invisible charm. The glasses glimmered like liquid starlight, weaving between partygoers.

Hermione raised a brow at Draco as one hovered near them. “So... should we?”

Draco smirked, brushing a strand of her hair back. “Do we really need a potion for that?”

Her eyes sparkled, a smile tugging at her lips. “Not even a little.”

As the music swelled, Hermione’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Without warning, she grabbed Draco’s hand, her touch warm and insistent. “Come on,” she said, her grin both daring and inviting.

Draco resisted, an amused furrow forming on his brow. “Granger—what are you doing?”

She spun to face him, her curls bouncing with the motion. “What’s wrong, Malfoy?” she teased, her tone light and full of challenge. “Don’t tell me the great Draco Malfoy doesn’t know how to dance.”

His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, his grey-blue eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Actually, Granger,” he drawled, stepping closer, “like any self-respecting pureblood heir, I was classically trained the moment I could walk. Tango, waltz, you name it.”

“Good,” she replied, her voice softening as she closed the space between them. Her gaze flicked to his lips before returning to his eyes, her confidence unwavering. “Then show me what you’ve got.”

Draco’s eyes darkened, his hand instinctively settling on her waist. He leaned in just enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. “Careful what you ask for, Granger,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing. “You might not be able to keep up.”

Her answering smile was wicked. “Oh, Malfoy,” she whispered, her voice dipping in a way that sent a shiver through him. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

As they stepped onto the dance floor, the first notes of a sultry tango unfurled through the room, rich and intoxicating. Draco caught Hermione by the hand, spinning her smoothly into his arms. Their eyes locked, a silent spark igniting between them as his hand found the small of her back. Their bodies aligned with effortless precision, the silk of her dress sliding softly against his tailored suit.

The first steps were deliberate, almost teasing. Hermione moved with a natural grace, each motion fluid and instinctive as though she’d been made for this dance. Draco’s lead was confident yet attentive, and they circled each other like two predators, their steps a perfect, unspoken conversation.

The room seemed to dissolve around them, leaving only the hypnotic rhythm of the music and the electric pull of their connection. Draco leaned in, his voice a low murmur that brushed against her skin. “I didn’t realize you could dance like this.”

Hermione’s lips curved into a playful smile, her eyes gleaming with challenge. “I could say the same about you. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—someone like you would never settle for being mediocre at anything.”

His smirk deepened, the heat in his gaze unmistakable. “Careful, Granger. Flattery might get you into trouble.”

She arched an eyebrow, a flicker of mischief lighting her expression. “Or exactly where I want to be.”

Their pace quickened, each movement sharper and more intense. The tension between them crackled in the air as Draco dipped her low, the motion precise and commanding. Gasps rippled through the onlookers as he held her effortlessly, their faces inches apart. Hermione could feel the heat of his breath against her lips, her pulse racing.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” Draco murmured, his voice rough with something deeper, more dangerous.

Her smile was wicked, her voice a soft purr as she replied, “You’ve no idea.”

The music swelled toward its crescendo, their final moments a whirlwind of movement. Hermione spun in his arms with breathtaking ease, her dress flaring dramatically before he pulled her close. The song ended with a sharp flourish, Draco catching her in a perfect dip. Her back arched over his arm, his hand firm on her waist, the room holding its collective breath.

As the last note faded, applause erupted, shattering the spell but not the intensity of the moment. Hermione straightened slowly, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming fast. Her gaze found Draco’s, and the raw, unguarded look in his eyes made her heart stutter.

“Granger,” he said softly, his tone somewhere between wonder and a warning. “You’re dangerous.”

Her fingers brushed lightly against his as she smiled, the warmth in her expression softening the playful edge in her voice. “And you like it.”

Draco and Hermione stepped off the dance floor, still catching their breath. Draco’s arm lingered around her waist, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the silk of her dress. They didn’t make it far before they encountered Blaise, leaning casually against a column with a drink in hand. Beside him was Luna Lovegood, her ethereal presence impossible to miss.

Luna was dressed as a celestial goddess, her gown shimmering with what seemed to be actual stardust, cascading down her form in flowing, translucent layers. The dress hugged her in all the right places, though it trailed behind her like a comet’s tail. Her hair was piled high with tiny constellations woven into it, glowing faintly in the dim light. A circlet of silver moons crowned her head, completing the ensemble.

“Blaise,” Draco greeted, his tone amused. “Enjoying yourself?”

Blaise smirked, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Immensely. Especially now that I have such... enlightening company.” He gestured to Luna, who was gazing dreamily at the enchanted lanterns overhead.

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly as she took in Luna’s outfit. “Luna! You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” Luna replied, her tone soft but sincere. “I wanted to embody the cosmos tonight. They’ve been calling to me lately.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “The cosmos? Do they answer when you call back?”

“Oh, sometimes,” Luna said with a small smile. “They’re quite shy, though. They prefer to whisper rather than shout.”

Draco coughed, hiding a laugh, while Hermione grinned knowingly. “Where’s Ginny?” Hermione asked, looking around the room.

Luna pointed toward the dance floor, where Ginny was laughing and spinning with abandon. Her movements were uncharacteristically free, her usual fiery control softened by the mood of the evening.

“She’s had some of the potion,” Luna said serenely, her head tilting slightly. “It’s loosened her earthly tethers. She’s floating, in a manner of speaking.”

Hermione chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

Blaise leaned closer to Luna, his smirk widening. “And what about you, Lovegood? Have you tried any of it? I hear it does wonders for inhibitions.” His voice dipped into a flirtatious purr, his gaze playful.

“Why would I need a potion like that?” she asked, her voice airy but with an undercurrent of certainty. “I believe the physical self and the mental self must be attuned. Both of mine are well-developed, so I have no need for artificial alignment.”

Blaise choked on his drink, coughing as he tried to process her statement. “I—what? Attuned? Well-developed? Care to elaborate on that, Lovegood?”

Luna studied him thoughtfully, her gaze unwavering. “I could,” she said, her tone as calm as ever. “And I will. Someday. I can see it.”

She gave him a serene smile, then turned and floated away, the stardust of her gown catching the light as she moved.

Blaise watched her go, his expression a mixture of disbelief and fascination. He turned back to Hermione and Draco, running a hand through his hair. “Is she always like that?”

Hermione grinned. “Pretty much.”

Blaise shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Merlin help me. If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall in love.”

Draco snorted, patting Blaise on the shoulder. “Good luck with that. You’ll need it.”

Hermione laughed as they moved on, leaving Blaise standing there, still watching Luna as though she were the most confusing and captivating creature he’d ever encountered.

As Draco and Hermione navigated through the crowd, the pulsing energy of the party guiding their steps, Hermione caught sight of Pansy perched on the arm of a sleek black couch. She was leaning toward Neville, her posture relaxed but undeniably flirtatious.

Neville sat with his usual unassuming demeanor, but something about him was different tonight. His shoulders were squared, and his expression held a quiet confidence that felt unshakable. He sipped from a goblet, his gaze steady on Pansy as she spoke, her words accompanied by animated gestures.

“Let’s see what they’re up to,” Hermione suggested, tugging Draco toward the pair.

“Do we have to?” Draco muttered, but he followed her lead, his curiosity piqued.

As they approached, they caught snippets of the conversation.

“…and that’s when I told her, ‘If you want something done right, don’t expect a Ravenclaw to do it,’” Pansy said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Neville chuckled, a soft but genuine sound that made Hermione smile. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” he replied, his tone even but carrying an edge of playfulness. “Though I’d argue Gryffindors aren’t exactly known for their strategic thinking, either.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the grin on her lips betrayed her enjoyment of the banter. “Touché, Longbottom. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Didn’t you?” Neville countered, his calm gaze never wavering.

Hermione and Draco stopped a few feet away, and Hermione cleared her throat to announce their presence. Pansy glanced over, her grin widening. “Granger! Malfoy! Come to check on me? I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“We weren’t worried,” Draco said dryly, crossing his arms.

Neville glanced up at Hermione, his expression softening. “Hey, Hermione. Enjoying the party?”

“I am,” Hermione said warmly. “Though I see you’re having no trouble fitting in tonight.”

Neville shrugged, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s not so different from other gatherings. A little louder, maybe.”

Pansy tilted her head, studying him. “And yet, you’re handling it so well. Most people would be intimidated by a Slytherin party.”

“Maybe I’m just not easily intimidated,” Neville said, his tone unruffled.

Pansy’s eyebrows lifted, clearly intrigued. “You’re full of surprises, Longbottom.”

“And you’re… persistent,” Neville replied, his words carrying a subtle tease.

Pansy laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Draco, a knowing smile passing between them. “Well,” she said, “we’ll leave you to it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Neville. “Good luck.”

“Don’t need it,” Neville said with quiet confidence, his gaze flicking back to Pansy.

As Hermione and Draco moved away, Hermione looked back over her shoulder. Pansy was still perched on the arm of the couch, leaning slightly closer to Neville, her smile bright and unguarded.

“Do you think she’s met her match?” Hermione asked, a note of amusement in her voice.

Draco smirked. “Maybe. But if I had to guess anyone can handle Pansy, it wouldn't had been Longbottom. Seems I was wrong about that though. Who knew he had it in him?”

Hermione laughed softly, tucking her hand into Draco’s as they melted back into the crowd.

The party’s energy, once vibrant and seductive, had turned chaotic. Hermione noticed it first as she sipped her drink—a sharp, strange sensation blooming in her chest. Her surroundings seemed to blur slightly at the edges, the colors growing more vivid, the music a thrum she could feel in her bones.

“Draco,” she murmured, reaching out to steady herself against his arm. “Something feels... off.”

Draco turned to her, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in her flushed cheeks and slightly unfocused gaze. “You drank the punch?”

She nodded, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Just a little.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t touch it. Let’s get you out of here.”

As he guided her toward the edge of the room, a familiar voice stopped them in their tracks. “Well, isn’t this cozy.”

Draco turned sharply, his grip on Hermione tightening protectively. Marcus Montague leaned casually against the wall, his smirk twisted with malice. “Granger,” Montague sneered, his tone dripping with mockery. “Slumming it with Slytherins, are we? Or is it Malfoy... slumming it with a Mudblood?”

Montague’s sneer twisted Draco’s insides, his words igniting a fast-burning rage. Draco clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he felt Hermione tense beside him. Every instinct screamed at him to defend her, but a small, rational voice in his head urged restraint. Don’t make a scene. Don’t sink to his level.

As he turned to leave, Montague’s mocking laugh cut through the air, and Draco snapped. His fist flew before he could stop himself, connecting with Montague’s jaw in a satisfying, brutal impact. The older boy staggered back, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Draco’s voice was low and venomous as he grabbed Montague by the collar. “Say that again,” he snarled, his grey-blue eyes blazing.

Montague laughed weakly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Touchy, aren’t we?”

“Draco!” Hermione’s voice cut through the haze of his rage. She tugged at his arm, her voice unsteady but firm. “Please. Help me. I don’t feel well.”

The plea snapped him back to reality. He released Montague with a shove, turning his attention to Hermione. “Let’s get you outside,” he said, his voice softening as he steadied her.

Montague’s laughter followed them as Draco led Hermione toward a hidden pathway. They emerged onto a secluded balcony, the cool night air brushing against their skin.

Draco guided Hermione down a narrow, dimly lit corridor that branched off from the main common room. The air grew cooler as they ascended a hidden staircase, each step illuminated by faint green-glowing runes carved into the stone. The passage felt ancient, the kind of place steeped in the weight of centuries of Slytherin history.

Finally, they emerged onto a secluded balcony, the chill night air brushing against their faces. The view stretched out over the Forbidden Forest, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow over the treetops. Draco helped Hermione to a stone bench near the railing, his hand lingering at her waist as she settled down.

Draco settled Hermione onto a bench, his arm around her shoulders for support. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for the night to end like this. I’d hoped it would be... better.”

Hermione leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. “The night’s still young,” she murmured, her voice laced with a faint, dreamy quality. Her fingers traced idle patterns along his chest. “You know, you look unfairly good tonight.”

Draco brushed a curl away from Hermione’s face, his fingers light and careful. “Granger,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both amusement and concern, “you’re still under the influence of whatever was in that punch. I don’t want you waking up tomorrow regretting anything.”

Her smile was faint but genuine. “You’re probably right,” she admitted, her voice still dreamy. “I’d probably hex you for taking advantage.”

Draco chuckled, his tone warm. “And I’d deserve it.”

She shifted closer, her voice quieter. “Will you just hold me, then?”

“Of course,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the distant sounds of the party muffled by the night.

Hermione sighed softly, leaning against Draco as the cool night air brushed her skin. “I don’t think I want to go back to the party,” she murmured, her voice low and tinged with exhaustion. “It’s too loud. Too much.”

Draco tightened his arm around her shoulders, his hand stroking a soothing circle against her upper arm. “We don’t have to,” he said simply, his tone steady and warm. “We can stay here as long as you’d like.”

She tilted her head slightly to look at him, her expression softening. “It’s peaceful out here. Almost like the night is holding its breath.”

Draco followed her gaze toward the moonlit expanse of the Forbidden Forest, the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl filling the quiet. “I suppose it is,” he said, his voice thoughtful. His lips curved into a smirk as he added, “You’re so breathtaking, Granger, it’s no wonder the night seems to pause for you.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed faintly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Do you ever stop with the charm, Malfoy?” she teased, her tone warm but playful.

“And yet, you like it,” he replied smoothly, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

Hermione smiled faintly, nestling closer to him. “Thank you, Draco.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For taking care of me,” she replied, her tone earnest. “For letting me relax and being able to let go. It’s so exhausting being the one in charge and it’s just nice being taken care of.”

Draco was quiet for a moment, her words settling over him. “I’d do it every time,” he admitted softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Without hesitation.”

Hermione’s fingers brushed against his, her touch light but deliberate. “Let’s stay here a little longer,” she said, her voice tinged with drowsiness. “It’s nice.”

Draco leaned back against the bench, cradling her gently as her breathing slowed. “As long as you need,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. The stars above seemed to shimmer a little brighter as the quiet enveloped them, the party far behind them and entirely forgotten.

By the time she fell asleep, Draco’s thoughts were a whirlwind. He carried her back to his room, carefully settling her onto his bed. After casting a quiet cleansing charm and making sure she was comfortable, he climbed in beside her, her small form curling instinctively toward him.

As sleep pulled at him, he whispered, “Goodnight, my love.”

Hermione stirred slightly, her lips twitching into a faint smile. Had she imagined it? She wasn’t sure. But as she drifted back into unconsciousness, the warmth of his words lingered, wrapping around her like a promise.