~Equilibrium ~

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the choice. “Equilibrium?”

Draco met her gaze, the usual arrogance tempered by a hint of seriousness. “It means balance, Granger. We’re stuck sharing this space, and we’ll have to find a way to make it work. Equilibrium seems fitting, don’t you think?”

For a moment, Hermione was taken aback by the thoughtfulness behind his choice. It wasn’t what she expected from Draco Malfoy. But then again, maybe this year was going to be full of surprises. She gave a small nod, her irritation from earlier softening. “Alright, ‘Equilibrium’ it is.”

The woman in the painting snorted in disbelief. “Hmph, equilibrium. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The man rolled his eyes again. “Longer than you two, I bet.”

Ignoring the bickering couple, Hermione and Draco turned back to the door. Together, they spoke the password in unison. “Equilibrium.”

As they entered their new shared space, the door closed behind them, leaving the bickering couple in the painting to resume their quarrel, while Draco and Hermione prepared to navigate whatever this strange new chapter would bring.

"Bloody hell..." Draco mumbled at the common room infront of them while Hermione's lips parted.

The room was spacious,bigger than the Gryffindor common room and the Slytherin one too,with high ceilings and large, arched windows that would let in plenty of natural light,it it was day,now the moonlight could pass through easily. It was divided into two distinct areas that showcased their contrasting tastes and styles.

"Dumbledor really outdid himself with this one." Draco smirked but by his expression it was obvious he was impressed.

Hermione purely shocked mumbled. " oh shut up Malfoy..." 

In the center of the room was a shared space that managed to merge their different styles. It featured a grand, polished wooden dining table with high-backed chairs, perfect for both studying and meals. A few large, potted plants were strategically placed around the room, adding a touch of greenery and life. The overall color palette was a mix of Hermione’s deep reds and Draco’s earthy greens, creating a balanced and harmonious atmosphere.

The room’s decor successfully blended their contrasting tastes into a cohesive whole, providing a space that was functional and comfortable for both. The combination of Hermione Granger's s scholarly, warm touches and Draco Malfoy's sleek, refined elements created a common room that was both elegant and inviting

She approached her side of the common room.

Her corner of the common room was practical yet cozy. It featured a collection of neatly organized bookshelves, stacked with an array of texts ranging from classic literature to the latest in magical research.

She grabbed a book from the bookself and her fingertips rang along the book's body gently in awe.

 A large, comfortable armchair—plump and upholstered in a deep, calming red—sat beside a low wooden table strewn with parchment, quills, and an open textbook. A soft, patterned rug lay beneath, adding warmth to the space. The walls in this area were lined with framed portraits of academic achievements and inspiring quotes. An elegant, antique lamp provided soft lighting, perfect for late-night studying.

Draco's smirk faltered as he stared at Hermione absorbed in the environment around her, his jaw clenched as her delicate fingers traveled to the spine of the book she took from the library and he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts before he too walked up to his side common room.

His area was sleek and modern, characterized by a minimalist approach. The furniture here was elegant and contemporary, with a plush, deep green sofa and matching armchairs arranged around a low, glass-topped table. A large, ornate fireplace with a polished silver surround was the centerpiece, with a carefully curated selection of high-end decor items and polished silver candlesticks on the mantel. The walls were adorned with tasteful, abstract art and a few portraits of the Malfoy family, adding a touch of aristocratic charm. The color scheme in this area was more muted, with shades of silver and green creating a sophisticated ambiance.

As Draco surveyed his side of the common room, his gaze fell upon the portraits of his ancestors—elegant, imposing figures of the Malfoy family, their stern faces framed in ornate gold. The portraits were arranged with the pride and grandeur befitting the Malfoy name, their eyes seemed piercing, almost accusatory.

Draco’s expression remained impassive as he studied them, though he could feel the weight of their silent judgment. The portraits depicted his ancestors with their usual haughty airs, looking down from their frames with a blend of disdain and disappointment.

The figures’ eyes seemed to follow him as he moved, their expressions a mix of scorn and disapproval. They whispered amongst themselves in low, disdainful tones, their voices barely audible but unmistakably critical.

“This is how you represent the Malfoy name?” one portrait’s voice carried a note of incredulity. “Sharing a dorm with a Mudblood? How disgraceful.”

Another portrait, a stately woman with a regal bearing, added with a hint of disdain, “You’ve gone soft, Draco. This is not how a true Malfoy behaves.”

Draco clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the disapproving comments. He was acutely aware that this arrangement was a far cry from the standards his family had set. It was far from what he wanted too but still,they all irritated him.

 The portraits' silent reproach felt like a constant reminder of the expectations he was struggling against.

The portraits continued their disapproving commentary, their voices growing more critical as they sensed Hermione approaching. “Look at her, Draco,” one of the portraits sneered. “A Mudblood, no less. How can you stand to be in her presence?”

Another voice joined in, dripping with scorn. “You’re associating with someone beneath your station. This is disgraceful.”

As Draco stood in front of the portraits, the disapproving gazes of his ancestors weighing heavily on him, Hermione approached, having noticed his preoccupation. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she came closer to see what had captured his attention.

The portraits, noticing Hermione’s approach, seemed to grow even more indignant. Their whispered comments became louder and more scathing.

“Look at her, Draco,” one of the portraits sneered, its voice dripping with disdain. “A Mudblood, of all things.”

Another added, “You’re really lowering the Malfoy standard by associating with her.”

Draco’s eyes widened in alarm as the insults grew louder. Before Hermione could fully grasp what was happening, he sprang into action, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. In a sudden burst of anger, he began removing the portraits from the walls with hasty movements.With swift motions,he grabbed the frames of the portraits and yanked them off the wall, one by one. The portraits’ voices grew more frantic, but as they were lifted off their hooks, their insults were abruptly cut off. The room fell silent except for the rustle of fabric and the muted thud of the portraits being placed on the floor.

Hermione looked at him, startled. “What are you doing?”

Draco, trying to sound casual, avoided eye contact as he placed the portraits in a corner of the room. “ They are too old fashioned for me. They’re not exactly my style."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He said breathing heavily and after he was done,he looked down at her,his smirk growing at how she looked around his side of the common room,taking it all in.

Catching his stare her cheeks flushed slightly and she turned her back at him,her curls falling on her shoulders softly and he caught himself staring at that too.

Bloody hell.

He rubbed his eyes and she already was at her side of the common room.

Hermione moved towards her corner, her eyes scanning the neatly organized bookshelves and the cozy armchair. “Well, it looks like I’ve got my study corner sorted. This place is very… functional. I suppose you were expecting something a bit more grand?”

Draco smirked as he glanced around his own area, running a hand over the polished surface of the glass table. “And I see you’ve gone for the academic look. Couldn’t resist turning our dorm into a library, could you?”

"I wasnt the one planning it..."

Draco smirked. "Yeah,but you love it,dont you?"

She smiled subtly looking around." Maybe."

Hermione looked towards his direction again."I suppose your corner is quite… elegant.”

Draco shrugged, his smirk widening. “Elegant is a good word for it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Your area does look like it belongs in a high-end magazine... But the fireplace is nice. It’ll be good for relaxing after long days.”

Draco raised an eyebrow amused at her trying to be kind and looked around the common room. “And I must say...well,your little reading nook is quite charming. If you can ignore the fact that you’ve essentially turned it into a study hall.”

Suppressing a smile, Hermione rolled her eyes. “We should probably go and check out our rooms.”

Draco nodded, falling into step beside her as they ascended the stairs. They stopped in front of two doors: on the right, in elegant gold calligraphy, was the name ‘Draco Malfoy,’ while on the left, ‘Hermione Granger’ was inscribed in the same golden script.

Avoiding each other’s gaze, they entered their respective rooms in silence.

Hermione's room exuded warmth and comfort, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere. The room was filled with soft, warm lighting, with strings of fairy lights draped along the walls, casting a gentle, golden glow. The walls were painted in a deep, warm shade of brown, complemented by rich red accents that bring a touch of Gryffindor pride to the space.

Her bed is adorned with a plush, red comforter and several soft, cozy pillows in shades of burgundy and gold. A large, well-worn armchair sits in the corner, perfect for curling up with a good book. The floor is covered with a thick, soft rug in a deep brown hue, adding to the room's cozy feel.

One of the standout features of the room was the large window, offering a breathtaking view of the Hogwarts grounds. The window was framed by heavy, dark red curtains that can be drawn closed for privacy or left open to let in the natural light. A small wooden desk, cluttered with books and parchment, sat by the window, offering a serene spot for studying.

Meanwhile, Draco's room reflected his aristocratic background, with a more minimalistic but sophisticated design. The color palette is dominated by sleek blacks and silvers, creating a cool, elegant ambiance. The walls are painted in a deep, charcoal gray, with silver accents and detailing that give the room a luxurious feel.

His bed was large and imposing, with black silk sheets and silver pillows. The headboard was intricately designed, with a pattern reminiscent of the Malfoy family crest. The room was sparsely furnished, but each piece was carefully chosen for its style and quality. A sleek, black leather armchair sat near the wall, offering a comfortable place to sit, though not as inviting as Hermione’s cozy corner.

Lastly,a massive window dominated one wall, offering a stunning view. The window was framed by heavy black drapes that can be drawn to plunge the room into darkness. The floor was polished stone, with a large, silver-patterned rug adding a touch of warmth. On one side, there was minimalist black desk, kept impeccably clean, with a few carefully placed books and writing tools.

Overall, Draco's room is a perfect blend of minimalism and aristocratic elegance, a stark contrast to Hermione’s warm and inviting space.

                         •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

An hour passed, but sleep eluded them both. Hermione lay in her bed, shifting uncomfortably as a familiar pain throbbed in her head. Her hand instinctively reached under her pillow, and her fingers froze as they brushed against the small vial tucked beneath. The same vial Draco Malfoy had given her—the supposed cure for the Punico curse.

She sighed, sitting up with a heavy heart, her thoughts swirling like a storm. She brought the vial closer, examining it in the dim light. It was unlike any potion she had ever encountered, and she prided herself on knowing nearly every potion in existence. The unfamiliarity of it unsettled her, and the fact that it had come from Draco Malfoy—a boy who had always treated her with contempt, but who had recently been uncharacteristically...kind—only deepened her unease,which added to the fact she didn't know if she could really trust Draco Malfoy.

But then there was Harry’s dream.

Hermione gazed out of her window, a lump forming in her throat. Harry had dreamed of Death Eaters, and Draco Malfoy had been among them, either helping or leading. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. As much as she disliked Malfoy, despite the way her heart had inexplicably started to race around him lately, she didn’t want him to be involved with the Death Eaters and Voldemort.

Voldemort was dangerous—terrifying, really—and no matter how much she and her friends tried to push the thought away, it was clear he was planning a return. If it ever came to that, if Voldemort did come back, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder, which side Draco Malfoy would choose?

She hated jumping to conclusions without solid evidence, which was why she had argued with Ron and Harry earlier. But Harry’s dream had shaken her. If he was right, if Draco was planning something truly terrible, she would have to tell the others about what she had overheard on their first day back at Hogwarts—the tense conversation between Malfoy and Snape.

Draco had kept referring to someone as "he," and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she feared that "he" was none other than the Dark Lord himself.

But if he was so evil why did he help her on the train at the first place?

 Why did he explain to her what the Punico curse was and why did he tell her about Marcus Flint being the one who cursed her,and all that while they were arguing because she didn't trust him enought to drink the cure.

The questions tormented her, leaving her restless and anxious. Finally, she could bear it no longer. Slipping out of bed, she felt the cold floor beneath her feet, her oversized jumper hanging loosely around her as her hair cascaded over her shoulders. With hesitant steps, she made her way to the door across from hers—Draco Malfoy’s room. She stood there for a moment, gathering her courage, before finally raising her hand to knock.

Meanwhile, Draco lay in his bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling, his thoughts a tangled mess that refused to settle. He had tried to sleep, but his mind kept circling back to the same irritating topic: Hermione Granger.

He hated how she occupied his thoughts, how he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head. It was infuriating. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her—saw the way she had looked at him when he handed her that vial, saw the doubt in her eyes, the hesitation. It gnawed at him, that look. It shouldn’t have mattered.

She was just a Mudblood, after all, someone he was supposed to despise.

But it did matter, and he hated himself for it.

Draco turned over in bed, trying to shake off the feelings that clung to him like a shadow. It was ridiculous, this fixation on her. He had spent years hating her, mocking her, convinced of his own superiority. But now, there was something else—a gnawing, irritating feeling that made him question things he never wanted to question. He refused to name it, refused to acknowledge that it was anything more than an annoyance, but it was there, lurking beneath the surface.

He hated the way his heart had started to race around her, the way he found himself watching her when she wasn’t looking. The way he almost seemed in awe as her eyes shimmered as she talked about forbbiden love. 

Love.

Forbbiden love.

These two words,after they left her lips,had been making him even more frustrated and he didnt even know why. He didnt feel loved,he couldn't touch love,so he still didnt trust love.

It made him feel weak, vulnerable, and Draco Malfoy did not do weak. 

He wasn’t supposed to care about someone like her. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her hair had fallen over her shoulders, the way she had looked at him with those big,honey, questioning eyes. She was so different from everyone else—strong, smart, and infuriatingly stubborn.

It drove him mad.

And then there was the anger, the self-loathing that came with these unwanted feelings. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. It was wrong. Everything he had been taught, everything he believed, told him that this was wrong. But no matter how much he tried to push it down, to remind himself of who he was and who she was, the feelings persisted, taunting him.

His father would be ashamed of him if he could read his thoughts, good thing no one could.

Draco clenched his fists, his frustration building. He wasn’t some lovesick fool, and he certainly wasn’t about to let some ridiculous crush-not even- on Hermione Granger ruin him. She was nothing to him—nothing. 

But the more he tried to convince himself of that, the more hollow the words felt.

He had tried to be cold, distant, even cruel at times, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain the façade. Every time he saw her, something inside him softened, and he despised that weakness. He despised her for making him feel this way, and most of all, he despised himself for letting her get under his skin.

But then there was that moment on the train. When he saw her hurt, truly hurt, something in him had snapped. He had helped her without thinking, without the usual contempt he reserved for her. And afterward, he couldn’t stop questioning why he had done it.

 Why did he care? Why couldn’t he just-hate her like he always had?

Draco ran a hand through his hair, frustration boiling over. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not ever.He wasn’t supposed to feel anything for her, and yet, here he was, lying awake in the middle of the night, tormented by thoughts of Hermione Granger. It made him sick, and yet… he couldn’t stop.

He groaned in frustration, burying his face in his pillow. He needed to get her out of his head. He needed to stop these ridiculous, impossible feelings before they ruined everything. She was nothing to him, he reminded himself, over and over.

Just a Mudblood, just an obstacle.

As he lay there, wrestling with his thoughts, he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching his door. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he wondered if it was her. 

Idiot,who else could it be? They were sharing a dorm after all.

But no, that was impossible. She wouldn’t… would she?

He sat up, his gaze fixed on the door, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to ignore it, to pretend he didn’t care, but the other part—the part he hated—wanted to see her, wanted to know why she was there.

And that part, the part that was starting to care, was the part that scared him the most.

"Malfoy?" Hermione whispered after hesitantly knocking on his door. Silence greeted her at first, her own heartbeat echoing in the quiet.

Why was her heart beating so fast? She hated this, hated that she needed answers, and hated even more that Draco Malfoy might be the one to give them to her.

She tried again, her voice soft but insistent. "Malfoy, are you asleep?"

Her voice pierced through the stillness, and Draco felt his heart lurch. Why was his bloody heart beating like this? He cleared his throat, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. "Yes, I am, Granger."

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes behind the door. Typical Malfoy. "Can I come in?" she asked, her voice laced with irritation.

Draco hesitated, his mind racing. 

"If i said no, would you actually leave?" He doubted it. 

There was a pause, and then her voice came again, determined. "No."

He sighed to himself, almost expecting that response. Of course, she wouldn’t back down. She never did. "Come in, Granger," he said, his tone resigned.

The door creaked open slowly, and Hermione stepped inside, her presence filling the room. Draco sat up, his eyes locking onto her as she entered. She looked different in the dim light—softer, less guarded, and he hated how that made him feel. She stood there for a moment, clearly unsure of how to begin, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her oversized jumper.

Draco crossed his arms, trying to appear nonchalant, even as his heart continued its maddening rhythm. "What do you want, Granger?" he asked, keeping his voice as cold as he could manage.

Draco was sitting up in bed, his expression guarded, though she could see the tension in his posture. She hesitated for a moment, suddenly unsure of what to say now that she was actually there.

His silver eyes watched her closely, trying to keep his emotions in check. Her presence unsettled him more than he wanted to admit, and he hated that he couldn’t just ignore the way she made him feel. But he forced himself to keep calm, to stay in control.

Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, her voice quiet. She opened her mouth to speak again but he interrupted her.

Draco raised an eyebrow, masking his unease with a smirk. “And you thought I was the best person for a late-night chat, Granger? I’m flattered.”

She rolled her eyes, clearly not in the mood for his sarcasm. “This isn’t exactly a social call, Malfoy.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended. He didn’t like how vulnerable this felt, didn’t like how the walls of his room seemed to close in with her standing there.

She shot him a look, her patience clearly wearing thin. “I’m serious, Malfoy.There’s too much going on, and… I have questions.And I think you’re the only one who can answer them.”

He sighed again, the smirk fading as he leaned back against the headboard. “Fine. Ask your questions. But don’t expect me to have all the answers you’re looking for.”

Hermione nodded, taking a seat in the chair near his bed. She looked down at the vial in her hand, turning it over as she gathered her thoughts. “This potion… what is it really? I’ve never seen anything like it before, and I’ve studied nearly every potion there is.”

Draco’s gaze flicked to the vial, and he felt a pang of irritation mixed with something he couldn’t quite identify. “It’s a rare potion,” he replied, his tone even. “One that’s not in your standard textbooks, Granger. But it works. It’ll counteract the Punico curse.”

She looked at him skeptically. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know this isn’t just some elaborate trap? In the past-”

Draco met her gaze, the usual disdain in his eyes softened by something else—something almost vulnerable. “You don’t,” he admitted, his voice low. “But if I wanted to harm you, Granger, I wouldn’t need a potion to do it.”

Hermione hesitated for a second, then stepped further into the room, her arms folded as if she needed to hold herself together. "Fair enough but...i need to talk to you about everything Malfoy. The curse, this vial, and whatever it is you're not telling me."

Draco tensed, his expression hardening. "I’ve already told you what you need to know."

"Have you?" Hermione challenged, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Because I don’t think you have. And I need to understand what’s going on. Why you’re doing this."

He wanted to snap back, to tell her to leave, to keep his distance. But instead, he found himself looking at her—really looking at her—and the resolve in her gaze made it impossible to brush her off. She was scared, just like he was, but there was something else too, something that made his chest tighten.

"Granger, I think you should go to sleep," Draco said, his voice strained, trying to regain control of the situation.

Hermione's eyes flashed with frustration, but her expression immediately turned determined. "No, Malfoy, you don't get to shut me out again about this."

Draco sighed, irritation boiling inside him. He just didn’t want to talk about this curse any more than he already had. The less she knew, the better. "I am not, but don't you see?"

"See what?" Hermione shot back, her gaze hardening.

"That!" Draco gestured between them, his voice sharp with frustration. "See that this is strange! We stay in the samebloodydorm, and now you are in my room!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think your despise for me can wait for a bit, Malfoy. I need answers!" Her voice was rising with her frustration, and Draco's silver eyes widened, his own irritation flaring as he took a step closer to her.

"Then go find them! Why should I care?" he snapped.

She let out an angry chuckle, stepping closer to him too. "And tell me Malfoy,how am I supposed to find anything when the curse or this cure of yours is nowhere to be found in my books?"

Draco looked away, battling the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He hated this, hated how he wasn’t hating her at the moment.

"That sounds like a you problem." He chuckled angrily, but Hermione wasn’t backing down.

"It didn’t seem like a me problem when you saved me on the train," she shot back, her voice cutting through his defenses.

"Stop, Granger," Draco growled, turning away from her and running his hands through his hair, trying to calm the storm inside him.

"It didnt seem like a me problem when yoy asked me if i was alright even though we had just argued-"

"Don't-"he hissed.

"It didn’t seem like a me problem when you gave me that vial—"

"Just shut up," Draco muttered, his voice tense, but Hermione pressed on.

"Or when you told me about Marcus Flint—"

Draco snapped. In a flash, he turned and closed the distance between them, pushing her against the door. "Damnyou, Granger," he yelled, his chest heaving with anger and something else—something he couldn’t quite name but hated nonetheless.Both of them were panting, their chests heaving. Hermione looked up at him, her gaze piercing and intense.Both of them were panting, their chests heaving. Hermione looked up at him, her gaze piercing and intense.

His eyes were wild, and for a moment, she felt like he was seeing straight through her, into her very soul.

"Stop that," he hissed in a low, dangerous whisper, his face inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin.

"Stop what?" she demanded, her own frustration evident.

"That," he whispered again, his voice rough as he pushed her more firmly against the wall, his eyes involuntarily flicking to her parted lips before returning to her honey-brown eyes. "Stop messing with my head, trying to fuck me up. It's not working, okay? Try it with Potter or Weasley, not me." He exhaled heavily, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Malfoy, I'm not—"

"You really should go, Granger," he breathed, his frustration warring with something else, something darker, as he stared into her eyes. He felt her tense under his touch, and that only made his resolve waver more.

"No," she said firmly, staring back at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm not leaving before I get my answers, Malfoy. Tell me more. I need to know about the curse and the vial. I need to—"

Draco eyes fluttered shut , his control slipping. The urge to do something—something he knew he shouldn’t—overwhelmed him. She was making it impossible to resist, impossible to keep pretending that he didn’t feel anything.

His breath hitched. "Granger,"he said, his voice barely above a whisper,he gulped." leave before I do something you and I will both regret," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He barely recognized himself in that moment, but he knew he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

His words echoed in her ears like a warning, one she knew she should heed. But instead of stepping back, Hermione found herself frozen, staring at his tensed jaw, at his eyes, which were closed like he was fighting an internal battle. For a split second, a part of her—a part she didn’t even know existed—wanted him to stop fighting, wanted him to just… give in.

Draco opened his eyes, their gazes locking as time seemed to freeze. For that moment, they weren’t Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy anymore; they were just two people, caught in a whirlwind of emotions they couldn’t quite control.

After what felt like an eternity, Draco cleared his throat, breaking the spell. Hermione looked down, her cheeks flushing, thankful for the dim lighting in his room that hid the depth of her embarrassment.

"I'll go," she croaked out eventually, her voice barely above a whisper. Immediately, Draco let go of her, though every fiber of his being screamed at him not to. She felt the loss of his touch acutely, as if a cold wind had swept through her, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. "But that’s not— that’s not over, Malfoy," she stammered before quickly leaving his room, her heart pounding in her chest as she slammed the door behind her and fled to her own room.

Draco stood there, staring at the door, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. "What the bloody hell…" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

Did… did he almost kiss Hermione bloody Granger?

Meanwhile, Hermione slid down the door of her room, her mind racing. Did… did she almost letDraco Malfoy kiss her?

                          •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The next morning, Hermione woke up feeling utterly drained. She hadn't slept well—if you could even call it sleep. Two or three restless hours at most. A great way to start her first day as Head Girl, she thought bitterly as she rubbed her eyes and forced herself out of bed.

After getting ready and donning her school robe, she reached for her wand on the nightstand, pausing as her thoughts drifted back to the previous night.

She hated how Draco Malfoy had found a way into her mind, how the memory of his hot breath on her skin and the look in his silver eyes lingered so intensely. His lips had been so close to hers, and she had caught herself wanting him to close that distance.

She shook her head, frustrated and angry with herself.

This was irrational—Draco Malfoy was the enemy.

He had always been.

It was just a moment of weakness, nothing more.

She had to believe that.

With a deep breath, Hermione left her room and entered the common room, only to find it empty. Her heart thudded in her chest as she realized Draco was gone, likely already at the Great Hall for breakfast.

She felt foolish for expecting him to be there, even more foolish for dwelling on the fleeting intimacy of the night before. It had meant nothing, she told herself firmly.

As she walked to the Great Hall, students from various houses congratulated her on becoming Head Girl. She forced a smile and chuckled as she passed the Gryffindor table, where Neville Longbottom greeted her with a handshake.

"Well done, Hermione! I knew you'd make it ever since you turned me to ice in our first year," Neville said with a grin.

Hermione grimaced at the memory. She had apologized countless times, and though Neville had forgiven her, the guilt still lingered. "Yeah, sorry about that, Neville."

Neville rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Like I've said a hundred times, don’t worry about it."

She nodded, ready to make her way to the end of the table where she spotted Harry, Ron, and Ginny, but the Weasley twins intercepted her. Fred slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning mischievously.

"Good job, Hermione! We knew you could do it!" Fred exclaimed.

"Yeah, and now that you're Head Girl," George chimed in.

"You'll help us out with, you know, our… occupations," Fred finished, both of them winking at her.

Hermione shook her head, smiling despite herself. "You call your constant troublemaking ‘occupations’?"

They both shrugged and winked at her again before dashing back to their seats, leaving her to roll her eyes fondly as she continued to where her friends were sitting.

Her mood soured as she approached, reminded of the argument from the night before—about him.

She deliberately avoided looking in the direction of the Slytherin table.

She didn't want to see him.

As she reached her friends, Harry gave her an awkward but polite smile, while Ginny beamed at her. Ron, however, rolled his eyes and looked away. Hermione sighed, frustrated. If he was going to be like this, then so be it. She’d had enough.

"Good morning, Head Girl," Ginny greeted with a grin.

"Good morning, Gin," Hermione replied, managing a small smile. She turned to Harry, who wasn’t as enthusiastic as Ginny but at least acknowledged her with a nod and a slight smile.

"Harry," she said, her voice soft. He nodded in response.

Ron, on the other hand, couldn’t help but make a snide comment. "Now you're not even speaking to me,huh?"

Hermione’s patience wore thin. "Can we not do this again, Ronald?"

Ron’s gaze was still averted, but his tone was sharp. "How was your night with Malfoy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Ron—"

"Did you become best friends or—"

"Just shut up, Ron!" she snapped, her voice louder than intended. Heads turned in their direction, and Hermione felt the weight of their stares.

Ron, visibly angry and embarrassed by the attention, glared at her before taking a long sip of tea, finally falling silent.

Hermione sighed, the tension between them palpable. The morning had barely begun, and already she felt exhausted. She glanced at Ginny, who gave her a sympathetic look, and then at Harry, who seemed caught between wanting to defuse the situation and not knowing how.

For now, Hermione was just thankful that Draco Malfoy was nowhere in sight.

Draco Malfoy hadn’t slept a wink the previous night. His mind had been consumed by a storm of frustrated thoughts about Hermione Granger, leaving him restless and on edge. When dawn finally broke, he hurried out of their shared dormitory, determined to avoid any interaction with her. The idea of facing her after what had happened last night was unbearable.

He hated her—loathed her, even.

She was a Mudblood, for Merlin's sake.

But despite all his deep-seated animosity, all he could think about were her soft, honey-colored eyes staring up at him as he had pinned her against his door. The moonlight had bathed her skin in a way that only heightened the frustration he felt. She was demanding, infuriating, and everything he had despised for so long.

Yet, she had somehow found a way into his thoughts, and that realization filled him with anger and confusion.

Draco slipped quietly out of the dormitory, careful not to wake her. He couldn't face her, not now. Not after last night. Everything about it was too much, too overwhelming.

As he entered the Great Hall, it was still relatively empty. His sharp eyes immediately spotted Blaise Zabini sitting alone, reading a book and sipping his morning coffee. No Pansy Parkinson, no Theodore Nott, and—thankfully—no Marcus Flint. Draco made his way over to Blaise, who looked up at him, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, you look like shit,” Blaise commented, his tone teasing but also slightly concerned.

Draco narrowed his eyes, but he was too exhausted, too anxious, and too angry to retort. Instead, he poured himself a mug of black coffee, trying to rid himself of the unease that settled in every time he blinked and saw Granger’s eyes staring back at him in his mind.

Blaise studied his friend for a moment, noticing the tension in Draco’s posture. His earlier smirk faded into a more serious expression. “Did Granger give you a hard time?”

The mere mention of her name made Draco’s eyes snap up to meet Blaise’s.

The hardest of times, he thought. In many ways.

“No, we didn’t really speak. She went straight to her room, and I went straight to mine,” Draco lied, forcing himself to sound nonchalant. He took a long sip of his coffee, hoping the bitter taste would soothe his nerves.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He had his own suspicions about what might be going on between Draco and Hermione. “You look like you haven’t slept at all.”

“I didn’t,” Draco replied, his tone firm, signaling that he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He just wanted to sit there in silence. Blaise’s company was tolerable, but any more questions would be too much. He didn’t have answers to offer—not to Blaise, and not to himself.

Blaise picked up on Draco’s reluctance and shrugged his shoulders, backing off for the time being. “Fine, if you say so. But you know you can talk to me if anything is going on, right?”

Draco’s eyes flickered to Blaise’s, and for a brief moment, he was tempted to unload everything weighing on his mind. His father’s expectations, the impossible task before him, and most of all, his growing turmoil over Hermione Granger. She was invading his thoughts, challenging his beliefs, and he hated himself for it. He didn’t need this kind of distraction—not now, not when he had so much to deal with.

“Yeah, I know,” Draco finally said, nodding in acknowledgment. He was grateful for Blaise’s offer, but some things were better left unsaid.

For now, he would keep his burdens to himself, including the unwelcome conflict raging in his mind whenever he thought of Hermione. He needed to push it all down and focus on the tasks ahead.

But even as he tried to shut it out, he couldn’t escape the nagging thought that Hermione Granger was becoming far more than just a thorn in his side. And that terrified him.

Draco's attention snapped toward the entrance of the Great Hall when he heard a sudden burst of cheers. There she was—Hermione bloody Granger. She walked in, her expression momentarily troubled before it transformed into a bright smile as students congratulated her on becoming Head Girl. Draco's jaw tightened involuntarily as he watched Fred Weasley drape an arm around her shoulders, a gesture that made his insides churn with an unfamiliar emotion. Blaise, ever perceptive, noticed the tension in Draco's muscles but chose to remain silent, his suspicions growing more intense.

Draco's eyes never left her as she made her way down the Gryffindor table. He saw her hesitate slightly before sitting next to Ginny Weasley, who greeted her enthusiastically. Harry Potter offered a more subdued acknowledgment, which only deepened Draco’s scowl. But it was Ron Weasley’s reaction that really caught his attention. The redhead rolled his eyes at Hermione, and Draco felt a surge of irritation.

What had Weasley done to her this time?

His mind flashed back to the night before, recalling how Granger had bumped into him, mumbling about how stupid Weasley was.

Could it be related to what he was witnessing now?

His silver eyes narrowed as he observed Ron almost yelling at Hermione, his tone dripping with sarcasm. It was clear to Draco that she was tired, her annoyance evident as she rubbed her temples in frustration.

Suddenly Pansy Parkison sat next to him snapping him out of his thoughts.

 "Goodmorning boys." She smiled as Theodore Nott and Marcus Flint took a seat too,to Draco's annoyment.

 "Goodmorning Pans." Blaise and Draco muttered at the same time

When Hermione finally snapped, her voice rising above the chatter of the Great Hall, telling Ron to shut up, Draco's eyes widened in surprise. Her outburst echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of many students.

Pansy Parkinson, who had just taken a seat next to him, sneered, joined by Theodore Nott and Marcus Flint, both of whom snickered at the spectacle.

"Wow, seems like the Mudblood woke up angry," Pansy remarked with a smirk. Theo, always quick to add fuel to the fire, snorted. "Yeah, Draco, what did you do to her last night mate?"

Draco’s response was immediate and sharp. "Nothing," he hissed, his voice carrying a weight of irritation that startled the others.

They exchanged surprised glances, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. Draco lowered his voice, trying to regain control, but his mind was in turmoil. He cast one last glance at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione Granger sat,now having a conversation with Ginny Weasley, her frustration palpable.

"Nothing. I did nothing," he muttered again, more to himself than to anyone else, before staring down at his plate. Inside, a storm of emotions raged, emotions he refused to acknowledge, much less understand.

Why did he care about what Weasley had said to her? Why did it bother him that she was upset?

He clenched his fists under the table, forcing himself to push away the thoughts that plagued him. She was just Hermione Granger—someone he had despised for years.

That’s all she was.

A mudblood and Harry Potter's irritating best friend.

Draco glanced at her one last time.

He was done playing nice. He was done playing games.

He was gonna stay away from Hermione Granger,as far as his Head Boy duties allowed.

Hermione Granger didn't matter to him.

Just a mudblood.

She shouldn't matter to him.

The Great Hall was buzzing with energy, but it all quieted when Albus Dumbledore stood and tapped his goblet with a golden fork. The subtle chime echoed through the massive space, instantly capturing everyone’s attention. A warm smile spread across Dumbledore's face as he addressed the students in his clear, commanding voice.

"Students, I would like to remind you about the upcoming Quidditch Trials and also Professor McGonagall will announce the current house points standings for this school year so far," he said, his eyes twinkling as he gestured to McGonagall. "Oh and also remember,it's only September yet so with the upcoming Quidditch games and your good deeds,a plot twist might be on the way!"

Professor McGonagall stood, her stern expression softened slightly by pride as she waved her hand. Above each house table, golden numbers appeared, shimmering in the air. "First, we have Gryffindor with 40 points. Thirty of those were earned by Miss Hermione Granger, 5 by Miss Padma Patil, and 5 by Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table, but Hermione could only manage a subtle smile. The weight of everything she was dealing with pressed down on her, dampening any sense of pride she might have felt. She muttered her congratulations to Padma and Neville, who smiled back, clearly pleased with their contributions.

Ginny, sitting beside her, exclaimed, "Bravo!" and gave Hermione an enthusiastic shake. For a fleeting moment, Hermione wanted to shove her off, to let out the scream building inside her, but she didn’t. This was Ginny, and she adored her. But it didn’t change the fact that she felt like she was suffocating.

McGonagall continued, "Second, with a close margin, is Slytherin, with 30 points. Fifteen were earned by Blaise Zabini, and the other 15 by... Draco Malfoy!"

Hermione’s gaze involuntarily drifted to the Slytherin table,locking onto a pair of cold, silver ones. Draco’s gaze was intense, unwavering, as if he was looking right through her. Despite the noise of his friends' cheers and congratulations, Draco seemed oblivious, his focus entirely on her. It was as if the rest of the hall had faded into the background.

He tore his eyes away, forcing himself to look at Blaise, who was congratulating him. He smirked, acknowledging his friend, but the moment had already shifted something within him.

Draco didn't care about the points he had earned in Apparation,or in Arithmacy.

When he had caught Hermione's  chestnut-brown eyes, something had sparked—a reminder of last night, of the complexities of their situation. Of how he almost felt helpless under her fucking full of understanding gaze,vonurable.

Draco Malfoy did not do vonurable. Or helpless.

He turned away, trying to dismiss the feeling.

He was done staring at her from afar, done letting her invade his thoughts.

She narrowed her eyes.

Draco Malfoy’s face was unreadable as he stared back at her, his expression giving nothing away. She noticed how his jaw clenched when their eyes locked, but he quickly averted his gaze, turning to Blaise Zabini with a forced smile as he accepted his friend's congratulations.

It was as if he hadn’t even acknowledged her presence.

He didn't even want to look at her now?

She felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify. Was it disappointment? Anger? Whatever it was, it made her feel even more overwhelmed. She stared down at her plate, trying to block out the noise of the Great Hall.

It was too much.
 It was all too much.

The weight of everything bore down on her, suffocating her. She was supposed to be the level-headed one, the friend who always had the answers, but right now, she felt completely lost. She didnt want to shut Ginny out.

The tension with Ron.Ron was angry with her, and she couldn’t even explain why she’d defended Malfoy in the first place. It was just logic, she told herself. But that logic was crumbling under the weight of everything she was feeling.

Then, the stress of her responsibilities as Head Girl were all pressing down on her, threatening to crush her under their combined weight.

Harry. She was supposed to put herself together and help Harry. He had been seeing those dreams,she had to reassure him she didn't think he was crazy for having them because she truly didn't,she trusted Harry with her life.

She hadn't even found a solution to Flint's curse. All the hours spent in the library searching for answers had yielded nothing. Draco had offered her a supposed cure, a mysterious purple vial, but she couldn't bring herself to trust him. How could she, when he had been so cryptic and unhelpful about the curse itself? All he had told her was its name—Punico, an Unforgivable Curse—and that Marcus Flint was responsible.

Why did he seem to know so much about Punico,yet reveal so little about it?Why wouldn’t he tell her more?

Also,the confusing, infuriating emotions tied to Draco Malfoy—was suffocating. She could barely breathe under the pressure.

She couldn’t shake the image of Draco--Malfoy, from her mind, the way he’d almost kissed her last night, the way she’d almost let him. Draco Malfoy almost kissing her. It sounded ridiculus.

He probably didn't even mean that,but why did his fingertips tightened around her arms like he tried to restrain himself?

Her thoughts raced.

If Draco was truly a Death Eater, as Harry and Ron feared, how could she even consider trusting him? And what did it say about her that she had almost let him kiss her last night? The sheer weight of it all pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

If he indeed was planning on helping or worse-leading,the Death Eaters like Harry dreamt,would he stand on the other end of her wand one day?

And why did the thought of that suddenly didn't seem so pleasant?

It was all too much.

Drowning. Like the Punico curse made her feel like.

Hermione gulped.

The only solution she had was the mysterious purple vial Malfoy had given her, but how could she trust him? He’d offered her no real explanation.

How had he even discovered Flint had cursed her? The lack of answers only deepened her mistrust, and after their strange encounter last night, she was even more reluctant to rely on him for anything.

And of course it was bloody Malfoy so he'd never answer these questions.

And he expected her to blindly trust him? He expected that even though when she went to his room last night to get answers,all she got was even more complexity for her feelings about him?

Feelings?

They weren't feelings.

But what were they?

It was all.

Too.

Fucking.

Much.

Abruptly, she stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Thankfully, only Harry and Ginny seemed to notice. She saw Ron glance at her out of the corner of his eye, his anger momentarily softened by curiosity. But she couldn't take it right now-her bickering with Ron.

Ginny, concerned, reached out. "Mione, is everything okay?"

Hermione forced another smile, though it felt like a mask that could crack at any moment. "Yes, Gin.," she wanted to scream so loud that her vocal cords would bleed. "I just need to catch up on some essays for Slughorn before class starts." She didn’t wait for a reply, quickly leaving the Great Hall and disappearing into the bright, empty corridors.

The pressure became unbearable. It was all too much. She needed to get out, to breathe, to be alone with her thoughts before they consumed her entirely.

She needed to escape.

And she did.