~Equilibrium ~

Ginny and Harry exchanged worried looks, both of them believing that Ron’s behavior was the root of Hermione’s distress. They both turned to him—Ginny glaring, Harry with a more judgmental look. Both assuming their friend's uneasiness was only because of him.

She wished.

Ron, feeling their eyes on him, looked up defensively. "What?" he exclaimed, sounding more offended than he intended.

"Ron, that wasn’t necessary," Harry began, his voice low as he tried to reason with his best friend.

"It wasn’t necessary? She was defending bloody Malfoy yesterday—" Ron shot back, his temper flaring.

"Do you really think she enjoys sharing a dorm with him after everything he’s done and said to her?" Ginny interrupted, her voice sharp with anger. Ron faltered, the words sticking in his throat. Ginny was right, and he knew it. She continued, her tone still heated. "Of course she didn’t! And she probably expected you to be there for her—both of you!" She shot a glance at Harry, but her main frustration was directed at Ron.

Ron’s expression faltered, guilt gnawing at him as Ginny’s words hit home. He cared about Hermione, more than he was willing to admit, but he had a terrible way of showing it. "She knows I’d be there for her—"

Ginny shook her head, exasperated. "Well, she doesn’t seem to think so. And I don’t blame her since you accused her of defending Malfoy when she was just pointing out the most logical thing ever! You can’t judge someone just based on a dream!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He had his own suspicions about Malfoy, he just knew something was wrong,if he wasnt a Death Eater yet,it was only a matter on time he's become one-but he trusted Hermione’s instincts and judgment more than his own dreams,especially knowing that she wasn't one to ignore logic.

"Whatever, Ginny." Ron brushed her off, though his hands trembled slightly as guilt gnawed at him. He knew he’d been a jerk, but admitting it wasn’t something he was ready for.

Ginny rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin. "Don’t ‘whatever’ me, Ronald Weasley! You care about her, so it’s time you finally show her that instead of being an insufferable git!" With that, she slammed her books down on the table, drawing the attention of some nearby Gryffindors, before storming out of the Great Hall, determined to find Hermione.

Draco Malfoy's head was elsewhere once again,especially when he noticed a certain curly-haired girl 'escaping' from the Great Hall and in a hurry too. His silver eyes didn't leave her body.His attention had been entirely on Hermione Granger as she left the Great Hall in such a hurry. Something about her departure troubled him deeply, though he couldn’t quite place what it was-and he hated that. In just an hour he had scolded himself repeatedly that he was done with her. 

That he'd stay away.

And now he was...concerned because she simply stormed off? 

His cold gaze hardened.

Concern?

No. He wasn't concerned about the mudblood.

Marcus Flint’s voice cut through his thoughts, drawing his attention back to the conversation at the Slytherin table. "Granger seems troubled. This fierce attitude of hers, storming off like that, almost makes me want to chase her down like a mouse. Just for fun," Flint said, his tone unsettling.

Theodore Nott, sitting nearby, smirked, though there was a flicker of something far away from amusement, darker in his eyes. Flint’s constant remarks about Granger had become too frequent and too concerning, even for someone as indifferent as Theo. Theo was never one to be concerned about anything really.But Flint seemed to view Theo as a confidant,even he found Flint’s obsession with Granger disturbing. However, he chose to play along, nodding and sneering at Flint's words.

Theo glanced over at Draco who had been watching Granger leave the Great Hall with his intense gaze.

Theodore's eyes drifted back to Marcus and he managed a smirk as he listened more about how Marcus hated Granger and wanted to put the mudblood in her place but he ignored all that,brushed it off,it was Flint after all,he wouldnt actually do anything.

Draco's jaw clenched his ears widely opened as he had focused on Marcus Flint's and Theo Nott's conversation, even though Nott didn't really speak,just nodded and occasionally sneered.

Draco’s jaw clenched so tightly that it ached.

His ears burned as he listened to Flint’s venomous comments, each one making his blood boil. He was the one who had discovered Flint’s curse on Hermione, and the knowledge that Flint was the cause of her suffering filled him with a rage that he could barely contain.

Knowing Flint used his own father's curse against her,made his blood unexpectedly boil.

And yet, the one thing that kept replaying in his mind was the way Hermione had looked last night—the way she had almost let him kiss her, and the way he had almost let himself do the same.

But there was no time for those thoughts now. 

Marcus Flint.

Draco Malfoy needed answers. And he wasn’t going to sit around waiting for them to fall into his lap.

Just like Granger,Draco had some questions too.

Without a word, he stood up, his face an impassive mask as he left the Great Hall. He didn’t acknowledge anyone, not even Blaise, who watched him go with a raised eyebrow.

He didn't just have questions. 

He wanted answers.

And Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted.

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

She run,and run ,and run,and run.

Hermione ran as if the very ground beneath her feet were crumbling, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She wasn’t even sure where she was going, only that she had to get away—away from the noise, the people, the crushing weight of it all. When she finally stopped, her legs trembling beneath her, she realized she had arrived at the Black Lake. The serene waters reflected the cloudy sky above, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her. She collapsed onto the cold, damp ground, her hands trembling as she tried to catch her breath.

Tears, which she had fought so hard to hold back, finally spilled over. Her sobs were harsh, wracking her body with each breath as she buried her face in her hands. What had happened to her life? How had everything spiraled so far out of control? This year was supposed to be normal, or at the very least manageable. But nothing about it had been normal. Not her fights with Ron, not Harry’s troubling dreams, and certainly not the cursed burden she carried—a curse she couldn’t understand, let alone cure.

The sobs that escaped her lips were raw and broken. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. She had started this school year with hopes of normalcy, but normal was the last thing she had found.

Instead, she was fighting with her best friends, cursed by someone she had barely interacted with before, and entangled in a web of confusion and mistrust with Draco Malfoy, the last person she would ever want to rely on.

She wasn't supposed to be cursed by Marcus Flint with whom she hadn't even associated before,with a curse she had no knowledge on and the only person that did,refused to give her any answers.

Why was Malfoy being so difficult? 

Another sob escaped her swollen lips and tears streamed down her face as she sat up on the cold and hard ground infront of the Black Lake.

Hermione knew he hated her. Loathed her. Years now. Since she was a little girl she knew that the  platinum haired boy from Slytherin would rather see her die than have to sit with her in class. 

All she wanted was this curse to be over. And the simplest solution yet the most hard one was to drink from a vial HE had given her.

It seemed so simple.

So easy.

Yet,so out of reach.

And Draco Malfoy. That infuriating, enigmatic boy who had tormented her for years, and now held the key to her only possible salvation.

How was she supposed to trust him? She couldn't, not after everything he'd done, after all the pain he had caused. And yet, the alternative—to remain cursed, to let it consume her—was too terrifying to contemplate.

Her tears flowed freely now, her sobs echoing in the stillness of the morning. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but all she could do was cry. She felt as though she were falling apart, and there was no one who could piece her back together.

She couldn't just trust Malfoy.

Not when Harry and Ron didn't.

And now,when the thought of being a Death Eater lingered on their minds since the start of this year...

She kept crying so hard her throat was hurting. 

She tried not to,she really did try not to remember last night but she just couldn't.

Her problems overwhelmed her but only Draco Malfoy's intense silver gaze,looking down at her while she was pinned against his bedroom door,overwhelmed her even more.

Now,she had to work with this person given the fact they shared a dorm and they were Heads.

Equilibrium my ass.

There was nothing balanced about their situation or her life.

Hermione Granger felt at complete loss of words and actions. She just,didn't know what to do.

Not with Punico.

Not with Ron.

Not with Draco Malfoy.

Not with anything in her life at this moment. 

“Mione?”

The soft, ethereal voice was gentle, almost as if it had drifted in on the morning breeze. Hermione quickly wiped her eyes and turned to see Luna Lovegood standing a few feet away, her usual serene smile in place. The forced smile Hermione gave in return hurt her cheeks, the effort of pretending she was fine when she was anything but.

“Hey, Luna,” she managed to say, her voice trembling.

Luna’s smile didn’t waver as she asked, “May I join you?”her tone as gentle as the breeze that ruffled her hair.

Hermione hesitated, wanting nothing more than to be alone with her misery, but the kindness in Luna’s eyes disarmed her. “Sure,” she whispered, scooting over slightly as Luna gracefully sat beside her.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry-

“You know, Mione, I recognize a troubled mind when I see one,” Luna said softly, her gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the lake.

 Her voice echoed in Hermione's ears like sweet venom and it triggered her even more,her eyes burning more.

“Oh it’s nothing,” Hermione replied, her voice too quick, too shaky. “Just exams, you know.”

Luna’s gaze remained fixed on the lake, but Hermione could feel her eyes, soft and understanding, boring into her. “But it’s not just that, is it?”

Hermione swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing larger. She shook her head, unable to speak, afraid that if she opened her mouth, the sobs would start again. Luna’s presence, so calm and accepting, made her feel as though the walls she had built up were crumbling. She had held everything in for so long, but Luna’s gentle words were breaking through her defenses.

 If she opened her mouth, she'd start crying again.

Sometimes she thought she was a cry baby.

"Hermione you have gone through a lot. It's okay to let the pain in,through feeling it is the only way you'll truly heal from it."

And that broke every part in Hermione's soul. A whimper left her mouth and she couldn't bare it any longer. 

Just like that, Hermione broke. The sob she had been trying to suppress burst forth, and she buried her face in her hands once more.

Luna’s arms were around her in an instant, holding her close, providing the warmth and comfort Hermione hadn’t realized she so desperately needed.

The tears came hard and fast, her body shaking with the force of them, but Luna didn’t let go, didn’t say a word. She just held her, letting her cry, letting her release all the pain she had been holding inside.

She cried for the overwhelming weight of her life, for the confusion and fear that had been eating away at her, for the boy who had hurt her so many times but whose help she now needed, for everything that was wrong and for everything that was right but hurt just as much.

"Let it out. Not restraining yourself is the greatest gift you can do to yourself Hermione." Her soft voice calmed every nerve in Hermione's body.

It felt like forever before Hermione’s sobs finally subsided.

She stayed in Luna’s embrace, feeling oddly safe, as they stared out at the lake in a comfortable silence.

The first period had probably already started, but Hermione found she didn’t care.

The thought of facing Ron’s anger, Harry’s pity, Snape's examining look and the fear that creeped inside her as she wondered if he knew, or Draco Malfoy’s unreadable gaze was too much right now.

She preferred the quiet solace of Luna’s company.

After a while, Hermione spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Luna, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mione." Her voice gentle as always. "Anything.”

“What would you do if you were thinking about something that you knew was utterly wrong, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it? Something that could affect other people, but it just… it wouldn’t leave your mind.”

Luna didn’t hesitate. “I’d stop thinking about it.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “But that’s the problem,” she protested. “You can’t just stop thinking about something like that.”

“Does it help you in any way?” Luna asked, her tone calm.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted, her voice small. “But it’s wrong. I’m sure of it.”

Luna smiled at her, a serene, almost mysterious smile. “Who’s to say what’s right and what’s wrong?”

Hermione stared at her, caught off guard by the question. Her beliefs, her morals, her friends—everything she had been taught—told her what was right and what was wrong. But Luna’s words planted a seed of doubt in her mind.

Luna stood, giving Hermione a comforting pat on the back. “You’ve got a storm in your mind, Hermione. It’s not just one thing that’s troubling you.” She paused, looking out at the lake once more. “I suggest you take it one thing at a time. If you try to tackle it all at once, you’ll drive yourself mad. And that’s coming from me, Loony Lovegood.” She chuckled softly, the sound light and airy.

Hermione looked up at her, a small smile playing on her lips despite everything. Hearing Luna call herself that nickname was both endearing and cathartic. It was a reminder that Luna didn’t care what others thought, not really, and maybe Hermione needed a bit more of that in her life.

There was something oddly comforting about Luna’s ability to laugh at herself, to not take everything so seriously.

“Thank you, Luna,” Hermione said sincerely, her voice still shaky but filled with gratitude. “Really.”

“Anytime, Hermione,” Luna replied, her smile as kind as ever. “I’m always here if you want to talk, or if you just need someone to listen.”

With one last soft smile, Luna turned and walked back toward the castle, leaving Hermione alone once more, but this time, with a little more clarity, a little more peace.

Hermione sighed deeply, her gaze returning to the lake. The pain was still there, the problems still unresolved, but Luna’s words echoed in her mind.

It’s okay to let the pain in. Through feeling it, you’ll truly heal from it.

How did Luna Lovegood always know exactly what to say?

Hermione watched Luna walk back towards the castle, her gentle words still echoing in her mind. The soft ripple of the Black Lake seemed to mirror the turmoil inside her, yet there was a subtle calm now, like the first signs of a storm beginning to pass.

Luna had a way of seeing through the noise, stripping everything down to its essence, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Hermione allowed herself to feel without overthinking. She took in a deep, shaky breath and closed her eyes, letting the cool air fill her lungs and then slowly exhaling the tension that had been building up for days.

Her mind, though still swirling with conflicting thoughts, felt a bit lighter. She knew Luna was right—there was no point in overwhelming herself with everything at once. She needed to take things one step at a time, starting with the most pressing issue: the curse.

The vial of purple liquid Draco had given her loomed large in her thoughts. It was the key to breaking the curse, but it also represented something much more complex. Trust. And Draco Malfoy had never given her a reason to trust him. But then again, Luna’s words echoed in her mind.

Who's to say what's right and what's wrong?

The memory of Draco's intense gaze from the previous night flashed before her eyes, and despite herself, she shivered. It was confusing, maddening even, how someone she had despised for so long could suddenly evoke such powerful emotions. It was wrong—wasn't it? But why did it feel like there was more to him than the cruel, cold exterior he always wore?

She sighed, rubbing her temples as she tried to piece together the tangled mess of her emotions. The rational part of her knew she needed to focus on the curse, to find a way to break it without relying on Draco. But another part of her, the part that had felt something shift between them last night, was curious—almost desperate—to understand him.

For now, she would take Luna’s advice. She would allow herself to feel the pain, to confront it rather than suppress it. But she would also take things one at a time.

The curse came first.

If he kept on refusing giving her the answers she needed,

She would research more, look for alternatives.

And if she couldn’t find one… then she would consider the vial.

But she would do it on her own terms. Not Draco Malfoy's.

Hermione wiped the last of her tears and slowly stood up. The world around her seemed a bit clearer now, the colors a bit more vivid. She wasn’t sure if she had the answers yet, but at least she knew she wasn’t alone. With a renewed sense of determination, she turned back towards the castle, ready to face whatever came next.

She would get the answers out of Draco Malfoy,no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

They lived under the same roof now after all,she chuckled to herself,she might as well make something out of it.

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

Hermione walked briskly to Ancient Runes, her mind set and determined. She was thankful Harry and Ron wouldn’t be in this class; their concerned questions and Ron’s simmering anger would only add to the whirlwind in her mind. She needed to focus, to breathe, to get through just one class without feeling the weight of everything crashing down on her.

She arrived five minutes late, but who was counting? She knocked softly on the door, and Bathsheba’s enthusiastic voice called from within. “Come in!”

Holding her head high, Hermione entered, pushing back the turbulent thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her. As she stepped inside, a loud thump echoed through the room, drawing every pair of eyes toward the source.

Draco Malfoy, looking distinctly flustered, was hastily bending down to retrieve the book that had fallen from his grasp. He avoided her gaze, and Hermione raised an eyebrow as Bathsheba greeted her. “Hermione, dear, please take a seat. Miss Lovegood informed me you were helping her earlier.”

Hermione smiled slightly at the excuse Luna had provided and moved to her desk, directly across from Malfoy’s.

He acted as though she didn’t exist, his eyes stubbornly fixed anywhere but on her.

Draco’s thoughts were a mess. He was a mess.

The frustration gnawing at him was unbearable.

He had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor earlier, and he’d even left the Great Hall early, hoping she would be there, already at her desk, ready to dive into the lesson as always.

But she hadn’t even shown up. The bloody witch dared not to show up! Unbelievable!

Not that he cared, he told himself, clearing his throat as if to dispel the absurd notion. No, he didn’t care at all. He was just...curious. Yes, curious. Granger never missed class, no matter what. The world could be ending, and she’d still be at her desk, quill in hand. Draco had come to know this about her in the short span of the past three weeks since their sixth year had started. He had also noticed other things—like how her eyes were red and puffy, despite her best efforts to maintain a stoic expression. He knew she had been crying.

And it bothered him.

His fists clenched beneath the desk, his jaw tightening as his mind wandered.

Who made her cry?

The thought gnawed at him, irritating him to no end. He didn’t understand why he even cared. She’s just a Mudblood. A Gryffindor. Hermione bloody Granger.

He forced himself to remember that her pain wasn’t his concern. It shouldn’t matter if her chestnut eyes were more swollen than usual. It shouldn’t matter at all.

I don’t care. I’m Draco Malfoy. Not giving a damn is what I do.

But ignoring her was becoming increasingly difficult, especially when Bathsheba announced the day’s assignment.

“For today’s lesson, since Miss Granger here correctly translated the number runes, I want you to pair up with the person sitting across from you and work on translating this text I’ve provided.”

Draco muttered a curse under his breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment of despair. Of course. He should have known there was no escaping her.

“Professor Bathsheba, with all due respect,” Draco began, his voice dripping with disdain, “you can’t seriously expect me—a pureblood—to pair up with a Muggle-born.”

The word “Muggle-born” slipped out more easily than he would have liked, and it only made him more furious with himself. Why did it bother him so much that he couldn’t even bring himself to use the slur so easily anymore?

Bathsheba’s smile was warm but unyielding. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy, that is exactly what I expect.”

Draco scoffed, turning away in irritation. He spread his legs wider, trying to take up more space as if it would create a physical barrier between him and the infuriating girl sitting across from him. As the other students paired up, Hermione quietly summoned her chair to the other side of his desk and sat down.

He didn’t look at her. He refused to. If he couldn’t insult her the way he always had, the least he could do was ignore her, pretend she didn’t exist.

But Hermione wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

“I’m not going to do all the work myself, you know,” she said, her tone firm and unwavering.

Draco continued to look anywhere but at her. “Of course you are,” he replied, his voice flat, though Hermione didn’t miss the slight hitch in his breath. Or maybe she was imagining it.

“No, I’m not,” she retorted, her voice gaining strength. “You’re not incapable of understanding Ancient Runes, and if you think you can sit there doing nothing while I do all the work, you’re mistaken.”

He rolled his eyes, exasperation flooding his expression. “Fine,” he muttered, sitting up straighter but still refusing to meet her gaze.

“You know,” Hermione began again, her tone challenging, “this whole torturous exercise would go much faster if you actually looked at me. Or are you afraid I’ll be better at this than you?”

Draco’s head snapped up, his icy silver eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, but he quickly masked his reaction with a dangerous glare. “No one is better than me, and I’m not afraid of anything, Granger,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous.

Hermione fought back a smirk, pleased to see how worked up he was. “Prove it, then.”

“Bloody hell...” Draco murmured, still holding her gaze as he grabbed his book and opened it, pushing it slightly toward her so they could both see the text. “You’re driving me insane, Granger.”

Hermione didn’t respond, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. But her mind was racing. She still needed to talk to him, to get answers about the curse. But not here, not now, in the middle of class. She would wait until they were back in the Head Dorm, where there would be no prying eyes, no interruptions.

Unbeknownst to her, Draco was thinking along similar lines. He had his own plans for tonight—plans that involved getting answers, plans that involved Marcus Flint.

Their shared determination hung in the air between them as they both worked in silence, neither willing to let the other see just how much they were truly affected.

Hermione walked to her last period of the day, in History of Hogwarts, feeling the heavy absence of Harry by her side. She hadn’t seen him all day, which likely meant he was with Ron, as usual. Harry was always sympathetic towards her, but he had a deep bond with Ron that sometimes left her feeling like the odd one out, especially after their recent argument. She didn’t doubt that Harry would be there for her if she needed him, but she had a tendency to isolate herself when tensions flared, not wanting to force Harry to choose between his two best friends.

She missed spending time with Harry. They hadn’t spoken much since the argument, and she felt the weight of the unresolved tension. Harry’s obsession with Malfoy possibly being a Death Eater, combined with his newfound and somewhat endearing preoccupation with Ginny, had pulled him away. And Ron, being a git as usual, hadn’t helped matters. The conflict had escalated quickly, with Ron’s anger pushing Hermione to storm out of the Gryffindor common room, a place she realized she missed dearly. The Head Dorm she shared with Malfoy, while luxurious and tailored to her tastes, still didn’t feel like home.

As she entered the classroom, her eyes scanned the room for a familiar pair of blue ones behind glasses. When she spotted Harry, she paused anxiously at the door. He looked conflicted for a moment, but then he smiled at her and nodded, a gesture that filled her with relief. Without another thought, she hurried to sit beside him.

“Hey, Harry,” she greeted nervously, the knot in her stomach tightening. In theory, everything was simple—talk to Harry, mend things with him first, and then deal with Ron, the curse, Flint, Malfoy, and the vial.

“Hey, Mione,” Harry replied, his tone warm but hesitant. She could tell he was ready to listen, and that made it easier for her to start.

“So, I—”

“Look, Mione, I—”

They both started speaking at the same time, then stopped and chuckled awkwardly.

“You first,” Harry offered, but Hermione shook her head.

“No, you.”

“I wanted to apologize,” they both blurted out simultaneously, sharing a surprised look as they blinked at each other.

“What?” Harry asked, scratching his head in confusion.

“What? You what? Why are you apologizing?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I... I shouldn’t have asked if you trusted me,” Harry admitted, his voice faltering. “It was wrong. You’ve always been there for me, more than anyone else, and given the circumstances, you had every right to question my...dream. It’s just a dream, after all. I hate Malfoy, but I know you hate him too—” Hermione smiled and swallowed hard at that. Did she really still hate him? “—and when Ron stepped in, I should have stopped him. I didn’t know he’d get so angry at you for standing up for Malfoy. This morning, too, I should have gone after you when you stormed out, not stayed with the moron, but I promise, Ginny and I gave him a hard time on your behalf, and—”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted gently, her smile soft as she placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping his rambling.

“What?”

“Breathe,” she chuckled, and Harry, realizing he had been talking so fast he’d forgotten to, took a deep breath.

He laughed too, the tension between them easing as they found comfort in the familiar banter.

“Anyway, I’m sorry, Mione,” Harry finally said, his expression sincere.

“No, Harry. I should be the one apologizing,” Hermione insisted. “I never, ever meant to make you feel like I didn’t believe in you or trust you because I do. I trust you with my life, and I believe in you with everything I have. You’ve always been the one to get us out of messes, even when you were the one creating them,” she added with a teasing smirk. Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled back at her. She squeezed his shoulder gently. “I never meant to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me about your dreams. Most of the time, they come true. I wasn’t defending Malfoy because I didn’t believe in you; I just think that—” she lowered her voice, “—the Dark Lord wouldn’t recruit a sixteen-year-old boy. But I’m really sorry for making you feel like I didn’t trust you.”

Hermione watched his face closely, searching for any sign of how he felt. For a moment, Harry remained silent, just gazing at her, and then suddenly, he burst out laughing.

Hermione blinked in surprise. “Why... why are you laughing?”

“It’s just—” Harry laughed even harder, “—I never thought we’d be apologizing to each other for something like this.”

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. Seeing him laugh made her want to laugh too. “It does seem a bit...stupid now, doesn’t it?”

“You’re completely right, Hermione.”

“And we’re both complete idiots.”

They both burst into laughter, not caring about the odd looks their classmates were giving them. After all, when had the Trio—or any member of it—not received weird looks for their antics?

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

After Ancient Runes earlier, Hermione and Draco hadn't exchanged a single word, and though she wanted to seek him out with her gaze, he was nowhere to be seen. At dinner in the Great Hall, it was evident that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had resumed their usual banter, much to Ginny's visible relief. Hermione was doing her best to appear normal, but the persistent throb in her head made it nearly impossible to forget about Punico or Marcus Flint's intense gaze, which always seemed to strengthen the curse.

During the meal, Hermione also noticed that Draco was absent from the Slytherin table, which piqued her curiosity. Perhaps he was already back at their shared dorm.

The term “their” felt strange when referring to her and Malfoy, but it was unavoidable now.

After dinner, Hermione joined Harry, Ginny, and a still annoyed but feigning nonchalance Ron as they headed back to the Gryffindor common room. Once they settled into their usual spots, Ginny, brimming with curiosity, turned to Hermione.

“So, Mione,” Ginny began eagerly, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “how is your dorm? You haven’t told us anything about it. How’s the decoration? Is it big? What’s your room like?”

Harry gave a subtle smile at Ginny’s enthusiasm, and Hermione was grateful that Ginny had chosen to focus on the dormitory rather than mention Draco Malfoy. Ron’s temper was still simmering, and any mention of Malfoy would likely fuel his frustration further.

“It’s really nice,” Hermione responded with a smile. “And yes, it’s quite spacious, at least twice the size of the common room here.” She gestured around the Gryffindor common room. “My room has a beautiful view, and the decoration in both the common room and our bedrooms really reflects our personalities.”

Ron, who had been listening with only half his attention, mumbled, “Does Malfoy’s side have snakes?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his attempt at humor, knowing it was an unspoken jab. She would have laughed if they weren’t still at odds. Instead, she continued, “Well, anyway, you guys should come visit sometime. All of you.”

As the night progressed, the friends exchanged jokes and engaged in conversation. Ron mostly remained aloof, chipping in occasionally, but it felt comforting to be among them. It was a semblance of home, despite the unresolved tension with Ron.

Around 3 a.m., Hermione decided it was time to return to her dorm. After bidding her friends goodnight, she made her way back to the Head Dorm. She was greeted by the portrait of the man and woman who always seemed to be at odds with each other, a fitting reflection of her current situation.

“Hi, guys,” she whispered with a smile as the portraits ceased their hushed argument and turned to acknowledge her.

“Hello, dear,” the woman in the portrait greeted with a warm smile, while the man beside her rolled his eyes in a clear sign of irritation.

“You’re back late, young lady,” he scolded, causing Hermione’s lips to tighten into a straight line. The scolding was almost amusing, though she tried to maintain her seriousness.

“Well, sir, I—”

“Oh, shut up,” the woman snapped at the man. “It’s not like the arrogant boy the poor girl is supposed to handle is tucked in his bed.”

The man rolled his eyes again, and they resumed their argument. Hermione’s brows knitted together as their bickering continued.

So, Malfoy wasn’t back yet? He hadn’t been in the Great Hall for dinner, and now, at 3 a.m., he still wasn’t back?

“Malfoy isn’t back yet?” she asked, interrupting their argument.

They turned their attention to her. “No, dear, he isn’t back yet,” the woman said kindly. “But it’s late; you should probably head inside.”

Hermione nodded, deep in thought. “Thank you.” She mumbled the password he had given her last night—“Equilibrium”—and the portrait swung open. The woman smiled at her while the man grunted.

Hermione stepped through the portrait and entered the dorm. It was late, and Draco still hadn’t returned. She settled onto her side of the common room, sinking into the red couch. She needed to wait for him. Her questions were pressing, and as Luna had advised, she needed to take things one step at a time. Tonight, she needed answers from Draco Malfoy—answers she hadn’t gotten the night before.

The memory of the previous night was still vivid in her mind. She had barged into his room, demanding answers, only to leave with more questions than before. She could still feel his body pressed against hers, the intensity of his gaze, and his words echoing in her mind.

“Leave, Granger, before I do something you and I will both regret.”

What would he do? Deep down, she knew and, even deeper, she didn’t want to admit that she would have let him do it.

As she waited, the minutes ticked by. Almost half an hour had passed when she felt her eyelids growing heavy. The weariness of the day, combined with the emotional toll of the last few weeks, made it difficult to keep her eyes open. She fought to stay awake, but her exhaustion was winning. The couch was too comfortable, and soon, the steady rhythm of her breathing signaled her drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

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

He needed to fuck Granger out of his system.

"Fuck Draco,harder." Pansy Parkison moaned which made Draco Malfoy grunt and close her mouth with his hand,pounting more aggressively into her. He didnt want to hear her voice.

And since literally fucking Granger was out of the picture,he had to act. 

"Shut your mouth!You like my cock filling you up don't you?" His hands pressed on her hips his pace faster and harder,drowning moans from her.

He always hated how loud she was when he fucked her.

Draco was trying to ease his mind from-well everything basically. Mostly,from Granger.

The infuriating witch kept consuming his thoughts more and more every day which frustrated him.

He hated her.

He thursted deeper into Pansy and she scowled.

She was a filthy little mudblood.

He spank Pansy's ass roughly. 

A know it all,a bookworm.

"Fuck." He grunted and pounted harder inside Pansy harder,she moaned louder and the bed at his room-his old room in the Slytherin dorm-creaked with each of his thursts. 

His hips banged into hers and he closed his eyes grunting and fucking her harder.

Fucking Granger. Imagining her chestnut-brown eyes that were looking up fiercely at him as she was pinned against his door demanding answers.

Demanding was so sexy on her too.

"Shit." He growled and Pansy moaned as he quickened his pace,his grip on her hips tightening so hard it would probably leave a bruise. But he didn't care.

All he cared about right now was getting fucking Granger out of his mind.

But even fucking Pansy-or fucking in general-didnt seem to help at this point.

"Fuck." He exhaled as he pulled out of Pansy Parkison and came on her ass,thinking about Hermione Granger.

Draco Malfoy strode through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. It was nearly 4 a.m., and despite the hours he had spent with Pansy Parkinson, he felt nothing but exhaustion and anger. He had tried to drown out his thoughts, to push Hermione Granger out of his mind, but the effort had only left him more frustrated. The fleeting pleasure he had sought with Pansy had done nothing to ease the turmoil raging within him.

As he approached the portrait guarding his and Hermione's shared dorm, he could hear the familiar bickering of the man and woman painted there. Their voices halted abruptly as they noticed his arrival, sensing the dark storm of his mood.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to come back," the man remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The woman gave him a reproachful look. "You’re late, young man. You’ve been out—"

"Enough," Draco snapped, cutting her off. His voice was cold, his patience long gone. The last thing he needed was a lecture from a pair of bickering portraits. The couple fell silent, sensing his agitation.

“Equilibrium,” he muttered the password, his voice harsh and tired. The portrait swung open without another word, and Draco stepped inside, his shoulders tense with unresolved anger and the weight of his thoughts.

The common room was dark, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. It was quiet, save for the faint crackling of the fire. He was about to head straight to his room when he noticed a figure curled up on the couch.

Hermione Granger.

Even in the dim light, he could see the tension in her sleeping form, the way her brow furrowed even in rest. She was still in her school robes, clearly having fallen asleep waiting for him. A surge of conflicting emotions hit Draco all at once—guilt, irritation, and something else he didn’t want to name.

He clenched his jaw, glaring at her as if that would make her disappear, but she remained there, peaceful in her sleep, haunting him even in his own dorm. His hand tightened into a fist at his side. She was everywhere, in his thoughts, in his dreams, and now, right here in front of him, looking so damn innocent.

Draco let out a low, frustrated growl and turned on his heel, heading toward his room. He couldn’t deal with this now, not with the remnants of the night still clinging to him like a bad taste. He needed sleep, or at least to be alone with his thoughts, away from her and the confusing mess she created in his mind.

But then he stopped.

He took a step closer, his gaze locked on her face. She looked different like this, without her usual guarded expression. Her brow, which often furrowed in concentration or frustration, was relaxed, her features soft in the dim light. For a moment, Draco felt something unfamiliar stir within him, something that made his heart beat faster and his breath catch in his throat.

But then he shoved it down, hard. He had spent the last few hours trying to forget her, trying to purge her from his mind with Pansy Parkinson, and here she was, pulling him back into that maddening spiral of confusion and rage.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked a few times, disoriented. When her eyes finally focused, they locked onto Draco's stormy gray ones, and she immediately sat up, brushing her hair out of her face.

 "Malfoy?” Her voice was soft, still tinged with sleep, but there was an edge of alertness as she took in his appearance. His robes were rumpled, his hair a bit disheveled, and there was a cold, distant look in his eyes that made her uneasy.

He stood there, frozen for a moment, irritation bubbling up again as he tried to suppress the unwanted warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her. He hadn’t expected her to wake up, and now that she had, he wasn’t sure what to do or say.

Draco clenched his jaw, his earlier anger resurfacing at the sight of her. "What are you doing here, Granger?" His tone was sharper than he intended, a mix of exhaustion and frustration seeping through.

Hermione blinked again, more awake now, and the memory of why she’d been waiting for him came rushing back. “You weren’t at dinner,” she said, ignoring his tone. “And then you didn’t come back... I wanted to talk to you.”

Draco scoffed, and widened his eyes in disbelief. "Talk? At four in the bloody morning?"

“Yes, talk,” Hermione snapped back, her voice gaining strength. She stood up from the couch, her earlier hesitation replaced by determination. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I have questions—questions you’ve been avoiding answering.”

Draco shaked his head dismissivly. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the way she was trying to bore holes into him with those perceptive eyes of hers. "Go back to sleep, Granger," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not in the mood for your interrogation."

"I don't care." She snapped and approached him, but he stepped back, as if he didn't want to be near her.

Well, he didn't—she knew that—but this time it wasn't disgust; it was like... he was restraining himself. Like last night.

"And I don't care about what you have to say, Granger." He hissed, taking off his robe with an air of finality.

"Malfoy," she started again, not willing to let him slip away so easily. "You need to tell me about the curse."

Draco rolled his silver eyes. "Granger, not again—"

"It's getting stronger," she interrupted, her voice faltering slightly as she gulped. She did her best not to show how vulnerable she felt, while he did his best not to show that he cared—not that he did!

"And I need to... I need to know details if I want to break the curse, Malfoy!" Her voice was more determined now, and his eyes shot up to meet hers. A pang of anger flared within him, though he wasn't sure why.

"You know how to break it," he hissed, referring to the purple vial he had given her—the antidote to his father's curse, the antidote he had secretly provided to many after witnessing their suffering at Malfoy Manor. The antidote only he could create because of its dark origin.

Hermione's voice softened with a pang of guilt. "Malfoy..."

She didn't trust him enough to drink it.

And he saw that.

And he understood it.

But that didn’t stop his chest from tightening at the realization, nor did it quell the anger boiling inside him.

"No, Granger, I'm done playing games with you. If you don't trust me, that's fine—suit yourself. Don't drink it. But I'm not saying anything more—"

"Malfoy, I'm the one who is cursed!" she exclaimed, snapping. "And you are acting weird. I want to know. I have the right to know. For some reason, you are the only one who knows about the curse!" She raised her voice, and he clenched his fists in anger.

"Granger—"

"Tell me, Malfoy, how is it only you could tell what the curse was?"

"Stop it."

"How did you recognize it and not brush it off like it was just a panic attack?" She pushed further, stepping closer to him.

Not that again.

"Shut it, Granger. You don't need to know all that—"

"How did you know Flint was the one who cursed me?" Hermione demanded, stepping even closer. He shook his head in anger, his temper barely restrained.

"Seriously, Granger, don't push me—not tonight!" he growled in a dangerous tone, but Hermione didn’t back down.

She nodded, determination hardening her resolve, and reached for her wand. "Maybe I should go and ask Flint himself about it since he was the one who cursed me!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the walls. His silver eyes widened in alarm, and with a swift flick of his own wand, hers was sent flying across the room. In a flash, he was pinning her against the bookshelf.

"The hell you are," he growled, his face inches from hers.

"Try me," she grunted, trying to break free, but he pressed his body against hers once more.

Bloody Granger.

Her breath hitched, but her expression remained stoic and determined.

"You're not going near him," he spoke in a low, dangerous tone, his eyes darkening with something Hermione couldn’t quite place.

She gulped as his jaw clenched, feeling the tense muscles of his body against hers.

"If you're not helping me, I'll fight my way to get answers."

Draco wanted to scream, to punch something—preferably her face out of sheer frustration—but he’d never hit a woman, even if she was a Mudblood.

"Stop being so stubborn," he growled, pushing her harder against the shelf. Books tumbled down, and she gasped as she felt the full weight of him pressed against her.

"Stop being an asshole," she shot back, her defiance sparking a dangerous thrill in him.

He shook his head, glancing at her parted lips for a split second too long, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He needed to stop looking at her bloody lips.

Abruptly, he pushed her away and stepped back, needing to put distance between them.

"Go to sleep, Granger," he mumbled, turning toward the stairs, but her soft voice froze him in place.

"Malfoy, I need to know... something. Anything. Please." Her voice was almost pleading, a vulnerability that cut through his anger. "I know you hate me. I know you're probably more than happy to see me suffer right now, but if Flint is dangerous to me, what's to stop him from being dangerous to any other girl? Like..." Her voice wavered. "Like Pansy."

He tensed at the mention of Pansy’s name, guilt twisting inside him like a knife. His eyes locked onto Hermione's, and for a moment, something flickered there—something that he hated acknowledging.

He took a deep breath, his gaze softening just a fraction. “It’s a blood curse,” he said quietly, surprising himself as the words left his mouth. “Dark magic. It binds the victim to the caster, feeding off their pain, their fear. The more Flint focuses on you, the stronger the curse gets.”

"Blood curse?" Hermione exclaimed, her chest tightening as the weight of Draco's words settled in.

Why did this surprise her? It was an Unforgivable Curse, after all—of course, it had to do with Dark Magic. Hermione had read hundreds of books on blood magic, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

Draco nodded, his gaze turning away as if he couldn't bear to look at her. "Granger, there’s no other way to break the curse. You can only cure it with the vial I gave you."

"There must be a way—"

"There isn't!" His voice was sharper, more desperate, as if trying to hammer the reality into her.

"How do you know—"

"Because my father created that curse!" Draco snapped, his restraint barely holding him back from shoving her against the wall again, just to make her understand that this was no game.

Hermione’s blood froze. She stood rooted to the spot, her breath catching in her throat. She could hear the rapid thud of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Lucius Malfoy had created the new Unforgivable Curse. The curse that had been tormenting her for three weeks now—Lucius Malfoy. Draco's father.

She took a step back, almost instinctively, and Draco’s gaze hardened as he noticed.

She was afraid of him?

Draco didn't know what to feel. No, he didn’t feel—but there was an uncomfortable lump in his chest, almost painful.

"My father created the Punico curse, Granger," he repeated, his voice tinged with a bitterness that mirrored the shock on her face.

Hermione was silent, staring at him as if the ground had just been pulled out from under her. This revelation—she hadn’t expected it, but it made sense. It made sense why none of the books mentioned it, why only Draco had recognized the curse, the caster, and the victim. Why only Draco knew the cure.

And he had given her the cure, from the start.

"The cure...how...how do you know it’s the only one? How do you know it would work?" Her voice shook, betraying the turmoil she felt. She hated the look of fear and uncertainty on her face, and Draco looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to see it either.

"Because there was no cure before I made it."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Y-you made it?"

"Yes, Granger," he growled, trying to suppress the painful memories that threatened to surface—the memories of how he had to create that antidote in secret, just so the people his father and the other Death Eaters tortured could stay alive. "I'm its creator. Are you satisfied now?"

The realization hit Hermione like a tidal wave. While Lucius Malfoy's curse was the one that could have killed her—and still could, if Marcus Flint had the intention or the strength to do so—Draco's antidote might be her only salvation.

The room seemed to shrink around them as the weight of the truth settled between them. Draco stood there, his expression hardened, but his eyes—those cold, silver eyes—held something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place.

Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke. "So... if I don’t take the antidote..."

Draco’s jaw clenched, and he looked at her with a mixture of anger and something else—something almost like concern. "If you don’t take it, the curse will keep getting stronger. Eventually, it’ll kill you, Granger. Is that what you want?"

The finality of his words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and Hermione felt the crushing weight of the decision she had to make. Could she trust him? Could she trust the son of the man who created the curse that was slowly killing her?

But then she remembered—Draco had made the antidote. He had given it to her without hesitation, without any sign of malice or deceit. And despite everything, he hadn’t let her die.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I don’t want to die, Malfoy," she admitted, her voice trembling with the truth she could no longer deny. "But I don’t know if I can trust you."

Draco’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a shadow passing over them. "Then you’re as good as dead," he said coldly, turning his back on her.

As he walked away, Hermione stood there, feeling more lost than ever. The choice was hers—but what would it cost her?

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over Hermione. Her vision blurred, and she stumbled, reaching out to steady herself against the bookshelf next to her. The room seemed to spin around her, and her breath hitched as she tried to regain her balance.

Draco stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to her. But the sound of her stumbling caught his attention. He hesitated for a moment, his shoulders tensing, before he turned around.

"Granger?" His voice was no longer cold, but laced with concern, despite his earlier anger. He crossed the room quickly, reaching her just as she began to sway on her feet. Without thinking, he grabbed her arm, steadying her as she clung to the bookshelf for support.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dizziness to pass, but it only seemed to worsen. She felt Draco's grip on her arm tighten slightly, grounding her in the present moment.

"Granger, what's wrong?" Draco demanded, his voice firm but edged with worry. He could see the pallor in her face, the way her body trembled slightly.

She shook her head weakly, trying to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. The curse—the damn curse. It was getting stronger, feeding off her fear, her exhaustion, and now, her hesitation. She could feel it tightening its grip on her, like a vice around her chest.

Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched her struggle. He knew what was happening. He'd seen it before. The curse was taking its toll, and if she didn’t take the antidote soon, it would only get worse.

"Granger, listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "You need to take the antidote. Now."

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, her vision still swimming. She met Draco’s gaze, seeing the intensity in his eyes, the frustration, and beneath it all, a flicker of something that almost resembled fear.

"I…" she started, but her voice was faint, barely audible. "I can’t…"

"Yes, you can," Draco cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I know you don’t trust me, but this isn’t about trust anymore. This is about survival."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small vial with the purple liquid—the antidote he had given her before. He uncorked it, the faint scent of herbs and something else, something darker, wafting between them.

"Drink this," he ordered, holding the vial out to her. "It’ll stop the curse from getting worse."

Hermione hesitated, her hand shaking as she reached out for the vial. Her mind was a whirlwind of doubt and fear, but beneath it all was the undeniable truth—she didn’t want to die. And as much as she hated to admit it, Draco was right. She needed to survive.

"Please,Granger. Drink the fucking cure." His tone pleading and soft,like she has never heard it before.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she took the vial from him and brought it to her lips. The liquid was cool as it slid down her throat, leaving a strange, tingling sensation in its wake. She handed the empty vial back to Draco, her hand still trembling.

For a moment, they just stood there, the tension between them palpable, as they waited for the antidote to take effect. The room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken between them.

Finally, the dizziness began to fade, the world slowly righting itself around her. Hermione let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her body relaxing slightly as the curse’s grip lessened.

Draco watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. He wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, his hand still hovering in the air where he had held the vial out to her, as if he didn’t quite know what to do next.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered finally, her voice hoarse, but sincere.

Draco nodded curtly, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. "Get some rest, Granger," he said, his voice quiet, almost gentle. "We’ll talk more in the morning."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Hermione standing by the bookshelf, her thoughts swirling. As he disappeared up the stairs, she couldn’t shake the feeling that despite everything, something had shifted between them, something that neither of them quite understood yet.

Draco stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls. He paced the length of the room, his mind racing and his anger boiling over. What was happening to him? Why did it feel like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, despite the tension and anger still churning inside him?

He gripped the edge of his desk, staring at the scattered papers and the small, inconspicuous vial that had saved Granger’s life. He had done what he needed to do, but it had taken a toll on him. The anger he felt was as much directed at himself as it was at the situation. He had been soft—soft in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be before. He had felt satisfaction, relief even, when Hermione took the antidote. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to, and he didn’t like it.

He sank into the chair by his desk, rubbing his temples in frustration. Why did he care so much? Why did it matter to him if Granger lived or died? She was a Gryffindor, a mudblood, and his sworn enemy. His father had created the curse that had been tormenting her, and yet, he found himself unable to simply let her suffer.

Draco’s mind flashed back to the way she had looked—vulnerable, scared, and in pain. It was a side of her he rarely saw, and seeing her like that had stirred something deep inside him. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge, something that made him question everything he had been taught and everything he had believed.

He got up and paced again, the unease in his chest growing. He tried to focus on the practicalities, on the fact that he had to keep up appearances and remain detached. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Hermione’s face, her desperation, and her plea for answers.

He slammed his fist against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. He needed to regain control, to push aside these unwelcome feelings. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. He had crossed a line, and he couldn’t just erase it. He had acted out of a strange, misplaced sense of responsibility, and it had made him question his own resolve.

Draco collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to clear his mind. He didn’t know what the future held, or how he would continue to interact with Granger. But one thing was clear—he was no longer just a bystander in this twisted game. He had a stake in it now, and that realization was both unsettling and inescapable.

Revealing that his father had created the Punico curse was not just a betrayal of his family—it was a betrayal of everything he had been conditioned to uphold. Lucius Malfoy’s work was shrouded in secrecy and darkness, and Draco had just brought that darkness into the light, a dangerous act that would have severe repercussions.

He had revealed that he created a bloody curse and Granger-oh she was smart,smart enought not to believe that Lucius Malfoy created the Punico curse just for fun,but for a purpose. What had he done?

He had crossed a line that he couldn’t easily undo. By disclosing the truth about the curse, he had exposed the extent of his father’s cruelty and, indirectly, his own complicity in it. It was one thing to privately loathe the legacy he inherited; it was another entirely to actively work against it, even if it was to save someone like Hermione Granger.

Draco was deeply unsettled by his own actions. The idea of betraying his father, of defying the very essence of what he had been raised to believe in, gnawed at him. But more than that, he was tormented by the thought of having to confront the choice again. If faced with the same situation—would he betray his father’s legacy once more to save Granger?

He clenched his fists, grappling with the realization that he might.

Not might.

Would.

The notion was both alarming and oddly liberating. It meant that, despite everything he had been taught, he had the capacity to make decisions based on his own moral compass, rather than the dictates of his upbringing. And in this instance, his moral compass had pointed him toward saving Granger, even if it meant exposing his father’s dark secrets.

As he stared into the darkness, Draco’s thoughts were a turbulent mess. He was plagued by guilt and uncertainty about his actions and their consequences. The sense of responsibility for Granger’s well-being was growing stronger, despite his desire to distance himself from her. It was clear that his involvement was far from over.

Draco ,having created the antidote,was no longer merely a pawn in his father’s game. He had become a player.

But no. 

He couldn't. 

He had to keep his Mother safe. 

He had to make his Father proud.

 He was a Malfoy.

He had managed to save Granger, but the relief was overshadowed by the turmoil of his own identity and obligations. He was a Malfoy, bound by a legacy that demanded loyalty and control, even if it meant sacrificing personal inclinations and desires.

The act of saving her, of defying his father's influence, was something he couldn't afford to dwell on. It was a betrayal of the expectations placed upon him, a deviation from the path he was meant to follow. He had to remain steadfast, to honor the legacy of the Malfoy name and protect his mother from the repercussions of his actions.

Draco rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to block out the thoughts that plagued him. The image of Granger's determined face, the vulnerability he had seen in her eyes—he forced them away, focusing instead on the responsibilities and constraints that defined him.

He had always prided himself on his control, his ability to suppress emotions and maintain a facade of indifference.

Crying was a weakness he refused to indulge, and he wouldn't start now.

He had acted out of necessity, not out of any misplaced sentimentality. The less he thought about it, the better.

From now on, he would keep his distance from Granger. She was a Mudblood—nothing more. The association with her was a liability he couldn't afford, not when he had his family and their expectations to consider. His actions had set a precedent he couldn't easily undo, but he could ensure that his future interactions with her were strictly professional, if not hostile.

He would adhere to his role, fulfill his duties, and avoid any further entanglement with Granger. It was a harsh reality, but it was the path he had to follow to keep his world intact.

As Draco finally succumbed to sleep, he buried the turmoil deep within, determined to emerge the next day with his resolve hardened and his emotions tightly controlled. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it.

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

The next morning, Hermione woke up feeling a strange but welcome relief. For the first time in three weeks, the relentless throb in her head was gone, and her chest no longer felt as though it was being crushed under an invisible weight. Malfoy's antidote had worked.

Despite the improvement in her condition, she couldn't shake the lingering curiosity and unease about the previous night. She had so many questions for Draco about the curse and the cure, but she decided against seeking him out immediately. Instead, she focused on getting ready and putting the strange and unsettling events behind her.

As she exited her room, she noticed that Draco was again missing from the common room. He was likely already at the Great Hall. Hermione's frown deepened at the thought of his absence. She couldn't deny a nagging sense of curiosity and concern about his whereabouts. Still, she pushed those thoughts aside and prepared herself for the day ahead.

When she reached the Great Hall, she made her way to the Gryffindor table, where Ginny, Harry, and Ron were already seated. Ginny greeted her with a warm side hug, and Harry offered a cheerful "Good morning." Hermione acknowledged Ron with a nod, which he returned with a terse but familiar acknowledgment.

Ron’s stubbornness was becoming a point of irritation. Despite the tension, he hadn’t apologized for their recent argument. Hermione sighed, mentally preparing herself for yet another round of strained interactions.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of routine. Classes were uneventful, and although her head felt clearer and lighter, the absence of Draco was a persistent distraction. Rumors circulated that he hadn't attended any of his classes, not even those they shared. His unexplained absence only added to her frustration and curiosity.

By the end of the day, Hermione found herself feeling unusually bored. The constant presence of Draco's absence and the lack of stimulating interactions left her with an empty feeling. She could only hope that tomorrow might bring some resolution or at least a hint of where Draco had been hiding.

As she walked back to the Gryffindor common room, the memory of their last encounter still weighed on her mind. She hoped that tomorrow would bring some answers or at least an opportunity to bridge the widening gap between them.

After spending time with her friends in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione headed back to the Head Dorm. Exhausted, she mumbled the password "Equilibrium" to the painting of the man and woman, who exchanged their usual bickering as she passed by. She knocked on Draco’s door but received no response, so she retreated to her own room, collapsing onto her bed. It was the first night in weeks she slept without the relentless headache that had plagued her.

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was far from restful. In the dimly lit Slytherin common room, the fire cast flickering shadows on the velvet green couches. Draco sat alone, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames, a glass of whiskey in hand. His thoughts were dark, consumed by the torment of his father’s curse and the need for retribution.

The quiet was broken by the sound of the common room door opening and closing. Draco’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk. Marcus Flint had arrived, unaware of Draco’s presence. Flint was making his way toward the stairs leading to his dorm when Draco’s voice cut through the stillness.

"Long time no see, Flint."