~Equilibrium ~

"Long time no see, Flint."

Flint froze, his gaze snapping to the armchair in front of him where Draco sat, his posture menacing. Draco’s eyes were stormy, reflecting a mix of anger and control. Flint’s nervousness was palpable as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Malfoy? What are you doing down here? Aren’t you supposed to be with the mudblood in your own dorm?" Flint asked, trying to mask his anxiety with a casual tone.

Draco’s eyes narrowed at the slur. "Oh, I will be. Our rooms are just a step away, you know?" He rose slowly, his gaze never leaving Flint’s. "Does that bother you, Marcus?"

Flint, sensing the danger, looked around to ensure no one else was awake. "Why would that bother me, mate?"

Draco’s expression hardened. "We are not mates," he spat. "I’m asking because you’ve developed a sudden interest in her, haven’t you, you naughty boy?" His chuckle was dark and unsettling.

Flint’s face paled as the realization of Draco’s knowledge set in.

Draco knew.

Draco always knew everything.

 The fear was evident in Flint’s trembling hands as he attempted to defend himself.

"I-I wanted to have some fun with the mudblood, put her in her place—"

Draco’s patience snapped.

He hurled his whiskey glass against the wall, the shattering glass adding to the tension. Flint recoiled, his back hitting the cold dungeon wall.

"The only one who needs to be reminded of his place is you, Flint," Draco hissed, his smirk fading into a scowl.

In a swift, brutal motion, Draco’s fist connected with Flint’s jaw, sending him crashing into the wall. Flint’s cries of pain were muffled by the soundproofing spell Draco had cast. Draco’s rage was consuming, each punch fueled by the sight of Hermione Granger suffering and the realization of his father’s curse.

"How did you know about the spell?" Draco demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Flint, in agony, stammered out an answer.

"I-I overheard my father talking with yours about it. My father is a—"

"I know what your father is." Draco interrupted, his voice cold. "Now speak."

Flint continued to stammer, revealing that he had overheard his father and Lucius Malfoy discussing the curse over the phone. Draco’s anger surged as he realized the full extent of Flint’s audacity.

"You used my father’s curse and didn’t think anyone would notice?" Draco’s fury was unchecked. He punched Flint again, savoring the thud of flesh against flesh. The blood on his knuckles only fueled his rage.

"Draco, please—"

"Shut up!" Draco roared, hitting Flint’s head against the wall again. "Did you really think you could get away with this?"

The punches continued, each one a manifestation of Draco’s guilt and frustration. Flint’s pleas for mercy were ignored as Draco’s adrenaline and anger took over.

Draco’s fist connected with Flint’s face again, and he relished the pain and anger that surged through him. He felt the blood on his hands, the impact of his punches a release for the frustration and helplessness he felt about Granger's suffering.

Flint’s pleas grew frantic, “Draco she is a mudblood,she deserves pain—”

Draco punched him harder, his breath ragged. “You dare use my father’s curse and risk exposure?”

“Draco, the curse doesn’t have signs! I heard your father—"

"Of course it does you moron." Fist. "Every," Jaw. "Curse," Flesh. "Has at least one." Bones.

Flint whimpered, pleading, “I didn’t know—”

“Obviously,” Draco roared, hitting him again. “You dared to use it without knowing how it works?”

Flint’s pleas grew frantic, “Please, Malfoy, I thought you’d be pleased to see the mudblood suffer—”

Draco’s rage knew no bounds as he hit Flint again, the blood on his hands mixing with Flint’s blood. “Don’t ever come near her again. If you do, I’ll make sure you experience another Unforgivable curse and it will be the last thing you ever hear.”

Draco’s knuckles bled as he punched Flint once more, the force of the blow leaving Flint crumpled on the ground. “Don’t you dare even breath around her. Or I’ll make sure you regret it in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Flint’s pleas were desperate, but Draco’s anger was unrelenting. “Got it?” Draco growled, his voice dangerously low.

“Yes, Malfoy—please, I beg you, I’m sorry—”

With a final, brutal punch, Draco tossed Flint to the ground. “You’ll be sorry if you even as much glance her way again.” Draco warned, his voice low and dangerous.

Flint nodded frantically, fear written all over his face.

With a final, furious glance, he stormed out of the Slytherin common room, heading back to his and Hermione’s dorm. The rage that fueled him was a mix of anger, guilt, and determination. He knew he had crossed a line, but the need to protect Hermione bloody Granger,and confront Flint had overshadowed everything else.

Draco's blood-streaked hands approached the portrait of the bickering couple, the crimson stains stark against the dark velvet of his robes.His knuckles ached, and the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, leaving him with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

The woman was mid-sentence, her voice laced with irritation. "And you never listen—"

"Don't start again," the man grunted, cutting her off. He glanced at Draco, his eyes widening at the sight of the young Slytherin’s condition.


Draco’s expression was cold and detached, a facade he struggled to maintain. "Equilibrium," he said with a steely resolve, his voice barely above a whisper.

The portrait swung open reluctantly, the argument fading as Draco stepped through. The warmth and safety of the common room did little to comfort him now. He trudged up to his room, each step feeling heavier than the last.


Before he stepped into his room,he stopped and hesitantly opened slowly Granger's room.

He stepped inside.

He just wanted to see her.

Just for a split second,and then he would leave.

 He hadn't seen her all day.

Draco crept silently into Hermione’s room, the dim light from the hallway casting long shadows across the floor. The room was as he remembered it from the brief glimpse he had taken earlier—neat and orderly, with a few personal touches that made it uniquely hers.

He approached the bed cautiously, his heart pounding louder with each step. Hermione was asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her face, illuminated softly by the moonlight filtering through the window, was peaceful and serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil Draco had been through.

For a moment, he simply stood there, allowing himself a rare moment of vulnerability. The night had been brutal, and seeing her like this—calm, untroubled by the chaos of his actions—was both a comfort and a torment. He wanted to be close to her, to make sure she was safe, but he knew he had to stay away.

Draco reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the bed, just inches from where she slept. He wanted to ensure she was okay, to feel some reassurance that she was out of harm’s way. But he also needed to remind himself of the boundaries he had to maintain, boundaries dictated by duty and his own conflicted emotions.

He let out a quiet sigh, his breath mingling with the cool air of the room. The ache in his chest was a reminder of how deeply he was affected by her presence, even if he couldn’t fully admit it. With one last lingering look, he turned to leave, careful not to disturb her.

As he closed the door behind him, he was reminded of the harsh reality he faced—he was bound by more than just his feelings; he was bound by legacy, by his family’s expectations, and by the dangerous web he found himself entangled in.

He hated her.

He had to.

Stepping back into the corridor, Draco took a deep breath, his resolve hardening once more. He had seen Hermione. She was safe, at least for now. And that had to be enough.

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

The next morning, Hermione woke earlier than usual, a mix of nerves and determination fueling her as she hoped to catch Draco before he disappeared for the day. She paced the common room, her thoughts a jumble of gratitude and lingering confusion over his actions. When she finally heard footsteps descending the stairs, her head jerked up, heart pounding in her chest.

Draco stopped at the bottom of the stairs, clearly surprised to see her. He paused, composing himself quickly.

"Granger?"

His voice was rough, still hoarse from sleep, and to her annoyance, it sent an unwelcome flutter through her heart.

"What are you doing up so early?"

Hermione straightened, trying to keep her voice steady. "I... I was actually hoping to catch you. I wanted to talk."

Draco sighed heavily, as if the mere thought of conversation exhausted him. "I'm getting tired of all your talking, Granger. Go rest or something."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, her frustration rising. "I wanted to thank you."

His expression tightened, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You thanked me ,yesterday.”

“Yes, but—”

"Look," he interrupted sharply, "I helped you. That doesn't change anything between us. You're still the insufferable little bookworm—" he paused, the word "Mudblood" lingering unspoken in his throat, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. "And I'm still the arrogant asshole you know. Got it?"

His voice was dripping with venom, but as Hermione looked into his eyes, she saw something more—a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place. Her gaze drifted down to his clenched fists, and her eyes widened in shock.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, stepping closer.

He clenched his fists subconsiously."Now what?"

 "Your hands! Is that... is that blood?"

Before either of them could react, she reached out, gently taking his hands in hers to inspect them.

Her touch sent an unexpected jolt through him, stirring feelings he had no desire to acknowledge. He snatched his hands away, almost as if her touch burned him.

“Don’t touch me.” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, clearly upset as she crossed her arms defensively. His hands had felt so cold in hers. "How did this happen? Are you—"

Draco let out a dark chuckle. "Am I alright? Since when do you care if I’m alright?"

"I don’t," she snapped back, though her voice wavered slightly.

“Good,” he hissed, his face now mere inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin. “Keep it that way. I know that’s what I’ll be doing.” His tone was a dangerous whisper, and before she could say another word, he turned and stormed out of the dorm, leaving her standing there, heart racing and mind whirling.

Hermione stood there, staring at the door that Draco had just stormed out of, her mind a whirl of emotions she couldn't quite place.

His words echoed in her ears—cold, cutting, but somehow laced with something she couldn't quite define. Was it pain? Regret? It unsettled her more than she'd like to admit.

She looked down at her hands, still tingling from where they had briefly touched his.

The warmth she had felt in that brief moment of contact lingered, a stark contrast to the coldness of his words. She replayed the encounter in her mind, focusing on the blood she had seen on his knuckles.

Something about it didn't sit right with her.

Draco's injuries were too fresh, too raw, as if he had been in a fight, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it had something to do with her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought about his actions over the past few days—saving her, giving her the cure, and now this. It was as if he was fighting some internal battle, one that she was somehow a part of but couldn't fully understand.

The Draco Malfoy she had known for years was a sneering, arrogant bully, but this...this was different. This was something more complicated, more conflicted.

But she couldn't let herself get tangled in whatever Draco Malfoy was dealing with.

She reminded herself of who he was, who he had always been.

The brief flicker of vulnerability she had seen in his eyes had to be a trick, some sort of manipulation. And yet, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than she had ever realized.

With a sigh, Hermione decided to push those thoughts aside for now. She couldn't afford to get distracted, especially not by someone like Malfoy. She had more pressing matters to deal with—like figuring out how to keep herself safe from Marcus Flint.

Sure. The antidote he gave her worked but how did she know Flint wouldnt try anything again?

But as she headed back to her room to gather her thoughts and prepare for the day, she couldn't help but glance at the door Draco had left through, a small frown creasing her brow.

She told herself it was nothing, just her natural curiosity. After all, she was Hermione Granger, and she was always looking for answers.

Even if those answers led her straight into the path of the last person she ever thought she'd need help from.

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

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter and clatter of students eating breakfast, but for Hermione Granger, the sound faded into the background. She sat at the Gryffindor table between Harry and Ron, who were deep in discussion about their latest plan—something involving Filch and a secret passageway.

Now that she was the Head Girl,she did agree to help them with the forbidden wing on the 5th floor and like always,they were scheeming.

She didnt think about how Ron and her still acted weird. He hadnt apologized yet and she knew that she herself wouldnt reach out once again,first,to clear the air.

Harry told her about the Horcuaxes and she has been spending most of her time in the library doing reserch. Sometimes with Harry and sometimes alone. Ron was too busy training for the Quidich Trials and he was really nervous.

She never understood that.

Ron was pretty good at Quiditch,but he always felt nervous performing in public.

However now,their voices were hushed but animated, though Hermione wasn’t really listening. Her gaze kept drifting across the hall, drawn inexplicably to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy sat, flanked by Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

Draco’s posture was as arrogant as ever, lounging back in his seat, but there was an edge of distraction to him today. He absently pushed his food around on his plate with a fork, nodding along to something Blaise was saying, though his attention was elsewhere. When he looked up, his eyes met Hermione’s, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room. The noise, the students, the rivalry—it all fell away, leaving just them and the silent acknowledgment of something neither was ready to name.

Hermione quickly looked down at her plate, a flush creeping up her neck as her heart pounded in her chest.

What was happening? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

 Across the hall, Draco felt a similar unease twisting in his gut. His usual smirk faltered as he watched her, noting the way her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to refocus on whatever Harry and Ron were discussing.

He hated her, didn’t he?

He had to hate her. He kept telling himself.

Besides the curse,her eyes looking up at him pinned against the bookself and his door,the cure he gave her,her soft hands gently brushing against his knuckles-a feeling he hadnt forgotten yet no matter how hard he tried and it had already been a week-she was still the mudblood, the know-it-all…

Yet, there was something about her that was pulling him in, making it impossible to look away.

He caught the way she tucked a loose curl behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly, and it sent an unexpected pang through him.

Pansy’s shrill laughter cut through his thoughts, jolting him back to reality. He forced a sneer, turning his attention back to his friends, but the moment had already changed something between them, an invisible thread tightening in the space between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. Hermione stole one last glance at Draco before forcing herself to engage in Harry and Ron's conversation, determined to shove aside the confusing emotions that were beginning to take root.

But no matter how much she tried, the memory of Draco’s gaze lingered, leaving her more unsettled than ever.

Across the hall, Draco found himself equally disturbed, the taste of his usual disdain for her now tinged with something else. Deeper,and scarier.

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

Hermione was better,not tormented by Marcus Flint's curse anymore,or even Marcus's presence after all. For some unknown reason,he had returned to his home urgently for a week,at least thats what she heard,he'd come back for the Quidditch trials though.

Ginny and she were more close, Harry mentioned that he will attend a class with Dumbledore and this mixed with his even more often nightmares and his scar stinging,it only meant one thing but Hermione tried to push away that thought.

Over the next week, Hermione found herself caught in an unexpected rhythm, one where her concern for Draco Malfoy grew stronger despite her best efforts to ignore it. The tension between them, charged with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings, gnawed at her every time they crossed paths, which was less frequent now.

Draco had become more elusive, leaving the dorms early in the morning and returning late at night, long after Hermione had retreated to her room. When they did see each other, their interactions were brief, cold, and often tinged with the remnants of their previous hostility. But something had shifted, even if Draco refused to acknowledge it.

That morning, when Hermione had seen the blood on his hands, she’d felt a wave of worry she didn’t want to admit to herself. His harsh words had stung, but what hurt more was the distance he kept placing between them. The connection they’d started to forge in the aftermath of the curse was fragile, and Draco seemed determined to shatter it.

Yet, every night, Hermione found herself unable to sleep until she heard the quiet click of his door closing, signaling his return. She hated the way her heart would unclench, and she could finally drift off to sleep, knowing he was back safely. It was irrational, she told herself, to be so concerned about someone who was still, in many ways, her enemy. But there was no denying that she was.

The days passed, and the routine continued. Classes felt duller, the usual banter with Harry and Ron lacked its spark, and even her favorite activities in the library couldn't hold her attention. She found herself absentmindedly scanning the halls for a glimpse of Draco, but he always seemed to slip away before she could catch his eye.

Ron still hadn't apologized however.

One evening, after another long day of classes and a tedious study session with Ginny, Hermione returned to the Head Dorms, feeling more tired than usual. The man and woman in the portrait greeted her as they always did, their bickering a familiar background noise she had grown fond of.

As she climbed the stairs, she noticed Draco’s door was ajar, a faint light spilling out into the darkened hallway. Pausing in front of it, she hesitated. It was late, and she knew he valued his privacy, but something compelled her to check on him.

She knocked softly.

"Malfoy?" she called, her voice tentative.

There was no answer, but she could hear the faint rustle of papers inside. Pushing the door open a bit more, she peeked in. Draco was sitting at his desk, his back to her, his head bowed as he scribbled furiously in a notebook. He looked exhausted, the tension in his shoulders evident even from where she stood.

"Im talking to you,you know.” she tried again, a little louder this time.

He froze, his quill pausing mid-stroke. Slowly, he turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching on until it became almost unbearable.

“What do you want, Granger?” he asked finally, his voice flat, devoid of the usual malice.

“I… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay." she admitted, hating how vulnerable she sounded.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and she braced herself for another harsh retort, but it never came. Instead, Draco simply sighed and turned back to his work, dismissing her without another word.

Feeling a mix of relief and frustration, Hermione backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She knew she should let it go, that she should stop worrying about him, but as she made her way to her own room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.

And for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, that thought terrified her more than anything else.

It was absurd, she knew, to care so much about someone who had treated her with nothing but disdain for years, but something had shifted. The memory of him giving her the cure, of his rough but caring actions, kept replaying in her mind.

And then there were the questions.

Why had Draco been so adamant about her taking the cure? What had he gone through to create it? And why had he been so furious when she asked about his hands? These questions nagged at her, creating a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions that she couldn’t escape.