It started with a challenge.
Or, at least, that’s how Hermione chose to see it.
Draco Malfoy had appeared at her office door that afternoon, leaning against the frame as if he owned the place, his grey eyes gleaming with mischief. She had barely glanced up from her parchment before he spoke.
“Granger, tell me—what’s your stance on Valentine’s Day?”
She sighed, quill pausing mid-sentence. “A holiday designed to pressure people into grand gestures instead of valuing consistent affection year-round. Commercialised nonsense.”
Draco smirked. “So predictable.”
She raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
He stepped further inside, hands in his pockets. “I could’ve guessed you’d say that.”
“Because it’s the logical conclusion,” she said primly.
“Because you’ve never let yourself enjoy it.”
She scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
Draco shrugged. “Fine. Prove me wrong. Have dinner with me tonight.”
She stared at him, thrown. “That’s your argument? That if I go to dinner with you, I’ll suddenly change my mind about the entire holiday?”
“Something like that.”
She should have said no. She should have dismissed him outright. But there was something in his gaze, something different tonight, that made her hesitate.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But if it’s insufferable, you’re never bringing this up again.”
Draco grinned. “Deal.”
The tension between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had never been a secret. They had spent years as enemies—at least, that’s what they had both thought. In their school days, it had been all sharp words and unspoken animosities. Draco had taunted her at every turn, calling her “Mudblood” at the slightest provocation. She had been just as quick to retort, firing back with clever insults and her unwavering sense of justice. It wasn’t just playful banter—it was an unspoken war between them, one that was never truly resolved, not even after the war had ended.
The years that followed had been no better. He had gone on to try to repair his family’s tarnished name, taking steps to carve a different future for himself, while she had worked tirelessly for the Ministry, her intelligence and determination earning her respect. They had crossed paths on occasion, in meetings or at events, but the animosity remained, as if a thin veil of tension hung between them.
But there had been something more in their recent interactions—small moments that had caught her off guard. Draco had become someone different, someone who wasn’t bound by his past in quite the same way. It hadn’t happened overnight, and it hadn’t been easy, but it had shifted, slowly.
At first, it was the occasional polite word at work or the casual assistance with a magical conundrum. Then, it had become something else. Their conversations had shifted from the formal to the familiar. There had been fewer jabs and more genuine, even if reluctant, understanding between them.
Hermione had tried to ignore it. She had tried to write off the way his presence seemed to comfort her in some inexplicable way, or how, when their eyes met, the old animosities no longer burned so fiercely.
But tonight, it was undeniable. She was standing on the edge of something she couldn’t explain, and for some reason, Draco Malfoy was standing right there with her.
As the evening approached, Hermione stood in front of her wardrobe, second-guessing herself.
It shouldn’t matter. It was just dinner. Just Malfoy.
Yet, her fingers hovered over a periwinkle blue dress, one she had bought on impulse months ago but never worn. The fabric was smooth, almost silken under her fingertips, and the colour was soft but striking—a delicate shade of periwinkle that made her skin glow and her brown eyes stand out. The dress hugged her waist before flowing gently into a cascade of soft pleats, with a subtle slit along the side.
It was the perfect balance of elegance and simplicity, yet it felt different from anything she’d ever worn before.
She wasn’t dressing up for him, of course.
But as she slipped it on and watched it move with her, she decided that maybe, just for tonight, she could allow herself to enjoy the moment.
At precisely seven o’clock, a knock sounded at her door.
Hermione opened it, already bracing for whatever smug remark Draco had prepared.
But for a moment, he said nothing.
His grey eyes roamed over her, taking in every detail—the way the periwinkle dress flowed around her, the way it accentuated her curves, the delicate shimmer of the fabric under the soft light of her flat. His usual smirk had vanished, replaced with something softer, something that made Hermione’s breath catch.
“Granger,” he said, voice lower than usual. “You look…”
She arched a brow, waiting.
Draco cleared his throat, recovering. “Almost good enough to be seen with me in public.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “If that’s your way of giving a compliment, you should work on it.”
He smirked. “I think you understood me just fine.”
He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
The restaurant was tucked away in a hidden corner of Diagon Alley, its entrance unmarked save for a single wrought-iron lantern.
Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of oak and vanilla. Candles floated above each table, their glow flickering against walls lined with vintage wine bottles. A jazz quartet played softly in the background, weaving seamlessly with the gentle hum of conversation.
Hermione exhaled slowly.
She had expected something extravagant, something ostentatious in the way Malfoy liked to make an impression. But this… this was intimate. Thoughtful.
“You like it,” Draco observed as he pulled out her chair.
Hermione hesitated before nodding. “It’s… nice.”
Draco smirked. “You sound surprised.”
“I suppose I am.”
The meal was exquisite.
Seared scallops drizzled with saffron butter, delicate Beef Wellington with a rich, buttery pastry surrounding perfectly tender beef, paired with seasonal vegetables in a velvety sauce. The rich flavours melded beautifully with the wine, a deep Bordeaux that complemented each dish perfectly. Every bite felt like a luxurious indulgence, and despite her best efforts, Hermione found herself thoroughly enjoying the experience.
Draco, of course, noticed.
“You’re trying very hard not to admit you’re enjoying yourself,” he mused.
Hermione dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I don’t see the need to stroke your ego any further.”
Draco leaned back, eyes glinting. “I think you understood me just fine.”
As the band played the opening strings of Just the Way You Are , Draco set down his glass and studied her.
“You like this song,” he said.
Hermione blinked at him. “How did you—?”
“I just know.”
Before she could respond, he stood and held out his hand.
“Dance with me.”
“Here?” She glanced around.
Draco tilted his head. “Scared?”
Hermione sighed. “Of course not.”
Still, she hesitated before slipping her hand into his.
He led her to a small open space near the fireplace, his arms wrapping around her with an ease that made her breath catch.
“You don’t have to change a thing,” he murmured as the lyrics filled the space between them. “Not for me.”
And for once, she let herself believe him.
By the time they left, the rain had stopped, leaving the cobblestones slick beneath the streetlights.
Draco took her hand, leading her through winding alleyways until they reached an old, hidden staircase.
When they stepped onto the rooftop, Hermione inhaled sharply.
The view stretched over all of Diagon Alley, lanterns glowing like distant stars. The air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain. Floating lanterns cast golden light across the terrace, their flickering warmth dancing over Draco’s sharp features.
“How did you find this place?” she asked.
Draco smirked. “I have my ways.”
And then, as if on cue, soft music filled the air.
Nothing Compares to You.
Hermione froze.
The opening chords struck something deep inside her, the familiar ache of the song curling around her ribs.
Draco watched her closely, something knowing in his gaze. “Dance with me.”
She didn’t argue this time.
They swayed slowly, the music wrapping around them.
“I didn’t expect this,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Draco’s fingers tightened around hers. “Neither did I.”
The lyrics filled the quiet between them, raw and haunting.
“It’s been so lonely without you here…
Hermione swallowed hard.
Draco reached up, brushing a loose curl behind her ear, his fingertips brushing the soft skin of her cheek. His lips hovered just above hers, his breath mingling with hers in a delicate moment of suspended time.
Then, with a gentle touch, he brushed his lips softly to hers. It was light, tentative, as if testing the waters.
Hermione’s heart raced, but instead of pulling away, she leaned in, closing the distance between them. The kiss deepened as she pressed closer, her hands finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him to her.
Time seemed to slow as they kissed, the world around them fading into the background. The music played on, and all Hermione could focus on was the warmth of Draco’s lips against hers, the way everything felt so right in that moment.
As the song continued, the stars stretched above them, and Hermione knew—this was exactly where she was meant to be.