Chapter 1
The sound of rain pattered against the glass windows of the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, blurring the lights of London beyond. Hermione Granger sighed, rubbing her temples as she stared at the endless stack of parchment before her. She had long since removed her Ministry robes, left in only a fitted cream blouse and charcoal-grey skirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
It was nearly midnight, and she was still here. Again.
A knock at the door startled her.
“Granger.”
Hermione looked up to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp grey eyes studying her. The soft glow of the enchanted sconces cast long shadows across his angular face. His platinum hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it one too many times—a rare crack in his usual polished composure.
“Malfoy,” she said, sighing. “What are you doing here?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You do realise the rest of the Ministry left hours ago, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “I had work to do.”
“You always have work to do,” he muttered, moving towards her desk. He glanced at the parchments, frowning. “International magical trade agreements? This isn’t even your department.”
“I volunteered.”
Draco huffed, dragging a chair across from her and sitting down, legs stretched out. “And why would you do something so ridiculous?”
She tapped her quill against the table. “Because it needs doing, and no one else seems to care.”
He watched her in silence for a moment. Then he leaned forward, his voice softer. “Granger, when was the last time you went home before ten?”
She avoided his gaze. “That’s not relevant.”
“It’s entirely relevant. You’re burning yourself out.”
“Not all of us can afford to be selective about what we care about, Malfoy,” she snapped, sharper than she intended.
His jaw tightened. “You think I don’t care?”
She exhaled, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” He leaned back, folding his arms. “You think just because I don’t work myself into exhaustion every night, I don’t give a damn?”
She swallowed, guilt curling in her stomach. The truth was, she had noticed how involved Draco had become in magical reform over the years. How he had quietly fought to dismantle outdated laws, how he had argued for better protection for Muggle-borns, how he had spent hours in court advocating for the rights of magical creatures.
He wasn’t the same boy from Hogwarts. He hadn’t been for a long time.
“I just…” She hesitated. “I don’t know how to stop. There’s always more to do.”
Draco studied her for a long moment, then suddenly stood. “Come on.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Get your coat, Granger. You’re coming with me.”
She frowned. “I—what? Where?”
“Out.”
“Malfoy, I have work—”
He grabbed her quill from her hand and tossed it onto the desk. “You’ll still have work tomorrow. You need a break.”
She gaped at him. “Why do you care?”
His expression was unreadable, but his voice was quiet when he answered. “Because someone should.”
Something in her chest tightened.
For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she found herself reaching for her coat.
The streets of London were still slick with rain, the city lights casting a golden glow on the wet pavement. Hermione walked beside Draco, hands buried in her coat pockets, the cold night air a welcome relief against her tired skin.
They had been walking for nearly twenty minutes, wandering aimlessly through the quieter streets. She had no idea where he was leading her, but strangely, she didn’t mind.
“So, are you going to tell me the real reason you’ve been working yourself into the ground?” Draco asked, glancing at her.
She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just… easier than dealing with everything else.”
“Everything else?”
She hesitated, then admitted, “It’s lonely, sometimes. Being me.”
Draco was quiet for a long moment. “I know the feeling.”
She turned to him, surprised. “Do you?”
He smirked, but there was no humour in it. “You think it’s easy being me, Granger? Most of the wizarding world still thinks I’m a Death Eater waiting to strike again. My own father barely speaks to me because I refused to follow in his footsteps. Half the time, I feel like I’m stuck between two worlds, not belonging in either.”
Her heart ached at his words.
She had never thought about what it must be like for him, always having to prove that he wasn’t the person everyone expected him to be.
“You don’t have to do that alone, you know,” she said softly.
He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Neither do you.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the space between them felt smaller, the weight of unspoken things hanging heavy in the air.
Then, without thinking, Hermione reached for his hand.
Draco stiffened slightly, as if caught off guard, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers curled around hers, warm and solid.
The night felt different after that.
Draco took her to a small café tucked away in a quiet corner of London, one that she had never noticed before. The inside was warm and cosy, filled with the scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries.
They talked for hours—about their work, their frustrations, their pasts. About things they had never spoken about before.
Somewhere between the laughter and the confessions, something shifted.
When Draco walked her home that night, they lingered at her doorstep, neither wanting to be the first to say goodnight.
Hermione hesitated before saying, “Tonight was… nice.”
Draco smirked. “You sound surprised.”
“Maybe I am,” she admitted.
He tilted his head, studying her. “I meant what I said, you know.”
“About what?”
“You don’t have to do this alone.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You’ve spent your whole life saving everyone else, Granger. Maybe it’s time you let someone save you.”
Her breath caught.
Before she could overthink it, she stepped closer, tilting her chin up, pressing her lips softly against his.
Draco stilled for a fraction of a second. Then he kissed her back.
It was slow, unhurried, a quiet promise in the cold night air.
When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, and he whispered, “Come away with me.”
She swallowed. “Where?”
“Anywhere. Just for a while.”
She thought of the endless stacks of parchment, the long nights at the Ministry, the weight she had carried for so long.
Then she thought of the way Draco looked at her—like she was someone worth saving.
And for the first time in years, she let herself say yes.
And so, together, they left behind the noise, the expectations, the weight of everything they had been.
For once, they let the world wait.