Draco's evening had begun as quietly as any other, his steps measured along the narrow alleyways that threaded through London's darker corners. The lamps overhead flickered from time to time, throwing broken light across the pavement, but he trusted the shadows more than he trusted the glow. This part of the city belonged to him, shaped by years of careful brutality and whispered warnings. It had taken patience and grit to build his influence here. It would take far more than a stray cutpurse to shake it.
He felt the shift before he saw it. A strange stillness in the air, a breath held by the dark. Then a single movement, too quick to be an accident. A blade caught a sliver of light, thin and cold as frost.
He reacted on instinct, twisting his head to the side as the dagger sliced through the space where his throat had been a moment before. The attacker came again, swift and relentless, their steps silent on the slick cobblestones. Draco countered, but he had been taken off guard. He could feel it in the tight pull of his muscles, the rasp of his breath. This was no street brawl. Whoever had come for him carried intent.
The fight tore through the alley with brutal efficiency. His opponent moved with a precision Draco recognized, the kind that came from long hours spent drilling technique into bone and muscle. Blow after blow, Draco pushed back, holding the line by instinct alone. The ambush rattled him in a way he refused to admit. He was the one who stalked others through the dark, not the other way around. He was the hunter, not the one gasping for footing on wet stone.
A misstep. A feint. A shift in weight. Draco seized the opening, driving his shoulder forward and bringing the attacker hard against the ground. The breath rushed from their lungs as he pinned them beneath him, one hand gripping their wrist until the dagger clattered away.
He tore back the hood.
Viktor Krum stared up at him, eyes sharp and unfamiliar, as if some vital part of himself had been carved away and replaced with something colder.
The sight numbed Draco more than the fight had.
By the time he reached his office, his ribs ached with each breath and blood had dried along the collar of his shirt. He managed to close the door behind him and sank into the nearest chair, mind racing. Krum had always been a neutral presence, sometimes an ally, occasionally a nuisance, but never a threat. Not until tonight. If Krum had been sent, then someone was bold enough to shatter the quiet balance Draco had maintained for years.
Someone had declared war.
The message had been clear.
When the news reached Blaise, it struck like a blow he had never learned to defend against. His vision narrowed for a moment, the world shrinking to the shape of the words that had just been spoken. Draco had been attacked. An assassin had reached him where he should have been untouchable.
Blaise stood perfectly still, although every nerve in his body rang with an ache that felt close to fear. Their empire had been built on careful calculation, secrecy, and the simple truth that no one dared challenge them. They removed threats before threats had time to form. They struck first and left nothing but silence in their wake.
The thought that someone had dared to target Draco felt nearly impossible to grasp.
Blaise pressed a hand to the edge of the desk to steady himself. The quiet of the room thickened around him until it felt like a curtain settling over his shoulders. He drew in a slow breath that did little to calm the pounding in his chest.
If Draco could be touched, then the entire landscape had shifted. Something had been set in motion. Something dangerous. Something deliberate.
He stared ahead, jaw tight, pulse steadying into a sharper rhythm.
Whoever had sent that blade into the dark would learn exactly how foolish they had been.
And Blaise would make sure the message was clear.
~~~~~~
They leaned over the massive map spread across Draco's polished desk, the silence around them thick with tension. The dim light from the single desk lamp cast sharp shadows over their faces, emphasizing the intensity in their eyes as they pored over every detail, each man acutely aware of the gravity of the situation. They had been attacked—not only a breach of their usual dominance but a threat that now required a merciless answer.
The map of London lay like a battlefield between them, meticulously plotted with colored pins and markings. The pins—reds for high-risk zones, blues for known allies, yellows for intel points—were scattered across the city, creating a complex web of possibilities. They traced invisible routes over bridges, alleyways, and safe houses, examining every known asset and hiding place. Each pin held the potential to lead them closer to the one who dared strike at Draco, to the person who had disrupted the delicate, dangerous balance they maintained.
Theo's fingers skimmed over a line connecting two blue pins on the eastern edge of the map. His gaze hardened as he tapped the desk, the precision in his touch betraying his calculated, simmering rage. "This area," his voice was barely a whisper, yet the weight of it silenced the room further, "is where they're most vulnerable to us."
He gave a grim nod, his eyes glinting with a deadly promise as he adjusted a few pins on the map, shifting their potential targets. They knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, and in this unspoken rhythm, they worked as a single force. They had always been a step ahead of the world, a unified front—but tonight, a ruthless urgency drove them to eliminate every possibility of further attack.
Draco, his jaw clenched, pushed a stack of intelligence files towards them, his steely gaze never leaving the map. The pain of the recent attack lingered in the tightness of his shoulders, a reminder of the threat that had hit too close to home. He traced a direct path through a network of high-risk zones, his eyes glinting with a dangerous intensity. "This," he finally said, his voice low, "is where we make them regret ever thinking they could come for us."
The door burst open with a resounding crash, and Hermione strode in, her eyes blazing with a fierce, unrelenting resolve that instantly captured the room's attention. The silence that followed was almost palpable; even the air seemed to thicken as her gaze fell on Draco, unwavering and sharp as steel.
Draco's eyes darkened, a flash of irritation flickering before he masked it with his usual indifference. "My love, we're in the middle of something," he murmured, his tone dismissive as he turned his attention back to the map. His voice was cool, but there was an underlying tension, as if he anticipated what was coming.
Her jaw clenched, her voice cutting through the air like a razor. "I don't care," she declared, her words as unyielding as the intensity in her gaze. "From now on, I need to know everything."
He finally looked up, taken aback by the fierce determination radiating from her. "Hermione, this isn't—"
"No, Draco." She stepped closer, eyes blazing with a fire he had rarely seen in her, a power that demanded his full attention. "No more secrets. No more half-truths. I need to know what you're planning, what risks you're taking. I won't stand by while you throw yourself into danger without telling me." Her voice was firm, a tone of finality in each syllable that left no room for negotiation.
Blaise and Theo exchanged a look, the weight of the moment settling heavily on them both. Hermione's entrance had shifted the entire atmosphere; she wasn't just angry—she was asserting herself in a way that made them all acutely aware of her presence and her importance in Draco's life. Theo leaned back, an eyebrow arched as he watched the scene unfold.
"She's got a point, Malfoy," Theo said, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and understanding. "Maybe it's time she knew. All of it."
Draco glanced between his friends and his wife, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He had always believed that keeping his dealings separate from Hermione would shield her from the darkness that surrounded his world. It was a protective instinct, one that had served him well in the past. But now, standing before her, he felt the walls he'd built around his life crumbling. She wasn't just asking for insight; she was demanding to be part of his reality, regardless of how perilous or shadowed it might be.
His gaze locked onto hers, and he could see the fierce determination etched on her face. A silent battle raged within him. He knew she was right. This wasn't just about him anymore.
With a heavy sigh, he felt the weight of his resolve slipping. His shoulders slumped slightly in defeat as he acquiesced. "Fine," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want to know? Then you'll know everything."
She nodded, her eyes softening with understanding as she sensed the struggle within him. "Thank you," she whispered, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on his arm, her touch grounding him.
Draco turned his attention back to the map sprawled across the desk, his mind already shifting gears to the task at hand. "Alright," he said, his tone more focused now. "Let's get you up to speed."
He hesitated for a moment, casting a glance at Hermione filled with a mixture of gratitude and exasperation. "Last night, I walked right into a trap. If it weren't for my brilliant wife, I wouldn't be standing here now."
Her eyes widened in alarm, her heartbeat quickening as the gravity of his words sank in. "What happened?" she urged, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco pressed on, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "Titus and I had a plan in place, but things went sideways. As I moved through the alleyway for the drop, a hooded figure lay in wait. He attacked me, but I managed to fight him off and immobilize him." His voice lowered, almost as if speaking the name aloud might bring some dark power upon them. "It was Viktor Krum."
"Viktor?" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. "He… he's a good man."
Theo leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. "Granger, honey, he's not the same teenager you remember. We've seen him around before, and he's changed."
Blaise leaned in, unable to resist the urge to add a jab. "By the way, didn't you date him? You were, what, 14 and he was 18? Pretty creepy when you think about it."
Creepy was a gentle word.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she nodded, acknowledging the shift in focus. "Yes, it was. But that's not the point right now." Her voice regained its urgency. "What does this mean for us? For you?"
Hermione took a deep breath, willing herself to regain her composure. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, but she refused to be intimidated. "Let's focus on what we need to do next," she stated firmly, her voice steady and resolute. "We have to figure out why Viktor was involved and what this means for our plans."
Draco shifted in his chair, folding his arms as he contemplated her words. "You're right," he admitted, a hint of respect creeping into his tone. "But we're missing something crucial here."
Hermione's frustration surged as she pressed on. "You killed Karkaroff, his mentor. That's a significant move, but why is Viktor coming after you now? What does it have to do with our current situation?" She leaned forward, her gaze piercing as she searched for answers in their eyes.
"Bravo, Granger," Blaise said, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe we should've had you in on these meetings from the start."
Draco shot him a warning glance, his expression serious. "Yes, but that was a year ago. We need to understand why this is happening now and what the new threat might be. There's more to this than just past grievances." He paused, his brow furrowing as he considered the implications. "We need to figure out why Viktor's actions are surfacing now and how they fit into the broader scheme."
"Granger," Theo interjected, his tone laced with curiosity. "Are you still in contact with him?"
"Yes, we exchange letters frequently," Hermione replied, her voice steady despite the rising tension in the room.
"Frequently?" Draco's voice was edged with anger, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed her words. "Why am I only finding out about this now?"
"It's innocent, love. Stop reacting like this," she said, frustration creeping into her tone. She struggled to keep her composure in the face of his sudden suspicion.
"It's not about innocence, Hermione," Draco snapped, his frustration palpable. "It's about being transparent. If Viktor is involved in something dangerous, we need to know everything, including your connections to him."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the situation weighing down on them all. Draco's gaze remained intense as he addressed the group, his voice low and controlled. "We'll discuss this later," he said sharply, his frustration barely contained.
Turning his attention back to the map that sprawled across the desk, he felt a surge of determination to regain control of the situation. "For now, we need to focus on gathering information about the next steps," he said, his voice firm. "Theo, Blaise, you're dismissed."
The two men exchanged glances but stood up, sensing that the discussion had shifted to a more serious tone. They quietly filed out of the room, leaving Hermione and Draco alone with the weight of their conversation hanging in the air.
~~~~~~
Blaise stepped into the sitting room with the familiar weight of tiredness settling at the base of his spine. The fire glowed softly, painting warm gold across the furniture and across Ginny, who sat curled in the corner of the couch. Her hair caught the shifting light in streaks of copper and flame, almost unreal in its beauty. She looked up when she heard him, offering a small smile that tried to hide the heaviness in her eyes. It had been there for days, that quiet sadness that shaped her expression only when she thought no one was watching.
He crossed the room and took the place beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. "Trezorina," he murmured as he reached for her hand. "What are you doing today?"
Her lips tilted, a soft tease lurking behind the words she tossed back at him. "What are you doing today?"
He laughed under his breath, the sound low and warm. "I will tell you, then. Draco got attacked last night. We are planning our response."
Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, her posture shifted, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. "Oh. Alright. Thank you for telling me," she said quietly, her voice touched with surprise. It was rare for him to speak so openly, and she did not hide how much that startled her.
He caught it too. The hesitation. The uncertainty. The brief flicker of something that felt a little like disbelief.
"You do not want me to tell you these things?" he asked, tilting his head as if he could read her thoughts by studying the lines of her face.
She shook her head so quickly that her hair brushed her cheek. "No, Blaise. I was not expecting you to be this honest. I want to know. I just do not want the brutality. Not all of it."
He shifted closer until their shoulders touched. His voice softened, warm and steady. "I will not hide anything from you again. You deserve to know what happens around you. And I will keep the details gentle, I promise."
Something eased in her expression. She let out a slow breath and nodded. "Is Draco alright?"
A faint smile curved at the corner of his mouth. "He is fine. Granger was with him. She pulled him out in time. No serious harm. But the attacker was Krum."
Her eyes snapped to his, startled. "Viktor?"
He nodded once.
She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "He was always strange," she said quietly, her voice touched with an old discomfort. "There was something about him that never felt right."
The shift in her tone made something cold settle in Blaise's stomach. His jaw tightened as he studied the change in her expression. The firelight flickered over her face, and he caught the faint tension in her eyes, the way she looked away for half a second as if something unpleasant had surfaced.
His voice dropped. "Did he ever do anything to you?" The question came out calm, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable. "Ginny, if he ever crossed a line, you tell me now. I mean it."
She reached for him quickly, her hand warm on his arm, her touch steady. "No. He did not. Nothing like that." She hesitated for a heartbeat, then added, "But he always lingered. Too long. Too close. Enough to make me uncomfortable. That is all."
Blaise took a slow breath, but it did not fully settle the fury that simmered just below the surface. "If he ever does anything that unsettles you, anything at all, you come to me. You are not on your own anymore. I will handle it."
Her fingers stayed on his arm. He could feel her pulse beneath her skin, steady yet quieter than usual, as if she were letting down a guard she had been carrying for months. The silence between them shifted, no longer distant, no longer shaped by the caution she often held around her heart.
The fire crackled softly. Shadows moved across her face, gentle and warm, and for the first time since their marriage he could feel her letting him closer than she ever had before.
She held his gaze, and he felt the truth settle deep in his chest.
But now, as she sat beside him, her hand steady on his arm, he felt something shift. Her posture eased. The distance she usually guarded so fiercely began to soften, the edges melting in the warmth of the fire. She leaned into him, not much, just a quiet settling of her shoulder against his, yet it was enough to steal his breath. For once, she allowed herself to rest in his space without bracing for the next moment of conflict. Her walls had not fallen completely, but the surface had cracked in a way that felt real.
"Thank you," she whispered. The words barely stirred the air. Her fingers tightened around his, a small squeeze, almost shy, yet filled with sincerity.
He lifted his other hand and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered for a heartbeat, warm and gentle. "Anytime, Trezorina," he said in a voice softer than she had ever heard from him. "I will always look out for you."
The fire crackled beside them, sending soft light curling around their shoulders. Blaise felt a calm settle in his chest. It unfurled slowly, like something he had not allowed himself to feel in years. Her presence grounded him. Her warmth pulled him forward. It was almost strange to realize how much he craved these quiet moments with her, how much they made the chaos of his other life easier to bear.
She let out a slow breath and shifted slightly, her knee brushing his. A small smile touched her lips as she gathered her courage to speak. "Perhaps… would you like to have lunch with us?"
He angled his head toward her, brows rising in curiosity. "Us?" he repeated, watching her carefully.
Her gaze dropped to her belly. Her hands settled over the small curve with a tenderness he had not expected. Her eyes lifted again, playful and warm. "Yes. Us. Me and the bump."
A laugh slipped out of him, a real one. The sound felt unfamiliar, as if he had forgotten how to laugh freely. "Ah. My family, then," he said with a quiet pride that surprised even him. "I would be honored."
Her cheeks warmed at that, and she laid her hand over his where it rested between them on the couch. "I thought it might be nice," she said, her voice soft. "Just time together. The three of us."
Blaise felt the words strike something deep inside him. He had never imagined himself in a moment like this. Not with anyone. Not in any life. Yet here he was, with a woman he had once believed he could keep at arm's length, now speaking about family as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I cannot remember the last time I looked forward to something as simple as a meal," he murmured.
She laughed, bright and light, the sadness that had followed her for days finally losing its grip. Her hand squeezed his. "You may regret saying that. My cravings are getting stranger by the day."
He eyed her with mock suspicion. "Should I be worried?"
Her grin turned mischievous. "I suppose you will find out soon enough. Let us say pickles are involved. And one or two combinations I will not reveal until the plates are on the table."
He groaned dramatically. "I am terrified already."
Her laughter filled the room, soft and genuine. It faded into a comfortable hush. They sat there for a moment, breathing the same warm air, each lost in thoughts they did not speak aloud. Blaise looked at her, really looked, and the question slipped from him before he could stop it.
"Have you thought about what this means for us?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "This family. Our family."
She held the firelight in her eyes as she considered her answer. Her hand moved protectively across her stomach, a slow, thoughtful gesture. "I have," she said at last. "My life never unfolded the way I thought it would. Yet somehow I feel that we are exactly where we are meant to be."
She turned toward him, her expression open in a way he had rarely seen. "I do not know what our future will look like. But I want us to face it together. All of us."
Something warm spread through him, rich and steady. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, a quiet vow sealed in the soft touch of his lips.
"Then together it is," he whispered.
They shared lunch soon after, her strange cravings bringing a lightness to the room. She teased him. He pretended to complain. For once, their world felt peaceful.
Then the fire snapped. A sudden burst of green spiraled through the flames, bright enough to bathe the room in its glow. Draco's voice followed, sharp and urgent.
Everything stilled as the message crackled through the room.
The moment of peace ended in an instant.
"Blaise. We are ready. Hermione has a plan," Draco announced, his voice carrying through the flames with an urgency that left very little room for argument.
Blaise closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long, suffering sound that came from deep in his chest. He glanced at Ginny with a look that bordered on theatrical despair. "Can a man have lunch in peace? Bloody hell." His tone was dramatic, but the corner of his mouth twitched with reluctant humor, the kind that said he knew this interruption was inevitable.
When he looked back at her, the joking faded. A softer expression settled over his features, tinged with something heavier, something that pulled at her heart. "I am sorry," he murmured. "I do not want to leave you. Not right now."
She forced a small smile for him, wishing she could hold on to the moment a little longer. She reached for his hand and squeezed gently. "It is alright. Really. I had a lovely time. Just you and me… and more pickles than any sane person should ever consume."
He chuckled quietly, lifting their intertwined hands and brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Me too, my love. More than you know."
The room settled into a brief lull, the warm glow of the fire wrapping around them. Ginny's voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. "Is Hermione alright?"
Something in his expression softened even further. He leaned closer so she could not escape the sincerity in his eyes. "She is holding up," he said gently. "Listen to me. You should talk to her. She misses you."
Ginny's gaze fell to her lap, her fingers curling slightly. "I do not know. She… she hates me now."
Blaise let out a sigh that spoke of frustration and tenderness at the same time. He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin as if trying to ease the weight of her guilt. "She does not hate you. Hermione could never hate you. You were like sisters once. She has not forgotten that. Not for a single moment."
Ginny bit her lip, a small tremor moving through her voice. "I would not even know what to say. I feel like I failed her. I let it get this bad."
"You did not fail anyone," he said softly. "It is not my place to judge what happened between you, but I see how both of you hurt. I see how both of you miss each other. When I come home, we will talk about it. You do not need to fix this alone."
Her lips curved into a grateful smile that carried a hint of vulnerability. "Promise me you will come back soon?" she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand.
He nodded and leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead. It lingered for a breath, warm and steady, a vow spoken without words. "I will be home as soon as I can. I swear it. And while I am gone, you should visit Pansy. She is desperate to show off that new puppy of hers. I think she named it Princess."
Ginny let out a laugh that finally chased away the last of her sadness. "Princess. That sounds exactly like her."
"It is ridiculous," Blaise said with a grin. "Ridiculously adorable. Which means it is probably the perfect distraction for you. Give her my regards and try not to get roped into adopting another one."
She laughed again, softer now, her hand brushing his as if reluctant to let go. "I will try."
He rose slowly, pausing before the fireplace. His fingers drifted over hers one last time, a gentle stroke that sent warmth rushing through her. "I will come back before you even have time to miss me. And we will pick up right where we left off."
Their eyes held for a final moment, warm and certain.
Then Blaise stepped into the flames, and the green light swallowed him.
~~~~~~
Within five minutes, Theo, Blaise, and, to Hermione's surprise, Luna stood gathered in the living room.
Hermione blinked. "Luna, what are you doing here?"
Luna gave a pleasant smile, calm and bright as always. "I was having a date with my husband when he received the call, so I came along."
Blaise frowned, puzzled. "Luna, you are too delicate for this sort of thing."
She straightened with surprising force. "I am not delicate." The softness in her voice vanished, replaced with a quiet strength that made Blaise falter. "We barely know each other, so you would not know that, would you?"
He glanced at Theo, silently asking whether he had offended her. Theo nodded once, a proud little gesture that confirmed Luna's steel.
Blaise let out a resigned breath. "Alright. My mistake. Let us continue."
Hermione drew in a steady breath. The room felt tight with tension, but she pushed forward. "Here is what I am thinking. I will write to Viktor. He knows about the marriage law, but he has no idea who I married. I will invite myself over. Once I am there and the timing feels right, I will drug him."
Theo leaned forward, one eyebrow lifted, a small smirk forming. "Granger, that is surprisingly solid."
Draco seemed far less amused. "It is not solid. It is reckless," he said, the words slow and clipped.
Hermione met his glare without flinching. "Maybe it is reckless. Unless you have a better alternative, this is what we have."
"I can accompany her," Luna offered, her face brightening as if she had suggested a picnic. "A little girl's trip. It could be fun."
Theo's expression darkened instantly, all humor gone. "No. Absolutely not. This is too dangerous. I am not sending you into something like this, Luna. Not for any reason."
Hermione winced slightly at his tone. "Theo, she was only trying to help."
His answer came without hesitation. "I do not care."
Draco shot Theo a look, the kind that carried silent understanding. They both knew this touched a deeper part of Theo than he would willingly reveal.
Theo kept his gaze locked on Luna, his voice softer but still edged with fear. "This is not a leisurely walk in the woods, my love. It is a trap waiting to happen."
Luna tilted her head, unshaken. "Which is exactly why I should go. Two women raise less suspicion than one, and people underestimate us. That is an advantage."
Theo tried again. "That is not the point. The risk is the point. I cannot allow you to walk into something like this."
Hermione stepped in, confusion mixing with impatience. "Then who should go? I cannot do this alone."
Blaise shrugged casually, his voice smooth. "Take Parkinson. She has done missions like this before. She is quick, clever, and unbothered by most things, which is exactly what you need."
Hermione hesitated, weighing the idea. "Pansy. I am not sure she will say yes."
"She will," Draco said, his voice settling into something thoughtful. "She likes you. And she never loses her nerve."
Theo finally breathed out a reluctant sigh. "If someone needs to go with you, then yes. Pansy is the best choice. She does not slip under pressure."
Hermione nodded, accepting the final decision. "Alright. I will ask her. But we have to move carefully. I mean it."
Draco stepped closer to the table, his expression sharpening. "Carefully and quickly," he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
~~~~~~
Now the plan had to move from theory to action. Pansy stood before her mirror, pulse quickening, excitement swelling in her chest. A quiet pressure settled over her as she took in her reflection. Every detail mattered. Every choice they had made tonight needed to land with perfect precision. Failure was something she refused to entertain. They had rehearsed each step, studied every possible obstacle, and now it was time to put all of it into motion.
Hermione and Pansy moved through the room with intent, each woman committed to her role in the mission. The atmosphere in Pansy's mansion shimmered with a sharp, restless energy. Hermione swept around the space with quick, purposeful strides, gathering ingredients, checking vials, confirming that every piece of their preparation was accounted for. Her mind ran like clockwork, steady and disciplined.
Pansy remained anchored at her vanity. She applied her makeup with a deliberate hand, her focus narrowing to the reflection before her. Smoky shadows framed her eyes, creating a look that dared anyone to stand in her way. A bold red settled on her lips, rich and commanding, a promise that she would not be underestimated tonight. With each stroke of her brush, the adrenaline sharpened her senses.
Hermione returned to her side, the room becoming a whirlwind of potions, glamours, and whispered checks. Supplies spread across the vanity. A faint smell of crushed lavender and something metallic drifted through the air. Pansy felt steady again. Hermione's methodical nature tempered her own boldness, and that pairing was exactly what their mission needed.
When they finally stepped back, the sight before the mirror made both women pause. They looked powerful. Sexy. Dangerous.
Their outfits sculpted their forms, silk and satin following each curve with quiet confidence. The chandelier above scattered soft light across the shimmering fabric, casting them as two women who fully understood their own strength.
Pansy felt something hot and bright flare in her chest. They looked ready for war. Hermione's quiet focus balanced her own fire, and together they felt like a force no one would dare cross.
Heels clicked against the polished floor as they finished dressing. The sound struck the room like a signal, a shift from preparation into execution. They shared a look that held no hesitation. They were in this together, fully and without question.
In the living room, Draco rose the second they walked in. His eyes narrowed. The dim light sharpened every angle of his face. "Hermione, you cannot go out looking like that," he said, tension leaking through each word. "You are nearly naked."
Pansy did not break her stride. She tilted her chin, smirked, and offered him a breezy glance. "Draco, darling, handle your own issues. I am handling ours."
Before he could retort, the front door opened and Theo, Blaise, and Neville entered. Their casual confidence shifted the atmosphere, and for a moment, the tension softened.
Neville spotted Pansy immediately. His smile grew slow and warm as he took her in. "You look delicious, my bloom." He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close with a quiet hunger that made her smirk deepen.
Draco threw his hands up in frustration. "Are none of you bothered by this? Look at them."
Neville shook his head. "I am not bothered in the slightest. Parky always looks perfect."
Hermione exhaled, unable to stomach more of Draco's agitation. She stepped forward, her tone cutting cleanly through the room. "Enough. Everyone already knows their role."
Silence fell, thick and immediate. The shift from friendly chaos to focused purpose was almost palpable. Each person stood straighter, the reality of what they were about to attempt settling over them like a cloak.
"We do," they answered as one.
The seriousness returned. Their banter scattered like dust as they formed a tight circle around the table. Pansy felt her heartbeat pick up again, the same sharp thrill from earlier rushing back with force.
She met Neville's eyes. His nod was calm, controlled, a promise that grounded her more than any spell ever could. She inhaled once, strong and steady, and let every ounce of fear slide away.
They were ready. Completely ready.
Hermione took the lead, her hand resting on the table as she outlined the final steps. Her voice carried with it the steadiness of someone who fully understood the risks, and the others listened with unwavering attention.
Pansy felt her resolve harden. They would not falter. Not tonight. Not when so much rode on their success.
This mission would test every instinct they had, but together, they might just pull it off.
~~~~~~
Hermione's mind barely kept up with what her body did next. Panic surged through her like a violent rush of cold water, and her fingers slammed against the emergency button on her bracelet again and again. Each click felt like a plea for her own life. The room blurred as fear tightened her chest, each second dragging itself forward in a slow, agonizing stretch.
Four dark figures exploded into the room in a rush of smoke, their forms barely human at first, their presence cutting through the stale air like a storm breaking open. One stepped forward without hesitation and grabbed Viktor with such brutal force that Hermione heard the air leave his lungs.
"That was the last time you ever touched someone, Krum," the figure whispered, their voice low and cold enough to scrape bone.
Hermione stood frozen. Her breath trembled, her mind stumbling over the speed of it all. Viktor struggled to regain control, but his movements were sluggish and desperate. Before he could gather himself, he was hurled against the wall with a sickening thud. His body dropped slightly, suspended in a choking bind as a spell froze him midair. His limbs hung helplessly. His eyes went wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief.
Hermione felt relief rush through her body so sharply it made her dizzy. It was happening. The threat was neutralized. She was safe, and the plan had locked into place without her losing her life in the process.
Draco moved with slow precision, lifting Viktor with a levitating spell and dragging him toward the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them, the final sound carrying a sense of grim purpose. Inside, Draco pulled off his smoky mask, his features carved with fury and concentration. His eyes burned with an emotion that had no name.
Back in the living room, Neville scanned the chaos with a sharp, frantic energy. "Where is Pansy," he asked, his voice tight.
Hermione blinked hard, pulling her mind back from the haze of shock. "Bathroom," she answered quickly.
Neville wasted no time. He strode toward the bathroom, the silence swallowing him as the door swung open.
The scene inside hit him like a punch to the gut.
Dimitar hung upside down from the ceiling, his body twisting ever so slightly as blood poured from a long, jagged cut that ran from his stomach to his throat. The puddle beneath him grew by the second, warm and red, spreading across the polished tiles in a slow, encroaching river. His eyes stared ahead in horrified confusion, the last flickers of life clinging to him.
Pansy stood beneath him with her hands on her hips, her face the very picture of outrage rather than fear.
Neville's jaw dropped. "Love, this is… intense," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have truly outdone yourself."
Pansy looked down at her dress. Her expression crumpled into exaggerated horror. "Oh, for FUCK'S sake. Look at my dress. Look at it. Absolutely ruined." She lifted the already ruined skirt with her fingertips as if she might salvage it by holding it away from her body. "This is couture. This was fresh from Paris. Now it looks like I murdered a painter."
Neville could not hold back his laugh. "It suits you," he said, stepping inside. "You look magnificent."
Pansy threw her hands up in the air. "Magnificent? Neville, I look like a tragic opera heroine right before intermission."
"You look like victory," he countered, his lips twitching.
She gave him a look that was half sulk, half pride. "Well, he attacked Hermione. So yes, I stabbed him. And yes, he bled everywhere. And no, I refuse to apologize." She flicked a hand toward Dimitar's dying body. "He should have known better than to drip on silk."
Neville placed a hand on her back, guiding her away from the carnage with gentle insistence. "Let's get you cleaned up. The dress might be ruined, but you are still perfect."
Her eyes softened, and for a moment her bravado cracked. "You really think so?"
"I am certain of it," he said, kissing her forehead without hesitation. "No amount of blood can take your shine."
Pansy let out a breath and smirked. "Fine. Let's go. I may look like death, but at least I look fashionable."
Neville smiled and led her out of the room while she stepped carefully around the spreading pool of blood, muttering under her breath about tailoring bills.
Back in the hall, Blaise stared at the scene with wide eyes, his expression frozen somewhere between horror, awe, and utter confusion.
What the actual fuck. Blaise understood loving someone blindly, but this on another level.
~~~~~~
Draco apparated everyone back to his house, the familiar walls wrapping around them like a fortress after a night that had stripped them all raw.
Once they had settled, the group gravitated toward the fireplace without speaking, pulled by the natural instinct to gather around something warm and alive. The fire crackled steadily, its glow brushing across their faces in soft waves. The contrast between its warmth and the chill still clinging to their clothes felt almost jarring. It reminded them of how close they had come to something far worse.
The room held a thick, heavy silence. No one seemed ready to break it. They stood or sat where they could, lost in their thoughts. The shadows on the walls stretched and wavered as the firelight shifted, mimicking the unsettled feelings none of them dared to voice.
Draco finally spoke, his gaze fixed on the flames as though he were trying to draw strength from them. "I have no answers from Krum. We are still on the lookout." His voice carried the weight of frustration, responsibility, and something more brittle beneath it. The tension of the night had deepened the lines on his face, making him look older and sharper.
Hermione inhaled quietly, ready to argue. "But I can help, Draco. If you let me just—"
He turned to her before she could finish, his tone steady and absolute. "Darling, you are not allowed to go on any missions with us ever again."
"But," she tried again, her voice rising with quiet disbelief.
"I said not again," he repeated, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that left no room for debate. Something in his expression softened for a moment, but the softness only made the resolve behind it clearer. He had nearly lost her once already. That was more than enough.
She closed her mouth slowly, frustration and fear flickering behind her eyes, but she did not push further. The room sank back into a contemplative quiet, one that carried unspoken truths and questions none of them were ready to confront.
Theo adjusted his collar, trying to shake the feeling of someone still watching them. Blaise stood with his arms crossed, his jaw tight, processing every detail of the night as if replaying it would reveal a clue they had missed. Neville hovered behind Pansy, his attention split between her and the lingering danger that still lingered in the air. Luna perched on the edge of a chair, her eyes distant, as if she saw more in the dancing flames than the rest of them.
After a few more moments of silence, Draco released a breath that he had been holding since they arrived. "Everyone should go home," he said quietly. "There is nothing more we can do tonight."
One by one, they nodded. No one argued. The exhaustion settled into their bones, making their movements slow as they gathered themselves. Goodbyes were exchanged in muted tones, their usual teasing absent tonight. The weight of what they had witnessed clung to them like a second skin.
~~~~~~
Blaise arrived late that night, the weight of the hour pressing down on him like an unseen force. The world outside was eerily silent, but inside, Ginny was waiting. She sat curled up in the dimly lit living room, a book open in her lap, though her eyes had long since stopped reading. Her fingers absently traced the edges of the worn pages, her mind elsewhere. The sudden crackle of the fireplace flaring to life made her tense, her breath catching in anticipation.
The moment he stepped inside, the air shifted. Her chest tightened, her breath hitched. The scent of blood reached her first—faint, metallic, unmistakable. It clung to him, soaked into the fabric of his clothes, a ghostly accusation that refused to be washed away. The dried streaks along his collar and cuffs told a story she wasn't sure she wanted to hear.
He stilled the moment he saw her, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable—guilt, exhaustion, maybe even regret. His stance, usually controlled, held a stiffness he couldn't quite hide. "Baby…" His voice was softer than she expected, an almost apologetic whisper. "I thought you'd be asleep."
She rose slowly, her movements deliberate, hands settling over the swell of her belly as if grounding herself. Her expression was composed, but her eyes betrayed her—shocked, searching. "Blaise," she murmured, voice unsteady. "Are you… alright?"
A heavy sigh raked through him as he dragged a hand down his face, smearing a faint streak of dried blood along his jawline. "I'm fine." The words were empty, automatic, but the weight in his tone suggested otherwise. "I didn't… I didn't do anything. Just cleanup."
Her brow creased, her stomach twisting with unease. "Cleanup?" The word felt wrong on her tongue, too simple for what she already knew it meant.
He hesitated, as if debating how much truth to offer, before giving a slow, measured nod. The heaviness of the night clung to him, darkening his already shadowed features.
"Viktor," he finally said, voice low, edged with something dangerous. "He tried to force himself on Granger. Luckily, she pressed the emergency button. We were there in seconds." His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "She's alright. He's… not."
The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in. Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say tangled in her throat. The truth of what he was telling her settled like a stone in her chest, heavy, unmovable. "Oh." It was all she could manage at first.
He stepped closer, slow and cautious, as if testing the distance between them. His gaze searched hers, desperate to read her reaction, to gauge whether this was the moment she finally pulled away. "Was it too much?" His voice was quieter now, threaded with an uncertainty she rarely heard from him. "Did I upset you? I thought… I thought you'd be asleep. I didn't want you to see me like this—"
She cut him off with a quick shake of her head. "No," she said firmly, though her voice wavered. "You didn't upset me. It's just… gruesome to hear." The truth sat bitter on her tongue, because part of her wasn't sure if that was entirely it. She had always known who he was, what he was capable of. But knowing and seeing were two very different things.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. "I don't know what to say, Gin. This is what I do. What I've always done."
Her fingers curled instinctively over her stomach, protective, uncertain. "I don't like it," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
His expression flickered, something raw flashing through his features before he schooled it away. "I know." His voice cracked slightly, his walls lowering just enough to show her the weight he carried. "I'm aware, baby. If it's too much, I can ask the Ministry to relocate you, to free you from all this."
"No." The word snapped from her lips before she could stop it, the force of it surprising even her. Her heart pounded, her breath coming quicker, uneven.
Blaise froze, his entire body going rigid, dark eyes searching hers with raw, unfiltered desperation. "Then tell me what to do," he rasped, his voice fraying at the edges, teetering between plea and command. "I'll do anything. Just… tell me."
Her gaze burned into his, unwavering, unreadable. "Come closer," she ordered, her voice quiet but laced with steel.
He obeyed instantly, his steps slow, measured, as though approaching something volatile—something that could either shatter or explode in his hands. And in a way, she was both.
And then she slapped him.
Her palm connected with his face in a sharp, vicious slap that cracked through the heavy silence, reverberating off the walls like a gunshot. The force of it sent him stumbling back a step, his head snapping to the side. A stunned breath left him as his hand flew to his cheek, fingers pressing against the burning imprint of her touch.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then, he looked at her—wide-eyed, disbelieving, as if he had been hit by something far stronger than just her hand. "You never hit me," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it aloud would somehow make it less real.
Her chest heaved, her own hand trembling at her side. "It's been a long time coming," she bit out, the sharpness in her tone at odds with the raw emotion glistening in her eyes. She took a deliberate step forward, jabbing a finger into his chest, her voice quivering with both fury and something more fragile. "Do not ever come home like this again. You upset the bump."
His gaze flickered downward, the words hitting harder than the slap. His breath hitched, something dark and unnameable flashing across his face. The weight of it pressed down on him, heavier than the blood on his hands, heavier than the life he led. He exhaled, slow and controlled, but the tension in his frame didn't ease.
Then, he laughed.
The sound that left his lips was low, dark, humorless—a chuckle that slithered down her spine like the sharp edge of a blade. It wasn't amusement. It was something far more dangerous, something unhinged, a sound that sent her pulse hammering against her ribs.
His head tilted slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with a lethal edge, his smirk slow and deliberate, curling at the corners of his mouth like smoke from a dying flame.
"And I have something for you too, something that's been a long time coming," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat laced with something possessive, something utterly consuming.
Her breath hitched, her lips parting slightly. "Blaise…" she started, but he silenced her with a single wave of his hand.
In one swift, practiced motion, he reached for the delicate fabric of her nightgown and tore it down the middle, the soft material slipping from her shoulders like water.
A sharp gasp escaped her, her hands instinctively flying to cover herself, but he was faster. His grip was firm yet controlled as he seized her wrist, twisting her arm gently but unyieldingly behind her back. The sudden shift in power sent a jolt of something electric through her—anger, anticipation, and an undeniable heat that coiled low in her stomach.
"Kneel," he commanded, his voice deep and unwavering as he guided her down onto the edge of the couch.
She obeyed, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts, her mind a tangled mess of defiance and desire. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw, the darkness in his eyes that she had once feared—but now, now it only made her shiver.
"I'm so sorry I hit you," she whispered, her voice low, taunting, daring. "But you really did deserve it."
His smirk deepened, his grip tightening on her chin as he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "Every time I come home," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her lower lip, "this is how I want to find you—waiting for me, like this. On your knees. Do you understand?"
A shudder ran through her, heat blooming across her skin as she met his stare, unflinching. Her pulse was wild, erratic, her body betraying the war waging in her mind.
She swallowed hard, her breath uneven, her lips slightly parted as she met his gaze. "Yes," she whispered, the word barely audible, yet carrying the weight of her submission.
His eyes darkened with something primal, something possessive. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, the touch both tender and commanding. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough, the words curling around her like a caress.
He traced the seam of her lips with his thumb, his touch slow, teasing. "Now," he said, his voice a quiet demand, full of control and promise. "Open for me."
Her lashes fluttered, and she obeyed, parting her lips for him, her tongue flicking out to taste him. The first contact sent a shiver through him, his breath catching as she traced the sensitive ridge with careful, reverent strokes. The salty heat of him spread across her tongue, the weight of his desire pressing against her lips.
A sharp inhale was the only warning she got before his fingers tangled in her hair, gathering the strands at the nape of her neck in a firm hold. His grip was possessive, steady, as if anchoring himself in the moment.
"Take me," he ordered, his voice low, thick with barely restrained hunger.
She leaned in, inch by inch, her lips parting further to take him in, her warm mouth wrapping around him in slow, deliberate surrender. A deep groan rumbled in his chest, his fingers tightening in her hair as his hips rolled forward, setting the rhythm. She followed his lead, her movements fluid, practiced, coaxing him further into the abyss of pleasure.
Each flick of her tongue, each hollow of her cheeks, each slow drag of her lips sent waves of sensation coursing through him. His breathing grew heavier, his body tense with the sheer restraint it took not to lose himself completely.
"You feel so damn good," he rasped, his voice raw with need. "Just like that, baby. Just like that."
The fire between them burned higher, the room thick with heat and the unmistakable pull of something deeper—something more than just dominance and submission, something more than just pleasure. It was a collision of power and surrender, of trust and raw, aching need.
And as she took him deeper, her nails digging into his thighs for balance, he realized he would never get enough of her.
When he pulled back, saliva clung to her lips, dripping down her chin. He cupped her face, his thumb wiping her mouth tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his gaze.
"You look like a goddess," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, reverent and awestruck.
Still holding her gaze, he helped her to her feet, his hands gliding over her curves as though mapping her body anew. He kissed her knees, lingering there, his lips brushing over her skin like a vow.
"You're mine," he said again, his voice deep and possessive, yet soft as velvet. His hands cradled her face with reverence, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek. "And I'll never stop reminding you of that."
Her breath hitched, and a shiver ran down her spine as he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over hers.
"Get on all fours, my love," he murmured, the command laced with desire and warmth.
Without hesitation, she complied, sinking onto the couch. Her knees pressed into the plush cushions, and she arched her back, pushing her bum into the air while lowering her chest and face. Her breath quickened as his hands skimmed down her back, a touch both soothing and electrifying.
He kneeled behind her, his fingertips trailing an excruciatingly slow path from her slick folds to the curve of her behind. Her moan was soft, yet it resonated through the room, her body arching instinctively toward him.
"Perfect," he whispered, almost to himself, his voice filled with awe.
His hands wandered forward, cupping her breasts and softly pinching her nipples, tugging just enough to elicit a gasp from her lips. Her body trembled, every nerve ending alight with anticipation.
He leaned in, pressing kisses along her spine before pulling back. "I want to see all of you," he said, an idea sparking in his mind. With a flick of his wand, a full-length mirror appeared, positioned in front of the couch.
Her eyes widened when she caught sight of their reflection. She tried to look away, her face flushing with both embarrassment and arousal, but his hand gently turned her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze in the mirror.
"Don't look away," he murmured, his tone firm but tender. "I want you to see what I see. Watch yourself come apart for me."
Her lips parted to protest, but all that came out was a shaky exhale. She nodded, surrendering fully to him.
With deliberate care, he trailed his tongue from her slick entrance to the sensitive curve of her ass, his movements slow and measured. She whimpered, her hands gripping the cushions for support. He whispered a lubrication charm before slipping a finger into her bum, teasing her with the gentle stretch as his other hand slid between her thighs to explore her warmth.
"Please," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please…"
"Patience, my love," he cooed, adding another finger to stretch her further. "I want to take my time with you."
Her body writhed beneath him, desperate for more, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He positioned himself behind her, the tip of his cock brushing against her entrance before he pushed in slowly, filling her inch by inch. She cried out, her body shaking as he stilled, letting her adjust.
"You feel incredible," he rasped, his hands gripping her hips as he began to move. His rhythm was steady, each thrust measured, sending waves of pleasure through her.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "And don't you dare come until I tell you."
Her hand snaked between her thighs, her fingers finding her clit as he plunged deeper. Her moans grew louder, her body trembling as she teetered on the edge.
"Can you come for me, darling?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Can you let go while I watch your beautiful face?"
She whimpered, her reflection in the mirror showing her flushed cheeks and parted lips. "Touch my nipples," she begged, her voice breathless. "Please…"
His hands moved to her breasts, rolling her sensitive peaks between his fingers. Her cries grew louder, her body tensing as she finally let go, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her reflection in the mirror was one of pure ecstasy, her head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure consumed her.
The sight pushed him over the edge, and he spilled inside her with a guttural groan, his hands gripping her hips to keep her steady. They stayed locked together for a moment, their breaths heavy and mingled in the quiet aftermath.
He leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "You were such a good girl," he whispered, his voice full of adoration. "You're always incredible."
She managed a shaky smile, her body still trembling from the intensity of it all. "I love you," she murmured, her voice soft and sincere.
"And I love you, more than life itself." he replied, gathering her in his arms as they sank onto the couch together, the world outside forgotten.