Lying in the large navy-blue bed, Hermione had arranged a dozen books around her, working methodically through the various approaches to repairing corrupted enchantments.
She and Draco had been meeting in the Room of Requirement for about four days now, the room shifting subtly as their friendship settled into something more comfortable and familiar.
The bed had appeared the previous day. Hermione's brain had practically short-circuited at the sight of it. It felt like the room was having a joke at her expense.
It had turned out to be surprisingly helpful. And comfortable.
The soft, ever-shifting ambience of the room had settled around them — an oddly calming environment. She could hear Draco's voice somewhere nearby, murmuring as he went over the same pages, absorbed in the task.
The bed, though. So entirely unnecessary, and yet there it was. She tried not to think too hard about the way it made her feel — about how naturally Draco had stretched out on the other side of it, a comfortable distance between them, the whole arrangement somehow feeling... intimate.
But it wasn't just the bed.
The room had been quietly, relentlessly nudging them together in other ways too.
First, the candles. She hadn't noticed them at first — a few small flames near the window, unremarkable enough. But over the past few days, they'd multiplied and grown, filling the room with a warm, golden light that softened everything, the kind of glow better suited to a dinner table than a study session. As if the room had sensed the tension between them, the way their glances lingered a moment too long.
Then the fire. It had begun as a modest hearth, crackling quietly, carrying the faint scent of burning wood. As the days passed, it had grown — warmer, more inviting, less a source of light and more a steady, breathing presence. As though the room were trying to create a space where the war and the doubts and the careful distances they kept might simply... fall away.
Draco, for his part, appeared entirely unbothered. He had always had a talent for adjusting to his surroundings with an ease that Hermione had never quite mastered. He sat across from her with that casual air of his, reaching for another book without any fuss.
He had noticed, of course. He was simply better at concealing it. The moment they'd walked in the previous day to find a large bed where the chairs had been, his heart had very nearly stopped.
Hermione's eyes drifted from the page to him, then back. It was strange how routine this had become. And with each passing day, it was growing harder to dismiss the warmth that seemed to radiate between them — this easy, natural connection that fit nowhere neatly in either of their lives.
Draco set his book on his lap and stretched, cracking his neck. He glanced at Hermione — at the small furrow between her brows, the one she always got when she was working through a problem.
His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have. The soft glow of the room caught every angle of her face, the faint curve of her lips as she focused. There was something about the way she'd let her guard down in this space that made his chest tighten in ways he was wholly unprepared for.
"You're making that face again," he said, keeping his tone light.
Hermione blinked, looking over. "What face?"
"The one you always make when you're turning something over in your head. Are we ever going to discuss it?"
Hermione huffed, shifting to face him. "I just think it's a bit... excessive."
Draco laughed. "I knew it bothered you. We can change it — the room responds to us. I imagine it simply concluded a bed would be more comfortable than those miserable wooden chairs."
"Perhaps," she muttered, returning to her page, "but it didn't need to be quite so large."
"You're overthinking it."
"You're the one who brought it up."
Draco hummed, leaning forward and flopping down beside her on his stomach. "Fair enough. Maybe it's telling us we both need a rest."
Hermione's heart skipped as he settled next to her, closer than strictly necessary. The room seemed to hum with approval, the candlelight flickering as if pleased with itself. She tried to focus on the page in front of her.
She rolled her eyes, though a reluctant smile caught her mouth. "If you need a rest, Malfoy, be my guest."
Draco smiled but didn't respond, shifting to read over her shoulder.
Hermione's breath caught as his shoulder pressed against hers. Accidental, surely. But it felt oddly deliberate, somehow. The warmth of him against her sent heat flooding through her, and she told herself it was just the proximity — nothing more. The words felt hollow even as she thought them.
This was Draco Malfoy, after all.
Draco's eyes moved from the page to her face, and he tried to ignore the persistent pull toward her. "I don't think this one has what we need."
Hermione groaned, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. "We need a proper break."
Draco said nothing at first, rolling onto his back beside her. For a moment, they simply lay there, listening to the soft crackle of the fire.
Hermione let out a long sigh, hands folded over her chest. She hated how easy it had become — lying here, quiet and close, the space between them nothing but warm. She'd tried telling herself it was the magic of the room, the way it kept drawing them together. But the longer they spent here, the harder it was to pretend that was all it was. Especially given everything she'd admitted to Daphne and Pansy.
Draco turned his head toward her. The firelight moved over the curves of her face, caught in her hair where it fanned out beneath her. It was strange, how familiar he was growing with the sight of her. Her lashes fluttered as she fought off sleep, a faint flush on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.
"Granger..." he said quietly. He didn't have anything particular to say. He simply wanted to reach over and brush her hair from her face, press his lips to hers. He couldn't say that, though.
Hermione's heart skipped. She turned her head toward him and opened her eyes, her deep brown meeting his grey-blue.
"Malfoy," she replied, her voice equally soft.
Draco's gaze softened, and for a moment the world outside this room stopped mattering. No books, no cabinet, no war, no expectations — just the two of them in a bubble of warmth neither of them had quite intended.
He could feel the distance between them shrinking — physically, emotionally. He had spent so much of his life constructing walls, keeping people at a careful remove. With Hermione, it felt as though each shared glance, every brush of hands, every late conversation had quietly dismantled them, layer by layer. And now, in this low-lit room, whatever remained felt as fragile as glass.
Neither spoke. Hermione's eyes moved over his face — the sharpness of his features, the way his hair had fallen loose around his temples, the faint crease between his brows. Her heart was racing, and for once it had nothing to do with revision or the weight of the war. It was just him.
And she didn't quite know what to do with that.
"Draco," she whispered — barely a breath, tentative, as if testing how his name felt in her mouth.
His breath hitched at the sound of it. He swallowed, turning slightly toward her, one hand shifting instinctively toward the space between them.
Hermione looked down at his hand — lying so near to hers. She wanted to reach out and take it.
But he wasn't moving toward her. He wasn't pulling away either, but he wasn't closing the distance.
So neither did she.
His fingers twitched slightly, and it was all Hermione could do not to reach for them. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, close but not close enough. He didn't touch her, but his nearness was enough to make her pulse hammer, enough to make her question every careful thing she'd decided about what this was.
She turned away, closing her eyes to slow her thoughts. "I'm tired," she admitted.
Draco let out a soft breath — something close to a smirk. "Told you," he murmured, looking back at the ceiling.
He closed his eyes. "My father sent an owl the other day. Says he's been writing to my mother and she hasn't replied."
He wasn't certain why he was telling her. Perhaps because he wanted to tell someone. Perhaps because he felt easier with her than with anyone else. Perhaps simply to keep her near him a little longer.
Hermione didn't move. She didn't open her eyes or let her breath change, careful not to startle him back into silence.
"Oh?" she offered gently.
Draco's expression softened slightly; he could see on her face how much she wanted to ask.
"She hasn't really spoken to him since his arrest. He doesn't tolerate being ignored."
Hermione hummed quietly, her fingers tracing the soft fabric of the sheets. She wanted to ask what it meant for him. Whether he felt relieved or frightened.
"Perhaps she's taking time to decide what's best. For herself. For you."
"Or perhaps she's simply had enough of him," he muttered.
Hermione smiled faintly. "And if she has?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. He wasn't sure he had one. "He's still my father."
"And your mother is still your mother," Hermione whispered, pressing her lips together. "Maybe you should ask her."
Draco scoffed, though there was little bite to it. "Oh, certainly. 'Mother, have you finally tired of Father, or are you simply ignoring him for sport?' That'll go down a treat."
Hermione let out a soft laugh. "Perhaps not quite like that. But I'm sure she'd simply want to know you're... there."
"I don't think she wants me there right now," he admitted, his sleeve suddenly very heavy on his arm. The Dark Mark burned quietly beneath it — a constant reminder of everything weighing on him, of the disappointment he'd seen on his mother's face.
"She loves you."
"Love doesn't change anything."
Hermione felt her throat tighten. "Love changes everything," she whispered.
Draco was quiet after that, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to fill the silence, but couldn't find the words. Her chest felt heavy. She hadn't meant to say it. She wasn't entirely sure why she had.
"You don't know what it's like to have your whole life mapped out for you," he murmured at last. "To know exactly who you're supposed to be, what you're supposed to do — and then have everything shift beneath you. Again and again."
Hermione's fingers found his hand in the space between them, saying nothing. There was nothing to say.
He was cold — a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed. But he didn't pull away.
Draco's thumb moved slowly across the back of her hand, and the small, quiet gesture sent warmth moving through her.
"Draco," she said — more certain this time.
His thumb stilled. He looked over at her, but she was still watching the ceiling. "Yeah?" he asked.
"I think... I think you've already made your choice," she said softly, her tongue darting to wet her lips. "If that counts for anything."
Draco watched her, taking in the weight of what she was saying. She didn't know half of what was happening — half of what he was still bound to do. And yet she believed he had chosen right. And somehow, inexplicably, he believed she was correct.
The rest of the world — his family's expectations, the shadow of the war, the guilt pressing down on him — seemed distant. It was just the two of them, lying side by side, and that was enough.
"You make it sound so simple," he whispered.
Hermione's eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even, the tension draining from her face as sleep drew her under.
He swallowed, looking down at her hand still resting in his.
"I like it when you call me Draco, Granger," he said quietly, knowing she wouldn't hear. He slipped his hand from hers, then reached for the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and drew it over her.
---
Hermione stirred the next morning, yawning as she stretched, her mind slow to catch up with her surroundings. The mattress beneath her was far too comfortable to be her dormitory bed.
She blinked. Opened her eyes. Took in the soft golden light.
She rolled onto her side — and found Draco, fast asleep beside her. In sleep, the usual sharpness of his face had gone entirely. He looked young. Quiet. Unguarded.
His chest rose and fell with steady, unhurried breath. Hermione watched him for a moment, then reached out, instinctively, to brush a loose strand of blond hair from his face.
Her fingers barely grazed his skin before she froze. The touch sent a small electric jolt up her hand.
Did he always sleep this still? Look this peaceful? It was such a contrast to the composed mask he wore during the day.
The light moved across his features.
Draco stirred, a soft groan escaping him as he woke. His eyes opened, squinting against the brightness — and landed on Hermione.
For a moment, he was certain he was still dreaming.
Hermione snatched her hand back, a flush climbing her neck. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Draco rubbed a hand over his face. Definitely not dreaming. "What time is it?" he muttered, sitting up.
Time.
Hermione's eyes went wide. She hadn't even considered the time.
"Oh my god." She breathed. "Oh my god, it's morning." She scrambled off the bed, grabbing her things.
Draco watched with mild amusement as she unravelled, her usual collected manner completely undone. He leaned back against the pillows, unhurried. "Panicking a bit?"
Hermione threw him a frantic look, face burning. "You don't understand — I was supposed to meet Harry and Ron last night. I never showed up."
Draco rose, watching her. "I'm sure they survived one evening without you."
She huffed. "It's not just missing one evening, Malfoy. They'll have questions."
"Questions?"
"Yes! Like where I was, who I was with, why I didn't come back to the dormitory—"
"They're your friends, not your guardians. They won't know you didn't go back to your dorm."
"Yes, they will," she said, turning to look at him. "They'll have sent Ginny to check on me, and Ginny will have seen I wasn't there."
She frowned at him. "You're far less stressed about this than you should be. Aren't Blaise and Theo going to want to know where you were?"
Draco groaned. "Damn it." He grabbed his wand and shoes.
"Exactly," she said, somewhat appeased that she was no longer panicking alone.
"Are you always this exhausting in the morning?" Draco muttered, heading toward the door. "Let's go."
"You're the one who fell asleep," Hermione hissed as they slipped out.
"You fell asleep first," he hissed back.
The door swung shut behind them with a soft click, leaving them blinking in the corridor.
Draco checked his watch and groaned. They'd missed most of their Friday classes.
Hermione looked at him sideways. "What?"
"Potions."
"Potions?! We've slept half the day away!" she gasped.
Draco rolled his eyes, though there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. "Astute, as ever, Granger."
They arrived at the Potions classroom, Hermione keeping her gaze firmly on the floor.
Draco was fighting back a laugh.
Hermione stopped outside the door, hand on the handle. "You can't walk in with me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Because if you walk in with me, it'll look like I was with you."
"You were with me."
Hermione shot him a pained look. "Yes, but no one is supposed to know that."
He exhaled. "You're behaving as though we've committed a crime. We overslept."
"In the same bed!" The words flew out before she could catch them, and her face turned scarlet.
Draco raised his eyebrows, his amusement unmistakable. "Well, when you frame it like that, Granger, it does sound rather scandalous."
She huffed. "Don't put words in my mouth."
Draco held up his hands in mock surrender. "After you, then. I'll give it a moment."
Hermione smoothed her robes and walked in as casually as she could manage.
The classroom was already buzzing — the familiar clatter of cauldrons and the murmur of students at work. Hermione kept her head down and made straight for her usual seat beside Harry.
"You're late," Harry murmured, eyeing her with visible concern.
"We waited for you last night," Ron added pointedly.
Hermione reached for her textbook, working through her excuse. "I know — I lost track of time in the library. That's all."
Harry's frown deepened. "Ginny checked the library. And we checked the Restricted Section. You weren't there."
Her stomach clenched. Of course they had.
"I was there until quite late," she said carefully, "and then I found an empty classroom for a while before bed."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Which classroom?"
Damn it.
"Does it matter?" she snapped, a shade too quickly. "You're acting like I disappeared for a week. I lost track of time — nothing happened."
Ron crossed his arms. "We checked the map, Hermione. You weren't on it."
Her breath caught. The Marauder's Map. Of course.
Her mind scrambled. Something — anything — plausible.
"I — I don't know why I wouldn't show up," she said, forcing a small laugh that didn't quite land. "You must have missed me."
Harry and Ron looked at each other. She could tell they weren't convinced.
"It doesn't track inside dormitories," Hermione said, sitting up a little straighter. "You must have checked while I was back in mine."
"That doesn't explain all your morning classes," Ron said flatly.
"I was tired," she said. "It happens."
Harry still didn't look satisfied, but before he could press further, the door opened and Draco strolled in, looking entirely too at ease.
Lavender frowned across at Hermione. "But you weren't in the dormitory last night, Hermione. Or this morning." She looked rather pleased with herself for remembering.
Hermione fixed her with a flat look. "You missed me. It's quite straightforward."
---
Meanwhile, Draco settled at his usual table.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly were you last night?"
Daphne looked up from her notes, her eyes moving from Blaise to Draco with growing interest. "He didn't come back to the dormitory?" she asked with a slow grin.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I was out."
"Out where?" Blaise pressed.
Draco looked at him. "You're worse than the Daily Prophet."
Theo had been writing steadily, affecting disinterest — right up until he set his quill down. "Draco wasn't in Ancient Runes this morning. Neither was Granger," he mentioned, with the air of someone simply noting the weather.
Draco closed his eyes. "Wonderful. Thank you, Theo."
"Draco Malfoy!" Daphne nearly shrieked. "Tell me you didn't—"
"Keep your voice down," he said sharply, shooting her a look.
Daphne, entirely undeterred and visibly delighted, leaned in. "You did, didn't you?"
"I did not shag Granger," Draco said, opening his textbook with deliberate calm.
He levelled a finger at Theo, who had just opened his mouth. "And I didn't snog her either. Don't ask."
Blaise leaned back with a smirk. "You didn't shag her, you didn't snog her — so what exactly did you do all night?"
"Talk!" Draco snapped, louder than intended, his composure cracking for just a moment. He scowled. "We talked and fell asleep. That's it," he repeated, with marginally more control.
Daphne looked supremely unimpressed. "If you say so, Draco."
---
Across the room, Hermione was still fielding questions.
Harry and Ron weren't letting it go.
"Right," Ron began, arms folded. "So you vanished, weren't in your dormitory, weren't in the library, weren't on the map, missed all your morning classes — and now Malfoy waltzes in late as well. And we're supposed to believe that's all coincidence?"
Hermione kept her expression steady. "I don't know where Malfoy was, Ronald."
Harry's eyes were sharp. "But you know where you were."
"Yes," she said, clipping the word. "And like I told you — I lost track of time and overslept."
"In a place that doesn't show up on the Marauder's Map," Ron muttered.
"I don't know why you're so bothered, Ron," Hermione said flatly.
Pansy settled smoothly into the seat next to Hermione. "Honestly, Hermione, I told you they'd care far less if you just told them the truth," she said pleasantly.
Hermione blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"Hermione was studying with Daphne and me last night. We lost track of time, she was worried about being caught out after curfew, so she stayed over. Nothing dramatic." Pansy said, directing the last of it toward Harry and Ron.
"Daph?" she called sweetly. "Be a love and confirm."
Daphne barely glanced up, but a slow smirk pulled at her lips. "Oh, of course. Hermione was with us," she said, twirling her quill. "We were up rather late, weren't we, Pans? Gossiping about boys?"
Pansy sighed dramatically. "Such a shame Weasley never quite made the cut."
Ron looked positively scandalised. "Oi!"
Hermione, who had been quietly breathing her first sigh of relief, nearly choked. "Pansy!" she hissed.
Pansy shrugged. "What? I'm simply saying she has standards."
Lavender huffed. "It doesn't matter anyway, because Ron and I are insatiably happy."
"Weasley and I," Draco drawled.
Hermione very nearly jumped out of her seat.
Lavender blinked at him. "What?"
"It's Weasley and I. Not Weasley and me."
Lavender frowned. "Why do you even care, Malfoy?"
Draco settled into his seat beside Theo, his smirk unhurried. "I don't, particularly. I simply thought that if you're going to make declarations of happiness, you might as well sound intelligent doing it. Besides — if you're going to hold your own against Granger, you ought to try harder."
Hermione glanced at him, narrowing her eyes.
"What does that mean?" Lavender's eyes narrowed.
Hermione was rather more occupied by the fact that Draco had — in his own peculiar way — just taken her side.
Draco turned to Hermione with an air of exaggerated patience. "Your life sounds almost interesting when Weasley makes it sound like you were out rendezvousing all night," he said, holding her gaze a moment — something quietly reassuring in it.
Hermione caught on quickly. "You'd know all about late-night excursions, wouldn't you, Malfoy?"
"I might," he said, tilting his head. "But if I did, I certainly wouldn't get caught."
She scoffed. "Sneaking about after curfew isn't the talent you seem to think it is."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough. "I'm sure you know all about it."
Her breath hitched, only for a second — and she refused to give him the satisfaction.
"Right, if you're both quite finished," Pansy said with a theatrical sigh. "I'd like to actually complete this potion before the term ends."
---
Harry sat across from Hermione at dinner that evening. He hadn't been able to stop glancing between her and the Slytherin table, and it was beginning to grate on her nerves.
She set her fork down with more force than intended. "What is it, Harry?"
Harry startled. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to." She crossed her arms. "Say it, then."
Harry exhaled. "I just don't understand it. You've never gone missing before, and now they're covering for you—"
"For goodness' sake, Harry, what do you imagine she's been doing?" Ginny cut in, laughing.
Harry hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe Malfoy's put her under the Imperius Curse. Are you feeling all right?"
Hermione let out a long breath. "Oh, for — Harry, what exactly do you think is happening? Secret Slytherin rituals? Dark Arts? An Unbreakable Vow?"
"Or she's just been studying, like she always does," Ginny said before Harry could respond. "It's not as though she's been off cavorting with Malfoy."
Hermione nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. "Ginny!"
Ron's head snapped up. "Ugh, Ginny, don't."
"What?" Ginny said, all innocence. "I'm saying we can safely rule it out."
Harry pulled a face. "Merlin, Ginny, no one was thinking that."
"Speak for yourself." Seamus, it turned out, had been listening from down the table. He looked at Hermione with open interest. "You were awfully close when I saw you at Gladrags, Hermione."
Hermione's head whipped toward him.
"What?" He shrugged. "You were shopping with Malfoy—"
"What does Seamus mean, close—?"
"You went to Gladrags with him?"
Harry, Ron, and Ginny all spoke at once, and Hermione's head began to spin.
"That is not — I ran into him while I was buying my dress for Slughorn's party," she said, cutting across all of them. "Exactly as I told you, Seamus."
Seamus looked thoroughly entertained. "Didn't look like a chance encounter."
Hermione gaped at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Seamus leaned forward conspiratorially. "Just that you two seemed rather... friendly."
Ron looked horrified. "Friendly? With Malfoy?"
"He is not that bad!" Hermione snapped — her brain two steps behind her mouth.
Silence.
Harry, Ron, and Ginny all stared at her as though she'd just announced she was in favour of dismantling the Ministry.
Hermione immediately regretted everything.
Ron's fork clattered against his plate. "Not that bad?" he repeated. "You're talking about Draco Malfoy. Ferret. Called you a—"
"I know perfectly well who we're talking about, Ron," Hermione said firmly. "And yes — he is still a prat. I'm not disagreeing. But he hasn't hexed anyone in the corridors, he hasn't said a word against Harry or you. You're so fixed on the idea that he's working for Voldemort that you can't see anything else. Maybe he's simply growing up."
Harry hesitated, searching for a rebuttal.
Ron, however, was unmoved. "Maybe because he's too busy sneaking around with you."
"That is not what's happening," Hermione huffed. "I've been spending time with Daphne and Pansy, and Malfoy is sometimes there. That's all."
"Yeah, well, we don't like that either," Ron grumbled.
"And I don't particularly like Lavender, but she's still here, isn't she?"
"She's my girlfriend!"
"And Draco's my friend!"
Ron opened his mouth to fire back when Harry stood up.
"Would you both just stop!" he said sharply. Several heads turned. "I am exhausted by all of it! I can't hear another word of you two taking shots at each other, or Lavender hovering around every corner, or now Malfoy on top of everything—"
Ron scoffed. "Finally — you can see she's the problem."
"It's both of you!" Harry said, pointing at Ron and then Hermione in turn. "You with your secrets and you with your passive digs. No wonder she'd rather spend her time with the Slytherins. I'm nearly ready to join her." He swept his gaze around the table. "Sort it out yourselves."
Ginny looked up at him, eyes wide. "Harry, people are staring."
"Let them," Harry muttered, and stormed out of the Great Hall.
Ron watched him go. Then, with a shake of his head, he pushed back his chair. "Not doing this," he said flatly to Hermione, and left after Harry.
Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, and then Ron was gone too.
---
Draco was in the Room of Requirement that evening, running tests on a stabilisation spell, when Hermione stormed in.
She crossed the room in sharp, purposeful strides and dropped into a chair, exhaling loudly.
Draco glanced at her from the corner of his eye without lowering his wand.
Hermione looked over at him again. Exhaled again.
Draco rolled his eyes but didn't speak.
She stared at him with open disbelief, exhaled a third time, and crossed her arms.
He lowered his wand and turned. "That's three in under a minute. What's happened?"
"Thank you for asking," she said, clearly relieved he'd given her an opening.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes again, Draco sat down across from her. "Well?"
"Harry and Ron are impossible!" she announced, throwing her arms wide.
"Contact the Prophet," Draco said, completely dry.
She shot him a look. "I'm serious, Malfoy."
"I can tell." He leaned forward and tapped the space between her brows. "You've got that crease again."
Hermione blinked, looking up at the finger resting between her eyebrows.
"Keep frowning like that and you'll have wrinkles before you're twenty," Draco said quietly, settling back.
She stared at him for a moment, rubbing her forehead. She was still adjusting to Draco in this mode — this strange, almost gentle version of him that surfaced when it was just the two of them.
"Don't talk to me about wrinkles," she muttered.
"I'm not talking — I'm warning. Let me guess: Weasley threw a fit, Potter brooded, and the Weaslette made jokes to soften the mood."
Hermione scowled. "They're convinced you've put me under the Imperius Curse."
He clicked his tongue. "The only logical explanation, clearly."
"Is it really so difficult to believe you've changed?" Hermione asked, and she meant it genuinely.
Draco looked at her for a moment. Then he stood without a word, crossed to a cabinet, and paused — the room obliging him at once. He reached in and produced a bottle of white wine.
Hermione watched him. "What are you doing?"
"Getting you a drink," Draco said, pulling the cork with a satisfying pop. "You look like you need one." He brought it back to where they were sitting.
She watched as the room conjured two wine glasses with no fuss. "You're serious?"
He gave her a look of mild exasperation. "It's wine, Granger. I'm not spiking it. You've already slept in the same bed as me — this is hardly more alarming."
"Next to you. By accident," Hermione corrected, her face pinking.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"And it won't be happening again," she added, taking the glass.
"Your head will hit those sheets and you'll be asleep in five minutes, same as last time," Draco said, tilting his glass.
"I will not!" she said hotly.
Draco shrugged. "I'm being realistic. You were practically unconscious before you'd even settled."
Hermione opened her mouth, closed it again. He was right and she knew it.
She took a sip of wine instead.
Draco's mouth curved. "My stamina, you said?"
She choked. "That is not what I—"
"Not interested?" His eyes were dancing now, just a little too pleased.
His smirk faltered for the briefest moment before he smoothed it back over. "Right. Not your type."
Hermione blinked. She'd almost missed it — the tiny flicker before he recovered. She filed it away without knowing quite why.
"And what exactly do you know about my type?" she asked, tipping her head slightly.
Draco raised an eyebrow as though rising to a challenge. "Let's see — Weasley. Vaisey. Krum. Shall I spell out the pattern? Dense, slow, entirely incapable of keeping up with you."
Hermione scoffed. "Krum is not slow. He's a world-class athlete."
"Knowing how to fly a broomstick doesn't make him sharp."
"You're a Quidditch player."
"I also read, Granger. You of all people should appreciate that. Which is more than can be said for anyone else on that list."
"Krum was thoughtful and kind."
"Right, probably writes love poetry in his spare time. You have a remarkable talent for falling for idiots."
"Oh, and who should I be interested in instead?"
Draco leaned back. "Someone with a bit of wit. Intelligence. Genuine charm." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Someone like—"
"Don't," Hermione cut in, pointing a warning finger at him. The suggestion was easier to laugh off in company; when it was just the two of them and she was already thinking about it—
"I'm simply observing that I have considerably more in common with you than any of them."
She tilted her head, studying him. "That's a bold claim."
"Is it?" He leaned forward slightly. "We both like to read. We both value intelligence. We both enjoy a good argument." He kept that last thought to himself.
"And we're here to fix a cabinet," Hermione said firmly, finishing her wine and standing up.
Draco sighed, draining his own glass. "You're no fun."
Hermione looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He shrugged, getting to his feet.
"I am plenty of fun!" she argued, lifting her wand to cast a series of Wakefulness Charms — just in case.
"Is that why you're casting Wakefulness Charms?" he said simply, flipping to a new page in his notes.
Hermione froze mid-cast. She set her wand down with deliberate calm. "It's a precaution."
He hummed. "You're planning to fall asleep again."
"I am not. It's simply in case I—"
"Fall asleep?"
She pressed her lips together. She was done responding. That would teach him.
They returned to work in silence, testing spells in sequence. The quiet between them was charged but not uncomfortable — the occasional murmur of an incantation, the soft crackle of the fire, Hermione moving around the cabinet while Draco tracked her from across the room.
"You've gone very quiet," Draco said eventually.
"I'm working," Hermione replied. "Isn't that why we're here?"
He shrugged. "I thought we were friends."
She shot him a sharp look. "If you don't stop, I'll leave you to finish this on your own."
Draco said nothing. He just smiled to himself, knowing perfectly well she wouldn't.