Against the Odds

Chapter 6

The dynamic between them had shifted in a way neither could have anticipated. The passion they had shared the previous evening was not just about desire; it had created a sense of intimacy and warmth that Hermione never thought she could feel with Draco. It was almost surreal, but there was a comfort in it now—a deep, unspoken connection that made being with him feel natural, like a piece of a puzzle that had fallen into place.

When Hermione wandered into the kitchen the next morning, she was greeted by the sight of Draco standing over the stove, attempting to make pancakes. The smell of slightly charred batter filled the air, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped what could only be described as misshapen, burned pancakes.

"Good morning," she greeted softly, leaning against the doorframe with a playful smile.

Draco glanced over his shoulder, his expression sheepish as he gestured toward the blackened pancakes. "Don't look at those. They're just... prototypes."

Hermione laughed softly, walking closer to him. "Prototypes, huh?" She raised an eyebrow, eyeing the stack of inedible pancakes. "Do you need help?"

He immediately shook his head, though there was a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "No, no, I'm perfectly capable," he said, though the burnt evidence in front of them suggested otherwise.

She crossed her arms, her smile widening as she teased, "Is this the first time you've ever done anything without the house-elves' help?"

His silence was answer enough, and after a beat, he shrugged, a half-smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps."

Hermione stepped behind him, her body close to his as she reached around him to take his hands, her touch guiding his fingers around the spatula. "Here, let me help," she whispered softly. She could feel the tension in his posture slowly ease as she pressed against his back, her fingers gently guiding him through the process.

He tensed for a brief second, not because he was uncomfortable, but because the proximity of her body to his sent a surge of warmth coursing through him. It was strange, but in the best way possible—like this newfound closeness between them had extended beyond just the night before. He felt her guiding his hands, her touch confident and patient, and it struck him how different things were now. There was no coldness, no awkwardness—just a quiet, shared moment.

"I didn't think you could be so domestic," she teased, her voice laced with amusement as she helped him flip the next pancake. This one came out golden, not perfect, but better than the others.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," he muttered under his breath, a slight flush creeping up his neck. "Besides, I'm trying to be... useful. I figured you'd appreciate breakfast."

Her heart softened at his words. This was new for him, and she knew he was making an effort for her. Draco Malfoy, making breakfast? The thought alone would have seemed absurd not too long ago. Yet, here he was, trying—and that meant more to her than she could express.

She leaned her head against his back for a moment, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of the room—burnt pancakes and all. "I do appreciate it," she whispered, her voice sincere. "More than you know."

Draco paused, glancing down at the pancake in the pan, but his focus wasn't on the food anymore. It was on her, on the way her hands had stilled against his, the way her presence had started to feel like home. He hadn't expected this—any of it.

Turning slightly, he released the spatula and gently placed his hand over hers, letting his thumb brush against her skin. "I'm glad you stayed," he said quietly, his voice filled with a softness that surprised even him. "I don't deserve it, but I'm glad you did."