Aftermath

S E V E N

The days that followed felt like walking through a strange, uncharted territory. It was a subtle shift in their interactions—one that neither of them fully acknowledged, but both seemed to feel. The air between Hermione and Draco was no longer thick with hostility, but neither was it entirely comfortable. It was a truce, fragile and tentative, yet it held.

Draco's presence in the library had become a regular fixture. The moments that had once been fraught with tension were now filled with an unexpected calm. He sat across from her without a word, his attention wandering as Hermione buried herself in her work, the quiet hum of the library a backdrop to their shared space. It wasn't a peaceful quiet, but one that hummed with the unspoken understanding that they weren't here to fight anymore, at least not right now.

And so they went on, exchanging only the barest of pleasantries. A nod in the hallways, the briefest of glances. It wasn't much, but it was something—a crack in the ice.

One evening, as the shadows grew longer and the candlelight flickered, Draco spoke up, breaking the rhythm of their silence.

"You know, Granger," he said with that same lazy drawl, eyeing the stack of notes in front of her, "you could probably write a book with all of this. A riveting bedtime read for all the future generations of Gryffindors."

Hermione looked up, an amused snort escaping her lips. "Right, because a Slytherin like you would be caught dead reading anything scholarly," she shot back with a teasing edge.

Draco raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Shouldn't you be napping by the fire in your common room, or...polishing your broomstick, or whatever it is you do when you're not here?"

Hermione smirked, shaking her head. "Please, you're way too proud of your broomstick," she quipped, raising an eyebrow in mock disapproval. "You probably have first-years do all the work for you."

His grin widened, and she couldn't help but notice how easy it was becoming to banter with him. In another life, this might have been the start of something else entirely—two people, no longer bound by the weight of old grudges, finding comfort in simple exchanges. But she wasn't ready to entertain such thoughts—not when everything about him, from his arrogant smirk to the way he moved with quiet confidence, still grated against her sense of right and wrong.

Still, she couldn't deny that there was something oddly...pleasant about their new dynamic. He wasn't the Draco Malfoy she'd once known—the boy who had tormented her, who had belittled her every chance he got. No, this version was quieter, less brash. And, dare she admit it, almost tolerable.

She caught herself watching him more often than she ever intended to. The way his sharp features caught the light, the way he moved with an easy grace that belied his often sharp tongue—it all registered in her mind, though she quickly shoved the thoughts aside. It wasn't right. She couldn't be thinking about Draco Malfoy like this, not when they were still bound by the years of animosity that had marked their relationship.

One evening, as the two of them sat in the library, Hermione's gaze drifted to him, her eyes tracing the sharp lines of his face. His hair, usually so perfectly in place, had fallen over his forehead in a way that seemed to soften his usually hard expression. The flickering candlelight caught his profile just right, casting shadows on his fair skin, and for the briefest of moments, he seemed...different.

Her heart skipped, and she couldn't quite place the feeling that surged within her. Her thoughts scrambled to make sense of it, but they couldn't. Draco Malfoy wasn't someone she should be thinking about in this way.

But there was no denying that the longer she watched him, the more her perception of him seemed to shift. The scathing remarks and disdain were still there, but in between, there were moments that confused her, made her question the things she had believed so steadfastly.

She quickly looked away, focusing on the parchment before her as though it held the answers to everything she couldn't understand. She muttered a distracted, "Um," hoping it would break the awkwardness in the air.

But Draco, lost in his thoughts, didn't seem to notice her discomfort. And for that, Hermione was both relieved and irritated. She wanted to pretend it hadn't happened—that she hadn't allowed herself to notice Draco Malfoy like this. But the image of him, bathed in candlelight, stayed with her, lingering even as the evening wore on.

Later that night, as she lay in bed, her mind replayed the quiet moments in the library over and over again. What had come over her? Why was she noticing things about him now? Her thoughts spiraled, the questions unanswered.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. And that realization, in the silence of her room, left her both unsettled and intrigued.

Her chest tightened, and she whispered to herself in the darkness, "What are you doing, Hermione?" The quiet of the room seemed to amplify her racing pulse, the heat of her cheeks an undeniable reminder of the feelings she had no business entertaining.

In the quiet of the night, Draco's face, his voice, his eyes—all of it lingered in her mind. And for the first time, Hermione wondered if the person she thought she knew so well was, in fact, someone entirely different.