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Chapter Text

Art by the wildly talented Ectoheart

Hermione cursed beneath her breath as her heel found yet another divot in the pavement, sending her ankle in a direction she could confidently say it was not meant to go. “You want to look professional on your first day, don’t you, Hermione,” she muttered to herself, mocking the lecture she’d received from Ginny over the weekend. She’d looked perfectly professional in the sensible flats she’d worn every day at St. Mungo’s for the past decade, offensively lime robes aside. And yet, somehow, she found herself in front of the gleaming glass doors of the Derbyshire Dragons’ arena, tugging at the narrow navy skirt she’d let Ginny talk her into in a desperate attempt to lower the hem another few inches. As if her colleagues needed to be able to see her knees for her to be a professional.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door into the dimly lit atrium. She paused for a moment as the cool air washed over her, gaze drifting over the abstract sculptures of Quidditch players suspended from the soaring ceiling, until the rapid click of heels against tile interrupted her. She groaned inwardly as a petite young witch hurried from the far end of the hall towards her. Ginny had been right about the heels, damn it.

“Miss Granger!” The woman greeted with a broad smile, extending her hand. “I’m Daisy Fortnum, Director of Public Relations. We’re so thrilled to have you here with the Dragons!”

Hermione returned the handshake with a smile, forcing away the unease borne by her first day in the face of the positively effervescent greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fortnum.”

The witch waved her off. “Oh, call me Daisy, please. The team here is all so close, we don’t stand on formality. Do you mind if we walk and talk? It’s offseason, but things do still get busy around here.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked off, leaving Hermione to trot after her even as the blonde woman continued talking. “Normally our owner would be here to greet you, he’s very hands-on with everything involving the team, you know, but he’s on a recruiting trip at the moment, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for now!”

With a bright smile, she pushed through an inconspicuous side door and they moved from the gleaming surfaces of the atrium into a much more utilitarian hallway, the concrete walls a pale grey streaked with the green and gold team colours of the Dragons. “This is our back of house,” Daisy explained cheerfully, seemingly uncaring that Hermione hadn’t managed to form a full sentence since she’d arrived. “You’ll be spending most of your time here, with the players, but I’m sure we could get you an office in the front as well, if you’d prefer.”

Here she paused, glancing back expectantly, and Hermione realised with a start that she was actually expecting an answer. “No, no, I’m sure what you already have will be perfect, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Daisy let out a trilling laugh. “No, no trouble at all. And you may change your mind, just let me know.” She winked at Hermione as if she were in on a joke before she continued. “But let’s get you all settled in before we worry about that!”

Fourteen turns and several doors later and Hermione was both thoroughly lost and had learned more about the Dragons than even her own research, and Harry and Ron’s inexhaustible font of Quidditch conversation, could have taught her. Finally, Daisy slowed her rapid pace in front of yet another door, this one painted with a vivid mural of the team’s mascot (a Hebridean Black, Ron had eagerly informed her).

“First things first, we’ll have you meet the team, they’ll just have finished practice, so now’s as good a time as any, and then I’ll show you your office.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled. “I thought I might get to know the facilities a bit first…” Her voice trailed off, suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of coming face to face with nearly a dozen professional Quidditch players, but Daisy waved her off with a smile.

“Trial by fire, right?” she said, her voice chipper in a way Hermione was beginning to suspect was her natural default, before she pushed the door open, calling out, “Look decent, gentlemen, new healer onboard!”

Hermione winced. It was too late to protest now, she supposed. Pulling herself straight and giving one last tug at her hem, she tilted her chin up with a confidence she wasn’t sure she truly felt, and followed the bubbly PR manager into the room.

It was all she could do to keep from wrinkling her nose as a wave of humid air washed over her, the room smelling unmistakably of sweat and male. Instead, she pasted on the professional half-smile that she’d found, over several years of research, projected the perfect blend of authority and reassurance her patients craved. Not that these men were anything like the patients she’d seen at St. Mungo’s. No, these were athletes at the peak of their form. She’d reviewed their files, of course, making careful note of past injuries that might cause problems down the line, or of ongoing physical therapies, but there was no denying that they were a remarkably healthy bunch. Remarkably healthy, and the perfect subjects for her neuromuscular regeneration research. Which is exactly what they’d lured her here with.

To be sure, the salary was nice enough, and, according to Ron and Harry, the box seats were practically the coup of the century, but it was the promise of a blank cheque to fund her research, as long as it benefitted the team, that had really brought her here. “…a warm Dragons welcome to Healer Granger!” A light smattering of applause, paired with a few whoops and—Merlin, was that a whistle?—brought Hermione back from her wanderings and she flushed slightly to realise that every eye in the room was trained on her as Daisy faced her with an expectant smile.

“Oh, erm,” she stammered slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to working with you, and getting to know you.” She glanced around the room, careful not to linger too long on any one player, particularly the ones who were only half-dressed. “I’ll be reaching out to you each individually to schedule baseline physicals and update your records, but of course, I’m available as a resource at any time.” She paused as the men continued to stare expectantly at her before finishing lamely. “Thank you.”

Daisy’s smile fell slightly for a half-second—Hermione thought she might not have given the rousing motivational speech the other witch had been hoping for—but then it was back in full force as she clapped her hands together. “Right then, we’ll leave you lot to it then. But remember, team photos are this Friday, please let’s make sure we’re well-groomed and ready!”

“She’s talking to you, Nils!” Someone called out, and laughter rippled through the room as a heavily bearded man grunted and threw up a two-fingered salute. Daisy merely continued to smile as if their antics were nothing out of the ordinary as she shepherded Hermione from the room.

“The team really is wonderful,” she said as they continued to walk, as if she were confiding a secret. “You know athletes, they’re all just a bunch of overgrown boys more often than not.” Hermione nodded along as if it was a well-known fact, resisting the urge to point out the fact that until now, the majority of her patients had been wizards well past their prime who visited the hospital more for the company than anything else. But calling attention to her lack of qualifications perhaps wasn’t the best thing to do on her first day, so instead she kept her mouth shut and trailed after Daisy as she chattered on. “They’ll be respectful, there’s no need to worry about that, but they do all think they’re a bit invincible. You may have to chase after them a bit to get anything done, and give up on any hope of them sitting still, they practically drove our last Healer mad. But I’m sure you’ll be fine!” she said brightly as she pulled open the door to the arena, bright sunlight flooding the hall. “Now, tell me, who’s your favourite Quidditch player?”

Theo turned back to his locker as Daisy trotted from the room, the team’s newest healer in tow. Granger had grown up since he’d seen her last. Of course, they’d been sixteen and it had been a decade, so it wasn’t as if he shouldn’t have expected it. And yet.

She’d looked far more polished than he could ever recall seeing her, though the way her once-frizzy curls fought to escape whatever twist she’d forced them into hinted at the girl he’d once known. And Merlin, the way that skirt had hugged her hips…

A raucous burst of laughter broke him from lingering thoughts of Hermione Granger and the glimpse he’d got of her arse as she left, or the way her gaze had slid right over him, as if they were total strangers. 

“Right, mate?” His neighbour jostled against his arm and Theo looked over, a grin at the ready. 

“Cor, you know I tune your yapping out, right?” 

The rookie chaser flipped him the bird as a chuckle rippled through the other men still standing about.

“What are you on about now? Still convinced you’ve finally got fans?” 

“Nah,” the younger man waved off the jibe. “Granger. She’s a right piece, yeah? I’d let her play healer any time.” A jeering laugh went up from the handful of teammates clustered around them and, never one to give up an audience, Corbyn kept on. “I’ll let her get real… physical with me, if you know what I mean.” His words were paired with a crude gesture, as if any of them could have missed his meaning. 

“Oi,” Theo thwacked the other man’s arm, hard enough to bruise, if he was lucky. As if he hadn’t just been thinking the same, but saying it out loud was another matter. “Save that shit for the Snitch snatch, Corbyn. Granger is one of the team now, she deserves your respect. Not to mention, she’ll hex your balls off if you try anything, and I guarantee she won’t feel bad about it.”

Corbyn scowled, rubbing at his arm, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut as he yanked his bag from his locker and skulked away with muttered goodbyes. 

“You know her?” Nilsson asked, carefully wrapping tape around the handle of his bat. 

Theo shrugged as he pulled a shirt over his head. “Who doesn’t know the Golden Girl? Couldn’t open a paper without seeing her face for a few years there.” Nilsson grunted in agreement. “But yeah, we were in school together. Scary brilliant witch, Merlin only knows how she ended up stuck here with this lot.” 

Nilsson snorted. “Maybe she’ll actually keep us in one piece this season.” 

Theo grinned. They could only hope. They would have made the finals last year if their last healer had managed to keep the team healthy for more than a week or two at a time. Incompetent wanker. 

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Theo waved goodbye to Nilsson. The man would sit around for hours caring for his equipment, there was no point in waiting around for him. 

“Which witch is it tonight?” the beater glanced up, a wry grin nearly hidden by his overgrown beard. 

Theo shrugged. He’d planned to meet a pretty little blonde thing at the bar for a drink, she’d been panting after him for weeks but…

“Nah, not tonight. Team captain should say hello to the new healer, make her feel welcome, right? Plus, I’ve got to schedule my physical before the rookie can.” Theo threw a wink over his shoulder as he strode from the locker room, ignoring the wadded up jersey his friend chucked past his ear with a laugh. 

It took them nearly another two hours to conclude an alarmingly thorough tour of the facilities before Daisy deposited Hermione in a small, windowless office that had apparently belonged to the team’s last healer and swanned off to whatever was next on her seemingly endless agenda with a cheerful goodbye.

Hermione sank into the chair behind the desk with a grateful sigh, before she frowned and shifted, and then shifted again. Well then, the first order of business would be finding a halfway decent chair before she permanently damaged her back hunching over the desk. Not that she expected she’d be spending much time in her office, not between managing the players and her research. The final portion of their tour, after hours spent trudging up and down the stands and across the pitch, had been of the actual medical facilities. She’d been pleasantly surprised when they’d reached the sleekly modern clinic, though she couldn’t say why, it wasn’t as if the rest of the arena were particularly shabby. She could have entertained herself for hours poking about the small, but efficient, space, but Daisy had hurried her along, promising she could come back later before she'd promptly dumped her in the office along with an alarmingly tall stack of human resources paperwork to be filled out.

She'd thought about turning around and going back, but now that she was sitting, her feet were beginning to throb, a painful reminder of the miles she’d walked in those thrice-bedamned heels. She was halfway tempted to transfigure them into a sensible pair of flats, but seeing as they were technically Ginny’s she suspected the other witch might not appreciate the change. So instead, with a glance to ensure the hallway beyond her office was still empty, she gingerly toed off first one shoe, and then the other, wincing as her stocking pulled at a newly-formed blister. Whispering a curse beneath her breath, she bent to probe at the raw spot, silently promising her feet she’d never abuse them so again. If she were being honest, Daisy’s tour had been through, and interesting, but the high point had been when she had mentioned in passing that no one would bat an eye if she were to dress more comfortably.

“The front office is a bit more formal, it’s all optics for the investors,” she explained, not out of breath in the slightest after they’d climbed a half dozen flights of stairs to reach the owners’ box while Hermione panted along behind her. “And of course we dress for game days. But when you’re with the players, or at the clinic? Wear whatever you’d like, I’m sure you’d rather be comfortable. Though for your sake, I hope lime isn’t the standard for all healers, Merlin, what an awful colour!”

Rolling down her stocking, she let out a hiss of pain as she pulled her foot free, reaching blindly towards her desk and fumbling for her wand.

“Fancy seeing you here, Granger,” a voice drawled from the doorway.

She startled, nearly banging her head on the underside of the desk and dropping her stocking as she straightened to face the wizard who stood there, lounging comfortably against the doorframe. With a muffled squeak, she shifted to tuck her bare feet beneath the desk, hoping he hadn’t seen. The man was tall, his dark hair wet like he’d just come from the shower. Between that, and the grey sweatpants he wore paired with a t-shirt emblazoned with the Dragons’ logo, she could only assume he was one of the players she’d just met.

Her brow furrowed slightly. Daisy had made it clear enough that the team wasn’t much for formalities, but this was… alarmingly casual, nonetheless. “Hello,” she greeted politely. “How can I help you…?” She let her voice trail off pointedly in hopes the man might introduce himself. She’d studied the player files, of course, but her focus had been on their medical histories, rather than on putting names with faces.

He laughed, and her eyes widened. “You don’t remember me, do you? You wound me, Granger,” he claimed dramatically, pressing his hand over his heart with a grin.

She couldn’t help the way the corner of her mouth ticked upwards at his antics, and from the way his smile widened, he didn’t miss it, taking it as an invitation to take a few steps into the room. “We were in school together,” he explained. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised Gryffindor’s Golden Girl wouldn’t remember me.” He laughed again as her nose wrinkled at the nickname. “We’ll strike that then. You prefer Healer Granger now anyhow, I’d imagine? Theo Nott.”

Hermione blinked at the abruptness of the introduction as he extended his hand and she reflexively took it, the shake lasting a half second too long as his warm hand wrapped about hers. She flushed and yanked her hand back, combing through her memories, trying to place the man in front of her. The name rang the faintest of bells. “Nott...You were in Slytherin, right? You did that project on Sumerian arithmancy for Professor Vector’s class our sixth year?”

His lips twisted in a wry grin. “Of course you’d remember that. I’d expect you understood it better than I did. Most people remember my Quidditch over my book reports.”

“Oh!” Hermione said, blushing again. “Of course, you’re on the team, you must be very good, I’m sure,” she rambled as she pulled open her desk drawer, rifling through the folders she’d shoved haphazardly in there until her fingers landed on the one labelled with his name. “You’re a…” She flipped the folder open. “A Chaser, of course.”

There was a sparkle in his dark eyes as she looked back up at him. “For the sake of my incredibly delicate ego, let’s pretend you didn’t have to look that up, yeah?”

Hermione couldn’t help but return his smile this time. “Look what up?” she asked, nearly cringing when she heard how flirtatious the words sounded as they came from her lips. You’re here to work, not flirt with handsome Quidditch players, she reminded herself sternly. Even if the way he stood with his hands tucked in his pockets did make the sleeves of his shirt strain against his biceps. Looking back down at his file, she smoothed her expression into one of polite interest as she scanned over his information once more. “It’s good that you dropped by,” she said as she picked up a quill, her tone carefully business-like. “We can go ahead and schedule your physical, unless you have anything immediate you’d like to address now?”

She glanced up again, her quill poised to take down any notes. His lips twitched, and she sighed inwardly, bracing herself for the inevitable suggestive comment about getting physical, but much to her surprise, he simply shrugged. “I’m free any day after practice. We usually end around 11,” he supplied helpfully when her brow furrowed. “You say the word and I’m here. Or wherever you want me.”

Hermione’s gaze darted sharply to him at the words, but his expression was innocent, sincere, even. Her gaze narrowed for a half-beat, but he didn’t flinch. Stop reading into things, Hermione, she chided herself. Really, it was embarrassing she’d even thought he might be implying something different. Even if he were flirting, he seemed the sort that might charm anything on two legs, given the opportunity.

Putting all thoughts of flirting to the side, she found the Dragons-branded daybook Daisy had handed over as part of her welcome packet, and flipped it open to the blank week before her. She wished she’d had a chance to actually review her calendar before she got started with this, but judging by what Daisy had said, getting the players to actually commit to an appointment with a healer would be like corralling an angry horde of Cornish pixies regardless of her plans, far be it from her to miss the opportunity now. “Tomorrow at half-past one, then, if that will work for you?”

He shrugged a single shoulder. “Perfect.”

Hermione nodded, jotting the appointment down. She thought that would be the end of it, surely he had other things to do with his day, but the man just stood there, slouched against the wall, and smiling at her like some sort of lunatic.

“Erm, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Mister Nott.”

“Theo,” he corrected automatically, thankfully seeming to take her hint as he pushed away from the wall.

She pressed her lips together in a tight smile. “Theo, then.” He nodded decisively, as if that was all he’d been waiting for, before he turned to leave.

“Pleasure to see you again, Healer Granger,” he said, tossing one last grin over his shoulder as he strode from the room.

Theo paused at the open door, studying the witch with her head bent close over a book, bedraggled quill taking frantic notes. For a moment, they could have been back at Hogwarts, Granger inevitably tucked into a distant corner of the library, her hair frizzing in a halo about her head as she pored through books no one had asked her to read. Not that he paid particular attention, but she’d been hard to miss when she all but put down roots among the shelves. 

Her quill paused for a beat, and he rapped at the doorframe. Her head jerked up, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh,” she said, sounding less enthused than he may have hoped, a small frown wrinkling her brow as she checked the clock. 

“I’m early, I know,” Theo answered her question with a charming smile, as if she’d spoken it out loud. She blinked at him in response, and he shifted on his feet, something he may have called nerves rippling through him.

But that was ridiculous.

He was Theodore Nott. Member of the Sacred 28, fabulously wealthy, beloved professional athlete with a different girl on his arm each month. No, Theo Nott was not the sort to be nervous just because a schoolyard crush had come crashing back into his life. Even if her bright eyes did warm as he smiled, the corner of her rosy lips ticking upwards as she carefully marked her place in her book and closed it. 

“No, no, it’s not a problem,” she assured him, pushing her notes to the side. “We can get started early. I’ll just meet you in the clinic in a few minutes?” 

She was halfway up from her desk when he shook his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No, I mean, I don’t want to interrupt your day, I just—” Wanted to see if you were wearing another one of those skirts today. 

He bit back the words with a sheepish grin, pink dotting his cheeks as he raised the bag he held. “I didn’t see you come through the canteen, and thought you might not have known about lunch. It’s Greek day, which I promise you is better than the deep fried stuff cook likes to put out most days.” Sure, he’d meant for it to be his lunch, but it was as good an excuse as anything. Last thing he wanted to do was have the new healer reporting he’d lost his mind entirely. Which she certainly would if he blurted out the truth, that it drove him just the tiniest bit mad she didn’t seem to be nearly as intrigued by his presence as he was by hers. 

The witch’s brow furrowed and he tensed. Fuck, was she upset he’d interrupted her reading?

His cheeks reddened beneath the tan brought about by hours in the Quidditch arena. “I mean if you’ve already eaten, I’ll just- Or maybe you don’t like Greek? I should have asked.”

Her expression cleared, as if he’d startled her from a particularly deep thought. “Oh, no! That’s actually… very kind of you, thank you.” She stammered out the last bit, her cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink. He took her words as an invitation, pacing forward to deposit the bag on her desk, his wry grin firmly back in place as her gaze tracked him across the room.

“Enjoy, then. I’ll see you in—” He glanced at the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes. Don’t be late, Granger.” With that, he winked and strode from the room, leaving her gaping after him. No, no reason to be nervous at all. 

As it turned out, it was exactly as hard to track down the players to schedule their physicals as Daisy had predicted it might be. By the time she’d spent her entire week quite literally chasing after Quidditch players—did they all have to be so damn tall?—trying to get them to commit to spending twenty minutes in her clinic, Hermione was halfway convinced that Theo had been sent as a ploy to lure her in with a false sense of confidence. A theory that was only reinforced by the fact that, despite his unexpected gift of lunch, she hadn’t seen him more than in passing since she’d concluded a quick examination and declared him to be in perfect health.

It was more likely that he’d simply tried, and failed, to set a good example as the team’s captain, but still. It was suspicious. 

She’d managed to snag the majority of the players eventually, though it was all a bit of a blur after a while. She would need to double check her list. There had been a few that were more difficult than others, but word had spread quick enough that none of them would be flying if she didn’t sign off on their physical, and that had put an end to most of their protests.

Should she have run that plan by the coach first? Likely. But the three times she’d tried to stop by his office to introduce herself, he’d either already been with a player or, in the case of her third visit, brushed her off as if she were a gnat in his ear. So as far as she was concerned, he could deal with the repercussions the same as his players. Frowning, she flipped through her stack of medical files, cross checking it against the team roster that had been in her onboarding paperwork. Twenty-one out of twenty-two players. And she knew exactly who her problem child was.

She fought back a sigh as she rocked back in her new chair, twirling her quill idly. The team’s Bulgarian keeper had been avoiding her all week, doing a phenomenal job of pretending he didn’t speak English every time she’d managed to get anywhere near him. Which he may very well have got away with, if she hadn’t spent that summer with Viktor in Bulgaria a few years back, and known enough Bulgarian to determine that his muttered excuses weren’t at all complimentary, regardless of the guileless expression on his face.

Well, let him say whatever he liked. If he was going to be an arse about her being a woman, well, then she’d be an arse about him flying in their first exhibition game next weekend.

It was more satisfying than she’d admit, transfiguring her paperweight into a stamp and stamping a glaring red “GROUNDED” across the front of his file before she added it neatly to the top of the pile and sent the whole lot off to be filed with the team’s head coach. And now she’d wait.

It took less time than she’d expected, what little she’d learned of the team’s coach made it seem as if he wasn’t the sort to put much due in paperwork, but barely fifteen minutes passed before her door flew open and in barged a ruddy-faced man clad in a Dragons tracksuit, fury written across his expression.

“Coach Witten,” Hermione exclaimed pleasantly, folding her hands serenely atop her desk, as if she hadn’t expected just this reaction. “I’ve been hoping to have the opportunity to introduce myself. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to drop by.”

The man glowered at her as he stomped across the room, slamming a folder down on her desk so hard it rattled, a familiar red stamp shining up at her. “What the hell is this?” he nearly shouted.

Hermione blinked placidly up at him. “I’m sorry, were my notes not clear?”

His face grew impossibly red, his eyes bulging cartoonishly as he jammed a meaty finger down atop the folder. “I don’t know who you think you are, swanning in here and thinking you have a say with my players, but—”

It was here that Hermione decided this particular display of testosterone had gone on quite long enough, and she cut him off. “I’m the team’s new Healer, Coach Witten, as I’m sure you well know, despite your best efforts to pretend otherwise. And I’m terribly sorry if it’s inconvenient for you, but Mister Kolov was warned that if he didn’t attend his physical, he wouldn’t be permitted to fly, same as all your other players. Rules are put in place for a reason, as I’m sure you know.”

“I don’t give a flying Firebolt about your damn rules,” he spat, spittle flying from his lips as he snatched the folder back from her desk, waving it about dramatically. “If you think I’m going to bench one of my best damn players because your feelings are hurt he didn’t come panting after you—” Her shock must have shown on her face because he sneered. “You think I don’t know about Hermione Granger? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry knows you go scrambling after every famous bloke you can find. So you’re bored with Krum and Potter and thought you’d work your way through my team?”

Theo ambled down the hallway, paper cup clutched in one hand, the other shoved deep in his pocket. It had been nearly a week since he’d last spoken to the witch, plenty of time for whatever passing interest he’d felt to dissipate. She was someone new, that was all, a change of pace. Any number of witches were ready and waiting for him, he’d move on to the next soon enough. But it didn’t help that Granger swanned through the halls day in and day out, that arse of hers carefully hidden beneath sensible dark robes, her wand more often than not stabbed through her curls to hold them off her neck and irritation written across her face as she hurried after his teammates. Who could blame him for being fascinated by the witch? 

Yes, he could have tried harder to rally his team to take part in her scheduled physicals, he’d heard the rumblings of them conspiring to avoid it. But he’d rather they haze her a bit, like they would any other new team member, rather than staring after her with the flickers of lust he’d seen on her first day. Or at least, he thought that was the preferred option, except he suspected she might be avoiding him because of it, and that simply wouldn’t do. 

So tea it was, a peace offering of sorts. Short of intentionally hurling himself off his broom, he couldn’t see much other way to capture her attention. 

As he drew nearer to her office, the sound of raised voices echoed down the hall. 

He rounded the corner just in time to catch the last of Witten’s words as he loomed over the witch’s desk. “ …you’d work your way through my team?”

Fury flashed across Hermione’s face, and, before he could think better of it, he knocked at the door frame, interrupting before she could speak, or worse, hex the coach across the room. “Everything alright here?” 

Her gaze spun to him, fire bright in her eyes and, for a moment, he regretted putting himself in the direct path of that wrath. “Everything is fine, Nott,” she bit out, her voice tight as she tapped one finger against the scarred wood of her desk. “Coach Witten was just leaving.” 

The coach swelled as if he were going to continue, but Hermione cut him off. “You need to leave,” she ordered, her tone unwaveringly certain. He sneered at her and Theo opened his mouth to interrupt, but she continued, her voice hard. “I quite frankly don’t give a damn how you feel about me or my personal life. It’s my responsibility to ensure that your best damn players don’t suffer from entirely preventable injuries before the season even starts. And if you have a problem with that, you can take it up with the front office.”

Theo’s eyes widened at the vitriol in her tone, before the meaning of her words had even truly sunken in. A muscle twitched in the coach’s jaw, his face an unfortunate shade of red, meaty hands balled at his side. 

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” Theo pushed off the doorframe and took a few steps into the room, positioning himself between his coach and their healer before they could come to blows. 

Hermione’s gaze sharpened as she bit out an explanation. “Coach Witten seems to disagree with my plan of care, particularly when it comes to your Keeper.”

Theo’s brow furrowed as he glanced between the two. “Kolov? What’s wrong with him?” 

“Nothing,” Witten spat. “She just doesn’t want him to fly.” He leaned around Theo to glower at Hermione. “You can kiss the Dragons goodbye. You think you’re just going to waltz in here and ruin this team’s chances at the Cup? Fucking—” 

“Hey,” Theo cut the man’s words with a sharp slash of his hand. Fucking hell, what had he walked into? “I’m sure Healer Granger has her reasons, right?” He glanced over his shoulder at the witch, whose eyes narrowed even as she gave a terse nod. 

“Right then, I’m sure we can sort this all out easy enough. We’ll just go to Malfoy and—” 

“To who?” The witch cut him off, her chair screeching angrily across the floor as she pushed to her feet. Theo looked back at her, surprised by the sudden anger written in her tone as she rounded her desk, but Witten answered before he could. 

“We’ll damn well take it to Malfoy like I said,” the coach sneered. “He’ll put a stop to this, owner’s not gonna like it if his team doesn’t make money because some jumped up healer thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”

Hermione simply stared at him, mouth agape, and a look of mean victory spread over Coach Witten’s expression, no doubt convinced his threat had been enough to silence her. 

For a moment, Theo was certain he was going to watch the witch violate several international statutes as her fingers twitched near the pocket he suspected housed her wand. But instead, she remained silent for a moment, fire snapping in her gaze until finally, deceptively calm, “Go right ahead, I’ll look forward to our discussion.”

Coach Witten glared, clearly furious he hadn’t won the last word, but he simply scoffed, turned his back to her, and stomped from her office. Hermione stared after him for a moment before turning slowly to face Theo, shaking hands fisted at her side. 

“Fucking Malfoy?” she shrieked. 

Chapter Text

Hermione’s shoes beat a rapid clip against the gleaming tile as she stormed down the breezeway to the front office that soared above the pitch. “Is he in?” she demanded of the young witch seated at the front desk. Her eyes widened.

“He is, Healer Granger,” she answered, “but I’m afraid he’s in a meeting, I can make you an appointment-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hermione interrupted, rounding the desk and all but storming past the receptionist, straight for the closed door behind her. The same door that hid the room had been mentioned as “the owner’s office” half a dozen times since she’d first arrived. And not once, not a single thrice-bedamned time, had anyone thought to mention that owner by name.

Malfoy.

The younger, she’d assume, since the elder was, to her knowledge, still enjoying Azkaban’s hospitality. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him in the decade since they’d left school. The Wizarding world was, after all, a small one, and he’d been, at worst, alarmingly cordial the handful of times they’d crossed paths. But still.

That blond prick. No doubt he’d hired her for some nefarious reason, and even less doubt that he’d intentionally hid his identity from her. Was this all some sort of elaborate practical joke? Corporate warfare to derail her research before it could truly begin?

Growling beneath her breath, she pushed the door open, ignoring the receptionist’s increasingly frantic calls of “Miss Granger!” as she let it slam closed behind her. The loud sound echoed through the room, which had fallen suddenly and starkly silent upon her entrance. She stuttered to an abrupt stop, nearly stumbling over her own feet as both occupants turned their gaze towards her.

“Healer Granger, you’re just in time,” the man behind the desk said smoothly as he stood, seemingly unfazed by her sudden entrance. Hermione blinked. It was him. Draco Malfoy. He looked much the same as he had when they were in school, if not for the glasses perched on his nose. She chose to ignore the way his shoulders were broader, straining against the crisp fold of his robes, and his hair longer, artfully tousled. He was the same blond prick she’d expected, nothing more.

“Coach Witten and I were just discussing the results of your latest…roster adjustments,” he continued. A snort came from where the coach stood, glowering at her. Smoke practically poured from his ears as Hermione barely hazarded him a glance, her gaze held instead by Malfoy’s cool, unmoving expression. “Have a seat, please. I’m sure we can sort this out simply enough.”

Her spine stiffened. If the prat thought she would risk a player’s health just because he told her to—

She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but Witten beat her to it. “She’s a stubborn bint, Malfoy,” he said, his tone jovial as if he were gossiping to a friend at the pub. “Reckon you’ll put her in her place, though.”

Hermione let out a disbelieving squeak of outrage, hands fisting unconsciously at her sides. She was of half a mind to put him in his place herself, but the way Malfoy’s face hardened suddenly gave her pause.

“That’s quite enough, Coach Witten,” he said. Gone was the polite corporate guise, replaced by a haughty, familiar sneer. “You’ve made your position abundantly clear. Rest assured, I’ll be discussing it with Healer Granger.” The bulky man opened his mouth to argue, but Malfoy cut him off, his tone entirely blasé. “That will be all, Witten.”

The man’s face turned an unfortunate shade of puce. He really should consider having his cardiac health examined, but it wasn’t as if she’d be mentioning that. He pressed his lips tight and jerked his head in acknowledgement before stomping from the room. Hermione’s gaze flicked from the man still behind the desk, to where the coach had vanished, and back, her eyes wide. The blond man let out a heavy sigh, shuffling a handful of papers across his desk before looking back up at her.

“Sit, please,” he gestured to the pair of chairs across from his desk, as if she hadn’t just barged her way in unannounced. She hesitated, and he raised a brow pointedly. Straightening her spine, she paced across the room and gingerly perched on the edge of the plush leather seat, fully expecting to be read the riot act, if he didn’t just outright fire her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you last week,” he said conversationally.

Hermione’s brows flew up, a bark of disbelieving laughter escaping her throat as incredulity took the place of her unease. “You’re sorry?” she asked, her voice taking on a shrill edge. “I’m sure you are. Sorry you couldn’t hide away here in your office longer, keep whatever ridiculous game this is going on longer?”

That damn brow arched again as he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk and idly twirling a quill between his fingers. “Tell me, Healer Granger,” he said, his tone silky. “What game is it, exactly, that I’m playing?”

Hermione gaped at him. “You brought me here under… under false pretences,” she sputtered, leaping from her chair to pace from one side of the office to the other, lest she simply give into the urge to hex his eyebrows off instead.

“False pretences?” He raised a brow, leaning back in his chair and crossing one long leg across the other.

“Yes,” she accused, pausing mid-stride. “Do you think I didn’t double check my employment paperwork the moment that…that man dropped your name? I can assure you, the words ‘Draco Malfoy’ were nowhere to be found. Almost like you were hiding something.”

His brow furrowed for a moment before his expression cleared, his confusion replaced by a smirk. “Sounds to me, Healer Granger, that you failed to do any research before you took this job,” he tutted.

She visibly bristled. “Of course I did,” she sputtered. She continued as if she were reciting from a book. “The Derbyshire Dragons were acquired by Hyperion Enterprises three years ago for 16.25 million galleons. Not a single mention of the Malfoy name. ”

With a beleaguered sigh, the man pulled open a desk drawer and produced a small card, holding it out to her. Hermione hesitated, and he twitched it impatiently in her direction before she finally took it. The cream-coloured vellum was heavy in her hand, and small, neatly printed letters read,

Draco Malfoy, Esq.

CEO, Hyperion Enterprises

“Oh.” She said, nonplussed, letting her hand fall to her lap.

“Oh indeed,” he remarked, leaning back in his seat, fingers beating a slow tattoo against his sleek glass desk. “Now that we’ve established you don’t, in fact, do your research, should I be concerned about the very large check I just wrote for that state-of-the-art research equipment?” She bristled, her mouth opened to protest. Of course she’d done her research, it wasn’t her fault he was hiding behind a corporation and—

The corner of his mouth twitched upward and her mouth snapped shut again. She blinked.

He was joking. Draco Malfoy was joking with her. Draco Malfoy was her boss and now he was joking with her.

“I—” She hesitated. He was right, damn it all. How could she have missed that? Straightening her spine, she adopted a careful, measured tone. “My apologies, Mister Malfoy,” she said stiffly. “I’m very grateful for the Dragons’ generosity, of course, and look forward to working with the team.”

He—did he just roll his eyes at her? “Merlin, Granger, you should have gone into politics with that stick up your arse.” Her gaze sharpened, as if she should be surprised to find he was still an arsehole, but he continued before she could snipe something back. “No one is going to take away your precious research funding just because Kolov would rather face an actual dragon than a healer.” He pulled a familiar-looking folder across his desk, flipping it open and scanning it idly.

“I’m not letting him fly without a physical,” Hermione said stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest.

He glanced up with a distracted hum. “Oh, I wasn’t going to ask you to.” He peered at her over the top of his glasses. “I pay him too much money to risk him being out with injury.”

“But—I—Coach Witten said—” she stammered, cheeks colouring.

Malfoy sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Marcus Witten is an absolute bellend. He’s, unfortunately, also a brilliant coach who will get us to the championship with any luck this year. But we’re not going to do that without a healthy team, so whether he likes it or not, that’s where you come in.”

He glanced up as if waiting for some sort of acknowledgement, so she gave a brief nod. Seemingly satisfied, he looked back down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. Hermione blinked. Was that… was that her grant proposal? A pit formed in the bottom of her stomach.

“Is this the part where you tell me you’re pulling my funding if I don’t let your players fly?” she asked dully.

He glanced up, his brow furrowed. “Why in Merlin’s name would I ever do that?” She blinked at him. “Merlin, Granger, you used to listen better. I just told you I need the team healthy, why would I hire a brilliant healer just to bench her? And perhaps more importantly, if this research does anything near what you say it will, I want the Dragons’ name on it before you get famous and run off with it somewhere else.” She flushed at the unexpected, perhaps unintended, compliment. Until he continued. “Famous for something other than being Potter’s actually intelligent friend, at least.”

She frowned. There it was. As if he would have simply said something nice.

“Kolov will be in your office before our game if I have to drag him there myself. Witten will have to deal with it. But Granger?” She met his gaze once more. “I can’t have my staff in here whining to me about their coworkers, I’m not a bloody babysitter. So make it work, yeah?”

She bristled. She’d been perfectly pleasant to the coach, it was him who’d decided they weren’t going to work well together, that Malfoy would even suggest she—

“Merlin, Granger,” he interrupted her internal rant. “Looking like you want to hex your boss to bits is poor form, you know?” She glared, but he continued with a sigh. “I know he’s an arse, all I’m asking is that you try to make it work. Call it a favour, if that assuages your moral outrage.”

Her scowl deepened, and he shrugged, heading off any argument she may have been able to form. “Can’t like everyone you work with, Granger.”

She flinched inwardly. No doubt that was a particular jab at her, she couldn’t imagine she was his first choice of colleague. And the feeling was mutual, of course. But if he could be pleasant, she could surely do the same, and so she pasted a polite smile across her face. “Of course, Mister Malfoy,” she said, doing her best to not grit her teeth as she spoke. “I’m sure Coach Witten and I will get on perfectly, just a speed bump. And I appreciate your assistance with Mister Kolov as well. Is there anything else I can help with?”

He studied her for a long moment, his grey eyes inscrutable, until she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. “Right then,” he said, clearly unimpressed by her speech. “That will be all for now.” She nodded and turned for the door, only for his voice to stop her again. “Oh, Granger?”

She turned.

“The team, they usually go out to a pub up the road the night before the first exhibition game, for bonding or some nonsense. Just a casual thing. Might be a good idea for you to go, get to know them a bit?”

“Oh,” she said, nonplussed. “Um, yes, thank you. I’ll do that. Erm… have a good day, Malfoy.”

Draco didn’t bother to look up as a heavy body thudded into the chair opposite his, the scratching of his quill filling the silence until the other man broke, finally speaking. 

"Pretty sure our new healer hates you, mate.”

Draco levelled a glare at his friend. “You fucking think, Nott?” It wasn’t as if he and Granger had a particularly illustrious history, and damn near everyone knew it. He didn’t need the captain of his team strolling into his office just to tell him as much.

Gods above, was it too much to ask that Granger become less of a swot at some point in the last decade? Admittedly, she’d been right. Coach Witten was a colossal arse on a good day, and she had every right to ground one of their players, no matter how inconvenient it may be. But Merlin, the witch hadn’t even made it a week before she kicked over a doxy nest and set his perfectly ordered team on-end. 

“Why’d you hire her, then?” Theo asked, plucking the Snitch paperweight from Draco’s desk and idly rolling it in one hand. 

“She’s the best in her field,” Draco responded absently, still focused on the rows of numbers in front of him. Damn salary caps were going to be the death of him. “And I could afford her.” 

Theo hummed in acknowledgement, tossing the Snitch from hand to hand as he kicked one oversized foot up to rest on Draco’s desk. “Funny how she didn’t seem to know it you was you who hired her then, yeah?”

Draco growled beneath his breath, setting his quill carefully to the side as he scowled at his friend. 

“Did you actually need something, Nott, or just feel the urge to be an annoying shit and I looked like a decent victim?” 

Theo shrugged. “Mostly just wanted to see if your office was still in one piece, Granger looked like she was about to burn it all down when she heard your name.”

Draco snorted. The witch had charged into his office with all the fury of an avenging angel, Theo’s fears likely weren’t terribly far from the truth. 

“She’s not the first witch to show up wanting my bollocks in a vise, she won’t be the last. A simple miscommunication is all.” He smirked inwardly. The gobsmacked look on Granger’s face when she’d realised she’d missed that small, crucial detail had been the stuff of fantasies. One he’d relive, and likely bring up, every time she adopted that unbearably prissy, know-it-all look in preparation of a lecture. And she would, she wouldn’t be able to help it, not if she was anything at all like they’d been in school. He’d seen a glimpse of it today, her lips pursed tight as her eyes flashed, hands propped on shapely hips as if she would scold him any moment—It was at that moment that Theo’s words sunk in, and Draco rocked back in his seat, raising his brows at the other man. 

“Nott,” he said mildly. “Who exactly mentioned my name to Granger?”

Colour rose in Theo’s cheeks. 

“Well you didn’t bloody well tell me it was a secret!” he protested. “You’re famous as hell, mate, really, how was I meant to know she had no clue you owned the team?” 

Draco arched a brow. His friend was right, but he’d be damned if he would admit that aloud.  

He hadn’t set out to keep it a secret from Granger, not really, it had been in the paperwork after all, but Merlin had that first week of her presence been a peaceful one, before he’d been presented as a target for any annoyance that may come her way. He’d be lucky to get a single day of quiet now, especially as his head coach had all but painted a target on her back.

“Maybe just keep your mouth shut next time, yeah? The witch is bloody terrifying, but there are better ways to get rid of me, if that’s what you’re after.” 

Theo grinned. “I personally find her delightful, don’t see what all the fuss is about.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. No doubt the witch’s curves, and the way her curls were constantly escaping, all but begging a man to sort them out, had more than a little to do with his friend’s current opinion of the witch. The man had a type. “You would. But Nott?” His tone took on an edge of warning and his friend arched a dark brow in response. “I didn’t hire her to entertain the team, she’s a colleague. I expect you’ll tell them as much?” 

Theo shrugged one shoulder, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his expression. “Nothing to worry about there.” 

Draco allowed his skepticism to show on his face. His players were all decent enough, but not a single one of them would turn down the opportunity to impress a pretty witch. 

“The lads will let her be,” Theo assured. Draco raised a brow. “And you will too, I’m sure?” Theo simply grinned in response and Draco rolled his eyes, pointedly shoving Theo’s foot from his desk, letting it fall to the ground with a thud. “Don’t I pay you to play Quidditch? Or is the rest of the team just out there fucking around for fun?” He jerked his head towards the wall of windows behind him, where players in practice gear zipped past at lightning speed. 

The dark-haired man stood with a mocking salute, letting out a burst of laughter as Draco threw up a finger in response, and headed for the door. 

“Nott?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Send Kolov up as soon as practice is over, I need to have a word.” 

Fucking Malfoy, she thought as she sank back into the corner of the booth she’d claimed, both hands wrapped tightly around an untouched Butterbeer. Casual thing, her arse. She cringed as boisterous laughter rang out from the cluster of drunken Quidditch players at the next table over. She didn’t enjoy going out drinking with her friends, let alone a bunch of veritable strangers who clearly had no compunction over being hungover for their first exhibition match. Truly, she would rather be anywhere else.

She could have gone home and read any one of the half-dozen books waiting on her bedside table, but instead she was trapped here, with literally an entire Quidditch team between her and the door, and no sign of being able to escape any time soon. Not until Malfoy, or at least Coach Witten, showed up and saw she’d put in an appearance, made some sort of effort. But of course neither of them were to be seen, and so she waited.

Daisy had kept her company for a bit, her cheerful chatter filling the uncomfortable silence, but she’d vanished, ostensibly to visit the loo. That had been nearly twenty minutes ago and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t returning anytime soon. And it wasn’t as if she could simply join the players. They’d all been friendly enough, but the idea of being surrounded by drunk men who seemed to be doing nothing but telling jokes she wasn’t in on was quite simply her idea of hell. Not to mention that putting herself between the players and the bevy of women that had been lurking near their tables since they’d first arrived like so many wolves waiting to pick off the weakest prey seemed like a less than stellar bit of fun. So she’d simply do her best to blend in here in her corner. Not hiding, that would be admitting defeat. Just… blending.

As if her thoughts had summoned him to interrupt her plans, a heavy body thudded down in the seat next to her, broad shoulders crowding her further into her corner. “Granger,” Theo Nott greeted, clinking his glass against hers. “Having so much fun you simply can’t contain yourself, eh?”

She couldn’t help but return his smile, his boyish expression with that rakish curl falling over his forehead hard to resist even if he was interrupting the modicum of peace she’d been able to find. “Theo,” she greeted, tilting her glass slightly to return the clink. “Are you here with some new master plan to keep me from crossing things off my to-do list?”

A sheepish look crossed his face, and she grinned inwardly. If scheduling difficulties were the worst hazing the team had to offer, she supposed she couldn’t complain. When she’d started at Mungo’s, they’d sent her to the basement on a hunt for supplies that had resulted in her being trapped in a clever bit of spellwork with repeating hallways for nearly six hours.

“I’ll have you know that I had nothing to do with that, Granger.” He bumped her lightly with his muscled shoulder. “This team can make a menace of themselves without any extra help from me. But we’re a fun bunch, which you might know if you’d come sit with us a bit, instead of hiding over here.”

She flushed lightly. “No, no, I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.”

His eyes sparkled. “Yes, a pretty witch who has no choice but to keep up with us, truly a hardship for these blokes.” Her blush deepened and he laughed. “At least let me buy you a drink, then.”

She looked pointedly down at the drink still cupped between her hands, and he scoffed. “What are we, fourteen? Bartender keeps a forty-year-old bottle of Ogden’s tucked away just for the team. You’ve got to try it. It’s practically as smooth as I am.”

His grin turned rakish and she reluctantly returned his smile, even as she shook her head. “You all may be alright feeling like shit tomorrow, but I promise the last thing you want is a healer trying to mend broken bones with a hangover. Not if you want to keep your bones, at least.”

Theo waved her off. “We haven’t had a broken bone in—well, weeks, at least. But if you won’t let me buy you a drink now, let me take you out for one later.”

Hermione stiffened, her gaze darting away from his.

“You’re drunk, Nott.” She didn’t know what his play was this time, but it certainly wasn’t a game she had any interest in. Banter was fun enough, but she didn’t have any intention of being the butt of their latest joke.

An affronted noise came from beside her. “It takes far more than a few firewhiskies to get me too drunk to know what I’m saying to a beautiful woman, Hermione.”

“That’s very…kind, Theo,” Hermione picked her words carefully, her tone painfully polite as she focused intently on the frothy bubbles atop her butterbeer rather than daring a glance at the man next to her. “But I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. She doubted that fraternisation was encouraged among the team, but it was more an excuse than anything. Merlin only knew what the man had planned, but she didn’t intend to find out. Even if he was ridiculously charming. No doubt he had half a dozen witches tripping over themselves for a date with the famous Theodore Nott, Quidditch player. It wasn’t as if she were his only, or even his first, option.

Silence reigned for a moment, the leather of the booth creaking as he shifted next to her. Surely that had been enough to put him off, surely he’d wander back to his friends now, where they’d all have a good laugh about his little joke. But instead, he chuckled lightly. “You’ll have to come up with a better excuse than that, Healer Granger. ” Surprised, she darted a glance up at the man. The corner of his mouth quirked up and he pointed across the room to where—Merlin, was that Daisy in Nilsson’s lap?

“‘S long as it doesn’t interfere with the game, no one round here will bat an eye. Now why don’t you tell me why you really won’t let me take you out?” His voice softened, nearly inaudible below the hubbub of the pub. “If you don’t like me, you can just say so, you know.”

“No, no, it’s not that-” Hermione blurted before she could think better of it, her head whipping up to face him just in time to catch the flicker of mischief in his expression. She scowled. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just don’t have any interest in going out with you?”

He shrugged, sipping from his drink. “Not really, no.”

A burst of laughter escaped her lips before she clapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks pink as Theo’s grin widened. “See, you do like me. So, drinks? Next Friday?”

She opened her mouth to protest once more, but before she could get the words out, Theo had snatched the arm of a passing man, pulling him to a halt. “Malfoy,” he ordered. “Tell Granger she should go out for drinks with me.”

Hermione froze as the man’s grey eyes landed on her, his expression inscrutable. She’d been shocked to find him waiting at her office door when she’d arrived that morning, an unhappy Kolov in tow.

He’d said hardly a word to her, offering a simple good morning before waiting outside her office while the Bulgarian player submitted to her examination, and then wishing her a good day as she’d handed over Kolov’s folder, clearing him to fly. If Theo thought he was going to get support from a man who clearly would prefer she simply didn’t exist…

The other man glanced from her, to Theo, and back, his gaze narrowed. Hermione’s breath caught, waiting for him to say something nasty, no doubt he found the idea of her with one of his players laughable. But when he finally spoke- “Nott is a decent enough man,” he said consideringly. “You could do better though, Granger.”

An indignant squawk escaped Theo as she let out an involuntary bark of laughter, surprising all three of them.

“Don’t listen to him, Granger,” Theo nudged her again. “You’re way out of my league, but I’m an overachiever. And Malfoy here is a prat. ”

A roguish grin crossed Theo’s face as both she and Malfoy rolled their eyes, practically in unison. He was half-right. As if she hadn’t seen the tabloids, like she didn’t know Theo's last three girlfriends had been stunningly gorgeous witches, every one of them leggy and blond. Not that she'd looked him up after that first meeting in her office. She'd just...happened to notice, in the checkout line at the market.

“Far be it from me to keep you from making bad decisions,” Malfoy said, though she couldn’t say for sure who the statement was directed towards. “I need a drink, now, if you please.” Theo released his wrist with a grin, and they watched as the other man walked away, greeting a player here and there as he went, and looking far more relaxed than Hermione could ever recall seeing him.

A half-beat passed before Theo turned his attention back to Hermione, that increasingly familiar grin firmly in place. “One drink, that’s all, and then I’ll let you be. We’ll be colleagues. Unless you ask me nicely.”

Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh as he gave a playful waggle of his brows. “You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?”

He shrugged. “Probably not, no. Not if you’re going to be traipsing about the arena on game days wearing one of those tight little skirts again.”

Hermione coloured, making a firm mental note to wear full-length robes to tomorrow’s game and cursing Ginny for ever forcing that skirt on her to begin with. “Fine,” she said, annoyingly certain there was only one way to put an end to this. He was only flirting because she was new. No doubt he’d be bored with her soon enough, and then they could both move on, her with her research and him with his next conquest.

“One drink. Next Friday. And then that’s it, Nott.”

Draco leaned back against the bar, glass of Ogden’s in hand as he surveyed the pub, careful to keep his gaze away from the booth in the corner. He made it a point to come to these things, it was good for team morale or some other bullshit. But he’d much rather be back at his desk finishing his review of this season’s budget, or at least at home with one of the books he’d had delivered weeks ago and hadn’t once touched. But he could spend twenty minutes here, just long enough to have a drink, make small talk with the handful of players unafraid to approach him, and do his best to ignore the fact his best friend was chasing after the one witch he’d explicitly warned him away from. There was no doubt Theo was at least mildly interested in Granger, he wouldn’t be so dogged about it if he weren’t, but Draco had just as little doubt that Theo was doing it to fuck with him, just a bit. Not that it was working. 

Daisy dropped onto the stool next to his, tapping at the bar and greeting the bartender with a smile when he passed her another drink without a word. 

“She was a brilliant hire, the papers are absolutely eating her up.” 

“Who?” Draco asked absently, long fingers drumming idly against the scarred bar top. 

“The witch you haven’t stopped staring at since you got here.”

He cut a sharp glance at the witch, who beamed back at him with a beatific smile. “Don’t worry,” she chirped. “You pay me to notice that sort of thing. I’d imagine most anyone else won’t have seen a thing.” 

He scowled, the last thing he’d been doing was watching the witch. Why would he, unless he was looking to start another argument with her? He opened his mouth to tell Daisy as much, but she waved her hand impatiently to silence him. “I don’t blame you, of course, she’s fascinating, what with her history with Harry Potter and all.” 

“Bloody git,” Draco muttered beneath his breath, apparently not quietly enough, because Daisy’s expression brightened. 

“That’s right, you were in school with them! Maybe we could have a sit down with you and Healer Granger together, reminisce on school days gone by, old friendships made new now that you’re working together again, oh the press will eat that up, I’m sure—” 

“No,” Draco cut her off sharply. She flinched at his bark, her blue eyes flying wide, and he winced inwardly. He’d forgotten that the witch had been younger then, and a student at Beauxbatons, she wouldn’t have known… “No,” he repeated, his voice more collected, apologetic even. “I’m afraid, well, Granger—Healer Granger—and I… weren’t particularly close in school, there’s nothing of interest to relive there.” 

“Oh.” Daisy said, sounding put out. 

If only their public relations specialist knew. No doubt Granger would be more than thrilled to tell the world what a right shit he’d been to her in school, and the public would be more than thrilled to go right back to hating him after the years he'd spent trying to convince them otherwise. His gaze drifted unwillingly back to where the witch sat, her face lit up as she laughed, no doubt at some ribald joke Theo had told.

His dark head curved towards hers, their hands brushing against each other as they cozied into the booth. Charming fucker. He was of half a mind to walk back over there and remind Theo that he was supposed to keep his damn hands to himself. Only because if he charmed the witch only to add her to the trail of broken hearts that followed him around like so many sad puppies, he’d put their whole damn season at risk.

“Well,” Daisy continued, bringing him back to their conversation. “Do you think she’d at least sit down for a few interviews, just with the Daily and Witch Weekly? Oh! And maybe she can bring Mister Potter to a game? Not one against the Harpies, obviously, no, then the focus would be on his wife, but maybe one of the others?” 

She looked poised to continue chattering on, until Draco drained the rest of his drink in a single gulp, setting the glass down and pushing away from the bar as he scrubbed a hand across his face. 

“I don’t fucking know, Daisy,” he said on a heavy sigh, gesturing aimlessly towards the booth where he knew the witch still sat. “Ask her.” And with that, he walked away without another word. He was going to go read his fucking book.

Chapter Text

She’d meant it when she’d told Theo one drink. One drink, and then whatever curiosity drove him would be satisfied, and she could go back to not feeling the mortifying urge to blush every time he so much as glanced in her direction.

But that one drink, back at the same pub the team apparently frequented, had been interrupted nearly as soon as they sat down by a summons from one of the assistant coaches. Apparently, one of their rookie players had taken a nasty spill from his broom and broken more than a few bones. So Theo had called a do-over, and she’d agreed. Only because it was fair, of course, they hadn’t even had the chance to order their drinks. It wasn’t because she had any particular desire to actually go on this pseudo-date.

The second time Theo had attempted to collect on the promised drink, he’d arrived at her office to find her buried in a veritable mound of lab reports. A glitch in her copying charm had resulted in all of her results printing in triplicate, and all at once, leaving her with a thoroughly unorganised mess and the promise of a long night if she were ever going to get her office back in order. So she’d begged off, pleading to reschedule, once again.

By the third time she’d been forced to reschedule, this time because Ginny had shown up claiming they had plans she was fairly certain had been for the following week, she had a sneaking suspicion that Theo was behind the interruptions. It was simply too conveniently timed to be anything else. Although, she was fairly… reasonably… well, mostly certain at least, that he probably wasn’t directly responsible for Corbyn falling off his broom and shattering his femur.

The rest of it, though? That reeked of Slytherin machinations. If he didn’t want to go out with her, he could have just said so rather than going to such drastic measures. He could have spared them both the hassle.

Which was why she still wasn’t entirely certain how she had ended up here, nearly three weeks later, on her way to dinner with Theo Nott.

Or at least they had been on their way, until they’d wandered past Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and she recalled she still needed a gift for Ron and Padma’s eldest, Rose. She was turning eight, and all but worshipped at the feet of her favourite uncle, a fact Hermione privately thought was well-deserved retribution for all the nonsense Ron had put her through when they were in school. So they had stopped, just for a few minutes, so that Hermione could select something for the little girl. Which would have been well and good enough, if Theo hadn’t nearly immediately been bombarded by what could have only been described as a shrieking horde of fans upon setting foot in the shop.

Watching the throng of excited children—and their equally rabid mothers—surge about Theo had reminded her of the height of Harry’s so-called fame, days she was more than glad had passed. Knowing better than to try to intervene, she allowed herself to be shunted to the side by the pressing crowd, perusing the nearest wall of products idly until the furor subsided.

Though she had to admit as she watched from the corner of her eye, Theo handled it all with far more grace than Harry ever had, signing autographs and kissing metaphorical babies with the ease of long practice. At least, he had, until one overly zealous woman lunged, ostensibly for an autograph—though Hermione privately thought it had looked as if she were going for a bit more of a handful—sending them both crashing into a towering display of Pernicious Plushies, putting a prompt and odorous end to the crowd.

“Merlin, I knew anything involving the Weasleys was a bad idea.” Theo wrinkled his nose as he plucked the still-damp, entirely putrid front of his sweater away from his skin. Hermione hid a smile behind her hand, though he couldn’t help but notice she sidled a few inches further away from him as they strolled in tandem up the footpath lining Diagon Alley.

“I really am sorry,” she said. “I’m sure they didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Theo snorted. She may be sorry, but he had a very distinct suspicion that George Weasley had absolutely meant for the small stuffed toys to vomit noxious sludge all over their unsuspecting handlers, and that that particular display had been particularly precarious for exactly that reason. He’d liked this sweater, damn it all.

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” she continued. “With the fans?”

Theo paused, considering, before he shrugged casually. “Often enough, we’ve had a few good seasons recently. Makes for good press, means the team’s popular.” He offered a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry you got caught up in it though, I wasn’t thinking.” It happened often enough that he didn’t think anything of it, but he should have known from the way the witch shunned her “Golden Girl” nickname that she’d prefer to stay out of the public eye. 

Hermione shrugged off the apology, instead reaching for his elbow, one of the few spots not currently covered in toxic sludge, drawing him into an alcove out of the way of the busy footpath.

“Just hold still for a moment, would you?” she ordered, her brow furrowed as she stared at his sweater like it was a particularly challenging Arithmancy problem. 

“Why Granger,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving into a roguish smirk. “If you wanted to get me alone, you could have asked hours ago. I can think of better spots.”

She merely scowled at him as she caught at the hem of his sweater, holding it gingerly between two fingers, her pert nose wrinkling at the smell. Pulling her wand from her pocket, she mumbled Scourgify beneath her breath. A puff of purple, sparkling smoke rose from the stain, and when it cleared, there that damn stain remained, taunting them. And… Merlin, did it smell worse?

Theo raised a brow, one side of his mouth quirking upward. “Surely you don’t think I’m that terrible at spellwork, love?” He’d tried the very same spell, along with a handful of others, right up to considering vanishing the entire lot to put them all out of their misery. But while strolling the streets of Diagon Alley shirtless wouldn’t bother him a whit, he’d imagine the witch he was with might protest.

She flushed as if she, too, had been picturing him without a shirt, but somehow he doubted he was that lucky. “It wouldn’t be the first time George had warded the shop to make cleanup more difficult,” she explained with a casual shrug. Like he didn’t know if drove her mad she couldn’t simply fix the problem. She tucked her wand away and took a few careful steps back to at least get upwind of the smell. “I thought it might be at least worth a try now that we’ve left, before we give up for the evening.”

Theo’s brows flew up, his expression best described as wounded, as Hermione immediately regretted the question. “Who said anything about giving up?” he asked, reaching out and grabbing for her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “We’re having this date, Granger, you’ll have to do worse than that to get rid of me.”

“Theo,” she protested, stumbling after him as he all but towed her down the walk, doing her best to ignore the way his warm fingers wove through hers, broom calluses rough against her palm. “We can’t go out, not like this, we can just reschedule—”

He stopped abruptly and she nearly collided with him, her chin tilting up to meet his gaze as he glowered down at her. “Granger.” He said, his dark eyes intent on hers, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week. We’re going on this date. If you don’t want to, tell me now, and I’ll leave you alone. But you’re lovely, and deserve a nice dinner, and I’d like to be the one to take you. Please?”

His low voice, coupled with the rough drag of his thumb over the back of her hand, sent an unconscious shiver down her spine as she blinked up at him. “I…okay,” she said faintly. “But your shirt…”

He shrugged. “I live just up the way. I’ll pop in, change, and we’ll be on our way. But this is going to be a proper date, because if you think I’m giving up the chance to kiss you at the end of the night, you’re not nearly as bright as everyone says.”

His words broke Hermione from the fog she’d found herself in, ensnared by his gaze, and she stiffened, pulling her hands from his. If this had all been some sort of ploy on his part…

“Merlin, sweetheart, always assuming the worst,” he teased, clearly reading her thoughts plain as day. He caught her hand up again, lacing his fingers tightly through hers as if it offended him she’d ever let him go to begin with. “I may occasionally be a bit mad, but I promise I could think of a million ways to convince a witch to come home with me before purposefully coating myself in sludge. This sweater was a favourite of mine, you know.”

She eyed him skeptically, and he gave her hand a gentle tug. “C’mon, Granger, give me ten minutes and then we’ll be off. It’s right around the corner, we won’t even be late for our reservation.” A wicked grin flickered across his face. “Or you can just go ahead and kiss me now, if you’d like, get it over with.” He tugged her dangerously close to his chest, and the sludge still lingering there, and she wrenched away with a squeal, glaring up at the man as he laughed.

“You’re an idiot, Theodore Nott,” she said with a put-upon sigh as she fell into step next to him, taking his hand once again when he extended it. “Wait,” she pulled him to a stop again, again producing her wand and deftly casting a Bubble-Head Charm over first him, then herself.

“You really do reek,” she said apologetically, her lips curving as he laughed.

He hadn’t been lying, his home wasn’t more than five minutes away, tucked back on a quiet, tree-lined street just two blocks off Diagon Alley. Hermione stopped at the wrought-iron gate, staring up at the Georgian terrace.

“This is where you live?” she asked flatly.

Theo looked up at the house with her, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “Yes? Is there something wrong with it?”

She glanced at him, and then back to the towering home, carefully manicured ivy creeping artfully over the pale grey stone. The house might as well scream I have more money than god and I’m not afraid to spend it. As if she needed yet another reminder that they lived painfully different lives.

She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “Of course it is,” before pasting a small smile across her face. “No, no, it’s lovely,” she assured him. “I’ll just wait for you here, then?”

His brow furrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can wait inside. The house loves invited guests, I promise.”

Hermione arched a brow at that, silently wondering what the house may do to uninvited guests even as she shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine, you’ll only be a moment, right? And it’s such a lovely evening.”

Theo raised his brows, looking pointedly up at the sky, where roiling clouds gathered and, as if on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance. Her cheeks pinkened and he silently, pointedly, opened the gate, waiting until she preceded him up the walk.

“Make yourself at home,” he invited as they walked down the entry hall, past a number of closed doors, and into a kitchen that was nearly the size of her flat. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

He disappeared through another doorway and Hermione stood awkwardly in the middle of the room for a long moment. Make herself at home, in the palatial home of a famous Quidditch player. Right. As one does.

She glanced about the room for a moment, half-expecting an ancestral portrait to start shrieking about her muggleborn presence, before moving to gingerly perch on one of the stools that lined the black marble countertop. It was a surprise to find such a modern kitchen in a clearly historic home, particularly one that belonged to a family like the Notts. She knew little about them, other than that Nott Senior had been a Death Eater, and died in the final battle so many years ago, but she would have expected something more like Grimmauld Place, full of ancestral relics collecting dust, rather than the clean lines and high ceilings of the home she’d found herself in.

She couldn’t cook to save her life, and frankly she couldn’t imagine Theo could either, but even still she had to admire the beautiful kitchen, the space done entirely in smooth greys and blacks, and dominated by a six-burner range she thought may cost more than a car.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned, a surprised greeting on her lips, that hadn’t taken nearly as long as she’d expected. She froze, her lips halfway to a smile, her words forgotten. A tall man stood silhouetted in the doorway, grey joggers slung low across his hips, dark swirls of ink curving up his bare chest and down his left arm. That was most certainly not Theo.

A half-beat passed before Draco nodded a greeting. “Granger,” he said as he crossed the kitchen without another glance in her direction.

Fucking Theo. It was bad enough he was taking the witch on a date, a fact he’d only mentioned in passing on his way out the door, but now the witch was in his house. Theo Nott didn’t date, and he damn well didn’t bring witches back to their house. No, that was how women got ideas, ideas neither he nor Theo had any intention of indulging. But now Hermione fucking Granger was in his kitchen, staring at him like he’d suddenly turned purple and started spouting sonnets. This was his house, damn it all, he wasn’t going to put on a shirt just to avoid offending her overly-moral sensibilities.

Scowling, he yanked open the fridge, a ridiculous bit of Muggle innovation he’d never admit to appreciating, and pulled out a bottle before turning back to the witch whose gaze was all but burning into his back. She blinked owlishly as he twisted the top from the glass bottle with ease, her cheeks turning a fetching shade of pink as he gulped down the chilled water, her gaze lingering somewhere below his face. He was of half a mind to point it out, if only to see exactly how red her face could turn if she were caught ogling her mortal enemy, but instead he set his bottle down with an audible clink, visibly startling her from whatever thought she’d been wrapped up in. 

Granger blinked, and blinked again, flushing darker. “I…” she stammered. “I mean, hello, Malfoy. I… What are you doing here?”

He arched a single brow. “I thought I might ask you the same,” he said mildly. “Seeing as I live here.”

“I… You…” She blinked again. Merlin, did the witch have something in her eye? “But Theo?”

“Lives here too,” Draco said, as if that weren’t obvious. “Surely you’ve heard of flatmates before, Granger?”

She stared, nonplussed. “Can you really call it that when a home has what, six bedrooms?”

“Eight,” Draco corrected as he turned back to the refrigerator, this time opening the freezer and rummaging through the stacks of frozen meals Theo insisted on keeping about. Because Merlin forbid they hire a house-elf like normal wizards. “And mansionmates just sounds pretentious.”

The witch let out a soft puff of laughter, more to herself than anything. He could practically feel her rolling her eyes.

He continued as if she hadn’t made a sound. “You’re here with Theo, I’m assuming?”

She nodded stiffly. “Yes, we’re going out to dinner, he just needed a few minutes.”

Draco hummed in acknowledgement. “I thought we established you could do better, Granger?” he asked as he turned, ice pack in hand.

Granger flushed, blissfully at a loss for words as he pulled the towel from where it was draped around his neck, deftly wrapping it around the ice pack as he toed out the stool opposite her and sat. One wanted to be comfortable when tormenting a witch, after all.

“He had a massive crush on you in school, you know, before everything,” Draco said, as casually as if they were discussing the weather, taking another sip of the cool water. He likely should have offered her a drink as well, his mother would be appalled.

She blinked. “Who did?”

Merlin help him, had she always been this insufferable to hold a conversation with? Always with the obvious questions. 

“Theo,” he confirmed. “Absolutely mad for you after you showed up at the Yule Ball with Krum, had to listen to him whinge about it the rest of the year.” Fuck, Theo had mooned over the witch all the way through their sixth year. He’d thought his friend might all but fall over himself in an effort to partner with her in N.E.W.T.-level potions. Not that Draco was going to allow that, without Theo he would have gotten stuck with someone like Potter or worse, he shuddered inwardly, Weasley. No, he wasn’t going to suffer through that just so his friend could get his dick wet. At least this time Theo was chasing after the witch without her accompanying entourage of idiots.

Granger stared at him for a moment, he could practically see her mind spinning as she struggled to figure out how she was meant to respond to that particular bit of information. But instead of getting flustered like he might have hoped or, even better, jabbing back with some contrived insult, she changed the subject.

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

He glanced down, as if surprised to find the ice pack where he’d placed it against his shoulder. He hesitated, a vivid image of the ragged purple scars that painted his skin beneath the black ink coming to mind. 

“Old Quidditch injury, it’s nothing,” he lied. The witch’s gaze sharpened, as if she could sense the untruth. A flicker of something he couldn’t quite name crossed her amber gaze as she studied him, staring at his shoulder as if she could see through his skin to the scarred muscle below. For Merlin’s sake, had no one ever taught the witch it was rude to stare? He opened his mouth to tell her as much, to tell her… something. Anything that would get her to stop studying him like that, with such… Fuck, he’d almost label it care if he were anyone else. 

Clearing his throat gruffly, he shifted the ice to better cover his shoulder. “It’s nothing, Granger.” 

Her gaze lingered for a moment, the smallest of wrinkles between her brow, and for a moment he was certain she would press further. Instead, footsteps sounded, and she tore her gaze away, a smile curving her lips as she turned to greet his friend. Right. Theo. The wizard she was actually here to see. Maybe now she’d leave him be. 

A Quidditch injury. If he were a Muggle, or she hadn’t spent years studying the human body beyond what even magic could fix, she might believe that. But any healer could have fixed a simple Quidditch injury. And there was no doubt the Malfoys had access to more than the average healer, they had a wing named after them at Mungo’s, for Merlin’s sake. So what had caused the flash of pain she’d seen cross his face when he shrugged? She hadn’t noticed it at first, the way he seemed to almost reflexively hold that arm stiff, distracted instead by the expanse of his bare chest. Because of the shock, of course. But now it was all she could see, and her fingers practically itched with the urge to draw closer and feel. 

Lost in her own thoughts, she almost didn’t hear the man pointedly clearing his throat, until his hand shifted, moving the towel-covered ice to block her view. “It’s nothing, Granger,” he said firmly, clearly telling her to leave it be. The man had hired her to be a healer, for Merlin’s sake, he couldn’t expect her to just ignore—

A warm hand curved over her shoulder, interrupting her thoughts, and Hermione tore her gaze away from Draco, instead turning to smile at Theo. She looked up at him just in time to catch a flash of something unidentifiable in his expression before it was replaced by his usual easy grin. “Whatever he’s telling you, it’s all lies, love,” he joked, earning a chuckle from Hermione even as Malfoy raised a brow at them both.

Hermione flushed at the pointed look, recalling exactly what Draco had told her. She was of half a mind to repeat it to Theo. They could all have a nice laugh over it, and she wouldn’t have to think about it again. But instead, she simply returned his smile. “Are you ready?”

She swivelled on the stool, only to find that he’d been standing much closer than she thought, his long legs practically pressed against hers now that she’d turned. His hair was damp from a shower, curls tousled, and a warm, spicy scent had replaced the noxious odour from the plushies. Before she could think better of it, she leaned in ever so slightly to breathe him in, hoping to catch that scent again before she caught herself and blushed. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he hadn’t missed the movement, but mercifully, he didn’t comment on it, simply extending a hand and helping her from the stool with a wicked grin.

“Where are you taking her?” Malfoy asked from behind her, interrupting the charged silence that had settled between them.

Theo looked up, looking over her head toward his friend. “Pansy’s.” There was an odd note of challenge in his response, as if he expected his friend to disagree with his choice, but Draco merely huffed something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Good to know you’re not afraid of a little competition, Nott.”

Theo let out a bark of laughter as Hermione glanced from him to Malfoy, puzzled. Theo glanced down at her, humour still sparkling in his gaze. “It’s nothing,” he said in response to her unasked question. “Parkinson is just… Well, you’ll see, I suppose.”

Pansy’s, as it turned out, referred to L’Atelier, arguably the most exclusive restaurant in Diagon Alley. A restaurant she knew for a fact had a six-month waiting list for a reservation, if you were lucky, and a dress code that far surpassed the jeans and sweater she’d chosen for their outing. Because Theo Nott was an idiot.

“Theo,” she hissed as he led her towards the inconspicuous restaurant, identified only by the swooping, red “A” on the sign overhead. “We can’t eat here.”

He paused, concern furrowing his brow as he looked down at her. “Do you not like French food?”

It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes as she pulled him to the side, stepping into an alley to avoid pedestrians for the second time that night.

“No, French food is lovely.”

She’d been dying to eat here, actually, but the idea of dropping a few hundred Galleons on dinner quite frankly made her ill.

“But Theo, this is not a casual dinner spot!” Her voice rose until it nearly cracked at the end, and the wizard simply stared down at her like she’d lost her mind. “I don’t even want to know how you got a reservation, but it’s not as if we can just waltz in there like this, and—”

Her increasingly hysterical argument was interrupted by the door near the rear of the alley swinging open, a petite woman dressed in chef’s blacks stepping out, hands propped on her hips. “Nott!” she barked when she spotted them, as if they’d been expected. “Are you eating, or have I spent hours slaving over this stupid meal for nothing?”

Theo raised a brow at Hermione as if to say “See?” before yelling back. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Pans. Tell Granger she’s beautiful and you’re not going to kick her out.”

Hermione flushed red, fingers twitching with the urge to slap her hand over Theo’s mouth to get him to shut up for once in his damn life, but she settled for pointedly sinking her nails into the hand clasped around hers instead. “I’m sorry,” she called to the vaguely familiar woman. “We didn’t mean to disrupt your evening, don’t mind us. I’m sure you’re busy.”

The woman rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. “Of course I’m busy,” she muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. “Because apparently now I’m a personal caterer.”

She stomped down the alley, stopping a few feet away and surveying Hermione from head to toe, red lips pursed and her gaze dark in a way that made Hermione feel uncomfortably like she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

“For Merlin’s sake,” she said after an uncomfortably long pause. “You’re very fuckable, Granger, is that what you want to hear? Now you have exactly fifty-seven seconds to get your arse inside and sit down or I can’t be responsible for the state of your Coquilles St-Jacques.”

With that, she spun on her heel, ignoring Hermione’s mortified squeak and Theo’s bark of laughter as she strode back down the alley. She paused at the door, levelling one last glare at the pair of them, before letting the door slam shut behind her.

Hermione simply gaped up at a still-laughing Theo, who placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding her down the alley towards the same door the chef had vanished through. “Don’t mind Pans,” he said, clearly fond of the other woman. “She’s terrifying, I know, but she’ll only bite if you ask." He paused, his gaze flicking over her. "I’ll give her one thing, though.” Hermione looked up at him questioningly as he pulled the door open, ushering her into the bustle of a busy kitchen. “You are incredibly fuckable, love.”

“Pansy’s, really?” Draco drawled from the dimly lit drawing room as Theo closed the door, toeing his shoes off and draping his scarf haphazardly over the bannister. He ambled towards the open door, leaning up against the door frame. 

His friend lounged on the sofa, a single lamp casting a soft glow across the room, no doubt just enough light for him to read whatever ridiculously dull tome he’d chosen to embroil himself in tonight. Merlin, how anyone could read so much about medieval Wizarding politics, he’d never know. 

“Was fucking Windsor Castle too casual?” 

Theo grinned. “You know if you were nicer to Pansy, she’d probably cook for you when you asked, too.”

Draco scowled, whipping a pillow from behind him and hurling it across the room with unerring accuracy. “Just because I didn’t like the fucking shrimp one time, she can’t fucking blackball me forever.” 

Theo caught it with a laugh, lobbing it back across the room to land somewhere near Draco’s feet. “Mate, this is Pansy Parkinson we’re talking about, you’re lucky she let you keep your balls. And I’ll have you know Granger was fucking delighted. Merlin, mate, I nearly embarrassed myself when she tried dessert.” The witch had let out the tiniest little moan at the first spoonful of raspberry mousse, her face nearly immediately colouring to match the dessert when she realised what she’d done, while Theo fought to ignore the way his dick had gone hard as a post at the sound. What he wouldn’t give to be the one to draw that noise from her lips… 

“Just seems like a lot of effort to go through for a shag,” the blonde wizard shrugged, picking up the book that lay open across his chest. 

Theo tensed, a ball forming in his chest at his friend’s casual observation. He was right, Theo hadn’t put this much effort into wooing a witch in, well, perhaps ever. Hadn’t needed to. 

But when it came to Granger—no, she’d asked him over dinner to call her Hermione, a small, guileless smile transforming her face and calling forth emotions he hardly dared put a name to. When it came to Hermione…

Theo shrugged, his dark eyes catching on his friend's as he admitted the truth. “I like her, mate. I’m not going to fuck her just because I can, she… She deserves better than that, and you and I both know it.” Merlin when had he turned into a sap? He hadn’t got this wrapped in a witch since… Well, since fourth year. Malfoy was never going to let him hear the end of it. 

Draco dropped his book, pushing up to his elbows, stormy gaze narrowed as he studied his friend for a long moment. 

Theo shifted uncomfortably beneath the probing gaze and, for a moment, he considered brushing it all off as a joke, letting it be a laugh between friends, but Draco had known him longer than practically anyone. Anyone living, at least. He’d see the lie in a heartbeat. So instead, Theo remained silent, waiting for whatever scathing judgment his friend chose to level at the witch who’d captured his attention. Not that Draco’s disapproval would stop him, but it would certainly make things a bit harder. 

But instead, the other man simply nodded, expression inscrutable. “Alright then,” he said, as he dropped his head back to the arm of the sofa and again picked up his book. “She left her bag from Weasley’s place behind, in the kitchen. You’ll make sure it gets back to her, yeah?” 

Theo watched his friend for a moment, feeling as if he’d missed something in that moment of silence, an unspoken message he couldn’t quite interpret, but his friend merely turned a page, clearly done with the conversation. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll take it to her tomorrow. G’night, Draco.” 

Chapter Text

Hermione rapped her knuckles hard against the doorframe of the locker room. “Nott,” she barked, raising her voice to be heard over the chatter of the team. “I need to see you in the clinic.” A collective ‘ooooh’ went up from the players still lounging about the room, and it was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Overgrown children, all of them.

Theo looked up when she called his name, flashing a boyish grin when he spied her. Hermione stood, arms crossed as she waited for him to wrap up whatever chat he’d been having with Nilsson, ignoring the flush that fought to rise in her cheeks as he stretched his arms over his head, worn tee rising to reveal a flash of tanned, flat stomach. She waited just long enough to ensure he was coming before she spun, stalking down the hall towards her office without bothering to check if he was behind her. She did not have time built into her schedule for this today. This team needed a damn babysitter more than they needed a healer. She reached the clinic, perching on the edge of the exam table moments before his long legs carried him into the room behind her.

“Hermione,” he greeted with that damnable grin. “Miss me already?”

A flutter rose in her stomach as his eyes trailed appreciatively over her. Ignoring the feeling and smoothing her expression into a blank mask, she returned the look, her gaze clinical as she studied his form. “You were favouring your left side in practice today,” she said abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

He started at her accusatory words, brow furrowing for half a second before his expression cleared, his grin spreading even wider. Propping one shoulder against the door frame, he was nearly purring as he asked, “You’ve been watching me, love?”

This time Hermione didn’t fight the urge to roll her eyes. “I am still the team healer,” she said pointedly. “It’s quite literally my job to notice that sort of thing. Since apparently none of you will bring it to my attention on your own. Now, would you like to tell me how you’ve managed to hurt yourself, or are you going to make me figure it out?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “If I tell you it’s nothing, would you believe me?”

“It depends,” Hermione said, turning to the counter and busying herself straightening supplies that were already perfectly in order. “Do you want to play in this weekend’s game?” It wasn’t an idle threat. If he thought he could woo her out of benching him if he were injured, then—

A soft chuckle came from behind her, interrupting her thoughts as Theo moved across the room, sterile paper crinkling beneath him as he sat on the exam table.

“If you’re worried about me, you could just say so, love.”

Hermione scowled. One—admittedly lovely—dinner didn’t mean she just wasn’t going to do her job. She spun, an argument on her lips, ready to tell him as much only for the words to die before they could escape. “I…” she stammered. “Where is your shirt, Theo? I mean, Mister Nott? Where is your shirt, Mister Nott?”

His teeth flashed in a grin as he leaned back, one hand braced behind him as he lounged, tanned chest on display, muscles cut, drawing her gaze to… Hermione flushed as she caught herself lingering at the barest flash of pale skin showing at the waist of his joggers. From the way Theo’s grin widened when her gaze snapped back to his, her less-than-professional examination hadn’t gone unnoticed, but the man stayed blessedly silent, instead gesturing towards his side. “Think I pulled a muscle at the gym this morning is all. Really it’s nothing.”

Hermione propped her hands on her hips, raising a brow. “Did you forget to mention where, in between your years building an international quidditch career, you trained as a healer as well?” Theo huffed a breath of laughter, shifting as Hermione drew closer to examine him. “That’s what I thought,” she said primly as she crouched to peer at the smooth, unmarred skin of his side. “Now hush, and let me take a look at you.”

“Bossy,” Theo observed with a wink. “I like it.”

Hermione ducked her head to hide her blush, pulling her wand from her pocket and casting a diagnostic charm over the man. The magic glowed red right where he’d pointed and her lips turned down in a frown. Merlin help her if she had to tell Theo Nott he’d need to rest for a few days to allow cracked ribs to heal. Even now, he fidgeted, one leg jostling against the edge of the table as she examined him.

“Sit still,” she admonished as her hands landed lightly against his side, prodding gently, searching for the source of his pain. He sucked in a hiss as she probed a particularly tender spot, and Hermione gave a decisive nod as she rose, hoping her relief didn’t show on her face. “You’re right. As much as I hate to admit it,” she added, as a cocky grin spread across his expression. “It’s a pulled muscle, it should heal quick enough on its own. But I think I may have something…” her voice trailed off absently as she turned to rummage through the clinic cabinets.

The paper crinkled, and she whirled. “Stay put,” she snapped as she turned back with a pot of salve in her hand, only to find Theo halfway to standing, his shirt in hand.

“You said it will heal on its own!” he protested, though he didn’t resist when she gave his shoulder a gentle shove, pushing him back to sit.

“Yes, and it will heal faster with this,” Hermione said as she popped the lid from the salve and scooped a thick glob of the pink paste onto her fingers. “Contrary to apparently popular belief around here, pain does not, in fact, improve your Quidditch game.”

She crouched by his side, gently smoothing the salve over the knot just below the surface, doing her best to ignore the soft heat of his skin as she massaged the sore muscle. He was just another patient, nothing more. And she might have convinced herself of that fact, if not for the fact that no sooner had she had the thought than his warm fingers brushed the side of her face, toying with a curl that had come loose from her braid.

“Theo,” she hissed, tugging her curl from his hand as she glanced nervously towards the still-open door behind them. “What are you doing? Someone could see.”

Theo’s hand fell to the table, though his fingers curled as if he wanted to reach for her again, a playful light sparking in his gaze as he looked down at her.

“What’s the harm, love? It’s not as if I’ve got you bent over the table, though I wouldn’t argue if you wanted to keep that in mind for later.”

Hermione flared scarlet, her hands pausing for a moment before continuing to spread the salve over his side, perhaps pressing a bit harder than necessary, judging by his sudden yelp. The corner of her lips quirked up even as she kept her gaze steadfastly away from his. He deserved it. Merlin knew she shouldn’t encourage him, even if his words did send an entirely inappropriate flash of heat through her core.

“No one’s going to blame me if I think the girl I’m dating has pretty hair and I want to play with it a bit.”

Hermione froze, yanking her hand away and rocking back on her heels, scowling up at the man.

“We went on one date, Theo, we’re not dating.”

His brow furrowed, as if this were news to him. “How many dates, then?”

Hermione looked at him, puzzled, and he clarified. “How many dates before we’re dating?”

She sighed, vanishing the salve from her fingers and scrubbing a hand over her face as he gestured for an answer. “I don’t know,” she said, letting her hands fall back into her lap. “Five?”

He cocked his head to the side, gaze narrowing as if he was debating the, admittedly entirely arbitrary, number, but he simply nodded. “Five it is, then. What are you doing tonight?”

Hermione blinked at him, letting out an incredulous huff of laughter. “We just went out last night, we can’t do something two nights in a row.” It was more that she couldn’t simply admit that her only plans involved her cat and a book, but still.

“Who says?” Theo argued. “You’re the only one keeping track, love.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as she cast about for a better answer than it simply isn’t done, but before she could form a better argument, the wizard continued, a suspicious sparkle in his gaze. “In fact,” he declared, shoving one hand deep into his pocket. “I’ll bet you haven’t had lunch today, have you?”

Hermione hesitated, thrown both by the sudden change of subject and the fact he’d so readily picked up on her habits, before she slowly shook her head no.

A victorious smile spread across his face as he pulled a slightly-squashed—was that a protein bar?—from his pocket. “Perfect,” he said with a decisive nod, tearing the wrapper open and deftly breaking the bar in two, extending one half towards her. “Consider this date number two.”

Hermione couldn’t help the grin that curled her lips as he jiggled the snack expectantly.

“What on earth are you on about, Nott?” she asked, pushing to her feet even as she took the offering.

He shrugged. “We’ve chatted, gotten to know each other a bit, you’ve gotten a bit handsy, lucky witch. And now we’re sharing a meal. Sounds like a date to me, no?”

A startled, delighted burst of laughter escaped her even as he bit into the protein bar with a grin. Rolling her eyes, she nibbled from the corner of the bar, only for her nose to wrinkle in disgust.

Theo laughed. “Yeah, they’re vile,” he agreed as he polished off his half with a second bite. “But convenient.” He shook his head as she offered him her half of the bar. “And now you’ll have to let me make it up to you with a decent meal tonight.”

“Do I now?” she asked with an answering smile, tossing the rest of the bar in her wastebasket. Missed lunch or no, she’d rather starve.

“You do,” he said with a shrug. “We can go to the pub. It’s warded to kingdom come, so you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us, except maybe a few locals. That’s why the team likes it so much.” Warmth gathered in her chest at his consideration, until a sudden burst of worry flooded her system, replacing the glow of his words.

“But the team will be there, or some of them at least? And they’ll… I mean to say, I’m sure you… I’m sure you’d prefer they not know we’re…seeing each other?”

Theo scoffed as he prowled closer, his hands coming to rest on Hermione’s desk, caging her in. “We’ll keep it quiet if you’d like, love, but if you think I’m going to let a single one of those idiots drool over you because they don’t know you’re mine…”

His voice trailed off pointedly, a glimpse of something feral in his gaze sending a shiver down Hermione’s spine as she unconsciously swayed nearer to him. That was, until the full import of his words sank in, and she stiffened. “I don’t recall ever saying I belonged to you, Mister Nott,” she said primly.

He grinned, straightening. “Fair enough, Miss Granger,” he said teasingly. “The whole ‘women as property’ bit is admittedly archaic at best, but either way, the boys had best keep their eyes to themselves.”

Hermione flushed at his words. For Merlin’s sake, they’d been on one date, two if she counted his ridiculous assertions about their shared snack. But before she could point out as much, the daybook on her desk began to vibrate aggressively, a prompt—and mostly welcome—reminder that her afternoon was filled with actually scheduled appointments. Not to mention the fact she was fairly certain Theo should have been reviewing plans for this weekend’s upcoming game even as they spoke. Merlin, one—two—dates with the man and her carefully crafted schedule was well on its way to pieces.

Theo Nott was chaos personified and, well… she adored it. Not that she’d ever admit that aloud. Not if she ever wanted him to leave her office, at least.

Instead, she scrabbled behind her, reaching blindly for the book in an effort to shut off the alarm while Theo took a few hasty steps back, no doubt to avoid being injured by her flailing.

“Bollocks,” she muttered beneath her breath as she snagged the book. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I do have another appointment scheduled. But you should be fine. Just apply this twice a day until the pain has dissipated, and of course, come back should it get worse.”

She pressed the jar of salve into his hand while he pulled his shirt over his head even as she shepherded him towards the door. She was going to be late for her next meeting and it wasn’t as if she could excuse herself by saying she was too busy flirting with Theo Nott to be on time.

They were halfway to the door, Hermione already mentally combing through the notes she should have spent the past half hour reviewing, when Theo came to an abrupt stop, Hermione nearly crashing into his back.

“Wait just a minute,” he said as he turned, grabbing her hand and tugging her towards him. Hermione let out a startled squeak, stumbling forward until her hands landed against his chest. “Now, Granger,” he chided. “This is a date. We’ve already established how those end. And it’s not with a professional goodbye, sweetheart.”

Her face warmed as her mind flashed to the night prior, his large body crowding her back against her door, hands tight on her hips, warm lips on hers…

Rough fingers caught at her chin, bringing her back to the moment and tilting her face until her wide eyes met Theo’s, his gaze warm with something she couldn’t quite name. “Lovely seeing you again, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low as his lips brushed barely against hers. “Would love to do it again sometime.” Another pass of his lips across hers, and he paused a mere breath away, clearly waiting for something.

Hermione’s lips parted, her eyes darting over his shoulder to land on the open door. Anyone could walk by, could catch them, and what would they think of her then? She’d barely been here three weeks, what was she meant to say? Merlin, Witten would crow about how right he’d been, that she was only here to seduce his players, and Malfoy would fire her to be sure—

The soft pressure of a thumb against her chin brought her attention back to the present, to the man whose hand wrapped comfortingly around her hip, concern lighting his gaze as he studied her. “Alright, love?”

Hermione took a deep breath, her fingers unconsciously curling against his chest, her panic ebbing away as she soaked in his warm scent, tinged by the sharp minty burn of the salve. Her lips curved slightly as he inspected her, looking remarkably serious all of a sudden.

“I’m fine,” she promised. And she meant it. “If I promise to come with you tonight, will you let me get back to my schedule?”

He studied her for half a beat more, as if he wasn’t entirely certain she was telling the truth, but then his brow quirked up. “It’s a deal, Granger,” he declared, one rough thumb brushing across her lower lip, his gaze growing warm with promise.

“Fine then,” she breathed. “Tonight.”

She felt more than she saw his triumphant grin as his lips pressed once more to hers, the hand at her hip tightening to draw her nearer, her fingers tangling in his shirt as he tilted her chin up, tongue flicking against her lips, urging them to open so he could delve deeper…

“Oh!” A startled voice came from the door, forcing the two of them apart, Hermione’s cheeks flaming red while a rueful grin twisted Theo’s lips.

“Daisy!” Hermione exclaimed, springing backwards as she tugged at her robes to remove an invisible wrinkle, pressing her daybook to her chest as if it were a shield. “Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it had gotten so late, just… just give me a moment, I’ve got everything ready here, I was just finishing with Mister Nott’s appointment…”

Flustered, she spun back towards her desk, rifling through the stacks of papers she’d been halfway to organising in preparation for her meeting with the public relations manager.

Daisy merely propped herself against the doorframe, a grin teasing at her lips as she glanced from Hermione to Theo and back. “I can come back later, if you need me to?”

“No!” Hermione burst, whirling back to face the witch, a sheaf of papers clutched in one hand. “No, Theo—Mister Nott—was just leaving.”

“Right, coach will have my head if I’m late for our team meeting again,” Theo announced cheerfully, as if they hadn’t just been caught snogging with the door wide open. Merlin, what if Coach Witten had come looking for the wizard, or worse still, Malfoy? What on earth had she been thinking? Clearly less concerned than she was, Theo paused for a moment, letting his gaze trail over her once again, as if memorising her appearance, before turning and heading for the door.

“See you tonight for number three, Granger,” he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he offered a genial wave to Daisy and strode from the room, leaving both witches staring after him.

Hermione turned to face the other witch, her cheeks flaming red. Daisy looked back at her, lips twitching as silence reigned. “So are we going to talk about that?” she finally spoke.

“We most certainly are not.” Hermione snapped, rounding her desk, ignoring the peal of laughter that came from the other witch as she dropped into her chair, letting her head fall back with a groan.

“It’s just… has he always been so… so…” She flailed her hands about in the air as if that might summon the right word while Daisy cackled, dropping into the seat opposite hers.

“So very Theo?” The other witch supplied, still grinning. “Yes, I imagine he’s always been that way, at least as long as I’ve known him. Surely you had some idea though, you went to school together, right?”

Hermione tilted her head up. “We did, yes,” she murmured, staring off consideringly as she flicked back through her memories of Hogwarts. Theo had been there, to be sure. He’d been friends with Malfoy, and they’d shared enough of the same classes, but he’d always been quiet, reserved; a tall, gangly wizard eternally on the periphery. He’d been smart enough, his grades vying with hers, but the more she thought about it… “But I don’t know that we ever actually had a conversation,” she admitted aloud. “Not until I started here, at least.”

Daisy raised a brow. “Does he know that? Because the man hasn’t shut up about you since you joined the team, I would have thought you were… close.”

Hermione blinked at the woman. “He talks about me?”

Daisy laughed. “I mean, not to me, no one likes to gossip with the media girl, but Erik says he won’t stop going on about how lucky we are to have you here with the team.”

Hermione stared at the witch. How was she meant to react to that? It was a compliment, she supposed, but Merlin, if Daisy knew about…whatever this was between her and Theo, how long was it before the entire world knew? And clearly Daisy expected a response of some sort to the…compliment? Was that what it had been? But what on earth was she meant to say? Thank you? I’m sorry Mister Nott doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body?

So instead, she diverted. “Erik?” She asked delicately.

“Nilsson,” Daisy clarified with a pretty blush. “We’re… well, I suppose you could call it seeing each other.”

“Oh, are you?” Hermione asked, feigning surprise as if she hadn’t seen them all but crawling down each other’s throats a few weeks prior.

Daisy waved her hand idly. “It’s casual, of course, who has time for anything more than that? And, well, you know how Quidditch players are, of course.”

Hermione winced inwardly. She’d done her best to put it from her mind, the tabloid articles touting each and every stunning witch Theo had been seen with, one conquest after another, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he bored of her, the chase more exciting than the catch. And she’d be fine with that when the time came, really. It was only casual, like Daisy had said.

The other witch continued on, blissfully unaware of Hermione’s inner turmoil. “But don’t worry about you and Theo.” She leaned in closer. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” she whispered with a conspiratorial wink before she straightened. “But I’m afraid we do have a few things we need to review other than Nott’s obsession with you.” Daisy grinned as she waved the stack of papers clutched in one hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione flushed, straightening in her chair and pulling her abandoned notes closer. “You came here to discuss business and here I am rambling on like I have some sort of schoolgirl crush, what you must think of me.”

Daisy waved her apologies off, a twinkle in her wide blue eyes. “No, no, this is much more interesting. And we’re certainly not done discussing you and Nott. But I did promise Mister Malfoy I’d sit down with you to discuss a few upcoming foundation engagements. He thought it might be good for you to be present, maybe give a brief speech or two, as the medical face of the team—”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that,” Hermione interrupted. Daisy paused, arching one perfectly shaped brow, and Hermione rushed to explain. “The speaking, I mean, of course I’ll be happy to be there and support the foundation’s work, but I can assure you the last thing you want is me speaking to a crowd.”

She was happy to put her efforts towards the charitable arm of the Dragons' organization—it was one of the things that had drawn her to this role to begin with. But one could still find the news articles about the last time she’d attempted public speaking, if they dug deep enough. It had been the first year after the Battle of Hogwarts, at the memorial ceremony and, well, suffice to say she hadn’t been asked to speak at any of the future commemorative events, to her eternal relief.

A small frown knit Daisy’s brow as she scanned her notes. “Not even a small introductory statement? Something to thank the donors?”

“I’d really, really rather not,” Hermione said, praying her tone sounded emphatic rather than pleading. One could only vomit in front of a crowd so many times before it became a burden on morale.

Daisy hummed beneath her breath, pursing her lips in a moue as she tapped her quill against the edge of her papers.

“If you’re truly certain you can’t do it?”

“I am,” Hermione said firmly.

Daisy nodded, jotting a note in the margins of her file. “I’ll discuss it with Mister Malfoy then, I’m sure we can find some sort of alternative. But plenty for us to do in the meantime! Now let’s talk about the Holyhead Harpies game. Do you know if Mister Potter will be in attendance?”

“Malfoy!” Theo called after the wizard as he stalked down the hall, dark robes whipping behind him in a manner eerily reminiscent of their onetime potions professor.

“You good, mate?” he asked as he fell into step next to his friend.

“I’m fine,” Draco answered shortly.

“Is that why you nearly made Daisy cry just now, then, or was that only because you haven’t had the chance to pull the wings off any pixies lately?”

Draco glanced back at him, a fierce scowl written across his face, but didn’t bother to answer as he took the stairs to his office two at a time, Theo close on his heels. Theo glared at the man’s back in return, halfway tempted to trip him, would serve him right to smash that perfect nose.

It wasn’t as if Malfoy had never been a prat in a team meeting before. Hell, last season, after a particularly bungled game, he’d thought the man might just fire the whole team. But to rip into Daisy like that, for simply pitching an interview with the Potters, by way of Hermione? Sure, Potter was a pompous git, but Potterette was tolerable enough if you stuck to talking about Quidditch. They were an annoyance at best, certainly not enough to justify the godsdamned tantrum his best friend had thrown in the middle of a team meeting.

Catching the door before Draco could slam it behind him, Theo followed him into his office, propping one shoulder against the bookshelf

“So, not going home anytime soon, then?”

“I’m busy, Nott,” the other wizard said tersely, steadfastly shuffling through papers and not looking in his direction, despite the fact Theo knew damn well he couldn’t read a single one of them without his reading glasses.

“We going to talk about who pissed in your porridge this morning, Draco?”

The other wizard tensed, his fingers wrapping so tightly around his quill Theo was surprised it didn’t snap.

“You want to know why I’m pissed, Nott?” Draco finally looked up, unexpected ire flashing in his grey gaze. “I’m pissed because I’m going to have to spend my evening doing damage control because you can’t keep your prick to yourself and my damn PR manager is too busy faffing around with Potter to even fucking notice.”

Theo’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are you on about?”

Draco scoffed. “You mean to tell me you didn’t know about this?” He pulled the newspaper from where it had been shoved under a stack of files, sending it sailing across the room with a flick of his wand. Theo snatched the wrinkled copy of the Prophet from the air, his eyes scanning the headlines briefly before he looked back to Draco, one brow cocked.

“You’re pissed because… the Ministry passed their annual budget bill?” He said questioningly.

“Page six,” Draco answered tersely, gesturing for him to read, fingers tapping impatiently at his desk as Theo leafed through the paper.

“Nott Just Another Fling?” He read the headline with a raised brow. “Clever enough, I suppose.” Draco scowled, flicking his hand to tell him to continue reading. Theo let the fold of the paper fall open, scanning the article silently.

Is Quidditch stud Theo Nott changing his playboy ways? Witches the world over prepare to mourn!

Our favourite Chaser was spotted squiring a mystery witch about town last night, with sources reporting the pair enjoyed a cosy private dinner at Diagon Alley’s premier hot spot, L’Atelier. A far cry from our Mister Nott’s typical womanising at night clubs, no? This reporter can’t help but wonder if this is a sign of changing times, will our favourite eligible bachelor be off the market soon? And more importantly, who is this mystery witch? Trust that when this reporter finds out (and I always do!) you, dear readers, will be the first to know!

Below the article was a black-and-white photo of Theo, his hand at the small of Hermione’s back as they ducked through the side door of L’Atelier. A grinning Theo ducked to whisper something in the witch’s ear, her face mercifully hidden by the hood of her cloak pulled up against the sprinkling rain. The only hint to her identity was a spring of curl escaping from beneath her cloak, caught in an invisible breeze, but one would have to know Hermione like the back of their hand before they even began to guess at her identity from the photo alone.

Theo let the paper fall, cocking a brow. “Awfully optimistic of them, isn’t it? But you’ll be the first to know if I decide to run off and marry the witch, I promise. Is that enough for you to remove the stick from your arse?”

Draco scowled at him. “Would you think with something other than your dick for half a second, Nott?”

Theo stiffened at the vitriol in his friend’s tone. “What am I missing here, Draco? Are you pissed we got caught, or are you pissed I went out with her to begin with?”

Draco scoffed as if the question were ridiculous.“Don’t flatter yourself, Nott. You think Granger will stick around after she sees this? The witch hates her name in the paper. Rumour has it she fucking kidnapped Rita Skeeter after the Triwizard Tournament our fourth year just to put a stop to people speculating about her and Potter. What do you think she’ll do if you’re to blame for her ending up there again?”

Theo stared, distracted from the matter at hand by the idea of a fourteen-year-old Hermione abducting that harridan of a woman. “There’s no way in hell…is there?”

Draco shrugged. “Fuck if I know, but I don’t intend to find out. We have spent an obscene amount of money to bring this witch, and her research, to the Dragons, and if you wreck it because you wanted to get your dick wet and couldn’t even bother to keep it out of the public eye—”

“They don’t even know it was her!” Theo interrupted, his mind whirring even as he protested. He hadn’t seen Hermione’s name in the papers often, to be sure, but surely that was just because she lived a quiet life, not because she actively avoided it?

Draco scoffed. “They don’t know it was her, yet. But what happens the next time you take her out, and her face ends up plastered everywhere as your latest conquest? I can damn well guarantee a witch like Granger isn’t risking her career like that, she’ll be out of here before you can blink.”

Theo cursed, wanting to argue even as a nagging feeling told him the other man was spot on. Hermione may like him, but she was worried enough about the team knowing about them. For the entire world to know… “Shit. What can I do to help? I’ll talk to the reporter, maybe, shut it down.”

“You’ve done plenty already,” Draco bit out, jamming his quill into the ink and cursing as it splattered across the desk. “I’ve got it handled.”

Theo eyed him disbelievingly.

“You should loop Daisy in at least, yeah? She’s the expert, I’m sure she could get a handle on it. And might earn you some points after you all but told her she didn’t know how to do her job earlier.”

“If she knew how to do her job this never would have been an issue to begin with,” Draco muttered as he snatched the paper back from Theo, glaring at the article as if willing it to burst into flame.

“That’s not very fair, is it?” Theo protested. “She couldn’t have known that someone would see us. It’s not as if I broadcasted our schedule to the world.”

“So worried about Daisy all of a sudden, Nott.” Draco sneered. “What is it, Granger not putting out fast enough to keep your interest?”

Theo stiffened, his fists balling at his sides. If Draco wanted to be a git to him, that was fine. Hell, it was practically another Tuesday, and they always got over it quickly enough. But there was no damn reason for him to drag Hermione, or Daisy for that matter, into his latest fit.

“You know what, Malfoy? You can get fucked. Sit here and sulk all you want, I have plans. With someone a damn sight more pleasant than you.” Flipping his friend the bird, he stormed from the office.

“Should have fucking tripped him,” Theo muttered to himself.

A light tap came at his door, and Draco looked up with a scowl. If Theo had come back to gripe at him again, as if he’d violated the damn Geneva Convention, he’d hex him from here until next Tuesday. Or at least Silencio him so hard it’d take him hours to untangle the charm. For fuck’s sake, there was already a damn apology gift basket waiting on Daisy’s desk for her arrival in the morning, what more did he want?

The tap came again and Draco pulled his glasses from his nose, rubbing where they pinched at the bridge. An hour of peace, that’s all he asked. “What?” He barked. The door cracked open and an unexpected, familiar head of curls appeared. “Granger,” he greeted tersely, cursing inwardly. He was going to murder Theo. He’d managed to make it what — twenty minutes? — before he’d gone running to Granger about their burgeoning media presence? Forget the Silencio, he was going to tape the man’s damn mouth shut.

He had it handled. There was no reason the witch ever needed to know, needed to worry about it. If she hadn’t read today’s Prophet yet, she wasn’t likely to. And yet here she was in front of him, curls frizzing about her head, chest heaving ever so slightly as if she’d run up the stairs.

“Malfoy,” the witch returned, stepping into the room and closing the door softly behind her, although the office beyond was silent, his administrative staff long since gone home. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I thought you may be gone already, I can come back if—”

He heaved a sigh, rubbing at his temple where a headache had been threatening for hours. “Get on with it, would you?” he interrupted before the witch could spiral off into a series of inane excuses. If she was going to have a meltdown over her name once again being splashed across the Prophet, he’d rather she get it over with so they could get on to the part where he told her it was already taken care of. Maybe she would actually appreciate his efforts, unlike certain other wizards.

She flushed a pretty shade of pink at the bark in his words, shifting on her feet as if she were going to bolt for the door. A vision of Theo chastising him for being an arse danced through his mind. Fuck, he felt as if he owed her an apology and she hadn’t even been here to hear his earlier words. Unless Theo had told her about that as well. “What can I help you with, Granger?”

Her gaze narrowed at him for a moment, as if searching for any hint of snark in the question before she seemingly decided the question was sincere. “You were, by all appearances, having a challenging day today—”

“I was a raging arse, you mean,” he interrupted.

She blinked, her plump lower lip falling open for a beat before she spoke, a slim brow arching. “Well it’s good to know you’re at least marginally self-aware,” she snarked. “I do hope you plan to apologise to Daisy?”

It was all Draco could do to keep from groaning aloud. Merlin, it was no wonder Theo was obsessed with her, he’d always had a soft spot for moral superiority in a witch. “If I tell you I already have, will this conversation end any sooner?” he drawled. “Did you come here just to scold me, or is there actually something you need?”

Her expression darkened at his tone even as she reached into her robes. He tensed, certain for a moment he was about to be hexed. Fuck, they’d have to recover his bits from Siberia. But instead—

“I wanted to bring you this,” she said, her tone clipped as she produced a small green pot from her pocket and plunked it down on his desk with no small amount of force.

He arched a brow, glancing at the unlabelled pot before looking back to the witch.

“Your shoulder was bothering you last night, I thought you might be in pain. That will help. With your shoulder, at least.” Her gaze narrowed. “I’m afraid medicine hasn’t gotten far enough to do anything about your personality.”

Draco sat back in his seat, fighting to keep his lips from curling at the bite in her words, lest she decide to actually hex him this time.

Clearly interpreting his silence as meaning he’d been emotionally devastated by her insult, as if he hadn’t heard worse nearly daily in the Slytherin Common Room, the witch gave him a terse nod, a glint of victory flickering in her eyes, before she spun and flounced from his office without another word. He stared after her for a moment, waiting until he heard the main office door slam shut behind her before he reached for the small pot, rolling it idly across his palm for a moment before curiosity won out. Popping the lid from the jar, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed gingerly at the pale paste within.

It smelled of mint, and willow bark and… he took a deep breath.

He’d nearly say it smelled of Granger, but that would be fucking ridiculous.

Snapping the lid back into place, he pulled a drawer open and dropped the jar in. He didn’t have time for Granger and her coddling. He went to shut the drawer and paused, glancing down. Draco hesitated for a moment, fighting the urge to glance about as if someone might see him, before he reached in and righted the jar that lay on its side. Shutting the drawer, he pulled his papers back towards him. Merlin knew he’d never hear the end of it from Granger if he spilled the salve after she'd bothered to… fuck, didn't the witch have better things than him to waste her time on?

Chapter Text

The dull roar of the crowd shook the walls of the tunnel as the team walked out, shining, perfectly trimmed brooms propped on every shoulder, wide, cocky grins in place. On every face except Theo’s, at least. Hermione sidled through the gathered Quidditch players until she stood next to him. 

“Quite the turnout today, yeah?” He started, as if he hadn’t realised she was there, glancing down at her with a half-smile. 

“The first match is always a popular one.”

“I didn’t expect it to be quite so loud, I suppose. But this is far from a little game at Hogwarts, isn’t it?” 

The corner of his mouth twitched again. “Just a bit, yeah.” 

“And your side is feeling okay? The soreness is gone?” 

“Never better, you’re just as much a miracle worker as ever, Hermione.” 

A stilted silence fell between them and, for the first time she could remember, Hermione found herself at a loss as to what to say next to the oddly stoic man next to her. She shifted on her feet, glancing up at him from the corner of her eye to see if he might have something to say, but he simply stared out onto the still-empty pitch, as if watching the game play out in his head. 

“Okay, well, I’m going to go give Corbyn’s leg one last look, I suppose. He should be fine by now, but it never hurts to be safe, right?”

He glanced at her again and gave her a tight smile. “You’re the expert, sweetheart. I’m sure he’s in great hands.” 

“Right, well… have a good game, Theo. Try to make us look good, maybe?” 

A spark lit his gaze and his lips curved in the first genuine smile she’d seen from him as he caught her hand in his, just for a moment, and gave it a quick squeeze. “Whatever the healer orders, yeah? See you on the other side, Granger.” 

And with that, he slung one strong thigh over his broom and shot from the tunnel to the roaring screams of the crowd. 

Hermione watched him until he vanished beyond the edge of the tunnel before she turned, weaving back through the players waiting for their turn to be announced. She offered an absent smile here, and a rote word of encouragement there, until she reached the rookie whose leg she’d been treating for a few weeks. A quick scan to confirm what she already knew, that the magic had done its job and he was perfectly fine to fly, and then the game had started and, barring anything going wrong, her job was essentially done.

She climbed the stairs to the team’s bench, choosing a seat as far from Coach Witten and his assistants as she could manage. Her eyes were sharp on the players whizzing through the air, searching for any sign of injury even as her mind drifted, turning the conversation with Theo over and over again in her mind. If one could even call it a conversation. Maybe it had just been pregame nerves, the first proper game of the season was always a tense one, but… It had been days since she’d seen him. Which was fine, of course, she couldn’t expect to run into him every day, they both had jobs to do. But even the last time she’d seen him, at the pub for their third date, he’d been… off. Oh, he’d been charming as ever, flirting outrageously every chance he got, but he’d stayed firmly on his side of the table and kept his hands to himself, polite in a way that was practically repressed for Theo Nott. And then…nothing. 

She was of half a mind to call him out on it, but what good would that do, really? She knew they’d had a team meeting the same day she’d seen him last and, by all reports, it hadn’t gone well. Maybe he’d simply been reminded of how important it was to focus on the season. Or maybe it was as she suspected, and he was getting bored. A pang of something she didn’t care to identify coursed through her at the thought, and as the crowd let out a particularly loud cheer, she let the match distract her. They were winning, according to the scoreboard, though she couldn’t tell a whit of what had happened so far. But all the players were in one piece, and Coach Witten wasn’t yelling nearly as much as she’d seen in the occasional practice she’d watched, so she could only assume it was going well. 

“Psst! Hermione!” A too-loud whisper sounded from behind her and she turned to see a familiar pair of grinning faces peering through the door. 

“Harry! Ron!” she exclaimed, nearly tumbling her chair over in her haste to get across the box. “What are you doing here?” Ron tilted his head, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind as he answered. “It’s the bloody Harpies playing, Hermione. Of course we’re here.” 

“No, of course I know that,” she waved him off with an exasperated sigh. “I mean here. ” She pulled away from hugging Harry to gesture at the barebones box that made up the Dragons’ team bench. “Surely Ginny got you seats?” 

“Oh yeah, she did,” Harry said. “In the owners’ box, in fact.” Ron snorted at his friend’s words, shouldering his way past Harry to take a few steps into the box, while Hermione cast a questioning glance in Harry’s direction. “The seats happen to be right next to Malfoy’s,” he explained with a wincing smile. “There were… some words exchanged. So we thought we’d come see you, see how the new job is going!” he finished brightly. 

“It’s no wonder we haven’t heard from her, Harry,” Ron called across the box in a too-loud voice. “That ferrety prat is probably working her to the bone.” 

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, glancing nervously across the box to where Coach Witten mercifully seemed to be too absorbed in the game to have overheard. “The pra- Dra- I mean Malfoy is my boss, it would be lovely if I could at least make it through our first game without getting fired, if you don’t mind?’

A hurt look flashed across Ron’s face. “Well, you could’ve at least told us,” he mumbled beneath his breath. “Bit of a nasty shock, that.” He glanced behind him, his gaze turning suddenly hopeful. “Team does have a hell of a view though.” 

Hermione breathed a sigh even as Harry leaned to the side slightly to see around her to where the match continued on. “Would you two prefer to watch the game from here?” Her friends ignored her long-suffering tone as their smiles spread in unison, like children she’d offered a particularly tantalising sweetie to. 

“That would be great, Hermione,” Ron enthused even as he moved towards the low bench that lined the rail. Harry smiled as he slid past her to join Ron, squeezing her shoulder in passing. 

Witten barked out a sharp curse just as a roar went up from the crowd and Hermione jolted. Casting a sideways glance at the coach, she hurried back to the front of the box, her eyes sharp for any sign one of her players had been injured. But the giant screen suspended over the pitch showed the action again in slow motion, a Seeker stretching for the Snitch only for it to vanish again in the blink of an eye. It didn’t look like much to her, but from the way Ron and Harry groaned, it may as well have been the end of the world. 

The game went on much in the same fashion, with something nearly happening and the crowd cheering or booing in turn. There may have been a few points scored there as well, but after nearly two hours, Hermione had, quite frankly, stopped paying attention to anything outside her role as healer. She would never hope someone got hurt, of course, but at this point, she would take nearly anything that would break up the monotony of the game. It wasn’t as if she could talk to Harry and Ron, not about anything other than Quidditch, at least. They were focused on every movement of the players, leaning so far out of the box she was half-way concerned one of them might catch a Bludger to the face. As if they had a personal stake in the game.

Though, she supposed they did. She loved Ginny, but the woman was a right terror when her team wasn’t performing well, and Harry, at least, had to go home with her. 

As if she had willed some sort of action into the game, Harry and Ron leapt from their seats with a loud whoop, earning a dirty look from Coach Witten as the crowd beyond, clad primarily in Dragons’ colours, booed their displeasure at the Harpies’ goal. The coach’s eyes narrowed as her friends continued to cheer, screaming their admiration for Ginny’s goal, entirely oblivious to the fact that the world’s most odious Quidditch coach had started towards them with murder in his gaze. Hermione cursed beneath her breath. Next time they could sit next to Malfoy and deal with the consequences if they couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

Pushing away from the rail, she took a few steps forward, though whether it was to shoo her friends from the box or intercept the coach before he could cause a scene, she wasn’t sure. Either way, Witten was sure to give her hell, publicly, with her luck. She was spared having to decide, though, when a player landed with a heavy thud between them. 

“Nott!” Coach Witten barked, his attention diverted from Ron and Harry who, thank Merlin, had finally realised what was happening and shut up. “What the hell are you doing? Get out there!” 

Theo swung his leg over his broom as he turned to face the man. “Just need a minute, coach,” he said, his voice sounding oddly muffled. It wasn’t until he turned that Hermione saw why. Her breath hissed through her teeth as he faced her, a grin spreading across his face despite the blood that poured from his nose. 

“Th—Nott!” She corrected herself even as she pulled her wand from her pocket, vanishing the mess of blood dripping onto his jersey so she could get a better look. “What the hell happened?” 

His grin widened even as a fresh drop of red rolled from his nose. “Can’t a man just want to come see a pretty healer?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him in warning. Of all times for him to start flirting again? Maybe he’d hit his head harder than she thought. His grin only widened as he adopted a casual stance, propping one arm on the rail and kicking one foot over the other as he shrugged. “Rogue bludger is all. I owe Nilsson a facer for missing it, but I’ll be fine.” 

Hermione heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes as she set to work. Quidditch players, absolute maniacs, the lot of them. Steadfastly ignoring the sideways glances being sent their way by both Witten and her friends, she cast a quick diagnostic charm to ensure nothing more than his nose was broken. At least he still had all his teeth, those were much harder to fix. An episkey later and his stupidly handsome face was back as it should be. And yet, he simply stood there, grinning, as if he expected something more from her. 

“Erm…” She raised a brow. “Was there something else you needed, Mister Nott?” 

He glanced from one side to the other, as if to make sure no one was listening, before leaning in close. “Am I too late for a kiss for luck? Or do I need to grovel first?” 

“Theo,” she hissed. Before she could chastise him for choosing that of all moments to apologise, if that was even what he was truly trying to do, a bark came from Coach Witten. 

“Nott! Get your damn arse back in the game!” Hermione took a startled step back and Theo straightened, his grin taking on a tight edge. 

“Later,” he promised, as he threw his leg back over his broom and pushed off into the arena, to the deafening roar of the crowd. Hermione followed him for a moment, until he was just another green-clad blur zooming across the pitch, before turning her attention back to her friends. They needed to leave before Witten remembered they were there and absolutely lost his mind. Before she could say as much, though, she was greeted by Ron’s sneer. 

“Figures Malfoy would hire him,” he muttered. Hermione glanced behind her, her brow furrowed. 

“Theo?” She clarified. “I mean, he’s a good Quidditch player, isn’t he?” 

Ron snorted while Harry shrugged. “He’s good enough. I mean, he’ll probably make the national team next Cup.” 

Hermione’s confusion only deepened. “Then what’s the problem?” She glanced from one man to the other. 

Ron scoffed and gestured vaguely upward. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said, as if that clarified anything. 

“Practically a nepotism hire, innit?” Ron explained around a mouth full of popcorn. 

“So Malfoy shouldn’t have hired any Slytherins, then?” Hermione asked, still unsure what exactly the problem was. Merlin, if this was all about a house rivalry they should have abandoned a decade ago—

“No, I mean, sure, a team full of Slytherins wouldn’t shock anyone,” Harry said. 

“Or a bunch of pureblood gits,” Ron chimed. 

“But they were a bit more than housemates, yeah?” A blank stare from Hermione and Harry continued. “Merlin, Hermione, I know NEWTs took over, well, your entire life for a bit there, but surely you heard the rumours?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. As if schoolyard gossip from when they were sixteen had anything to do with a Quidditch team a decade later. She’d heard plenty about Malfoy, of course, being around Harry during sixth year had been like subscribing to a Malfoy-centric newspaper. But she couldn’t recall any rumours that had swirled around Theo. And it wasn’t as if they would matter now. But as much as she told herself that was the case…the curiosity won out. “What rumours?”

“Well…” Harry said slowly, as if choosing his words. “They were rather popular with the girls. You know, both of them.”

Hermione simply stared. This was because… Theo had shagged his way through half the school? Hermione probably shouldn’t have felt quite so relieved at the thought. So Theo had slept around just as much during his time at Hogwarts as he had after it. Was she meant to be shocked? 

Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Harry repeated himself, more slowly this time, as if she’d suddenly forgotten how to speak English. “Both of them,” he said again. 

Her brow furrowed. Either she was missing something or her friends quite frankly needed to find a new hobby. 

“They shared girls,” Ron burst, clearly unable to keep that information to himself any longer. “You know, made the beast with three backs, visited the Eiffel Tower, two wands, one cauldron?”

Hermione paled, her lips parting in shock for a moment before she recovered. Out of every ridiculous claim they could have made about Malfoy, or Theo for that matter, she never would have expected… It was everything she could do to keep from asking any one of the dozen questions flying through her mind, but another roar from the crowd served to remind her this was absolutely not the time. So instead, she tucked that snippet of information away to analyse when she had a moment, and smoothed her expression into one of polite disinterest. 

“And what exactly does that have to do with anything now?” she asked.

“Well,” Ron sputtered. “Nott’s obviously just here so they can keep on with it, yeah? Why else would they spend all that time together?” 

“They’re colleagues,” Hermione said firmly, ignoring the niggling sense of doubt at the back of her mind. “And friends, for that matter, I’m sure.” She couldn’t point out they shared a home, not without admitting she’d been there herself, not to Harry and Ron, of all people. 

“Yeah,” Ron snorted. “Friends that will fuck any bint that stays still long enough.” 

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded, even as her mind whirled. It wasn’t as if she could simply blurt out that she knew they were doing nothing of the sort. Not without explaining that she only knew as much because she’d been seeing Theo. No, that would go over like a lead balloon. Unless… Her mind drifted unwillingly to the way Theo had all but ignored her over the past few days. Was that why, because he wanted a witch he could… share… with Malfoy? And he’d finally realised that she’d never be that witch? Because Malfoy would never once consider her, not like that. 

A pit settled deep in her stomach. She’d been prepared for Theo to grow bored with her, or at least she could believe that if she didn’t examine her own feelings too closely. But the idea of being rejected by not only Theo, but Malfoy too… It made her uncomfortable in ways she didn’t care to think about. Not that she was interested in Malfoy, but the man was more likely to fling himself from the top of one of the arena’s towers before he’d ever consider touching her, let alone… Her cheeks flushed as her mind provided a vivid image of what, exactly, sharing might entail. No, he would want nothing to do with that. But for Theo to not even discuss it with her? They were adults, the least they could do was discuss any… proclivities that may affect their budding relationship. 

But it wasn’t as if she could be the one to bring it up. What was she meant to do, invite him over for tea and demand to know if he was ignoring her because his friend didn’t want to fuck her? She snorted, imagining the look of horror on his face. No, better for her ego if she kept that particular line of thinking to herself. If Theo wanted a witch his friend would want too, well, he’d have to tell her that himself. 

Ignoring the pang in her chest at the thought, Hermione pressed a false grin across her face. “Regardless,” she said cheerfully. “There’s not much I can do about Malfoy. He signs my paycheque, and offers all those benefits you were all so excited about when I started. So,” she clapped her hands. “Let’s move on then, shall we?” 

Ron glanced over from where he’d been watching the game, the play on the field apparently proving more interesting than gossiping about her boss. “What?” He asked. “Oh, yeah, sure, Hermione. Dammit, Mostafa, fucking open your eyes!”

Harry, on the other hand, narrowed his gaze on her as Ron continued to yell expletives at the referee. “Malfoy hasn’t tried anything with you, has he?” 

Hermione’s smile tightened even as she shook her head, brushing him off with a laugh that hardly sounded forced. It wasn’t technically a lie, Malfoy had been the model of professionalism. Theo, on the other hand… She was spared from further questioning when a roar rose from the crowd, the announcer’s voice booming. “...and Michaelson has caught the Snitch!”  

Witten let out a stream of increasingly loud curses even as Harry and Ron cheered and Hermione jolted back to the matter at hand. She was here to be a healer, nothing more. And she’d be the best damn healer in the league, regardless of what Malfoy, or Theo, thought of her. Pushing her worries to the side, to be pulled back out and examined at length sometime later, she bid her still-cheering friends goodbye and made her way back to the tunnel to greet the returning team. 

It wasn’t until much, much later that she would realise, of the litany of excuses and explanations Ron’s words had sent tumbling through her mind that day, the idea she’d never be interested in two wizards…simply wasn’t one of them. 

A handful of players sat at the table at the front of the room, exhaustion written across faces that looked like they’d rather be anywhere but here. Draco leaned against the back wall, fighting to keep the scowl from his face lest it end up plastered across the front page of the Prophet in the morning. He’d save that for their post-game meeting tomorrow. 

As a tired-looking Theo made his way to his seat, a ripple of anticipation crossed the waiting press corps. Draco groaned inwardly. Reporters loved their team captain, in part because he could charm the pants off anyone who so much as looked at him, but mostly because his friend was an idiot who couldn’t go three weeks without doing something to land in the gossip pages. 

Case in point? Granger. No sooner had he all but ordered Theo to keep it in his pants and keep their healer out of the news than the bastard had turned around and taken her out on yet another date. A proper one, judging from the rumbles he’d heard from other players on the team, not his usual half-assed effort before he bedded a witch and moved on to the next. He generally didn’t give a shit who Theo’s flavour of the week was. Frankly, he didn’t care enough to make it his business. But when it became a risk that his very expensive team healer would fly back to St. Mungo’s in a fit of rage because of Nott? Then it became his business.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, the witch slipped through the door and took a spot against the wall next to Daisy, whispering something that earned a grin from the blonde witch. This time, Draco didn’t bother to silence his groan as he scrubbed his hand over his face, apparently loud enough to draw the attention of the witch, who glanced over at him, a pretty blush colouring her cheeks. He scowled back at her. If she was so mortified to be seen in the same room as him then maybe she should have stayed downstairs with the rest of the team and done her fucking job. Never mind the fact he’d made it known that team leadership should be present at this sort of thing, to put on a good face. She’d never listened to him before, why did she have to start today of all days? 

He could only hope that for once the reporters would focus on Quidditch. You know, the reason they were all there, rather than the rumours swirling about Theo Nott’s damn love life.

Things started off well enough, with questions about how the team felt about their loss—it simply made them want to work harder next time—how they felt about their prospects this season—we’re planning to make it to the championship—and whether the team would send anyone to the World Cup next year—the focus is on this season but any of our team would love the opportunity. Well-coached answers from a well-coached team. And then his luck ran out. 

From somewhere near the back of the room, a voice piped up. “This question is for Mister Nott, specifically,” a hook-nosed reporter drawled, his north London accent grating. Theo nodded, raising one brow in anticipation as he lounged back in his seat, a half-grin on his face, ever-ready to be a showman. Draco’s gaze narrowed, willing his friend to look his way, to read the warning in his expression. But instead, Theo’s focus was on the smarmy reporter as he asked, “Tell us about this latest witch, Nott. Who’s the lucky girl who’s got your attention this week?” 

Draco’s gaze snapped from the reporter back to Theo. He didn’t know what would be worse, Theo jumping to Hermione’s defence like some sort of white knight, or playing it off as if she meant nothing. Either way, he could only hope his friend had the good sense to keep the witch’s name out of it entirely.  

Draco halfway expected Theo to look back to him, for guidance, or intervention, it wouldn’t be the first time Draco had to put a stop to a line of questioning at this sort of thing, but instead his gaze was focused towards the back of the room, towards… Fuck. Granger. She was too bright to not put it together. Her and Theo’s recent outings, plus the reporter’s probing questions, equaled her name being splashed across the front page once again. A Hufflepuff firstie could do that math. 

Draco shifted on his feet so that he could get a glimpse of the witch without it being obvious. Merlin, she was going to murder them both, because there wasn’t a chance in hell Theo would leave his role in their cover-up out of it. But instead of the fury he would have expected from Granger, she was pale, her eyes too-large in her face as she stared at Theo and he stared back. Fuck, why not just announce it to the room, then?

Theo Nott is shagging Hermione Granger, put it on the front page.

Draco straightened, ready to step in before every reporter in the room noticed how long it was taking Theo to answer, but then the man finally spoke.

“Now, Mortimer,” Theo said with a wide grin. “You know I’m never one to kiss and tell.”

A chuckle rippled through the room, but clearly that wasn’t enough for the sleaze of a reporter. “Like you’d ever stop at kissing, Nott,” he snickered. “At least give us a hint. Did you get under her skirt before dinner? Or maybe you had the witch for dessert?”

A dark cloud replaced the grin on Theo’s face and Draco took a half-beat to pray to whichever gods might be listening that the wizard had left his wand in his locker. Because cleaning up body parts was not something his janitorial staff was willing to do, something he’d learned rather quickly after an unfortunate splinching incident last summer. 

That thought was immediately followed by a mental note to raise Nilsson’s salary, the beater’s large hand gripping Theo’s arm and forcing him back into his seat even as his friend fought to stand. And this was why he couldn’t just let the team run these damn things on their own. 

Draco stepped forward, one hand tucked neatly into his pocket, rolling his wand between his fingers. It really was a shame word would get out if he were to hex the man, but he couldn’t very well hope Theo didn’t do it and then turn around to do the same. “We’re here to talk about the Dragons,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If Mister Nott wants to discuss his personal life, you’ll have to catch him on his personal time.” 

The reporter—Mortimer—twisted in his seat, a smarmy grin pasted across his face. “C’mon, Malfoy, like you won’t get a piece when Nott is done with her?” 

“Mister Mortimer!” Daisy’s shocked cry came from behind him, even as an outraged noise came from Theo, barely audible over the sudden clamour of the room. 

The reporters nearest the idiot man shifted uneasily in their seats as Draco stalked across the room, not bothering to disguise his ire. Fucking prick thought he could show up and spout vulgarities like that and nothing would come of it? It wasn’t until he was mere steps away that the other wizard seemed to realise he had pressed too far, his eyes growing wide as Draco drew near and fisted a hand in the lapel of his gaudy maroon robes, yanking him to his feet. 

“Care to repeat yourself?” he asked casually, as if the man had asked what his favourite colour was. The man’s already sallow skin grew even paler as he stammered a series of excuses that Draco couldn’t be bothered to listen to. Instead, he turned, tugging the reporter with him. Ignoring the choking sound that came from the man as he perhaps pulled a bit too hard at his robes, he pushed him in Daisy’s direction. “Miss Fortnum will see you out,” he said, his tone icy as the man stumbled forward. Daisy stepped forward, her usually warm expression closed off as she pointedly pushed the door open, waiting as the reporter slunk through.

The man would show up next week to find out his press pass had been revoked, at every damn Quidditch arena in the league if Draco had his way. He waited until the click of Daisy’s heels faded from earshot before turning his attention back to the remaining press. “Does anyone else feel the need to continue that line of questioning?” he drawled. The room remained silent, though he spotted the flash of a grin in the third row, from a man who’d been reporting on his family in all their questionable glory for as long as he could remember. 

He allowed the silence to linger for a long, pointed moment before he turned his attention back to Theo. The man stared past him to the door, a flash of something dangerous in his eyes, as if he were still debating storming after the reporter. Draco cleared his throat pointedly, waiting until Theo shifted his attention back to him before he spoke, his tone falsely jovial. “Now I believe Mister Nott was discussing how we’ll be preparing for next week’s match against the Falmouth Falcons. Without giving away any team secrets, of course.” The last bit was said with a wink that made him feel like the world’s largest twat, but the gathered crowd loved it, a camera flashing even as they chuckled. 

What he really wanted to say, of course, was ‘I told you so, you stubborn prat’. But that would have to wait, preferably for a time Theo looked less likely to break the nose of the first person to cross him. So instead, he curled his lips into an intentionally superior smirk as he waved for Theo to take the floor. 

His friend’s gaze narrowed briefly, so quick he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been looking for it, before that familiar, easy grin spread across his face. “And people like to say Malfoys have no manners, folks. Now where were we?” Draco scowled even as a nervous chuckle rose from the crowd. The joke was enough to fracture the chill that had settled over the room though, as first one tentative hand rose, and then another. 

Even as the questioning began again, this time all carefully worded inquiries about Quidditch, Draco couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d missed something. Brow furrowed, he glanced back to where Daisy had stood. And with her…fuck. 

Granger was gone. 

“Sod off, Nilsson. I’m waiting for someone.”

Theo’s teammate cracked a grin, teeth white against his dark beard. “Yeah I’ll bet you are, mate,” he said as he hung his bat in his locker, pausing, and straightening it before turning his attention back to Theo. “Daisy loves to chat, you know.” 

Theo’s neck reddened at the implication. “Just do me a favour and don’t mention that to Granger, yeah, mate? Adore the witch, but I prefer to keep my bollocks where they are.” 

Nilsson let out a sharp bark of laughter, slapping one meaty hand against Theo’s back. “Rightfully so. Cold-blooded, that one is. I watched her re-set Corbyn’s leg a few weeks back. Kid was screaming bloody murder and she didn’t even flinch. Hell, I think she might have liked it. You don’t have to worry about me keeping my mouth shut. But Theo?”

Nilsson paused, waiting until Theo turned to him before he jerked his chin towards where most of the team stood clustered around a bottle of firewhisky someone had smuggled in. Normally he’d call them out, alcohol was never a good sign in the locker room, but they’d just been absolutely trounced in their first game of the season. He’d pretend he didn’t see it, just this once. “This lot may be dumb, but they’re not blind. And neither is your witch.” 

Theo cursed. He’d seen the look on Hermione’s face when that arsewipe of a reporter started asking about women. Her hurt had been evident, no doubt because he hadn’t warned her the questions may be coming, that the press had caught wind of their relationship. Or a relationship, at least, since they didn’t have a clue it was her in that photo. But he’d thought for sure she would at least show up to question him about it, at length. But as time dragged on, and more and more of his teammates trickled from the locker room with no sign of the witch… He swore again. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told Nilsson tersely. The beater’s beard twitched as if he were fighting another smile, but he offered a silent nod in return, not bothering to speak as Theo rushed from the room. 

He hurried through the halls until he reached Hermione’s office, only to find the door closed and lights off. Cursing beneath his breath, he paced a few doors down to where the clinic door stood open, the lights on, but not a single sign of the witch when he peered inside. 

Fuck, where else would she be? He’d turned to head back up to the team’s box—maybe she’d forgotten something?—when he spied another witch ahead of him.

“Daisy!” He called, hurrying down the hall after the petite witch. 

She paused, turning back to him with a smile. “Theo!” she greeted. “I thought the team would be out drinking by now, today was a rough one.” 

Theo winced. She wasn’t wrong, they’d let what should have been an easy win slip through their fingers, and they would pay for it in practice tomorrow morning. But getting smashed with his teammates lacked its usual appeal. Mostly because the rookies had spent most of the day talking about how they at least didn’t have to compete with the Harpies for attention from witches after the game. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that half that team could—and would—pull witches far easier than any of them ever might. “I’ll catch up with them in a bit,” he waved her off. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Healer Granger anywhere?” 

The witch arched a knowing brow, and Theo coloured. “You mean she didn’t come looking for you after that debacle in the press room? I’m shocked.” 

He grimaced. The witch had been spending too much time around Nilsson, apparently dry sarcasm was contagious. “I just need to see her for a few minutes,” he said, his tone nearing pleading. 

Daisy studied him with narrowed eyes for a moment before she gave a half-shrug. “She was planning on heading home soon, I think, but last I saw her she said something about reorganising her supply closet. Proper party of a Friday night, it sounded like.” 

Shit. The clinic. She’d been there after all, and with the way his luck was going, she’d be gone again by the time he got back. But if the witch thought he wouldn’t show up on her front step to have a much needed conversation, she was sorely mistaken. “You’re a gem, Daisy,” he said with a quick squeeze about her shoulders before he set off in the same direction he’d just come from. 

“Hope you know how to grovel, Nott!” She called after him, sounding far too pleased by the entire situation. 

Fuck, he hoped he knew how, too. He made it back to the clinic in record time, the room by all appearances still empty, but his gaze locked on the closed door of the supply closet. 

“Hermione?” he called out. Silence. He hesitated. Fuck, maybe she’d left already. He glanced back at the empty hallway, as if she might suddenly appear, but nothing. He’d nearly resigned himself to having to all but stalk the witch back to her home, when a clatter sounded from the closet, closely followed by a muffled curse. His lips curved. So she thought she could simply avoid him? He prowled across the room, pressing his ear to the door just in time to overhear “…clumsy idiot, maybe he didn’t hear…” Theo smirked, waiting half a beat, just long enough for her to perhaps think she had escaped notice, before he yanked the door wide. 

Hermione let out a startled shriek, whirling with an armful of potions bottles, half of which would have gone tumbling to the ground if not for Theo’s quick reflexes. 

“What do you want, Nott?” she bit out crossly, even as he scooped the remaining bottles from her arms. 

“Are you hiding from me, witch?” he drawled. 

A scowl flashed across her face, barely visible before she spun away from him and started pulling more bottles from the shelf, setting them down again three inches to the left for, as far as he could tell, no reason other than to seem busy. As if that would deter him. “Why would I be doing that?” she asked, unable to disguise the bitterness in her tone. 

Theo arched a brow as she paused, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from a potions label before setting the bottle down with more force than necessary. “Why don’t you tell me?”

When she ignored him, continuing to work in silence, he reached out and gently caught her arm before she could slam the next bottle down. “I’m not sure your potions will survive much longer if you don’t, love.” 

She wrenched her arm from his grasp with a little growl, not looking at him as she grumbled. “What, your other witch was busy tonight so you had to come find me instead?”

He blinked, suddenly very much feeling as if he’d missed a memo. “What the fuck are you talking about, Hermione?” 

She turned to face him, her eyes widening for a moment to find him standing so close before her face settled back into a scowl. “As if you don’t know,” she muttered, pushing past him. 

He was of half a mind to reach for her again, to force her to talk to him about whatever it was that had sparked so much ire in her, but he knew his witch, knew if he let the silence linger long enough…

“It’s just—” she burst. 

He hid a smile. There it was. 

“I knew you were going to get bored with me eventually—” 

His smile fell. 

“—but I thought,” her voice wavered. “I thought you might at least tell me, you know, rather than letting me find out in the papers along with everyone else, since apparently the reporters knew before I did.” 

It was then, as tears welled in her eyes, that he realised exactly how they’d gotten here. Fuck, he was going to find that reporter and make him regret ever showing up at a Dragons’ game. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, to explain, but she continued, pacing back and forth across the small closet, her hands waving about as she ranted. 

“And it’s not so much that you’re seeing another witch, not really, I know I said we’re not dating, it’s not as if I have any claim to you or such nonsense—” 

A pang went through his chest at the realisation she thought so little of him, even as he made a mental note to correct that line of thinking sooner rather than later. 

“—but if you had just told me you were looking for someone for both you and Malfoy, then I would have known better than to get my hopes up—”

“I’m sorry, I was what?” he interrupted. Surely he’d misheard. She paused, staring at him as if he were the one who’d gone absolutely barmy. 

“You and Malfoy, you like to…” She coloured, waving her hand about as if that sentence would finish itself. But it didn’t, and he continued to stare, truly, honestly, entirely bewildered. 

“You like to share a witch. Other witches, of course, not me,” she rushed to explain. “And of course, I understand people are going to have…proclivities. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I do wish, well, I wish you had discussed it with me when this all started. Us seeing each other, I mean. So at least then, I could have been prepared, maybe—” 

She continued on, talking in circles, devolving into a discussion of societal norms and how they’ve been impacted by pureblood mores and he simply… stared at her. Maybe that bludger had hit him harder than he thought. Clearly he was hallucinating, because there was no universe in which Hermione Jean Granger was standing in front of him talking about getting railed by two wizards. 

“I…” He paused, fighting to gather his thoughts, thoughts other than Hermione, naked, between him and— He cleared his throat gruffly. “I’m not sure I understand. Are you… Hermione, do you want to be, erm, shared? Is that what you’re upset about?”

She paused, mid-step, to stare at him. “I—” she sputtered. “Why would you even ask—that’s not the point! The point is that you’ve found another witch and I’m tired of finding out about my own personal life in the bloody Daily Prophet!” 

She shook the bottle still in her hand as she blustered at him, its formerly pale contents turning an alarming shade of neon and was that…yes, that was a tendril of smoke forcing its way from beneath the cork. That was enough. She could be mad at him all she wanted, but he was damned if he’d let her hurt herself in the process. 

Theo glanced around with a frustrated growl before dumping his armful of potions on the nearest empty shelf, ignoring Hermione’s noise of protest. She could rearrange them when he was done with her. He crossed the space between them in a single stride, snatching the bottle from her hand and scooping her from her feet to sling her over his shoulder, ignoring her shrieks as he carried her from the closet and strode across the room. Doing his best to ignore the way her front slid against his as he set her down, he dumped her unceremoniously on the exam table. She parted her lips to protest, but he clasped a hand over her mouth, silencing her even as he pushed between her legs, crowding against her to ensure there was nowhere for her to look but at him.

“I think it’s time for us to get a few things straight, witch,” he purred. Her gaze narrowed, and he half expected her to bite him, but when she didn’t, he continued. “You’re right, the Prophet caught me with a witch. Plastered photos of it all over page six, too—a bit excessive, really. But she is the most beautiful witch I’ve ever been with, so really, who can blame them?” 

Hurt flashed in her gaze and he leaned closer, his lips brushing at the shell of her ear even as she craned away from him, muffled protests coming from behind his hand. “They saw me with you, love,” he murmured. “There’s no one else.” 

She stilled, and then her hand met his, tugging it away from her mouth. He let his hand fall away the moment she asked. “What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes glimmering with an emotion he couldn’t name. 

“The witch they were asking about, sweetheart. It was you, or your back at least, not nearly enough to even guess it was you,” he rushed to reassure her. “But they caught us outside L’Atelier, just barely. I’m sorry I didn’t think…” 

His voice trailed away as she cocked her head to the side, studying him even as he could see her mind whirling behind those amber eyes. “You said it was in the paper?” 

Theo froze, his misstep staring him in the face. 

“Odd that I didn’t see it, don’t you think?” she asked almost conversationally, her fingers drumming lightly against the hand he suspected she didn’t know she was still holding. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, turning his hand over to lace his fingers through hers, both from the urge to be touching her and the knowledge he was much more likely to make it out of this in one piece if she didn’t have use of her wand hand. 

“Well…” he said slowly. “We, I mean I, thought it would upset you, and we put a stop to it before it could really go anywhere, it wasn’t as if anyone knew it was you, so we thought if you just didn’t see it, it might just, blow over, or at least…”

Her gaze narrowed as he blathered on, digging his own grave deeper by the word.

“Daisy or Malfoy?” She interrupted. 

He winced. “Malfoy,” he admitted. 

“Of course it was,” she muttered. “Great, interfering prat, should have let Ron go…” She continued ranting on beneath her breath for a moment before she focused again on him, taking a deep breath that in no way drew his attention to the hint of cleavage revealed by her blouse. “For what it’s worth,” she said primly. “I’m quite capable of handling media attention on my own. Better than most, in fact. But the fact you felt the need to step in—” 

Theo tensed, cursing Malfoy for ever convincing him that had been a good idea. He would be lucky if dumping him was the worst thing the witch did, not when she had access to a wand and no small well of spite. 

“I just… Thank you.” She finished the thought. He blinked. “It was sweet. Misguided,” she said pointedly. “But sweet. And for what it’s worth, I… I may have lied a bit, too.” He arched a questioning brow and she blushed, her voice hushed as she confided, “I don’t think I would be fine with there being another witch, Theo.” 

A slow smile spread across his face even as she looked shyly up at him and, unable to resist any longer, he bent and brushed a kiss over her rosy lips. “There’s no other witch, Hermione,” he pledged. “Only you.” Another soft kiss. “And there’d better damn well not be any other wizards, either.” 

She tensed beneath his hands at the words, and he cursed inwardly. He was a fucking idiot. Not as much an idiot as whoever let slip that stupid—admittedly true—rumour, but an idiot nonetheless. 

She leaned back slightly, into the palm he’d spread across her lower back, studying him for a moment. He dipped his head again, hoping to steal another kiss, perhaps to distract her from the questions he could see flying through her mind, but she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him even as a mulish expression crossed her face. 

“It’s true though, isn’t it? You and Malfoy like to… you know. Together, I mean?” 

It was all Theo could do to keep from laughing as his proper little witch turned pink, unable to even speak the thought aloud. 

“It’s been known to happen,” he admitted as his free hand slid further up her back to toy with ringlets that had escaped a severe updo to curl against her nape. “There’s something about taking a witch to the edge…” His lips brushed the corner of her pout as she sucked in a breath at his words. “Waiting until she’s hot and begging…” His mouth trailed to her throat, where her pulse beat hard against her delicate skin, her fingers tightening about his. “And another man there to just…push her over,” he nipped lightly at her pulse. “Well, I’m sure you can imagine, princess.” She shuddered against his fingertips as he purred the words and he smiled into her neck. Responsive little thing. 

He pulled back, catching her chin with his thumb and bringing her liquid gaze back to his. 

“But don’t forget you’re mine, witch.” 

“Archaic,” she reprimanded as he brought his lips back to hers, even as she sank into the kiss with a sigh. He smiled, catching her bottom lip between his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand tangled in her curls, tilting her head back so he could delve deeper, catching the little whimpers that echoed from her throat as her thighs tightened against his sides, unconsciously drawing him nearer, and her nails sunk into his chest, pinpricks of pain that made him want to lay her down on the table and show her each and every way she’d never need another wizard. 

“Oh for fuck's sake,” a smooth voice drawled from the doorway. Theo broke away with a curse as Hermione scrambled back on the table in an effort to put space between them. If people didn’t stop interrupting him and his witch—

He turned to face Draco with a scowl, his friend’s expression equally displeased.

“A building full of reporters frothing at the mouth for news of Theo Nott’s latest conquest, and you still can’t remember how fucking doors work.” 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” he bit out, even as Hermione slid off the table and put a few feet between them. Like Malfoy hadn’t already seen his tongue down her throat. 

“We were just—” she began, but Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“Spare us all the excuses, Granger. Lovely to see you’ve made up, I was deeply concerned.” 

His sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife and Theo didn’t have to look at Hermione to know she was frowning in return. 

“Did you need something, Mister Malfoy?” she asked tightly. 

Or are you just here to be a giant prat? Theo finished the sentence inwardly. No doubt the man had come looking for him to recount, in vivid detail, all the ways Theo had fucked up at the press conference. But he had better things to do, namely the witch standing next to him, if he were lucky. 

“Merely here to ensure my staff hasn’t lost all sense of discretion,” Draco said pointedly. 

It was Theo’s turn to roll his eyes as he snapped a mocking salute. “Roger that, sir.” Something dangerous flashed in Draco’s gaze even as Theo continued. “We were just leaving anyhow. Hermione?” He swept a half-bow, brandishing his arm to indicate she should precede him. 

Playing along, she tilted her nose up in a manner that would impress the most jaded of pureblood matriarchs and swept from the room. Or she would have, if not for Draco’s insatiable need to have the last word. 

“Granger?”

She paused, glancing up at him.

“Muzzle your guard dogs if they end up in my box again, yeah?” 

Theo made a noise of warning in his throat, even as the witch’s gaze narrowed threateningly. He expected her to verbally eviscerate the man, in true Hermione fashion, but instead, she leaned closer and…sniffed him? 

Draco tensed, equally as visibly confused by the witch’s actions, until she pulled back and jabbed at Draco with one finger, hard. “What the fuck, Granger?” The man exclaimed as he clasped a hand to his shoulder. 

“Use the damn salve, you prat,” she said tersely, before stomping past him.

Draco looked to Theo as if he expected him to do something about the witch, but he merely shrugged as he moved to leave, fighting a grin. “Healer’s orders.” 

Theo pushed past Draco, knocking his shoulder against the other man’s harder than strictly necessary, to drive Hermione’s point home. If she’d been kind enough to give him something for the pain that was a near-constant in his friend’s life, the man could at least use it. He had barely set foot in the hall when a hard hand banded about his wrist. Theo turned back to face his friend with a scowl, braced for the inevitable ‘I told you so’ the man had probably been itching to deliver since the moment he’d found them. But instead, his stormy eyes roved over Theo’s face, looking for answers to an unasked question. Theo arched a brow, waiting, and finally, Draco spoke.

“You’re good?”

Theo hesitated before answering. He knew his friend well enough to know that was the closest he’d get to an apology. “Yeah, I’m good.” Sorry I was an arse, you were right.

He thought that would be the end of it. But Draco shifted on his feet, a look of discomfort crossing his expression, as if it pained him to ask the question. “And Granger?” He glanced down the hall to where the witch waited for Theo, one impatient toe tapping against the tile. “She’s good?” 

Theo turned to face the witch as well, his face softening as a half-smile curved his lips. “Yeah, Malfoy. She’s great. Really, really great.” 

Chapter Text

Hermione scowled down at her latest series of test results. She was missing something. All of her scans demonstrated white matter disruptions, like she might expect to see from blunt force trauma, but that was something they could, and did, heal often enough. Hell, she’d fixed three minor brain contusions after the Dragons’ last game alone. But if that was the case, there was no reason they shouldn’t be able to repair memory spell damage with the same techniques.

So why wasn’t it working? 

This study was the one that had caught the Dragons’ attention, the implications towards the prevention of Quidditch-based head injuries were astronomical. If she could just fucking figure it out. She’d been up most of the night waiting for these tests to run, not wanting to take away from her duties with the team, and for what? Endless rows of numbers that meant exactly nothing new.

Her gaze flicked unwillingly to the unmoving Muggle photograph of her parents propped at the corner of her desk. They stood on either side of her, their grins wide, arms thrown around her. It had been taken right after she’d received her Prefect badge fifth year, they’d been so proud. 

With a scowl, she reached out and flipped the frame down. It was bad enough knowing they would never remember that moment, even if her research was successful. Monica and Wendell Wilkins had been living perfectly happy lives in Australia for well over a decade, to rip them away from that now would simply be cruel. But she didn’t need them to watch as she failed the dozens of witches and wizards who’d been trapped in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s since the war. Over and fucking over again.

Heaving a sigh, she again picked up the stack of papers, her gaze flicking over the numbers as if they might reveal something she hadn’t seen the first half-dozen times she’d looked them over. Something was keeping the Siberian Ginseng from working as it should in this particular batch of potions and if she could simply figure out why…

A cluster of voices travelled down the hall outside her office. No doubt the players were on their way to their second practice of the day, three-per-days mandated after their loss to the Harpies last week. She’d just picked up her wand to flick her door shut when a familiar voice broke from the jumble. 

“You lot go on, I’ll catch up in a minute. Just need to catch Healer Granger about something.” 

A tall figure appeared in her doorway as the other voices faded into the distance, and a smile broke through her frustration. “Theo,” she greeted. 

He sauntered into the room, grin in place. “Healer Granger,” he said, his voice pointedly formal as he pushed the door closed behind him. No sooner had the door latched than he was crossing the room in a few quick strides, stooping across her desk to lean down and press a hard kiss to her lips. “Good morning, love,” he purred as he pulled away. 

Hermione blinked up at him, her tongue flicking out to brush her bottom lip as if searching for another taste. “Good morning, Theo,” she responded nearly by rote. 

He toed the seat across from her out and sat, plunking first a paper cup and then a wrinkled brown bag atop her desk. “Lunch,” he clarified when she arched a brow. “For you,” he added, nudging them further across the desk when she didn’t immediately reach for them. 

Hermione offered him a grateful smile. It wasn’t that she meant to skip breakfast, or lunch, but more often than not, there simply weren’t enough hours in the day. “You’re a saint, if I haven’t told you that lately, Theo.” It wasn’t the first time he’d dropped by with a bite for her to eat, his presence always a welcome break, though more often than not he couldn’t linger. 

His grin took on a pleased edge as he waggled his brows suggestively. “Remind me to prove otherwise later, witch.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes even as she took a sip of the still-hot tea with an appreciative hum. Knowing he wouldn’t leave until he saw her eat, and not wanting to be the reason he was late to practice for the third time that week, she pulled the bag to her and produced a sandwich nearly the size of her head. A sandwich that was missing a single large bite from the one end. 

Theo gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I couldn’t very well tell the lads I was buying it for you, yeah?”

Hermione returned the smile. Certainly it had nothing to do with the fact the bag came from a Muggle café she’d introduced him to on Monday. He’d been begging to return every day since. (That had been date number four, and the reason he was late for practice the first time.)

Surreptitiously, she thumbed the edge of the bread up, her smile widening as she did. No tomatoes, he’d remembered. A wave of her wand split the sandwich neatly in two, and she offered the other half to Theo. 

He accepted it, catching her hand in his before she could pull it back, and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist with a murmured thanks. The sparkle that flashed in his eyes when the smallest of gasps escaped her lips told her he knew exactly the sort of shiver that coursed down her spine at his touch. Theo Nott was a menace.

She tugged her hand back from his with a look of reproach, promptly shoving a too-large bite of sandwich in her mouth to keep herself from blurting something stupid. Something that would most certainly violate their employee handbook. 

She was saved from additional commentary by Theo when the flame of the candle at the corner of her desk flared green. “Miss Granger,” the tinny voice of the front office receptionist echoed through her office. “Mister Malfoy would like to see you in his office, please.” 

Hermione scowled at the flame, though the witch on the other end couldn’t see her. This was the fourth time this week she’d been summoned, she didn’t have time to go running every time a miracle occurred and the man had a damn thought. “I’m just wrapping up here,” she responded, her voice tight. She just wanted to eat her sandwich in peace, was that too much to ask? “I’ll be happy to come up at half-past.” 

“Now, please, Miss Granger,” the voice intoned, the flame winking back to its usual orange before she could even attempt to respond. 

Theo grinned at her from across the desk. “Someone’s in trouble,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Getting called up to the headmaster’s office, have you been a bad witch?” 

Hermione scowled, pitching the balled-up paper bag at him. Which perhaps might have been more effective first, if she had any sort of aim and second, he hadn’t been a professional Quidditch player. Theo snatched the trash from the air with ease before lobbing it into the wastebasket. 

“I don’t care if he’s our boss,” she informed him irritatedly as she re-wrapped her half of the sandwich haphazardly. “Your friend is a prat.” 

The first time she’d been called to Malfoy’s office this week, it had been because, to no one’s surprise, Witten had reported her friends’ presence in the Dragons’ box last Friday. She’d freely admitted to being in the wrong (it only galled her slightly to do so), and promised to never do it again, and that had been that. The second time had been because he’d had a question about the concussion protocols she’d put in place for the players, a question that could have been answered if he’d read two pages further into her notes. She’d told him as much, as politely as she was able. The third time? He’d apparently taken her words to heart and taken it upon himself to read every single note she’d made on player treatments since she’d started with the Dragons. Not only that, but he apparently had questions about most of them, as if she didn’t know how to do her job. 

Merlin only knew what the man wanted this time. She half suspected he simply wanted to make her climb those damn stairs as some sort of twisted punishment for harassing him about his shoulder. If the stiff way he’d been moving of late was any sign, he still wasn’t using the salve. Not that she gave a rat’s arse if he didn’t want her help, but there was no reason he should take it out on her. 

Theo chuckled. “Far be it from me to argue,” he answered. “I’m happy to tell him as much, if you’d like.” 

Hermione cast a tight smile in his direction even as she pulled her robes from their peg. As tempting as the offer was, she had to remind herself that, no matter how much Malfoy may irk her, the man was her boss and was, unfortunately, due a certain measure of respect. Unless he continued to be an overbearing idiot, in which case she might reevaluate. 

“No, no, it will be fine, I’m sure he just has a question”—or twelve—“ about something, it's likely nothing,” she assured. “But I’ll see you tonight?” They’d planned to get together for dinner again, at a Muggle spot this time, to avoid a repeat of the L’Atelier incident.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, love.” Theo reached out to tug her around her desk, his arms folding about her to hug her tight just for a moment before his hand caught beneath her chin. He tilted her face up, his lips brushing across hers once, twice, a third time, before he pulled away with a grimace. “I should go,” he admitted. “Before we’re both in trouble for being late.” 

Hermione frowned, torn between the need to be as exceptional at her job as she was at anything else she put her mind to, and the overwhelming urge to spend more time with this wizard who did nothing but make her smile. With a frustrated sigh, she rose to her toes to press one more kiss against Theo’s smiling lips before stepping back, forcing him to release her. “Have a good practice.” 

His thumb came up to brush over her bottom lip for a moment before it fell away. “And good luck with the prat,” he answered with a grin. For a man who claimed to be such good friends with Malfoy, he took a surprising amount of delight in her general annoyance with the man. 

He turned to leave, no doubt already late for practice, but paused on the threshold.

“Remind Headmaster Draco that corporal punishment is frowned upon. I’m the only one allowed to spank you, love,” he tossed over his shoulder with a wink. His laughter at Hermione’s mortified squeak echoed down the hallway as he left. 

She was halfway tempted to throw a hex at his back as he went. Nothing vile, but it would serve him right to itch all through practice. Because she was not thinking about being spanked. Not by Theo. Not by Malfoy. Certainly not by…both of them. Draco pinning her over his knee while Theo’s strong, rough hand—No. Absolutely not. She was going to murder Ron the next time she saw him, for ever putting such an idea in her head. 

With an annoyed snarl, Hermione shrugged into her robes and began the interminable trudge up to the main offices. For fuck’s sake, millions of Galleons and the man couldn’t be bothered to put lifts in? Bloody prat.

Draco tapped his quill against the edge of his desk in irritation. It had been—he glanced at the clock—seven minutes since he’d asked Margie to summon Granger, and still not a sign of the witch. No doubt she was taking her time, just to irk him. Probably snogging Nott for all the world to see, just so he would have to manage the media uproar yet again. Spiteful little witch. 

As if his thoughts had conjured her, the witch pushed through his door without bothering to knock, cheeks flushed. “Can I help you with something, Mister Malfoy?” Her voice was flat, her face expressionless, as if bored by his very presence. “More questions on my medical expertise, perhaps?” 

He scowled. The witch had caught him in the lurch with her concussion protocol earlier in the week. He’d be damned if he let that happen again, so he’d spent far too many hours of his Wednesday night reading every scrap of information she’d recorded since starting with the Dragons. And it wasn’t his fault if there had been gaps in the information. The word sloppy might have come up in their last conversation, perhaps a poor choice on his part. One she clearly hadn’t forgotten, judging by the glare she was currently levelling in his direction. Fuck him for trying to be helpful, then.

But if he was destined to spend his entire week fighting with this witch, he might as well get to it. 

“What the hell is this, Granger?” He asked, tossing the folder he’d been reviewing across the desk.

She arched a brow. “Well, Malfoy,” she said, tone dry. “Seeing as I haven’t developed x-ray vision, I’m afraid I can’t tell you. But if you need your vision checked, I’m sure we could make that happen. Many men struggle with their eyesight as they…advance in age.” 

He scowled back at her, fighting the urge to finger the glasses lying on his desk like some sort of admission of guilt. “We’re the same fucking age, Granger,” he groused as he stood, rounding his desk. “And I don’t pay you to work on x-ray, whatever the hell that is. What are these?” 

Her latest round of test results had been delivered to him this morning, along with a note in her carefully penned writing that said she’d made no progress, though it had been couched in swotty fluff like she’d been turning in a History of Magic essay. Not a sign of progress from whatever the hell it was that had drained thousands of galleons from his account in the past month alone. The witch was meant to be curing magical memory loss and as far as he could see she was just as close to flying a broom to the moon as she was to being able to—

A slim hand snatched the file from him, interrupting his thoughts. She flipped the folder open, scanning it briefly, before looking back to him with a narrowed gaze. “These are this morning’s test results. There’ve been no changes. Which I’m sure you’ve read. Did you call me here just for the joy of repeating myself, or is there something I can actually help with?” 

Fuck, the witch was in a fine mood this afternoon. It was all he could do to keep from sniping back, just to see the spark sure to flare in her eyes, but he was going to be a professional, damn it all. “I simply wanted to see if there was any additional assistance I could offer,” he said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps you need additional funding. I’ve read the muggles have a—what was it—a trepan that their brain healers use, how much could that cost?” 

He was already turning to reach for his chequebook. He’d promised her carte blanche when he hired her, he might as well prove he meant it, when a scoff from the witch pulled his attention back towards her. 

“Yes, Malfoy, I’ll drill holes in their skull so the evil spirits can escape, it’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to relive the Middle Ages.” 

He paused, blinking at her in horror. The muggles were doing what? Before he could question her further, she set off pacing across his office, flipping through the pages of her report again as if they might reveal something she hadn’t seen on first glance, though he had no doubt she’d already committed them to memory.

“Research takes time, Malfoy,” she ranted as she paced from one side of the room to the other. “Money doesn’t just fix everything, despite what you might think. If I could just snap my fingers and make it happen, do you think I’d be here?” 

He tensed, not particularly caring for the implication she was only there for his funding. Even if that had been explicitly why he’d hired her to begin with. She had information he needed, he had the wealth with which to procure it. It was a business relationship, nothing more.

He didn’t give a damn how she felt about him outside of that.

He’d had a few suggestions on how she might alter the potion she was currently working on, it was destabilising around the time she added the ginseng and adding the juice rather than the crushed leaf might help with that. But far be it from him to offer his opinion when it clearly wasn’t wanted. Infuriating little witch. 

“Yes, you’ve made it abundantly clear you’re only here for my money, Miss Granger,” he drawled, crossing his arms across his chest as he watched her pace. “But if you can find an investor who doesn’t expect updates on his ridiculously expensive investments, then by all means, go forth.” 

“Did you hire me to do my job or not, Malfoy?” she snapped. “I don’t know why it is that you don’t trust me, but I’m sick and tired of you expecting me to come running every time you call just to pick apart every word I’ve ever said.” Her tone took on a bitter note as she paused, looking out the window and steadfastly avoiding making eye contact with him. “Or maybe you just think there’s no way a mudblood could be competent.” 

Her words fell between them, heavy and accusatory, and... Fuck.

Before he could think better of it, he’d crossed the room and caught her shoulder, yanking her to a stop and forcing her to face him. This close, he could see the dark circles painted beneath her eyes even as she looked past him, searching for an escape. A pang of something that felt suspiciously like guilt coursed through him. Of course the witch would run herself ragged rather than admit any sort of failure. But that didn’t give her leave to be an absolute terror, to accuse him of things he wouldn’t dream of saying. Like he was some sort of monster out to ruin her perfect little life. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, forcing her attention to him. 

“Merlin, Granger, do you ever shut up?” he bit out. Her mouth snapped open in protest, but he gave her a rough shake, silencing her. “Don’t fucking use that word, witch. No,” he cut her off when she again tried to speak. “I don’t care if that makes me a raging hypocrite, you won’t refer to yourself like that. You’re fucking brilliant, far more so than any pureblood prat, and we both know it. Don’t insult my fucking intelligence by pretending otherwise.” 

She glared up at him with such vicious intent he thought sparks might fly from that ridiculous hair of hers at any moment. “Malfoy,” she bit out. “I am exhausted. I am frustrated. I have a team full of Quidditch players who seem to have made it their life’s goal to break every bone in their incredibly large bodies.” She ticked the items off one by one on slim fingers, their tips smudged with ink. “And I have research that isn’t fucking turning out right and I don’t want to fucking talk about it with a pureblood git who thinks he knows better than me.” 

His fingers dug into the delicate skin of her shoulder, robes pulled askew by his grip. Circe help him, this witch was incorrigible. All thoughts of any help he’d thought to offer flew from his mind as his gaze dropped to her pale throat, replaced by idle thoughts of simply strangling the witch instead. Maybe then she’d finally shut up and listen for once in her life.

Her gaze narrowed, and to his horror, he realised he’d said that bit aloud. Fucking hell, why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut around this witch? 

Rather than hexing him into oblivion as he might have expected, though, her gaze cleared and her lips curved upwards. He tensed, something in her suddenly open expression screaming danger in a way a spoken threat never could. “Malfoy?” she said sweetly, wide amber eyes peering up at him. “Fuck off.” She wrenched her shoulder from his grip and spun in a whirl of robes, one hand flying up in a vulgar gesture as she made to leave. 

Draco stared after her for half a beat, stunned, before he set after her with a growl. If the witch wanted to be a fucking brat, he’d treat her like one. He crossed the room, catching her before she could even reach for the door. They were going to have this out, damn it all, how dare she try to walk away from him like that. 

He snatched the hand she’d used to insult him with a hard tug, yanking her back towards him. She turned with a muffled shriek, off-balance, and stumbled, her free hand fisting in his robes as she caught herself. Her amber eyes widened, ire flashing in her gaze even as her fingers flexed reflexively against his chest. He was certain she’d right herself and be on her way. Hell, her letter of resignation would likely be on his desk before the day was out. But instead, her rosy lips parted as she stared up at him—Merlin, she was going to pick a fight all over again—and before he could think any better of it, he let slip a muttered oath as his lips crashed into hers.

Hermione froze. Malfoy’s lips were pressed against hers, firm and unmoving and—oh, that prat—he thought he could berate her, treat her like an idiot, and then kiss her? He seemed as shocked as she, and she was certain he would pull away at any moment, horrified by his impulse. Except, in a reflex driven by instinct she didn’t know she possessed, her fingers curled against his chest, though to push him away or pull him closer, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say. It was the tiniest of motions, but enough, the wizard clearly taking it as encouragement as his hand slipped to the back of her neck, lips moving against hers, tentatively at first, and then, when she didn’t pull away—Merlin, why had she not pulled away?—more intently, his lips tasting hers in a slow, careful exploration. He dropped her hand, his grasp shifting to her hip, urging her closer until she melted against him with a soft sigh, lost in the press of his mouth against hers. 

Long moments passed before he drew away, exhaling a warm puff of breath as he brushed his lips over hers with idle, teasing touches even as his hand clutched her hip hard enough to bruise, as if to drive her absolutely mad. Insufferable prat. 

She let slip a noise of protest as she sunk her nails into his chest and rose onto her toes, pressing her lips harder against his, her teeth catching at his bottom lip. 

He muttered a curse against her lips in return before his hand slipped from her neck to fist hard in her hair, tugging her head back. Her lips parted on a gasp at the bite of pain, and his tongue met hers, demanding entrance.

A whimper escaped her, her fingers twisting into his robes to pull him closer still. “Fucking hell, Granger,” he groaned against her lips. 

The sound of his voice, gruff and full of something near longing broke her from the spell that had fallen over them the moment his lips met hers and she stiffened, wrenching her mouth from his and pulling from his grip, taking a few stumbling steps back. “Oh god,” she mumbled to herself as her hand rose to cover her mouth, mind racing. She stared, wide-eyed, as the man straightened first one cuff, then the other, before raising his gaze to look somewhere just over her shoulder. The infuriating man didn’t have a single hair out of place. No one would have ever known anything had happened at all, if not for the two bright spots of colour marring his pale cheeks. 

“Apologies, Miss Granger,” he said stiffly, never once making eye contact with her. “I’m not sure what came over me.” She couldn’t muffle the sharp bark of incredulous laughter that escaped at his words. He didn’t know what had come over him? “I’ll, of course, extend my apologies to Theo, as well.” 

She froze. Theo. She had to tell Theo. Gods above, tell him what? “I had a bit of a snog with your best friend, he’s really rather good at it, I hope you don’t mind?” How could she have done that to him? Fuck, what had she done?

“I…” she stammered. “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” 

Before he could say a word to stop her, as if he would even want to, she spun and fled, ignoring the storm that roiled in the dark gaze following her from the room.

Hermione landed in the front garden, nearly stumbling into a neatly manicured patch of clematis. She was lucky she hadn’t splinched herself, apparating in such a state, but the idea of finding the nearest public Floo, or worse still, taking the tube and hiking through Diagon Alley simply wasn’t an option, not today, not now.

Not bothering to pause to straighten her robes, she paced up the front walk and banged her fist against the door of the stately home. She paused, listening for any sign of movement inside. Nothing. She raised her hand to grab for the knocker, a dragon cast in heavy bronze, of course, before she froze, and checked the watch on her wrist. She was an idiot. It was barely half-past two, Theo would be at practice still. In the same damn building she’d just fled from.

But what was she meant to do, go back and risk running into Malfoy again? 

The logical portion of her brain reminded her she could count the number of times she’d seen the man outside his office on one hand. But the part of her that had leaned into that horrible, wonderful kiss couldn’t help but wonder if he would show up in her clinic, just to remind her he ruled her life with the Dragons. As if she could forget. No, she was done for the day. She’d send a note to, well, the front office at least, not directly to Malfoy to be sure, and she would… She couldn’t simply go home, not without telling Theo. He should know before he showed up to pick her up for their date, so he had the chance to cancel the plans he’d so carefully made.

So she would wait.

Glancing up at the greying sky and praying it wouldn’t rain, she turned to sit on the top step, only for the slow creak of an opening door to stop her. She turned, expecting to see a house-elf, no doubt come to see who the madwoman banging on the door was. But the door simply stood open, revealing the lush entryway of the home. She took a hesitant step forward.

“Hello?" she called out from the threshold.

Nothing.

“Theo?” she called again. “Are you home?” She felt rather ridiculous asking the question, she knew perfectly well he wasn’t. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling suddenly like she was being watched, before she turned back to the house. There was nothing for it, she supposed. “Do you mind if I come in?” she asked politely, ignoring the fact she looked like an absolute madwoman talking to an empty hallway. It wouldn’t do to offend whatever it was that had opened the door. 

The door slowly swung open further, an undeniable invitation and, taking one last look behind her, she stepped over the threshold, doing her best not to visibly startle when the door closed behind her without prompting. She would wait in the kitchen, she supposed, at least she knew where to find it. But as she crept down the hall, halfway expecting someone to come screeching at her for trespassing at any moment, another door swung open as she passed. She paused, curiosity winning out as she glanced into the room. It was a cosy little drawing room, with a merry fire crackling in the grate, a plush sofa staged at just the right angle to look out the window to the garden, and a precarious pile of books teetering on the end table. She hesitated, reluctant to pry any further, but… it was nearly as if the house had invited her in, and she’d hate to be rude. And that sofa looked so much more comfortable than the hard bar stools in the kitchen.

Muttering something beneath her breath about Goldilocks, she took one last glance towards the kitchen before she crossed the room with a few hurried steps. She settled onto the sofa with a sigh. Of course it was even more comfortable than it looked. She would just wait here. 

Theo stepped out of the Floo with an annoyed sigh, flicking his robes to dislodge the ash that clung there. He was perfectly fine not having house-elves, he’d always found their wide, staring eyes to be more than a bit disconcerting, but it might be time to have someone take another look at the house’s cleaning magic. The Dragons’ practice had run late. The plays he’d come up with after their loss against the Harpies were solid, but damned if the rookies didn’t break their necks before they sorted them out. And now he had less than an hour before he was due to pick Hermione up. If he was late for that, the rookies would be running laps until the end of time, if he had anything to say about it.

He was halfway from the room when he paused.

Something was off.

As if to punctuate the thought, a soft snore rose in the otherwise quiet room. Slipping his hand into the pocket that held his wand, he moved across the room on light feet, until he discovered the source of the noise. 

He paused, arching a brow even as a grin spread across his face. 

He was fairly certain they’d planned to meet at her flat, something about her needing to be home to feed her cat before they went out, but he couldn’t say he minded this particular surprise. Though he’d really need to have a word with Draco about his security wards. Because there she was, his witch. Curled up on the sofa, her hair spilling in a wild mess over the arm, a small trail of drool painted down her chin as another quiet snore echoed. Smile softening, he rounded the couch to crouch next to her, reaching to push a curl away from her face, his hand trailing across the soft skin of her cheek. He was loath to wake her, Merlin only knew she hadn’t slept enough of late. But there were few things she hated more than being late, and no doubt she’d want to freshen up before their dinner.

“Hermione, love,” he whispered. “Time to wake up.” Her lashes fluttered, opening slowly to reveal drowsy amber eyes. 

“Theo,” she murmured, her pleased voice scratchy with sleep even as she nuzzled further into his hand against her cheek. 

“Couldn’t wait to see me, could you?” he teased even as he stood, shifting her legs gently so he could join her on the sofa. 

She blinked sleepily at him, her brow furrowing for a moment before her eyes widened and she scrambled up to sit, her robes bunched about her legs and her curls flying in every which direction. “Theo!” she repeated again, her voice creeping high as her gaze darted about the room. 

Looking for a way out, no doubt, because his witch was the furthest thing from a fool and she knew there was no way she was escaping without at least some gentle teasing about her trespassing. But instead, she looked to him again, tears welling in her wide eyes as all thoughts of teasing fled, a surge of panic replacing them. Fuck, what was wrong?

“Hey now,” he exclaimed, reaching to haul her unceremoniously into his lap, ignoring her muffled squeak as he turned her face to meet his. “What’s this, then? What happened?” 

She squirmed uncomfortably on his lap, looking everywhere but right at him.

“Hermione,” he urged, his gaze scanning over her rapidly for any sign of injury, or anything else awry. “What’s wrong?” 

Her gaze darted away from his again, her lower lip quivering as she took a deep breath until, finally, her amber eyes came back to meet his, and she admitted, “I have to tell you something.” 

Dread welled in him as she spoke, her tone heavy. He’d known he was pushing too hard, had fallen for her too hard, too fast, but he thought she’d been right there along with him, thought she’d liked him—

“I kissed Draco.” Her blurted admission wrenched him from his thoughts and for a moment he was certain he’d misheard her. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the way his friend looked at her, or the way her eyes flared when she spoke about him. A man would have to be blind to miss it. And yet—

“I beg your pardon?” 

A tear escaped, painting a trail down her cheek, and he unconsciously raised a hand to wipe it away, only to freeze when she flinched away from him. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, before her gaze met his again. “I kissed Draco,” she repeated.

Fuck, he had heard her right.

“Or he kissed me, but I kissed him back and I should have stopped him, I know, but it was just—Merlin, I don’t know what to say, Theo, I’m so sorry.”

Tension grew in him as she rambled, her tears flowing in earnest now, as he braced for the rush of jealousy he would have expected at the news. But as the image of his witch, wrapped in his best friend’s arms, flashed in his mind’s eye...the heat that spread through him wasn’t rage. Fuck, the idea of her pressed against Draco, his long fingers tangled in her hair, demanding her pleasure as he knew the man loved to do… He stifled a groan, his eyes closing for a half beat as he shifted the witch in his lap carefully, so she wouldn’t feel him growing hard against her hip. 

“Theo, I’m so sorry,” her voice wavered as she sniffed, and he cursed himself inwardly. His witch was sitting here convinced he was going to fly into a rage, that she’d ruined anything, and all he wanted to do was tell her how incredibly sexy he found the entire idea. He damn well couldn’t tell her that, not now. But maybe he could show her. He leaned back, smoothing his expression into something as serious as he could manage as his hand cupped the curve of her cheek, bringing her watery gaze back to his as he brushed the tears away.

“How did he kiss you?” His voice very nearly sounded stern, if not for the rasp of arousal that laced his words. 

Her brow furrowed, clearly taken aback by the question. “Why does that matter?” she asked, flustered. 

His mouth quirked upwards before he dipped his head to brush his lips across hers in a soft, fleeting kiss. “Like this, then?” 

“Theo!” she protested, leaning back, though she made no move to escape his lap. 

“No?” he asked, feigning surprise. He should be comforting her, he knew, soothing her tears away, but he couldn't quite resist. He needed to know.

“Was it more like this?” He caught her chin, pausing just long enough to give her the opportunity to pull away if she chose, before he pressed his lips to hers again, a firm, sweet kiss that he knew—hoped— was nothing like what Draco would have offered her. 

“Hmmm…” he mused aloud as he pulled away, studying her, fighting a grin at the indignant expression on her face. “That must have not been it either.”

“Theo, I don’t know what the point—”

“Do you want to tell me what it was like, love?” he interrupted.

She pursed her lips, as if drawing attention to her mouth would make him want to snog her less. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but she remained silent.

“No?” he asked. “Well then. Let’s try something different.”

He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, threading his fingers through her curls, and pulling her hard against him, his lips seizing hers, tongue flicking against her lips, demanding entrance. She parted for him obediently and he groaned at her taste, delving and exploring until she’d all but melted against him. Her hips shifted against his impatiently and he wrenched away with a silent curse, stopping while his mind was still clear enough to suggest he should. A whimper of protest escaped her and he hid his smile, tucking his face into the wild abandon that was her hair for just a moment before he sat back, tugging her curls gently until she looked up at him. 

“There it is,” he said with a satisfied purr as she blinked up at him. “It’s no wonder you liked it so much.” 

Her cheeks flamed red. “I never said I—” 

He tapped a thumb against her lips, silencing her. “Did you?” he asked pointedly, his hands coming to rest on her thighs to pin her in place. She looked back at him with a mulish expression and opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but he cut her off. “Lunch today, that would have made date number five, yes?”

She blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic, but nodded slowly. “By your math, at least, yes?” 

He nodded, as if there had been no question. “And you want to see me again?” She glanced down to where she’d found herself straddling his lap before looking back to him with one brow arched. 

He matched her expression, raising a brow in return, and she sighed, her voice long-suffering as she answered. “Yes, Theo, I’d like to see you again.” 

He ignored the wash of relief that coursed through him, forcing away the niggle of doubt that had insisted she would say otherwise. “Excellent,” he squeezed her thighs, refusing to be distracted by the way her soft skin gave beneath his touch. “Then I believe, in your words, that means we’re dating. One might even say committed to each other, right?” 

She dropped her hands from his chest with a sigh. “Where are you going with this, Theo?” 

He was unable to keep his grin from breaking through as the witch waltzed neatly into the trap he’d laid for her. 

“Well, while I don’t have much experience on that front, I do believe lying to someone you’re committed to would be very much frowned upon.”

Her gaze grew wary, and he fought to keep the triumph from his voice as he leaned in closer, his voice nearing a purr as he murmured. “So tell me the truth, love, did you like kissing Draco today?” 

She flushed, obviously not done arguing. “Theo, we just established that we're...let's call it together, I suppose, now. So what does it matter how I feel about—” She hesitated. “—about other wizards.”

He ducked his head to her throat, trailing his lips towards her ear to hide his grin.

“Love, as long as I get to call you mine, I don’t care if you kiss a dozen wizards." He paused, considering. "Well, unless it’s someone like Weasley, of course, I’d hope we could at least talk about that first.”

Her nose wrinkled at the thought and he grinned inwardly. He wasn’t one to hold her past relationships against her, but it was reassuring nonetheless to know that particular point was moot. “So,” he said, returning his attention to her throat, sucking lightly where her pulse fluttered against her skin. “Draco?” 

Her gaze narrowed, and he was certain she’d again refuse to answer, but instead, her hands fell to cover his, squeezing tightly as she took a deep breath. 

“Yes,” she spat begrudgingly. “I liked it, is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Judging by the fire snapping in her gaze, she’d hex him if he smiled, so instead he leaned in, brushing a kiss across her lips in return for the admission. 

“But I won’t do it again, not if you don’t want me to,” she added as his lips left hers.

It was all he could do to keep the surprised expression from his face. Not because she wanted to do it again, no, he’d be shocked if she didn’t, honestly, but because he hadn’t had to coax that admission from her. Maybe his witch wanted it more than he thought, more than she knew. And fuck, he liked that more than he'd ever thought he would. She seemed to not realise what she’d said, though, instead worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared at him consideringly. 

“Does that…does that mean that you’ll want to, erm, kiss other witches too?” 

Fighting to hide his surprise, he sat back, his thumbs sweeping idle patterns across her soft skin as he looked at her, consideringly.

“Do you want me to be with other witches?” He suspected he knew the answer, but he knew his witch, and if he didn’t give her the opportunity to say it aloud, she’d fret herself into a frizzled mess. 

She hesitated, her gaze darting away. Theo waited, as patiently as he was able, fingers tracing idle patterns over her soft skin as she searched for the words he knew were coming. “I…” She finally spoke, her gaze sliding past him, not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t think I would like that much, you with other witches, I mean.” Her legs tensed around him as she spoke, as if planning to flee after her admission. Not that she would get far if she tried. 

“Hermione,” he said sternly, drawing her attention back to him. “I’ve seen you go toe to toe with some of the most powerful wizards in Britain without flinching. You can’t go and get bashful on me now, love. Now look me in the eye and tell me what you want.” 

She blushed prettily. “I—” She took a deep breath and drew herself tall in her lap. “No, I don’t want you with other witches, Theo. And I think…” She paused, and he gave her legs a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “I think I’d like it if you kissed me again, like that, please.” 

A wicked grin spread across his face. “Far be it from me to deny a pretty witch,” he said even as he tugged her closer. Hermione stretched to meet him, her lips warm and eager as they moved against his.

Long moments passed before he tore his lips away from hers for a moment, chest rising as he fought to catch his breath. 

“Circe above, these skirts, love,” he groaned, leaning his forehead gently against hers as he toyed with the hem of the tight, knee-length skirt she wore beneath her robes. “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to ride a broom when the smallest glimpse of you looking like that has me hard?”

She flushed a pretty pink, pulling back to glance down at where his hands rested on the exposed skin of her thighs. “I’m sorry, it’s been too warm for trousers, but I can find-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Theo growled, catching her mouth with his again as his hands slid further beneath the skirt. Her lips parted easily, granting him access as she leaned in closer, her tongue teasing at his as he explored her taste for long minutes. He waited until she’d melted against him, her hands fisted in his robes to keep him close, before he pulled away with a wry grin, his teeth catching at her lower lip as he went. 

“I’ve been fantasising about your arse since sixth year, Hermione. I’m finally allowed to stare as much as I want, taking that away would just be cruel.” 

She sat back at his words, a scolding look on her face, as if she was a prefect who’d just caught him misbehaving—fuck, he should really see someone about why that turned him on the way it did—though he could tell from the sparkle in her eyes she was fighting a smile. 

“You’re a menace, Theo Nott,” she informed him primly. 

He grinned, sliding his hands until his fingers met the crease of her thighs, leaning forward to again capture her lips with his. “Will you punish me if I’m bad, love?” he murmured against her. 

A laugh escaped her at his words, a bright burst of noise that quickly turned into a moan as his hand shifted to cup her, pressing against the damp fabric of her knickers. Fucking hell, this witch was going to be the death of him. 

“Theo,” she whined, tilting her head to give him better access as his lips trailed down her neck. 

“Did kissing Draco make you this wet?” He taunted, his voice low as his fingers slipped beneath the edge of the fabric to trail up her slit. She moaned again, her hips bucking against his hand, a whimper escaping her as she silently begged for more.

“I’ve got you, love,” he soothed even as his fingers found the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, drawing a sharp cry from her. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

Draco growled beneath his breath, pulling the glasses from his nose. That was the third time tonight he’d made a calculation error. No one had told him when he’d bought a Quidditch team that there would be so much thrice-bedamned math. Which generally wasn’t an issue, he wasn’t an idiot, but today… 

He cursed, pushing the stack of papers he’d been trying to review away. He’d let the damn witch get in his head. What had he been thinking, to kiss her like that? She belonged to Theo, no matter how maddeningly, infuriatingly tempting she might be. And now he was hiding in his office far past when he’d rather be home, because the idea of having to look his best friend in the eye and tell him what he’d done… It wasn’t as if they could just sit down to dinner after that. Not after Theo inevitably, deservedly, broke his nose. 

But what was the alternative? Going out of his way to avoid both Nott and Granger, in hopes that this obsession with the infuriating witch and her incessant need to bicker with him would vanish as quickly as it had arrived? No, he’d never had enough luck that he could manage that.

With a groan, he scrubbed his hands over his face before he pushed back from his desk. Might as well get it over with while it was still daylight, maybe that way he wouldn’t have to spend the entire night at Mungo’s waiting for them to repair whatever damage was done to his face. 

He glanced at the stack of reports sitting in his inbox, waiting for his attention. The trade deadline was approaching, and Witten was going to lose his head if the team didn’t pick up a new backup Chaser. Normally he’d take the stack home with him, sort it out from the comfort of his own sofa, where no one would bother him. But frankly he couldn’t be arsed, not tonight. So, for once, he ignored the waiting work and strode for his private Floo, tugging his tie loose as he went. 

Apologise to Theo, get his nose fixed, order in dinner, maybe from that Thai place. Stop fantasising about an angry Granger, and pray she didn’t quit first thing tomorrow morning. He ticked the items off in his mind as he stepped into the green flames. 

For a brief moment, he was certain he was hallucinating, that the witch had finally pushed him over the edge. Because as he stepped through the Floo into their drawing room, a soft moan reached his ears, right before the flames cleared to reveal the tableau before him. 

The witch sat perched on Theo’s lap, head thrown back against his shoulder, one hand woven tightly through his curls while the other—Circe—the other clutched at Theo’s wrist, holding his hand where it was buried between her legs. Another quivering moan fell from her lips as she arched harder into the man’s touch, and for a moment it was all he could do to pray that she would spread her legs a bit more, that the firelight would flicker a bit further, so that he could see.

A strangled groan escaped his throat and, in unison, two pairs of eyes snapped to him. Hermione’s amber gaze widening in shock even as Theo’s crinkled in the beginning of a knowing smile. “Draco,” his friend greeted, the rasp in his voice the only clue anything was out of the ordinary even as—fuck— even as the witch’s back bowed as his hand continued to move beneath her skirt. 

“Theo,” she gasped in protest, her voice breathy as her gaze darted back to Draco. “Theo, he—”

“Look who’s come home early, love,” Theo interrupted, murmuring in Hermione’s ear, just loud enough for Draco to overhear as the witch turned her head to blink hazily up at her lover. 

"I—we can't," she protested, even as her hips rocked against him. 

“Did Draco never tell you that he loves a bit of a show?” Theo purred the question in the witch’s ear even as he gave Draco a taunting grin, like a boy showing off his newest toy.

This was it, then, his punishment, wasn't it? Theo wasn’t going to break his nose for kissing Hermione, not when he could torture Draco like this, instead.

“I think we should give him one, don’t you?”

Fuck, he wasn’t meant to be here, not now, not in this moment with them. What was he doing standing here, watching, listening, lapping up her breathy little moans like a man dying of thirst, as if he had any right to them. The witch was going to come to her senses at any moment now, and he was fucked the moment she did. 

With a curse, Draco spun back to the fireplace, grabbing a fistful of Floo powder and praying that the team still kept that bottle of Firewhisky stashed in the equipment closet. Nothing short of getting absolutely sloshed would rid his mind of the image of the witch, her cheeks flushed and eyes glazed, with his best friend’s hand toying between her legs.

Fuck, he might Obliviate himself while he was at it. He’d hired the witch to solve memory problems, might as well put her to work. Which he couldn’t very well do if his dick got hard every time she glanced in his direction.

He flicked the powder into the grate, his gaze narrowing on the flames, willing them to turn faster, to let him escape. Escape to somewhere the very scent of the witch didn’t fill the air, and the dangerous glint in his friend’s gaze didn’t taunt him with something he couldn’t have. 

He had one foot in the grate, ignoring the still-too-hot sparks singeing his robes, when her voice reached his ears, soft and drowsy with something he could only label lust. 

“Stay.” 

Chapter Text

“Stay.” 

Theo heard the word drop from his witch’s lips and thought, for a moment, he must be hallucinating. 

Draco froze as well, halfway turned back to the fireplace, incredulity written across his face as if certain he’d misheard her. Theo knew the feeling. Because if the witch was suggesting what he thought she was… God, it was all he could do to keep from dropping to his knees and begging his witch for more. 

“If…if you want to, that is.” 

Fuck, she was still talking, what had she said? Draco’s gaze was locked on the witch as if she were the sole source of air in the room, and it wasn’t as if Theo could blame him. Reflexively, he took a deep breath, as if to prove he could, inhaling the musky floral scent of her hair and doing his best to ignore the way his dick twitched beneath the plump curve of her arse.

He wasn’t certain what had driven the witch to ask the other wizard to stay, whether it had been his earlier teasing or—Merlin, maybe she’d enjoyed her kiss with Draco more than he’d thought. When Draco had first appeared, stepping from the flames, looking thoroughly annoyed, it had taken everything in him to not whip out his wand—his actual wand, not the one currently pressed against Hermione’s pert arse—and hex the other man right back where he’d come from. He’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, and to have it interrupted… But then, he’d felt the witch’s sharp intake of breath, and the rush of wet between her thighs. His pretty witch wasn’t nearly as shy as she’d first let on, and not nearly as uninterested in Draco as she might have believed herself to be, and far be it from him to deny her.  

Theo’s hands tightened on her thighs, drawing her attention back to him. “I…” she stammered, twisting in his lap to look back at him. “I mean, if that’s alright?” 

His heart skipped a beat as her wide amber eyes met his, an intoxicating mix of lust, and trust, and the barest hint of unease swirling in her gaze. He could say no, he knew he could, but his sweet witch had done what he’d asked, she’d asked for what she wanted. And she lay sprawled across his lap, her legs spread wide, his best friend’s gaze hot on her….

He buried his face in her neck with a groan, and she tensed in his grip. Unable to resist, he nipped gently at her skin and, with a muffled squeak, Hermione jerked to close her legs. 

His lips curved against her throat. It was more than a little too late for her to be shy now. His hands caught her, fingers dimpling against her skin as he forced her thighs further apart. The stormy grey eyes watching them flickered downward, just for a moment, before returning to her face. Theo couldn’t help but admire his friend’s restraint. Merlin only knew if he were in the other man’s position he would have been on his knees for Hermione by now.

“Don’t you dare hide, princess,” Theo murmured in her ear, before lifting his head to stare at Draco. The other man simply returned the look, his inscrutable gaze focused on her face and no lower, both hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, as if he were waiting for Hermione and Theo to decide where they were going to dinner. 

He’d give him a pass for kissing his witch, if only because this might be better torture than anything he could ever come up with on his own. But if Draco thought to turn her down after she’d asked so sweetly, after she’d been so very bold, the man would deserve a broken nose. For being an idiot, if nothing else. 

“You heard the witch,” Theo said gruffly. “Stay.” 

A flash of surprise crossed Draco’s face and, for a moment, Theo was certain his friend would declare them both mad and vanish back into the Floo. It wasn’t as if Hermione was his usual type. Draco liked them tall, slim, and, most importantly, gone the next day. 

But rather than leaving, Draco’s head jerked in a tight nod as he drew one of the drawing room’s cosy armchairs nearer with a flick of his wand. He sat, crossing one long leg over the other before slowly, methodically, undoing his cuffs. A whimper escaped the witch as he carefully rolled his sleeves to his elbows, revealing the dark swirls of ink that decorated his skin. 

Theo rolled his eyes. Always a flare for the dramatic, that one. He halfway expected him to wave his hand at them to continue like some sort of benevolent emperor, but instead, Draco simply leaned back, and raised a single, haughty brow.

An outsider would have guessed the other wizard was entirely unaffected by the portrait before him, if not for the way the knuckles of his fist grew white as he rested it on the arm of the chair. No, Theo knew that expression, knew that with a word the man would be across the room, pinning the witch between them and demanding every inch of her pleasure like the domineering prick he was. 

But that word of invitation damn well wasn’t going to come from him. Not when he had his witch writhing on his lap like he’d been fantasising about nearly as long as he could remember. Gods, he wanted her to fall apart for him. No, if Malfoy wanted to touch, the witch would have to be the one to ask him to join in.

Next time maybe, but now? Now Hermione was his and it was far past time he reminded his witch who held her. 

Experimentally, he slid his fingers through the warm heat gathered between her legs, pressing a kiss to her neck as a reward when a whimper fell from her lips, her hips shifting impatiently. She was an eager little thing, but she’d have to learn patience if she wanted to play with two wizards at once. 

He smiled, his gaze never leaving Draco, taunting him silently as his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. “You’re drooling, love,” he crooned. Hermione’s mouth snapped shut and a dark chuckle escaped him. “That’s not what I meant.” His finger slipped deftly between her folds and she arched with a startled moan, drawing an echoing noise from Draco as his expression tightened, his grey eyes growing dark. 

Theo growled as the witch’s gaze never wavered from Draco, a warning she didn’t heed until he plunged two thick fingers into her without warning. Fucking hell, she was tighter than he could have imagined, her walls clenching around him even as a muffled squeak escaped her. She twisted in Theo’s lap, her accusatory gaze meeting his fierce expression. 

She opened her mouth, though to beg him to stop or beg him for more, he couldn’t say, not before his hand caught in her hair, forcing her gaze to his. She clenched around him, a wet rush of heat coating his fingers as his thumb petted her clit. 

“Eyes on me, love,” he ordered, his voice harsh even as he gentled his touch, gathering the slick welling between her thighs until his fingers moved easily within her. Hermione shifted, Theo’s knees forcing her thighs wider as she tilted her head to meet his lips. He captured her lips with a groan, his kiss hard, possessive, demanding. 

For a moment he forgot their audience entirely, until Draco’s low, rasping voice met his ears. “Show me, Nott.”

A whimper escaped Hermione at the gruff order and she pulled away from Theo’s kiss to bury her face in his neck. His free hand shifted to her throat, the rapid beat of her pulse belying her sudden nerves. He was so proud of his witch for having come this far, for giving in to what she wanted. 

“Shhh…” Theo soothed, his fingers carding through her curls even as his fingers drove her higher and higher. She arched into him, her fingers twisting into his shirt, her hips rocking against him as his palm ground against her clit, raw, wanting noises rising in her throat. 

Gods, it was too much. “He wants to watch me play with you, princess.” Theo gasped out as he rocked his hips against her, her breath catching as his hard length pressed into the curve of her arse. “He wants us to make him jealous, make him burn with how badly he wants to be the one buried in your pretty cunt. Let’s show him, yeah?” 

Hermione tensed in his arms, and for a moment, Theo thought he’d pushed too hard, asked for far more than she was ready to give. But then she melted against him, her hum of pleasure beckoning like a siren’s song.  

A wicked glint sparked in her gaze as she looked up at him, and Theo’s cock jerked against her, offering its enthusiastic endorsement to whatever trouble she had in mind. “I think we should,” she murmured, even as she dropped her lips back to his throat. 

Theo’s groan mingled with Draco’s as her quiet words permeated the heavy room. Fuck, this witch was a gift. He should have chased after her at Hogwarts and never let her go. His hands shifted to her hips, lifting her with ease and turning her until her back fell against his hard chest. Her legs splayed to either side of his, his cock pressed between the curves of her arse. 

“Good girl,” he murmured in her ear as he vanished her knickers with a wandless Evanesco. “Let him see how good I can make you feel.” 

A stifled moan came from across the room, and as one, their gazes turned towards Draco. He sat in the shadows cast by the fire, the sun having long since set. His eyes flickered with lust, darting from point to point, as if he wanted to take it all in at once. Theo couldn’t blame him. Keeping his hands from his witch had been nearly impossible, her goodnight kisses enough to leave him hard and aching all night. But as she rocked impatiently against him, all he could think was Merlin, it had been worth it.

Theo urged Hermione’s hips up until he could ruck her skirt about her waist, leaving her bared. 

“Spread her for me,” Draco’s low voice came, demanding, rather than asking. 

Theo was of half a mind to ignore him, simply to prove that he could, but the idea of his witch spread beneath his hands, of showing her off…Fuck he wanted that. 

Hermione’s thighs twitched beneath his grip as if she, too, wanted to obey the order but wasn’t sure how. “You heard him, love,” Theo soothed, even as his fingers dug hard into the flesh of her thighs, forcing them further apart. 

Draco tensed, leaning forward, and for a moment, Theo thought he would rise, would cross to them, to touch everything Theo had placed on display for him. He cast Draco a silent look of warning even as a trail of slick trickled down her thigh. Fuck, his witch loved this, loved being on display. But she was his alone to touch, until she said otherwise. 

“See how hard he is for you, princess,” Theo crooned in her ear. “How jealous he is that I get to play with your pretty little cunt and all he can do is watch.” 

His fingers found her clit, drawing light, teasing circles until she was writhing against him, her breath falling in quiet pants. “Theo.” She whined, her hand flying to his, trying to force it where she wanted it. 

“Hands to yourself, witch,” Draco purred, even as Theo reached for her wrist, catching her hand and pinning it against her stomach beneath his own. “Theo is the only one allowed to touch.” 

Hermione tensed for a moment, levelling what Theo could only assume was a nasty glare at Draco, as something dangerously close to humour sparked in his friend’s eyes. The man always did like to play with fire. 

Hermione squirmed against him in protest as Theo’s fingers stilled against her. She whimpered, urging him to move again, only to freeze as the head of his cock pressed against her opening, the thin fabric of his joggers not enough to disguise the wet heat teasing at him. His head dropped back with a groan as Hermione, after a pause laden with promise, rocked experimentally against him. 

“Merlin, love,” he panted. He was going to embarrass himself if she kept at this for much longer. God, it would be the work of moments to free himself and plunge into her waiting heat—

“How long are you going to torture her?” Draco interrupted, the tense edge to his drawl belying the casual question. Theo could see the lust glittering in his eyes even from a distance.

“Until she tells me what she needs,” he answered with more confidence than he felt, proud his voice didn’t shake even as his fingers laced tightly through hers, pressing against the soft flesh of her belly. In truth, if he were being honest with himself, he wouldn’t be able to resist coaxing an orgasm from the witch even if a herd of hippogriffs came charging through the room, but Merlin, did he want to hear her beg for it. Wanted her as desperate for him as he’d been for her since the moment she’d first smiled at him. 

A frustrated noise escaped his witch. “I need…need,” she whined, her head tossing from side to side as his fingers traced idle circles around her sensitive nub, occasionally dipping lower to gather her arousal. 

“What do you need, love?” he urged. He knew, but he needed her to say it. 

“You,” she burst. “I need you and…” 

A smile curved his lips. “Do you need Draco, love?” 

A keening wail escaped her, the witch nodding even as her thighs clamped about his wrist, fighting to pull him closer. 

“Out loud, please, love.” He slid a hand up to cup her breast, thumbing the stiff peak through the silk of her blouse. Merlin, he could spend hours on these tits alone. Her chest lifted on a deep breath, a shudder running through her as his thumb came to rest on her clit, hard and unmoving. 

“Draco,” she whispered, barely loud enough to hear as her face flamed scarlet. “I need Draco, too.” 

Theo murmured nonsense words of praise in her ear as his fingers began to move again, driving her back towards that peak. And still, Draco didn’t move. 

Theo locked eyes with the other man, who sat, tense, waiting, as if Hermione’s permission wasn’t enough. “Well, Malfoy? She asked so nicely.” 

His words were enough.

The other wizard pushed from his seat with a growl and crossed the space in two long steps. He stopped, studying them, the fire banked in his eyes. If he were smart, he’d drop to his knees and bury his face in Hermione’s delicious cunt while he had the opportunity. Merlin only knew Theo would be doing that the first chance he got. But no, Draco was always the patient one. 

Instead of offering her a kiss, or testing where her nipples pebbled under her blouse, or hell, joining Theo where her arousal glistened between her legs, Draco simply reached out and caught the witch’s chin, tilting it until her head rested against Theo’s shoulder and her liquid gaze locked on his. “Do you like being watched, pet?” he crooned. 

Hermione nodded in eager affirmation even as she arched harder into Theo’s touch, pretty little moans falling from her lips. 

Draco hummed in consideration, as if he were studying a particularly challenging arithmancy problem. “Do you like his fingers buried deep in that pretty little cunt of yours?” 

Theo’s lips twitched at the implied direction as he again slid two fingers into the witch’s tight channel, setting her writhing against the other wizard’s hold. He could tell the moment his friend’s grip tightened, sliding from her face to her throat. Hermione stilled in his lap even as his fingers pumped slowly within her, her breath falling in sharp pants. 

“Tell me, witch,” Draco said, cocking his head to the side as his fingers traced over her rapid pulse. “Are you going to come all over his hand like a good girl?” 

She clenched around his fingers, and Theo cursed. “Fuck, she liked that.” 

A dark chuckle escaped Draco, his eyes nearly black in the dim light. “Make her come, Theo.” His hand dropped from her throat as he gave the order, and Theo gave him a feral grin in return. 

“You heard him, love,” he purred in her ear as his thumb drew rapid circles against her, urging her higher and higher until…

“Come for us, Hermione.” 

The words unravelled her, a sharp cry falling from her lips as she bucked into his touch, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his arm as she was consumed by the waves of pleasure washing over her. All the while, her walls fluttered around his fingers in a way that made him wish it was his cock buried in her heat. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmured against her ear, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and coaxing one and then another wave from her, until her hand clutched about his wrist, pulling him away in a silent plea for reprieve. He slipped his hand from between her legs, curving his hand around her hip even as she drew her legs up, murmuring his name in a boneless, satisfied tone as she curled against him. 

“You did so well, love,” he soothed, running his fingers through her curls as she shuddered against him, tremors rocking her body as she came down from her high. He buried his face in her hair, his words muffled. “Gods, witch, you’re glorious. Fucking glorious.”

Merlin, what had he done to deserve this witch? She was brilliant, she was lovely, and gods, she was so fucking responsive. He petted his witch, cuddling her for long minutes, until her muscles loosened and he could move without the certainty he would come in his pants like a schoolboy touching a witch for the first time. 

Hermione settled deeper against him with a quiet, sleepy sigh. “I can’t believe I did that,” she laughed softly to herself as she nuzzled against his neck. “With…with both of you, I mean.” 

Theo grinned into her hair. He couldn’t very well believe it either, but he certainly wasn’t going to question his luck. He lifted his head with an expectant grin to see if his friend agreed, only to find the room empty. 

Draco was gone. 

Draco slammed his bedroom door hard behind him. He hadn’t run, but he wasn’t a fucking idiot, he knew when he wasn’t wanted. 

Watching the witch fall apart under Theo’s hands…fuck, he would never be able to forget that. Circe, how he wanted to be the one drawing those noises from her, the one teasing her until she went from sweet to demanding in the blink of an eye. 

But as she’d come down from her high, she’d curled into Theo’s hold, and he’d whispered those soft, sweet words of praise Draco had never been any good at. It couldn’t have been any plainer that there was no room for him, not in that moment. And so he’d left.

He’d thought watching her, watching them together, would be enough to break him of this obsession, enough to see that she was nothing more than another witch who’d caught Theo’s fancy. To see that she belonged to Theo, so far beyond his reach. But instead of setting them from his mind… He cursed. It was as if he was still in that damn room, the image of the pale skin of her thighs, cast in sharp relief against Theo’s golden tan, fixed in his mind’s eye, the sweet scent of her cunt imprinted indelibly in his memory. And Circe help him, the noises they had made, those desperate, panting little gasps from the witch, the slick sound of Theo’s fingers sliding through her folds as he groaned into her absurd hair... Fuck. Slumping against the door, he wrenched the placket of his slacks open, uncaring when a button went flying as he fisted his cock. 

He dropped his head back against the wood with a groan, the slide of his hand eased by the arousal beading at the tip of his cock as he stroked hard, chasing the release that had been taunting him from the moment he first set eyes on Granger’s cunt. 

It wasn’t his hand he wanted wrapped around his length, no. He wanted the witch’s slim fingers tight around him. Fuck, he wanted the look on her face as he slid his cock down her throat, her strangled moans while Theo fucked into her from behind. He wanted to fucking own the witch. 

He came with a shout at the thought, his release spattering across the floor as his harsh breaths filled the room. 

As his breathing slowed, he pulled his wand from his pocket, vanishing the cooling mess with a sneer. A moment of weakness on his part, nothing more. He wouldn’t let the witch distract him again. 

He winced as he pushed from the door, a sharp pang twisting from his curse-scarred shoulder. With a growl, he strode across the room, yanking open his bedside drawer and digging for the small pot of salve, doing his best to pretend it didn’t remind him of her as he twisted the lid loose.   

Hermione roused with a start, blinking in the near dark of the room as she fought to remember where she was. A soft puff of breath against her cheek, and the heavy weight of Theo’s arm across her stomach brought her fully back to awareness, paired with the sudden and violent rumble of her stomach. She flushed as the noise broke the silence, though no one was awake to hear it. 

Theo had insisted on carrying her to his bed after their interlude in the drawing room, and she’d let him in a drowsy haze. For nothing more than a nap, he’d assured her as he climbed beneath the coverlet alongside her. She hadn’t protested. They’d long since missed their dinner reservation, and her sleepless nights were catching up with her quicker than she’d like. But judging by the darkness outside the window, it had been more than a quick nap. Her stomach grumbled again to remind her that not only had they slept the evening away, but they’d missed dinner as well. 

Beside her, Theo sighed in his sleep, his arm tightening about her as he nuzzled into her hair. The temptation to sink back into his hold and let sleep overtake her once again was strong, but even as her hand came to rest over Theo’s, something nagged at her…something about dinner. 

She muffled a gasp as her eyes flew wide. Oh, poor Crookshanks! She’d meant to stop by her flat to feed him dinner before her date with Theo, but in the whirl of the afternoon and the—she blushed—ensuing activities, she’d forgotten all about him. If she were lucky, the elderly half-kneazle would simply give her the silent treatment for a day or two. If she weren’t lucky…she suppressed a shudder at the thought of how long it had taken her to get the odour out of her shoes the last time. She needed to get home before her cat took his revenge. 

She shifted gingerly, rolling over to face the still-sleeping Theo. Should she wake him, say goodbye? Or should she let him sleep? Was there some sort of unspoken protocol on how one was meant to act after having an orgasm in front of one man at the hands of another? 

Theo stretched with a groan and Hermione froze, certain she’d woken him. But the man merely rolled over, hugging his pillow to his face with a contented sigh, still sound asleep. Hermione watched him for a moment, fighting the urge to reach out and run her fingers through his tousled curls, before she pushed the covers away and climbed from the bed as quietly as she could manage. There had been a small writing desk in the drawing room, she would leave him a note.

Slipping into her robes—all the while cursing Theo for vanishing her knickers—and picking up her shoes, she padded barefoot down the long hall, lit only by the light of her wand. She halfway expected another door to swing open, to invite her to explore like they had earlier, but all was still as she moved through the house. Making a mental note to ask Theo about that particular bit of magic the next time she saw him, she crept through the house until she reached the familiar door, pushing it open without thought.

She was half a step into the room when it dawned on her that this room should be just as dark as the rest of the house. She froze, her gaze darting up to land on the man who sat in one of the myriad arm chairs under the warm glow of a lamp. 

“Oh!” she said, startled. “I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.”

Malfoy seemed thoroughly unbothered by her presence, not bothering to look up from his book at her stammered apology.  

“I was just going to leave Theo a note…” Her voice trailed off uncomfortably. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he drawled, still reading. 

Hermione hesitated for a moment, darting a glance towards the couch where he’d watched her fall to pieces only hours earlier. Merlin, how was she meant to stay here with him, how could he be so very unbothered?

Steeling her shoulders, she paced across the room, not looking in his direction. It would only take her a moment to write the note, and then she would be gone, and tomorrow they could each go back to pretending the other didn’t exist. 

She pulled a scrap of parchment from the stack on the desk, rifling through the top drawer until she found a serviceable quill and jotted down a quick note. It was, perhaps, briefer than it may have been if she couldn’t feel Malfoy’s gaze boring into her back. 

“Granger?” he interrupted suddenly as she folded the note neatly. 

She started, leaving a smear of ink across the parchment where she’d written Theo’s name. She frowned down at it for a moment before she glanced back up to where the man still sat, cursing the heat she felt rising in her cheeks as she found his grey eyes studying her. 

“Sorry, I’m just on my way, I’ll be out of your hair shortly.” 

Merlin help her, what he must think of her? First, that shameless kiss in his office. Then he was all but forced to join them earlier, where she was practically—she somehow turned even redder—begging for his attention. And now she couldn’t even let the man read in peace in his own home. 

“No, no,” he waved her away before he paused, looking uncertain for possibly the first time she could ever recall. “Just a question. Muggles don’t have magic, right?”

“I…Yes, that’s right,” she responded slowly, looking at him as if he’d lost his mind entirely. 

“Then how do these—” he glanced back down at his book. “—these MRIs see inside their bodies? Without magic, I mean.”

Her brow furrowed—why in Merlin’s name was he asking her about MRIs?—and he lifted the slim volume he’d been reading, revealing a familiar journal cover. Familiar, because it was framed on her wall. 

“Are you…are you reading my study?” she asked incredulously.

He flipped the cover to read it himself, arching a brow as he drawled, “Obviously.” 

Hermione bristled at the sarcasm, but her curiosity won out over her ire, as it so unfortunately did when it came to this man. “But why?” 

For Christ’s sake, he’d been talking her to orgasm hours earlier, and now he wanted to discuss her Muggle graduate work at—she glanced at the clock in the corner—two a.m.?

“I was curious,” he answered shortly, an entirely unhelpful response. “MRIs?”

It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes. As if he simply stumbled across decade-old Muggle medical journals as a matter of course. No, he would have had to gone searching for that. She was of half a mind to force him to tell her the actual truth, but she was tired, and embarrassed, and her poor cat was starving, so instead, she answered through gritted teeth. 

“They use a large machine, with a system of magnets and radio waves, that, well, they move water molecules about in the body…” Her voice trailed away as Malfoy’s brows climbed higher and higher, skepticism written across his face. “It’s complicated,” she finished lamely. 

He looked thoughtful for a moment, before he spoke again. 

“Can you do one?” 

Hermione blinked. “On…one of the players?” she asked, growing more confused by the moment. They had a legion of magic at their fingertips, why on earth would he want his players to go through Muggle scans? 

He scowled, as if she were the one asking nonsensical questions. “On my mother.” 

Her eyes flew to meet his head-on for the first time since she’d entered the room. His dark grey gaze was focused on her, her answer clearly important to him. 

“I…” she stammered as she wracked her brain for any mention of Narcissa Malfoy being unwell. She certainly wasn’t in the papers much anymore, but that wasn’t terribly unsurprising, not after the war. “I mean, I can’t do one, no but—” 

He cut her off with a scoff before she could finish the thought. 

“Why bother writing about it then, if you can’t even do it?” 

“But I could certainly arrange for one, if I thought it was medically necessary,” she finished with a bite to her tone, levelling a glare at him. “But unless you want to tell me why you think your mother might benefit from that sort of testing—” 

She paused as his gaze shuttered and his lips pressed tight. Her eyes narrowed in turn. That’s what she thought.

“If something is wrong with your mother, you’ll have to ask her healers about it. I’m sure they’re perfectly well-equipped.” 

He opened his mouth, no doubt with yet another sarcastic comment, but she cut him off. “Have a good night, Malfoy.” He could be a mysterious prick all he wanted, she was going home. 

He tensed, and she half-thought he would stand, would chase after her like he had in his office. And then…she flushed as her inner voice suggested exactly what might come after that. No, absolutely not. She was not snogging—or more, that stupid little voice suggested unhelpfully—Draco Malfoy again. And so, before he could move, or speak again, she spun.

“You too, Granger,” his voice reached her ears as she apparated into the night. 

“You left.” Theo dropped into the chair opposite hers with a pout on his full lips. 

Hermione looked up with a start, glancing nervously from side to side to ensure the canteen was still empty. “I left a note,” she hissed. The witch who manned the canteen was a century old if she were a day, and deaf as a post, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to be cautious. 

He nodded. “Ah yes, the note.” And then, reciting as if from memory. “My dearest Theo, despite the fact you’ve ruined me for all other men—” 

He ignored Hermione as she choked on a sip of her tea. 

“—I’ve chosen to abandon you in your time of need, as I’ve found other creatures to be of more interest. Please accept my deepest sorrows and prayers in this trying time.” 

Hermione reached across the table to swat at him, unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “That’s not what it said and you know it,” she scolded the ridiculous man. “Poor Crookshanks hadn’t been fed all day, I couldn’t just leave him all alone!” 

Theo grinned even as he adopted a terribly wounded look. “I wanted to cuddle,” he said, sounding like a little boy who’d had his favourite toy taken away. “And this was my one chance to make sure you actually ate breakfast for once.” 

Hermione looked pointedly down at the half-eaten muffin and cup of tea still in front of her and he shrugged. “Alright, so you ate just fine without me, well done, by the way, but still. I’ve got a brand new girlfriend and she couldn’t even stick around long enough for me to snog her silly in the morning?”

She rolled her eyes. “Theo, unless you start pissing in my shoes when I’m gone too long, I’m afraid Crookshanks will win that particular argument every time.” 

A flicker of mischief shone in his eyes and he opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “No. Absolutely not, Theodore Nott. I swear to Merlin, you’ll be using a catheter the rest of your life if you—” 

He held his hands up in surrender with a grin, stemming her warning. “Not what I’d like you to be doing with my bits, love,” he teased, chuckling when she flushed. He gestured to her unfinished muffin with a questioning brow, and she waved it in his general direction. 

She’d ordered it merely because she’d known he’d fuss if she didn’t eat, but the half-stale pastry wasn’t exactly a culinary feat. At least he’d asked, Ron would have simply shoved it down his gullet before he even thought to check if she were done. He leaned back in his chair, his nose wrinkling after the first bite, though she noted that didn’t keep him from taking a second. 

“Come over after the game tonight, at least?”

She winced. “I’m brewing tonight, I’m afraid. I read a study last week that suggested the Billywig Sting Slime might not be so difficult to incorporate if it was collected during the new moon, they have an abbreviated hibernation schedule, you know, so I’m hoping to try that and see if it helps with the curdling issue I’ve been having, and—” She stopped, catching herself mid-ramble as a slow smile spread across the man’s face. She blushed. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t really the question, was it?” 

“No, no,” Theo encouraged. “It’s interesting, truly. Merlin only knows I might’ve paid better attention in Potions if you were teaching it. But,” he paused, leaning forward dramatically with a sparkle in his dark gaze. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you’ll stay away from your little beast of a cat for your potions but not me.” 

“He has a sitter!” she protested, distracted now. “My neighbour adores him, she’s a lovely old woman. Though I do suspect she’s feeding him table scraps, he’s getting much rounder than he used to be. But he’ll be fine for one night, as long as I make arrangements in advance, of course.” 

Theo heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Fine. Tomorrow night then?” 

“I thought you’d made plans with your friends for tomorrow?” She was nearly certain he’d mentioned a standing poker night, and the last thing she wanted to do was be that witch that showed up and took time away from his friends. And speaking of time—

Hermione checked her watch with a wince and began gathering her papers. She had a physical therapy appointment scheduled to work on Nilsson’s elbow she didn’t want to be late for.

Another sigh from Theo. 

“Hermione, are you avoiding me?”

Her head flew up in surprise. His expression was uncharacteristically serious. Merlin, surely he couldn’t actually believe that? The thought truly hadn’t even crossed her mind. Malfoy? If she were lucky, she’d never make eye contact with him again. In fact, that’s why she was in the canteen reviewing the results of the latest round of bloodwork from the team, it wasn’t as obvious a location as her office. But Theo? It was barely half ten and her day had already started to feel a bit empty without him in it. 

She glanced around surreptitiously to make sure they were still alone, before she half-rose from her seat, leaning across the table to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she admonished as she sat back down. “Are you free for brunch on Sunday? Or is this the sort of night with friends where I shouldn’t expect you to be conscious before tea?” 

He gave her a sheepish grin. “More the second than anything, but for you, I’ll rally on. Do you like crepes?” 

Hermione raised a brow. “Do you cook crepes?” 

Colour rose in his cheeks. “Well, no, not really, but it seems the sort of thing you should offer a witch when she comes over for breakfast, yeah?” 

Hermione let out a puff of laughter. “Theo, I’ve no doubt you’re the expert on serving witches breakfast. I’ll yield to your immense knowledge on this one.” 

He gave her an odd glance and she hesitated, glancing down to see if she’d managed to spill tea down the front of her robes again. “What?” 

“Love, you’re the only witch who’s ever stayed in that house. Well, except Pansy, and that doesn’t really count, does it?” 

Hermione blinked. “What do you mean?” she asked. “You’re with witches all the time—or you were. You and Dra-Malfoy both.” 

The quirk of his lips meant he hadn’t missed her slip, but he remained blessedly quiet about it. Because if he brought up their… activities of the night prior, she mind simply implode on the spot. She needed at least a week before she’d even be able to so much as think of it without wanting to expire. No, she would simply forget it had happened, and that would be enough. 

“There have been witches, sure,” Theo said. “But they’re not invited into our home. Ever,” he said pointedly as he reached across the table, capturing one of her hands and giving it a brief squeeze.

“So brunch, Sunday. You’ll be there?” She nodded mutely, still trying to process his words even as he pushed to his feet, brushing a soft kiss across her hand before he let it fall back to the table. 

“And Hermione?” She looked up at him. “Tell your cat he’ll need to arrange for a sitter.”

He strode from the room with one last grin over his shoulder, waving to the blond witch as she ducked past him. “Hey, Daisy.” 

Daisy murmured a hello to Theo as he left before she paused in the doorway. A smirk flitted across her expression as she took in the dumbfounded blush colouring Hermione’s cheeks. 

“So we’re still not talking about that then, yeah?”

Chapter Text

Hermione finished off the tape with a quick sticking charm, patting the wrap to make sure it was firmly in place before she looked up at Kolov with a stern look. “Next time you’ll come to me when it first starts hurting, not when you’re barely able to play, yes?” The Keeper glared down at her for a long moment before giving her a terse nod, and Hermione ducked her head, hiding her smile under the guise of adjusting the end of the tape one last time. She would never be the man’s favourite person, to be sure, but at least he’d come to her this time, rather than forcing her to chase him down and practically put him under a Body-Bind curse when an old wrist injury had started acting up. She was finally starting to feel as if she were truly a part of the team, rather than an annoyance they had to deal with, and it really was rather lovely. 

“You done with Healer Granger, Kolov?” 

A voice came from behind them and Hermione turned to see Theo lounging against the door of the arena’s gym. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him it would be just a few minutes more, she’d wanted to take a look at the Bulgarian’s trick knee while she had a captive audience, but the other player was gone before she could say as much, grunting something that sounded close enough to “goodbye” to her before striding from the room, jerking his chin toward Theo in greeting as he left. Hermione heaved a sigh. Merlin only knew how long it would take her to get her hands on the man again. Turning, she faced Theo as she began to roll the remainder of her tape up. 

“Did you need something, Mister Nott?” 

Theo arched a brow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t happy to see me.” 

Hermione gave him a tired smile as she tucked the tape back into the bag she’d taken to carrying about with her on game days. Something about the thrill of being on the pitch against a real opponent turned an entire team of elite athletes into accident-prone boys, she’d spare herself half a dozen trips to her clinic with a well-stocked kit. 

“No, it’s not that at all, just a long day, you know?” 

His brow furrowed, scanning over her as he took a few steps into the room, no doubt catching the dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t had the time or willpower to bother trying to cover them after a busy afternoon. “Do you have time to get some rest in, before the game starts? I could go get you tea? Or coffee, that might keep you up better, especially if you’re brewing tonight.” He’d already half-turned by the time he finished the thought, no doubt en route to the canteen for the largest caffeinated beverage he could find, and likely a snack, too, if she knew Theo Nott. 

“No,” she caught his arm with a laugh, tugging him back towards her. “I’m fine, I promise. I’ve all but bought stock in Pepper-Up, but you needed something, yeah?” 

He studied her for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed as if looking for a hole in her argument, but she only held his gaze. She didn’t have time for him to hover, no matter how much she may secretly enjoy it, and he certainly didn’t need to be focusing on anything more than the game he was about to play. Finally, his expression cleared, and he shrugged. “Fine, but I’ll be watching you, Granger,” he said with a grin. 

“Watch the quaffle instead,” she quipped back. 

“Only if you’ll make winning worth my while,” he answered with a suggestive waggle of his brows. 

“Theo,” she hissed, fighting to hide her smile as she glanced about to ensure that none of the few players still stretching before the game had overheard him. His grin only spread, entirely shameless, and she rolled her eyes. “Do you need healthcare, Nott, or are you just here to be a menace?” 

“It’s the second one,” Nilsson answered as he strolled by, ducking with a laugh as Theo pitched a wadded-up towel in his direction. 

“Fuck off, Nils,” he grumbled, before he turned his attention back to Hermione. “I was warming up earlier and my hamstring was feeling a bit tight, was hoping you could take a look at it before I got out there.” He jerked his head upwards to where they could hear the dull roar of the crowd surrounding the pitch even several levels down. 

Concern flashed across Hermione’s mind as she immediately began mentally cataloguing everything that could have potentially happened. It was more than likely a simple strain, but he’d been trying some dangerous stunts in practice. It could be a tear or—

She paused, her gaze narrowing as it dawned on her exactly what he was asking her to do. 

She propped her hands on her hips, tilting her chin up to cast him a suspicious glance. “Theo Nott if you’re lying and this is just an excuse to get me to feel you up while we’re at work, I swear-”

He put his hands up with a wicked grin, leaning in close to murmur in her ear. “Love, when you finally get your hands on me we’re going to need a lot more than—” He checked his watch. “—eighteen minutes.” 

A shudder ran down her spine at his low words, and he pulled back with a knowing look. She flushed, darting her gaze away from his as she fought to regain any sense of professionalism. “Fine,” she muttered. “Sit, please.” She gestured towards the makeshift exam table she’d had placed in the gym as soon as she’d realised she had a better chance of ever seeing the players if she came to them.

Theo perched on the edge of the metal table, waving her towards his left leg when she raised a questioning brow. Hermione crouched, doing her very best to ignore the fact that the position put her practically eye-level with the obvious bulge in front of her, and adopted her most professional tone as she felt along the muscle. 

“Have you done anything to aggravate the area?” 

He shook his head, answering a quick no, even as he winced when her thumb dug into a particularly tense spot. 

“Any recent stressors, or reasons you may be tense? Unusual activities?” 

This time, he didn’t answer as quickly, and Hermione glanced up, only to find him looking down at her. She raised her brow in expectation and he countered with the same.

 “We can certainly discuss things that make me tense, Healer Granger, but…” His voice trailed off pointedly and a wrinkle appeared between Hermione’s brow for a moment before a flush rose in her cheeks. 

“Oh!” She said, pushing to her feet and taking a few hasty steps backwards. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. Let me just…” She produced her wand from her pocket and cast a quick diagnostic charm, confirming what she already knew. “It just seems to be some muscle tightness, I can get you a muscle-relaxing potion, though those can sometimes affect focus—” 

“No.” Theo interrupted. 

“—so I wouldn’t recommend that,” Hermione finished with a glare. “But typically, some stretching will work it out well enough. Lie down on the ground over there, would you?” 

Theo raised a questioning brow, but Hermione gestured impatiently. “Come on, Nott, you’re down to fourteen minutes.” 

He stood, moving across the room under Hermione’s judicious eye. Only someone looking for it would notice he was uncomfortable, but there was a certain stiffness to his gait that belied his pain. If he weren’t about to be hundreds of feet in the air on a broom, she’d insist he take a pain potion, but instead they were going to have to do things the old-fashioned way. 

She waited until he’d lowered himself to the mat before crossing to him. This was purely a professional exercise, despite the way his shirt rode up to reveal that tanned band of flesh across his stomach. Purely a necessary part of healing. And truly, she’d do it for any of the players. But the other players wouldn’t be looking back at her with that wicked glint in their eyes. 

A gentle clearing of the throat from Theo made her realise she’d been staring and she startled, colour rising in her cheeks. 

“Give me your foot,” she gestured impatiently as she averted her gaze from his knowing one, waiting until he lifted his foot and catching his trainer by the heel. “You’re going to want to keep your hips flat,” she ordered, tapping the inside of his knee in a silent command for it to bend as she began to push his leg slowly towards his chest. 

“I like it when you get bossy, Granger,” Theo said, looking up at her with a wide grin. “We should try this at home sometime.” 

A flash of warmth washed through her at the way he said home, a feeling she rapidly smothered in favour of pushing him deeper into the stretch. They’d barely started seeing each other for Merlin’s sake, her home was the serviceable little flat she’d found in Hampstead and it was perfectly fine, with just enough room for her, and Crookshanks, and at least some of the books she’d like to own. 

“Theo?” she asked as she pressed his leg deeper into the stretch, determined to distract herself from thoughts of Theo Nott and home with another topic she hadn’t quite been able to push from her mind. 

“Hmm?” he asked, grunting as she pushed him past the point of comfort. 

“Is something wrong with Malfoy’s mother?” 

He tensed beneath her hands, his gaze shifting away from hers. “I’m not sure,” he said evasively. “Why do you ask?” 

For a moment, Hermione debated telling him it was nothing. Prying was rude, and it wasn’t as if it were really any of her business. But… Malfoy had been the one to bring it up, and, unless he brought it up purely to torment her with the fact she didn’t know something—admittedly, a possibility—then clearly he wanted her to do something. But she couldn’t very well do anything without the proper information. So instead, she pressed.

“You tensed,” she accused Theo, digging her thumbs into his tight muscles to prove her point. “You clearly know something.” 

Theo shrugged against the mat. “Find me a wizard who wouldn’t be tense with your gorgeous tits in his face, love,” he countered, his gaze straying downward. Hermione let her eyes drop, only to flush as she realised she was all but spilling out of her blouse as she knelt over Theo. 

“You could have said something,” she hissed as she straightened, tugging her neckline up. 

He gave her a skeptical glance, tucking his hands behind his head as he let his leg fall back to the floor. “Love, I’ve taken bludgers to the head, sure, but I’m not an idiot.” She flushed, tugging nervously at her shirt again before asking, “How’s your leg now?” 

He sat up with a groan before stretching forward, grabbing his toes with an ease that reminded Hermione she really should stretch more often. “Much better, thank you. But I can still be sore if you want to feel me up again.” He winked and Hermione opened her mouth to scold him, only to be interrupted by a sharp bark from Coach Witten. 

“Nott! Stop flirting with the mediwitch and get your arse on the pitch!” 

Hermione jumped back, her head swivelling as she realised they were the last people left in the gym. 

Theo scowled. “She’s a healer, not a mediwitch, you incomparable bellend,” he muttered beneath his breath as he pushed to his feet. 

“Theo,” Hermione scolded with a hushed laugh, even as she flashed him an appreciative smile.

“Next time we’re finding a broom closet where I can get a kiss for luck,” Theo murmured to Hermione, offering her a hand to pull her to her feet and giving it a meaningful squeeze before letting it drop. 

Hermione offered him a small smile. “There’s one right up the hall from my office,” she whispered conspiratorially. “And the lock works.” 

Theo let his head drop back with a tortured groan and Hermione’s grin widened, pleased by her own brazenness. “Fuck, Granger, how am I meant to fly with a hard-on?” 

Hermione’s laugh was cut off by Theo’s lips pressing against hers in a hard, fast kiss. He pulled away, his dark gaze full of promise. His lips quirked up as he offered a half-wave. “Gotta go win this one for you, love.” 

She returned the smile. “Fly safe,” she ordered. He saluted with a grin before heading towards the door. Hermione was only somewhat shamelessly admiring his arse when—

“Oh, Hermione?” He turned, his brow rising and laughter dancing in his dark eyes as he caught where her gaze had been lingering. She flushed, waiting for his teasing, but his expression sobered. “About Narcissa?” She stiffened, and he continued. “It’s not my story to tell, you know? You’ll have to ask Draco. But just… be nice about it, yeah?” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed, a half-dozen new questions on her tongue, but in a blink the smile was back on his face. “I’ll climb the stairs real slow if you want to watch.” 

With a wink, he was on his way again, his hips swaying exaggeratedly as Hermione did her best to muffle her laughter behind him. 

“Theo, you’re late, mate!” Zabini called across the room, drinks in each hand as he crossed to the poker table that dominated his front room. “Thought you were fucking off on us.” 

“Can’t skip out on practice just to get drunk with you lot!” Theo responded with a laugh, raising the bottle he had clutched in one fist. “But I bring offerings of peace.” 

“Thank god you’re here, mate,” Goyle said as he tossed an arm about Theo’s shoulders, deftly relieving him of the vintage Firewhisky in the process. “Maybe you can get whatever stick Draco’s got up his arse loose.” 

Theo let out a huff of laughter as the blond man glanced up from where he sat at the table, a fierce scowl on his face. 

“Draco’s just mad that he couldn’t talk McGonagall into letting him recruit the seventh years again. Heard Potterette was there charming the pants off Gwenog Jones’s kid, though, so no doubt she’ll go to the Harpies.” A few groans of sympathy rose from the gathered wizards. Half of them had no small amount of money invested in the team, and the other half no doubt had money riding on the results of the Dragons’ season. 

It was mostly true, anyhow. Draco always turned into a bit of a bear when it came to recruiting for next year’s season, even if this year’s had only just begun. And it was only made worse by the fact they’d won against the Falcons yesterday, but arguably only because the other team’s first-string Seeker had been out with a groin injury. Their team was better than this. He knew it, Draco knew it. The only person who apparently didn’t know it was that fucker Witten who kept insisting they run plays he could have outplayed as a third-year. And now Draco was on the warpath trying to rebuild a roster that should have been perfectly good to begin with. 

But Theo suspected there was more to his friend’s current mood than that, something that resembled his favourite witch, and a case of blue balls so dire they should probably be studied in one of those medical journals currently stacked in their drawing room. For fuck's sake, the man had watched Hermione come apart at his words and the next day had wanted to act like nothing had happened?

No wonder his mood was foul. Hell, Theo had gotten to experience it, and he still grew hard every time he let himself think about it for more than thirty seconds. 

“Potterette is hotter than Draco anyway, he never had a chance,” Pansy interrupted his thoughts as she came out from the kitchen, mercifully before anyone could notice the tenting of his trousers as visions of Hermione lingered in his mind. “Those lads have been staring at posters of her on their walls since they were old enough to notice a decent pair of tits.” 

“Remind me why you’re here again, Pans?” Draco grumbled, not bothering to look up at the witch. 

“Because you’re all afraid I’ll fuck your wives if I go to ladies’ night instead,” she said casually as she rounded the table. “And I bring nosh. Shrimp?” She offered Draco the platter with a saccharine smile and he scowled, ignoring her as he looked through the cards Blaise had dealt. She flipped him the bird with her free hand, dropping the dish on the table with a clatter as she took her seat, folding one long leg over the other. 

“Speaking of women who have chosen to irrevocably bind themselves to you lot for truly unfathomable reasons—” 

“Oi!” Pucey interrupted. The man had gotten married to a sweet Muggle girl only a few months earlier, and it was practically sickening how besotted he was. Theo was frankly amazed he hadn’t bowed out of their standing monthly get-together to go stare at her while she…well, while she did whatever it was muggles did to entertain themselves. 

Pansy paused, turning her head and blinking slowly at Pucey, before pointedly shifting her gaze away. “As I was saying, unfathomable reasons. How’s Granger, Theo?”

He winced as every gaze in the room turned towards him, except for one, who was pointedly avoiding looking in his direction. He should have known Pansy wouldn’t keep her damn mouth shut, not when she sensed the potential for stirring chaos. It wasn’t that he’d planned to hide Hermione from his friends, they just hadn’t discussed taking their relationship public yet—because that’s what it was, wasn't it? Merlin. He was in a relationship with Hermione Granger. 

But as four of his closest friends stared at him expectantly, he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. “She’s better than I deserve, that’s for damn sure.” A scoff came from Draco, who still hadn’t bothered to look up, studying his cards like they held the answers to the universe. 

Meanwhile, an incredulous expression had spread over Goyle’s face. “Wait, Nott’s fucking Granger?” 

Pansy rolled her eyes even as Theo plucked a shrimp from the platter and chucked it at Goyle. “I’m dating Hermione Granger, yes,” he said, as if discussing a particularly interesting article from Quidditch Weekly rather than his current relationship status. 

Goyle appeared to be the only one terribly surprised by this information. No doubt Pansy had let it slip to Blaise over one of their little weekly luncheons, and Blaise was a sieve when he had a few drinks in him, something Pucey knew well, and often took full advantage of. Really, it was a miracle they hadn’t all heard the moment he’d sat down to dinner with Hermione at L’Atelier, he might as well have sent out an owl post. 

Goyle turned towards Draco, his mouth agape. “Did you know about this?” he asked accusatorily. Draco merely scowled at his cards, answering the question with a jerk of his head.

“He’s the one that hired her in the first place,” Pansy shared with a delighted cackle. 

“Hired her?” Goyle’s overgrown brow furrowed before his expression cleared with a sage nod. “Ohhhh. It’s that kind of dating, then. Didn’t know the witch was so open, might have tried her out myself.” 

Theo was half-out of his chair, ready to knock a few of Goyle’s remaining teeth loose, when Draco’s hand fisted the hem of his shirt, stilling him. “Shut your idiot gob, Goyle,” the aristocratic wizard snapped. “She’s the healer for the Dragons. And Theo’s more than obsessed with the little witch, so I’d watch what you say.” 

Theo darted a surprised look at him as he let Draco tug him back down to his seat. He’d never heard the man jump to Hermione’s defence before. More than likely he was just doing his part to keep from getting Goyle’s blood all over their cards, but… Draco’s silvery gaze met his for a half-beat, something inscrutable in his expression. 

“Well, that was exciting,” Blaise drawled, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over the table. “But I didn’t invite you lot over to not take Galleons off you, are we playing or not?” 

A nervous chuckle came from Goyle’s general direction, but it was Theo’s turn to study his cards like they held the answer to the universe. 

The spike of fury he’d felt at Goyle’s words had been a surprise. It wasn’t as if he shouldn’t have expected the joke, he would have made the same. Hell, Pucey’d been with his now-wife for years and they still mocked him endlessly every time he just got a little too moony. General ribbing over even the hint of a romantic entanglement was practically a requirement among his friends. And he’d meant it when he’d told Hermione he didn’t care if she kissed other wizards. Or at least, he’d thought he did, he liked to think he was a fairly progressive bloke. So why, even now, did the thought of Goyle’s meaty hands anywhere near his witch send a coil of rage curling through his chest? 

Unable to resist, he darted a gaze at Draco, who’d gone back to studying his cards now that he didn’t have to prevent Goyle’s murder. Wracking his brain, he searched for even a moment when he’d felt that pang of jealousy as Draco had touched Hermione, had—fuck—had ordered her to come in that tone that brooked no disobedience. But jealousy wasn’t the emotion that washed over him as the scene played out again in his mind’s eye. For a moment, he was there again, Draco’s stormy gaze focused on her, on them, as his witch writhed in his lap. Only this time, Draco did more than watch, this time he crossed the room and knelt, he pushed Theo’s hand out of the way and—

“Nott, mate,” Pucey’s voice broke through his musings. “You going to play or not?” 

Theo looked up from his cards with what he prayed was a casual grin, hoping that his thoughts didn’t show on his face as he idly tossed a handful of chips towards the middle of the table. 

“Afraid of losing again already, Adrian?” The man tossed him a rude gesture and the others laughed. Theo took a sip of his drink as he pushed his thoughts to the side, determined to deal with them later, and let himself become embroiled in the game and the laughter of his friends. 

The evening devolved much in the way these things usually did, Blaise systematically lightening their pockets—he was a filthy cheat, but none of them particularly cared enough to stop him—until they gave up on cards altogether and resorted to drinking. 

Pansy drained the last of her glass before letting it fall to the felted table with a distinct thump. 

“You’re up for the next round, Drakey.” She gestured dramatically at the nearly empty glasses littering the table. Theo snorted as Draco shot their friend a look that would have shrivelled a grown man’s balls. But Pansy’s were made of brass, and her grin merely widened as she tapped the edge of her glass impatiently. 

They used to just keep a bottle or three at the table, until Theo had got a little too exuberant over his win one night and spilled a bottle of Firewhisky older than he was all over the table. To this day, he wasn’t sure if Blaise was more upset about the liquor, or the unfortunate singe marks it’d left on the antique rug beneath the table. Regardless, all bottles were banished to the liquor cabinet, and they’d long since fallen into the habit of trading off refill duties. 

“We need more snacks, too,” Goyle added, his voice only slightly slurred. 

“Get a fucking house-elf, Zabini,” Draco sneered even as he pushed to his feet.

Blaise wrinkled his nose. “As if I need one of those nosy little buggers poking around.” 

A chuckle rippled around the table. Zabini was notoriously paranoid about others in his home, though, having met his mother a handful of times, Theo couldn’t exactly blame him. The woman had a smile that, in Theo’s mind at least, left very little doubt to the validity of the rumours that swirled around her regarding the fate of her late husbands, and her proficiency with potions. 

He watched as Draco all but stomped towards the kitchen, before pushing to his feet. “I’ll give him a hand,” he murmured. Pansy acknowledged him with a glance, but the others were already enmeshed in taunting Goyle over some bet or another he’d lost. 

Draco hadn’t said more than a half dozen words to Theo since the drawing room. It had puzzled him at first. It wasn’t as if his fits of temper were new, mercurial was the polite way to describe his oldest friend. But Theo knew Draco well enough that he could nearly always point to the cause with unerring accuracy. It wasn’t until Hermione’s hesitant, worried question about Narcissa that it had dawned on him, and he’d called himself twenty-seven different sorts of idiot. Hermione. Of course the man was in a mood over Hermione. And, judging by the swirl of emotions in her gaze when she’d asked about Narcissa, Hermione was dwelling on him in turn. And Theo damn well wasn’t going to let it drag on. They’d played this game before, and when it came to waiting it out until Draco admitted he was capable of human emotion, Theo would win every time. 

Because if he was right, and he suspected he was, Hermione was the one who had set the man on edge. It wasn’t as if he should be surprised. They were far more similar than either of them would care to admit, perfectionists far more difficult on themselves than anyone else. And Circe, the way they sparred, the fire that snapped between them when they argued… Theo rolled his neck, barely suppressing a groan at the thought. He should be jealous, any reasonable man would be, watching his witch come to life at another man’s words. It was one thing to share a lover for a night, they’d done that more times than he could count. But Hermione was more than that, more than a passing fancy. And yet, when it came to her and Draco… 

No, he wasn’t going to wait until they got home and Draco locked himself in his room again, doing whatever it was he did with his free time these days. Likely fucking his hand until he was raw, if his plans were anything like Theo’s. No, they were going to have this out. 

So instead of leaving him be, Theo stood in the kitchen doorway, watching as his friend patently ignored him while haphazardly tipping the rest of Pansy’s shrimp onto the waiting platter, simply waiting for his moment.  

“So are you pissy because you lowered yourself to fuck with my witch, or because you won’t get to do it again?” 

Draco stiffened momentarily at Theo’s words, a flash of ire rising in him at the implication that Granger was somehow less than, that he, what, deserved better? He opened his mouth to snap as much, before it dawned on him that was exactly what his friend was looking for, a reaction. Sneaky prick. 

He glanced to where Theo lounged against the door frame, his thick arms folded across his chest and dark brows raised as if he were actually expecting an answer to the question. Flicking his wand with a sneer, Draco sent the platter of food—fucking shrimp, of course—sailing towards the party, unfortunately barely missing Theo’s head in the process. The bastard didn’t even flinch. 

Draco cast him a nasty glare as he stormed about the kitchen. He was being petty, he knew it, but he frankly couldn’t bring himself to care. If Theo wanted to taunt him, to rub his nose in what he couldn’t have, then he could very well get fucked. 

Pulling a bottle at random from Zabini’s overstocked shelves, he sloshed the liquor into the waiting glasses. The amber whisky was the same colour as Granger’s eyes glinting in the fire and fuck, he hated he knew that. He’d spent years, decades, avoiding the witch, avoiding her swotty voice, her incessant need to be right, her damnable hair. And then, in a fit of pure idiocy, he’d all but invited her back into his life.

And now she was fucking everywhere.

Her swotty voice echoed down the halls of his office half the time, and the other half, someone was talking about her, going on and on about her genius, or her medical skills, or how she fucking took her tea. Her and Theo’s laughter mingled in his home, and he fucking swore her scent lingered still on their sofa. She was everywhere, and he hated himself for it. 

“What the fuck makes you think I’ve ever had a single thought about Granger?” Draco finally snapped in the waiting silence. Theo rolled his eyes and Draco’s lip curled in a sneer. 

“Then this little mood of yours is awfully damn coincidental, don’t you think? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been avoiding us both.” 

Draco’s hand tightened around the neck of the bottle, debating hurling it at the impudent prick. But no doubt Theo wouldn’t catch it, out of principle alone, and then he’d have to listen to Blaise mope about the loss of what was no doubt an inordinately expensive bottle for the rest of the night. 

“Hermione’s noticed too,” Theo said conversationally, idly inspecting his nails. “That you’re going out of your way to avoid her.” 

Draco scowled. “I’m sure she’s thrilled.” 

He’d halfway expected her to show up in his office to hand in her resignation the morning after their…well, the morning after. And then when she hadn’t, well, he wasn’t going to go out of his way to avoid her in his own damn arena, but it wasn’t as if he had call to visit the working team floors particularly often, he had staff for that. He’d caught a glimpse of her just once, talking with Daisy at the far end of the hall, her cheeks flaring red as her amber eyes caught his, just for a moment. The witch couldn’t even look him in the eye, why would she give a fuck if he were avoiding her? 

“She likes you, you know?” Theo said. “I mean, I’d think that would be clear after the other night, but apparently you’re still just as much of a stubborn fuck as you’ve always been.”

Draco went still, half-turned towards Theo, waiting for him to say more, resisting the urge to demand that Theo tell him more, tell him what she’d said, like they were third-years passing notes in Potions all over again. But then he gave his head a sharp shake. Granger was his employee. Nothing more. And worse still, she was his best friend’s girlfriend. Which meant regardless of how he felt about her, about them, it didn’t fucking matter. There was no place in their cosy little lives for him, even if he wanted one. 

“Why should I give a fuck if your girlfriend likes me, Nott? I’m not the one fucking her.” 

For a moment, silence reigned, and Draco thought Theo may have left, finally driven away by his barb. But then there was the sound of a step behind him, and a large, familiar hand wrapped around his forearm, forcing Draco to turn. Theo never had been any fucking good with boundaries. He scowled down at his friend before glancing away, looking over his head towards the door. Whether he was hoping one of their friends would appear to call them back to the party or not, he couldn’t say for certain. 

“If you don’t care what she thinks, why did you tell her about Narcissa?” Theo asked quietly, as if he, too, was conscious of their friends just a few feet away. 

Draco’s gaze jerked to meet Theo’s, a fierce scowl twisting his expression. “What the hell did she say to you?” he snarled. “Tell her that—” 

Theo’s grip tightened sharply on Draco’s arm, cutting him off as he scowled back, displeasure churning in his gaze as he crowded closer, trapping Draco between the counter and his broad body. 

“She didn’t say anything, you prat,” he hissed, his voice low and tight. “And neither did I, for what it’s worth. But she’s worried about you. Because that’s what people do, when they like another person. And you need to decide if you’re going to be involved in her fucking life or not and quit with this hot and cold bullshit. I’ve put up with your utter lack of emotional capacity for years, but she didn’t ask for that. She’d make room for you in her life, if you want it. But I’m not your damn messenger boy, and I’m not going anywhere. So make your choices, Malfoy. And tell her yourself.”

Theo spat the last words, his gaze hard as he stared at Draco, as if daring him to face whatever ridiculous feelings he’d decided Draco must have. 

“Oi!” Pucey’s voice interrupted, carried from the other room. “You two coming or not? Goyle’s dying of thirst out here!” 

Theo’s gaze shuttered and, with one last look at Draco, he dropped his hold on his arm, reaching past him to grab a few of the filled glasses, before turning without another word.

Draco fought the urge to rub where Theo’s grip had reddened his skin, refusing to give the other man the satisfaction as his oldest friend stormed from the room. He should have known. Theo’s temper didn’t show often, and never on his own behalf. But a single threat to the happiness of one of the handful of people the other man truly cared about and that obnoxiously noble, defensive side came to the forefront. Git might as well have been sorted into Gryffindor at that point. And clearly Hermione Granger had joined those vaunted ranks. Hell, she might have risen to the top of them. Which left Draco where, exactly? 

Cheers sounded from the other room as Theo appeared in the doorway, no doubt with his grin firmly back in place. He would go back to their friends, would rejoin the party, would go home secure in the fact that he had his friends, his team, his witch. And Draco would… fuck. Draco would drink until Theo’s accusing words stopped playing on repeat and he could sleep without the feel of the witch’s warm skin haunting him. 

Theo paused, glancing back, and Draco tensed, bracing for whatever last barb his friend would toss his way under the guise of being helpful. 

“She’ll be at breakfast tomorrow morning, if you’d like to see her again. Or, I don’t know, actually talk to her.” And then he vanished into the other room. 

Muttering a curse beneath his breath, Draco fumbled blindly behind him, grasping for one of the glasses and tossing the liquor down in a single gulp, closing his eyes and letting the burn in his throat disguise the growing knot in his chest.

“Theo,” Hermione called out as she walked towards the kitchen, the door having swung open before she could even knock this time. “I brought Pepper-up! And you really need to take another look at your wards, your house keeps just letting me in and—oh!” 

She came to an abrupt halt as she walked into the kitchen, only to come face to face with Malfoy. Who was, blessedly, at least wearing a shirt with his joggers this time. “I…” she stammered as her cheeks flared red. 

He glanced up from where he stood at the range, looking neither surprised nor pleased to find her standing there. “Morning, Granger,” he muttered, his voice still gravelly with sleep in a way that called to mind all too clearly the way he’d purred orders in her ear the last time they’d seen one another. 

“Morning,” she finally managed, an embarrassing squeak to her voice. “Is Theo not…I mean, I’m here for Theo?” She cursed inwardly at the way her words ended in a question. She was here for Theo, damn it all, why did he have to live with Malfoy? 

The man jerked his chin in a motion she interpreted as meaning that Theo was upstairs, his attention already back on the pan sizzling away in front of him. Hermione hesitated in the doorway, unsure if that meant she should go looking for him, or wait for him to make an appearance. She didn’t know why it hadn’t dawned on her that Draco might be at home, most people were on Sunday mornings. But she hadn’t seen him, not since… She flushed as vivid imagery flooded her mind and, for a moment, they were back in the drawing room, his hand cupping her throat. 

But then the prat had to go and open his mouth, drawing her sharply back to the present. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to make yourself useful?”

Hermione bristled. “Maybe it’s escaped you,” she said stiffly. “But this isn’t the arena. I don’t answer to you here.” 

His hands stilled, the silence broken only by the low sizzle of the batter in the pan for what felt like aeons, before his silvery gaze lifted, landing on hers for a half-beat and then dropping to linger pointedly somewhere distinctly below her eyes. 

Hermione stiffened, fighting the urge to lift her bag to shield herself, the urge to squirm beneath his gaze. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The prick thought he could just, what, pretend she didn’t exist until it was convenient for him? 

No doubt he thought she’d missed the way he’d all but fled the one time they’d met in the halls of the arena. He’d spotted her, and she’d thought for a moment they might be able to talk, to get over the horrible awkwardness she’d built up in her mind. To erase the lingering memories of his low voice murmuring in her ear. He was Theo’s friend, it wasn’t as if she could simply avoid him in perpetuity, no matter what her feelings about him may be. And she’d thought… well, she’d thought, for a few moments at least, that they might grow to be, if not friends, then something at least. 

But instead, he’d taken one look at her from the opposite end of the hallway and simply…walked away. Prat. If he thought she’d be content to be ignored until he deigned to pay attention to her, as if she needed, wanted, his approval? Well then, he could find another witch to stroke his ego. No doubt he had half a dozen waiting in the wings simply panting for their chance with the Malfoy heir. 

She was of half a mind to tell him as much as he continued to stare, even as he deftly reached for a bowl and poured a thin stream of batter into the waiting pan. Instead, she folded her arms impatiently across her chest, doing her best to ignore the way his gaze heated as the motion forced the swell of her breasts to plump against her neckline. She fought the urge to shift beneath his gaze. Surely Theo would show up any minute? Not that she needed to be rescued from Draco Malfoy, of all people, that was ridiculous. 

But the longer his gaze lingered, the less she could ignore the heat that stirred somewhere low in her stomach, her gaze resting on him in turn, following the deft movements of those long fingers as he cooked, every motion careful and controlled. Right until a bit of the double cream he was whipping splashed from the bowl and he frowned, sucking it from his thumb. It was then Hermione broke. 

“What needs to be done?” she bit out, dropping her arms and all but throwing her bag down on the table. She glared at him, as if daring him to say something, but he wisely stayed silent, though something she thought might have been a grin teased at his lips before he dropped his attention back to the pan. Wordlessly, he pointed towards a bowl waiting at the opposite end of the counter. She stomped across the room with a huff, only to find a bowl of perfectly red strawberries waiting. “What am I meant to do with these?” she snapped irritatedly. 

One of those damn brows arched, and she startled as a knife and cutting board sailed across the room to clatter down on the counter. He didn’t even bother glancing in her direction to ensure he hadn’t impaled her. She scowled at him, not that he looked up to see it, before pulling the cutting board closer and beginning to slice the strawberries into careful, even pieces.

Silence reigned in the kitchen, broken only by the sizzle of the pan and the dull thud of her knife. Hermione shifted on her feet while she worked, feeling uncomfortably as if she would be graded on her performance, like this was some sort of entirely absurd Potions course. 

“You cook?” Hermione finally asked, breaking the uneasy silence, unable to keep her gaze from darting up from her work to watch the man as he moved about the kitchen with the ease of long practice. Why are you cooking is what she truly wanted to ask, but that seemed a bit more personal. And it was absolutely in both of their best interests to keep the conversation as impersonal as possible. 

“Granger, I have a dual mastery in Potions and Alchemy,” he drawled, as if the question were entirely inane. Which, she supposed, it was, since he’d been doing just that since she arrived. “A reasonably competent kelpie could prepare breakfast.” He deftly flipped a crepe from the pan onto the neat stack already waiting on a plate, the telltale shimmer of a warming charm mirroring the air. “But that,” he gestured to a pile of something that looked like scrambled eggs gone horribly wrong, “is what happens when Nott attempts crepes.” 

Hermione winced. She’d known Theo wasn’t exactly a dab hand in the kitchen, but she’d thought he might order in, or at least attempt something simple. 

“Why couldn’t you just go out for breakfast like normal people?” 

Hermione stiffened at the accusatory tone of the question. As if she’d asked him to cook for them. “This was Theo’s idea!” she claimed defensively. “I didn’t ask him for anything!” 

She couldn’t even say when the last time she’d had a crepe was, probably in Paris with her parents, decades ago. Why on earth would she demand them for breakfast? Unless…her knife paused. That was probably just what Theo’s normal sort of witch would expect. She knew the type, she’d seen them all over the tabloid covers, arm in arm with Theo. Princessy. No doubt raised to expect the finer things in life. Pureblood. She frowned down at the berries, each one perfectly shaped and perfectly ripe, no doubt sourced from some ridiculous specialty market where they cost four times what they should. Theo might not be an expert in breakfast for witches, but Malfoy almost certainly was. And that was perfectly fine, of course, and none of her business. 

Malfoy scoffed. “Why don’t you stop pretending you’re embarrassed to be seen in public with him, Granger?”

“Draco!” Theo’s sharp tone came from the doorway and Draco cursed inwardly. Of course the man would show up then. He’d had every intention of, well, not apologising to the witch, because he damn well hadn’t done anything wrong. But they could surely, at least, be pleasant enough to one another, enough to appease Theo. 

And then she’d shown up, that spark of anger flaring to life in her eyes as it so often did around him, and he’d forgotten all his good intentions in an instant. Theo’s warnings had echoed faintly in his mind, and yet, he couldn’t resist needling her, searching out the exact combination of words that would set colour rising in her cheeks, bring that swotty edge to her tone. It had been almost…fun, riling the witch. 

Then, he’d pushed her just an inch too far, and silence had fallen, the tension had returned, and apparently it was his turn to blurt idiotic questions. He couldn’t say for certain why he’d asked. Granger was an incurable know-it-all, and a vengeful witch given the opportunity, but she’d never been particularly cruel. No, they were being smart, keeping their relationship from the public, from the gossip rags. He should be thankful, really, no doubt news of their relationship would draw the wrong sort of attention to the Dragons. 

But he wasn’t thankful. Because, as Theo had so succinctly reminded him, he was a prat. A prat who couldn’t simply be pleased for his friend and his newfound happiness. Couldn’t be happy because that damn laugh of hers was near impossible to miss when it floated up to his bedroom, because Theo’s robes carried the musky scent of her hair. Because she was fucking haunting him, and there was nothing he could do about it, not without earning his friend’s ire in return. Something he was apparently doing a damn good job of anyhow, as Theo glared at him, no doubt debating the best way to hide his body. 

He understood Theo’s need to protect the witch and her feelings, in the abstract at least. Theo had always been… Well, he’d been the one to comfort scared first years, and help frazzled fifth years with their O.W.L. review, while the rest of them had been off causing whatever trouble seemed the most fun that day. The one who had noticed, sixth year, the one who had come looking for him. He was a protector at his core. The senior Nott had hurled the words soft, and emotional, as if they were the worst sort of insult he could think to bestow upon his spawn as he banished him from that ancestral pile of a home. 

But he hadn’t been wrong, Theo Nott was far kinder than any of them deserved, and there was no doubt in his mind that Granger had been adopted into that small circle of people Theo considered his to protect, regardless of the fact that Draco was certain the witch could more than take care of herself. 

Which was precisely why the man was now stalking across the room, glaring at him like he was a stranger in their own home. 

“What the hell, Malfoy,” he spat, even as he tucked an arm protectively about her waist, Granger’s eyes going wide. Her gaze darted from Theo, to Malfoy, and back, her mind no doubt whirring as she fought to sort out where the sudden tension had come from. Because of course she’d have no idea Theo’d come to her defence once already. Her berry-stained fingers came to rest lightly on Theo’s arm as she soothed him.

“No, no, he has the right to ask.” Granger’s voice was quiet, as if she were speaking to Theo alone. But then her gaze lifted to meet his, the spark from earlier fanned fully into a flame burning in her amber eyes. “Even if he does feel the need to be a prick about it,” she hissed. 

He winced inwardly at the venom in her tone. Clearly he was excelling at his plan to keep things pleasant with the witch. 

She glanced up at Theo, as if searching for his permission to continue. His hand slid down to her hip, giving it an encouraging squeeze. 

“It’s just…” Granger said, carefully scraping the sliced berries into the waiting bowl, as if she were brewing in a lab rather than preparing their breakfast. “Theo has some…rather avid fans. Which is lovely, of course, but they do make it difficult to enjoy time out, no?” 

Draco’s brow furrowed—what the hell was she on about?—looking to Theo in hopes he could provide a better explanation. 

“Snitch snatch,” Theo said, as if that explained everything, snatching a strawberry from the cutting board and popping it in his mouth. 

Draco let out a derisive snort in return and Granger blinked, looking back and forth between the men. “Snitch…” her voice trailed away before her mouth formed a round ‘o’ of horror. “You do not call them that!” 

Draco snorted again, and Theo fought to hide a smile as Hermione whirled on him, indignation written across her face. He plucked the knife deftly from her hand before it could do any serious harm and ran his other hand down her arm in a soothing caress. 

“It’s just something people say, love. Hell, the witches use it themselves. Some of them have t-shirts.” A light shudder wracked his body, as if horrified by the very thought. 

Draco privately had to agree. The witches that were after him based on his name alone were one thing, but the ones that fancied themselves Quidditch fans—of the players, not the sport, mind you? They were a truly terrifying breed. 

“That’s, that’s—” Hermione sputtered. 

“Archaic?” Theo supplied with a wide grin that suggested it was a joke Draco wasn’t privy to. 

“Yes!” she burst. “I can’t believe you call them that!” 

Theo merely gave a helpless shrug, and her gaze narrowed on him briefly before shifting to Draco. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “Ridiculous name aside, that’s why we don’t go out. And now your crepe is burning.” 

Draco cursed as he wrenched his attention back to the range, only to find the now-charred batter beyond saving. 

“The rest were done anyway,” he muttered, vanishing the mess with an irritated flick of his wand and turning to leave. Fuck, he was going to have to leave the house, he couldn’t simply sit around all day listening to them enjoying each other. Not if he wanted to cling to whatever sanity he had left.

“Where are you going?” The witch’s voice stopped him mid-stride and he turned with a long-suffering sigh. 

“Frankly, Granger? Anywhere but here. Enjoy your breakfast.” 

He turned again and was nearly out of the room when the petite witch appeared in front of him, hands propped on her hips as she scowled up at him. He raised a single brow. “Was there something else?”

It was her turn to huff a sigh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she ordered. “Sit.” His confusion must have been evident on his face, because she continued. “We’re not ruining breakfast just because you’re a prat.”

“Granger, I can’t imagine why you think I’d agree to be a third wheel on a date in my own damn home, but—” 

“Sit,” she snarled, summoning a third plate and setting it down at the table with far more force than necessary. 

“Nott,” Draco turned his attention to the wizard. “Tell your witch that I’m not meant to be a part of this cosy little get-together.” 

Theo hesitated, glancing between the two of them, opening his mouth to respond, but an indignant noise from Granger cut him off. 

“That man,” she said, jabbing her finger in his direction as she spoke to Theo. “Inimitable prat that he is, has cooked us a lovely breakfast, and we’re not very well going to banish him back to whatever depressing cave he lives in now that it’s ready. He is going to sit down and eat!” Her voice rose as she spoke until she was all but yelling. 

Silence echoed through the room for a half-beat, both men staring at the witch as colour rose in her cheeks.

“Join us for breakfast, won’t you, Draco?” Theo gestured grandly towards the table, not bothering to try to hide the grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

Draco scowled, snatching his wand up from his pocket and summoning the plate Hermione had set for him before toeing out the stool furthest from the table and sitting with a pointed look that all but dared her to say something else.

“Really?” Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, and for a moment, he was sure she would continue to argue. An argument he would win, on principle alone. But instead, her lips simply tightened as she pulled out her own chair and sat, waiting for Theo to do the same. 

The first few minutes were stilted, uncomfortable all around as forks clinked against plates, a loud silence filling the room. 

And then, a giggle from Hermione. A chuckle from Theo. And Draco left staring at the both of them as they dissolved into laughter. 

“It’s just,” another giggle escaped Hermione. “It’s all just rather ridiculous, isn’t it? I mean, I’m practically holding you hostage, Malfoy and you, you’re letting me and—” She dissolved into laughter. “And fucking Snitch Snatch, oh my god, how can that be real,” she wheezed. 

Theo leaned back in his seat, amusement written across his features, while Draco stared. She’d cracked. A few weeks with Theo and the witch had lost her damn mind. Her giggles tapered off, dissolving into a rasping cough, the sound jolting Theo into motion as he practically leapt across the table in his rush to refill her tea. She waved him off, her eyes watering as she took a deep drink, the men waiting with varying levels of patience as she regained her breath.

“Well then,” Draco pushed to his feet once he was certain he wasn’t going to have to explain why Hermione Granger’s body was in his kitchen. “Now that we’ve determined this is, in fact, a hostage situation—” A snort from Theo. “—I’ll be leaving, then.” 

Hermione straightened suddenly, her gaze snapping to him. “You absolutely will not!” She cried. 

Draco shot her an incredulous glance. “Why the fuck not, Granger?” 

A stubborn set shaped her lips.

“It’s not as if we don’t know each other, Malfoy. You’re Theo’s friend, you live together, for Merlin’s sake. And I’m Theo’s—” 

“Girlfriend,” the other wizard supplied helpfully, with a self-satisfied smile. 

The witch’s freckled nose wrinkled with distaste. “For lack of a better word, I suppose, yes.” 

Draco heaved a sigh. “And what exactly is your point here, Granger?” 

“My point, Malfoy, is that we’re stuck with each other, I’m afraid.” She picked up her fork, pointing it at him. “And that means you’re occasionally going to have to suffer through a meal with me. So sit down, and finish your breakfast. It’s delicious.” 

Theo shot him a triumphant glance as if to say ‘I told you so’ and Draco scowled in return. As if an invitation to breakfast was an undying vow of adoration rather than a message of mild tolerance. 

“Theo’s not going to help you get out of this, Malfoy,” Hermione said, not even bothering to look up as she stabbed a strawberry from her plate and popped it between her rosy lips. 

Draco looked to Theo again, hoping, not for the first time that day, that the other man might come to his rescue. 

Instead—

“Hermione’s the boss, I’m afraid,” Theo said with an entirely unconcerned shrug.

Draco scowled in return. 

“I am quite literally her boss,” Draco muttered to himself as he sank slowly back into his seat. Why he was going along with this farce, he couldn’t quite say, it wasn’t as if she could actually keep him from leaving. But something about the brief smile she flashed in his direction as he once again picked up his fork made him think it might not be the worst thing after all. 

Chapter Text

Hermione had insisted on a tour of the house after breakfast, a request Theo had been all too happy to indulge, even as Malfoy made quick use of his opportunity to escape. The home was larger even than it appeared from the outside. Theo had pointed out at least seven bedrooms on the upper levels before she’d stopped counting, half of which had their own sitting rooms. And she’d glimpsed more than one bath that rivalled the Hogwarts prefects’ baths for size. Now they wandered down a long hallway lined with elaborate art, both magical and muggle, all of it undoubtedly obscenely expensive. In fact, she was fairly certain they’d passed a Raphael a moment ago. But missing was that sort of gloomy ancestral portraiture she’d always found looming in pureblood homes.

“How did you and Draco end up in Diagon Alley?” she asked, her curiosity finally winning out as they strolled past what she suspected was one of the Elgin marbles. “I thought you’d live in, well…” Her voice trailed away as visions of a cold, dark drawing room flashed in her memories. 

“In one of those drafty ancestral monstrosities?” Theo finished the thought, glancing her way, something dark in his gaze belying his wry grin. 

She nodded hesitantly, suddenly worried she’d brought up memories better left buried by all of them, but he merely shrugged, his expression clearing as he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “I haven’t been to Nott Manor since before sixth year,” he explained. “At first because my dearest father requested I didn’t return and then, well, I suppose I just didn’t see a reason after he was gone. Plus, the old place was positively infested with doxies and Merlin, Hermione, they’re absolute murder on cashmere.” 

Hermione stifled a giggle. Harry and Ginny waged war against the doxies at Grimmauld Place to this day, she couldn’t say she blamed Theo for avoiding them. “Why here then? In Diagon Alley? It’s a bit public, isn’t it?” 

Theo shrugged. 

“This house belonged to my mother, before she married my father.” 

Hermione darted him a startled glance. She couldn’t recall ever having heard any mention of Theo’s mother, though his father’s name had been front and center during the war. “And she’s letting you live here now?” she asked. 

Theo’s steps stuttered for a moment before he gave a sharp shake of his head. “She died when I was four,” he said.

“Oh, Theo, I’m so sorry,” Hermione blurted, tugging him to a stop. “I never should have assumed, I mean, I guess I just thought…” Her voice trailed off lamely and Theo gave her hand a comforting squeeze. Merlin, she should be the one comforting him, not the other way around. 

“How were you meant to know? It wasn’t as if I ran about Hogwarts telling everyone my father pushed my mother down the stairs and didn’t bother to call a healer for her.”

A sharp breath hissed from Hermione as she stared up at him in horror. Surely he wasn’t suggesting…? 

Theo merely shrugged. “I wish I could say it was the worst thing my father ever did, but…” He cast her a lopsided grin, giving her hand a tug until she started walking with him again, following him down the stairs. 

“But at least he never got his greedy hands on this place. The house didn’t like him one bit, he never could get in. Old family magic from my mum’s side, you know? Thought he might well burn it down out of spite, but I suppose he never got around to it.”

Hermione gaped at him as she followed him down the stairs, the urge to ask half a dozen more questions warring with the urge to simply hug the man until the flash of pain she’d seen in his gaze vanished. 

“Besides,” Theo continued, as if he were totally unbothered by his revelations. “I’d much rather live with Draco than skulk about a drafty old house on my own anyhow. And as for Draco? He has…” Theo cast her a considering glance. “Well, Draco has his own reasons for not wanting to go back to the Manor.” 

Hermione flushed. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that Draco had given up his family home because of… 

She nearly ran into Theo’s back as he came to a stop outside a set of elaborate double doors. He looped his arm about her waist to steady her, tugging her close. “I thought you might be excited about this part,” he grinned. “But don’t hurt yourself, love.” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “What part?” They’d seen a lovely, if clearly unused, parlour already, and the formal dining room. And of course, she was familiar with the kitchen and—she blushed—the front drawing room. What more was there?

“You’ll see,” Theo said with a grin. He paused, one hand on the doorknob as he glanced down at her. “You left your cat with his nanny, yeah?” 

Hermione raised her brows. She had, yes, though she’d told her neighbour that it was a work matter. It certainly wasn’t as if she could tell the woman she was staying over with one Theodore Nott, star Chaser for the Derbyshire Dragons. The woman would either expire on the spot, or tell every witch she encountered for the next week at least, and Hermione frankly didn’t want to be responsible for either of those outcomes. But it was just barely past noon, he’d just told her his father had murdered his mother, for Merlin’s sake, surely he wasn’t suggesting… Merlin help her, if Theo was about to reveal he had some sort of sex dungeon in his home, she, well, she—

Theo swung the doors open with a dramatic flourish and Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Light flooded the room from the wall of windows opposite them, sunshine catching on the occasional mote of dust that floated idly through the air. Lining the other walls were rows and rows of books, shelves stretching towards the high ceiling. “Theo!” She gasped in delight and he turned to her with a broad grin. 

“Thought you might like to spend the day here, you might even manage to find a book or two you haven’t read yet. Draco likes to collect some pretty obscure stuff.”

Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling she was a child who’d suddenly been set loose in a candy store, her fingers practically itching to reach for what she was fairly certain was a first edition of Baladin’s Theorems on Practical Arithmancy on a shelf across the way, but she hesitated, instead turning to Theo. “Are you sure?” She asked. “I mean, we’d planned to spend the day together, and I…well, I do tend to get a bit wrapped up in books.”

She flushed. It’d been one of Ron’s greatest gripes during the year they’d spent together, that she spent so much of her time focused on her books, rather than on him. Never mind the fact she’d been completing her Healer’s mastery all the while attending muggle medical school as well. “And I’m sure you’d rather we do something together, maybe a walk? Or…or do you like chess? I’m not particularly good at it, but—” 

Theo cut her off with a tut, pulling her into his arms and spinning her about until she could see the shelves again, dropping his chin to rest on her shoulder as he murmured in her ear. “It’s my day off, love. I’ve got some reading to catch up on, and there’s truly nothing I’d rather do more. I might even take a break here or there to fool around with a pretty witch, if I can drag her attention away from the history of magic section.” 

Hermione’s gaze didn’t waver from the shelves as she breathed, “There’s a whole section?” 

He grinned against her neck, pressing a swift kiss there. “Four.” He kissed again. “Whole.” A kiss. “Shelves.” 

A muffled squeal of delight escaped Hermione’s throat and she flushed, turning in Theo’s arms and lifting her hands to cup his face. “Theodore Nott,” she declared. “I could kiss you.” 

He grinned back. “Far be it from me to stop you, sweetheart.” Hermione pressed a hard, fast kiss to his lips before she whirled again, all but cackling with glee as she rushed into the room, Theo close on her heels. 

Draco found them there, hours later, Granger with her nose so far in a book he thought it might be permanently fused there, while Theo draped languidly across the sofa, one of those ridiculous mystery novels he insisted on collecting propped open on his chest. Not that he’d gone looking for them, of course, but it was his day off and he’d finished the last book in his room in the wee hours of the morning. He’d thought, when the house had grown quiet, that perhaps they’d gone out after all or… He’d steadfastly avoided looking at Theo’s closed door as he’d made his way downstairs. But he should have known better, should have known the witch would have sniffed out his books like a bloodhound. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway until Theo glanced up. 

“Don’t worry, no one took your precious chair,” he said, jerking his thumb towards the armchair nestled in the far corner. Theo loved to mock Draco’s inevitable sense of routine, but the chair was in the perfect spot, close enough to the window to catch the natural light but out of the way of the draft that came through the persistent crack in the centre pane, and near enough to the fireplace to be warm without being uncomfortably so. And, in this case, on the entirely opposite side of the room from Hermione Granger. 

Draco scowled in return, stalking across the room, fully intending to snatch up a few of the books he’d left piled on the side table and decamp for somewhere less populated. But as he picked up his books, the witch looked up, her eyes widening as if she’d just realised he was there. He half-expected her to be irritated by his presence. No doubt the witch would prefer he not constantly interrupt her time with Theo, but instead, an unexpected, pleased smile crossed her face. 

“Oh, Draco!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been hoping you might stop by. Theo mentioned that he thought there was a copy of Mercer’s translation of Imhotep’s materia medica here somewhere, but neither of us have been able to track it down and he thought you might be able to help?” 

Draco shot a sharp glance at Theo. The man had been the one who created their library’s database charms, he'd spent months fine tuning them when they'd first moved in. There wasn’t a bat’s chance in hell he didn’t know where the book was. Theo merely offered him a wide, shameless grin in return. 

He turned his attention back to the witch with every intention of turning her down. It wasn’t as if there weren’t hundreds of other books for her to read without him wasting his time tracking that one down in particular. It wasn’t even a particularly rare tome, though the translation he had was rather good. Still, he could lay hands on a half-dozen rarer books from where he stood. But when he looked back to her, denial on his lips, it was to find her staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes, entirely clear of the ire he was so used to finding there. Fuck. With a curse, he dropped the stack of books he held haphazardly into the plush seat of his armchair, ignoring the hiss of breath that came from the witch as he did so, and produced his wand from his pocket. “Accio Imhotep,” he drawled, a bored, pointed expression on his face. 

Granger rolled her eyes. “As if we hadn’t already tried that,” she snarked as she picked up her book again. “If you didn’t want to be helpful, you just had to say so.” 

She’d only just finished the sentence when the book landed neatly in his hand with a gentle thump. Her gaze flicked back up, first widening in surprise and then narrowing with outrage as she straightened in her seat. “How did you—” She whirled to face Theo, the other man scrambling to erase the grin from his face as her gaze landed on him. “Why did that not work when I tried it?” 

Theo’s mouth gaped open, he clearly hadn’t thought this ridiculous plan all the way through. As if, what, Draco would help the witch with the smallest of problems, she would fall over his feet in thanks, and they would all just be a happy little trio of friends? He snorted as he crossed the room in a few brief strides, all but shoving the heavy tome into the witch’s hands. “The shelves are warded to only allow mine or Theo’s magic. Don’t want just anyone’s grubby hands all over the first editions, do we?” Goyle had found his way in here once, before they’d quite sorted out the house’s magic, and managed to smear chocolate across the pages of an illuminated medieval manuscript. It wasn’t until Theo sucked in a sharp breath, and the witch’s formerly warm eyes widened with hurt, that he realised exactly how the statement must have sounded. 

“Shit,” he cursed, wishing he could pull the words back. “That’s not what I meant, Granger, I just—” 

He glanced helplessly at Theo, waiting for the man to step in with his inevitable charm and smooth Draco’s rougher edges, just as he always did, but his friend merely scowled at him. 

“Hell,” Draco continued, words spilling from him as if saying more stupid things could improve the situation. “The house clearly likes you, I’m amazed it hasn’t just decided to add you to all the wards regardless of how we feel about it.” He’d meant it as a compliment, the number of people that Theo’s mother’s wards tolerated was limited, at best, but of course it hadn’t come out that way.

“Fuck!” he blurted, raking his hand through his hair, leaving it hopelessly dishevelled. “I just don’t want the books getting sticky,” he explained, his tone near pleading. Why it was suddenly so important that the witch didn’t think the worst of him, he couldn’t quite say, but the idea she thought he’d meant her, that she thought he was just as awful as he’d been when they were young, it left him with a sickening pit in his stomach. 

Hermione blinked at him, and for a moment, his jaw ached with the phantom pain of a long-ago punch. Hell, he should offer to let her hit him again, he deserved it.

Entirely absorbed in his mental castigation, he nearly didn’t notice her giggle, not until her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth in an effort to muffle the noise. “Gods, Malfoy,” she gasped out. “You really mean that, don’t you? Merlin, you look like you expect me to Avada you in your own library.” Another giggle escaped, and then another, until she dissolved into a full peal of laughter, her face turning a splotchy red as Theo sniggered alongside her. 

Circe above, he’d had more than enough of Hermione Granger laughing at him today. With a scowl, he turned his back on the still-snickering pair, scooping his books from where he’d dumped them and striding for the door. 

“Oh, Draco, I’m sorry,” Granger called out, her voice breathless from her laughter. Draco froze as his first name fell from her lips as easily as if she’d been using it her whole life. “Don’t let us chase you off. Theo wouldn’t even let me sit in your seat, in case you wanted to join us. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.” 

Draco’s eyes flicked to the door. Escape was only a few steps away. He could read in his room just as easily as he could in the library. Or he could decamp to the drawing room, if only that room hadn’t been fucking ruined by the witch as well.

Growling beneath his breath, he spun on his heel, stalking back across the room without a word. He wasn’t going to let Theo win whatever this little game was. This was his home, damn it all, he wasn’t going to let a witch chase him from it. Steadfastly ignoring them both, he sat in his chair, nudging it askew ever so slightly so that he wasn’t forced to stare directly at Granger, and pulled the first book from his stack without looking. He barely masked his frown when he cracked the spine to reveal an encyclopaedia of potions ingredients. Not exactly scintillating reading, but he’d be damned if he’d admit to making a mistake and search out another book. Not with the witch’s gaze still fixed on his profile. 

He watched from the corner of his eye as Granger studied him for a long moment, something inscrutable in her expression, before she turned to Theo. “Do you think we might be able to get some tea?” 

Hours passed as they read in companionable silence, Theo and Hermione murmuring to each other occasionally as Draco all the while did his best to pretend they didn’t exist. The fall sun grew long, casting shadows through the library when their peace was finally disturbed. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Theo said, closing his book with a decisive thump and leaning back in his seat. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Draco drawled from where he sat near the window. Theo shot his friend a rude gesture as Hermione hummed in acknowledgement, flipping a page of whichever book she’d found herself absorbed in. Judging from the wear on the cover, she’d discovered the first editions he’d smuggled from the Manor’s library. 

“Thinking about what?” Hermione asked, setting the book down for a moment—a fourteenth-century potions text, he’d been right—and reaching across the way to pour herself another cup of tea. Merlin, that woman consumed far more caffeine than could possibly be healthy. 

“You kissed Draco.” 

Hermione paused, her tea halfway to her lips as she cast a wary glance, first across the room to Draco, and then back to Theo at the opposite end of the sofa. “Yes…” she said slowly. “And I thought…well, I thought we’d worked through that already, yes?” 

“Well, yes,” Theo said, adopting a patently false, wounded tone. “But I just can’t stop thinking about it, love.” Concern flashed across Hermione’s face.

Merlin, she couldn’t actually be falling for this, could she? 

“It just seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?” Theo bemoaned. “Draco’s seen, well—” he gestured vaguely, the implication heavy in his words, setting colour aflame in the witch’s cheeks once again. “—and I've been terribly generous about that, don't you think? But,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “I do think I know something that might make me feel better about it all.” 

Draco’s spine stiffened. He knew that carefully casual tone, that studied expression. He opened his mouth to interrupt, to stop Hermione before she could—

“What’s that?” 

Draco rolled his eyes as Theo barely managed to stifle his grin beneath his witch’s concerned gaze. “I want to see it.” Hermione’s brow furrowed and Draco groaned silently. “You and Draco, I mean.”  

The man wasn’t going to live through the night if Draco had anything to say about it. 

Theo paused for a moment, clearly waiting for a reaction he didn’t get, before he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “I want to see you kiss Draco, Hermione.” 

Hermione choked on her tea. “Have you gone absolutely mad?” she finally sputtered when she caught her breath. 

Draco paused, trying to decide if he should be insulted by the question, but really, he had to agree with the witch. Theo Nott had gone entirely off his rocker. He cleared his throat pointedly, hoping Theo would realise that whatever joke it was he intended to play, he was well on his way to going too far. 

But Theo ignored him, continuing on as if there hadn’t been an interruption. “You,” he pointed at Hermione. “Kissed him,” that finger turned towards Draco. “And I didn’t even get to see it. Feels unfair, doesn’t it?” 

Hermione gaped at him, and Draco cursed, pushing to his feet. “What the hell are you on about, Nott?” 

Theo shrugged. “I’m just saying, is all. You got to see her pretty cunt dripping all over my fingers and I didn’t even get to see you kiss her. Balance, you know?” 

“Theo,” Hermione hissed, mortification lacing her tone. Draco knew that if he were to look at her, her cheeks would be that beguiling scarlet colour, the one that all but begged him to stroke the soft skin of her throat just to see it rise higher. The witch couldn’t even look at him without blushing, what the hell was Theo thinking? He tensed, waiting for her to sputter, protest, spew some of that righteous Gryffindor indignation before she stormed from the room. But instead, silence reigned for a moment, until the witch finally spoke.

Hermione was of half a mind to check if her tea had been poisoned, if perhaps she was hallucinating and Theo was not, in fact, talking about her—she blushed—her cunt in front of Draco Malfoy. But as she coughed lightly to clear the remnants of the tea from her throat, she studied Theo, whose expression was oddly earnest behind his teasing grin. She’d thought it had been a joke, albeit one taken a step or two too far, but the longer she looked at him, the more certain she grew that he’d meant the request. What she couldn’t quite sort out was the why of it.

Tilting her head slightly, Hermione leaned forward, her gaze intent on the man. “Tell me why, really, Theo?”

His lips turned upward in a slow, knowing smile, and Hermione was faced with the sudden, unerring certainty that she’d walked right into a trap. “I’ll tell you why if you can admit you want to do it, love.” 

Hermione darted a nervous glance at Draco as Theo spoke. Merlin, what was he going to think, as if she’d asked Theo for this. She expected to find him glaring at her, warning her off without words, but instead, there was something, perhaps not interest, but something nearing curiosity flickering in his grey gaze even as his fingers tightened enough to wrinkle the pages of the book he held. 

“One kiss, love, that’s all, and then you can finish your book in peace.” 

Her gaze flicked back to Theo as his cajoling words reached her ears. Her eyes narrowed on him briefly as he fought to hide the twinkle of victory in his dark expression. She adored the man, but Merlin, he was a menace like none other. He wasn’t going to leave this be, that much was clear, regardless of the why. 

Carefully marking her place in her book, she set it carefully to the side and pushed to her feet with a heavy sigh.

“Granger, sit back down,” Draco ordered, his voice low, his grey gaze intent on her as she moved across the room. 

“He’s not going to give this up until he’s satisfied and you and I both know it, Malfoy.” 

“Oh, it’s Malfoy again now, is it?” He sneered. “It’s Draco only until you have to touch me again?” 

“It’s Malfoy when you’re being a prat,” she snarked even as she drew near, her tone far more confident than she actually felt. Theo chuckled behind her even as Draco’s gaze narrowed on her, his limbs tense as if he might bolt from the room any minute. Merlin, why had she got up? It was too late to back out now, not without Malfoy thinking he could order her about and she would simply obey. So instead, she closed the last few feet separating them, before propping her hands on her hips and staring down at the wizard. 

He raised a single brow, peering at her over the silver rim of his glasses. “Waiting for something, Granger?” 

Her lips parted, and she hesitated. She hadn’t really thought this far. Somehow, she’d just supposed that Draco would, well, take the lead as he had last time. But now she stood over him, his gaze practically daring her to back down now. Daring her to lose. 

Hermione steeled her spine, taking a deep breath, intimately aware of Theo’s watchful gaze on her back. 

Before she could lose her nerve, she stooped, placing her hands on the arms of Draco’s chair, careful not to actually touch him, and pressed her lips to his. His lips were cool, unmoving beneath hers, every line of his body tense as she counted in her head. 

One. Two. Three. 

Gods, this was mortifying, he clearly wanted nothing to do with her. She pulled away, and for the briefest of moments, their eyes locked, his breath puffing warm against her lips. And then, he blinked, a shield dropping over his expression and Hermione sucked in a breath, her eyes wide as she took a quick step back, bracing for a scathing comment from the wizard. Before he could say anything, she turned back to Theo. 

“There,” she declared, thanking whichever god was listening that her voice didn’t belie how rattled she was by the moment. “Now you’ve seen us kiss, and we can all move on, yes?” 

Theo arched a dark brow, his expression bemused, and Hermione stiffened. He couldn’t know for certain that her first kiss with Draco was nothing like what had just occurred, but surely he had to suspect. She expected him to point out as much, because the man was nothing if not persistent, but it was Draco’s low drawl that broke the silence. 

“Is that the best you’ve got, Granger?” 

Hermione froze, slowly turning back to Draco as a huff of laughter escaped Theo. “I’m sorry?” She asked. 

He slipped his glasses from his nose, folding them methodically and setting them carefully to the side along with his book, before he pushed lithely to his feet. She froze, trapped by his gaze, feeling for all the world like a particularly stupid mouse caught in the path of a hungry cat as he prowled across the room towards her. 

“I said,” he drawled as he drew closer. “Is that the best you’ve got to show our dear Mister Nott? I seem to recall it going differently.” 

Hermione gave an indelicate snort, averting her gaze from his. “I’m not entirely sure why that matters, unless you plan to prove otherwise, Malfoy. It was just a silly dare, and now it’s done.” 

She turned back to where she’d left her book. She was going to sit back down, ignore Theo’s ridiculously pleased grin, and finish her book, and that would be that. Or it would have been, at least, had Malfoy’s hand not snaked out to band about her wrist, pulling her to face him again.

“Maybe I should,” he purred, taking another step nearer until he crowded against her. Every instinct she had screamed for her to take a step back, to put more space between them, but that would be letting him win. And she damn well wasn’t going to do that. So instead, she drew herself straight, her chin tilting up as she adopted the most bored tone she could manage. “Should?” 

He arched a disaffected brow. “Should prove otherwise. Don’t you think?” 

For a moment, she thought he was asking the question of her, until she realised his gaze was focused over her head, to where Theo sat.

Hermione bristled. She should protest. If he was asking anyone for permission to kiss her, it should be, well, her. Not another man. And yet, even as she opened her mouth to argue, she paused. It went against every grain of her being, her independence demanding he ask permission of her, but at the same time, something deep inside her warmed, and she couldn’t help but hold her breath as she waited. Waited for Theo to say yes, to let another wizard touch her, as if she were nothing more than a possession, an adored pet. It was archaic, she knew as much, but even still…

Her breath escaped her with a puff, her eyes widening as Theo’s low, gravelly voice broke the waiting silence. “Show me.” 

Hermione’s head whipped to look at Theo, but Draco’s free hand caught at her chin, forcing her attention back to him. Her eyes blew wide as he gave her wrist a forceful tug, sending her stumbling against him, her fingers curling reflexively into his shirt as her hands landed against his chest. 

“You heard him, witch,” Draco murmured, right before his lips crushed against hers. 

Hermione took a sharp breath as his hand fisted in her curls, and the wizard took advantage, his tongue flicking against her lips until they parted further, granting him access. A whimper escaped her as he sucked lightly at her bottom lip. A nearly inaudible groan rumbled in his chest in response, his hand loosening in her hair to instead stroke lightly over her nape, soothing the sting of his demands as he pulled her nearer. Hermione melted against him at his urging, her lips moving in tandem with his even as her nipples tightened against the hard planes of his chest, heat washing through her as her hands slipped from his chest to loop about his neck, pulling him closer.

A low groan reached her ears, sounding nearly pained, and it took Hermione a long moment to realise it came from the man behind her, rather than the one currently pressed against her. She gasped at the sudden, inescapable reminder of Theo’s presence, and yanked away with a start. Or she would have, had Draco’s hand not fisted harder in her hair, giving her lip a punishing nip before allowing her to actually pull away. His hand pressed against her lower back, keeping her near even as she fought the instinct to look to Theo for approval, or judgment, whichever it may be. He’d asked for this, yes, but it had been nothing more than an odd joke on his part. Certainly he hadn’t expected her to enjoy it as she had. And she hadn’t been the only one, if the hard length currently pressed against her hip was any indication. 

Hermione let her forehead fall against Draco’s chest, just for a moment, just to catch her breath, but the man wouldn’t even allow her that, his hand slipping from her hair to cup her face, gently forcing her gaze to his. An emotion she couldn’t name swirled in his stormy gaze as he studied her, colour high in his cheeks, his lips reddened. His chest rose on a breath as his gaze heated, and Hermione’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat, her breath caught in her chest. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before flicking up to look over her head even as his thumb rubbed softly over her swollen lips. Hermione started to turn, to see what was being passed silently between him and Theo, but his hand on her back stilled her, pressing her tighter against him. 

Hermione let out a noise of protest, this had really gone on too far, but the thumb against her lips pressed harder, silencing her. Hermione’s gaze narrowed in warning. She was halfway tempted to bite him, if she didn’t suspect that would end poorly for her. The corner of his mouth kicked up in something nearing a smile as he bent his head back to her, his breath warm against her neck, lips barely teasing the soft skin there even as his hands smoothed a path down her sides to span her hips. 

“Has Theo fucked you yet, witch?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear.

She stiffened in his arms, pulling away slightly to stare up at him. “Pardon?” she breathed, the question lost somewhere in the midst of a haze of rekindled lust. 

His lips twitched up in a smirk. “No, then? I suspect that’s about to change, pet.” 

His hands tightened on her hips as he spun her gently, her mind still fumbling along in an attempt to catch up. What on earth was he talking—Oh. 

Her eyes landed on Theo, who sat at the very edge of the sofa, fire burning in his expression as his gaze raked over her, lingering on her lips. Merlin, he was upset, she knew it. “Theo—” she began, as if she had any sort of explanation for the reaction Draco’s touch had pulled from her. 

She didn’t have a chance to finish her thought before he’d stood, his expression taut. Before Hermione could even fully comprehend he’d moved, he’d crossed the room in a few long strides, his hand rising to cup the back of her neck, whispering a curse as he pressed his lips hard against hers, uncaring that Draco was still pressed against her back. 

“Theo,” Hermione murmured as he pulled away for half a breath, raising a hand to cup his cheek, though she couldn’t say if it was to soothe him or pull him closer. He gave a sharp shake of his head and pulled her lips back to his, his kiss a claiming, his hands dropping to her waist even as Draco’s grip fell from her hips, though she could still feel the heat of his form at her back. 

Hermione wrenched her mouth away. “Theo, I—” 

Theo’s lips dropped to hers again, cutting her off. “Say goodnight to Draco, love,” his voice rasped as his fingers tightened against her sides. 

“Theo, we need to—” She let out a muffled shriek of indignation as Malfoy’s hand landed suddenly over her mouth. 

“She didn’t talk this much when I was kissing her,” he observed conversationally. 

Hermione squawked, fighting to pull the man’s hand from her mouth, but it didn’t budge. Merlin, he worked a desk job, how was he so strong? She let out a stream of muffled obscenities against his palm, even as Theo continued their little conversation over her head. 

“That’s because she actually likes talking to me,” Theo snarked, though the broad grin on his face belied his words. 

Hermione glared up at him. Prats, both of them. 

Ignoring her glare, Theo scooped her from the ground with ease, hauling her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than Crookshanks, ignoring her surprised shriek. “Last chance to be polite, sweetheart,” he jostled her gently, his strong arm banding over her thighs to still her squirming. “Tell Draco goodnight.”

“Can I tell him to fuck off instead?” she muttered beneath her breath. Really, how had a silly joke gone so far so quickly? She couldn’t blame him for being upset, but the manhandling was a bit much, no? As if to prove her point, Theo let out a loud bark of laughter as his hand landed hard on her denim-clad arse, earning a squeal from her. “Theo Nott, I’m going to kill you!” she shrieked. 

Draco’s lips quirked up, because of course the arsehole was enjoying the absolute destruction of whatever dignity she may have had left. 

“If you’ll excuse me, Malfoy, I’m going to go fuck my witch now.” 

Draco muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “about damn time” beneath his breath as Theo hauled Hermione unceremoniously from the room.

Theo couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as Hermione writhed in his grip, a stream of filthy epithets falling from her pretty lips as he took the steps two at a time. She was welcome to squirm all she’d like, he’d put her down as soon as she was safely ensconced in his room, where, if he had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t leave for at least three days.

 “Theo, put me down so we can talk, please?” She begged. Theo ignored her, adjusting his grip on her perfect arse as she squirmed, ensuring she wouldn’t slip as he strode down the long hall towards his room. Generally, he loved being at the end of the hall. Draco skulked about at all hours and distance was the only way he ever got any sleep, but in that moment, with his witch in his arms, her cheeks flushed with lust (or potentially rage, but he chose not to dwell on that), he would have given anything to be a bit closer. Or live in a smaller damn house. 

Finally, he reached his room, shoving the door open with one foot and crossing the space to set Hermione down on his bed. Off-balance, the witch sprawled gracelessly across the dark coverlet, irritation mixing with something else in her expression. She scrambled to sit up, her eyes going wide as Theo drew nearer, a wolfish grin on his face. 

“I know you’re mad,” she blurted out of nowhere. “And I truly am sorry, but you can’t blame Malfoy, he just—”

He blinked at her as she rambled, before he cut her off mid-word. “I’m sorry, what?” 

She flushed red. “I know we took it too far, I’m sure you didn’t want to see that, with Draco and me. I swear it won’t happen again, it was just—” 

A burst of laughter escaped him and her mouth clamped shut, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. “You think I’m mad?” He managed between laughs. 

A tiny furrow appeared between her brows. “You’re not?” 

His laughter tapered away as a pang of guilt coursed through him. Merlin, had she really thought he was upset? That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Give me your hand, love,” he ordered, coming to stand between her legs. Watching him warily, she shifted her weight and extended one slim hand to him. He squeezed it for a moment, savouring the soft warmth of her skin before guiding it slowly to the front of his joggers, their loose fit disguising his hard length until her palm came to rest against it. He released her wrist, giving her room to move away if she wanted to, if this was too much, but instead, her lush lips parted on a breath, her wide gaze flicking up to meet his. It was all he could do to hold back a groan as her hand unconsciously searched out his shape through the fabric. 

“I… Theo?” She asked softly, the ire vanished from her tone, the angry spark in her gaze replaced by liquid heat. 

“That’s what watching you with him does to me, sweetheart.” He reached out to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, sliding his hand to her nape and stooping to draw her lips to his.

“You’ve got me hard as a fucking rock, Hermione,” he rasped against her mouth as her delicate fingers roved tentatively over his length. “Damn near every time we touch. Or you say something particularly swotty. Or you snog my godsdamned best friend.” 

The faintest of whimpers escaped her throat, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around him, and Theo pulled back with a groan. “On the bed, Hermione,” he ordered, stripping his shirt off in a single deft move. 

The witch didn’t move, instead letting her gaze trail over him with an appreciative hum, lingering where years of hard work and Quidditch training had cut his muscles into a sharp vee disappearing beneath the waist of his joggers.

He cleared his throat, waiting until her gaze shifted back to his face before he raised a pointed brow. “Having trouble hearing, Granger?” 

She mirrored his expression, arching her brow with a haughty expression. “Having trouble asking nicely, Nott?” 

He let out a burst of laughter. “Listen here, witch.” He scooped her from the edge of the bed, revelling in the startled giggle that escaped her as he tossed her gently towards the head of the bed. Theo followed quickly after her, crowding her against the pillows, not stopping until his arms were propped on either side of her hips and his mouth was only a breath away from hers. He lifted one hand to trail across her stomach, smiling inwardly at the way her chest rose on a deep breath as he toyed with the hem of her shirt. 

“You, witch,” he declared. “Are wearing far too many clothes. Be a good girl and remedy that, won’t you?” 

Hermione merely smirked. Merlin, maybe he shouldn’t encourage her to spend so much time with Malfoy, not when her expressions were already starting to unnervingly mirror his. Quirking his brow, he dropped a kiss on her mouth, her smirk vanishing as her lips softened against his, chasing after him with a small noise of protest when he pulled away a moment later. 

“Maybe Malfoy was right,” he mused aloud, pulling away to study her. “You’re really not very good at listening, are you, love?” 

Her indignant squawk quickly trailed off into a soft moan as he slid a hand up her stomach to tweak at her nipple where it beaded beneath the fabric of her blouse. 

“Did you like it?” Theo purred, tracing his way to her neckline and plucking the first button loose. “Having Draco’s hands on you while I watched?” Another button, revealing the creamy swell of her breasts over the delicate lace of her bra. He stilled for a moment, resisting the urge to simply vanish the rest of her clothes, to take all of her in at once. Her breath escaped her on a puff of air as he traced his knuckles over the curve and a knowing grin spread across his face as she shifted beneath him in anticipation. 

“I think you did,” he continued. Another button. “Knowing I was watching when all I wanted was to be there, playing with these gorgeous tits while he got a taste of you?” 

She whimpered. “Theo.” She whispered, her tone near pleading. 

He parted the rest of her shirt, biting back a curse. Merlin, she was perfect, her ivory skin near flawless, despite the purple scar marring her sternum. He traced his fingers over the marking briefly and she tensed, no doubt waiting for the inevitable probing questions about its source. But they all had scars after the war, whether visible or not, the details could wait for another day. 

Instead, his hands drifted further, pressing against the soft curve of her belly as his fingers teased at the waist of her trousers. 

“Let’s see if you listen after all,” he murmured as his lips trailed from her throat down to her exposed cleavage, planting a soft bite there that set her writhing beneath him. Her hands grasped for him, her fingers threading through the curls at his nape, urging him closer, but he resisted, bracing himself on his forearms to hover above her form. 

“What did I tell Draco I was going to do with you, love?” 

Her eyes had drifted closed as he explored her, but at his words, they flew open again, her amber gaze searching his. Her cheeks coloured prettily, her words barely audible as she answered. “Fuck me?” 

His grin was near feral as he lowered his weight onto her, barely keeping from groaning aloud as her hips shifted involuntarily against his. “You don’t sound certain, sweetheart.” 

Her eyes narrowed, her hands tightening on his neck until he felt the sharp bite of her nails. “Theo Nott,” she bit out, clearly done with his little game. “I swear to Merlin, if you don’t fuck me—” 

He cut her off, his lips pressing hard against hers, his tongue flicking out to tease the seam of her lips, urging them to part even as he pushed her shirt from her shoulders. Her hands roved frantically over his back, desperate whimpers falling from her throat as she urged him closer. He groaned as those sharp little nails of hers raked patterns across his skin, wrenching his mouth from hers and burying his face against the crook of her neck for a moment. “Merlin, witch,” he murmured against her skin, following the line of her collarbone down to where lace shielded her breasts. “If you only knew how long I’d fantasised about this.” He tugged one of the cups down to reveal the tight bud of her nipple, thumbing over it reverently. Her lips parted on a gasp, her back arching.

Merlin, if he’d known his witch was this responsive he never would have been able to resist, he would have pursued her all those years ago, perceived loyalties be damned. Unable to resist any longer, he bent, sucking the tight bud into his mouth, smiling against her skin as a sharp moan rose from her throat. 

“Theo,” Hermione whined, tugging impatiently at his hair, her hips rocking against his. Her earlier shyness had clearly been banished by his teasing, her hands roving impatiently down his chest, nimble fingers sliding beneath the band of his joggers and—fuck—wrapping around his length. He pulled his mouth from her nipple as her fingers moved nimbly over him. 

“Fuck, witch, you need to stop or I’m not going to last.” He groaned, burying his face between her breasts. Fuck, this witch was going to kill him, but what a hell of a way to go. 

A melodic laugh sounded. “I thought you were going to fuck me, Nott,” she teased breathlessly, her thumb brushing over the slit at the head of his cock, swiping at the moisture gathered there. Fuck, he’d been hard for what felt like hours, fighting to focus on his reading when all he really wanted to do was think about the way her cunt had squeezed around his fingers, and now she wanted to tease him? He growled, pressing a hard kiss to her lips as his arms banded around her and, in one swift movement, rolled them both. Hermione let out a startled shriek as she found herself sitting atop him, her thighs on either side of his hips, her damp heat evident even through their clothes. 

“Pants. Off. Now.” Theo ordered impatiently, reaching for his wand even as he spoke. 

“Theo!” she squealed as he vanished her pants with a wordless flick of his wand. “You were taking too long,” he informed her with a grin, lifting his hands to span her waist. 

“Well what about your—” she shrieked as his hands dropped to her hips, hauling her unceremoniously forward. “Theo!” She yelped as her hands landed against the headboard, off-balance with the sudden movement. 

Gods, he loved it when she took that scolding tone. 

“You don’t have to—I mean, that’s not really, I’m plenty—” 

“Hermione,” he cut her off as patiently as he was able. “If you think I’ve finally got you naked in my bed and I’m not going to taste your cunt then we really don’t know each other as well as I thought.”

 Her eyes blew wide. “I…” she stammered. “Oh.” 

His lips quirked up as his hands slid to her thighs, his thumbs brushing over the edges of the blue lace that hid her from him. “Oh, indeed,” he said. “Are you particularly attached to these?” 

She glanced down. “Not particularly, why?” 

He grinned, another flick of his wand vanishing the scraps of lace, leaving her clad only in the long tangle of her hair. “Gods, you’re beautiful, Hermione,” he murmured. She opened her mouth, no doubt to argue, contrary little thing that she was. Before she could speak, he slipped his thumb between her folds, letting out a strangled moan as his fingers found her slick. 

“Fuck,” he cursed aloud as he sought out the nub at her peak, drawing circles about it until her hips were jerking in tiny movements against his hand, whimpering moans falling from her throat. “Do you want to come on my fingers again, love?” She nodded near frantically as she rocked against him, her eyes closed and her lips parted.

He grinned even as he pulled his fingers away, her eyes flying open as she let out a noise of protest. “Still not listening, then? I already told you I had other plans, sweetheart. Now come here.” 

His fingers dimpled against her thighs as he urged her closer, but she tensed beneath his grip, fighting to hover above him. “Sit, sweetheart,” he ordered. 

“Theo—” she protested, but he shook his head. 

“Granger, do you want to be the one to explain to the team that I can’t play this week because of a terrible neck strain? Some sort of healer you are.” 

She scowled down at him and he took advantage of her moment of distraction to give her arse a firm yank. Her sharp gasp mingled with his groan as he settled his mouth against her. Gods, why had he waited so long for this? She was tart on his tongue as he searched for every spot that made her squirm, revelling in the twinge of pain as her hands dropped to his head, fisting in his curls. He traced his tongue leisurely over her folds, seeking out every drop of her slick, coaxing little, begging moans from her throat. 

“Gods, you’re fucking delicious, love,” he murmured against her thigh, one hand slipping from her arse to search out her center, fingers teasing at her opening until her hips rocked impatiently against him, silently begging for more. Far be it from him to deny his witch. He slipped a single finger into her heat as his tongue found her clit again. She jerked above him, shifting her hips up even as her thighs clenched tight about his head, as if she weren’t sure if she should beg for more or run away. Well, he could certainly make that decision for her. His lips closed around her clit, sucking hard, one hand clenching at her arse to hold her in place even as he drove a second finger into her, drawing a sharp cry from her as she stretched around him. 

“Theo,” she moaned, tossing her head back. “It’s too much.” 

“Not yet, love,” he purred against her. “Not until you come for me. Tell me what you need.” 

An impatient noise rose in her throat as he stilled, waiting for her words. It was likely unhealthy, the level to which he wanted the witch to order him around a bit, to insist on her own pleasure, but that was a problem for another day. For now, he waited with bated breath, until she finally spoke, her tone breathlessly shy. 

“I…” she shifted against him, a fresh well of slick welling about his fingers. Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to know what she was thinking of that elicited that sort of response. “My clit,” she finally managed, her blush spreading down her chest. “I like when you suck it. Please.” 

Theo let out a groan of satisfaction. “Fuck, you’re so good,” he praised, pulling her back to his mouth. 

He could die like this, breathless and buried in Hermione Granger’s cunt. Happily. 

She let out a quick squeal of pleasure as his lips fastened about her, working at the tiny nub until she was writhing above him, unfiltered noises falling from her lips as he felt every shudder that wracked through her.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he crooned, pulling away for just a moment, curling his fingers inside her until she clenched around him. “Come for me.” As if she’d simply been waiting for his command, she buckled over him with a cry, tremors wracking her body as he suckled hard at her clit, prolonging her orgasm, his mind blank of everything but the clenching waves of her walls around him until she tugged hard against his hair with a whimper, pleading silently for him to stop. One last flick of his tongue drew a harsh shudder from her before he slipped his fingers from her heat and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. 

Hermione bent over him for long moments, her breasts heaving temptingly within reach as she fought to catch her breath. She shifted her weight off his face, to his eternal dismay, and her eyes dropped to his, her hazy gaze clearing. “You’re rather pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” she panted, one corner of her lips quirking up. 

He grinned in return, giving her thighs a squeeze. “I think I’ve rather earned it, don’t you think?” 

She sniffed, adopting a rather prim look that made him want to bury his face between her thighs all over again. 

“Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?” she asked.  

He arched a brow. “Is that so?”

She stretched for his wand where he’d abandoned it on his bedside table and, with a wicked grin that made his cock jump, vanished his joggers. 

Her eyes took on a sly glint as she moved to lever herself off him, but his hands caught at her hips, stilling her. 

“Plenty of time for that later.”

She glanced behind her to look at his cock, where it jumped against his thigh as if it had a mind of its own, one that clearly said he wouldn’t mind at all if Hermione wanted to suck his cock. She turned back to him with a pout and it was all he could do to keep from biting at that plump lower lip. 

“Next time, love,” he promised, tracing a soothing pattern over her hips. “Right now, I need to be in your sweet cunt.” He tugged her mouth down to his, a sweet gasp escaping her as she tasted herself on his lips. 

She hummed with lazy pleasure, her lips tracing down his throat, nipping hard enough to leave a mark where his neck met his shoulder before soothing it with her tongue. She raised her head, levelling a considering gaze at him. 

“Next time, you promise?” 

Theo closed his eyes briefly. It was possible he’d lost his mind, denying a witch who wanted him down her throat. Denying this witch. But no. He had plans. He nodded, pulling her lips back to his. “Next time,” he promised against her mouth. “But right now, I want to fuck you, witch.” 

Heat flickered in her gaze as his hands spanned her waist, encouraging her to shift until she straddled his hips, his arousal sliding against her warm, slick folds.

Her breath caught in her chest as the head of his cock nudged against her clit, a tremor running through her frame. She took a deep breath, rocking against him for a moment more, bracing her hands against his chest until he was all but pleading with her for more. Finally, she shifted, lifting her hips, her fingers wrapping about his length, stroking up it before she set him against her.

He waited, hardly breathing, the thick length of cock poised at her entrance, his hands braced on her hips, as he fought every urge to simply pull her down where she belonged. She shifted tentatively, her liquid amber gaze locked on his and for a moment, he thought she might continue to torture him, that she’d force him to beg. And gods, he would do it. But her lips curved with a soft, alluring smile as she sank onto him, taking him to the hilt in one smooth move, their groans mingling in the quiet room. 

“Fuck,” Theo spat in a harsh whisper once she was fully seated on him, his mind entirely blank, her wet heat tight around his length. 

He let out a choked moan as she rolled her hips against him, a smug grin flicking across her face. The witch was far too pleased with herself. With a growl, he rolled her beneath him, revelling in the way her walls tightened around him with her surprised yelp. 

“You,” he bit out as he snapped his hips hard against hers, drawing forth another gasping moan, “are a tease, Hermione Granger.” 

“Takes one to know one, Theo,” she taunted. He chuckled even as he sank into her again. Her back arched on a gasp, her breasts pressed against his chest,  legs coming to wrap around his waist. He buried his face in her neck with a groan, unable to stop himself from rutting against her, his lips meeting hers in a near frantic kiss as she clawed at his back, urging him on. Gods there was no way he was going to last now that he had her.

“One more time, love,” he urged as his fingers drew tight circles around her clit, coaxing her pleasure from her until she cried out his name, clenching around him. 

Her orgasm drew a muffled groan from him in turn, his muscles tensing as his own crashed over him in a wave. Cursing, he fisted his hand in her hair, tugging her mouth to his and kissing her deep as his cock jerked, spilling deep inside her. “Gods, witch,” he murmured as he collapsed against her, loosing his grip on her curls and instead smoothing them back, soothing her as tremors wracked her body, her unfocused gaze locked on his face. Soon enough, she fell boneless beneath him,  and he pressed one last kiss to her lips before rolling to the side so as not to crush her.

Had he said he’d keep her here for three days? Fuck that, he simply wasn’t letting her leave. 

He glanced over at the clock, wincing to find it was far later than he’d thought it might be. And he hadn’t even fed her, not since tea. 

“I hope Draco wasn’t holding dinner for us,” he commented as he rolled back over to face his witch, unable to resist reaching out to toy with the curl draped over her breast.

Her eyes widened as she pushed up to peer over him at the clock. “Has it really got that late?” 

Theo caught at her hand, tugging her back down to him. “It’s Sunday, love, we have nowhere to be. Give me a few minutes to recover, and then we’ll order in. I don’t think the kitchen could take me trying to cook twice in one day.” 

She hesitated before she laid back down again, allowing him to push and pull her, rearranging her limbs until her head lay pillowed on his chest, her arms around him, and his hand cupping her bare arse. “Just for a few minutes.” 

Chapter Text

Hermione groaned, burying her face in the pillow as sunlight glared behind her closed eyes. Crookshanks’ weight was warm and heavy across her back as she stretched, careful not to disrupt her cat lest he hold it against her for the rest of the day. She must have forgotten to close her blinds before bed, but the light wasn’t what had woken her. Her nose scrunched against the silk fabric of the pillow as a dull thud permeated her brain, over and over again. Merlin, what on earth were her neighbours up to so earl—

“Nott, you’re late.” Malfoy burst through the door without warning, stopping short as Hermione bolted up with a screech, Theo’s arm falling from her back as he rolled over with a disoriented grunt.

“Oh,” he said, nonplussed. “Morning, Granger. I suppose you’re late too, if either of you particularly care. Though I do hope you plan to put on clothing, if you are going to show up.” 

Hermione blinked at him, her sleep-addled mind racing to catch up until—She yelped, flushing scarlet and yanking the sheet up to cover her chest, ignoring Theo’s whine of protest as the cool air met his skin. “Do you mind?” she seethed. 

He arched a pale brow, his gaze drifting pointedly downwards before moving slowly back to her red face. “Not at all, Granger,” he drawled. “In fact, really a rather fantastic way to start my morning.” He raised his cup of tea in a silent toast and Hermione’s face reddened further, something nearing a grin flicked across Draco’s face as he turned back to the door.

“Tell Nott to get up or he’s fired, since clearly he doesn’t listen to me.” 

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Theo’s muffled voice came from beside her, his head all but buried beneath a mound of blankets. Hermione watched as Draco strode from the room, her mind still muzzy. Why would Theo be fir— She bolted straight up.

“Oh. Oh my god. It’s Monday, we have work and—” She glanced at the clock. “—and fuck, we’re so late, Theo.”

She scrambled from the bed even as Theo pushed up onto his elbows, blinking blearily. “Morning to you too, love. No chance of a cuddle, then?” 

She paused halfway across the room, staring at him as if he’d suggested they commit cardinal sin. “We’re late to work, Theo,” she hissed. 

He leaned back against the pillows with a grin, his tone mocking. “Oh no, not late to work! Wonder if I can find a healer to write me an excuse?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring him as she snatched a blanket from the ground with an annoyed huff. “Theo, have you ever once been on time for anything, ever?” 

He shrugged. “Usually was to Potions class, Snape was bloody terrifying.” She tossed a scowl up at him as she stooped to look under the bed. He leaned over to peer down at her. “Looking for something, love?

She frowned, looking about her for a moment before looking up just in time to catch a grin playing at the edge of his mouth.

She straightened, her hands propped on her hips. “Theodore Nott, what the fuck have you done with my clothes?” 

A knock sounded on her door frame, and Hermione glanced up with a welcoming smile. But instead of Theo, or one of the players, or even Daisy, it was—

“Malfoy?” She straightened, slipping her feet back into her shoes beneath her desk and standing. “I’m sorry, did we have a meeting that I missed, or—”

He waved for her to sit as he sauntered into the room. “No, no, I just need a moment of your time, Miss Granger.” 

Hermione flushed at the reminder that, regardless of what may have happened over the past few days, the wizard was, still, in fact, her employer. “Apologies, Mister Malfoy,” she muttered beneath her breath. He drew within a few feet of her desk and then paused, a flash of something she would almost have labelled uncertainty crossing his expression, as if he suddenly regretted being there. 

“Was there something I could help you with?” she asked, as politely as she was able. 

“I’m assuming you don’t object to pastries,” he commented, as if that were an answer to her question, tossing a bag haphazardly down on her desk.

She plucked at the edge of the brown paper, her brows flying up in surprise. It looked to be a croissant, flaky almonds scattered across the top, from the same bakery Theo was so fond of. “Oh,” she said. “No, I rather enjoy them, actually. I just wasn’t expecting…” Her voice trailed off questioningly. 

The wizard shifted on his feet, clearing his throat abruptly and shoving the cup in his hand towards her, like he’d forgotten he was holding it. “And there’s tea.”

Hermione reached out hesitantly, taking it from him. “Erm, thank you,” she murmured. “I didn’t have time to make any this morning.” 

That reminder seemed to be enough to rid the man of his discomfort, a smirk spreading across his face. “I assumed as much,” he drawled. “But you’ve managed to get dressed, at least, bravo for that.”

“Mister Malfoy,” she hissed, her gaze darting past him to the open door. The comment wasn’t particularly incriminating, she supposed, without context, but still. He rolled his eyes and she scowled in return. 

Clearly in no rush to get along with whatever it was that had brought him to her office this morning—because surely it was more than breakfast—the wizard crossed the room, studying the bench she used for brewing as if it was going to reveal her deepest secrets. Heaving a sigh, Hermione pulled the report she’d been reading back towards her, because Merlin forbid the man respect her schedule. Not that she had any appointments any time soon, unless one of the players managed to injure themselves at practice. But really, it was the principle of the thing. 

Absently, she took a sip from the cup he’d handed over, pulling it away from her lips with a wrinkle of her nose as the taste hit her tongue. “Malfoy, what the hell is this?” 

He glanced over. “It’s herbal, Granger. You consume far too much caffeine, it’s a miracle you ever sleep.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were a healer too,” she scowled as she plunked the cup down on her desk. Herbal. As if she drank tea because she enjoyed it. “Not that I’m sure it’s any of your business, but my caffeine habits are perfectly within normal levels, thank you.” 

“Next time I’ll just bring water then, if you’re going to be a brat about it.” 

She bristled. “I don’t recall asking you to bring me anything!” 

He turned to her, arching a brow. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” 

Her gaze narrowed. Clearly he already knew the answer, but… “No,” she muttered. He hummed noncommittally, his hand running smoothly over her research bench, shifting a quill that wasn’t quite aligned with a stack of parchment, and nudging a jar of lacewing flies back into place, all the while Hermione gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to snap at him.

“And when you miss something with one of our players because you can’t be arsed to care for yourself before worrying about them?” 

Hermione gave an impatient huff. She was of half a mind to remind Malfoy that one half-decent snog didn’t suddenly mean he needed to concern himself with her personal habits. But that would involve mentioning said snogging aloud, and that wasn’t something she particularly cared to do. 

“I’ve been managing perfectly fine for years, thank you very much!” she bit out instead. 

He turned, a half-empty bottle of Pepper Up dangling from two fingers, one brow arched as if that proved his point. Hermione frowned, stretching across her desk to snatch it from his hand, yanking open a drawer and dropping it in, wincing when it clinked against more bottles of the same. 

“Did you need something, Mister Malfoy, or were you just in need of some entertainment and thought pestering me might be a good option?” 

He braced his hands on her desk, leaning over her, a hot glint in his stormy gaze. “I can assure you, Miss Granger,” he said, his voice low. “If entertainment was what I had in mind, I can think of far better things than food to shove down your throat.” 

Hermione let out a muffled squeak, her cheeks flaming red, and Malfoy straightened, pulling a cuff back into place even as his expression smoothed back into a polite, professional mask. “I wanted to bring you these,” he said, no hint of the earlier heat in his words as he produced a shrunken stack of folders from his pocket, resizing them with a flick of his wand and dropping them on her desk. “I believe you’d asked for them.” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed. She didn’t recall discussing any patient files with Malfoy, he’d at least had the decency to let her do the job he’d hired her to do over the last few weeks, but as she pulled the files towards her, a familiar name caught her eye. 

Malfoy, Narcissa 

With a frown, she pulled the stack across her desk. Merlin, there were years worth of medical files here, each and every one of them labelled with the Malfoy matriarch’s name. Her eyes widened, flying back up to the man, only to land on his back as he headed for the door. “Draco, what’s wrong with—” He turned back to her, cutting her off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Not everything needs to be talked to death, Granger.” 

She winced at the sudden vitriol in his tone, rearing back as if he’d struck her.

The wizard froze for a moment, his gaze locked on hers before he took a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Look I—” he started, before he paused, letting his hand fall back to his side as he studied her, his expression drawn.

“Just eat your damn breakfast, Hermione.” And then he was gone. 

Hermione cursed as she rushed down the unfamiliar hallway. The Dragons’ first away game of the season and she was bloody lost in an unfamiliar stadium. It had all been well and good until she’d reached the visiting team’s box only to realise she’d left her entire kit of medipotions in the locker room. She’d found the locker room again easily enough, but she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere on her way back, because while she could hear the dull roar of the Banchory crowd above her, she couldn’t locate a single damn flight of stairs. She’d love to have a word with whoever had decided that apparition wards were necessary in Quidditch stadiums because really, this was just ridiculous. 

She turned another corner, barely managing to suppress a shriek of frustration when another long, empty expanse of hallway appeared in front of her. 

“‘ermione?”

She whirled with a startled yelp. 

“Viktor!” she cried as her gaze landed on a familiar form. She flew towards him, drawing a startled ‘oof’ from the man as her arms wrapped tight around him. “Merlin, you don’t know how glad I am to see a familiar face. Please, please tell me you know how to actually reach the stadium from here?” she begged, not bothering with hellos as she pulled away. 

His heavy brow furrowed for a moment, Merlin, he likely thought she’d lost her mind entirely, but he was far too polite to say so. “You are lost?” he asked, clearly puzzled over how she’d found herself here to begin with. 

She blushed. “Well, yes, I was certain I came down a flight of stairs near here, but I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because—” She gestured helplessly. He nodded, as if he understood, though Hermione suspected she wasn’t entirely making sense.

“I see,” he said slowly. “Vhere are your seats?” 

“My seats?” A puzzled expression flashed across her face before her expression cleared. “Oh! Oh no, I’m here with the Dragons, I’m the team healer.” 

His expression cleared slightly, as if the pieces were coming together a bit more. “You are no longer vorking at the hospital?” he asked as he extended his arm to her, ever the gentleman. 

“No, no,” she waved the thought off as she tucked her hand into the familiar crook of his elbow. “I left a few months ago. Mungo’s was nice enough, of course, but Dra—well, the team, made me a lovely offer, they’re funding my research, and how was I meant to say no to that?” 

The wizard nodded sagely, and Hermione babbled on, feeling the need to fill the silence. She always had with Viktor. Even after his English had improved over the course of the summer they’d spent together, he’d never been much of a conversationalist.

“But what are you doing here? I thought you were in Bulgaria still, what on earth brings you to Scotland? Is it just you, or did Katya come along as well?” 

She hadn’t seen the man since she’d attended his wedding a few years prior and it had been, oh Merlin, months, likely, since she’d written. She really did need to be better about that. A list of names, of friends she’d fallen out of touch with, began to roll through her mind. Viktor, Luna, Neville. Not to mention her colleagues at Mungo’s she’d promised she’d see for drinks occasionally, Merlin—

Viktor cut her thoughts off, answering her question with a brief nod. “The team is looking for investors,” he explained as he opened a door she was fairly certain she’d passed at least twice, gesturing for her to move ahead of him. “And the coach, Dimov, ve played together on the national team, he’s good man, good player. So I visit, watch them play.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Hermione said, fighting the urge to pant as they climbed the steps. It was embarrassing enough that Viktor was clearly slowing his pace for her. “I suppose it’s rather fortunate, then, that you just happened to stumble across me. Merlin knows how long I might have wandered around in circles without you. Do you think they make the arenas intentionally confusing? Visiting teams can’t win games if they can’t find the pitch, I suppose?” 

The man let out a soft puff of laughter. “I think it is just you, ‘ermione.” 

She flushed. There had been one particular incident in which she’d got them spectacularly lost in a Bulgarian forest—she hated hiking, damn it!—and the man had never let her forget it. But truly, between magic and modern technology, it wasn’t as if she should be expected to, what, navigate by the stars in the middle of nowhere? She huffed as they climbed the last few steps, stepping out of the utilitarian staircase and into the public concourse, excited chatter and the aroma of deep-fried everything filling the air. 

“The visiting team box is on the other side,” Krum explained, sheltering her from the pressing crowd as he shepherded her down the hall. 

Whispers of ‘Krum’ and the occasional squeal followed them down the concourse, though, unlike her outings with Theo, no one bothered to try to stop them. Likely because Krum had adopted a fierce glower that made him look anything but approachable as he ploughed through the throngs of people, Hermione trotting quickly in his wake. Finally, they reached an unlabelled door painted in the neon purple of the Banchory Bangers and Krum pushed it open without bothering to knock. Really, it should have been locked, they could have been anyone, the last thing they needed was a bunch of rabid fans bursting into the team box. 

Hermione ducked beneath his arm and hurried in, hoping her absence hadn’t been noticed, only to stop short as two pairs of eyes swung towards her. Her gaze flicked quickly across Coach Witten’s ruddy face, no doubt he’d had plenty to say about her tardiness to Malfoy, but the game hadn’t even started yet and he could, very kindly, get stuffed. It was the other man she concerned herself with, the one whose cool, grey gaze had been burning with something she couldn’t name, right until Krum stepped through the door behind her. His gaze flicked over her head to land on the Bulgarian man and, in an instant, a bored mask of disdain dropped over his expression. He turned back to the coach, neatly dismissing the pair of them without a word.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. She knew the two men weren’t exactly friends, but they moved in the same circles to be sure. She would have expected them to at least be cordial. 

Krum bent to her and she turned with a smile, balancing her hand on his arm as she rose on her toes to better hear his words over the roar of the crowd, so much louder now they were in the open box. “Mister Malfoy does not look pleased to see me,” he observed. 

Hermione smiled, waving him off even though she’d just thought the same. “Mister Malfoy is rarely pleased to see anyone,” she confided in him with a wry grin. “But even more so if he thinks you’re here to steal his precious Quidditch secrets.” 

Viktor let out a huff of laughter. “I created his precious Quidditch secrets,” he boasted, quietly enough he wouldn’t be overheard. “You can find the game from here, yes?” 

Hermione let out a sharp bark of laughter and teasing mirth glinted in her friend’s eyes. She glanced over her shoulder to where the pitch loomed, players whizzing by nearly too fast to see as the teams warmed up. “I think I can probably manage from here,” she said with an answering smile. 

“Then this is vhere I must leave you then, ‘ermione, but you will say hello before I leave, yes?” Her lips turned down in a small pout and he gave her hand a tight squeeze. He was right, of course, she had work to do, and he was at the match for a reason as well, but there was plenty for them to catch up on, and she was loath to miss the opportunity. It wasn’t as if she’d have time to travel to Bulgaria anytime soon. 

“Maybe I’ll see you after the game?” she asked. “Or I’d love to have you both over for dinner while you’re here, it’s been too long. Ron and Harry would love to see you too, I’m sure.” 

Viktor snorted, and Hermione returned a wry grin. He and Harry got along well enough, and Ginny was always happy to babble on about Quidditch with—or at—the quiet man, but Ron had never quite got over fourth year. If asked, he’d mutter some nonsense about a code, but they all knew it was a matter of ego. Never mind the fact he was happily married and he and Hermione had long ago decided they were better off as friends, Krum had bruised his pride. The man couldn’t remember his own mother’s birthday half the time, but perceived schoolyard slights? Those were apparently worth hanging onto. 

“This isn’t your private social club, Granger.” 

Malfoy’s acerbic voice interrupted before Viktor could respond as the pale wizard stalked up behind her, crowding far nearer than necessary even as he ignored the Bulgarian’s presence altogether. Hermione tensed, turning her head slightly to find his face startlingly near hers.

“Of course not, Mister Malfoy. I’d gotten a bit turned around, and Viktor was kind enough to help me find my way back.” 

“Awfully helpful of Viktor, isn’t it?” Malfoy said coldly, his narrow gaze focused over her head for a long moment before he turned without a word and stalked away, his back pointedly turned on them as he leaned over the railing of the box, looking down at something Witten was pointing at on the pitch. 

Viktor watched this unfold, arms folded across his broad chest, before glancing down at Hermione, a confused wrinkle appearing between his brows. “He is upset because he is your boyfriend?” 

Hermione started, yanking her gaze away from the blond wizard and turning back to Viktor.

“Malfoy?” she asked with an incredulous huff of laughter. “No, no, Malfoy owns the team, and he’s right, I’m late, and this is technically a closed space.. I…” She paused. “I’m seeing someone else, actually.” She flushed lightly. It was the first time she’d admitted it aloud, even if she didn’t give a name, and it somehow felt more significant than she’d thought it might. 

Viktor raised one heavy brow. “Does the, how did you call him, the ferret know that?” 

Hermione let out a startled burst of laughter, clapping her hand over her mouth, though not in time to keep from drawing the attention of the others in the box. 

Viktor’s dark eyes twinkled with his own silent laughter as Hermione threw her arms around the man in a tight hug. “Oh it’s so good to see you again,” she said as she released him, taking a step back. “I’ve got to get to work, but come find me after the game, yeah? We can grab a bite, you’ll bring Katya?”

A ghost of a smile crossed the man’s serious face and he nodded before ducking back into the hall, leaving Hermione to turn her attention back to the game at hand, ignoring the steely grey gaze that followed her across the box. She made it to the railing right as the whistle blew to kick off the game, a roar of protest rising immediately from the crowd as the Dragons took swift possession of the Quaffle. She was so absorbed in the first minutes of the game, sharp eyes watching for signs of any of the chronic injuries that had been plaguing her players, that she nearly didn’t notice the warmth against her back, until pale hands, signet ring gleaming in the late afternoon sun, landed on the railing on either side of her, caging her in. 

His voice was low, near inaudible, his breath ruffling the wispy curls near her ear as he spoke.

“Nott may get off on watching you with other wizards, but I didn’t fucking ask to be a part of it, witch.”

Hermione stiffened as his words sank in. Surely he hadn't just— That…that absolute prat!

Implying that she and Krum—that he had any say over who she—that he—he—

She whirled with a sharp word on her tongue, fury snapping in her gaze, just in time to watch as he walked from the box, not even bothering to glance at her when she hurled a roll of gauze at his back. 

Hermione finally made it to the locker room nearly an hour after the game ended, the crowd having long cleared out and the unfamiliar stadium eerily quiet. She’d arranged to meet Theo here after the game, and they’d leave for the post-game celebrations together, but one of their beaters had taken a Bludger to face mid-game, and it had taken her forever to piece his shattered cheekbone back together, shard by shard. He’d been left with a rather magnificent bruise that he wouldn’t let her heal, something about the witches liking it, but would otherwise recover just fine, assuming he had the good sense to wear a helmet while playing for the next few weeks. 

She wouldn’t blame Theo one bit if he’d gone on without her, but she thought she’d at least check, first.

She entered the locker room amidst a cloud of steam, long past having got rid of the missish urge to knock and ensure the team was decent before she came in. She was their healer, it wasn’t as if she’d never seen a bare chest before, and they certainly didn’t care. Hell, she halfway suspected Daisy planned her visits to the team to maximise the level of nudity in the room and, privately, Hermione couldn’t blame her, they were a fit lot. There was only one Dragon she was here to see, though, and as she squinted, a figure appeared through the steam. “Theo!” She exclaimed, hurrying across the room. “You were absolutely brilliant today, that goal you made, with the up, and that spinny bit, and—Oh!” She stopped abruptly. “Dra-Mister Malfoy, I wasn’t expecting—that is, I thought you were…” 

Draco leaned against the row of lockers, his suit jacket thrown haphazardly over the bench, sleeves rolled to his elbow and the top button of his shirt undone. 

“Theo, I assume,” the man finished her sentence. 

“Yeah?” The wizard in question emerged from the shower in a fresh billow of steam, his face brightening when he spotted Hermione. He crossed the room to press a swift kiss to her lips, uncaring that he was wearing nothing more than a towel. Hermione flushed lightly, choosing to blame the heat rather than the acute knowledge Draco was watching them. “There you are, love,” he greeted. “Rodney’s face alright? He was always an ugly bloke, can’t imagine that Bludger helped much.” 

“Theo,” she scolded. The man’s nose had been broken a few times, certainly, but he wasn’t horrid looking by any means. He merely grinned in response. “Draco here came by to let me know you’d be a bit, so figured I’d wait until the rest of the team cleared out to get ready, Nilsson uses all the hot water every damn time anyways. I’ll just be a few minutes.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “You might as well sit, Granger, he hasn’t even started fucking with his hair yet.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy, we can’t all just slap enough gel in our hair to drown a toddler and call it a day. Curls are an art.” 

Draco threw up a rude gesture and Theo turned to Hermione with wide, entreating eyes. “You understand my struggles, don’t you, love?” 

Hermione giggled as she settled onto the bench, shedding her healer’s robes in the steamy heat and tucking her foot up beneath her. She could feel her curls expanding by the minute in the humid room, the idea of her commiserating with Theo on hair care was laughable, at best. She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but Draco cut her off. 

“Ask your witch who she ran into at the game today,” the man drawled from when he lounged, looking to be in no hurry to leave. 

Theo glanced over as he towelled his hair dry. “Someone interesting?” He directed the question to Hermione, who waited until Theo wasn’t looking at her to glare in Draco’s direction. She didn’t know why he was in such a snit over her conversation with Viktor, it wasn’t as if she were passing along team secrets, as if she even knew team secrets. 

“Yes, actually,” she said conversationally, inspecting her nails for dirt, as if she hadn’t just scrubbed her hands raw after treating Rodney. “Do you remember Viktor Krum? From Bulgaria?” 

“Course I do,” Theo’s voice came from within his locker, where his head was buried as he searched for Merlin only knew what. “Spent all of fourth year trying to get into his pants, didn’t I? Not likely to forget an arse like that.”

Hermione blinked even as Malfoy scoffed. That was new information but, considering all she knew of Theo, not terribly surprising, if she thought about it. Theo straightened, a small jar clutched in his hand as he grinned in her direction. “Not nearly as nice as yours though, love, don’t worry.” 

It was Hermione’s turn to scoff. She had become intimately familiar with Krum’s arse during her time in Bulgaria, only a blind man would say hers could even begin to compare to Krum’s. Or Theo’s, for that matter. All of that clenching to hold onto brooms did wonders for the glutes. But pointing that out wouldn’t be wise, not when Draco was already itching to start a fight over the wizard’s presence in their box.

“Hell, half the school wanted to get with him,” Theo continued as he finger-combed some sort of pomade through his wet curls. “And the other half were drooling over the Beauxbatons girls. Us poor Hogwarts blokes didn’t have a chance that year. Thought my balls might shrivel up and fall off,” he mourned, before he paused, his gaze narrowing as it whipped towards Hermione. “Wait, no, you did get together with him, didn’t you? He took you to the Yule Ball?” 

“He did a damn sight more than that,” Malfoy muttered beneath his breath. Hermione twisted in her seat, scowling as she jabbed a finger in the blond wizard’s direction. 

“Krum was a friend in school, he was kind to me,” she spat. The unspoken ‘unlike other people’ lingered heavy in the room and Malfoy’s cheeks reddened. She’d moved past their schoolyard disagreements ages ago, but if he was going to be a prick about things she’d done when she was fourteen, then she could damn well do the same. “We didn’t sleep together until after graduation,” she added primly, pressing her lips tight together to disguise the smile that threatened as matching gobsmacked expressions flitted across the men’s faces.

Silence fell in the locker room for a moment before Theo blurted, “Wait, you actually fucked Viktor Krum?” He paused, considering. “Was it good?” 

Hermione’s hiss of ‘Theo’ was drowned out by Malfoy’s barked, “Nott!”

Theo glanced between her and Malfoy, near pouting that she hadn’t answered his question. “Well was it?”

Hermione’s laugh was cut off by Malfoy’s interruption, his tone caustic as he drawled, “Judging from the way the witch was panting over him, I’d imagine it was.”

Hermione turned a furious gaze on the blond man, surely he hadn’t just—

“She looked like she wanted a repeat.”

He had. That prat.

“Hey now.” Theo’s protest was a faint noise in her ears as she rose from her seat, stalking nearer to Draco until her chest was nearly pressed against his, her head tilted back to glare up at the wizard, who glared right back, as if he was the one who should be insulted. 

“Viktor and his wife—” she hissed the words pointedly. “—were here to meet with the Bangers about potentially investing in the team.”

 “Oh, really?” Theo brightened, clearly hoping to diffuse the situation as he glanced at Draco. “Maybe we should see if he’s interested in the Dragons instead, could be a good name to have on the board, yeah?” 

“No,” Draco bit out. Theo’s brows raised, clearly waiting for some sort of further explanation, but none was forthcoming. 

“No,” Hermione’s laugh was humourless. “Draco seems to have decided that my employment contract also allows him to dictate who I’m friends with.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your employment contract,” the pale wizard bit out, looming over her. “But if you think I’m going to just stand around and watch while some prat with more muscle than brain tries to—”

As if on cue, a loud banging came on the locker room door and they froze, turning as one. “‘ermione?” Krum’s voice came through the door clear as day and Hermione cringed as two pairs of eyes turned to her, one accusatory while the other was merely questioning. 

Draco stalked across the room, yanking the door open just enough to stick his head through the crack. 

“Krum,” she heard him greet tersely. 

“Malfoy,” Viktor returned. “I am looking for ‘ermione, have you seen her?”

“Afraid not,” Draco said, promptly closing the door in the other wizard’s face without so much as a how-do-you-do. 

Hermione let out a noise of protest, starting across the room only for Draco to cast a glance over his shoulder as he pulled his wand from his pocket and locked the door with a deft flick before casting a Muffliato as well. “Nothing going on there at all, then?” He asked, his expression cold as he tucked his wand away, folding his arms across his chest. 

“I told him I’d meet him after the game,” she protested. “We had dinner plans!” 

Theo caught her arm, hurt flashing across his expression. “I thought we’d planned to go out with the team?” 

She winced. “I know, but we do drinks with the team after every game, and Viktor isn’t in town all that often and I just…” Her voice trailed away before she forced a smile, her tone falsely bright. “I’m sure you could join us, though!” 

Theo’s gaze shuttered for a moment, and a pang of guilt coursed through Hermione. “No, no, he’s your friend, you should go.” His tone was sincere, she thought he might truly mean it, but his smile was tight, his gaze was dark, shielded, as if he were bracing himself. He truly thought she’d choose Krum over him. And why wouldn’t he, she’d all but admitted she’d forgotten about their plans in her excitement over seeing Viktor. She opened her mouth to apologise again, but he cut her off. 

“I just…” He hesitated, hand raising to cup her cheek, his thumb sweeping across her skin. “You’d tell me if you wanted to fuck him, right?” 

Hermione pulled away, tossing her hands up exasperatedly. Gods, was that what this was? She didn’t protest Draco’s involvement in their relationship, nebulous though it was, and now she wasn’t able to have male friends without wanting to involve them too? “He’s married.” she all but shouted as she paced across the locker room. 

“And you’re dating Theo but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck that godsdamned swotty attitude out of you.” 

Hermione’s steps stuttered as she froze, whirling to stare at Draco, her eyes blown wide. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Theo snorted. “Well that was subtle, mate.”

Draco pushed away from the door, stalking across the room towards her until they were nearly nose to nose, even as she felt Theo draw up against her back, his bulk a comfort in the face of the fire flicking in Draco’s normally stoic gaze.

“Draco, what are you doing?” he asked, a note of warning in his tone as his heavy, comforting hand landed on her shoulder. 

Draco’s gaze flicked up, to look at Theo rather than her, and Hermione sank unconsciously back against the dark-haired wizard, taking a deep breath as his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, shielding her from the sparks that all but flew from the other wizard. Draco’s jaw tightened, as if he didn’t like what he saw in Theo’s expression, and Hermione fought to turn, to try to sort out what was happening, only for Theo’s hand to tighten on her hip, holding her in place. 

“What are you doing, Malfoy?” Theo repeated, his voice low, rumbling in his chest. 

Draco’s eyes dropped back to hers, holding her gaze for a long moment before he spoke, answering Theo even though his gaze never wavered from hers. But instead of the cutting comment she’d expected—

“I think your witch needs a reminder of what she already has available to her.” 

A startled noise escaped Hermione, even as Theo’s thumb traced a soothing pattern over her hip—when had his hand slipped beneath her shirt?

Before she could process Draco’s words, or even begin to think of a response—truly, what was one meant to say to that—the wizard reached up and yanked another button of his shirt free, revealing a slice of pale skin, the curling ink of his tattoo barely visible against the edges of fabric.

Hermione stared, wide-eyed. “Draco…” she finally managed. “I… What are you doing?”

“You want someone else to fuck you?” he challenged, dropping his hands to his sides and spreading them wide. “I’m right fucking here, Granger.”

Chapter Text

“You want someone else to fuck you?” Draco challenged. “I’m right fucking here, Granger.”

Hermione tensed as the wizard’s words rang through the locker room. They hadn’t been loud, but she would swear they echoed off the tile anyhow, repeating over and over in her mind. I’m right fucking here, Granger.

A low chuckle came from the wizard behind her, and, for a moment, she was certain that Theo would interrupt, would diffuse this whole, entirely bizarre, scene into a joke with a well-placed comment and his usual charm. But then his hand at her hip pulled her nearer, and she felt a familiar hardness press against her lower back. Oh. 

“Well, love?” His voice came in her ear as he held her close. “Draco’s made you an offer. Are you going to take him up on it?”

She went to turn, she needed to see his face, to read his expression, so that she could figure out what her answer should be. What if she said yes, and—gods—what if it was some sort of joke and Malfoy laughed it off? But when she tried to turn for a glimpse at Theo’s face, his large hands held her firmly in place.

“No,” he ordered, his breath against her ear sending a shiver down her spine. “You’ll answer him, not me.” 

“I…” she stammered as Draco’s stormy gaze held hers, his expression giving her nary a clue about the answer he expected. “It’s a yes or no question, Granger,” he said with a challenging stare as he plucked another button loose. 

Theo’s arm wrapped tight about her waist, though now she wasn’t sure if it was in support, or to keep her from lunging across the room and clawing that smug expression off Malfoy’s face as she tensed in his grip, the shock wearing off as the realisation of exactly what she was being asked began to sink in. Gods, the man thought he could spend the entire day being an absolute prat and she would just…fall into his arms the moment she had the opportunity? She should tell him to get fucked, he would deserve it. 

And yet…as he stared, his gaze hot as it trailed over her, lingering where Theo’s broad hands held her close, she couldn’t help but remember the way it had felt to be pressed between them, Theo’s lips against hers, Draco hard against her back and…Merlin help her, she wanted more of that. 

“Don’t let him fool you,” Theo murmured low in her ear, oblivious to her inner turmoil as his fingers stroked idly over the bare skin of her stomach. A shudder washed through her. “You’re in charge here, love. You tell him what you want, not the other way around.” 

His soft words were what she needed, the encouragement that pushed her over the edge, her sweet wizard urging her on to claim what he seemed to have known she needed, before she’d even thought it. Hermione sank back against Theo, letting his weight support her as her hand raised to cover his against her stomach. She twisted to catch his mouth in a brief, hard kiss. “Thank you,” she murmured against his lips. 

“Anything for you, love,” he whispered in return, his lips curving against hers before he pulled away, his fingers catching at her chin to turn her attention back to Draco. “But you’d best answer our wizard before you drive him mad.” 

Hermione studied the other wizard for a moment, Theo’s strength at her back lending her a confidence she wasn’t sure she truly felt. An outsider may have thought he was bored, unaffected by the entire thing, but Hermione’s careful gaze caught the sharp glint in his usually cool eyes, the way his knuckles whitened at his sides, the faintest flush of pink in his cheeks as his gaze flicked over her. 

Whether he was happy to admit it or not, Draco Malfoy wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. And it served him right. He wanted to be a self-important, jealous prick? Fine, then let him be jealous. 

As ire fuelled a confidence she thought she might never otherwise find, Hermione turned in her wizard’s arms, looking up at him, her voice sweet even as her eyes glinted dangerously. “Theo?” 

A wary look flashed across his face, but his hands slid to her hips, holding her close. “Yes, love?” 

“Didn’t you promise me I could suck your cock?”

A strangled noise came from behind her and she bit her lip to hide her smile, even as Theo’s dark gaze took on a wicked gleam, catching onto her game. “You know,” he mused aloud. “I do seem to recall as much. And never let it be said I wouldn’t keep a promise to you, witch.” 

“Excellent,” she said primly, earning a grin from Theo. 

She tossed a glance over her shoulder at the blond wizard glowering at them. “You can stay, I suppose, if you’d like,” she said, proud of how unaffected her tone came across.

Before he could answer, she looked back to Theo, extending a hand to him in the desperate hope he would take the lead, because really, was one simply meant to know how to suck one wizard’s cock in front of another? She steadfastly ignored looking back at Draco even as she heard him mutter something beneath his breath, instead gripping Theo’s fingers tight as he reached for hers. If she looked at him too long, she’d lose whatever hare-brained wisp of confidence had overtaken her, and this would all be done before it even started. 

Theo chuckled low even as he drew her across the room. “I suspect you’ll pay for that later, love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth when a flash of nerves shone on her face. Merlin, what was she doing? She wasn’t even particularly good at this, why on earth would she think that this little game was anything near a good idea? Why hadn’t she just told Draco off for being a jealous prick and moved on with her day? 

She could feel the other wizard’s gaze boring into her back as Theo sat on the bench, leaning back against the lockers, looking for all the world like some sort of benevolent emperor as he drew her to stand between his thighs. 

Theo studied her for a moment, his gaze warm, searching, as if reassuring himself this was really what she wanted, before he fell back into their game, a haughty mask falling across his expression. “Well, sweetheart?” He asked, leaning back on his hands and flicking his eyes pointedly downwards. “I believe there was a promise you planned to fulfill?” 

It was all Theo could do to keep from groaning aloud as his witch blushed prettily at his question before she slowly lowered to her knees. He must have done something exceptionally good in a past life to be here in this moment, his witch on her knees in front of him while his best friend seethed, ire and lust warring in his expression as his hungry gaze devoured the slim lines of the witch’s profile. 

He’d thought at first that Draco might simply leave when Hermione all but rebuffed him, but he should have known better. Draco was never one to back down from a dare, implied or not. The prat deserved to suffer a bit. Not that he didn’t agree that Krum needed to stay well and far away from his witch, but a little finesse in bringing it up wouldn’t have hurt anyone. His gaze dropped to the witch in question, just in time to catch her wince when the cold tile of the floor met her bare knees, her skirt not quite long enough to protect them. 

Theo cursed. “Hold on a minute,” he ordered, as he reached back, rummaging in his open locker until he snatched his rumpled jersey with a cry of victory. Hermione wrinkled her nose as a whiff of sweat met her nose and he gave her a sheepish grin. He glanced up to find Draco had drawn nearer, his gaze focused on the witch as his hands twitched by his side, no doubt fighting the urge to pull the pins from Hermione’s hair and set her curls free, to leave her more undone than he clearly was. Draco always did like them a bit mussed. Shame the witch wasn’t his to play with at the moment. 

Not bothering to hide his knowing grin, Theo held out his hand, demanding, “Wand?” Draco scowled for a moment and Theo simply raised a brow until the other wizard fished the wand from his pocket and handed his over with a long-suffering sigh. Thank Merlin, Theo’s was undoubtedly buried in the pocket of his joggers somewhere at the bottom of his locker, and he had no intention of wasting time with his witch searching for it. Theo cast a quick Scourgify, pressing the fabric to his nose quickly to ensure it no longer reeked before flicking the wand once again, transfiguring the jersey into a plush, if not slightly lumpy, pillow. 

“You’re going to pay to replace that,” Draco observed mildly as Theo urged Hermione up until he could tuck the pillow beneath her knees. 

Hermione cast him a grateful smile even as he grinned over her head at Draco. “Worth it,” he remarked, before turning his attention back to Hermione. “That’s better, love?” 

“Could have just cast a warming charm,” Draco muttered behind them. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at the other wizard as she nodded, and Theo’s grin widened. “Excellent. Now I believe I’d made you a promise, if Draco’s done griping about a jersey he could afford a thousand of?”

The other man muttered something he suspected was less than complimentary, but Theo didn’t miss the way he shifted on his feet, moving to watch more closely as Hermione raised her hands to Theo’s thighs, her touch hesitant as her tentative gaze flicked up to his. 

Draco could watch as closely as he wanted, but this moment with Hermione was his. 

Dropping his playful mask, Theo cupped the witch’s cheek, running his thumb over her full lower lip. “Come, witch, show Draco how brilliant you are,” he coaxed. 

Heat flashed in her gaze at the reminder of their audience and Hermione took a deep breath as her hands slid higher beneath the towel he still wore, the front tented obscenely. 

“Can I?” she asked, and it was all Theo could do to keep from groaning. She was so fucking sweet. His chin jerked in a tense nod and his breath escaped him on a sharp gasp as her delicate fingers wrapped about him. A flicker of a grin crossed her expression as he jerked in her hand and, unable to resist any longer, Theo tugged the towel loose, letting it fall away to reveal her slim hand tight around his ruddy cock. 

“Fuck,” he heard Draco swear in a whisper and he had to agree as her thumb flicked over the head, gathering the moisture there before she released him, raising her hand to suck his taste from her skin with a pleased hum. 

“Fucking hell, love,” he pleaded in a near-whimper. “Give me that sweet mouth, please.” She flushed for a moment, those amber eyes flicking to meet his before dropping back to the rather insistent matter at hand. She was going to fucking kill him, making him wait. 

Hermione wrapped her hand loosely around him once again, her fingers stroking idly as she studied him for a moment, like his cock was a particularly challenging Arithmancy problem. It was all Theo could do to keep from grinning even as he fought to keep from begging, pleading with her to hold him tighter, to give him some sort of relief. No doubt she had every intention of earning top marks in this as she did all things, thank fucking Merlin. Her tongue flicked out against her lip and Theo’s head dropped back with a groan. The witch was going to kill him. 

“Hermione,” he pleaded, his fingers wrapping tight around the edges of the bench to keep from fisting in her hair and demanding more. 

The witch bent, her tongue flicking across him in a teasing lick, her rosy lips curving as a muffled shout escaped his throat. It would be so easy to take control, to demand she take him in her mouth, to suck him deep. But this was his witch’s moment, and he was going to let her have it if it killed him. Which, he reflected as a pleased hum rose from her as she tasted the wet bead seeping from his tip, it might. 

His head dropped forward to watch as she explored his length with tentative touches and absolutely maddening flicks of her tongue, and his eyes caught Draco’s just for a moment. The other wizard stood nearby, his gaze trained where Hermione’s hand was wrapped around his cock, her fingers pale against the ruddy skin. His hands were fisted as if he wanted to grab for the witch, take her mouth for his own. But as his eyes flicked up to meet Theo’s, a familiar fire flashed in Draco’s gaze and warning shone in Theo’s in return. This wasn’t his scene to take control of, no matter how much he craved it. Hermione was in charge and he’d damn well remind Draco of that as often as he needed to.

And then, as if she knew his attention had strayed for a moment,  Hermione sucked him deep into her mouth without warning.

Theo bucked, letting out a hoarse shout, his hands flying to her hair as he fought to keep his hips still, to keep from shoving his cock even deeper into her warm, sweet mouth. “Fuck, witch,” he cursed. “Yes, you’re so good, such a sweet girl, gods, Hermione.” Nonsensical words of praise streamed from his lips as she sucked at him, her fist wrapped around what couldn’t fit in her mouth, twisting in short, tight strokes that drove him closer and closer to insanity. 

“Gods, witch,” he tugged lightly at her hair, fighting to pull her mouth away before he embarrassed himself. Hermione let out a noise of protest, one that vibrated against the head of his cock at the back of her throat, and Theo’s hands clenched harder, this time to hold her in place. Because, gods, her mouth was so hot, so wet, so fucking sweet.

“Hermione, I’m going to—” He stuttered over the words, cursing as her fingers tightened around him and she somehow managed to take him even deeper.

Her wide brown eyes flicked up to meet his, and he was gone, his hips bucking from the bench as he came hard, his cock pulsing against her tongue as she swallowed him down. Gods, his witch was fucking perfect. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he urged, his voice rasping over the words, his hand soothing over her curls. “Take it all for me.” 

Hermione let her tongue trace over Theo’s length once more, savouring the remnants of his salty taste before she let his spent cock slip from her mouth, sitting back on her heels with a small, smug smile. Perhaps she was better at this than she thought, if Theo’s slack-jawed expression was anything to go by. The man let out a laughing groan as he stooped to haul her into his lap, burying his face against her neck as he murmured words of praise. They sat there for Merlin only knew how long, Theo drawing soothing patterns over her silk-clad back, as if she was the one who’d just had her world shattered. 

“I’ll win every damn game this season if that’s how you congratulate me,” he muttered against her skin and she chuckled in return. 

“I’m sure Draco would appreciate that.” No sooner had the words escaped her lips than she stiffened, their full import sinking in. Draco. Gods, had he stayed, watched as she — Her gaze lifted to Theo’s, silently pleading for him to tell her if the other man was still there. She could turn and look herself, she knew, but, if she were being honest, she didn’t know whether she hoped to find him gone or…

A flash of understanding crossed Theo’s face and his gaze lifted over her head, surprise lighting his expression as a dark brow arched. 

“That’s new,” he mused aloud.

Hermione’s brow furrowed at his words. She twisted in his grip to see what he was looking at, her lips parting. Draco stood before them, his trousers unbuttoned and cock in hand as he gave it long, lazy strokes, his gaze hot on her. His hand wrapped around his tip, catching the moisture beaded there and, as he slid his fist back to the base, a sharp gasp escaped Hermione’s lips. There, right below the tip, glinted a silver bar, pierced through the delicate skin. Her mouth dried as his hand slid up again, his thumb toying with the piercing, his length jerking hard against the tight hold of his fist. 

“I’m going to fuck your witch, Nott,” Draco said, his gaze hard on Theo. “If you’ve got a problem with that, now would be the time to say something.” 

His words were enough to jolt her from the haze that had overtaken her mind at the sight of him stroking himself. “I don’t seem to recall agreeing to that,” Hermione said primly before Theo could speak, ignoring the wave of heat that washed through her at his words. 

A flash of irritation crossed his expression as he closed his eyes for a half-beat before they flicked open again, fire flashing behind his stormy gaze. Hermione braced herself for his ire, perhaps she’d pushed him too far, but—His eyes dropped to where Theo’s hand rested on her bare thigh, her skirt bunched up far enough to be near indecent, and a tortured groan escaped his throat. 

“Tell me what you want from me, Granger,” he rasped, his gaze never wavering. 

The sudden, unmistakable longing on his face, and Theo’s silent strength at her back, sent a rush of confidence through her and an unfamiliar, sultry smile flicked at the edges of her lips as she studied the blond wizard. 

“I want you, Draco,” she said plainly. Theo let out a heavy puff of breath against the back of her neck, his grip tightening on her hip. “If—” Hermione held up a hand, stopping Draco as he nearly charged across the room towards her. “If you’ll call me by my name.” 

A low chuckle came from Theo as he pressed an approving kiss to the back of her neck. 

If they were going to do this, they were going to do it as equals, as people who liked each other. 

A flicker of something—she would have labelled it as admiration, if she didn’t know better—crossed Draco’s face before he strode across the room. 

“Granger,” he cursed, his hands fisting in her hair to draw him to her, until her hand planted firmly in the middle of his chest, stopping him. 

She looked up at him, the ire in his gaze matching her own. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

He glared down at her in challenge, his hand tightening in her curls nearly to the point of pain, his lips pressed stubbornly together. 

“My name, Draco. Say it.” 

His brow furrowed, and, for a moment, she thought he’d refuse. And then he cursed.

“Hermione,” he groaned, half-pulling her from Theo’s lap to crush his mouth against hers. His tongue delved between her lips, tasting her, seemingly uncaring that the taste of Theo still lingered on her tongue as his hands slid into her hair, fisting there, holding her in place. 

She melted against Draco with a whimper as Theo’s hands shifted to her hips to support her, his lips trailing across her lower back. “That’s right,” he murmured against her skin. “Show Draco what he’s been missing, being a stubborn arse.” 

Draco growled against her mouth, yanking her closer and out of Theo’s grip. 

“Don’t be a fucking brat,” he murmured against her mouth, though, in that moment Hermione couldn’t be certain if he was speaking to her or Theo. And she found she didn’t care, not as his hands cupped her arse, hauling her tight against him, his hard cock insistent against her belly.

She reached for him, but before she could touch him, wrap her hand around him, play with that gleaming piercing that fascinated her so, Draco spun her to face the dark-haired wizard. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs rasping across her nipples through the fabric of her blouse, drawing them into taut peaks, lifting them as if to display them to the man watching them. His mouth roved over her throat, sucking and kissing, holding her firmly in place as she writhed against him. 

Theo lounged back against the lockers, towel haphazardly pulled over his spent cock, fire snapping in his gaze, focusing where Draco’s pale hands mapped Hermione’s form. 

“Theo, surely you’re not done with our witch?” Draco drawled, tweaking her nipples hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from her lips. 

Theo arched a brow as he rose with a predatory grin, shamelessly letting his towel fall to the ground as he prowled towards them. Without a word, he stooped, catching her lips with a near-feral growl, drawing a whimper from her. 

“Now then,” Draco purred in her ear. “Let’s see if you liked sucking Theo’s cock, shall we, witch?” His hands dropped from her breasts, replaced nearly instantly by Theo’s familiar touch, his own hands sliding down her stomach to cup her mound, a hum of approval escaping him when her damp heat was evident even through the thick fabric of her skirt. 

“You are a filthy little thing, aren’t you, pet?” he mused aloud.

Hermione tensed at the words, and his touch paused, before pulling away, his hand coming to rest on her hip instead. 

“Alright, Granger?” He asked, his tone surprisingly soft in her ear. Theo’s mouth stilled against her at the question and he pulled away, sudden concern filling his gaze, and making her feel rather silly, if she were to be honest.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this was coming, that they wanted her, wanted to share her. But she’d thought, well, she’d thought they might sit down and discuss it, talk through the details. She could barely contain her snort as the thought crossed her mind. What had she been expecting, a roundtable discussion on their mutual sexual deviance? “No,” she protested. “I mean, I just, how is this all so very normal to you?” 

Behind her, Draco sighed. Hermione flinched at the sound. She never should have spoken, never should have admitted just how out of her element she was here, she could have sorted it out on her own, and—

Another sound, softer this time, came from Draco even as his thumb soothed idly over the base of her spine, his touch oddly comforting even as—she flushed—even as his hand stayed firmly cupped over her mound. Theo raised his head and laced his fingers through her hair, waiting until her eyes lifted to meet his. “You’ll tell me the moment this isn’t okay, won’t you, love?” 

She flushed, her gaze darting away from his, her head jerking in a quick nod as she shifted between the two men. Theo gave a gentle tug to her curls, forcing her eyes back to his, his gaze warm on her face as he studied her.

In that moment, she was certain that if she showed the slightest sign of hesitation, Theo, and Draco too, for all his dramatics, would stop, put an end to this all, and they’d revert back to the way things had been. If she had any sense, she would, she’d say this wasn’t a good idea, that they should stop, but…

“I need an answer, please, Hermione. Out loud.” 

A shudder ran down her spine at the edge of command in his voice, and she nodded again, before catching herself. “Yes, I’ll… I’ll say something if it’s too much, but it’s not, Theo.” And, she realised with a start, it was true. Gods only knew this was a lot, but every nerve in her body was on edge, screaming for more. More touch, more praise, more pleasure. It was the furthest thing from too much. Perhaps she’d lost her mind entirely, but it was true. She wanted to know how this would unfold, what would come next, how they would…

“Good girl,” Draco praised, his hand sliding through her hair next to Theo’s, his words sending a flush of heat through her body even as he forced her head to the side, exposing her neck to his questing lips. She let her head tip back against his shoulder with a sigh, her breath falling in sharp short pants as Draco’s teeth nipped at the delicate skin of her throat. 

Theo’s lips curved as he leaned close, plucking the buttons of her blouse loose and pushing the silk from her shoulders, letting his fingers trace over the curve of her breast with an approving hum. “So lovely,” he murmured as he stroked a thumb over her nipple, peaked beneath the thin fabric of her bra. 

“Come here, love,” he urged, tugging her from Draco’s grip, snatching up his towel and quickly transfiguring it into a blanket to match his earlier pillow. His hands roved over the bare skin of her back as he pulled her close, kissing her deep as he fisted the fabric of her skirt, rucking it up about her waist until air met the bare curve of her arse. His broad hand cupped her there, groaning into their kiss as he squeezed the soft flesh. “Gods, this arse, witch,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m going to fall off my damn broom watching you bend over one of these days.” 

Hermione let out a muffled noise of protest, moving to pull away, to chide him for even joking about as much, but she was interrupted by Draco’s sudden presence. 

She started as he drew near. He must have undressed at some point, his bare back warm against her own as his hands curved over her hips. “Going to have to institute a fucking uniform policy,” he muttered into her hair as his hold smoothed over her stomach. “You’re a fucking distraction, witch.” 

Theo hummed in agreement, his lips dropping to the curve of her breast, tonguing her nipple through her bra until the fabric was warm and damp, the witch shifting beneath their twin holds. Draco’s fingers slipped beneath the elastic of her knickers, teasing at the edge of her mound until she whimpered, her hands reaching blindly, fisting in Theo’s curls, holding his mouth to her even as Draco deftly tugged her knickers down, his hand balancing against her hip as she stepped out of them without conscious thought. 

Theo pulled back, his hot gaze trailing over her appreciatively, before he settled to his knees, pulling her to the floor with him. 

Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly as her eyes dropped to where Theo’s cock lay lax against his thigh, stirring beneath her gaze. Surely he wasn’t already—

Theo caught her chin, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Time for us to take care of you, love.” She blushed, mortified she’d been caught, but her embarrassment was quickly forgotten as Theo pulled her mouth to his, kissing her deep even as she sensed Draco settling behind her. She sank into Theo’s hold, letting out a whimper of protest as his lips pulled away from hers, trailing across her jaw and down her throat to where her pulse beat hard against her skin, sucking and nipping there until she’d all but forgotten about the man behind her. That was, until his hands slipped over her bare hips, and she tensed. 

Theo pulled away, his hands tangled in her curls as he coaxed her gaze upwards again. “Here’s what’s going to happen, love,” he murmured as her eyes caught his, his thumb drawing a soothing pattern against the nape of her neck. “You’re going to spread your legs, going to let Draco get you good and wet before he fucks you, love. He doesn’t come until you do.” His gaze flicked over her head to the other wizard. “Right?” 

She could only assume that Draco nodded, because Theo turned his attention back to her just as Draco’s hand slipped from her hip to slide between her legs, drawing a sharp gasp from her as his fingers deftly searched out her sensitive nub. “You want this, don’t you, witch?” Draco purred in her ear, his finger toying at her opening, a harsh breath escaping him when her hips bucked unconsciously against his touch.

“Fuck, she is a responsive little thing, isn’t she?” he asked Theo, his words sending a shudder down her spine. 

Theo’s hand slid up over the soft skin of her stomach to tweak at a stiff nipple, his lips curving when a startled squeak escaped her in return. “Fucking glorious,” he agreed. 

Hermione flushed in pleasure at the praise, her hips shifting against Draco’s hand as his finger sank deeper into her, his palm pressed hard against her clit as he held her firmly in place. 

“You’re going to come all over my hand like a good girl,” Draco purred against her ear as he slid another finger into her heat, drawing a whimper from her. “And then I’m going to fuck this pretty cunt while Theo watches and wishes it was him.” 

A shudder wracked her spine and a low, dark chuckle came from the man. 

“Spread your legs for him, sweetheart,” Theo urged, his rough palms sliding up the inside of her thighs, pressing her wider even as Draco’s fingers slipped from within her.  

Draco lifted her easily into his lap, his fingers dimpling against her hips, a sharp hiss escaping him when his hard cock pressed against the curve of her arse. “Just like that,” he praised as his hand smoothed over the soft curve of her belly to cup her mound, those long fingers flicking and toying with her until she was writhing against him, soft whimpers falling from her lips. Theo’s hands stayed on her thighs, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns as he murmured words of praise, urging her on, higher, as she rode Draco’s hand. 

His fingers pressed into her once more, and then a third finger came to rest against her opening. “You need to take one more for me, witch, and then you can come.” 

Hermione made a noise of protest, it was too much, but her legs were stretched over his thighs, forcing them wide no matter how she squirmed against his hold and, as his thumb pressed hard against her clit, sending a shudder of pleasure through her, that third finger slid in, stretching her wide with a stinging pleasure that made her drop her head back with a groan. 

“That’s right, pet,” Draco soothed. “You’ll take me so well.” His thumb began to circle on her clit even as he held her speared on her fingers. “Look how much Theo wants you,” he whispered in her ear and her eyes flew open to meet Theo’s, his gaze hot on her, his cock hard against his thigh. “He wants to be the one worshipping your cunt, should be on his knees for you. You fucking own him, witch.” Hermione whimpered and Draco nipped lightly at her ear. “And now you’re going to come for both of us, aren’t you?” 

Hermione shook her head, she couldn’t, it was too much, but Theo leaned forward, brushing his lips over hers. “Yes you are, love, you can do it. Come for us.” His hand landed next to Draco’s as he spoke, his fingers replacing Draco’s touch on her clit even as the other man’s fingers pressed deeper into her. 

“Now, witch,” Draco commanded and, as his voice growled in her ear, she shattered, her walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers.

“Good girl,” Draco praised as tremors of pleasure washed through her, his free hand soothing over her hip even as his fingers twisted within her, dragging the sensations out. “Now,” he said after slipping his fingers from her heat and allowing her just a moment to breathe. “Hold on to Theo, pet.” He lifted her hands from where they were clenched in her lap and placed them on the other man’s chest. Theo’s lips curved as his hands banded about her wrists and urged her forward until her back was arched and— oh. 

The angle put her just so, Draco’s cock sliding easily through her wet folds, nudging against her sensitive clit over and over. 

“Draco,” she whimpered, and he cursed in response, his grip tightening on her hips, tilting her until the broad head of his cock pressed against her opening. 

“Been waiting so fucking long,” he murmured, so low it was as if he was talking to himself, before, in one smooth move, he pulled her back into his lap, sinking deep inside her.

Hermione let out a sharp cry. He was thicker than Theo and—she let out a huff of breath as the smooth metal of his piercing slid against her inner walls, the thin bar rubbing against her in ways that made it hard to think. 

“Fucking hell,” Theo groaned, his gaze locked on where she and Draco were connected, his thick length stretching her wide. “Tell me how he feels, love.”

Hermione gave a sharp shake of her head, a low moan escaping her in lieu of words as Draco drove deeper, his hips flush against her arse. Theo’s hand caught at her chin, tilting her mouth to his. Draco chose that moment to move, his hips snapping hard against her, and Hermione let out a sharp cry against Theo’s lips, her nails sinking into his chest as Draco rutted into her, his breaths falling hot and sharp against the back of her neck. 

“Gods, witch,” he groaned as her walls fluttered around him, Theo’s hand having sought out her clit, circling and teasing even as Draco fucked her deep. “She likes that, Nott, don’t fucking stop.” 

Hermione heard the smile in Theo’s voice as he answered. “Not if you paid me. Our sweet little witch is going to come again if it takes all night.” 

Hermione let out a whimpering noise of protest, they were going to kill her, but Theo merely chuckled, redoubling his efforts on her clit until she was able to do no more than feel as Theo’s hands drove her higher and Draco’s cock filled her. Her soft whimpering sighs and the slap of Draco’s skin against hers filled the room, until Draco bent, his voice harsh in her ear. “I need to feel you come on my cock, witch.” 

A pause, a harsh gasp as she clenched tight around him, and then. “Fucking come for me, Hermione.” 

Her head fell forward against Theo’s chest, helpless to do anything but obey as tremors wracked her body, heat flooding through her as Draco’s cock jerked deep inside her, his hand fisted tight in her hair as he let out a low groan. His sweat-damp forehead fell against her shoulder, their breath coming in soft pants as they stilled for a moment.

“Fucking hell, Granger,” he murmured, and she let out an involuntary puff of laughter in return. Fucking hell, indeed.

Draco pulled from Hermione with a groan, his hand smoothing over the curve of her back, and Theo gathered her into his arms, ignoring the trickle of come leaking from her and pooling on his thigh. He pressed a kiss to her hair, squeezing her tight and running a soothing hand down her back while Draco stood, fetching his wand and casting a quick Scourgify first over himself, and then her. 

“Budge up, won’t you?” Draco nudged Theo gently with his foot, hardly waiting for the other man to move before he’d dropped to the ground next to them, one hand draping casually over Hermione’s thighs as if they collapsed in a post-coital pile every day. 

They lounged there, limbs tangled in their makeshift bed, heavy breaths filling the air until Theo’s voice broke the warm silence. “So are we better than Krum, love?” 

His squawk echoed through the room as Draco walloped the back of his head, Hermione’s peal of laughter trailing after. The quiet having been broken, Draco sat up with a groan, scrubbing his hands over his face as he looked about the room. Hermione’s brow furrowed as she watched him snatch his trousers from the ground, a scowl knitting his brow when he discovered them wrinkled. “What are you doing?” She asked, pushing herself away from Theo’s chest even as the man let out a disgruntled noise and tightened his arms about her.

They couldn’t stay in the visiting locker room forever, obviously. It was frankly a miracle they hadn’t already been discovered, but surely a few minutes simply relaxing wasn’t entirely out of line? Unless he’d got what he wanted and…

Draco turned, his gaze falling briefly to her exposed chest before returning to her face, something nearing a smile teasing the corner of his mouth as she blushed in response. “As much as I’d love to stay and take my turn with those glorious tits of yours, Granger—” Now she was flaming red, the colour no doubt spreading down her chest. “—the team had a stellar win tonight, and I do need to actually show up and thank them at some point.” 

Hermione flushed again, feeling more than a bit silly that she’d, once again, assumed the worst of the man. Of course, he owned the team, he should have put in an appearance ages ago, really, they all should have. 

Draco stood, pulling his trousers on and padding across the room barefoot to fetch his shirt. 

He glanced back to where Hermione watched him still, Theo sprawled next to her, cocking a pale brow. “Don’t let me rush you, though, a halfway decent Notice-Me-Not and I expect you could get away with spending the whole night here if you really wanted to.” 

“No, no,” Hermione protested, sitting up and haphazardly pushing her curls away from her face, wrinkling her nose at the thought of lingering in the locker room, the tile around them cooling rapidly as the steam of Theo’s shower and the heat of their coupling faded. “You’re right, you need to put in an appearance at least, we’ll go with you.” 

“We will?” Theo asked, letting out a groan as he stretched. 

“Of course we will,” Hermione said. “It’s not fair that we make Draco go by himself. You’re the team captain, for Merlin’s sake. Your team won and they deserve to be appreciated.”

“I feel plenty appreciated already, personally,” Theo commented, his finger tracing idly over the ridges of Hermione’s spine. “I’d love to feel even more appreciated in the comfort of an actual bed, if this is a vote.”

“It’s not, I’m afraid,” Hermione said, poking a finger firmly against Theo’s side as she scrambled to her feet. “Half an hour with your teammates won’t kill you, I promise.”

Malfoy snorted. “He’ll get an ale in his hand and we’ll have to drag him out at closing.” 

Theo adopted a look of mock offence and then grinned. “That means you’re buying the first round then, right, mate?” 

Draco rolled his eyes even as he pitched Theo’s shirt at him. “When’s the last time you had to buy a round for yourself, Nott?”

“Just get dressed before it’s even more obvious how late we are,” Hermione ordered him as she tugged her blouse back on, batting Theo’s hands away as he tried to interfere with her buttons. 

Gods, what if someone noticed they were all late, would anyone question why, put it all together? Surely not. She scrambled to her feet, doing her best to straighten the fabric of her skirt hopelessly twisted about her waist even as she looked helplessly around the room. 

Merlin, where had her knickers ended up? 

“Theo,” she turned an accusing gaze on the wizard, but he raised his hands in self-defence, a grin quirking the corner of his mouth. “Wasn’t me, love, I swear. Have you checked under the bench?” 

She heaved a sigh, muttering something unpleasant beneath her breath as she sank to her knees, bending to peer under the bench, entirely oblivious to the way both wizards watched appreciatively as her arse wiggled temptingly in the air. 

“Granger? Was it these you’re looking for?”

Hermione jumped, nearly bumping her head against the underside of the bench as she straightened with a glare. 

Draco stood near the door, a scrap of lace dangling from one finger and an annoyingly amused expression on his face. 

Hermione propped her hands on her hips. 

“Hand them over, Malfoy.” 

He surveyed her consideringly for a moment and then shrugged.

“No, I don’t think I will, actually,” he smirked, wrapping the lace around his fist and tucking it neatly in his pocket, ignoring Hermione’s shriek as he turned and walked from the room without another word. 

Hermione spun to Theo, mouth agape as she sputtered, exasperation written across her face. “He…he…that prat!”

Theo sauntered across the room, hands tucked in his pockets, lips twitching in a losing effort to keep from smiling. 

“You know how you said a half hour wouldn’t kill me, love?” A wide grin spread across his face as his hand dropped to smooth over the curve of her bare arse beneath her skirt. “I can now very much assure you that you’re wrong.”

Chapter Text

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Draco muttered as his gaze landed on a booth in the far corner where Krum sat across the table from Kolov, their Keeper’s arms waving animatedly as he relayed a story. He hadn’t even known the man could display that much expression, if he were being honest. 

Theo paused next to him, searching the room for what Draco had spotted. “Huh. I figured he’d leave when he couldn’t find Hermione.” He paused, considering. “Did you know Kolov knew how to smile?” 

Draco scoffed, ignoring the question as he studied the older man with narrowed eyes. “This is a team event. He shouldn’t be here.”

Theo scanned the crowded pub. “Someone probably should have told the rest of wizarding Aberdeen that then, yeah?” 

Draco cast a brief scowl in his direction. “Don’t act like you’re not jealous too, Nott.” 

“Oh, rabidly,” Theo agreed with a shrug and a smile. “But the witch does have a way of putting those fears at ease, don’t you think? Besides, she’s not even here yet, might as well wait until you’ve got something to worry about.” 

Draco snorted, his gaze flicking towards where Hermione had just entered the pub, having won the argument they shouldn’t all arrive at once. Her face was lit with a bright smile of greeting, and one might have attributed the pink in her cheeks and her tousled curls to the biting wind outside. But he knew better, and some primal part of him wished everyone else did too. “So that’s all it takes, you get your cock sucked and all is well?” 

Theo bumped his shoulder against Draco’s. “You’re telling me that wouldn’t work for you? Maybe we need to try harder.” 

Draco rolled his eyes even as he glanced about the crowded pub to ensure no one was quite close enough to have overheard Theo’s comment. He liked his bollocks attached to his body, thank you very much, and they certainly wouldn’t stay that way if rumours of that sort started circulating about the witch. 

“I need a fucking drink,” he muttered as he strode away, leaving his friend to pester someone else with his obnoxious positivity. 

Theo found himself embroiled in conversation soon enough, a drink firmly in hand as his fellow Chasers recounted every play of the game to a few locals. But even as his teammates went on, it was all he could do to keep his gaze from following Hermione as she flitted about the room, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright as she offered words of congratulations

“Right, Nott?” he heard, forcing his attention back to the group to find Keen staring at him expectantly. 

“Oh, yeah,” he forced an enthusiastic smile across his face, hoping he was right. “It was bloody brilliant.” 

A cheer went up from the surrounding crowd, a heavy hand landing on his back to congratulate him, for Merlin only knew what. A delighted squeal echoed through the crowded pub, and instead of joining in on the toast Keen was raising, his head snapped towards the corner booth where Hermione sat. His gaze found her just in time to see the witch throw her arms around Krum, and his jaw tightened ever so slightly. He’d scoffed at Draco’s earlier jealousy, mostly because it would be a bloody PR nightmare if the owner of the damn team lost his temper at an international quidditch star and someone had to talk him down. Not to mention the other wizard was married, happily, by all accounts, and he knew Hermione well enough to know she’d rather chew off her own leg than interfere in something like that. 

But now, watching the witch embrace the other wizard, knowing she likely still dripped with Draco’s come? Now he might owe his friend an apology, and Krum a blackened eye, if he didn’t release his witch soon enough. 

Gods damn it, the Bulgarian was even more fit now than he had been in fourth year. The man had retired years ago, his shoulders had no right being that damn broad, or his smile that wide as he looked down at the witch. 

Unable to resist, Theo bid his teammates a quick goodbye and drifted across the pub, doing his best to keep from simply storming straight to the table, though he may have brushed off a greeting from Corbyn a little more brusquely than necessary. 

“Bulgarian quidditch isn’t enough to keep the great Krum entertained anymore, I suppose?” he said as he drew near the table, striving for a jovial tone but ever so slightly missing the mark, if the way the other man’s brow cocked was any indication. 

“Theo!” Hermione greeted him, her broad smile soothing the small part of his soul that rioted to find her sitting so cosily next to the other wizard. “Viktor’s just shared the best news.” She paused, glancing at her friend as if to confirm she could share, her grin widening when he nodded. 

“Katya is expecting!” she burst. “Twins, can you imagine?” Theo’s smile spread, sincere in the face of his witch’s obvious joy for her friend, who wore a proud, smug expression as he sipped from a glass of something Theo suspected wasn’t water. 

“She was hoping to be here tonight, to see Hermione, but vith the travel, and the little ones, she must rest.” 

A flash of guilt speared through Theo as it became incredibly clear he had nothing to fear from the other man, a fond, besotted expression evident on his face as he spoke about his wife. Gods, and he’d thought Draco was a prat. Making a mental note to apologise to Hermione later, he extended a hand, reaching over the witch to clasp the other wizard’s hand. “Congrats, mate.” 

Krum nodded in thanks, gesturing with his glass to the open seat next to Kolov. 

“Join us, Nott?” 

Theo glanced at his burly teammate. He couldn’t say he’d ever spent much time with Kolov, the man wasn’t exactly social on the best of days, but if he didn’t mind the company then…

As if on cue, Kolov edged out of the booth, saying something in Bulgarian to Krum as he stood before glancing at Theo, muttering something beneath his breath about drinks before disappearing across the bar. Theo watched him go for a moment before turning back to the table, where Hermione looked ever so slightly put out by the man bolting, and Krum looked entirely unconcerned. 

“Well then,” he muttered to himself as he slid into the opposite booth, earning a warning glare from Hermione as his foot traced over her calf. 

If she only knew, what he really wanted to do was grab her by the hand and tug her to his side of the table. He wanted to glare at the wizards who’d ogled her arse as she waltzed across the pub. Hell, he wanted to hold her hand in public and kiss her in front of the entire crowd when he scored. He wanted to introduce her as his fucking girlfriend and revel in the envy. He wanted to be hers, and for everyone to know it. But for now, he would settle for secret touches beneath the table. 

“Did you enjoy the game?” Theo asked the other man in an effort to distract himself, keeping his leg pressed firmly against the witch’s even as she continued to try to shuffle away. His legs were much longer than hers, she should know she’d never win that particular game. 

Krum nodded. “Your team, they flew vell today, yes?” 

Theo grinned, taking a sip of his drink. “A damn sight better than we have been,” he confided.

Krum nodded, as if he weren’t surprised by the observation. “The Pugachev’s Cobra?” he said. “It is a strong manoeuvre, but your formation should be tighter. Your Chaser, number fourteen, he leaves too much room. Makes it easy to steal the Quaffle.” 

Theo arched a brow, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. “I’ve been getting on him about that for weeks, about to tie a damn string between our brooms if he doesn’t sort it out soon.”

Krum let out a sharp bark of laughter and Hermione pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. “I’m sure he’s trying,” she chided.

“Trying does not vin championships, Hermione,” Krum turned to her with a serious frown, before shifting back to Theo. “You must have him run drills, he must pull up in time or he vill be no use in the manoeuvre.” 

Theo nodded along. “I’ll take any advice you’ve got to offer—” The man was a legend, he’d be a fool not to listen “—maybe you could drop by one of our practices this week, if you’re not leaving yet?” 

Hermione darted him a surprised glance and Theo had to suppress a wince. Draco might murder him, yes, but it’d be worth it if they could tighten up their offensive game without Witten’s half-arsed plays. “Let me ask you about the Double Farvel too, if you’ve got time—” he started.

“Forgive me,” Hermione interrupted with a smile as she pushed to her feet. “But I’ve had quite enough of Quidditch today, I think, and could use a drink, if you’ll excuse me.” 

Both men looked at her as she stood, tugging her skirt back into place. Theo gave her a knowing look as she fidgeted with the fabric, and she flushed. 

“Give me love to Katya, won’t you, Viktor? Theo, I’ll see you in a bit?” 

Theo nodded, smiling up at her and she leaned down as if to press a kiss to his cheek, before catching herself at the last moment. She straightened, pink colouring her cheeks. “Right, well, drinks! You lot have fun!” She spun and left without another word. Both men watched her flit across the pub to the bar before Krum turned back to Theo, his heavy brow arched. 

“So you’re the one, yes? The one Hermione is seeing?” 

Theo froze, his drink halfway to his lips. “Did she mention she’s seeing someone?” he asked carefully, even as he fought the urge to pump his fist in celebration. He was more than happy to let Hermione take the lead, to reveal their relationship when she was comfortable, but if she was telling people like Krum, then— 

The other man shrugged. “She said she was not seeing Malfoy, and she likes you. I am not a blind man.” 

Theo leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of his drink while his eyes tracked the witch across the bar. The corner of his mouth quirked up as she glanced back at him, just for a moment. “I’d have to say I like her too.” 

“I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Daisy announced as she flopped against the bar where Hermione waited for a drink, her movements loose in a way that suggested she’d been taking advantage of the celebration that was in full swing. 

“I didn’t mean to be quite so late,” Hermione said with a smile. “I had to fix Rooney’s face, it was a right mess, took forever.”

“Really?” Daisy asked, stretching across the bar to pluck a cherry from an open jar, offering a wink to the handsome bartender waiting on a handful of Dragons’ players at the far end of the counter as she popped it in her mouth. “He’s been here for nearly an hour already, was the paperwork that bad?” 

Hermione winced. She perhaps hadn’t thought that one through as well as she should. “Oh, erm, yes, there are new protocols in place and they require all sorts of documentation, it’s really a bit of a bear, I’m afraid…” Her voice trailed away as she glanced down the bar again, hoping Daisy’s antics might have drawn the attention of the bartender quicker. 

Daisy hummed. “I see. Sounds like a drag. Is the love bite part of the paperwork process too?” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, laughing as Hermione’s eyes blew wide and her hand flew to her neck. She was going to kill them. Theo for leaving it there, and Draco for not pointing it out. And then perhaps Theo again.

“I…” she stammered, her cheeks flaming red. “It was… I mean, there was…” 

Daisy waved her off with a tinkling laugh. “You don’t have to worry about me. Who among us hasn’t given into the lure of a Quidditch player a time or two?” Her bright blue eyes drifted towards where Nilsson sat laughing with a few other players, lingering there for a moment before flicking back to Hermione. 

“But let’s fix that for you before anyone else notices, yeah? The boys may claim they don’t gossip, but they’re truly the worst.” She reached for her pocket, grappling with the fabric for a long moment before producing her wand with a tiny cry of victory. “There we go, now just hold still for a moment.” She tucked her full lower lip between her teeth, her brow furrowed as if she were concentrating particularly hard.

“Erm, Daisy?” Hermione placed a hand on the other woman’s wrist, stopping her from raising her wand. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, really, I do, but I’ll take care of it, yeah?” 

“Oh.” The other witch blinked and for a moment Hermione was certain she’d offended her. Not that Daisy wasn’t perfectly competent with a wand, but after a few drinks, well... Hermione preferred her head attached to her neck. The blonde offered her another brilliant grin, completely oblivious to Hermione’s inner turmoil. “Sure, you’re probably better at it anyhow. But you’re going to tell me who it was, aren’t you?” 

Hermione flushed lightly and Daisy’s lower lip pushed out in a dramatic pout. “Oh you’re not, are you?” she wailed. Hermione winced as several heads turned their way at Daisy’s raised voice even as the other witch propped one elbow on the bar, blatantly surveying the room. “I suppose I’ll just have to guess then, won’t I?” 

“Please don’t,” Hermione muttered beneath her breath. Merlin, where was the bartender? 

“Well, it wasn’t Nilsson,” Daisy mused aloud, ticking the name off on her finger. “He was…busy,” she said with a lascivious wink. 

Hermione closed her eyes for a half-beat, making a mental note to suggest to the bartender that the other witch may have had enough. 

“Rooney, maybe? You spent an awful lot of time with him tonight.” She studied Hermione with a judicious eye for a moment before shaking her head. “No, that’s not it. I can’t imagine Kolov’s the type and Corbyn is darling, but a bit young for you, no offence.” 

Alcohol. She needed alcohol. Both for her, and to distract Daisy. Forget cutting her off, she’d order the other witch as many drinks as she wanted if she would just stop ticking names off on her fingers. 

“Peters and Llewellyn are both married, and disgustingly happy, so it wasn’t them.”

Fuck, the witch had made it through half the roster at this point, it was only a matter of time before she landed on the right name and Hermione’s face inevitably gave her away. There was a reason she wasn’t allowed to play poker with Ginny’s teammates anymore. 

She shouldn’t have worried because then, as if he’d heard her silent pleas to whichever god was listening, Krum appeared as if from nowhere, his heavy bulk shielding her and Daisy both as he leaned over the bar, ordering two more drinks with a casual flick of his hand. Because apparently, one had to be a legendary Quidditch superstar to get any sort of service around here. 

“Hermione,” he greeted with a grin and a wink while Daisy stared in wide-eyed awe. Marvelous, everyone was well on their way to drunk but her. Because you were too busy getting fucked silly to be drinking, her brain added helpfully, a thought she shoved firmly into a little box lest one of her far-too-astute drunken friends read it on her face.

“Seems I brought your Dragons luck today, yes?” Krum leaned forward as if he were confiding a secret, though his voice boomed loud enough she imagined everyone could hear. 

Hermione returned his smile. “Weren’t you here for the Bangers though?” 

He shrugged. “Yes, but I like you better, Herm-own-ninny.” He offered her a broad wink, tossing a galleon down on the counter as he picked up the beers waiting for him. “For the ladies, too,” he instructed the bartender with a tip of his head, before strolling back across the room to where Theo waited, deep in conversation with another of his teammates.

Daisy watched the Bulgarian wizard walk away before turning slowly back to Hermione, her blue eyes wide and, in a moment of horror, Hermione realised exactly the conclusion she must have drawn. 

“Oh. My. God, you snogged Viktor Krum?” She squealed so loudly not a soul could have missed it. Near every eye in the pub turned towards her, and Hermione let her head fall to the bar with a muffled groan. She should have gone home. 

Draco watched with narrowed eyes as Krum slipped out from between Granger and Daisy, drinks in hand as he tossed a comment over his shoulder that had both the witches giggling. He frowned as the curly-haired witch dropped her head to the bar top, hard enough to be painful. With an annoyed sigh, he pressed his drink into the hand of the nearest rookie, ignoring the man’s puzzled look as he strode across the room to ensure all was well. Only because it wouldn’t do for his team’s healer to be too sloshed in public, not because he cared if she’d managed to injure herself without even standing up. 

“Ladies,” he greeted, avoiding meeting the witch’s amber gaze directly as she straightened at his approach. “You seem to be woefully underserved. Allow me.” He flicked his fingers towards the bartender to draw his attention, doing his best to ignore the way Hermione rolled her eyes out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, Mister Krum actually just offered to pay, actually,” Daisy announced brightly. 

Draco’s gaze flicked to the other witch, just in time to catch her wince. He didn’t give a damn what she’d said about Krum just being a friend, he was far too friendly. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to snatch her near, to leave a mark on her pretty little throat, right next to Theo’s, so that anyone who saw her would know the witch was plenty well occupied. Judging from the way the witch’s gaze narrowed warningly, he wasn’t precisely hiding the urge. 

Before he could lose his mind entirely and act on it, however, the team’s perky blonde publicist cast a mischievous glance in Hermione’s direction before she leaned in closer to him as if to impart a secret, even as Hermione’s eyes widened in horror. “I suspect our dear Healer and Mister Krum might be a bit of an item,” she attempted to whisper.

“Is that so?” Draco mused aloud, his gaze shifting back to the now-pale witch. She was right to look nervous.

Daisy nodded smugly, clearly too drunk to notice the sudden tension that had surged with her declaration. If Hermione was fortunate, that meant she would forget her ridiculous assumptions about Krum by morning, before she could spread that particular rumour any further. If she were unfortunate, Daisy would spread it to the whole team and he’d have to remind Hermione of how very untrue that rumour was and, while he would enjoy that, he suspected she wouldn’t.

Before he could drive that point home, the bartender appeared in front of them, looking deeply annoyed to have been pulled away from the gaggle of witches at the far end of the bar. Fucking Snitch snatch. Easy enough to avoid for those who wanted to, when they were at home, but there were only so many pubs in wizarding Aberdeen, and word spread fast. He didn’t give a fuck if his players indulged, Merlin knew it was practically a rite of passage for the rookies, but those women were so damn near feral as to be terrifying. If he were nicer, he’d remind the poor bloke tending the bar that he only had a chance if he also had a professional Quidditch contract as a side job, but… 

“What are you having, Miss Fortnum?” 

“Oh, you’re too kind, Mister Malfoy.” The blonde witch batted long lashes at him, her hand coming to rest on his arm as she simpered. 

Merlin, maybe he shouldn’t be buying the witch a drink. Normally he’d put a quick stop to the flirtation, particularly as Nilsson’s gaze narrowed on him. Circe only knew he didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of the burly beater. Both for the sake of the team and for his nose. But as Daisy reached out, Hermione stiffened next to him. A glint of what he might almost call jealousy appeared in her eyes and so, masking a smirk, Draco leaned in closer to his publicist, as if he couldn’t hear her. Merlin, how did her lashes move so fast?

“A martini would be lovely,” she said, leaning forward with a wink. “Dirty, please.” Subtle as a brick wall, this one was. 

A muffled noise came from the witch behind him and he hid his smirk as he nodded for the bartender to take care of the publicist’s order. He straightened, half-turning to Hermione, who opened her mouth, no doubt to repeat her own order, scotch if he had to guess, but he cut her off. 

“—and Miss Granger will have a water.” He enjoyed her noise of outrage as he walked away far more than he’d ever admit.

“She could have come home with us,” Theo muttered as he shed his coat, hanging it haphazardly on a waiting peg. “The cat would have been fine for one night.” 

Draco rolled his eyes, hanging his own coat before straightening Theo’s. “You can feed yourself." The man had been moping since they’d left the pub, Draco was beginning to wish he’d just left him there. “In theory, at least. The cat can’t. Plus I suspect he snores less.” 

“Hey!” Theo protested as he trailed after Draco into the kitchen. “I don’t snore.” 

Draco snorted, pulling two bottles of water from the fridge and tossing one to Theo. “You most certainly do. I have witnesses. Several of whom would likely sign legal affidavits confirming you disrupted everyone’s sleep nightly, until we managed to get decent at a Silencing Charm third year.”

Theo scowled, twisting the top from the water and chugging half the bottle before letting it fall to his side, wiping the lingering droplets from his mouth. 

“It would kill you to admit you wish she were here too, wouldn’t it?” 

“She’s your girlfriend, Nott, not mine.”

“Sure,” Theo let out a huff of laughter. “That’s why you’ve got her knickers in your pocket like some firstie hoarding wank bank material.”

Draco smirked, producing the knickers in question and letting them dangle from one finger. “Jealous, Theo?” 

He was fairly certain the lace still smelled of the witch’s delicious cunt, and it was all he could do to keep from pressing it to his nose to confirm. Theo would probably smother him in his sleep if he pushed that far, though. No doubt the wizard had been tortured enough, spending the entire night knowing his witch was bare beneath that tight little skirt she wore and unable to do anything about it. 

Hell, he was surprised Theo hadn’t given in and dragged her off into a dark corner somewhere to seduce her into coming home with him, with them. Privately, he wished he had, because Draco had no intention of being done with her, not before he got on his knees before that insufferable witch and feasted. 

“So.” Theo interrupted his train of thought, mercifully before he noticed Draco’s cock rising at the thought of tasting the witch. “A dick piercing, really, Malfoy?” 

Draco ignored him, stretching to reach for the bag of crisps he knew Theo had stashed on the top shelf, and the other man grinned. “Lost another bet with Pansy, didn’t you?” 

Draco slammed the cupboard shut, crisps in hand. Fucker was far more observant than he had any right to be. “Sod off, Nott.” His friend’s cackles followed him from the room. Fucker. Just for that, he was eating the whole bag. 

Hermione pulled open the door without knocking, shedding her scarf as she went. Merlin, she was so late. She’d had every intention of arriving at the Weasleys’ early to help prepare for the party and while she couldn’t cook to save her life, she was a dab hand with decorating charms. But plans aside, they’d been out far too late after the game the night prior and, for reasons Hermione would rather not think on too closely, she’d slept like the dead, dozing straight through her alarm and not waking until a rather insistent Crookshanks demanded breakfast.

And now, judging by the gleeful shrieks of children echoing through the home, her opportunity to be helpful was long past gone. Glancing down at the prettily wrapped gift she held, she briefly wished she’d thought to bring a bottle of wine or two as an apology. She followed the sounds through the cosy cottage out to the back garden, where a harried-looking Padma rushed across the lawn to greet her. 

“Hermione, you made it!” she called, relief evident in her tone. Her voice dropped into a hushed whisper as she drew nearer, her eyes widening with the closest thing to panic she’d ever seen from the normally serene woman. “Thank Merlin,” she hissed. “There’s so many of them.” 

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth, hiding her smile as she took in the party going on, at least a dozen eight-year-olds chasing each other about, ear-splitting shrieks shattering the usually quiet neighbourhood. “Where’s Ron?” she asked, looking about for any sign of her friend. 

Padma rolled her eyes, taking the wrapped gift from Hermione’s arms with one hand and deftly snatching a stick from a running child with the other. “Harry and Ginny bought Rose a broom,” she said with a beleaguered sigh, as if that explained everything. And honestly, it did. There was no doubt in Hermione’s mind that Rose hadn’t had to work particularly hard to convince her father and uncle to let her try out the new toy right away. She probably hadn’t even got the paper off before they were traipsing down the path to the small pond down the way, leaving poor Padma to wrangle the rest. 

“Well, put me to work then,” Hermione declared, glancing warily about at the children. “What can I do to help? Is there, erm, a game, or something, I should have them play?” 

Padma gave a shake of her head. “No, I’m afraid they’ve all had far too much sugar for anything organised at this point, best to just let them run it off and—HUGO! You put that down this instant!” 

Hermione winced as the other woman turned away mid-thought to chase after her son, the little boy waving something that looked suspiciously like Ron’s wand as he chased after another child. 

Feeling slightly green at the idea of trying to wrangle the boy, his magic already wildly unpredictable even at the age of five, Hermione cast her gaze about, looking for somewhere she could help that perhaps wasn’t quite so…well, sticky. She loved her friends’ children, truly, but when you put them all together at once like this, and added sweets to the mix… Merlin, she really should have brought that bottle of wine. 

She was so wrapped up in watching the chaos, doing her best to make sure a running child didn’t take her out at the knees, that she didn’t register the figure next to her until he spoke. 

“They’re rather silly, children, aren’t they, Aunt Hermione?” 

Hermione glanced down at James with a smile. He was only a bit older than Rose, but he would be going to Hogwarts next year, and he had decided this made him very adult and he was going to act accordingly. 

“Do you think so?” she asked, hiding her smile, pretending not to see the way his eyes tracked enviously after his brother Albus as the little boy ran by with a lolly in one hand and a brightly coloured toy in the other. “I suppose you’re much too grown up for all this running around, aren’t you?”

He nodded seriously in return and she patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“In that case, I have a job for you, actually, James.” The boy puffed up in anticipation, looking so much like a young Harry for a moment it was all she could do to keep from snatching him close for a hug, no doubt embarrassing him beyond reason. 

“I need you to go find your father and Uncle Ron and tell them that their Aunt Padma needs their help.” James glanced to where Padma was deftly arranging a table full of food with easy flicks of her wand even as she kept a careful eye on the children buzzing around her, and turned back to Hermione with a solemn nod. 

“And tell them Aunt Hermione said they won’t get any cake if they’re not here in the next five minutes.” 

James’s eyes widened, the threat of no cake a dire one in his mind. “Yes, Aunt Hermione!” he piped in a reedy voice and then he was gone in a flash. Hermione watched him go, just long enough to ensure he was headed safely down the path, before turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Padma, let me do that, for goodness sake!” 

“Merlin,” Padma sighed as she slumped into a chair, overfilled glass of wine in hand. “Every year, I swear I won’t do it again, the whole party song and dance. And every year, I invite half the neighbourhood and load them up on sugar like some sort of genius. Truly, ladies, there’s not enough wine in the world.” 

Ginny let out a huff of laughter, stretching from her spot on the sofa to grab the bottle and top up her own glass. “That’s precisely why the boys’ last three parties have been at games. Gives them something besides cake to focus on, and you don’t have to do your own washing up. At least they sleep like the dead after, either way.” 

Padma scoffed. “Not all of us have a private stadium box we can just show up in whenever we’d like, Mrs Potter.” 

The redheaded witch grinned, shrugging. “Well, I do, and you know you and the kids are always welcome at Harpies games.” She scowled in afterthought. “Ron, maybe not though, if the prick keeps betting against me.” 

Padma cackled. “I told him you’d find out about that.” 

Ginny halfheartedly chucked a pillow at her sister-in-law and Hermione chuckled. The red-headed witch’s attention flicked to her and she pointed accusingly. “Or Hermione! If you want to be a godless heathen and watch someone other than the Harpies I’m sure she could get you a box at the Dragons.” 

Hermione sputtered. “No, absolutely not.” God, she could only imagine the look on Draco’s face if she asked him for a box on behalf of the Weasleys, or the Potters, or their collective children. She’d be lucky if he didn’t have her committed for insanity then and there.

“You couldn’t?” Padma asked curiously. “I thought with your job and everything…” 

Hermione shook her head, setting her glass down as she leaned forward to snag a cookie. “No, no, I mean, maybe a ticket or two, but I’m just staff, it’s not as if I’m a star Chaser rolling in perks like some people.”

Ginny, the star Chaser in question, snorted. “As much of your time as they take up they should name the whole damn stadium after you, we haven’t seen you in weeks. What’s Malfoy got you doing anyhow? Our healer works bankers’ hours, we hardly see him outside game day.” 

Hermione flushed. She really had been neglecting her friends a bit, something she’d feel more guilty about if she didn’t know they were equally as busy on any given day. “Oh, well, you know, things were rather behind after their last healer. The records were terrible, and I spend quite a lot of time with my research. Really I can’t even blame Malfoy, I hardly ever see him.” 

Except when you’re fucking him and his best friend both, her brain reminded her helpfully. Hermione leaned forward, busying herself with opening another bottle of wine and hoping her friends would attribute her sudden redness to the alcohol and the fire roaring in the grate.

“That’s a shame, isn’t it?” Padma observed. “He’s gotten rather fit, hasn’t he?”

Hermione’s head whipped up, her eyes wide. 

“Padma,” she hissed. 

The other woman shrugged with a laugh, and Ginny leaned over to land a playful swat against Hermione’s shoulder. “If you haven’t noticed, then we need to drag you out of your lab more often, Hermione. Would’ve gone after him in school myself if he hadn’t been such a prat, girl’d have to be blind to not want a chance at that.” 

“Ginny!” she cried, nearly choking on her sip of wine. The redhead rolled her eyes.

“Married, not dead,” Ginny raised her glass in a toast as Padma dissolved in a peal of laughter, raising her glass in return while their friend simply stared, exasperated. 

“Really though,” Padma said as her laughter died down. “Spending all your time in a building full of fit Quidditch players, really, it’s a shame you’re not having a bit of fun with one of them.” 

“Don’t let Ron hear you say that or he’ll sulk for a week,” Hermione warned, but Padma merely waved her off. 

“Hell, why stop at one,” Ginny cackled. Hermione’s head whipped towards Ginny, surely she didn’t—but no, the witch was still laughing to herself as she refilled her glass.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ginny,” she said stiffly. “It’s no different than if I was still at Mungo’s, they’re colleagues.” 

As if she hadn’t spent the entire day fighting to ignore the lingering soreness between her legs. She could have, should have, healed it easily enough, but something held her back. And now she was regretting it, because every time she shifted in her seat, all she could do was remember Malfoy pressed against her back as he surged into her from behind, Theo’s warm hands painting over her skin and—fuck how was she meant to think about anything else? 

Theo had tried his hardest to convince her to stay the night, cornering her in the dark hallway of the pub and plying her with kisses that near melted her brain, but Theo’s home was Draco’s home. And…well. She needed a moment before she saw him again. Both of them, really. Because gods, she had…well, she hadn’t fucked them both, in the most technical sense, but she would have, if they’d asked. Not only was that, in a word, terrifying. She didn’t even want to consider the idea of sleeping arrangements had she stayed over. Would she be expected to kiss them both goodnight? Would Draco want to join them in Theo’s bed? Would they have breakfast in the morning, make small talk over coffee as if nothing had happened?

It was all too much.

So she’d slept in her own bed, with her own cranky familiar, and she would see them on Monday, where they could put on professional masks and pretend nothing had ever happened. She would go on dating Theo, and working for Draco, and that would be that. 

Oblivious to her friend’s inner turmoil, Ginny leaned back in her seat, her gaze considering as it rested on Hermione. “Maybe that’s the problem,” she mused aloud, swirling the wine in her glass. 

“What is?” Padma asked, fishing around at the bottom of a bag of crisps, leftover from the party. 

“All the men in Hermione’s life are colleagues. Or Ron and Harry, I suppose, but—” she levelled Hermione with a stern gaze “—I don’t share. And you’ve got better taste than to try Ron again, sorry Padma.” Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste as Padma let out an indignant scoff.

Ginny took in a breathe to continue, “You—” She pointed accusatorily, “—need to date.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, the predatory gleam in Ginny’s eyes a welcome distraction from thoughts of facing her wizards in the office. It had been nearly six months since her friends had last done this particular song and dance, so she supposed they were past due. Really, she was just lucky she hadn’t had enough wine that she simply blurted out the truth—that she was dating Theo Nott and had shagged him and Malfoy both. No, she’d be keeping that one to herself, thank you very much. 

Ginny glanced over to Padma. “What about that new bloke at the Ministry, the auror on loan from MACUSA? The accent’s a nightmare, but he’s nice enough to look at, and Harry says he’s smart.” 

“Ginny, no—” Hermione protested. Her friend waved her to silence. “Or if a Yank isn’t your thing, I’m sure we could find someone else. Padma, doesn’t Parvati have a brother-in-law who’s available?” 

Padma shook her head. “Randolph? No, no, he’s dating a French witch. Parvati’s mother-in-law hates her, so he’ll probably marry her, but Magical Creatures is full of single men, and some of them are actually halfway decent, we could—” 

“I’m seeing someone, actually,” Hermione blurted, cutting Padma off before she could go on. 

A sudden, deafening silence fell over the room for just a moment, shock painted over her friends’ faces, and then—

“I knew it!” Ginny burst as Padma shrieked, “Who?” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” 

“How long?’ 

“Where did you meet him?” 

“Does he have a good dick?” 

“Ginny!” 

“It was just question!” 

A long pause from Padma, before she turned her attention back towards Hermione, whose cheeks were so bright they might as well light the room. “Well does he?” 

“I…” Hermione gaped. Merlin, why had she said anything. She could have just kept her mouth shut and done the same thing she’d always done, wait for them to set her up and then beg off because she was busy. But no, Draco Malfoy had apparently fucked every ounce of good sense out of her and now— “I’m not having that conversation!” 

Ginny smirked knowingly. “That means yes. Good on you, Hermione.” 

Padma grinned and nodded but, mercifully, refrained from teasing further when she spoke. “Tell us about him, Hermione,” she encouraged. “Is it someone you met through work?” 

“I…” she stammered. “It’s new, alright? There’s not much to tell.” It wasn’t new, and gods, there was so much to tell.

“He’s not one of the players, is he?” Padma asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.  

Ginny snorted before Hermione could answer, not that she had an answer at hand. “Merlin, can you imagine? It was bad enough when Skeeter thought you were after Krum and Harry both, and we were practically infants then. I can see the headline now, ‘Healer or Hunter? Man-Hunting Granger Joins the Dragons, snags a Keeper.” 

Padma giggled and Hermione forced a pained smile to her face even as nausea roiled in her stomach. She’d done her best to put it from her mind, what would happen when the world inevitably found out she was seeing international Quidditch playboy Theo Nott. But Ginny was right. No one would give a fig that she truly cared about Theo, that she adored the way he always took such care with her, that she found his grin utterly irresistible, that she…well, that she thought they might very well have some sort of future.

No, all they would see was Hermione Granger, renowned hanger-on, trying to snag herself yet another famous man. Never mind that she’d never once actually been with any of the men the news reports had accused her of seducing over the years, people would see what they wanted to. All it would take was a scathing headline or two and everything she’d worked for, everything she’d achieved, would be buried beneath the crushing weight of Theo’s fame and a reputation she’d never deserved. 

She’d have to quit her job—it wasn’t as if the team would respect her, not if they thought she was just another slag after Quidditch players—and then she’d lose the funding for the research she’d been working so hard on. Mungo’s would take her back, perennially understaffed as they were, but not without a lecture on the importance of keeping her personal life private and a reminder of the morality clause included in their contracts. As if she'd have any choice in the matter. What they would really be saying, of course, is end it, or else.

And as she thought of that, thought of telling Theo they couldn’t see each other any longer because of something so meaningless as her career, every fibre of her being revolted. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that to him. 

Without prompting, her mind drifted back to Daisy the night before, even as Ginny and Padma nattered on, trying to figure out who her mystery wizard may be. The cheerfully tipsy witch, having firmly latched onto the seemingly novel idea of Hermione seeing Krum, had spent half the night loudly crafting plans as to how they would manage the public launch of Hermione’s supposedly torrid affair, until the pair of witches could do nothing but giggle as Daisy gasped out increasingly absurd plans. Hiring a muggle skywriter to debut a ‘couple name’ perhaps was a bit much, and Krum certainly wasn’t going to be involved, but there was one thing Daisy had been right about. 

She needed a plan.

Chapter Text

Theo leaned against the doorframe, a soft smile on his face as he watched his witch putter about her lab. They’d planned to sneak out for lunch, afternoon practice delayed by the forecast of a lightning storm, but he’d gone to his locker after morning practice only to find a note wedged in the door. 

Can’t do lunch today, so sorry.

The Syrup of Arnica might actually work. 

Raincheck? 

xoxo Hermione

Her handwriting was sloppy, no doubt from a mix of excitement and haste, a smudge of ink nearly covering her name. Theo’d done his best to mask what he was fairly certain was a lovesick grin as he’d tucked the note into his pocket. Draco would be thrilled to hear he was right. 

The man had shoved a vial of the syrup at him that morning, ordering him to take it to Hermione and suggest she use it to counteract the effects of the valerian. Because gods forbid he actually talk to the witch himself, no. Why would the prat with a Potions Mastery want to actually sit down and discuss his theories when he could just pass them along with a half-arsed explanation? 

Except if Draco spoke to the witch, he might have to admit he’d actually spent the entire weekend thinking about her, and he was fairly certain his friend would rather chew off his own arm than admit that aloud. As if Theo was fucking blind and wouldn’t notice that the team’s owner had spent the entire week hiding in his office to avoid the witch in question. 

Not that Hermione was any better. She’d been delighted when he’d handed over the vial of arnica. Delighted right up until he’d mentioned it was Draco’s idea and she’d promptly dropped it on her desk as if it were on fire. Ridiculous, the pair of them. 

They’d snog again by the end of the week, he’d put money on it. Fuck, if Draco were smart, he’d drop to his knees and beg to taste Hermione’s cunt. And if Theo was lucky, he’d get to watch. His witch was so gloriously responsive under his own tongue, he could only imagine what it would be like to watch her fall apart on Draco’s. He did, in fact, imagine it. Often, and with a great deal of enjoyment. 

“Theo!” Hermione’s pleased greeting interrupted him before he could sink too far into that particular fantasy. “What are you doing here?” 

He raised the bag in his hand, returning her smile. “Lunch.” 

“Oh.” A put out expression crossed the witch’s face. “I’m so sorry, did you not get my note? I wanted to start this brew while I had a clear afternoon and I just—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, reassuring her. “I know you’re busy, but—” his voice took on a stern note. “—that doesn’t mean you don’t still need to eat, love. Sit, just for a few minutes, eat, and I’ll take care of your brew.” 

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to where neatly diced ingredients lay next to her cauldron, and he reached out, catching at her chin to bring her attention back to him, smoothing a frizzy curl back behind her ear. 

“I’m no Potions Master—” Unlike the prat who could be here making himself useful, he thought privately. “—but I did well enough on my N.E.W.T.s. Put me to work, love.” 

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and his thumb smoothed over it, tugging it free.

“I brought you shortbread from that shop around the corner, too,” he coaxed. 

Her eyes flicked down to the bag he held and he masked a smug smile. He knew he’d won even before her gaze lifted back to his and she sighed. 

“Fine. But five minutes, and then I’ve got to get back to work.” 

He stooped, brushing his lips over hers, reddened by her fretting. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed a pretty pink as he pressed the bag into her hand and gently steered her towards her desk. “Now, where are your notes?” 

He turned to her workstation, scanning the cluttered surface. Because there was no doubt in his mind that his witch wouldn’t have so much as opened a jar without noting every step of her process first. Spying the scrap of parchment tucked beneath a corner of a large tome, he tugged it free, raising it in the air in victory.  

“Eat,” he ordered, pointing imperiously at Hermione when she moved to rise, no doubt to hover over his every move lest he turn them all into toads like a firstie who’d never been near a cauldron. She settled back into her seat, a mutinous pout on her lips, lunch clenched in her hand, unopened. She made it perhaps another five seconds before her mouth opened to speak.

He held up a finger as he read and she pressed her lips tight, looking increasingly annoyed, until he glanced up, raising a brow. “You crush your Sopophorous beans instead of slicing them?” 

She blinked in surprise, colour rising in her cheeks. “I…Yes,” she stammered. “It’s an old trick I picked up, back in school.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement, rapidly scanning over the rest of her notes, before glancing back to the waiting workstation. “Looks like you were just waiting to add the Jobberknoll feathers, yeah? A first year could handle that, love, eat your sandwich.”

She rolled her eyes, giving a mocking salute and Theo turned to the workbench, fighting to ignore the soft moan that escaped the witch as she bit into the sandwich he’d brought. He unstoppered the pot of Boomslang acid and carefully added a few drops to the waiting bowl of feathers. He couldn’t let himself get distracted, not when she was actually allowing him to manage her work. But if he thought he had a chance in hell of her agreeing to let him set her on that desk and coaxing a few more of those moans from her before she went back to work…

“How was the party this weekend? For one of Weasley’s kids, right?” He blurted the question in a desperate attempt to keep from getting a hard-on while conducting medical research like some sort of deviant. 

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice muffled as she swallowed a bite. “It was lovely. I mean, the children were a bit much, of course, bless Padma, she has the patience of a saint, but it was lovely to spend some time with them.”

“They’ve just got the two, right?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder and not missing the flash of surprise he’d remembered. As if he’d ever forgotten a word from her. 

“That’s right, Hugo, and Rose, it was her birthday. And Harry and Ginny were there too, of course, their eldest is off to Hogwarts soon, if you can imagine…” 

He listened while he worked, a soft smile on his face as she chattered on about her friends’ children—Hugo apparently took after his uncles Fred and George in the prank department and, according to Hermione, little Lily Potter was going to be top of her class with ease—high praise, coming from his witch. 

Theo carefully scraped the melted feathers into the waiting cauldron, watching with a judicious eye until the puff of purple steam he’d expected rose into the air before turning to face Hermione. He had exactly three and a half minutes before he needed to stir, and he’d much rather spend them looking at his witch than breathing in the frankly noxious steam rising off the cauldron. 

“And of course there was plenty of gossip to catch up on, too,” Hermione said as she licked a crumb from the corner of her mouth. Fuck, the witch was going to be the death of him. “Ginny and Padma have informed me that my lack of personal life is a disaster and it’s a right shame I’m not sleeping with any of the, and I quote, ‘right fit Quidditch players I work with’.” She flashed him a quick, teasing grin as she popped another piece of shortbread into her mouth. 

Theo grinned in return. “Is that so? You should track one of those lads down then. Heard that Nott chap is an absolutely magnificent lay.” 

She laughed, tossing her crumpled up sandwich wrapper at his head, her lips twitching in annoyance ever so slightly when he snatched it from the air. One day, she might actually manage to hit him. If his back was turned and she stunned him first, maybe. He lobbed it back, barely managing to hide his smile when she bobbled the catch. Instead of dropping the trash in the bin, though, she clenched it tight in her hand, worrying an edge between her fingers as her gaze dropped to her lap. Theo’s brow furrowed. “Alright, love?” The happy spark that had been in her gaze had vanished, seemingly out of nowhere, and he couldn’t guess why.

Her smile returned, but there was a forced edge that hadn’t been there a moment before.

If he didn’t know better, he would almost say she looked…nervous? 

“I’m fine,” she assured. “It’s just, well, you know I was gossiping with Padma and Ginny, and they were teasing me, about being single, you know, and there was wine and, well, I… I mayhaveaccidentallytoldthemIwasseeingsomeone,” she blurted. “I know I should have asked you first, I’m sorry, but well, and they were trying to set me up with some American at the Ministry and I just—” 

Theo huffed as a look of true upset crossed her face, pacing across the room before she could finish speaking and tugging her up into his arms. “And you’re not fucking available,” he finished the thought for her.

She gave a watery laugh against his chest. “Something like that, yeah.” 

A flash of pleasure warmed him at the thought of her claiming him in front of her friends. He tightened his arms about her. It was sweet she was upset, truly, he could understand her worry, but he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he carded his fingers through her curls.

“Really, Hermione, it’s nothing,” he soothed. “I mean, you’d already told Krum, so I thought that might mean you were ready to start telling people, but I have to say I’m surprised—”

“I told Krum what?” she interrupted, pulling away from his chest to look up at him.

“That we’re seeing each other?” he answered, the question evident in his tone.

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t tell Viktor that, did he tell you I did? I mean, I told him I was seeing someone, I suppose, but only because he asked about Malfoy. But I’d never mention you by name, not without talking to you about it of course.” 

For a moment, Theo felt like the world’s biggest idiot as he combed back through his conversation with the other wizard, surely he’d said, but—no, he’d never confirmed it was Hermione who’d told him about their relationship. He’d simply made a clever guess and, like an idiot, Theo’d confirmed it. Fuck, his witch was going to murder him. Avoiding her question, he answered her with one of his own. “Why was he asking about Malfoy, then?” 

“Oh,” she flushed. “It was at the game the other day. Draco was being a prick, of course, although I suppose we shouldn’t have been in the box, and, well, Viktor thought he was jealous. But of course I told him that was nonsense and—”

It was Theo’s turn to interrupt, snorting at her words. Hermione turned a puzzled gaze towards him. 

“Surely you don’t actually think Draco wasn’t jealous, love? Fucking hell, I was jealous, and I’m nowhere near as much of a possessive prick as he is. Merlin, when we were—well, let’s just say you’re lucky he didn’t just piss all over you to mark his territory.” 

Her nose wrinkled in distaste even as her cheeks pinkened. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she waved him off, stepping away as his wand began to vibrate, alerting them the potion needed attention. “Draco just wanted a toy he couldn’t have. And now that…well now that he’s had it—” Her cheeks flamed scarlet, her gaze darting away from his as she carefully added a spoonful of powdered Runespoor egg to her cauldron. “Now that he’s had it, he’ll move on to something new, no doubt.” 

Theo stared at her as she counted her stirs beneath her breath. If she were any other witch, he might suspect she was playing coy, simply pretending she had no idea how Draco truly felt about her. But she was Hermione, and so… “You can’t truly believe that?” he asked incredulously.

“...eleven…twelve…thirteen,” she murmured beneath her breath, waiting until her potion turned a rather vivid shade of lavender before she set her wand to the side and turned her attention back to him. “Believe what? Oh, about Draco? Well it’s not as if he’d ever want more than that, is it? We had a bit of fun, it was lovely, and that’s that. Besides, I’m with you.” 

She cast him a brilliant smile that made his heart beat just a bit faster even as a quiet, insidious voice at the back of his mind whispered—then why won’t she tell anyone? He scowled as she turned her attention back to her potion, pushing that thought aside. She had her reasons, and they were good ones, if he were being objective. Except he didn’t want to be fucking objective. About her, about Draco, about any of it. Theo wanted to argue, to tell her how he’d spent the whole weekend near manically reviewing footage of their game and revising plays, desperate for anything that would keep him from showing up on her front step like a forlorn puppy. To tell her how Draco had spent the entire damn weekend sulking about their house. As if Theo wouldn’t notice the pile of well-thumbed medical journals full of Hermione’s work he left like so many breadcrumbs trailing through the house. They were each obsessed in their own way and she simply couldn’t—wouldn’t—see it. He was of half a mind to prove it to her, to bend her over that damn desk of hers and fuck her until she screamed, until the whole world knew who she belonged to and no one could question it again. 

Instead, he simply reached out a hand, grasping hers and tugging her to him. A smile curved her lips as she nestled into his hold, her hand curving against his jaw and drawing his lips to hers unprompted. “I’ve got to go, you ridiculous witch,” he murmured against her lips. “Promised Corbyn I’d review plays with him. But don’t think we won’t be revisiting exactly how well you’ve got Draco wrapped around your little finger.”

Not to mention what she’d done to him. The witch had quickly become the thing that mattered most in his life, and if she wouldn’t let him claim her in public, he’d damn well make sure she knew how much she was wanted in private. 

She made a noise of protest and rose on her toes to kiss him again. Theo indulged her for a moment, his lips playing over hers until her weight sank against his, a breathy sigh escaping her. He pulled back, dropping one last peck on her lips. “You’re the one who’s always getting after me for being late, love.” 

“Fine.” Her nose wrinkled in protest as she pulled back from their kiss, before a flash of consternation crossed her expression, her gaze darting away from his. “But Theo?” 

He paused, his hands still on her hips. 

She worried her lip between her teeth for a moment before her gaze flicked back to his, soft brown eyes wide. “I do want to tell people, you know that, right?” 

He forced a smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her. Hell, if she really planned to keep him a secret, she never would have even hinted to her friends. But not being able to call her his was wearing on him more than he’d realised, not until he’d had a taste of what it would be like for people to know, to see that he was the one she laid claim to. She must have read it on his face, because she leaned up to brush her lips over his again, her hand raising to cup his cheek and draw his gaze to hers. 

“It won’t be forever, I promise. We just…need a plan, is all.” 

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “And as I hear it, if there’s one thing we can count on Hermione Granger for, it’s having a plan.” 

Her lips curved to match his, and she patted his chest before rising on her toes to press one more peck against his lips. “Exactly. Now go, before you’re late again.” 

Minutes passed, just long enough for Hermione to give up on trying to sort out how to best avoid scandal with Theo and return to her work, when a knock came at her open door. 

“Did you forget something?” she asked, keeping her eyes trained on her cauldron. The addition of Syrup of Arnica made this stage particularly volatile as it came to a boil, the last thing she wanted to do was spend the rest of the day trying to Scourgify purple sludge from every surface in her office. A beat passed without an answer. “Theo?” 

“Try again,” a coolly familiar voice drawled. She stiffened. What was he doing here? 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected to see Draco again, they worked together, of course she would. And she’d thought she’d prepared for it, her mind playing out every situation, every possible way she could imagine him acting, every possible thing he could say. 

And yet, it had stung all the same, that Monday past, when she’d all but collided with him that morning turning a corner, only to be met with something that could only be described as a sneer. It wasn’t as if she’d expected flowers and professions of love, but she’d thought he might at least return the hesitant smile she’d offered him, her greeting of Hello, Draco. Instead, his gaze had shuttered, his sneer vanishing, replaced by a carefully blank expression as he’d looked down at her, wordlessly vanishing the splash of tea that had sloshed from his cup to mar his cuff. Then he’d simply…walked away. As if she wasn’t worthy of his time now that he’d got what he wanted from her. Irritation coloured her cheeks at the thought as she carefully kept her back to him. 

“Now’s really not the best time, Malfoy,” she bit out. “Can it wait? I only need an hour, maybe two, and then—” 

“I’m afraid it can’t wait, Miss Granger,” he interrupted. “It’s somewhat urgent.” 

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, hard, to keep herself from snapping something she shouldn’t in return. Miss Granger, again, was it? 

She hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of him the rest of the week, their Wednesday team meeting having been cancelled via a neatly penned note from his secretary, and all of her lingering near the canteen for naught. Not that she was looking for him, of course. She was simply trying to do a better job of eating regularly, and a decent cup of tea seemed close enough to a meal. If she happened to run into him there to give him a piece of her mind, well, then all the better. 

Instead, now, nearly a week after they’d last exchanged a word, he wanted her to drop everything so that he could have her attention? No, he could very well wait. 

She scowled, turning to tell him as much, not bothering to hide the irritation in her expression when she found him lounging against her door frame, looking utterly bored by her presence, as if he wasn’t the one who’d come looking for her. She scoffed internally. And Theo had thought the man gave two shits about her. 

“I’m sorry, Mister Malfoy,” she hissed pointedly. “But unless someone is injured, I’m afraid it’s going to have—” As if on cue, a loud pop sounded behind her and Hermione whirled with a shriek, fumbling for her wand in a rush to cast a shielding charm before—

POP

A second large bubble burst, sending near-boiling potion splattering in every direction. 

“Shit!” Hermione swore as a glob of the hot liquid landed on her bare arm, yanking it away too late. Gods damn it, hours of work, gone, because Malfoy couldn’t stand not having his way for fifteen damn minutes. 

“Fucking hell,” the man cursed behind her. She turned, terse words on her lips, expecting him to be pitching a fit about the large purple spot spreading over his crisp white shirt, but he didn’t even glance down at the stain as he crossed the room in a few quick strides, snatching her wrist from where she cradled it against her chest. 

“Are you burnt?” he demanded, bending to examine her reddened skin. 

She blinked. “What?” 

“Did the fucking potion burn you, Hermione?” There was a note of something she might have called panic in his tone, an edge she may have done her best to smooth, if she hadn’t been so very annoyed with him. But she was, and so, instead of soothing his fears, she jerked her wrist away from his grip, turning her back on him and tersely casting the shielding charm before any more damage could be done. 

Her forearm stung, the skin reddened and shiny with a burn that absolutely would require medical attention, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting as much. It wasn’t as if she needed him to take care of it. She was a healer, for Merlin’s sake. She was perfectly fine without him.

She could practically feel him seething as she methodically began to vanish the globs of potion splattered everywhere, the brew leaving behind a sticky residue that was going to take her ages to get rid of. 

“I’m not fucking leaving until you tell me if you’re hurt, Granger,” he said through gritted teeth. 

She heard a rustle of robes, as if he might reach for her, force her to turn, and she tensed. Not because she feared his touch, if she were being honest with herself. No, it was because she knew that if he touched her, if he was gentle with her, even for a moment, she’d forget she was meant to be playing his game, meant to not care, and she simply…couldn’t. But the touch never came, a heavy silence falling over the room in its place. 

“I’m fine,” she muttered, not deigning to look at him and doing the best to ignore the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. If she looked at him, she would yell, and then he would yell, and then they’d spend the next fifteen minutes arguing over—what, his utter disrespect of a schedule? Her issues with authority? The fact he’d fucked her silly and now they were apparently simply going to pretend it had never happened? No, she’d rather not, thank you. 

Silence fell at her words and for a moment she hoped, prayed even, that he would simply leave, that he would let her lick her wounds in peace, both physical and metaphorical. 

“My office, Granger, five minutes.”

Ire replaced her unease and she whirled, fire snapping in her gaze. “Draco, it’s going to take me hours to get this—”

“Five minutes, Hermione.” 

Without another word, he strode from the room, leaving her covered in purple sludge and plotting all the ways she’d revel in tormenting Draco Malfoy. 

Hermione walked into Draco’s office exactly six minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, a fact that clearly didn’t go unnoticed by the man as his eyes flicked pointedly towards the ornate clock on the wall and back. She returned his look with a challenging stare, silently daring him to say anything, until her gaze drifted down and caught on the faint purple splotch still marring the front of his otherwise white shirt. She rolled her lips inward to avoid grinning. She’d bet every Galleon in her account that the stain was driving him mad, and she’d be lying if she didn’t say it made her feel just a bit better. Or at least, it did until he spoke. 

“Thank you for joining us, Miss Granger.”

She rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to snark at him about her schedule, before his words registered and her lips snapped shut again. Joining us.

Her head whipped towards the conference table at the far end of the room, finally registering they weren’t alone in the office. “You know Miss Fortnum, and Coach Witten, of course.” Daisy gave a little wave, her smile unusually forced, while the coach merely glowered. “And this is Mister Burton, with the Dragons’ legal team.” 

Her gaze flicked back to Draco, her voice low as she turned her back on the waiting audience. “Malfoy, what is this?” 

He tensed at her words. “It will be fine, Granger,” he said, his voice low, forced out between gritted teeth. “Just…trust me, this once, would you?” His hand flexed at his side as if, for a moment, he’d thought of reaching for her, whether to comfort her, or steer her to the table she couldn’t quite say. But instead, he spoke again, louder this time. “Please, have a seat, Miss Granger.” 

She studied him just a moment longer, his gaze carefully avoiding hers, until finally she let out an irritated huff and spun, stomping across the room. 

He could have warned her in her office, given her some hint about whatever this was, but why would he do that when he could be a mysterious, avoidant prick instead? Because gods forbid he fucking communicate. 

“I thought it was just a joke,” Daisy hissed beneath her breath, her blue eyes wide as Hermione took the seat next to her. “You could have told me!”

“Told you what?” Hermione responded, her voice hushed in the quiet office. Why did everyone seem to assume she knew exactly what was going on? Daisy looked as if she were going to explain, before her gaze snapped to a point just over Hermione’s shoulder, and her lips pressed closed with a sheepish expression. 

Hermione turned to find Draco glowering at them both as he lowered himself into the seat at the head of the table, an expression she was all too happy to return. 

He folded his hands carefully atop the glass table, looking every inch the executive as his gaze never wavered from her. “Thank you all for joining us,” he intoned, his voice cool, unfamiliar in a way that made her feel as if she was watching a stranger at the head of the table. “As you know, Coach Witten has brought a matter to my attention he believes requires further investigation on our part. Mister Burton has joined us as a formality, as is our standard when the Dragons are in the press.” Hermione’s brow furrowed. The Dragons were a top-tier Quidditch team, they were in the press weekly, what on earth was he—

“Miss Fortnum, if you would?” Draco’s voice interrupted her thoughts, drawing her attention back to the witch at her side. 

Daisy cast an apologetic glance in Hermione’s direction as she reached into her bag, producing a stack of magazines. She dropped them on the table, fanning them out to reveal a series of increasingly sordid headlines. 

Fame-Hunting Granger Strikes Again, Snags Quidditch Star 

Potter’s No Longer? Famed Hero’s Sidekick Seen About Town with Quidditch Star

Does the Golden Girl have a Golden Snatch? 

Hermione stared numbly down at the colourful tabloids, a brief, near hysterical thought—that Ginny’s fictional headline had been much better—flashing through her mind. It was all she could do to keep from swearing aloud as the other members of this little get together watched her expectantly. What did they expect her to say? 

Days of agonizing over how the media would handle her relationship with Theo, fucking months of keeping things as quiet as they could manage, and for what? She should have known better, known that somehow they would find out, and that hers would be the first name smeared. Gods, what was she going to tell Theo? He’d be delighted, to be sure, right up until he realised it would be weeks before he could leave the house without reporters hounding him, shouting suggestive comments for the world to hear, fishing for salacious headlines, as if they were nothing more than entertainment for a bored populace. How long would he be willing to put up with that, really? 

“You have to understand, Miss Granger,” Mister Burton said, oblivious to her internal turmoil, sniffing pointedly as he pushed his horn-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. “While the Dragons make no business of policing their employee’s personal lives—” A quiet snort came from someone, she thought maybe Daisy. “—public image is very important to the overall wellness of the organisation, as I’m sure you know.” 

Hermione stared at the man, nonplussed. Her relationship with Theo was a talking point, obviously, but surely he wasn’t implying that their personal relationship would damage the team as a whole? The man was their star player, he could eat pygmy puffs for breakfast and his fans would think it was stellar. “And seeing as Mister Krum is married, for one of our employees to be engaged in a public relationship with him is simply—”

“I—I’m sorry, what?” Hermione cut him off. “What are you talking about? What does Viktor have to do with any of this?” 

Burton sniffed again, clearly miffed to have been interrupted, and Witten scoffed aloud. “As if you don’t know.” The ‘you slag’ was silent, but there nonetheless, and Hermione bristled as her gaze landed on the head coach. Of course he was the one who had raised the issue. Any excuse to ensure she wasn’t chasing after his team, wasn’t that right? 

Burton cleared his throat with a pointed look in the coach’s direction and continued. “You can deny it all you’d like, Miss Granger, but I’m afraid the evidence is in print.”

“What are you—?” Her brow furrowed as she tugged the damning stack of tabloids nearer. She couldn’t help the burst of incredulous laughter that escaped as she fanned them out further. Because under each of the salacious headlines were photos, but not of her and Theo, no. Someone had captured photos of her and Viktor at the Dragons’ post-game celebration in Aberdeen, of her hugging him in greeting, and another of her seated next to him in the booth, her head tossing back in laughter over and over. 

Of course, Theo on the opposite side of the table had been carefully cropped from the photo, but anyone with a brain could see she was simply enjoying time with a friend. Not that any of the journalists who dogged her steps could claim anything so complex as a brain, and neither could the men seated around the table, apparently. 

“Miss Granger, I assure you this is no laughing matter,” Burton informed her stiffly, his face colouring when this brought forth another burst of col, angry laughter from her. No, it wasn’t a laughing matter, was it? What was she meant to say to poor Katya? The woman was at home, doing her best to care for her growing babies, and now she and Viktor would have to deal with backlash from the press, no matter how laughably untrue it was. And yet instead of doing something about it–like burning the fucking Witch Weekly offices down—Golden Snatch for fucks’ sake—she was stuck here at a table full of men who thought their opinions were more important than her reputation. Plus poor Daisy, who looked painfully uncomfortable, bless her. 

She looked away from the poncy solicitor with a disdainful flick of her eyes, turning her attention to Draco, unable to keep the ire from her tone as she snapped. “And you didn’t bother to point out how ridiculous this is?” 

Draco leaned back in his seat as Granger turned an irritated gaze on him and Daisy let out a surprised hiss of breath at her words, looking at the other witch as if she’d cracked. He really should have put money on how long it would take her to lose her temper, it had been beautifully quick. He couldn’t tell Witten off for being a misogynistic prick, but he was rather looking forward to watching her do so.

That he himself had questioned her relationship with Krum hardly a week ago was a moment of hypocrisy he was choosing to ignore.

He tapped his quill idly against his lips as he returned her stare, arching a single brow. Suppressing the smirk that threatened as ire sparked in her gaze was a lost cause, but if the witch caught wind of it she was likely to yell, and he couldn’t have that. No, because if she yelled, he would yell back, and she would get that fire in her expression that made him want to shut her up in ways he simply couldn’t do, not here, not now. So instead, he schooled his expression into one of bored disinterest.

“Is it ridiculous, Miss Granger? These photos are, well…” he gestured. “Somewhat damning, no?” 

He knew it was absolute shite, of course, and would have put a quick end to it, if not for Witten showing up in his office, Burton close on his heels, waving the tabloids about and ranting about how he’d been right about the healer being a distraction to his players. It had been all Draco could do to keep a straight face. If the coach only knew how much of a distraction the witch was. As if he’d been able to erase the visions of her on her knees for Theo, the remembered sensations of the way her cunt had fluttered around him when she came. 

Fuck, the witch was more than a distraction, she was an obsession. One he’d done his best to avoid, because no matter what she—what Theo may have allowed that one night—she wasn’t his to obsess over. 

But, obsession or not, she made Theo godsdamned happy, and he wasn’t about to let some half-arsed gossip monger interfere in that, no matter how hard his cock got watching her squirm as she stared down at those photos of Krum. Was she imagining what had happened the last time he’d called her relationship with the Bulgarian into question? Was that flush in her cheeks because she was imagining the way his hand had fisted in her curls, the way his fingers had played across her skin, silently demanding her submission?

A shrill edge to her voice brought him back to her words. “For crying out loud,” she burst. “Mal—Mister Malfoy, you and I both know this is ridiculous. For Merlin’s sake, I’m not seeing Mister Krum, I’m with—”

Draco coughed lightly, arching a brow—surely she wasn’t going to finish that thought—and her lips snapped shut, her gaze darting to his. “Someone else,” she finished lamely. 

Witten snorted–fucking snorted–and Burton let out a little cough that was alarmingly reminiscent of that awful Umbridge woman. “A likely excuse,” he intoned, oblivious to the way Draco’s gaze narrowed on him in warning. “Anything to avoid another scandal, right, Miss Granger?” 

Draco tensed, waiting for the witch’s ire, for the cutting remark and the ruffled feathers he’d spend weeks soothing, but instead, he watched as Hermione paled at the solicitor’s words, seemingly shrinking in upon herself. Fucking hell, he was going to have to step in, wasn’t he? 

“Mister Burton,” he snapped, leaning forward, flattening his palm against the glass of the table. 

The solicitor looked to him, bushy grey brow raised, clearly expecting his support. Idiot. 

“I wasn’t aware we were in the business of questioning our employees’ integrity,” Draco said cooly, ignoring the startled glance Hermione cast in his direction. Something in his tone must have finally alerted the solicitor to the danger he’d wandered into, his chest puffing like an overgrown pigeon as he cast about for his next words, growing increasingly flustered by the moment. 

“Well, if you’re seeing someone, that solves everything, doesn’t it?” Daisy interrupted brightly, clapping her hands together with an expression of forced delight, clearly doing everything in her power to head off the sudden hostility hanging in the room. He should consider giving her a raise. 

“A few well-placed articles will put this right as rain. We’ll just set up a little press conference for you and—” 

A muffled noise came from Hermione, so quiet he nearly missed it and Draco stiffened, jolting forward in his seat. “No.” He interrupted. The blonde paused, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry?” 

“No press conference. Release a statement, and that will be the end of it.” 

“But Mister Malfoy, the press will expect—”

“The press is a collection of nosy gits with too much time on their hands, I don’t particularly care what they expect.” Daisy’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes wide as she stared at him. 

“Mister Malfoy—” Witten protested, his voice a whine.

Draco cut him off with a sharp slash of his hand. “You said we had to have a meeting about this. Miss Granger has made it clear she’s not at fault. I hired you lot to deal with this sort of thing, now deal with it so I can move on with my day.” 

“No,” Hermione interjected as he pushed to his feet. He paused, his gaze narrowing in warning as a flash of defiance crossed her expression.

“Daisy is right,” Hermione protested, as if she hadn’t turned an unflattering shade of green at the idea. “I should… I should speak to the press. It’s not fair to Victor and Katya; a statement will just look like I’m avoiding it.” 

It was all Draco could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Fucking Gryffindor. Too proud to admit she was liable to be sick all over the front row of reporters the moment she opened her mouth and too noble to fathom that her own reputation was far more at risk here than Krum’s ever would be. 

“Miss Granger, may I have a word with you? Outside?” 

“Mister Malfoy,” Burton protested. “The board, they have concerns about the team’s reputation with Miss Granger—”

“I’ll buy the board out if they’re going to be fucking prudes,” he interrupted the man. “Granger, outside, now.” He held the door open, waiting with a frankly admirable amount of patience, in his opinion, until the witch stalked from the room, glaring at him all the while, before turning his attention back to his publicist. “You’ll take care of this, won’t you, Miss Fortnum?” 

Eyes wide, the witch gave a brief nod. “Of course, Mister Malfoy.”

“Excellent, thank you. Gentlemen.” He dismissed the others with a terse nod, turning and closing the door behind him before anyone else could fucking argue with him. 

“Malfoy, what the hell?” Hermione hissed the moment the door closed behind him. 

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest and arching that damn brow, as if she were the one being unreasonable here.

“What the hell indeed, Granger. Months of skulking in the shadows, pretending that you and Nott aren’t disgustingly head over heels so that the media doesn’t get a whiff—” 

She opened her mouth to protest—they weren’t skulking in the shadows, that made it sound so..so… shameful, but he cut her off before she could speak. 

“—and your plan for your grand relationship reveal—” She flushed as he sneered the words. “—was to, what, blurt it out in front of the only people in the world who actually think it’s a bad idea? Perhaps I’m missing the brilliance, if you’d care to enlighten me?” 

Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he scoffed, pushing away from the wall and stalking closer. She didn’t realise she’d stepped away from him in turn until her back met the opposite wall, her eyes wide as his hand came to rest on the wall next to her head, caging her in. 

“You’re terribly predictable, you know, witch,” he purred in her ear, leaning in close. 

A shudder washed down her spine even as she schooled her expression into a glare, raising her chin to meet his gaze. “How so?” she challenged. 

A puff of breath, nearly a laugh, escaped him as he shook his head. 

“You think I don’t know Theo would shout your name from the rooftops if you weren’t reining him in, pet? You’re too smart to let that happen without some sort of plan in place, and I’d hazard a guess that what just happened in that room isn’t it.”

She stiffened, and a slow, satisfied grin spread over his face. Smug bastard.

“I thought so. Then, tell me, witch. What’s your plan?” 

Her scowl deepened, of course he would ask. And that was the rub, wasn’t it? She’d told herself, told Theo, that all they needed was a plan. Everything would be fine once there was a plan in place. Except she didn’t have a plan, did she? Because every situation she ran through in her mind ended exactly as it just had, there in that awful meeting. With unwarranted judgment from strangers, and no easy way forward. One would think that after years of the same she might be used to it, having every aspect of her private life called into question and examined with scorn, but one never exactly got used to being accused of being a whore, did they? Fucking Rita Skeeter. She would have kept her in that jar if she’d had any idea how long her journalistic influence would last. 

“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business,” she said, adopting her snottiest know-it-all tone, one she knew was guaranteed to irk him. Instead, he just arched that damn brow again, and a pit formed in her stomach. He knew, she could see it in his cool gaze. He knew she didn’t have a single damn idea how they were going to make this work. He knew she didn’t have a plan. But she would have one soon, if people would just stop fucking asking her about it.

She straightened, as tall as she could, ignoring the fact she still barely reached his chin as she glared up at him. “I’ve got it sorted, Malfoy. Thank you for your concern.”

He didn’t try to stop her when she ducked beneath his arm, stalking down the hall, more desperate than she would care to admit to escape his probing gaze and his careful questions and the heat of his body near hers. Eager to escape the entire fucking situation.  

“Granger?” he called after her and she paused, hesitating for a moment before turning back to the man.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” 

“Just…try not to do anything fucking stupid, won’t you?” 

“Malfoy?” 

“What, Granger?”

“Kindly do us all a favour and fuck off.”

“—MACMILLAN HOT ON THE TRAIL OF THE SNITCH AND—HAS HE?—HE HAS, DERBYSHIRE DRAGONS WIN!”

Hermione watched as Theo blitzed around the arena, his thighs gripping his broom tight as he raised his arms with a cry of victory, a broad, triumphant grin painting his face. She couldn’t help the way her lips curved in return, his joy contagious even from her spot in the stands. He was so easy to please, her Chaser. 

And as she watched, fans cheering, and cameras flashing from every direction, every eye in a sea of green and gold locked on him, chanting his name over and over— Nott, Nott, Nott— Hermione realised she wanted to be the one to bring that smile to his lips, the one to make him that happy. And she decided to do something rather stupid indeed. 

Chapter Text

A cheer went up as Hermione and Theo entered the locker room hand-in-hand. Theo turned to grin at the cluster of his teammates who stood watching them both, cheering as if England had just won the World Cup, not even bothering to hide it as galleons passed between more than one set of hands. Subtle, this lot.

“Oh god,” Hermione moaned beneath her breath, fighting to tug her hand from his. He curled his fingers tighter about hers, tugging her further into the room. The witch had gone mad if she thought he’d be letting go of her any time soon, not now.

He’d be the first to admit that he much rather would have dragged his witch into a dark corner somewhere to snog her absolutely silly, but there was no doubt poor Daisy was fighting for her life to keep press away from the locker room even as they spoke, there was nowhere safer.

Because his beautiful, brilliant, entirely mad witch had just snogged him in front of his team and their fans and, by now, half the country would know about it.

He’d thought something had been wrong when they’d landed on the pitch after a truly fantastic win. She’d been waiting there, colour high in her cheeks as she wrung her hands, her gaze never wavering from him as he swung his leg from his broom. She’d waited as his teammates clapped him on the back, congratulations flowing and then, in a blink, she’d been in front of him, looking ever so slightly ill even as she smiled shyly up at him. He’d felt the briefest flash of fear—if she were meeting him on the pitch rather than in the box, the news couldn’t be good—and then her lips were pressed to his.

People had seen, he knew they had. The stands hadn’t even started to empty, and somewhere in the distance he’d known the dull roar in his ears was the crowd going absolutely wild as his witch kissed him for all she was worth, claiming him for all the world to see. But he didn’t give a damn if they were watching, not as his hands dropped to her hips, snugging her close as his lips roved across hers in a brief, intense kiss that would be seared into his memory until he died, if he were lucky. Because Hermione Granger was fucking his, and now the whole world knew it.

“Theo, we’re still at work,” the witch in question protested, drawing him back from the memory, even as she trailed across the locker room after him. “I need to do my job.” He came to an abrupt stop, steadying her as she nearly stumbled into him, and looked about the room. Every single one of his teammates watched them with unabashed interest. Nosy prats, the lot of them.

“Anyone here need healing?” He raised a challenging brow. A beat of silence passed before Peters tentatively raised his hand, only for Nilsson to smack it out of the air.

“You’re fucking fine,” the man grumbled—in no small part because he’d been the one who’d missed the Bludger that had near knocked Peters out of the air. “He’s fine,” he repeated, to Hermione this time.

Hermione rolled her eyes, tugging her hand from Theo’s and ignoring his noise of protest. “Go shower,” she ordered him, her tone brooking no nonsense. As if that had ever stopped him.

He reached for her hand again, pulling her nearer and ducking to murmur in her ear. “You going to join me, love?”

She swatted his chest, scowling up at him even as her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Go,” she ordered again. “I’ll meet you after. Or you can explain to Peters’ wife why her husband can’t remember her birthday because he took too many Bludgers to the head.” Theo’s lips curved downward in a mock pout and his witch rolled her eyes, turning her back on him without another word. “Peters!” she called out. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Theo watched for a moment as she walked away, his gaze lingering shamelessly on her pert arse shifting beneath her robes until she vanished into her office, before turning for the showers with a grin firmly in place.

“—I’ll give you a potion for the pain, and you’ll need to sit out practice for a few days,” Hermione instructed Peters as she finished her examination, snuffing the light at the end of her wand.

“Ah—” she cut him off when he opened his mouth to protest. “Two days, at least, Peters. And if Coach Witten has something to say about that, send him to me.”

“Can’t you just, I don’t know,” the man gestured to the shelves of potions that occupied one wall of her office. “Give me one of those and I’ll be fine? Keen’s already out, we can’t afford—”

“We can’t afford for you to be a vegetable from one too many hits to the head before you’re forty,” Hermione cut him off, her tone brooking no nonsense, before her face softened into a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s a drag, but the brain is finicky enough without adding magic into the mix, I’m afraid the old-fashioned way is best on this one. Two days, I promise, and then you can hurl yourself about at heights man wasn’t meant to achieve and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Their team’s alternate Chaser grinned in response and Hermione rolled her eyes as she turned to find the pain potion he’d need. She still wasn’t entirely certain how word had got out about her distaste of flying. Theo had sworn up and down he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but the team found endless joy in good-natured ribbing on the subject.

“Still not a flyer, huh? You’ve never let Nott take you for a ride?”

Hermione whipped about to stare at him, incredulity written across her expression—had he just?—and the man’s eyes blew wide, his face turning scarlet as he stammered. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I just meant—”

Hermione’s hand flew to cover her mouth to cover her grin as the man visibly panicked.

“God, just let the concussion kill me,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands.

Hermione turned back to her potions, muffling her laughter as she adopted her most professional tone. “You’re certainly not going to die, Mister Peters,” she said primly, plucking a vial from the wall. “You’ll have to try much harder than—”

The office door flung open, cutting off the rest of her thought as it bounced off the wall with a loud crash. “Out.” The interloper ordered tersely.

Hermione bristled. “Mister Malfoy,” she bit out through gritted teeth. “I’m with a patient. If you could please give us a moment—”

“Are you dying?” he interrupted, glaring at Peters as if daring him to say yes.

The colour had drained from the other man’s face and he gave a sharp shake of his head as he hopped from the exam table. “Right as rain, Mister Malfoy. Was just leaving, in fact.”

“Wait, Peters, your potion—” Hermione called after the man, but he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

“What the fuck, Malfoy,” Hermione hissed as she spun on the man, all too aware of the team still lingering on the other side of her door. Adding a door from her office directly into the locker room had seemed logical at the time, it had made it much harder for players to slip by her without necessary medical attention. What she hadn’t accounted for was the fact they were nosy as any group of thirteen-year-old girls, and anything said loud enough to be overheard was liable to be repeated. Which was why she lowered her voice to a harsh whisper as she stalked towards the team’s owner. Because there was no doubt in her mind that was the role he was playing right now, as he glowered down at her. This wasn’t Theo’s friend, this wasn’t the man who’d fucked her. No, this was Mister Malfoy, the superior prick.

“Peters has a concussion, you can’t just send him off to—”

He cut her off without care, not bothering to muffle his own voice. “Which part of ‘don’t do something stupid’ was unclear to you, Miss Granger?”

She stiffened, crossing her arms across her chest, looking up at him as she narrowed her gaze.

“You made it abundantly clear that the public thinking I was with Krum was a problem. One I believe I’ve now remedied, wouldn’t you agree?”

He scowled down at her in return.

She’d known he wouldn’t be pleased, not when she’d decided to manage her own problems rather than allowing him to do it for her. Not when she hadn’t given him control. She’d known it when she’d caught his eye from the far side of the pitch, moments after she’d pulled her lips away from Theo’s, when she’d seen the storm roiling in his gaze even from afar. Frankly, she was surprised it had taken him this long to track her down. Because gods forbid she do anything without being scolded like an errant child.

“That is what you call a plan?” he sneered. “Making a spectacle of yourself, of Nott?”

“It really was a spectacle, wasn’t it?” she asked, allowing her lips to curve into a slow, pleased smile, as if her skin wasn’t positively crawling with anxiety over what she’d done, as if she hadn’t wanted to apparate away in a panic the moment they’d left the pitch only to be swarmed by sideline reporters.

“There are easier ways to leave if you don’t want to fucking be here, Granger,” he spat, raking a frustrated hand through his hair.

She snarled in return. What was it about this man that gave him the uncanny ability to know exactly when her emotions were on the edge, and exactly how to push her over the line?

“What are you talking about, Malfoy?”

He cast her an incredulous look. “What the hell do you think I was doing all afternoon, Granger, planting fucking daisies? Witten wanted you gone for this Krum shit, what do you think he’s going to do now that he knows about Nott? What am I meant to tell him now that it actually might impact the team? Because I’m not spending the next week trying to save a fucking brilliant career because you wouldn’t know a smart plan if it bit you in that pert little arse of yours.”

Hermione straightened, her eyes widening as a wash of panic rode through her at his words. Gods, what had she been thinking? She’d expected Witten to try to take it out on her, he’d made no bones over his dislike of her presence, her role, her fucking gender, apparently, but she’d never thought—

“You can’t let him try to fire Theo!” she exclaimed, her mind already racing through arguments she could make. He was their star Chaser, for Merlin’s sake, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been seen out with witches before, but if Witten truly was on the warpath, then–

Malfoy groaned aloud, his irritation seemingly forgotten as he stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “For fuck's sake, Granger, Theo’s job is fine. But you? You’ll be lucky if—"

As if he’d been summoned, her office door swung open, clanging off the wall as Theo strode in. Merlin she was going to have to replace the door if people didn’t learn how to knock, and soon.

“Hermione Jean Granger, get your pretty little arse over here so I can snog you properly.”

Draco scowled at Theo as the other man sauntered across the room, a wide grin on his face, as if they weren’t entirely fucked. As if Granger hadn’t just ensured they wouldn’t be able to so much as set foot outside the house without paparazzi showing up for weeks, months, even, if they were unlucky.

As if she hadn’t just poured fuel on Witten’s argument about her being a distraction to the team.

As if she hadn’t just fucking hurled her and Theo both into the stratosphere of the public eye after all the effort he’d put into keeping her out of it.

She knew what she’d done. He’d seen it in her expression when she tilted that obstinate chin of hers up at him, somehow managing to peer down her nose at him like he was a wayward child even as he towered over her. But this was Hermione Granger, and she would rather chew off her own arm than admit she was wrong.

“Draco,” Theo greeted with a grin as he looped a casual arm about the witch’s waist, tugging her tight against him. “Was hoping I’d find you here. You’re coming out to celebrate with us, right?”

Silence lingered a beat too long before either of them answered, and Theo’s brow furrowed, looking down to where Hermione was staring studiously at a point somewhere over Draco’s left shoulder, her expression carefully blank.

“Alright, love?” he asked, catching her chin with his thumb and tilting her face toward him, studying her carefully. Any idiot could see that her smile in response was forced, and Theo Nott was many things, but dim wasn’t among them. Draco spotted the moment his friend caught onto his witch’s distress, his grip on her waist softening as he lifted a hand to brush a curl from her cheek before his gaze flicked to Draco, softness replaced by a dangerous glint. “Everything alright?” he repeated, an edge in his tone even as his fingers stroked idle, soothing patterns over Hermione’s hip. As if Draco were the one who had got them into this mess.

“I was just leaving, actually,” he said tersely. “Since someone has to clean up your fucking mess.”

He ignored Hermione’s flinch, and Theo’s noise of protest, as he turned towards the door. It was the truth. She’d made a fucking mess, and now he had to deal with it. Because while he was reasonably certain that Miss Fortnum was competent enough, he’d be damned if he had reporters crawling all over his arena for a glimpse of his—of Granger and Nott, now that she’d gone and made their affair entirely too public. He’d discovered half a dozen so-called-journalists on his walk to the locker room alone. And if a few of them ended up in the Outer Hebrides with no recollection of how they got there, well, that was just a hazard of their trade.

Perhaps he could track down a few more unfortunately stupid journalists. It had been an age since he’d last used any particularly nasty jinxes, but it was never too late to fall into old habits.

“There are easier ways to get rid of me, if you don’t want me here, Malfoy.”

Hermione’s taunting voice met his ears as he reached for the doorknob and he paused, turning back to her and arching a single brow.

“Is that so, Granger?”

“Well, it’s just a bit childish, isn’t it?” her chin lifted in challenge, a spark glinting in her gaze. “Throwing a tantrum because you didn’t get your way? It’s not as if we're in school, like I've just trounced you in Potions again. You could just fire me like an adult, if you’re that worried about it.”

Her words lingered in the air for a long moment, her lips curving into a triumphant smile. The witch clearly thought she’d won, thought he would be glad she’d all but ensured her name would be plastered across every gossip column in the country. As if he wouldn’t spend the next week trying to preserve her job, to preserve her fucking reputation, though he had infinitely better things to do with his time. Infuriating witch. 

He should leave, should let her have her moment of victory, foolishly mistaken as she was. But instead, he dropped his hand from the knob with a silent curse, crossing the room in a few long strides, unceremoniously yanking her from Theo’s hold and crushing his lips against hers, nipping her full lower lip hard as she gasped into his mouth before he pulled away.

“Next time you say something that stupid I’m putting you over my knee and you’ll fucking remember not to do it again,” he murmured the warning against her ear when he pulled away from the bruising kiss, his fingers banded tight around her wrist. He expected her to bristle at his words, for that spark to come back to her eyes, for her to tell him off. Instead, her lips parted, a soft, surprised puff of air escaping as pink rose high in her cheeks, her gaze flickering nervously away from his.

Fuck, the witch liked that idea—

He let out a sharp curse as Theo hauled him away, backing him against the nearest wall.

Hermione let out a startled squeak, starting towards them. “Theo, what are you—” She reached out to pull him away, but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head, the hard band of his arm pressing across Draco’s chest, pinning him in place.

“You don’t get to treat her like that,” Theo snarled, Draco’s breath catching in his chest as the dark-haired man leaned in, a thread of danger in his tone as he spoke. Draco arched a brow, barely disguising the wince that threatened as Theo pressed harder against his sternum.

“Theo!” Hermione’s protest came as if through a fog, and Theo shook his head hard.

“No, Hermione,” he bit out, his dark gaze never wavering from Draco’s. “She’s not some toy you can pull out whenever it’s convenient, and break when you’re tired of it. You need to make up your mind, if you’re with us, with her or not. You don’t just get to be an arse in one breath and then turn around and get everything you want in the next, you enormous prat.”

He all but spat the last words, dropping his hold and taking half a step back, as if to block a visibly alarmed Hermione from Draco’s view.

Draco’s chest expanded on a full breath as he worked to convince himself the red he could feel in his cheeks was the result of oxygen deprivation, nothing more. Gaze narrowed at Theo—the over-protective prick—Draco sneered, jerking his chin towards Hermione, her amber eyes blown wide, lips still puffed and shiny from his attentions. “You think she’s all I want?” He winced inwardly at the flash of pain that sparked in her gaze at his words. He knew the moment the words left his mouth how she would interpret them, but he would have to make amends for that later. Right now, all his attention, every fibre of his being, was focused on Theo. The man wanted proof that Draco was invested? As if fucking everything he’d done hadn’t been for their happiness, not just hers? Then he’d fucking show him.

His hand snaked out without preamble, fisting in Theo’s dark curls and yanking his mouth to his.

Theo froze as Draco’s lips crashed into his, seizing his mouth with no warning, his fingers tight in his hair tilting his head back just so. The taste of celebratory champagne lingered on Draco’s tongue as it flicked against Theo’s lips, demanding entry without any prelude. And for just half a beat, Theo gave in, his lips parting on a sigh, his tongue slick against the other man’s, revelling in a taste that was all at once familiar and foreign. Without thinking, he lifted his hands, smoothing them over the sleek lines of Draco’s back, urging him closer with a soft groan. It was the noise that broke the spell, Draco stiffening beneath his hold, his head nearly cracking against the wall as he jerked away, tongue flicking absently over his lips as he stared wide-eyed at Theo for a moment before a familiar, cold shield dropped over his expression, his grey eyes drifting over Theo’s shoulder to stare blankly at a point on the wall even as his hand flexed as if to remove the sensation of Theo’s hair caught between his fingers.

A wave of ice washed over Theo. For just a moment, he’d thought—fuck. For just a moment, he’d thought he’d recognised a flash of lust in Draco’s expression as he reached for him, thought the kiss might have been an impulsive, reckless moment of passion.

But he should have known better. Draco, this Draco, the one he knew now, was not one who gave into impulsivity. No, that had been Draco proving a point to Hermione, and using him to do it. Using him to hurt his witch. Because what, Hermione had taken matters into her own hands and hurt his feelings? Because he was mad Theo hadn’t stopped her? Because he was a consummate arsehole who couldn’t fathom not being in control of fucking everything?

“You fucking prat,” Theo hissed beneath his breath before his fists twisted in Draco’s shirt, pulling him back until their lips crashed together once more, forcing Draco’s body tight against his as he caught his mouth in a bruising, punishing press.

It was a hard, furious kiss, absent of any affection, instead, a spilling over of anger and spite and an undercurrent of lust he thought they’d stifled a decade ago.

And somewhere, beneath it all, beneath the spiral of anger, and frustration, and want that threatened to consume them, he heard it. The soft gasp of the witch still in the room with them. With a curse, he wrenched his lips from Draco’s, dropping his hands from his silky hair as if he’d been burned.

He stood frozen for a long moment, harsh breaths falling from his lips before he took a slow, deliberate step away from Draco, turning to face his witch.

She stood still, like a deer in a hunter’s sights, her knuckles white where they wrapped tight against the edge of her desk, as if it was the only thing holding her up.

Fucking hell, what had he done? His gaze shifted back to the man who still stood against the wall, his expression dazed. I’m sorry, is what he wanted to say, though whether it was meant for him or her, Theo couldn’t say. As something painfully close to shame washed over him, Draco’s lips twisted in a sneer.

“Tell me again what I want, Nott.” And then he shoved past him, and strode from the room.

For a brief moment, Hermione was forced to wonder if perhaps it was she, rather than Peters, who’d taken a bludger to the head during the game, because that was certainly the only explanation for the scene unfolding before her. She couldn’t deny the frisson of pleasure that had washed through her when Theo had jumped to her defence, though she was perfectly capable of sparring with Malfoy in her own right. But there had been an energy between the two men, a spark of palpable tension she couldn’t quite explain away. She’d thought for a moment they might come to blows, had gone so far as to slip her wand from her sleeve so she could force them apart. But then, instead of trading blows…

She stared as Draco’s lips roved across Theo’s, her lips parting on a silent gasp as the men melted into each other with a groan. A distant portion of her mind screamed that she should stop this, should be upset, but the heat that roiled low within her was the furthest thing from anger. No, it was fascination, it was... it was lust. Was this what she looked like with them, hands clutching and pulling and striving to be nearer, mouths desperate and searching and filthy? Her mind flashed a sudden, vivid image of what it would be like to be pressed between them again, but this time, their hands would rove further, grasping at each other, Draco drawing those throaty moans from Theo, his hand wrapping around Theo’s cock and—

A whimper escaped her and the illusion shattered, the men wrenching apart, twin gazes flying across the room to land on her.

Cheeks flaming scarlet, she tightened her grip on the edge of her desk to keep from fleeing under the sudden, heavy weight of their attention. Her lips parted, certain she should say something but absolutely uncertain as to what. But before she could speak, Draco’s expression hardened and he looked to Theo, muttering something beneath his breath before he turned and stormed from the room without another word.

Theo scrubbed a hand over his face, staring blankly at the now-closed door for a long moment before he turned to Hermione, his shoulders tense as if he thought she might be the one to throw a blow.

“He’s always had a bit of a flair for the dramatic,” he offered with a weak smile.

A choking, incredulous laugh came from Hermione at his words. “You don’t say. That was…erm…” Her voice trailed off, at a loss for words. What exactly was one meant to say when her boyfriend had just been thoroughly snogged in front of her? Please sir, may I have some more? Her cheeks pinkened at the thought and Theo swore, clearly interpreting her mortification as something else.

“Hermione, I—”

The door to her office swung open once more and Hermione swore inwardly, making a mental note to speak to maintenance about getting a lock, or a notice-me-not charm, or just fucking getting rid of the door so that she could get a moment’s peace.

“What do you want?” Theo barked at the Swede glaring at them from the doorway. As if he hadn’t done the very same thing only minutes ago. Hypocrite. She opened her mouth to tell him as much, Nilsson had done nothing to justify Theo being rude, for Merlin’s sake, but before she could speak—

“Are you coming or not?” Nilsson asked, looking thoroughly annoyed he was the one who’d had to come after them. “Half the team is already at the pub. You’ll want to get there before they’re too drunk to remember not to talk to the press, no?”

Hermione winced. She’d hoped the team had the good sense to keep their mouths shut, or at least that Daisy was present to keep them in line, but Nilsson was right. It would be a miracle if a reporter or two didn’t weasel their way into the pub, private gathering or not, and the last thing she needed was some slip of the tongue commentary being misconstrued and plastered across the front page of the Prophet.

“We’ll be along in a bit, mate,” Theo said, his gaze never wavering from Hermione.

“No, no,” Hermione said, avoiding looking at Theo as she snatched her jacket from the back of her chair. “We’re on our way now, wouldn’t want to miss any of the celebration, would we?”

Because if they stayed, it was only a matter of time before Theo sorted out that her blush wasn’t because she was upset. No, it was because every time she looked at him she saw the way his hands had tugged Draco closer, heard the groan that had escaped him. Every time she looked at him, there was that damn pang of lust somewhere low in her belly, and she’d really rather vomit slugs than examine that feeling too closely.

Nilsson looked between the pair for a moment, his shrewd gaze taking in the way Hermione busied herself stacking already-neat papers on her desk, and the flush still high in Theo’s cheeks. His brow raised, and Hermione knew exactly what the man thought had happened. And normally she would correct him, before rumours could spread. But what was she meant to say? So sorry, but my boyfriend snogged his best friend in front of me, and it was really rather sexy, honestly?

No, she couldn’t imagine that would go over well.

So instead, she simply forced another smile. “We’re right behind you,” she promised.

“Alright,” the other man said slowly. “I’ll see you there, then.”

He turned and left, calling out to their remaining teammates as he went, leaving the door standing open in a pointed, silent message. Merlin, their relationship had been public knowledge for all of half an hour and already people assumed they were being inappropriate. God, she was going to have to simply ban Theo from her office at this point.

But first she would manage the team, before their gossip could spread too far. And then the reporters. And then she would concern herself with Theo, and Draco, and, well, whatever the hell that had been.

“Right, we should go!” Hermione chirped with a clap of her hands, a falsely bright smile pasted across her face. “Half the team’s left already,” she parroted Nilsson’s words. “We’re going to be late.”

“Hermione.” Theo caught at her arm as she brushed past him, and she paused, winding her scarf about her throat as an excuse to avoid looking at him.

“We’ll talk about it later, Theo,” she said, proud of how even her voice was, when all she really wanted to do was pull him near and find out if Draco’s taste still lingered on his tongue.

But then they wouldn’t ever leave, and gods only knew that wouldn’t help the storm of gossip already brewing.

“But—”

“Later, Theo, please.”

A frown knit his brow and for a moment she was certain he would argue, but instead he merely jerked his head in a stiff nod and strode from the room without another word. By the time she followed him from the office, he was gone.

The door closed behind them, the click of the latch loud in the heavy silence, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Hermione hesitated in the entryway, watching as Theo shed his coat, melting snow dripping onto the gleaming wood floors, his movements tight as he slung first his coat and then his scarf over a waiting peg, uncaring when the scarf immediately slithered to the floor, landing in a damp heap. He’d been on edge since she’d arrived at the pub. No one seemed to notice when they’d arrived separately, but they’d certainly noticed when they’d left together, when he’d grabbed her by the hand and all but towed her from the bar, ignoring her protests and the hooting cheers of her teammates, and what she was fairly certain had been the flash of a reporter’s camera as they apparated away. And for what? They hadn’t said three words to each other since, but his hand had wrapped tightly around hers the entire way home, as if afraid she would flee.

“Should I go home?” she broke the quiet. Gods, it was practically the middle of the night, Draco was probably here, waiting for Theo, no wonder he was tense, was he waiting for the other man to barge in and, what, snog him again just to really drive the point home? She brushed off the flutter of interest that stirred in low in her belly at the thought, instead frowning as Theo stiffened at the question, turning slowly to face her, a near-wild glint shining in his gaze.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her eyes widened at the harsh edge to his voice, and he crossed the foyer to where she stood, his hand catching beneath her chin, tilting her face up to meet his as he stooped slightly to look her directly in the eye.

“Love, if I had it my way, you’d never spend a night away from me again.”

Her eyes widened at the declaration, and he straightened. “Give me your coat,” he said gruffly, even as he circled behind her. “You’re staying.”

Hermione blinked as his hands landed on her shoulders, tugging her coat from her arms, his gentle touch belying the edge to his tone.

She felt more than heard the hot puff of air against her neck as he swore beneath his breath as his fingers brushed over her bare nape as he tugged her scarf free, lingering against her skin, toying unconsciously with the fringe of curls that had escaped her bun.

His voice came low in her ear as he asked, “Do you want to go home?”

She debated it, just for a moment. Theo was clearly in a snit, though why she couldn’t quite say, and she was tired, and frankly she wasn’t certain she could look him in the eye, let alone Draco, without blurting something mortifying, and entirely outside the bounds of her relationship. But all the same—

“I’d like to stay,” she said softly.

He hadn’t been certain she would, she realised, as he urged her back to face him, the tension easing from his shoulder as a half-smile flickered across his face. And to be fair, she hadn’t been certain she would either, not until the words escaped her.

“But I do think we should talk about it. You and Draco, I mean.”

He stiffened, and she caught the barest glimpse of his lips pressed into a thin line as he turned to hang her coat next to his. Unease niggled at her as he took far longer than necessary, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the fabric, steadfastly ignoring her gaze. “Theo?” she raised her voice in question as the silence dragged on too long once again.

“It was nothing, Hermione.” There was an unfamiliar edge to his tone, warning her to drop it, as if they could simply pretend it had never happened, and that whisper of unease intensified.

This wasn’t a side of Theo she’d seen before, his normally bright expression shuttered, his glittering eyes hard and ever-moving, never quite landing on her, instead sliding past her, as if—almost as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.

A pit settled in her stomach as she trailed after him, following as he stormed into the drawing room, watching as he made for the sideboard, and poured a too-full glass of whiskey. God, perhaps staying had been a mistake. 

“It obviously wasn’t nothing, Theo, or you wouldn’t be looking at your drink like it’d offended your ancestors,” she remarked mildly, propping one shoulder on the doorframe, fighting to ignore the instinct that screamed this was something more than it was.

His gaze flicked towards her, an unexpected scowl twisting his features. She straightened. Was he mad at her? Because what, she hadn’t been jealous enough? When he’d all but thrown her at Draco half a dozen times? God, she’d be the worst sort of hypocrite if she were to get in a snit over them sharing a single kiss. She was annoyed with Draco, to be sure, that little remark about what he really wanted lingering in the back of her mind in a way she was all but certain to dwell on later, but she certainly wasn’t going to take that out on Theo.

“I don’t know what the fucking prat thought he could prove,” Theo spat, downing his drink in a single gulp and reaching for the bottle again. “As if we’re all just some sort of game to him. And of course he didn’t like being called out on it, prick never does. Gods forbid Draco Lucius Malfoy be wrong about something.”

Concern knitted Hermione’s brow as Theo paced across the room, seemingly ranting to himself, only half his words discernable, and even fewer complimentary. Draco. It wasn't her Theo was mad at. It was him. 

She’d thought he might try to laugh it off, to pretend it was some sort of joke. As if she didn’t know him, she wouldn’t recognise the dazed, lust-filled expression that had painted his face when the other man pulled away. As if she hadn’t seen Theo’s rough hands weaving through that platinum hair.

As if she wasn’t intimately familiar with exactly how good it felt when Draco’s hands bit hard into flesh, when his teeth pulled at soft skin.

As if she didn’t know exactly how it must have felt when he’d kissed Draco back.

What she hadn’t expected was…

“So what, his feelings were hurt and he thought fucking kissing me was the answer? Hurt me in return, right?”

Hermione blinked. Was he that offended that Draco had kissed him? It wasn’t as if he didn’t like men, what was—

“I mean, it’s fucking ancient history. Why even bother to dig it up now?” Theo continued before she could finish the thought. “I don’t know what the hell he was thinking, that stupid, stubborn, manipulative arsehole.”

She snorted, crossing the room to perch on the sofa. Her feet were sore after a long game day, and it was clear Theo wouldn’t be done any time soon, she might as well be comfortable. “It was all of three hours ago, Theo. I don’t think we can call that ancient quite yet.”

His brow furrowed. “What? No, not today, I mean…” his voice trailed off, something resembling guilt flashing across his expression, and cold flooded her veins.

“What do you mean?” she asked, proud of how even her voice remained, even as every instinct she possessed screamed that this was a dangerous line of questioning, that she didn’t want to know the answer.

He hesitated, just a beat, taking long sip of his whiskey before letting the glass drop listlessly back to his side, pain written across his face. “I meant seventh year. When Draco and I were…together, you know."

“You and Draco were…together.” She chose her words carefully, clearing her throat roughly as the full picture of what he was saying came together in her mind. “Seventh year, you said?”

“Yeah, or, well, it started the summer after sixth,” he said, shifting his weight as if he wanted to cross the room to her, his voice taking on a pleading edge. “But I—fuck, Hermione, everyone knew. It was all anyone at school talked about outside of, well, you know. It wasn’t exactly a secret, Lucius sent that Howler to the Great Hall, and the Carrows made our lives…” His words trailed off into silence as Hermione stared at him, her mind racing over his words like they were another language, familiar, but not quite making sense.

Her laugh, when it finally came, was sharp, humourless. “Yes, well, I was a bit busy with the you know of it all to keep up with school gossip that year.”

His tan skin paled, blanching as the math began to come together. “Shit, Hermione,” he swore. “I really—I didn’t think, gods, Draco and I—we—” He cut off his words with a frustrated growl, shoving his hand haphazardly through his curls.

Hermione plucked nervously at a loose thread on the sofa arm, her back ramrod straight as she watched Theo pace across the room, nausea churning in her gut as the wizard swore a streak beneath his breath. “Idiot…..obviously…..should have…..fucking hell.”

“Just tell me,” she finally said when it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything more. “If you and Draco are…”

He paused, turning to her, something helpless in his gaze.

“I suppose saying there is no ‘me and Draco’ wouldn’t be enough, would it?”

“Is that something you can say?” Hermione asked, proud of how measured her tone was. Because before today, she never would have questioned that they were more than friends, more than housemates. And she hated that now she’d spend an evening that should have been a happy one questioning everything. Questioning their history, questioning every time Theo had encouraged her to be with Draco, every time he’d watched them together with that burning lust in his expression. As if… As if he were living every moment vicariously through her. Her stomach roiled at the thought.

Gods, was it really Draco he’d wanted all this time? Had she missed the signs? Had everyone known, been laughing at her behind her back? Poor, foolish Hermione Granger, convinced that Theo Nott, of all people, was interested in her.

His expression shifted into something incredulous at her question. “You can’t truly mean that?”

Hermione arched a brow in return—she very much meant it—and Theo cursed, scrubbing a hand over his face as he resumed pacing.

“Draco is… Fuck.”

Her heart sank, hands fisting against her knees as he swore, turning to her, his expression pleading.

“Draco my best friend, he’s been the most important person in my life for so long, he was… fuck, he was the only person who really cared about me for a long time, and maybe it’s fucking selfish of me, but I can’t just give that up, but then you came along and—” You came along and ruined everything, her mind supplied unhelpfully. She should have known better, known it was too good to be true. She’d been Harry’s second choice as a best friend. Ron’s, well, if not a second choice then certainly an afterthought, at best. Why should she expect to come first with Theo now?

“—love you and—”

Her brain stuttered, certain she’d misheard. “You love me?” She cut him off, disbelief lacing her tone.

“I…” He stammered to a stop, his face flaming red. “Shit, Hermione,” he breathed as he scrubbed a hand over his face. Hermione’s heart sank. Of course he hadn’t meant it like that. He’d meant love like one might love a dear friend, or a pet, or a particularly delicious pastry, not—

“Of course I love you, you mad witch.” He dropped his hand with an exasperated sigh, as if he were explaining something that should have been obvious. “I’ve been in love with you for what feels like fucking forever, or might as well have been. And I’m not going to let you doubt that, even if I am a fucking idiot.”

Inexplicable tears welled in her eyes and he cursed, striding across the room and taking her face in his hands.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he groaned as he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t do that, don’t cry, sweet girl. Gods, I’m so sorry, forget I said anything, I—”

“No!” She blurted, swiping at her eyes. “No, don’t take it back. It’s just—” A wet laugh escaped her. “Gods, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m sorry.” It was ridiculous, really, that of everything that had happened, those three silly little words would be what brought her to tears.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he repeated, shifting restlessly on his feet, hands flexing by his sides as if it were taking everything in him to not reach for her. “I just… Fuck, witch, if you’re going to cry I need to hold you and I need you to tell me now if that’s not okay.”

She shook her head and a flash of pain crossed his expression as he took a stilted half step back. “No, I—” An undignified sniffle escaped her as she reached blindly for his hand. “I think I’d like that, please.”

A relieved huff of breath escaped him as he dropped to the sofa next to her and hauled her unceremoniously into his lap, arms banded tight about her as he murmured soothing, nonsensical words into the mass of her hair, his hand smoothing through her curls and across her back in slow, easy motions.

She should be upset still, the logical side of her mind knew that. Theo had—well, not lied, precisely, but he’d certainly omitted what one might call pertinent facts. Facts that any sane witch would be upset about, and an admission of love wasn’t enough to erase that. But as she sat there, curled comfortably in the safe shelter of Theo’s arms, the low crackle of the fire and his soft murmurs filling the quiet, she knew, with a deep certainty she couldn’t explain away, that Theo had meant it when he’d called it ancient history.

From the moment they’d met, from that first day he’d dropped by her office with lunch, Theo Nott had done his best to make her happy. He’d fed her, he’d made sure she slept. He’d cheered her on at every turn. He’d loved her. And…he’d let her have Draco. She tensed as the thought ran through her head again. He’d let her have Draco. Because he wanted her to be happy, and Draco made her happy—fighting with Draco, fussing at Draco…fucking Draco.

But she couldn’t help but think of all the times she’d seen Draco and Theo together. Those rare, genuine smiles that spread across Draco’s face at Theo’s teasing, and the way Theo came to life every time Draco turned that dry, sarcastic wit on him.

And as much as Theo insisted it was ancient history—and she believed him, truly—she had to wonder if perhaps Draco wouldn’t make Theo just as happy as he did her, if they gave it a chance. And who would she be if she didn’t give them that chance, after everything Theo had done for her?

“Alright?” Theo’s low voice came in her ear as her muscles flexed beneath his touch. She nodded against his chest, hesitating a moment before she spoke.

“You love me,” she repeated softly. He hummed his affirmation, his face buried against her hair. She took a deep breath, soaking in the warm scent that clung to his skin.

“But you love Draco, too.”

His breath stilled in his chest, and she resisted the urge to look up, to see what expression was written across his face. She wasn’t going to let guilt decide his answer. Not now, when the truth was so very important. He coiled one of her curls around a finger, tugging it lightly, studying it in the glinting firelight as if it held all the answers.

“Yeah,” he finally breathed on a sigh. “I do. But it’s not like that,” he rushed. “It’s—”

Hermione raised her head, cutting him off with a firm press of her lips against his. “No, Theo,” she murmured against his mouth. “You love us both. That’s all I need to know, for now.”

They'd have time to sort out the rest. 

Pansy dropped her keys, uncaring when they skittered off the edge of the table. Finding them would involve turning on the lights, and with the migraine she had brewing, she would rather saw off her own arm. It had been an absolutely shite shift. Her newest chef de partie had dropped an entire pot of pumpkin sage gnocchi—this is why nepotism hires were a bad idea, godsdammit—and she’d had to revise her special at the last minute. And then one of her ranges had decided tonight would be the night to go tits up and her repair wizard wasn’t available until next week. To top it all off, she was fairly certain the halibut her fishmonger had delivered wasn’t fresh, but of course she’d been too busy dealing with the range to ream him a new one over it. And now all she wanted was a headache potion or four, and a stiff drink. She didn’t give a damn if the two weren’t meant to mix, needs must.

Toeing her rubber clogs off with a relieved sigh, she padded across the room, lit only by the glimmer of London’s lights through her windows, towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You need more scotch,” a slurred voice came from behind her in the dark. Pansy spun with a squeal she’d deny to her dying day, the red light of a Stupefy lighting the room, only to be lazily batted away by the dark form sprawled across her sofa.

“Merlin FUCK, Malfoy,” she screeched once her heart rate had slowed enough to recognise her friend.

“What in Salazar’s name are you doing here?”

“Your wards are shit, Parkinson,” he ignored her question, gesturing widely towards the door with the bottle clutched in his fist. A bottle that looked suspiciously like- “Malfoy, I swear to fuck if you’re drinking my Balvenie—”

He frowned up at her, turning the bottle in his hand, squinting to read it in the dim light. “Was. You’re out.”

Pansy’s grip tightened on her wand, debating the merits of hexing her friend into oblivion while he was too drunk to defend himself. That scotch had been a gift to herself when she’d opened L’Atelier, it’d cost her practically a year’s pay. They weren’t all sitting on trust funds the size of Scotland, for fuck’s sake.

She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but as his head lolled back in her direction, she paused.

His expression was one she’d known all too well a decade ago, a look of deep-rooted pain she’d rather thought they’d moved past after the war, or at least suppressed well enough.

He blinked in her direction, his pale grey gaze all but staring through her, and, as she studied him, it was evident that something had gone terribly wrong.

Heaving a sigh, Pansy perched on the opposite end of the couch, shoving his feet out of the way, summoning another bottle and a pair of glasses from the cart. She suspected she was going to need a drink for this as well.

“Everything alright, Draco?”

He shook his head listlessly, and Pansy did her best to smother another sigh. Because why would he want to tell her why he’d gone to the trouble of breaking into her home and drinking all her scotch like an alcoholic lost puppy. “Do you want to talk about it?” She pressed a too-full glass of (significantly less expensive) single malt into his free hand.

“No,” he said, pushing his lips into a pout as she plucked the empty bottle from his other hand. He was lucky all she was planning to do with it was guilt him into replacing it once his hangover had worn off. If it’d been anyone else, they would have found the bottle wedged in a distinctly uncomfortable place.

He took a deep swig of the amber liquor, nose wrinkling at the taste, before staring down into the glass. “Why’s it have to be that colour,” he sighed to himself.

Pansy merely raised a brow, leaning back into the corner of the sofa and tucking her feet beneath her. Draco took another drink and then looked to her. “I did something stupid, Pans,” he said mournfully, not at all his normal stoic, emotionless self. Merlin, how much of that bottle had he drank?

“I suspected as much,” Pansy said dryly. “Are you going to tell me what, or is my sofa just more comfortable than your own?”

“Her eyes are that colour,” he said mournfully, still staring down into the glass.

Pansy’s brow furrowed. What the hell is he on abo—Her eyes flew wide in horror. “Oh Draco, you didn’t. Granger, really? You couldn’t have picked a witch Theo’s not obsessed with? Fucking hell, he’s going to murder you when he finds out.” She paused, her mind racing through the details. “Wait—and fucking Granger? She went along with it, like Theo’s nothing? I swear to Merlin she won’t have to worry about those stupid frizzy curls anymore after I rip them out of her head—”

Draco made a noise of protest, interrupting her.

He shook his head, a wayward lock of hair flopping over his forehead. “Wasn’t Granger,” he slurred softly.

“Oh,” Pansy blinked, nonplussed. “Well, if it wasn’t Granger, what’s the problem? Unless you were stupid enough to fuck Greengrass, Merlin knows she doesn’t need any more excuses to sink those awful claws into your life.”

His head flopped to the side, looking listlessly at her. “I kissed Theo,” he said, and then downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp.

Pansy winced, swearing inwardly. Fucking hell, she’d thought they were past this.

“Draco,” she said, disappointment colouring her tone. It had taken fucking years for the pair of them to get over each other, years before their friendship settled back into its current easy comfort. And what, Draco had gotten drunk and decided to throw that all away again?

“And Granger saw.”

Pansy choked on her drink. “Oh. Fuck.”

He huffed a humourless laugh. “Fuck indeed.”

“I thought…” Pansy said hesitantly. “I thought you were over that, with Theo.”

Fucking hell, they couldn’t get into this again. First it had taken them ages to admit that they were more than friends. And then seventh year, and all the horrors that came along with it, had happened, and her best friend had found solace in the kind, happy man who’d been a constant presence in their lives. And for a brief time, even in the midst of everything terrible, they’d been happy. It’d been disgusting, honestly, and she’d spent much of seventh year wishing they’d get over each other so she didn’t keep walking in on them snogging.

Except then, right before the Dark Lord had been defeated, they were done. No explanation, no announcement, just sudden, crippling separation between two men who’d been practically inseparable since they were old enough to sit a broom.

Draco had never told her why, and even Theo’d been silent when she’d probed for answers. For a time, she’d thought that was it. She’d be forced to choose one over the other—she would have chosen Draco, of course—and never see the other again, like some sad child of divorce, but without the benefits of dual holidays. Draco had been absolutely miserable to be around, half-drunk and skulking about in dark corners for years. And then, as if overnight, she’d woken up one day and they were friends again, like nothing had ever happened. And never once, no matter how many bribes she offered, or how much alcohol she plied them with, had either of them let slip exactly what had unfolded between the pair. A fact that only drove her the slightest bit mad.

She took a deep slug of her drink. Gods, if they were doing this again she was going to need to triple her liquor order at the restaurant, and lock up the good stuff.

“You’re over it, right?” she repeated into the dark. Silence. “Draco?” She was answered by nothing more than a soft snore.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed to her feet, circling behind the couch to grab him by the shoulders and pull and shove haphazardly at his unconscious form until he was at least somewhat nearer to lying down and less likely to hurt all over when he woke in the morning. Not that that would stop him from complaining, no doubt.

And people wondered why she didn’t date men, honestly.

Chapter Text

December 2000

Draco stared blankly down at the tumbler clutched in his fist, the amber liquid reflected in the firelight.

When had it all gone to shit? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known it was coming. The Malfoy name was already beyond redemption, after the war, it wasn’t as if it really mattered, now that their shame was confirmed for all the world to know. He snorted at the thought. A decade, more, of his father lambasting him, driving home all the ways Draco would shame the family, of Draco sacrificing fucking everything for the sake of the Malfoy name, and for what? Here he was, twenty years old and left with fucking nothing.

Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he drank the liquor down in a single gulp, relishing the burn in his chest. His father would be furious at the way he was wasting through the family cellars, but it wasn’t as if the bastard had left him anything else. Eying the bottle speculatively, he reached for it with every intention of foregoing the glass this round, until a floorboard creaked behind him. Drink abandoned, Draco whirled, wand at the ready, a curse on the tip of his tongue.

And then he froze.

Because there, as if conjured by his thoughts, stood the man he’d once called his best friend.

He should have had him removed from the wards, he hadn’t thought, why was he—The thoughts whirled through his mind one after the other, dulled by shock and exhaustion and alcohol until they boiled down to a single thought.

“What the bloody fuck are you doing here, Nott?”

He pushed to his feet, stalking across the room, wand brandished at the other man as angry words poured from his lips.

“You think you’re welcome here, now? Or have you come scrounging like all the rest? Heard Malfoy’s down on his luck and thought you’d come back to try for another round?”

He reached the doorway, casting his wand to the side, his hands fisting tight in the other man’s robes.

“Draco, I—”

He ignored him; he had no interest in platitudes or pity or fucking conversation. No, he wanted…he wanted…As if of their own volition, his fists tightened, yanking the other man towards him, ignoring his startled gasp as their lips crashed together.

The kiss was clumsy, teeth clashing, hands tugging, desperately familiar and entirely strange all at once, and Draco fucking hated himself for it, even as he tugged Theo closer still.

A loud shriek echoed down the marble hallways and Draco wrenched away with a curse, his hands slamming against the other man’s chest, shoving him away.

“Just…fuck off, Nott,” he growled, his breath coming hard as he paced across the room, scrubbing a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t want you here.”

“She’s not doing well then?” Theo’s voice was soft in the lingering quiet.

Draco let out a sharp, harsh bark of laughter, whirling to glare at the boy—the man—who had once meant more to him than life. He spun away once more, hating the faint look of pity in the other man’s eyes, staring instead into the dancing flames in the grate, as if they might offer some sort of answer. “Lucius was arrested today,” he said tersely, as if the whole world didn’t already know. “The man she swears is the love of her life despite—” he didn’t finish the thought, instead giving a sharp shake of his head. “He’s in Azkaban, for life, if there’s any justice. Our vaults have been frozen, and she’s gone fucking insane. So yeah, Nott, she’s not doing well. And I don’t fucking need you to point that out.”

Theo studied him carefully, glancing over his shoulder to the open door.

“Do you need to go check on her? Is there anything I can do?”

Draco hated that the other man’s first thought was to care for Narcissa, for them. Because he was bloody Theo Nott and that was who he was, and Draco hated it. No, it was more than that. He hated that his first instinct was to say yes, that he craved the care, the safety the man offered. So instead of answering, instead of telling him that Narcissa was under the care of a very competent mediwitch and no doubt already asleep once more, he spun, his voice rising until he was yelling.

“No, Nott. All I need is for you to take your pity and shove it up your arse and fucking FUCK OFF!”

Silence fell over the room as his words rang out, broken only by the sound of the crackling flames, before that low, familiar voice sounded once more. “Alright then.”

Footsteps, the click of a closing door, and Draco was alone once more. Just as it should be. Just as he deserved.

Muttering a curse to himself, Draco paced across the room, seizing the bottle from the table and staring down at it for a long moment before he spun, hurling it as hard as he could at the closed door, just as it swung open once more.

Theo ducked as the heavy crystal shattered against the door frame, his nose wrinkling in disgust as forty-year-old whiskey splattered over him.

“Circe, Malfoy, watch where you chuck your garbage, mate,” he said as he strolled into the room, as if he were an invited guest, as if Draco hadn’t just screamed at him to get out. Draco glared at him, wishing now he’d kept hold of his wand.

“I thought I told you to fuck off, Nott.” He couldn’t manage this, not this man, not now.

Theo scoffed, ignoring Draco’s glare as he strode across the room, dropping his bag to the ground with a thud and plopping down, kicking his feet up on the chintzy Louis XV settee like he’d never left.

“No, you fuck off, you overgrown blond git,” he said as he slung an arm over the back of the settee. “What sort of a friend would I be if I let you sit here and rot in this mouldy old house? You need someone to drink with, at least.”

Draco hesitated, his gaze flicking from the man, to the fire, and back.

“A friend?” He finally managed, a careful, brittle edge to his tone. They hadn’t been friends for a long, long time.

Theo hesitated, a flicker of something crossing his expression before it vanished and he let out a heavy sigh, dropping his feet back to the floor, elbows propped on his knees, his gaze intent, knowing.

“Yeah, Draco. A friend. You look like you could use one. So that’s what I’ll be, a friend. Just a friend.”

Draco should protest, he knew he should. There was a reason he and Theo…weren’t, any longer. But he found, as he stared at the man, that he simply…couldn’t.

“Fine,” he finally muttered, turning away from Theo once more. “You’re staying in the east wing, though. I’m not fucking listening to your snoring.”

Theo let out something nearing a chuckle.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He lounged back once more. “Now do you have any more of that whiskey or were you dim enough to waste the last of it ruining my jumper just then?”

Present Day

Hermione frowned as a distant tapping echoed down the hall.

“Theo?” she called out, to no response. “Did you forget something?”

He’d dropped her off at home nearly an hour ago, a press conference having been called, ostensibly to discuss the team’s recent success. But the timing wasn’t exactly subtle, after her dramatic gesture the Friday prior, and so, with Theo’s wholehearted agreement, Hermione had decided that it was the perfect Monday to take a personal day. She would simply ignore the nagging voice in her head that reminded her that, while she may not be at the stadium with Theo, Draco would be. Because the issue of Draco—of Draco and Theo—was simply not one she was emotionally capable of facing at the moment. Avoidance was by far a more preferable option, and so she was simply going to pretend she had nothing to do with her day but read and enjoy a cup of tea or two.

But the tapping persisted and Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket with a scowl, fresh mug of tea clutched in the other hand as she prowled down the hall. If one of those so-called journalists had managed to find her, and to get past her wards, then so help her…

She peered out her peephole, praying it wasn’t Mrs Bunsworth either. She couldn’t very well ignore her neighbour after she’d offered house and home to Crooks, but the small talk would be unbearable.

The stoop was blissfully empty, sparing her a good half hour of gossip about the elderly woman’s grandchildren and their various misadventures, but her frown deepened as the tapping came a third time. She edged into the room that served as her library-sitting room-office, sidestepping a pile of books she’d been meaning to sort through for ages, and flicked the curtain back, startling only slightly when a large pair of yellow eyes stared back at her through the glass.

There on the sill sat the Potter’s owl, mildly bedraggled and looking entirely peeved it had taken her so long to answer his summons.

“Sorry,” she muttered to the bird as she tugged the sash up, carefully detaching the packet from his leg. And of course there wasn’t an owl treat to be found, she hardly ever got mail at home, not when she spent so much time at the office. “Tea?” She offered the mug to the owl with a half-hearted smile, earning what could only be described as a disdainful scowl in return as the bird ruffled his feathers and took off with an offended hoot. Making a mental note to apologise to Harry and Ginny later, Hermione unfurled the package, wincing when a magazine fell to the desk, a neon note pasted across the front.

Drinks. Thursday. 7 PM.

It read in Ginny’s familiar, spiky handwriting. And then underneath it, in large block letters.

NO EXCUSES.

Hermione flipped the note up, eyes roving over the photo of Theo and her blown wide on the cover of Witch Weekly, skipping over whatever ridiculous headline they’d managed to come up with this time to focus instead on the way Theo’s grin spread across his face as he pulled back from their kiss, and the way her lips curved in return, her hands cupping his face to pull his lips back to hers again. She hadn’t planned the second kiss, there, in the centre of the pitch. Though she hadn’t really planned any of it, had she? The kiss, the ensuing media frenzy. Hell, she hadn’t even thought of her friends’ reactions, there, in the moment, something she expected she’d come to regret.

And yet, somehow, as she watched that kiss, and Theo’s smile, play out over and over again, she couldn’t find it in her to regret it one bit. Glancing up to ensure no one was watching, as if Madame Pince would appear from behind the sofa to scold her for desecration, Hermione ripped the cover from the magazine, folding it neatly and tucking it into her pocket with a small, private smile.

It was all Theo could do to force a smile as he stared out at the sea of reporters all but frothing at the mouth for any tidbit about his relationship, as if it were any different from their own. Nosy fuckers. Never mind the Dragons had won their last three games, that they were undoubtedly going to make the playoffs. No, let’s call the entire team in to listen to him talk about his feelings.

A week ago, he would have revelled in it, the opportunity to stand in front of the world and claim Hermione Granger as his own. But now the world knew, and had opinions, and they wouldn’t fucking leave her alone, and he hated them for it. She tried to hide it, his darling witch, of course she did, but it was impossible to miss the wary look in her gaze when he suggested going out, or the way she flinched when their takeaway delivery had knocked. He didn’t want to be here, playing the charming athlete, spinning the notes Daisy had shoved into his hand into a narrative for the press. He wanted to be home with his witch, the witch who loved him, hidden away just the two of them, away from the prying eyes, from the madness, away from Draco fucking Malfoy.

His gaze flicked to the other man, standing there, chatting with a reporter from Witch Weekly like they were old friends, when Theo knew for a fact Draco had tried his hardest to have that very witch fired a few years back. Theo snorted to himself. Anything to avoid him, right?

Almost as if he’d heard the thought, that grey gaze shifted over the witch’s shoulder, meeting his own. Theo arched a single brow in challenge. Would he come over so they could actually speak?

No.

Instead, the blond wizard smirked, schooling his expression into a bland, disinterested mask as if Theo couldn’t see the wrinkles in his robes, the purple smudges beneath his eyes he hadn’t bothered to hide for the press. Fuck, he looked like he’d been through hell. Not that Theo cared. The prick deserved it, after that bullshit he’d pulled. Or that’s what he told himself. Except Draco had never come home, not since they…

He shook his head to clear the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter what they’d done, not when three fucking days had passed without a sign of the prick. He and Hermione had both done their best to hide their glances at the clock, or the door, or his silent bedroom to no avail, agreeing without words to not speak of it. Because if they talked about it, it became real, and neither of them were ready to face that.

It felt hauntingly familiar, all of it, no different than seventh year, from that day Draco had risen from their shared bed in the Slytherin dormitory and simply…never come back. He felt ill at the thought, that he might have to endure the same all over again, except this time it wasn’t just Draco he might lose, no, he could lose them both.

This time, at least, it had been a rather exasperated note from Pansy, ordering him to come fetch his stray before he became a permanent addition to her sofa rather than another life-altering letter from Lucius. Bile churned in his throat at the thought of that letter, still seared in his mind so many years later.

....your unnatural relationship with my son....

....his continued safety....

....your required silence....

A light shudder wracked his form at the thought, at the memory of watching from afar as Draco was drawn back into his family’s orbit, unable to do anything but mourn as the other man’s frame grew thin with no one to care for him, his gaze more haunted by the day as the Dark Lord played them like so many strings on a fiddle, and for what? Lucius had still ended up rotting away in Azkaban as he deserved, and Theo had fallen into Draco’s life once more, nothing and everything having changed. And it worked, the two of them, as they were. Right up until Draco lost his fucking mind and—

“Mister Nott! Were you and Miss Granger close in school?”

Theo jerked as one of the reporters called out the question. Fuck, he’d entirely missed Daisy’s opening remarks. His cheeks heated as he wrenched his gaze away from Malfoy, fighting to process the question even as memories of their kiss, of Draco’s lean form pressed against his, played through his mind. Forcing a smile just as he forced the thoughts from his mind, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Not as close as I’d have liked,” he quipped, a light ripple of laughter rolling through the room. Alright, he could do this, could get through this.

Taking a deep breath, Theo settled deeper into his seat, his smile shifting towards real as he thought of his witch once more. By the time he was done, they would love her as much as he did. His gaze flicked to Malfoy once more. They all would.

“Hermione, you’re here!” Ginny declared as she pulled the door open, her smile unnaturally tight.

Hermione frowned, trying to peer over the woman’s shoulder to see their hall clock. “Am I early?” She was nearly certain they’d agreed on seven, but—

“No, no, not at all,” the redhead chirped, grabbing Hermione’s arm and all but pulling her across the threshold. “Come in, come in. I just need a few minutes to finish getting ready. Padma’s already here too.” The door swung closed behind them and Ginny dropped Hermione’s arm with a grimace. “I’m so, so sorry,” she muttered.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “What are you—”

“Hermione!” Her name boomed down the narrow hallway as Ron appeared in the kitchen doorway, his face an unfortunate shade of puce.

Hermione cursed beneath her breath, spinning on Ginny with a reproachful glare, who in turn whirled and stabbed an accusatory finger towards the kitchen. “It was Harry!” she yelped, before ducking past her brother, beating a hasty retreat.

“You’re fucking Nott?” Ron all but yelled, even though Hermione was mere feet away.

Hermione’s gaze narrowed as she shoved past him into the kitchen. She’d known this was coming the moment that damn article had dropped, but she’d hoped she might have at least a day or two of peace before her friends lost their collective minds.

“Often, yes,” she snarked even as she waved a hello to Ron’s wife, Padma, where she sat at the kitchen table.

“Ron,” Harry said, a note of warning in his voice, one the other man promptly ignored.

“Nott,” he repeated. “Theodore Nott. Slytherin prick, ‘bout yea tall, fucking insufferable human?”

“Arse like a ripe peach?” Ginny piped in, earning a scowl from her husband and her brother both even as Hermione fought to hide her grin. She should have known she could count on the witch’s support. And it was a rather impeccable arse.

Hermione arched a brow, crossing her arms across her chest. “The very same, I suppose.”

Ron’s face grew increasingly red, spluttering his indignation, until finally—

“He plays for the Dragons!”

Ginny scoffed, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“What does that matter?” Hermione bit out. “Ginny plays for the Harpies, and I seem to recall you being delighted when she married Harry.”

If this was all because Theo played for a team that rivalled the Cannons, she swore to Merlin she’d have Ron banned from every Quidditch arena in the league. Not that she actually had the power to do that. But she suspected Draco might, and that he would take a great deal of joy in doing so.

If she were speaking to him, at least.

She shoved that thought to the side. Tonight wasn’t about him.

“You’re the team healer.” Ron declared, clearly fumbling for an argument after a long pause. As if they didn’t all already know that. “It’s a…it’s a question of ethics!” he asserted triumphantly.

Hermione let out an incredulous puff of laughter. No, they absolutely were not doing this, not after the week she’d had. “Ethics?” she said shrilly. “You married your secretary, Ronald!”

His chest bowed. “That’s different,” he spluttered.

“Is it though?” Padma asked, laughter lacing her tone. Ron turned to his wife, his mouth gaping.

“Padma,” he protested with a whine, clearly expecting her to have sided with him on this ridiculous tirade.

She merely shrugged, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “Hermione and Theo are coworkers. I worked for you. If anything, I think it might be worse, don’t you?”

Harry, fool that he was, laughed aloud at the gobsmacked look on his friend’s face, drawing Hermione’s attention.

“And you!” She whirled on Harry, who at least had the good sense to wipe the smile from his face when her attention turned to him. “Setting up this…this…intervention! As if I’m not perfectly capable of making my own decisions. You…you…” she stammered as she searched for a better argument than a rather juvenile you’re not the boss of me. Not in the least because that led to thoughts of who her boss, in fact, was. And if her friends took issue with Theo…

“You haven’t followed a single damn rule since I met you, so I think I can very well break one or two if I’d like!” she finally burst. She was nearly thirty years old, for Merlin’s sake. Was it too much to ask that she make her own romantic decisions without her friends questioning her every move?

Ginny let out a delighted cackle, slinging one arm about Hermione’s shoulders. “She’s got you there, love. Now, if you’re all quite done harassing one of your oldest friends for now, we have drinking to do.”

Ron opened his mouth, no doubt to continue his sermon on the evils of Theo Nott, but Ginny, bless her, deftly cast a Silencio in his general direction even as she grabbed the remainder of the bottle of wine. “Ladies?” She waved the bottle towards the door, casting a threatening glare towards her husband, as if daring him to speak.

“But Ginny, she-” Ron started, having managed to remove the Silencio himself, because Harry certainly wasn’t enough of an idiot to risk his wife’s wrath by doing it.

“No, we’re done with that now, thank you!” Ginny said even as she once again Silenced her brother, ignoring the look of ire on his face. “Have a lovely evening, you two, don’t wait up. And don’t let the children have too much sugar or they’re going to work with you in the morning!” And with that, she sailed from the room, Hermione and Padma close on her heels.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry, Hermione.” Ginny slumped against her front door as soon as it closed behind them. “I would have warned you, but my tosser of a brother waltzed through my Floo about three minutes before you knocked. If he damn well thinks he’s still going to have access after this, I swear to Merlin…” She cast a scowl behind her, as if her brother might sense her wrath through the closed door. “I suppose out of seven Weasleys one of us had to be an idiot—sorry Padma—but he truly continues to exceed daily.”

Padma shrugged. “He was being an idiot. Good thing I didn’t marry him for his brains, yeah?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust even as Hermione let out a peal of laughter.

“And now I really need a drink,” Ginny declared dramatically, twisting the cork free and taking a swig directly from the bottle she still held, uncaring that they were in the middle of her front garden and their elderly neighbour was watching them rather intently from behind her rose bushes. “Shall we, ladies?”

She started off, Hermione and Padma trailing obediently behind her, only for her to lead them around the front of the house and into the back garden. “Ginny?” Hermione asked, the question evident in her tone as the witch traipsed across the lawn towards the large oak that loomed in the far corner. “Are we not going out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ginny waved over her shoulder before she paused, glancing back with an arched brow. “Unless you want everyone to see you sloshed on the cover of the Prophet tomorrow morning? I’m sure there’s a journalist or three lurking just outside the wards in case you happen to show up.”

A light shudder wracked Hermione’s frame at the thought of having to explain that to Daisy—the woman had been a holy terror all week already—and she shook her head. “No, no, you’re right. I’m sure whatever you have planned is lovely.”

Ginny’s expression turned smug. “That’s what I thought,” she declared, marching to the base of the tree and staring up, hands propped on her hips.

Padma looked up skeptically. “If you want me to climb a tree, you’re about ten years and two children too late, Gin.”

The redhead waved her objection away. “I’ve got just the place for us. Harry insisted on it for Albie’s birthday, some sort of muggle tradition, apparently—I wanted to get him a junior Firebolt—but that’s not for a month yet. I figured it might as well get some use.”

Ginny gave a dramatic wave of her wand and Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth as she revealed the sprawling treehouse nestled in the tree’s wide branches. It was…perhaps the most ridiculous thing she’d ever seen, with soaring spires and bright red shutters and…

“I…” she began. “Is it two stories?”

“Well of course,” Ginny said as she unfurled the ladder with another flick of her wand, before glancing over her shoulder, a small frown knitting her brow. “Is it not meant to be? Harry said—”

“No, no,” Hermione muffled her giggle, glancing to Padma for support, but the other witch looked just as befuddled as her friend. “It’s absolutely lovely. I’m sure Albus will love it, and James will be positively green he’s going off to school.”

“Perfect,” Ginny said with a determined nod, before a flash of guilt crossed her face. “Well, not the James bit, do you really think he’ll be terribly upset? Maybe I should—”

“No,” Padma cut her off, pushing past them both to grab the ladder. “No fretting about the children tonight, that’s what their dads are for and mummy needs to get drunk and hear all about Auntie Hermione’s sex life, if you please.” She paused, giving the ladder a wary tug. “You’re sure this thing will hold us?”

Ginny shrugged, and Padma glanced up skeptically before extending one hand, gesturing for the bottle still clutched in Ginny’s fist. They watched, bemused, as Ginny handed it over and the witch took a deep swig from the bottle before squaring her shoulders and shoving it back at Ginny.

“Bloody heights,” she muttered beneath her breath before forcing a smile. “Right then,” she declared. “Onwards!” And she began to climb, swaying wildly back and forth.

Merlin, they really needed to make sure Padma got out more.

Several hours later found them all but piled atop each other, giggling madly amidst the blankets Ginny had procured for the small cozy space, and more than a few empty wine bottles. “—and then—” Hermione gasped out. “—then he said the Harpies had an unfair advantage because their parts were more aerodynamic!”

Ginny and Padma howled, laughing far harder than the story about the Dragons’ coach warranted, but a few bottles of wine would do that.

“Merlin,” Ginny gasped out as she reached for a bottle, filling her glass nearly to the brim. “I’d heard Witten was a bit of a bastard, but that’s just…” She wrinkled her nose. “Does Malfoy know he hired a sexist prick?”

Hermione snorted, busying herself refilling her own glass. “Of course he does,” she said, letting a hint of ire creep into her tone. She would have been perfectly fine not thinking a single thought about Draco Malfoy ever again—or that was what she told herself, at least. But since Ginny had asked… “But surely you don’t expect him to risk his precious team because some prick offended my sensibilities? That’s practically his favourite pastime as it is.”

She felt a flash of guilt even as the words escaped her. They really weren’t fair. Malfoy was many things, but she was relatively certain he disliked Witten as much as she did. It wasn’t as if the team could just fly without a coach, what did she expect him to do?

Before she could say as much though, Ginny gave a dismissive shake of her head. “I don’t know how you’re working for him, Hermione. You know I would have got you in with the Harpies in a minute if I’d known you wanted to work with players.”

Hermione sighed. She’d had this conversation with her friends half a dozen times if she’d had it once. It was more than a job, it was a research opportunity.

“Yeah, but then she wouldn’t have met Theo,” Padma crooned the name with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows, squealing when Hermione chucked a cork at her.

“Speaking of,” Ginny said, her head lolling to the side to stare at Hermione. “How’s that going, now that you’re with Theo?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “How’s what going?” They’d spent the first hour of their evening, at least, dissecting every detail of Hermione’s new relationship, including some of the more salacious ones, though Hermione had, of course, left out certain…participants. They didn’t need to know about that. Not now, possibly not ever. Until he and Theo sorted out their differences, Malfoy was a colleague, nothing more.

“I mean, it’s got to be a bit odd, doesn’t it? Him owning the team and everything. I mean, Merlin, all that fuss about a conflict of interest with you and Theo and no one thought to bring that up?”

Hermione tensed, frantically wracking her mind to recall what she’d said, what might have hinted to the other witch that Malfoy was…more than her employer. Merlin, what had she done?

“I—” Hermione stammered. “We, I mean he, there’s no conflict of interest there, we only—” Fucked once she nearly blurted, before good sense caught up with her through the warm haze of alcohol and she nearly bit her tongue to hold the words back, her friends fortunately too far gone to notice the slip.

But then she paused, her brow furrowed. “Wait—” she said, gaze darting between her friends as her brain fought to put the pieces together. “What do you mean? What other conflict of interest is there?”

“Well, he and Theo, back in Hogwarts, I mean, in the middle of everything—”

“Gods, it was so romantic, though, I wonder why—”

“Padma!” Ginny hissed, cutting her friend off as she waxed poetic, turning to Hermione, blue eyes wide. “I mean, that’s ancient history anyhow, yeah? Hard to say Malfoy wants anything to do with Theo when he’s all over the tabloids himself, yeah?”

Hermione tensed. They couldn’t know exactly how fresh that was, hardly ancient history in her mind. She’d spent half her time that week mentally arguing with an absent Malfoy, hashing through all the ways she might tell him off for hurting Theo, and the other half wishing she might be able to simply…fix it. Because regardless of what Theo may have said, regardless of what he felt about her, the hurt had lingered, had turned her sweet, cheerful Theo into a ghost of himself, and she simply wouldn’t stand for that.

But either way she’d gone out of her way to avoid the news, she had no desire to see their salacious spins on her newly public relationship. She knew why she and Theo would be front and centre, but if Malfoy had gone and done something even more stupid…

“What are you talking about?”

She glanced from Ginny to Padma, who shrugged. “Parvati’s the one who likes that sort of thing. I don’t have the time.”

Ginny heaved an overdramatic sigh.

“I mean—Merlin, it’s everywhere, how did you not see? You two have got to get out more,” she huffed, stretching across the floor and digging beneath one of the scattered pillows and pulling out a thick stack of magazines with a victorious cry.

Hermione arched a brow, and her friend flushed.

“I have to relax somehow!” she defended as she flipped through the stack, discarding edition after edition of Witch Weekly until she landed on the one she was searching for with a cry, shoving it towards them. “Look!”

Padma reached for the tabloid but Hermione snatched it up first, a frown knitting her brow as she took in the crystal clear image dancing across the front. It was Malfoy, a charming, unfamiliar smile pasted across his face as he walked beside a svelte dark-haired witch. She watched, numb, as his head bent, his lips against her ear, his hand curved protectively against her lower back as he escorted her into the restaurant—Pansy’s restaurant, the very same she and Theo had been spotted at so many months earlier—and the witch smiled up at him over and over again. And then her gaze dropped to the headline and ice settled into her veins.

Malfoy Scion Getting Serious? Notorious pure-blood playboy’s steamy date at Diagon’s hottest restaurant, details on Page Six.

She let the magazine drop blankly to her lap. She was going to fucking kill him.

The door to his office swung open with a bang and Draco muttered a curse as a large ink blot marred his parchment. Margie was lucky she made such a damn good cup of tea or he would have fired her ages ago. What was the point of having a receptionist if people just waltzed into his office whenever they cared to, anyhow?

“I’m afraid you’ll need to make an appointment,” he droned, as if he weren’t intimately aware of who had just barged into his office.

A large hand landed on his desk with a bang and Draco slowly raised his gaze to meet the furious one of the man before him. “No, Malfoy, we’re going to talk now.”

It was all Draco could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Because Merlin forbid the man talk to him like a reasonable human, no, there had to be an emotional scene. How he wasn’t a Gryffindor, Draco would never understand.

Doing his best to mask the way his stomach dropped at the sight of the other man, he arched a disinterested brow, rising and circling his desk to cross to the discreet bar tucked away in the corner. “Is that so?” He typically saved the expensive bottles of whiskey stashed there for investor meetings and the like, but no one would begrudge him today.

That same hand landed on his shoulder, fisting tight in his robes and forcing him about before he could reach for the bottle and Draco tensed, fucking hating the way his body reacted to the other man’s grip, the way he wanted to lean into his touch after a decade of denying the urge.

“Fucking look at me, Draco.”

“Why, Nott, are you back for another round?” Draco sneered, hardening his expression, ignoring the flash of pain on the other man’s face as he spat the all too familiar words. He needed them, needed to push him away. Theo had Hermione, was happy with Hermione, and Draco sure as fuck wasn’t going to ruin that for him, for them both.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it, somewhere deep, when Theo’s expression hardened at his words, closing off all emotion even as he shoved Draco away.

“Fuck off, Malfoy. This has gone on long enough. You haven’t been home in a bloody week, enough with the dramatics.”

Draco tensed. As if he wanted to be sleeping on Pansy’s sofa, wanted to spend his days with his lower back screaming that he was getting old? He could have gotten a hotel, but all it would take was one reporter spotting him and speculation would spiral about why he wasn’t home. From there, it was only one step to the vultures realising he shared his home with Theo, and by virtue of that, Granger. And then the attention would be back on them and all his efforts would be for naught. And Pansy cooked, at least.

“What, precisely, am I being dramatic about, Nott?” he sneered.

Theo sputtered, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What are you—are you fucking kidding me?” The ‘you insufferable prick’ was silent, but implied nonetheless, and Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Clearly, he was the dramatic one here.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Theo shoved against his chest, hard enough to bruise. “I told you, you can be a prick to me all you’d like, Merlin knows I’m used to it, but you don’t get to fucking treat Hermione like shit.”

Draco scoffed. “I haven’t spoken to Granger in a fucking week, Nott, what are you on about?”

“Fucking this, Draco,” Theo nearly yelled as he stalked nearer, forcing Draco back until he was against the wall, brandishing the magazine clutched in his fist as if it were damning evidence.

Draco raised a haughty brow. Ah, that was why he was really here. He knew exactly what that was; he was surprised it had taken this long to come up, in fact. But he’d never admit it to Theo, that some deep-rooted part of him had hoped the other man would give a fuck.

“Are we believing gossip rags now?” As if he hadn’t organised the piece himself. Asking nicely hadn’t worked, and neither had bribery, so he’d given them something else to talk about, something other than Granger and Theo. “I’ll have to have a word with coach, if you’ve got the time to gossip like a teenage witch.”

Theo spun, stalking away with a curse before he stopped, turning back to face Draco once more, something Draco might label longing in his expression, if he didn’t know better.

“Why, Draco? Why are you doing this to us? When we could be…Why?”

Draco tensed at the lost tone in the other man’s voice. But this was what they needed, both of them. They weren’t a ‘we’. They were Theo and Hermione, and he was alone as he’d ever been, as it should be. Theo deserved to be happy, and Draco wasn’t going to get in his way. So instead of reaching for him, instead of soothing the hurt he saw there, he narrowed his gaze, his tone hard as he spoke.

“I don’t belong to you, Nott, or to fucking Granger. It’s none of your fucking business what—or who I do.”

Theo snorted. “Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear, mate. Because Merlin fucking forbid friends care about each other.”

Draco tensed. There was that word, the one he hated. “Yeah, you’ve always been such a good friend, Nott,” he sneered.

Theo’s face reddened, his fists tight at his side as he stalked nearer once more. “Yeah, Malfoy, a friend. Because that’s what you needed, someone to have your back without expecting anything in return, as foreign a concept as that may be. I gave up fucking everything for you and still came back because you would have fucking died alone in that horrible old house if I hadn’t. You think it was easy for me, being there every day making sure you didn’t drown yourself in the family wine cellar, waking up every day sure that was the day I’d find the man I loved fucking dead?”

He paused, his breath catching on a hard, broken laugh.

“So yeah, you didn’t need anything more than a friend, and now you don’t get to pretend you didn’t, you selfish prick!”

That word—loved, past tense—stabbed somewhere deep, Draco’s pain echoing that in Theo’s voice, overriding any good sense, any plan he’d had.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe I needed a friend.” His words were halting, too-formal as he fought for the right thing to say, fought to find the words that would somehow make this better, would take them back to where they’d been for a decade. But instead, as if from somewhere beyond himself, the truth burst from him, his voice low, rasping with pain as he admitted something he hadn’t even dared think for himself. “But I wanted something more.”

He could see the moment his words hit their mark, Theo’s form stiffening, a mask falling over his expression, not quite managing to hide the pain in his gaze as he spoke.

“Maybe it’s time to learn you don’t always get what you want, Malfoy.”

A sudden, heavy hush fell over the room as Draco stumbled back as if struck, the words falling as if they were a physical blow, rage and pain coursing through him in turn. He snarled, drawing himself ramrod straight as he glared at Theo, a harsh response on the tip of his tongue until—

“Mister Malfoy,” a familiar voice broke the silence and twin gazes whipped towards the door, only to find their third in this absurd drama of their lives standing there, amber eyes wide, cheeks pink as she stared at them. Merlin, he couldn’t face her now, not like this, couldn’t face one more thing being taken from him today.

“Not now, Granger,” he spat, turning his attention back to the other man. He needed her to leave, needed her gone before this somehow went even more wrong, before he did damage they would never recover from. Please, Merlin, just let her leave, for once.

Theo’s chest bowed, fury evident on his expression as Draco snapped at Hermione, and he was certain this was it, this was the moment they would come to blows, their friendship shattered beyond repair. But of course godsfucking Granger couldn’t just listen for once in her life, a muffled noise of protest escaping her as she hurried across the room, placing a staying hand on Theo’s arm.

“It’s okay,” she murmured so low he could barely hear, her fingers raising to brush over the other man’s cheek before she turned to face him. He stilled. That look, he knew that look—

“Draco,” she repeated, her voice far softer than he deserved. “It’s your mother.”

Chapter Text

The low, slow beat of the spell monitoring his mother’s heartbeat was the only thing that broke the heavy silence of the manor. He fucking hated it here. Hated this goddamn shrine to a life he’d rather forget, to a family that was so broken it barely deserved the name. Hated that he couldn’t simply walk away and forget it ever existed.

“She’s alright?”

Draco’s head whipped around, gaze narrowing at the man who stood in the doorways, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his joggers, dark curls wet, as if he’d come straight from the locker room.

“You shouldn’t be here, Nott.”

“Should have locked me out of the wards then, you prick.”

Draco flinched, the words feeling all too familiar, all too raw. He couldn’t face Theo like this, not again. Instead, he turned his back on the man, back to where his mother lay, her pale features laced with a peace he knew would vanish the moment the sedative the healer had given her wore off, praying silently that his friend would read social cues for once in his fucking life.

“Go back to playing house with Granger and leave me the fuck alone, Nott.”

There was nothing to be done here, nothing he and a team of healers hadn’t already tried. Most days, his mother lived a placid, quiet life, lost in her memories, in a time she believed was happier. Most days, she was fine, as long as one didn’t look too closely or pry too deep. But on the rare occasion she wasn’t, when the careful, glowing bubble of her memory popped and left her facing a stark reality… No, his mother wasn’t alright, and he didn’t fucking need Theo to witness it. But Merlin forbid the man ever listen to him, no. Instead, he heard the man’s heavy tread as he crossed the room, felt his warmth lingering at his back.

“Is her aide alright, at least?”

Draco scowled. “Granger can’t keep her fucking mouth shut, can she?” It’d been pure luck—though whether good or bad he couldn’t quite say—she’d been the one to intercept the message from Mungo’s. Gods only knew he didn’t need the rest of his team knowing his mother had flown into a fit of rage, her magic uncontrollable to the point the witch he’d hired to care for her had taken the full brunt of a Bombarda. But it was fucking Granger and now she was going to be involved, whether or not he wanted her, and no doubt Theo’s presence was her opening volley.

It had seemed so simple when he’d first hired her. Healer Granger. Just another specialist in a long line of specialists. He would hand the files over, she would review them, and maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the depths of her research, she would have a solution he could pass off to his mother’s caretakers. And in the meantime, his players would have top-tier medical care. It was meant to be business. A transaction. Nothing more.

He should have known better. Because she wasn’t just Healer Granger. No, she was fucking Hermione, and somehow the witch had wormed her way into his life like a case of spattergroit he simply couldn’t shake.

Theo snorted. “You’d better thank whatever fucking gods are listening that she’s not here instead of me. I had to talk her out of storming St. Mungo’s before you got Narcissa home, I’d be shocked if the girl at reception doesn’t quit. The witch is a tyrant.”

A sharp, involuntary bark of laughter escaped Draco and his eyes widened as he clapped a hand to his mouth, darting first to his mother to ensure he hadn’t disturbed her, and then to the other man, nearly missing the satisfied grin that flickered at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t tell her I said that,” Theo murmured conspiratorially, before shifting his attention to Narcissa. “She looks…peaceful,” he observed, his hand coming to rest idly on Draco’s shoulder, as if there were nothing more between them, ignoring the way Draco tensed beneath his touch. For a brief, insane moment, every fiber of his being urged him to lean back, to take the offered comfort, and then—“Hermione is worried about you, you know.”

Draco froze for a moment, the words a stark reminder of why he couldn’t take what he wanted. Hermione—Granger—and Theo. If she was worried about him, it was only because she was pathologically incapable of minding her own business, not because—

He shook Theo’s hand away with a harsh shrug, rising and pacing across the room.

“I’ve had to call for a replacement aide,” he said brusquely, filling a glass from the waiting pitcher and desperately wishing it were whiskey rather than water. “They should be here shortly. We’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “But thank you for checking in.” It was the polite thing to do, to thank him. His mother would expect it.

“Draco—” Theo started, his tone quiet, pained, only to pause when Draco gave a sharp shake of his head.

“I—Not today, Theo. Not now. I’m—” Sorry, he wanted to finish, but the words caught in his throat. “I can’t,” he finished lamely, staring somewhere just over Theo’s shoulder, avoiding the dark, prying gaze of his oldest friend. All it would take was a single scathing epithet, a few words to cut deep enough to sever the ties that lingered between them. He should do it, should spit those vile words, should set Theo…free. But…he couldn’t. Not now, not today when he’d already hurt them both so deeply, not when his mother had nearly killed a woman because he wasn’t present enough.

The other man studied him for a long, quiet moment.

“Just…tell me what I can do, Draco. Tell me what you need.”

Draco flinched. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—answer that, wouldn’t make things worse than they already were. And yet—

“I need you to leave!” he barked, hating the words even as they escaped him, the way Theo flinched as the verbal blow landed.

“You can’t be here, not when she—” His voice stuttered, unable to finish the thought, but he didn’t need to, a mask falling over Theo’s expression.

“Right,” he said, his voice wooden. “Of course. I’ll leave.” They’d learned years ago that nothing good came of Narcissa being aware of Theo’s presence. Not because of their…proclivities, as his father had described it, no. But because the man looked far too much like his father, like Nott Senior. And Nott Senior brought memories far better left buried to the forefront of his mother’s mind’s eye. So yes. He needed Theo to leave. For her. No matter how much he—

Draco’s gaze fell back to his mother, to her too-pale features trapped in the calm of sleep, lest he look at the other man again and let everything he really wanted to say escape. Silence reigned heavy for long moments before Theo’s voice came once more.

“Draco.”

He paused in the doorway, his gaze shuttered as he glanced back, and Draco tensed, bracing himself for the vitriol he so deserved.

“Just…Stop being a prick and come home, would you, Malfoy? We miss you.”

Hermione pushed the door to the library open, flipping through her mental catalogue in an effort to recall where she’d spotted that tome on magical mycelium—she’d read it once before and it was terribly dull, hopefully it might be enough to lull her back to sleep. It was well past midnight, and she was half-asleep at best, or so she’d blame for the fact she didn’t notice the library was already occupied until it was far too late.

“Shut the door, Granger, you’re letting the fucking heat out.”

“Oh!” The startled exclamation escaped her, followed by a sharp curse as her elbow knocked hard against the door. She glared at the man lounging on the sofa, book in hand, as he peered over the rim of his glasses at her, seemingly thoroughly unconcerned by her alarm.

“Malfoy,” she muttered, rubbing the sore bone, torn between glaring at him for startling her and simply bursting into tears, the surge of relief she felt at seeing him back in his own home practically absurd.

“Granger,” he returned, a single silvery brow arching as his gaze trailed over her, from the messy mop of her hair, over Theo’s jersey, down to where the long length of her bare legs were exposed.

Hermione flushed, her hands falling reflexively to tug nervously at the hem of the jersey, wishing suddenly it were just a bit longer. It wasn’t exactly as if she’d planned for anyone else to see it when she’d fished it from his drawer and thrown it—and nothing else—on. Desperate for a distraction, for anything that would keep his gaze from lingering so, she blurted the first thought that came to mind.

“You…I didn’t realize that you were here. That you’d come…home?” It escaped as more of a question than she’d intended, and with it came a flood of more, battering for exit. Why did you come back? Are you staying? Where were you? And, perhaps most important, Are you alright?

But that wasn’t her place, not with this man, and so she pressed her lips shut tight, glancing away from him, unsure of where her eyes should rest lest she find herself simply staring at him.

“Laundry,” he said tersely, answering at least one of her questions, even as he dropped his gaze back to his book.

“Oh,” she said blankly. That explained his current state of dress—or undress—at least, his chest bare, and his grey joggers just a tad too short around his ankles and too tight in…other locations. Not that she was looking. “I’ll…I’ll leave you to it, then, I suppose.”

He didn’t answer, by all appearances engrossed in his reading once more, and she hesitated a moment longer, truly looking at him. She took in the dark circles painted under his eyes, the tired slump of his shoulders, fighting the pang that twinged in her chest as she studied him, the urge to do something, anything to comfort him.

There’d been a moment of horror when that note first landed on her desk, about his mother, a moment when she was certain that she was going to have to look him in the eye and tell him that nothing more could be done, that she was too late, that she wasn’t good enough. She hated that she’d been nearly relieved to hear about Narcissa’s violent outburst, relieved that it wasn’t too late, and more resolved than ever to help. If she were being honest with herself, it was that keeping her from sleeping, the test results and healer’s notes running through her mind on repeat, as if she might find something new if she just tried hard enough. Because Circe help her, she wanted to do this. For him.

But she couldn’t simply blurt that out, like they were friends, or…something more. No, he’d made it clear they weren’t that. After all, he had a witch on his arm, one far more suited to his world and, perhaps more importantly, one not involved with his best friend and former lover.

Gods, when had their lives gotten so messy?

So instead of throwing her arms about him like every fiber of her being screamed she should, she forced herself to turn, to make for the door, back to bed, back to Theo, where she belonged.

“Granger.” His voice stopped her at the doorway and she paused, looking back to him, arching a brow.

“You don’t sleep much, do you?”

She started at the question before a sheepish smile flicked across her face, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “It’s possible that last dose of Pepper-Up this afternoon was a mistake. But I’ll doze off eventually.”

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“You might as well stay.”

She started, turning to stare at him, only for him to look at her in turn, one brow raised as if he thought she’d rather lost her mind.

“I don’t…” she stammered. I don’t want to run you off again when you’ve only just come back. “I don’t want to intrude.”

He huffed an annoyed sigh, one long finger holding his place in his book as he finally turned his full attention to her.

“This house is fucking ridiculous, Granger. There’s plenty of room, and I don’t bite. Find your book, witch. Better than listening to you skulk about the house for hours.”

She bristled and then, as if prompted by his words, the library door swung shut behind her once more, the fire dancing merrily in the grate as if the house were pleased with itself. Her scowl only deepened when Draco’s lips twitched ever so slightly, because of course the prat would be amused his house was attempting to hold her hostage.

But perhaps the only thing worse than being trapped in a library with a sullen Draco Malfoy would be him laughing at her if her attempts to escape were futile. So, doing her best to ignore him, and to pretend she wasn’t half naked, she squared her shoulders, marching across the room and plucking the first vaguely familiar tome she spotted on the shelves, rather than suffer through long minutes of wondering if he was watching her as she searched the rows of books. She glanced down, her nose wrinkling slightly as she spotted the title. Deleterious Divination: Horrifying True Tales from the Beyond. Fucking marvelous.

“Thank you,” she said primly, turning her back on him and making for the chair furthest from the sofa, tucking her jersey carefully about her legs as she sat, all the while resisting the urge to look up to see if he watched her. A vague unease settled over the room, a silent detente as they both turned their attentions towards their reading, on the surface, at least. Until—

“Thank you,” Draco said out of nowhere.

Her head jolted up, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I…for?”

A light flush painted his cheeks in the firelight. “For not saying anything, when you…When the note came. About my mother.”

“Oh.” Hermione said, nonplussed. “No, of course, I would never, I mean…I…you’re welcome, I suppose.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the quiet rustle of turning pages and the squeak of leather as Hermione fidgeted in her seat.

“Your mother, she’s…?” Her voice trailed off, the silent question implied.

He shrugged, avoiding her gaze in favor of staring at his book. “You’ve seen her records, Granger. But she’s as well as she can be, I suppose.”

“Right, I…Yes, of course. Well, I’m glad to hear that she’s…well.”

Their mutual discomfort was near palpable in the quiet, until Hermione couldn’t take it any longer.

“How long has it been? That she’s been…”

He tensed, knuckles whitening against the pages of his book, and for a moment she was certain he wouldn’t answer, would brush her off with meaningless platitudes or worse still, snap at her for prying. It wasn’t any of her business, truly, she’d been nothing more than the messenger.

Her lips parted, an apology at the ready, but then he spoke, his voice drawn, hushed in the quiet, his blank gaze fixated on a page she knew, somehow, he wasn’t seeing.

“It got bad just after the war when Lu—when my father was sentenced to Azkaban. It probably started before that, but—” He gave a short, humourless laugh. “There were other things going on.”

Hermione winced, and they lapsed into a brief silence once more before a tired sigh escaped Draco, one hand raising to scrub through his hair. “I should have noticed though, sooner, I mean. Could have done something, maybe.”

Hermione gave a sharp shake of her head, her fingers flexing with the urge to reach for him, to comfort him. But no, that wasn’t her place. Instead, she lapsed into the familiar words she’d spoken to her patients’ loved ones so many times before. “So many family members think that, after, but really, even when you’re trained, it’s nearly impossible to catch before it’s too late to do anything to help, even with magic. You can’t blame yourself.”

He looked up at her, for the first time since she’d sat, and it was all she could do to keep from sobbing as the pain in his gaze struck her like a blade.

“I’m pretty fucking sure I can blame myself for not stopping my father from Obliviating my mother so many times she doesn’t even remember who I am, Granger.”

“Draco.” His name escaped her on a horrified whisper and he jerked, his gaze darting away from her once more. Gods, that hadn’t been—her files had noted the cause as unknown, and this whole time—

“Don’t fucking pity me, Granger,” he snarled. She flinched, the vitriol in his tone like a physical blow. “I don’t fucking need it. I don’t need you.”

A pang echoed deep in her chest, at the reminder of what they were to each other. Or what they weren’t, rather.

Snapping her book shut with more force than was really warranted, she pushed to her feet. “You know, you’re the one who asked me to look at her files, Malfoy. There’s no need to be a prick about it.”

Staying had been a mistake, she’d known it was, she should have left him be. She should have known better. He didn’t want her in his life any more than strictly necessary, he’d made that abundantly clear. But he’d fucking dragged her into it to begin with, and now he was making them all miserable because of it.

He scowled up at her. “That’s all I fucking asked you for, Granger. Your medical expertise. Nothing more. Not you in my house every goddamn day, not you prying into my business, Not…” He gestured at her. “Not this.”

Hermione bristled, colour rising in her cheeks even as she fought the urge to tug at her hem once more. She wasn’t going to let him do this, not here, not after…everything. She was of half a mind to simply storm from the room, leave him to sulk, to wallow in his misconception that he didn’t need anything from anyone. But she wasn’t going to let him fucking win. So instead, she ignored his lingering gaze as she marched across the room, snatching up the stack of files she’d left stacked neatly on the desk, the files she’d been poring over since the moment they’d first been handed over, the files he’d fucking given her, the prick. She stalked back towards him, tossing them into his lap, more pleased than she’d admit aloud when he flinched at the sudden movement.

“Fine,” she snapped. “You’ve gotten what you wanted, then. I looked at the files. So I suppose we’re done here. There’s nothing more I can do for you, not without actually having a patient.”

Draco arched a brow. “I believe you already have several, no? Corbyn hasn’t shut up about you saving his leg from certain amputation.”

Hermione scowled. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I can’t do anything for your mother without actually seeing her.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Absolutely not, Granger. I can guarantee you, if my mother were willing to see anyone, you’d be at the bottom of the list. Hell, you wouldn’t be on the list.”

Hermione huffed in disbelief, her lips parted, a scathing retort at the ready, until the library door swung open without prompting, and a familiar voice came from the dark hallway.

“Everything alright?” Theo’s gaze darted from his girlfriend, color high in her cheeks, the frizz of her curls a halo in the firelight making her look just a bit mad—though he’d never tell her as much—to his friend, his expression icy, knuckles white where he gripped his book as if it were taking everything in him to not hurl it at the witch. The tableau before him was the last thing he’d thought he’d find when he’d woken to find Hermione missing from his bed. He’d thought he might discover her in the kitchen with a cup of tea, or alone in the library. But instead—

Fuck. He hadn’t thought to warn Hermione Draco might come home—hadn’t really thought he would, in truth. And now—

“It’s fine,” Draco said tersely, even as words burst from Hermione.

“He’s such a stubborn prick!”

Theo’s brows flew up. “Well, yes. But this isn’t exactly new news…?”

Draco scowled, and Hermione let out a huff of frustrated laughter, pacing across the room once more. “He—He just—” she waved wildly at the stack of files piled in Draco’s lap, as if that explained it all.

Theo sent a questioning glance in the other man’s direction, in hopes he might explain.

“Granger,” Draco drawled in response as he shoved the files from his lap, pushing to his feet. “Has suddenly decided it’s vital that she meet my mother.”

“Not meet,” Hermione protested, stooping to snatch the files from where they’d fallen on the floor, a snarl on her pretty face. “Examine. Like I would any other patient if I were hired to do so. There’s only so much I can do with just old test results! I need to meet with her, examine—”

“I fucking said no,” Draco cut her off sharply before she could finish the thought, pacing across the room, running one hand through his hair.

“Draco,” she protested. “I want to help, I do, but there’s only so much I can do without seeing her and—”

Draco stopped, whirling on her.

“Hermione—” Theo’s tone was laced with a warning, but Draco cut him off.

“Granger, where do you think my mother lives?”

She blinked, leaning unconsciously into Theo’s touch as his arm tightened about her. The Manor. He’d heard what had happened to her there, so many years before, only the barest of details, but still, it was enough to make a grown man shudder at the thought. He couldn’t imagine any would in which she’d be willing to return to that godawful house.

“Well, I suppose… I suppose I hadn’t thought about it, really.” Her voice was suddenly small as her gaze dropped to the files she held. She flipped one of them open, studying the carefully penned lines, though Theo suspected she wasn’t truly reading any of it. “But it’s been years, and I’m sure it’s…changed, it will be fine.”

An irritated snarl escaped Draco and Theo cast him a warning glance. He wouldn’t lie, the surge of relief he’d felt when he’d first walked through that door to find Draco lounging on the sofa as if he’d never been gone had been…Gods, for just a moment it had been like they were back at Hogwarts again, like Draco would look up, smile, reach for him. But that was history, and this was now, and he’d be damned if he was going to let the other man hurt Hermione again, regardless of how he felt about him.

Draco stalked across the room, Hermione jolting when she looked up to find him only feet away.

“Draco.” Theo’s voice was stern, a warning even as he tugged Hermione nearer, shielding her from the ire snapping in that silver gaze.

“Shut up, Nott,” he barked in return, the only thing keeping Theo from decking him where he stood the flash of shame that painted his face when Hermione flinched at his words. “I—” Draco started again, one hand lifting as if to reach for the witch, only to drop back to his side, listless, as she shied unconsciously away from him, deeper into the curve of Theo’s hold.

“Fuck!” he swore loudly, turning away for a moment before whipping back to them, his expression a mask of agony that made Theo want to pull him near even as he fought the urge to whisk Hermione from the room, to hide her away somewhere he could ensure she’d be happy. Because whatever was about to come out of his friend’s mouth, he was certain it was going to fucking hurt.

“I’m not a fucking monster,” Draco spat out, his features twisted in an unmistakable mix of rage and hurt. “If you think I would ever take you back, force you back to that… that nightmare of a home…” He cursed, his hand knocking even more of his perfectly coiffed locks askew. “Fuck, witch, I’d never ask that of you.”

Hermione tensed in his hold, and it was all Theo could do to keep from looking down at her, to keep from begging her to take the out Draco was offering. She would, if she had any sense. Because the Manor hadn’t changed, not a bit. Hadn’t gotten better. Hell, Draco avoided the place like the plague and it was his own fucking home. No one in their right mind would go there. Except this was his beautiful, stubborn witch they were talking about. His fucking Gryffindor witch, and why would she be sensible when she could be noble instead?

She took a deep breath as she drew herself tall and Theo braced himself for the words he knew were coming.

“You’re not asking. You hired me to do a job, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and I’m going to do it.”

“Hermione.” Theo’s voice was full of protest, his fingers dimpling against her skin as he pulled her nearer, as if he could protect her from her nightmares, there in the quiet of the library.

“No, Theo.” She pulled herself from his hold. “I—He needs—we can’t just not do anything.”

Theo studied the witch for a long moment. God, he was so fucking in love with her, the noble, stubborn, brilliant little fool. And he suspected Draco was halfway there himself, or he wouldn’t give two fucks about Hermione visiting the manor. Which was why he hated what he was about to say.

Closing his eyes for a half beat, Theo breathed a deep sigh before he focused his attention on the others.

“If we’re going to do this—” Draco made a loud noise of protest and Theo glared at him. “If we’re going to do this, we’re all going. I’m not sending you into that god awful mausoleum by yourself.”

This time, the protests came from them both.

“I don’t need—”

“It’s my fucking house, Nott—”

“And I don't particularly give a fuck," Theo said mildly, stunning them both into silence. Theo ignored their gaping stares. It was the middle of the night, he was fucking tired, and they were fucking ridiculous.

He snaked an arm about Hermione’s waist once more, tugging her near and pressing a kiss to the top of her head even as he studied his friend. “Be gentle,” he murmured into her hair, his arm tightening in warning when he felt her tense in protest. Draco wore that stoic, cold mask he fucking hated, but even still, he could see the other man fraying at the edges, sense that one push in the wrong direction could spell disaster.

“We’ll go to the manor so you can see Narcissa, but—” He cut off the protest he could sense coming. “We’ll do it on his terms, we’ll do whatever he thinks is necessary to keep you safe, sweet. Fair?”

Hermione arched a brow, though he was pleased to note she didn’t argue. Yet, at least. No doubt she’d have plenty to say once they were alone.

Draco, on the other hand. “And what exactly are you going to be doing, Nott? While we bend to your apparently inimitable will?”

A soft snort escaped Hermione and Theo fought to keep his lips from curving in response.

“I—” he paused dramatically, letting it linger so long that an annoyed sigh escaped Draco. “I am going to go back to bed, fuck my witch to sleep—” He ignored the muffled noise of surprise that escaped Hermione as he scooped her from the ground, tossing her over his shoulder with ease. “–and pretend I don’t live in a house full of stubborn idiots. Now say goodnight, Draco, unless you’re going to get over yourself enough to join us.”

“Goodnight, Draco,” the man parroted dryly, earning a scowl from Theo and a muffled snort of laughter from Hermione as he strode from the room with his prize in tow. At least the fucker had come home.

“I still think I’d be perfectly fine by myself,” Hermione muttered as the crack of Apparition sounded, depositing them neatly in front of the Manor’s towering gates. She’d said as much before they’d left too, to no avail. Malfoy scowled, clearly ready to resume the argument they’d had half a dozen times since she’d first broached the topic of her seeing Narcissa, only for Theo to interrupt by throwing his arms about both of their shoulders.

“I’m sure you would,” he observed as they stared down the long drive to the looming manor. “But aren’t you lucky so many people in your life don’t want you to have lasting psychological damage?”

A snort came from the blonde man, and Hermione levelled a glare at them both, shoving a too-short, too-straight lock of hair behind her ear. They’d squabbled over her appearance of all things all morning, Draco insisting that she Polyjuice into another person entirely, lest his mother recognise her, and Hermione arguing that she no more looked like the witch she’d been at seventeen than she looked like Celestina Warbeck, the likelihood of his mother recognising her as the girl she’d met no more than a handful of times more than a decade past practically nonexistent.

They’d finally settled on something as near a compromise as they were able, Theo working a clever bit of wandwork to charm her hair into something near Pansy’s typical style, and glamouring her eyes just dark enough to be disconcerting when she’d looked in the mirror. But it had put an end to Draco’s griping—about that, at least—and so she’d gone along with it. But it had set them back half an hour and now they were late.

Ignoring her self-appointed bodyguards lest they come up with yet another ridiculous delay tactic, she set her hand to the wrought-iron gate, only to pull it back with a sharp hiss when the metal seared her skin.

“Fuck,” Draco swore, snatching for her hand before she could even look at it herself. “There’s fucking wards, Granger.”

“I know that!” she blustered, trying and failing to yank her hand back from his grasp. She had known about the wards, she’d simply…forgotten.

Ignoring her struggles, Draco turned her palm up, leaning close to study the red burn seared there even as Theo crowded nearer to look as well.

“Give me—” she protested, trying to tug her hand free. “I’m the healer here, for Merlin’s sake.” A fact that apparently didn’t matter to anyone but her as Draco pulled his wand from his pocket, brow furrowed as he murmured a series of spells, first dulling the pain, and then healing the burn with decent enough skill—though she still could have done it better.

“Do at least try not to get yourself killed today, Granger,” he muttered beneath his breath as he dropped her hand, quickly putting space between them even as Theo reached for her in turn.

“Alright, love?” Theo asked, his thumb rubbing over the spot the burn had been as if to assure himself it was gone, the worry in his gaze caused by far more than just a simple little burn.

“I’m fine,” she promised, leaning into him for just a moment before turning her attention back to Draco. “The wards, if you would?”

He scowled, and for a moment she was sure he would argue again, but instead he simply reached for the gate, ignoring the dirty look Hermione shot him when he pushed it open with a touch. Prick could have done that to begin with, but she wasn’t going to pick another fight with him and delay them further. Instead, she merely brushed past him, headed down the long drive and, well, if she gripped Theo’s hand just a bit tighter as they approached the looming manor, that was neither here nor there.

“I’m quite certain I don’t need a healer, Lucius. I’m perfectly fine. It was just a headache.”

Hermione winced as Narcissa called her son by her husband’s name once more. One would never know at first glance that anything was wrong with the witch, her robes perfectly tailored and her hair perfectly coiffed, if not more grey than Hermione remembered. She’d greeted Hermione as a welcome guest, was the perfect hostess, right up until Draco had sat down across from her, taking her pale, blue-veined hands in his and explaining what they’d come for. And then, the polite veneer had fallen away, a note of panic entering the elder witch’s voice as she stood from the settee, pacing nervously from one side of the room to the other as she raved at the man she thought was her husband.

“You simply can’t expect me to waste my time with this—this—woman, not when our Lord will be arriving any day now? What would Bella think if I’m not prepared?”

Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest at the oh-so-casual mention of the evil that had once dwelled in this house, nausea roiling in her stomach. Her gaze darted to Draco, silently begging him to say something, anything that might derail Narcissa from this particular train, only to find him staring straight ahead, his expression stoic, detached, as his mother carried on.

Gods, maybe this had been a mistake. For a moment, she wished Theo were there in the room, wished she had his calm, steady presence at her back while she faced this woman who wouldn’t have blinked to watch her die on her drawing room floor so many years earlier. But he’d stayed in the parlour, out of sight. “She thinks he’s Nott Senior,” had been Draco’s terse explanation, and based on the pain that flitted across Theo’s face at the words, she’d chosen not to pry further.

“We can’t disappoint his Lordship again, not after Draco was such a failure—”

She would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching him, that barest flinch as his mother spat those words, and her spine straightened with resolve. She wasn’t going to let this witch intimidate her into leaving. No, this wasn’t going to go on any longer, neither she nor Draco deserved that.

“Lady Malfoy.” She interrupted the witch mid-rant, earning an affronted glare for her efforts, but she forged on anyhow.

“I understand you’re very busy, of course, and I wouldn’t dream of disrupting your schedule. I just have a few brief questions, for a piece Witch Weekly is publishing on the old families. The good families, you know.” It was all she could do to force the words out, but it was enough to catch the other witch’s attention, the older woman seemingly having already forgotten she’d been introduced as a healer as she blinked watery blue eyes in her direction.

“Oh,” she said, sounding rather put out to have had her tirade interrupted. “I, well, yes, I suppose I can spare a few minutes, for the media, of course.”

Hermione let out a puff of breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, relief washing over her even as she realised she’d now have to play this through, to conduct her examination without alarming the witch once more. She had her suspicions, especially after what Draco had blurted out about the woman’s repeated obliviations—the mind was simply not designed to be toyed with that extensively—but she couldn’t be certain, not without talking to the woman. Because magical healing was wonderful, truly, but sometimes the basics were simply forgotten amidst the wonder of it all. So today they would return to the basics, and she would simply…pray for the best.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her best patient-forward smile across her face.

“Perhaps you might have a seat with your…” She hesitated, and then simply waved a hand in Draco’s direction, hesitant to make the witch’s confusion any worse than it already was. Narcissa cast him a considering glance and Hermione cast him a pleading look.

She watched as his chest rose on a deep breath and he forced a smile across his face, extending his hand. “Join me, Mo—Narcissa, please.”

She paused just a moment longer before she took the spot next to him on the settee, her frail hand reaching for his and grasping it tight, oblivious to her son’s discomfort. Merlin, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to do this. Hermione’s heart ached for him as his expression settled into a cold, detached mask, wishing she could reach for him, to assure him all would be well. But they were here now, and she might as well do what she’d come for.

Pasting a professional smile across her face, she stood, drawing her chair across the room until she was nearly knee-to-knee with the witch.

“Just a few questions,” she promised, her tone warm as she was able to manage. “Can you tell me what day it is, Lady Malfoy?”

The witch’s thin brows arched as she gave a haughty sniff. “It’s the twenty-third of January, 1998. I’d expect a journalist to keep track of such things.”

“Of course, my apologies,” Hermione murmured as she made note of the response, fighting to ignore the way Draco leaned forward in an effort to read what she wrote.

“And can you tell me what you had for tea yesterday? A glimpse into the day-to-day of a pureblood lady, if you will.”

Narcissa paused for a moment, tilting her head as she considered. “Lady Parkinson visited, and Pippy prepared rather lovely blinis. Lucius does so enjoy caviar, even if it’s terribly difficult to import with those awful Ministry restrictions.” She sniffed. “That’s what you should be writing about, how these Muggle relations are ruining good society.”

Hermione barely managed to disguise her wince, instead humming in acknowledgement as she made more notes. Draco coughed lightly and she glanced up at him, her heart breaking just a bit more to discover he wasn’t quite able to mask the pain in his expression.

Gods, she wished he hadn’t insisted on being present for this, it was always so much harder for the families than it was for the afflicted. And when it was one’s parent spewing such hate… It was no wonder he didn’t visit more than necessary.

“Just a few more questions,” she promised them both, suddenly eager to get this all over with. Except then she was forced to pause, toying with her quill as she pondered how to best ask the next series without making it painfully obvious she wasn’t a journalist.

“I—” she finally began, only for an oop to escape her when her quill slipped from her fingers. “Excuse me,” she murmured as she bent to fetch it, stretching awkwardly to reach beneath the settee.

She’d just managed to grasp the quill when a clawed hand snatched at her, nails digging into her flesh as the other witch yanked her arm up with surprising strength.

Hermione jolted as she straightened in her seat. “Lady Malfoy?” she asked, giving Draco a warning glance as he leaned forward, hand twitching as if he were going to intervene.

“I—I know you,” the older witch said, her tone suddenly clear, as if she were all at once fully present.

Hermione tensed, fighting to keep the edge from her tone as she answered. “Yes, Lady Malfoy. As I mentioned, I’m a journalist.”

“No.” Narcissa’s bark was sharp, her grip tightening around Hermione’s arm as she fought to free herself. “No, you don’t belong here.”

“Mother,” Draco interrupted, standing, his wand appearing suddenly in his hand.

“Quiet, Draco,” she snapped. “You brought this mudblood whore into my home?”

She shoved Hermione’s sleeve up as she spat the words, baring the scars carved into her arm with a near-gleeful smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

And then, before Hermione could react, before Draco could pull her away, the witch’s near-manic gaze locked on Hermione’s, and she hissed, “Legilimens.”

All at once, the room grew dark, cold, painfully familiar. Hermione heard it before she saw it, the cruel laughter followed by a piercing scream, the low murmurs of those surrounding her, carrying on conversations as if they were spectators at a show. Because that was all this was to them, to the crowd of Death Eaters she found herself standing amidst. As if on cue, the men blocking her view parted and her—Narcissa’s—gaze, she now realised, landed on a familiar tableau, one that had haunted her dreams nearly nightly for more years than she could count.

It was as if she were there, watching the blood pouring from her arm as the black-haired witch laughed with glee, the knife digging deeper with every whimper. She could feel Narcissa’s satisfaction as she watched, feel the pride that washed through her as Hermione’s screams rent the room. Merlin, she was enjoying this. It was surreal, Hermione’s nightmares, her memories of the pain inflicted that day surging to the forefront even as she felt joy from the woman whose eyes she watched through.

“Crucio!” The harsh cry rang out, followed by her screams, ring through the room, louder, and louder until—

A heavy hand clutched at her shoulder, jolting her from the memory without warning. Hermione wrenched her arm from Narcissa’s grip with a gasping cry, nearly hurling herself from her chair in an effort to escape the woman, to escape the man who’d woken her from her nightmare. This had been a mistake, it had all been a mistake, what had she—why had she—fuck, she was going to be sick. She bent at the waist, fighting the urge to vomit all over the floral carpet, her chest rising with shallow, panicked breaths as she clutched desperately at her arm, at the long-healed scars.

“Hermione—” Draco started across the room, reaching for her, pulling back when she flinched away and instead whirling on his mother. “What did you do?”

The witch suddenly looking frail once more, confusion painting her expression as she stammered, “Lucius? What are you—?”

“No!” Draco barked as he loomed over her, his knuckles white around his wand. “You don’t get to go away, not now, not after—”

“Draco,” Hermione interrupted, her voice rasping in her throat as if she’d been screaming here, today, not just in her memories. He ignored her, his hands braced on his mother’s thin shoulders as he leaned down, fury twisting his expression.

“I need to go. Now, Draco, please.” Something in her voice must have gotten through to him, his gaze snapping to hers.

“Fuck,” he swore, pulling away from his mother and turning his back on her entirely as he strode across the room. His fingers flexed and for a moment she was certain he would reach for her once more, but instead they simply fisted at his sides. “I—” he started, before giving a harsh shake of his head. “Just…fuck, Granger.”

“Hermione!” Theo banged hard on the door. “Hermione, let us in, please?”

Nothing.

He knocked once more, desperate for any sort of answer, any sign that she was alright, only to pull his hand back with a hiss when the wood burned his hand. “She fucking warded it,” he muttered in disbelief. His witch needed him, and she’d fucking warded him out of his own bedroom.

“What the fuck happened back there?” Theo whirled on Draco, gaze sharp on the man who stood on the opposite wall, watching the scene unfold, something suspiciously near guilt seething in his gaze. If he’d done something to her—if he’d let that godawful harpy he called a mother—

She’d looked as if she’d seen a ghost when they’d found him in the parlour at the manor, seemingly unaware of Draco’s hand at her elbow as he steered her into the room. It had been almost as if she were looking past him, simply mumbling single-word answers to the questions he’d peppered them both with, without offering any sort of proper explanation, and it was enough to drive Theo mad.

Leaving the manor seemed to have shaken her free of that initial, terrible daze, but her expression as they’d arrived home had been strained, her voice tight as she insisted she was alright, that she just needed rest. He’d tried to argue, to coax her into telling him what had happened, what had gone wrong, but his witch had merely offered him a wan smile, begging once more for rest before she had retreated to his bedroom, practically unaware of the men trailing after her, closing the door in their faces without flinching. And now she’d made certain he couldn’t get to her, couldn’t reach her, couldn’t hold her like every fiber of his being screamed he needed to, and he was going to get answers if he had to storm back to the Manor and shake them free from Narcissa Malfoy herself.

Draco blinked, merely offering a shake of his head in response to his question. Theo snarled in return, pulling his wand from his pocket, though to curse his friend or blast his way through his own door, he couldn’t quite say.

“Malfoy, I swear to Merlin if you don’t start talking in the next thirty seconds—”

Draco stared past him at the closed door for a long moment before letting out a vile curse.

“My mother—” He started, shoving a hand through his hair as he stared at the door as if willing it to open again. “I should have thought, should have warned her—”

“Draco.” Theo’s voice was harsh as he caught at the other man’s arm, forcing him to look at him. “What fucking happened?”

A beat passed, and then—“Fucking Legilimency,” Draco swore, slumping against the wall. “My mother, she showed her…something. Granger wouldn’t say what. But gods, Theo, the way she looked…” His throat worked. “I shouldn’t have let her do it, it’s not worth it. I…I fucked it all up, Theo.”

Theo stared at him, taking in his haggard expression, the defeated bent to his shoulders and all at once, his ire faded, replaced instead by a flood of worry in his veins. Gods, whatever had happened, there, in that house, it had broken them both.

Wordlessly, he crossed the hall, taking up position next to him and sliding down the wall, ignoring Draco’s flinch as he twined his fingers through the other man’s, tugging him down until they were seated shoulder to shoulder.

“It will be alright,” Theo lied aloud as he stared at the door, praying it would open. “Just…sit with me.”

He should leave him be, he knew, leave them both to lick their wounds. But he was selfish, and he needed the comfort of Draco’s presence, just for a few minutes. And when that door finally opened, when his witch was ready, they would be there, both of them.

Chapter Text

The chime of the clock sounded somewhere in the distance and Hermione jolted awake, wincing as her neck protested a night spent slumped over a desk. She scowled, blinking blearily against the dim morning light, swiping a trail of drool from her cheek. Merlin, what time was it? And where was—she froze, glancing guiltily at the still closed door, the events of the night before rushing back in an instant. Theo. He’d been so worried, he’d had so many questions and…and…Gods, she’d locked him out, hadn’t she?

She hadn’t meant to, not for the entire night, at least. She’d just…she’d needed a few minutes, after the manor. A few minutes to process, to…to cope. She’d been through the therapies, the mandatory mind healer appointments after the war, just like everyone else. She’d worked hard to lock those memories away, trapping them behind thick walls she never intended to tear down. And yet Narcissa had barged through them with ease, had reduced those walls to rubble, and it was all Hermione could do to keep herself from sinking into the mire of her own mind, to keep from reliving those awful days over and over until they consumed her.

So yes, she’d needed a moment. Except as she’d sat, still and alone, rebuilding those walls brick by brick—blocking out the memories of the pain, of the fear, of the hopelessness—one by one, she couldn’t help but think about the logistics of it all, her mind drifting back to her lessons on Occlumency, on the mechanics of memory, and…it wasn’t that she’d meant to start reading, but she had that stack she’d pulled from the Mungo’s library just sitting there on Theo’s nightstand and, well…

One book had turned into two, she’d fallen asleep somewhere in the midst of three and now…She pushed to her feet with a low groan as tight muscles stretched long once more. Now she needed to find Theo, to apologise. She could only hope he’d found somewhere to sleep, somewhere more comfortable than the drawing room sofa, because Merlin only knew that would be murder on his neck, and—She pulled open the door to the room only to stop short.

Theo hadn’t slept on the sofa, no. There, sitting against the wall opposite the door, were two men, Theo’s dark curls tucked against Draco’s chest as he snored lightly, Draco’s arm draped about his shoulders as if to hold him nearer in sleep.

“Oh,” Hermione breathed out.

Draco’s eyes snapped open at the sound, his entire body tensing as if ready to spring into flight straight from sleep, until reality returned. She could see it, the moment he realised where he was, his form stiffening as he registered Theo pressed to his chest, his arm twitching as if he wanted to yank it from around the other man.

“Don’t,” she whispered before she could think better of it.

Draco froze, a wary expression flashing across his face. For a moment, she was certain he would ignore her, would wake Theo, but then the other man let out a particularly loud snore, burying his face deeper against Draco’s chest, and he settled almost begrudgingly back against the wall, his expression making it clear he thought he was doing her a favour. As if she could miss the way his lips twitched at the undignified noise, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly around Theo’s shoulders to keep him from slipping. No, she didn’t miss any of it, or the way an unfamiliar warmth stirred somewhere in her chest at the sight.

It was just so very…right, that they were there for each other, when she couldn’t be. Right that Theo could lean on Draco, could be at peace. And she couldn’t bear to think of that peace vanishing as soon as he woke. She could manage Draco’s ire, it wasn’t as if that were particularly unusual to begin with. But Theo wouldn’t be mad, he would be upset and, gods, somehow that was so much worse. He would want to know why, why she’d insisted on going, why she’d shut herself away, and she just…

She hesitated as Draco’s tired grey gaze studied her, his expression guarded even as Theo settled deeper into his hold. She should say something, should apologise, or explain or…

“I don’t want to wake him,” she finally managed, her voice low so as to not wake the sleeping man. “I’ll just…” she gestured vaguely down the hall, only slightly insulted when Draco rolled his eyes as if she were being entirely absurd.

“Nott.” He jostled him gently. “Wake up, or Granger’s going to make a run for it.”

Hermione winced as her dreams of simply disappearing off to work, of avoiding the seething guilt roiling in her stomach, faded away. She supposed he was right, though she’d never tell him as much. They couldn’t be comfortable, slouched there on the floor and, as much as she was dreading it, they would have to actually talk about the events of the day prior at some point. Except rather than waking, the other man merely groaned, snuggling closer to Draco, his lips brushing unconsciously over Draco’s exposed throat. Hermione’s face reddened, an entirely inappropriate flutter stirring somewhere low in her belly, and a flash of something she couldn’t quite name flitting across Draco’s pale face.

“Theo, wake up.” A bark replaced the gentle nudge in his voice and Hermione’s eyes flew wide as Theo woke with a start.

He was in hell. The Muggles had the right of it, he’d died, and he was being punished for his sins, in the form of a dishevelled, self-sacrificing, too-noble-for-her-own-damn-good Hermione Granger, her expression softened by sleep, her face still creased by whatever book she undoubtedly fell asleep on and, worse still, by Theo fucking Nott. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep—if anything, he’d planned to give Granger an hour before he bullied the damn house into letting him into the room, regardless of how she felt about it. But he had. He’d fallen asleep there, with Theo. Theo, whose form was warm pressed against his, his soft snores feathering against his neck, and Granger, whose amber gaze was locked on them, pink rising in her cheeks. And then Theo was moving, squirming nearer, and—godsfuckingdamnit.

“Theo, wake up!”

Theo started, his head jerking up. “I—wha?” he mumbled, half-asleep as he glanced around, until the moment his eyes found those of his witch, his dark gaze blowing wide as scrambled to his feet, nearly elbowing Draco in the face in the process. “Hermione!”

He was across the hall in an instant, folding her into his arms and squeezing her tight, as if they’d been apart for months, pressing his lips to her rumpled curls. But even as she sank into his hold, with a relieved little sigh, he saw it there, just for a moment, that flash of unease as his arms wrapped about her, the discomfort that dimmed her gaze, as if Theo might reject her at any moment. He’d seen it, and it was all he could do to keep from wincing outwardly as pain echoed in his chest in response. Fucking hell, Draco swore inwardly. They had been so comfortable, so perfect together. And now… If his mother—if he—had ruined this for Theo, for them both, he was going to…Fuck. He had to do something, had to fix this, had to make sure she—

“You’re alright?” Theo’s voice broke into his thoughts, and Draco’s eyes jerked up to find he’d pulled away from Hermione’s embrace, setting her back so he could look the witch over with an examining gaze.

There was a forced edge to her smile even as she ran her hands over his forearms with a comforting touch.

“I’m alright,” she promised.

She was lying, he could see it in the tension at the corners of her eyes, in the strain of her smile. She was lying and Theo knew it too, a cloud of concern settling over his features where relief had been only moments earlier.

“Are you?” he challenged.

She hesitated just for a moment, clearly weighing her options. Conniving little thing. “I will be,” she finally promised. “I’ll owl the mind healer today, to set up an appointment, just to…just to make sure I’m okay, yeah? And I had some ideas, about Narcissa, and—”

Draco jolted. She had to be fucking kidding him. If she thought he was going to let her be that same, insufferable, self-sacrificing martyr she always was, all to help a woman who would rather see her dead—

“No,” Theo interrupted, before Draco could say the same.

Hermione blinked. “Pardon?”

“No, we’re done with that,” he repeated, his tone firm, as if there were no question about it.

Not that Draco disagreed. She couldn’t truly believe they’d let her carry on with this, not after…not after what his mother had done to her. He’d seen the colour drain from her face, had seen the glee painted across his mother’s expression as she delved into the other witch’s mind. He hadn’t thought to warn her, hadn’t thought…Fuck. No, they weren’t going to do this again. Someone else could help his mother, someone else he didn’t…

No. They were done.

But if Granger agreed, if she simply dropped it, he’d eat a fucking skrewt. No, the witch was going to put up a fight, he was sure of it. And as if on cue—

“Done with what?”

Theo sucked in a breath, but before he could speak, Draco pushed to his feet, interrupting. If she was going to be fucking pissed, it might as well be at him. Merlin only knew Theo didn’t deserve it.

“With my mother. You’re not going back there, not again.”

Hermione stiffened, as if fixing her posture would make up for the fact the top of her head barely reached his chin. He would have laughed, if the situation hadn’t been quite so tense. The witch thought she might actually win this argument.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed. “It was one little incident. I’ve certainly had worse, and from nastier patients. Besides, I was thinking about it, now that I’ve, well, now that I’ve seen what she can do. I did a bit of reading last night—”

He didn’t miss the way Theo’s lips twitched, a fond expression flicking across his face amidst his lingering concern as the witch’s face lifted excitedly, delighted by her own theories. Gods help him, his friend was besotted. Draco ignored the unease that stirred in his stomach at the realisation—it wasn’t any of his damn business how Theo felt about the witch, or how she felt about him in turn. He didn’t give a damn that Theo had once given him the same look. And if he still felt sick when he thought about the pain that had filled Hermione’s eyes, there in his ancestral home, well he wasn’t a fucking monster, of course he—

Theo’s elbow dug into his side and he flinched, keying back in as the witch continued her diatribe.

“—and I have theories about her neural pathways, muggles have done studies on rewiring them, and that’s really all Obliviation is at the end of the day, isn’t it? And—”

Her stomach let out a loud growl, and she paused, flushing scarlet as she pressed a hand to the offending organ, scowling up at him when a puff of laughter escaped his lips.

She was as intimidating as a sopping wet pygmypuff, rumpled by sleep as she was. He was of half a mind to tell her as much, he would have, probably, if only to watch that spark flare to life in her gaze once more. He’d much rather face her ire than the cold, mechanical shell of herself she’d been the night before.

Except Theo spoke before he could.

“Maybe we finish this over breakfast?”

The witch looked as if she wanted to continue arguing her point, but Theo snaked out a hand, grabbing hers and squeezing it. Her lips pressed into a mutinous pout, but she fell silent nonetheless.

Draco’s mouth opened to protest instead—there was nothing to finish, Granger was done with his mother and that was that—but Theo’s eyes met his, his expression drawn as he gave a brief shake of his head.

Fine. They’d eat breakfast, he’d inform the witch how very wrong she was, and then he’d find a convenient dungeon to lock Granger away in if he had to. And then he’d drown himself in coffee, because he hadn’t slept for shit.

The slam of the locker door reverberated through the room, earning a sideways glance from Nilsson.

“Alright?” he asked as he rubbed a towel over his sweat-damp hair.

Theo tensed, his motions jerky as he yanked a fresh t-shirt over his head.

He hated that word. Alright. Yeah, he was alright. Draco was alright. Hermione was fucking alright.

“‘M fine,” he muttered. Yeah, they were so alright it had been three fucking days since he’d seen Hermione, since he’d seen that teasing sparkle in her eyes, or heard the unconscious happy hum that escaped her when she was particularly pleased with whatever she was reading.

It wasn’t that he needed to see her every waking moment—though he wouldn’t object to it. No, there’d been plenty of weeks when their schedules had kept them apart. But that had been work, life getting in their way. Not…not her fucking avoiding him. Because that’s what was happening, he was nearly certain of it. He’d let her go to Narcissa, he hadn’t fucking been there when she was hurt and…she’d shut him out. Not out of his room, he didn’t give a fuck about that, the damn house had more bedrooms than they could ever use.

No, she’d…she’d…

He scrubbed a hand over his face, cursing inwardly. Gods, it sounded so stupid, so dramatic to even think it. But his witch had shut him out of her heart, and he fucking hated it.

He’d fucked up, he knew he had, that morning, at breakfast. But she couldn’t have expected him to disagree with Draco, not about this. He frankly didn’t give two fucks if Narcissa Malfoy lived the rest of her cold, lonely life stuck in the mire of her own miserable memories, not if fixing her was going to bring his witch pain. Draco had his own reasons for wanting to see his mother healed, be it misplaced familial loyalty, or lingering guilt over his father. But Theo had seen the look in the other wizard’s eyes when he’d brought Hermione home, and his thoughts had been miles away from his mother. So no, if they agreed on anything, it was the fact they had no intention of letting Hermione go back there, something he’d minced no words in telling her. Perhaps with slightly less tact than he should have.

She’d sat there, quiet, picking at her eggs as he and Draco took turns explaining all the reasons continuing her research was a bad idea. And she’d nodded along, as if she understood, like any reasonable person would, and he’d thought that was it, like a bloody fucking idiot.

He knew his witch, he should have known better than to expect reason to deter her from a problem.

He could still see it in his mind’s eye, the way she’d left that morning. She’d stood, murmuring something about being late for work, before she pressed a kiss to his lips. And then she was gone.

She wasn’t ignoring him, exactly. She’d answered the notes he’d sent, the ones checking in on her, and she’d smiled at him when they’d passed in the halls. She’d even found him after practice last night to thank him for the flowers he’d sent.

But it was as if he were just another prop in a scene she was moving through, wallpaper, or a sofa she had to move around. Something was wrong.

He was of half a mind to fake an injury, an illness, hell, a fucking allergic reaction, if only to force her to speak to him, to actually look him in the eye and listen.

“Excuse me?”

His heart stuttered in his chest as a feminine voice broke through the post-practice clamour of the room. Just for a beat, he thought it might be—until his mind caught up and realised the voice was wrong. Familiar still, but wrong.

He turned as the room quieted, facing the witch who hovered in the doorway, her gaze darting anxiously about as if someone might pounce if she kept eye contact for too long.

She was clearly out of place, clad in a chic sheath dress, hair pinned in an elegant twist, diamonds no doubt worth more than his annual salary dangling from her ears.

“Astoria,” he greeted, nudging a pointed elbow at Corbyn as he crossed the room, the rookie gaping at the witch like he’d never seen a woman before. “You look lost.”

A nervous smile twitched at her lips. “Theo,” she cooed, reaching her hands out to him, clearly relieved to find a familiar face. “I’m afraid I must be. I’m looking for Draco?”

Theo gave her hands a cursory squeeze before dropping them as if burned.

He knew the Greengrasses well, would even call them friends—Merlin only knew he’d got far too drunk with Daphne more than once—but the ease with which Draco’s name rolled from the witch’s lips stirred a sour feeling low in his stomach he didn’t care to examine too closely.

“You’re about twelve floors too far down, but the lifts are a bear to find. Give me five minutes and I’ll walk you up?”

It was an altruistic offer on his part, nothing more. Merlin only knew how long the witch would wander about the stadium if left to her own devices. Or who she might run into. And if he wanted to see the look on Draco’s face when the witch showed up, just to confirm what he already knew to be true, well, that was neither here nor there.

Astoria flashed him a shy, pretty smile. “That would be so lovely, thank you, Theo. And maybe we can catch up some too, hmm? It’s been too long. I don’t think I’ve seen you since the Parkinson benefit last year?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a forced grin as he ushered her from the room. The Parkinson benefit, fucking kill him. His teammates would never let him hear the end of that one.

The silence lingered in the locker room as the door swung shut behind her, until a low whistle came from MacMillan. “Now that is an expensive piece of Snitch snatch.”

“Hey!” Theo barked at the rookie. “Watch it.” Astoria was a bit much, to be sure, but there was no need for that, it wasn’t as if she were some piece at a pub.

Their Seeker had clearly taken one too many bludgers to the head—maybe he needed to have a word with their Beaters—because, despite the warning in Theo’s tone, he continued on.

“Can’t say I’m shocked Malfoy has to pay for it, he’s a fucking git—” Theo tensed, his fists balling unconsciously at his sides at the implied insult. “—but you fancy her too, eh, Nott? Can’t say I’d blame you, Granger’s nice enough, but I’ll bet that witch’s cu—”

The silencing spell sailed across the room, the man’s mouth gaping like a fish as he whirled to stare at Kolov, their Keeper merely glowering at him in return, twirling his wand idly between two thick fingers.

Theo jerked his head in a nod of thanks as he strode across the room, hand heavy as it landed on MacMillan’s shoulder, yanking him back around.

“Listen up, MacMillan. The only cunt we’re talking about here is you. Astoria—Miss Greengrass—she’s Malfoy’s…girlfriend.” His voice grated over the word. “So I’d shut it before he hears you say that shit, if you want to fly again.”

He paused for a moment, his lips twisting into a feral grin as he leaned nearer to the other man, his voice pitched low.

“And if you ever say something like that about Healer Granger again, you won’t have to worry about Malfoy grounding you because my witch will hex you so hard they won’t find your bollocks for centuries.”

The man’s eyes went wide, his hand reflexively dropping to shield his crotch, and Theo’s grin spread as he pulled back, gaze flicking to where the rest of his team hovered, studiously trying (and failing) to make it seem as if they weren’t hanging on to every word.

“That goes for all of you,” he called out. Might as well make it clear, if the nosy cunts were listening anyhow. “Granger’s none of your damn business unless you’re bruised or bleeding, got it?”

A ripple of laughter ran through the room, but there were nods all around, his meaning clear.

“But what if we—”

“Bruised or bleeding, Corbyn,” he called over his shoulder as he strode from the room.

Hermione strode into the office, as bright a smile as she was able to manage pasted across her face. “Margie!” she exclaimed, earning a scowl from the elderly receptionist even as she chewed a too-large bite of sandwich. “So sorry to interrupt your lunch, but Mister Malfoy just asked me to drop by to pick up a bit of paperwork. I know he’s at a board meeting, but it’s something rather urgent and—”

“Door’s unlocked,” the older witch interrupted, jerking her head as she took another bite, appallingly pink ham salad oozing from between squished slices of bread.

Hermione blinked for a moment—she’d rather expected more resistance from the receptionist, had prepared several increasingly absurd arguments to convince her, in fact—but far be it from her to not take the opportunity when it was presented to her.

Flashing a smile at the older woman—an unneeded one, as the witch had already returned all her attention to her sandwich—Hermione ducked around the desk and pushed through the door before anyone else could spot her. Because Draco hadn’t asked her to fetch anything—no, he’d have to speak to her to do that—but the insufferable man had taken something from her, and she had every intention of getting it back.

She should have noticed sooner, honestly. She suspected the files had disappeared from her office the same day Draco and Theo had so succinctly told her she wouldn’t be treating Narcissa Malfoy any further. But she’d been so distracted by the fact that the men in her life were being absolute prats.

She understood, really, she did, and she appreciated that they were worried about her—or Theo was, at any rate. Draco was…well, at the very least, irritated with her for not believing him when he’d insisted visiting his mother was a terrible idea in the first place. They were right to be worried, honestly; it had rattled her more than it should, that episode with Narcissa. But she wasn’t a child who needed to be coddled, she didn’t need them to wrap her in cotton wool lest her research be too scary.

It would be one thing if it were just Narcissa Malfoy—and even then, she’d push on, for Draco, if nothing else—but it wasn’t just her, was it? There were so many witches and wizards whose lives had been impacted by inappropriate use of memory magic—a pang echoed low in her stomach as the smiling faces of Monica and Wendell Wilkins flashed in her mind’s eye and she winced, shoving that particular memory back where it belonged. No, it wasn’t just Narcissa, and if she could help the witch, could cure her, Merlin only knew what she could do for the dozens of patients tucked away and forgotten on the fourth floor of Mungo’s, or those scattered across Europe under private care.

So no, she didn’t particularly care if they thought it was a bad idea, not when there was so much work to be done, and when time was so very vital. She’d merely find her answers, and then they’d have no choice but to agree with her that it had all been worth it.

Except it was, as it turned out, rather difficult to review her notes and get any work done when a certain controlling prick had stolen her fucking files. Crossing quickly to Draco’s desk, she cast a searching gaze about the office.

Because of course they wouldn’t just conveniently be lying about on his desk, that would be too simple. No, the glass was immaculate, not even a speck of dust daring to mar its carefully arranged surface. Her gaze narrowed on the perfectly aligned office supplies, not a single item out of place and, uncaring it would be an immediate tell someone had been here—no doubt he’d sort that bit out soon enough anyway—she knocked his blotter askew, just a half-inch. Her lips curved, just for a moment. She hoped it drove him mad, would serve the controlling prick right.

But, entertaining as it might be, she wasn’t here for that, she was here for the files, and so she turned her attention back to the task at hand. She could only hope he hadn’t taken them home, under the admittedly rightful assumption she would feel zero compunction over snooping about their house looking for them.

Tugging her wand from where it was jammed into a haphazard bun, she muttered a quiet, “Accio Narcissa Malfoy’s medical records.” It wasn’t as if she expected them to simply come flying across the room, that would be too obvious and Draco was, much to her chagrin, not a stupid man. But as she stood there waiting there in the quiet office, she heard it, there, in the corner. Just the slightest rattle of the topmost drawer of a filing cabinet. Her lips twitching up in victory, she practically skipped across the room. He hadn’t even bothered to ward the cabinet against a simple Alohomora, the drawer sliding open with ease at the whispered charm.

She flipped through the contents as quickly as she was able—even Margie was bound to notice she’d been in here longer than strictly necessary, eventually. It looked to be mostly painfully dull budget information—though she did rather wish she might be able to ask him what precisely the folder labelled “In the event of a Parkinson emergency” was for—until her gaze landed on the familiar lilac folders, the witch’s name printed in neat script across the top.

She barely managed to muffle her sound of delight as she tugged them free of the drawer.

“There you are,” she whispered to herself, thumbing quickly through the dense files to ensure all her notes were where she’d left them. She hadn’t made copies earlier, since she hadn’t expected they’d vanish from her office, but she certainly would be now. Tapping the files with a muttered “Geminio”, she watched with smug satisfaction as the papers fell in a neat stack before her. Mission complete, she tucked her copies beneath her arm as she rose on her toes to replace the originals back where she’d found them.

There, now she could continue her research in peace, no one would be the wiser, no one would fret.

And it wasn’t technically a violation of patient rights. Draco had given her his mother’s files and had never officially revoked her access, so—

“Missing something?”

She spun with a shriek, clutching the folders to her chest.

“Draco,” she gasped out. “I—I mean Mister Malfoy. What are you doing here?”

The man arched one of those damn brows. “Here in my office? I might ask you the same, Miss Granger.”

She flushed as she fought to find any explanation other than the painfully obvious, as if she weren’t standing there clutching evidence of her crime. “I was just, I mean, you, you were supposed to—”

The wizard rolled his eyes as she stammered, pushing off the door frame and sauntering across the room towards her.

“Merlin, Granger, if you’re going to sneak about, at least have the decency to check for wards first. Sloppy.”

She cursed inwardly. Gods, how had she not thought of fucking wards? As if this were her first time poaching from an office. She tensed as he drew nearer, taking a half-step back until her back met the cabinets, her fingers tightening around her hard-won prize.

“Thieving from your employer,” he tutted as he loomed over her. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Her blush deepened as he crowded against her, irritation and embarrassment coursing through her in turn until finally, the irritation that had been seething all fucking week won out. She bristled, pulling herself tall, an imperious tilt to her chin as she glared up at him.

She wouldn’t have to be here, not if he hadn’t gone rifling through her things in the first place. How dare he blame her for doing the same?

“There seems to have been some sort of miscommunication,” she bit out. “I wanted to take another look at your mother’s files. I had some ideas, after…”

She hesitated as that damn brow arched higher before she forged on. No, she wasn’t going to bring that up again.

“Anyhow, imagine my surprise when I went looking for my notes, only to find they were gone.”

He scoffed and, quick as a snake, plucked the files from her grip, ignoring her shriek of protest.

“Give them back!” she demanded as she stretched up on her toes, reaching for the files he held over her head like they were children on the playground.

“They’re not yours,” he growled, keeping them from her grasp.

“They are too!”

“Fuck,” he swore, jerking away as she swiped for him, only to press nearer once more, one broad hand catching at her wrists, bracketing them and holding her in place even as she squirmed. “I said no. Why won’t you just let someone take care of you for three fucking minutes, witch?”

“Because I don’t fucking need you to take care of me!” she burst, a frustrated snarl escaping her as she bucked against his hold.

He stilled, his face twisting in an unfamiliar, pained expression, just for a moment, and then his group loosened, freeing her, though he still held the folders out of reach. He swore again beneath his breath as he scrubbed his free hand over his face.

“Yeah, well.” He heaved a heavy sigh, leaning in closer, as if telling her a secret he didn’t want to admit aloud. “Maybe I fucking want to, Granger.”

Her chest caught as his breath feathered against her cheek, his fingers twitching as if he would reach for her once more. Surely he wasn’t going to—

“Draco?”

He froze, and it was as if a mask fell over his expression as he straightened, a careful smile replacing the maelstrom in his gaze as he turned his back on her, crossing the room, hands extended.

“Astoria,” he greeted warmly, as if she hadn’t just walked in on him inches from kissing another witch.

“Draco,” she cooed warmly, her perfectly manicured fingers clasping his. “And oh—Miss Granger! It’s lovely to see you. Are you joining us for lunch?”

“Miss Greengrass,” Hermione greeted, fighting to disguise the mortified flush on her face. Gods, what must the other witch think? “I was just—we were just—”

“I was just helping Miss Granger with a few files,” Draco interrupted smoothly, cupping the other witch’s elbow and guiding her further into the room. “I’m afraid I’m running just a few minutes behind, do you mind waiting?”

“Oh no, you’re perfectly alright,” Astoria waved him off as he settled her into a waiting chair. “I’m late anyhow. I got caught up talking with darling Theo—”

Hermione bristled, her earlier shame erased by the affection lacing the other witch’s tone. Darling Theo? A surge of irrational jealousy roiled in her stomach at the idea of this witch being cosy with Theo, ignoring the hypocrisy of the fact the self-same witch had just discovered her in a very-nearly-compromising position with Draco. It was the principle of the thing, really.

If Draco wanted to court Astoria—she chose not to examine why her nausea intensified at the thought—then that was…his decision. But if the Greengrass witch wasn’t going to take his courtship seriously…. Her lips twitched in irritation as the other witch let out a pretty trill of laughter as she recounted something or another darling Theo had said.

Hermione’s gaze narrowed as the clearly charmed witch went on, her lips parting, a scathing reminder of exactly who Theo was involved with—and had been involved with—on the tip of her tongue.

“Granger.”

Her head jerked about, only to find Draco’s silvery gaze intent on her.

“You alright?” he murmured, his voice low.

She flushed, absolutely mortified he’d noticed her seething irritation. Merlin, what he must think of her, she was losing her mind. Draco was her employer, his relationship was none of her business, and Theo, gods, of course he’d been kind to Astoria, he was Theo, he was kind to everyone, and she was the worst sort of shrew and…and…gods, she needed to get out of here before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

“I—I’m fine,” she murmured, avoiding his prying gaze in favour of turning her attention back to the other witch.

“Miss Greengrass, it was a…pleasure seeing you, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to…go.”

Ducking her head in an attempt to avoid eye contact, she hurried across the room, focused solely on the open door. She’d nearly made her escape when—

“Granger.”

A hand banded about her arm, tugging her to a stop, and she turned, glaring up at him. Because of course he couldn’t let her flee her increasing humiliation in peace.

“What?” she hissed, her scowl only deepening when his lips twitched.

“You forgot these.”

Her eyes widened as he pressed the lilac folders into her hands. Her lips parted in silent question and he stooped, leaning nearer.

“I’d like to speak with you. Will you be home tonight?”

His voice was low, barely audible, and for a moment, she’d thought she’d misheard him. Home. Not “the house”, not “Theo’s”. Home. As if…almost as if he thought she belonged there.

She blinked up at him, her gaze dropping to where his broad hand wrapped about her arm, and then flitting to where Astoria watched them both, blatant curiosity written across her expression. No. It was too much, too intimate. The puff of his breath against her cheek, the silent plea in his silvery gaze. She couldn’t, not here, not now, not with him and his…his…Astoria looking on.

Releasing a breath with a harsh puff, she gave a sharp shake of her head. “I…no, I need to go home. To my flat, I mean. Crookshanks, my cat, he…”

She paused. He didn’t give three fucks about her cat.

“No, I won’t be there,” she finally finished lamely.

A small frown knit his brow, and he looked as though he might say something more, but she cut him off.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do, and Miss Greengrass is waiting for you. Have a nice day, Mister Malfoy.”

Chapter Text

“Nott!” The word rang out, barely audible against the roar of the crowd as Theo’s feet hit the boards with a hard thud. “What the fuck was that?”

Theo scowled, ripping the goggles from his face, swiping at the rain that dripped from sodden curls, the weather as foul as his mood. It was bad enough that they had to play the Falcons in the middle of a bloody hurricane, worse still that they were losing. He didn’t want to deal with fucking Malfoy telling him what he’d done wrong, not here, not now, as if he had any right.

“Nott,” the other man repeated as he drew near, black robes pressed crisp, platinum hair carefully brushed back, tall, and polished, and dry. Fucker.

“Malfoy,” he muttered bitterly, snatching a towel from the bench and scrubbing himself as dry as he was able. No point in bothering with a drying charm when he’d be soaked again the moment his penalty was up.

“What the hell was that play?” the other man pressed, irritation painting his expression. “I don’t pay you to be a fucking Beater, Nott.”

Theo merely shrugged, his gaze focused somewhere over the other man’s shoulder as he re-tightened his bracer around his wrist. Anderson had been riding their seeker’s ass all night, he’d nearly knocked the other man off his broom half a dozen times with his poorly-timed feints. He deserved a broom nose to his ribs and Theo had been happy to be the one to provide it, even if the mid-air collision had landed him a penalty. Hell, even Witten had clapped him on his back when he’d landed after the whistle blew.

“He almost took you off your broom with him,” Draco continued, as if Theo weren’t doing his level best to ignore him. “You need to be fucking careful out there.”

“Why?” Theo asked tersely, turning his attention to his other wrist.

A beat passed, and then another, Theo steadfastly avoiding the weight of the other man’s gaze until Draco spoke once more, his voice low. “There are people who would care if you got hurt.”

That was enough to draw Theo’s attention, ire coursing through him as he scoffed. Oh, people. People would care. Gods, he couldn’t even keep from lying to himself, could he?

They’d been avoiding this all week, avoiding each other all week, but if Draco wanted to do this here, now? Well Theo had another 57 seconds of a penalty to kill, they could fucking do this.

“Someone getting hurt only matters if it impacts your business, is that it?”

“Theo.” His name was low, insistent, a single moment of protest, but it was enough.

Theo whirled, leveling a glare at the other man.

“No,” he spat. “You don’t get to act like you care, not now. Not about me, and especially not about her.”

Because that was the root of it, wasn’t it? Regardless of what…what he felt about Draco, the man had made it abundantly clear where his priorities lay, and it wasn’t with them, with her. He drew nearer, his voice laced with vitriol, low so that he wouldn’t be overheard.

“That woman tortured her, and you handed those files back over as if it were nothing, as if she means nothing.”

Draco flinched, a movement so subtle anyone else might have missed it, his gaze darkening, lips parting.

“No,” Theo interrupted before he could speak. “I told you before. She’s not a convenience. Not something for you to use. Neither of us are. So if you want her to cure your mother? Fine, I have no doubt she’ll do it, because she’s fucking brilliant, and because she can’t help but fucking care. But me? I’m done caring, Draco. You’ll get exactly what you give, and nothing more.”

He smothered the pang that echoed in his chest even as he forced the words out. Hermione may not be willing to protect herself, not when there were others that needed her, but he was damn well going to do it for her. Even if it meant…

He cut the thought off, hands fisting at his sides as something near pain flashed across Draco’s expression, resisting the urge to reach for him, to shake him, to force him to see what they could be, to clutch him near and—

“Nott!” Witten barked, interrupting. “Get your arse back on the pitch!”

Theo’s gaze flicked back to Draco’s, waiting, just for a moment.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mister Malfoy.”

It was a game like any other, the stands crowded despite the buffeting rain, the Dragons playing a hard, brutal match, vying for a playoff position against one of the best teams in the league. She’d had to replenish her Wiggenweld twice in the hours since the game started, and if it kept on much longer she was going to have to spend the rest of her week brewing Pepperup lest they lose half the team to the common cold.

Just like any other game, except she couldn’t keep her gaze from tracking Theo when she should have been watching the others. From searching him out, a green blur in the rain as he sped after the quaffle, as he jostled against members of the other team, as he—

Breath hissed through her teeth as Theo slammed into another Chaser particularly hard, the other man’s sharp shout of protest ringing loud even as Theo zipped away, a bright, vicious grin painting his expression.

Her gaze slid to the side as a muffled curse reached her ears, the hard thud of a boot against the edge of the box.

Draco had abandoned the owners’ suite nearly an hour earlier—not that she was keeping track—in favor of becoming a dark, looming presence in the team box, a look of intense displeasure pasted across his expression, grey eyes locked on a single player as he whipped about the pitch.

She watched from the corner of her eye, rolling bandages as he gestured to Witten, muttering something to the coach, his arms crossed tight across his broad chest.

He hadn’t spoken two words to her, but she’d spotted them earlier, tall forms bent near each other, Draco’s lithe form tense, a scowl painted across Theo’s features. It had been just a moment’s conversation before Theo was in the air once more, but it was the first time she’d seen them speak in—gods, a week, at least.

A pang of guilt roiled low in her belly even now, her mind lingering on the men even as she turned her attention to Rodney, who’d just landed in the box, blood pouring from his nose. She could fix a broken nose in her sleep. But Draco and Theo… It was…wrong, seeing them like this, so at odds.

She couldn’t help but feel she was to blame for this tension that had arisen between them; this careful, icy detente that threatened to span into weeks if it wasn’t fixed soon.

It had been quick. It felt as if one moment they’d been on the verge of…something, the three of them, and the next… She winced as Draco cursed once more, his ire a seething presence as he watched the game.

And all because Draco had given Narcissa’s files back.

She knew Theo hated it, she couldn’t blame him. Not after the witch had—

She cut those thoughts off before the memories flooded back once more. No, she couldn’t blame Theo for wanting her as far away from that woman as possible, for holding Draco responsible.

But she’d seen the pain in Draco’s gaze when he spoke about his mother, seen the barest flicker of hope cross his expression every time he came across her studying those files. It meant something to him. She couldn’t just…give it up, not when she was so very near to an answer. And she knew, somewhere deep, that Theo wouldn’t want her to either, not if it could help the man he called his best friend. If only she could find a way to convince him of that.

But that wouldn’t happen any time soon, not so long as they couldn’t even speak to the other without scowling. No, there had to be something she could do. After the game, she would find them both—their house would let her in even if Theo feigned being too tired, even if Draco ignored her like she was just another employee. She would find them both, force them to sit down in the same room, and—

She watched it happen, as if in slow motion. One moment, she was setting Rodney’s broken nose, fingers urging the delicate nasal bones back into place better than magic ever could. And the next—

A sudden gasp from the crowd, as if all the air had been sucked from the arena at once and Theo—Theo—was plummeting towards the ground, his form moving too quickly, they weren’t going to be able—he was going—

She didn’t hear it, the scream that ripped from her throat, the loud blast of the whistle, the sudden, outraged roar of the crowd. No, there was nothing more than her heartbeat loud in her ears as she stared at that single, unmoving form crumpled on the pitch. Nothing more than the dull roar of panic as it seized at her chest, as he lay there, so so still, as the rest of his team dove for the ground, as—

“—Granger. Granger! Hermione!” The words broke through as a tight hand banded about her arm, wrenching her about to face a wild-eyed Draco. “Hermione, we’ve got to go.”

She jolted, reality crashing back all at once, panic surging within her as she spun back to face the pitch, then back to Draco, her gaze darting about the box.

“We have to—the stairs—Draco, the fucking Apparation wards, we can’t—”

She moved to dart around him, to find the bloody stairs—gods, why hadn’t she thought of that sooner, she was a healer, she needed to be able to reach her players, to get to them, and now she had to run down a dozen flights of stairs and—

She was yanked to a sharp stop as a broad hand caught at her, slipping beneath her curls, his grip tight at her nape as he drew her back to him. “No!” She fought to wrench from his hold, ignoring the sharp sting as strands of hair ripped in his grip. “No, Draco, I’ve got to—he needs—I can’t—”

A low curse in her ear and his other arm banded tight about her waist, pinning her in place against him.

“They’re my fucking wards, Granger, just hold still.”

In an instant there was the tight squeeze of apparition, a moment of warmth, of silence, as he wrapped her in his embrace, and then they were on the pitch, somehow managing to avoid being splinched as they landed amidst the throng of people, Draco’s voice booming from behind her before she’d even registered—he’d been able to Apparate this whole godsdamned time?

“Move!” The sea of players parted before them to reveal Theo’s prone form sprawled across the grass, his skin too pale, dark lashes stark against wet cheeks. He was still, too still, and—

Her knees buckled in relief as his chest rose on a shallow breath. “Shit.” A whimpering sob escaped her as she pressed a hand hard to her mouth, relief washing over her in waves at the sight. He was hurt, gods only knew, but he was alive.

“Come on, witch.” The voice was low in her ear, warm against her skin as Draco’s hold tightened, the only thing keeping her standing as he urged her forward. “He needs you.”

She took a few stumbling steps, her low heels sinking into the too-soft ground before collapsing to her knees, uncaring as the cold damp soaked through her robes, Draco’s very presence at her back keeping the crowd from pressing nearer.

“Theo.” His name was a harsh whisper, her hands hovering helplessly, just for a moment, as she looked him over. There was nothing obviously broken, a miracle in its own right, but gods, he must have fallen a hundred feet, and he’d hit the ground so hard, regardless of any softening charms. She would need scans, and then to move him, her clinic wouldn’t do, he’d need Mungo’s.

At a minimum, he had to have cracked a few ribs, she could manage those easily enough. But then there could very well be internal bleeding, or brain damage, or—

“You’re getting wet.”

She jolted, certain for a moment she’d been hearing things only to find dark eyes open, blinking blearily up at her.

Her breath escaped her on a sob as she reached for him, barely managing to catch herself before she all but flung herself atop him, the urge to clutch him near, to feel him breathe nearly overwhelming.

“Hi,” she managed instead, pushing sodden curls back from his forehead, fighting to keep the tears welling in her eyes from falling even as she studied him, searching his gaze for signs of pain, or worse. “That was quite the spill,” she murmured as she pulled her wand from her pocket, fighting to find the focus she’d need to do more than weep over his prone form. She was a healer, damn it all, she could do this. She could do this. She could—

“Oh, hey,” he protested even as a tear managed to slip free, his brow furrowing as he shifted as if to sit up, to reach for her.

“Merlin,” she swore aloud, his motion enough to spark hers in return, pinning one hand to his shoulder in an effort to keep him in place as years of medical practice suddenly outweighing the sinking pit of dread in her stomach. “Stay still,” she ordered. Gods, he was going to puncture a lung if he wasn’t careful.

Fucking hell, everything hurt. Everything hurt, and he was bloody soaked, and his witch was crying. His witch was crying, and something was keeping him from reaching for her, his limbs not quite his own. Something had happened, just there, on the edge of his memory, but he couldn’t quite grasp it, couldn’t quite make sense of it as Hermione bent over him, shielding him from the beating rain. But his witch was crying, and everything hurt, and Draco was just there, and why wasn’t he doing anything about it?

“She’s crying,” he repeated as he lifted his gaze to the other man, his tone making it clear he expected him to do something about it. He didn’t give a fuck if they’d been avoiding speaking, if there were hundreds of pairs of eyes watching, waiting, to see what might happen next. His witch needed them. He breathed deep, fighting to smother his wince of pain. “Surely you can drop the I’m-not-in-love act for—”

Hermione’s eyes flew wide even as Draco barked his name, interrupting him before he could say anything more.

Theo’s dark brow furrowed, prepared to argue further—it was stupid, the way he wouldn’t just simply say it, simply admit how he felt—but something in Draco’s expression quelled him.

“Let the witch take care of you, Nott,” he said brusquely. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your fucking neck.”

Theo’s frown deepened. His neck…? His gaze lifted to the sky, the stands of the Dragons’ arena towering over him as he blinked once, twice, fingers curling into the wet grass. Bloody hell, had he fallen off his broom? Fuck, that was embarassing, the boys would never let him live it down. But it couldn’t have been that bad, could it?

“We need to get him to Mungo’s,” the witch said over her shoulder even as her wand moved over him, her motions, careful, measured, belying the tension in her expression.

Mungo’s? No, Mungo’s was for the bad shit, he’d just taken a spill, he didn’t need—

“‘M fine,” Theo protested, trying once more to rise. He just needed to get up, it would be fine. Fuck, why was everything so heavy. Why did he hurt? He just needed…

“Theo!” His witch’s voice reached him as if through a fog.

Just needed to…

Draco scowled as a loud voice echoed down the hall, calling for Granger again, as if she’d left Theo’s bedroom for more than five minutes at a time in fucking days. She couldn’t have gone far. But Theo Nott was a horrendous patient, to the surprise of precisely no one who knew him. He was needy, borderline crass, pain potions removing what little filter he had, and Merlin fuck he was whiny.

It had been all of three days since his accident—since he’d nearly fucking gotten himself killed—and if Draco heard him whining about being stuck in bed one more time he was liable to smother the man with a pillow. Granger might be mad at first, she’d gone through enough trouble to keep him alive, but she would thank him eventually.

He wasn’t even in the bloody room and he could hear it, every time the man insisted he was fine, every time he moaned about being bored. Could hear every suggestive comment he made, flirting with the witch as if he hadn’t sustained a major concussion seventy-two hours prior. My ribs are broken, not my fingers, as if that sort of come-on had ever worked once.

Hermione was a brilliant fucking witch, and Draco would swear to his dying day that she was the only reason the wizard with still with them, but she wasn’t a miracle worker, as he’d heard her repeat to Theo a dozen times. The man needed to heal, not fuck. No matter how tempting she may be.

And fuck, she was tempting, even with the dark circles painted beneath her eyes, the lines bracketing the corners of her mouth even as she forced a smile to her face.

She’d been up at all hours since they’d gotten home from Mungo’s. He could hear her creeping down the hall in the wee hours of the night every night, making her thousandth cup of tea so she could stay awake, watching over a sleeping Theo as if he might stop breathing the moment she looked away.

Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t as if he could sleep either; flashes of that day, of Theo’s body plummeting to the ground, of the sickening hush that settled over the crowd just for a moment playing on repeat every time he closed his eyes. No, Draco wasn’t sleeping any more than Hermione was.

But he wasn’t the one fluffing Theo’s pillows, murmuring reassurances as she poured a barrage of healing potions down his throat, flirting with him just so he didn’t go out of his mind with boredom.

He wasn’t the one fixing everything.

He was of half a mind to tell her to go home, to sleep, to take care of herself for godsdamned once, but no doubt she’d stay awake for the next week with nothing more than Pepper-up and sheer stubborn will out of spite.

Instead he was skulking around his own home like a ghoul, trying his best to pretend he wasn’t finding every excuse to pass by Theo’s room, leaving cups of tea outside the door only to vanish them lukewarm hours later, locking himself in his lab for hours, brewing potion after potion, sneaking them into her kit at every opportunity, because what the fuck else was he meant to do?

Theo Nott was a terrible patient, and Draco Malfoy was fucking useless.

His brow furrowed as Theo called out again.

He listened for the sound of Granger hurrying back up the stairs, or down the hall, listened for the soft words of greeting she’d extend every time she returned except there was…nothing. Nothing more than silence broken by Theo’s voice once more.

“Hermione!”

Draco’s scowl deepened as he set his book to the side, pushing to his feet and wincing as his shoulder twinged, protesting how long he’d been still. Pushing open the door to the guest room opposite Theo’s, he peered down the hall for any sign of the witch.

“Granger?” he whispered, loud in the silence. Fuck, where had the witch gone?

It shouldn’t matter, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and Merlin knew she deserved a break, but that didn’t explain why he found himself prowling down the hall, determined to find her.

It was for Theo, of course. The man would simply keep whining until the witch had been found, Draco might as well put an end to that as soon as he was able, for all of their sakes.

It didn’t take long to discover the witch in the quiet house, the drawing room door propped open, the flickering flames of light echoing in the dark hallway as if beckoning him in.

“Grang—” he started, only to stop short. The witch wasn’t working, or researching, or fretting as she had been on end for days.

No, it seemed the exhaustion had finally won out, the woman sprawled across the sofa, curls splayed in every which direction, her lips parted slightly and the faintest trail of drool glistening there.

His lips twitched ever so slightly as he drew nearer, a small, whistling snore escaping her, fluttering a curl against her cheek. She hadn’t meant to doze off, that much was to be sure. There was a half-drunken mug of tea sitting on the side table, and splotches of ink marred her fingertips, her quill having fallen to the floor, abandoned. And there, half-crushed beneath her—his heart panged—those familiar lavender files and a crumpled roll of parchment, her spidery handwriting lining the page.

Fucking hell, she was too good for the likes of them.

Carefully, he eased the papers from beneath her, smoothing them and setting them on the side table before gently nudging the flames in the fireplace higher to ward off the chill that threatened.

Stepping back, he took one last look at her before pulling the door to, lest Theo call out again and wake the sleeping witch. The man could put up with him for five minutes if he really needed something. Or that was what Draco repeated to himself as he tapped a brusque knock at Theo’s door, not waiting for an answer before pushing it open.

“There you—” Theo’s gaze rose to meet his, a startled flash of irritation crossing his expression as his words cut off.

“You’re not Hermione,” he stated, as if that weren’t painfully obvious.

“Glad to see your eyes still work, at least,” Draco drawled, his chest tight as he took in his first real sight of his…his friend for the first time since they’d gotten home so many days earlier.

He’d been so very still then, in a medically induced sleep as Hermione had carefully guided him between the sheets, pale and lifeless and so very not Theo. And now? Now it was as if nothing had ever happened, the man simply a king lounging in bed—in bloody silk pyjamas and everything. That was, until one looked closely enough to spot the yellowing bruise peeking from beneath his curls at his temple, or the tense look of pain hidden in his dark eyes, or the bulk of his wrapped knee beneath the covers.

“Did you need something?”

Theo shifted in the bed, plucking unconsciously at his sheets, keeping his gaze carefully averted from Draco’s own. “Not from you,” he muttered.

It was all Draco could do to keep from snorting aloud. Of course he didn’t. Theo Nott wanted nothing to do with him, he’d made that abundantly clear.

“Fine,” he bit out, turning on his heel. If Theo thought he was scum, that was fine, but he wasn’t going to just sit about and wait for the man to tell him as much.

Theo could wallow until Hermione woke up and Draco would simply go back to his book, or work on his budget reports, or perhaps get a cup of tea and—

“Just…just wait a minute.”

Draco paused, casting a glance over his shoulder to find the other man wearing a terribly put-upon expression. Silence lingered for a long moment and then—

“Hand me my potion, would you?”

Draco rolled his eyes, crossing the room and plucking one of the vials from the rack carefully lined up on his bedside table, only barely out of Theo’s reach.

“There,” he said tersely, shoving it into the other man’s hand. “Anything else?” A moment passed, and then another, and Draco turned to leave once more.

“I’m bored,” Theo blurted before Draco could reach the door, the faintest edge of a whine to his voice.

Draco arched a brow, peering over his shoulder. “And?”

“And the least you can do is keep me company for a bit.”

Draco scoffed, turning to face Theo fully, arms crossed across his chest. “The least I can do?” Merlin, this should be good.

Theo averted his gaze again, twin spots of color rising high in his cheeks. “Where is Hermione, anyhow?”

“No,” Draco gave a sharp shake of his head. He wasn’t going to let him change the subject. Theo wanted to talk about what Draco had done? They could do that. “I’m done with this.”

A flash of something like pain sparked in Theo’s expression but Draco forged on. No, might as well be now, when the other man couldn’t run off and fucking hide. If he was well enough to fucking flirt with Granger, he was well enough to have this out.

“You can’t just dart off into the sky now, Theo. You want to tell me what a prat I’ve been? Go on, tell me.”

Theo stared at him for a long moment, a mulish downturned curve to his lips, until, finally, he spoke. “You let your bitch of a mother hurt her.”

Draco winced. Straight for the jugular, then. “I did,” he admitted, his voice low. And he’d fucking hate himself for it forever. But even as he spoke, irritation stirred low in his gut, words he’d been stifling all week burbling to the surface in the face of Theo’s accusation.

“I let her get hurt,” he said again. “And I’ve apologized for it, and it I’ll do it another fucking thousand times.” He leaned nearer, his voice low. “But let’s not pretend I’m the only one to blame here, shall we?”

Theo’s brow furrowed, ire creasing his expression as he stared up at Draco. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he spat.

Draco scowled, straightening and shoving a frustrated hand through his hair, pacing across the room before whirling to face Theo.

"I tried to say no!” he burst. “I told both of you I didn't fucking like it. I didn't want her going anywhere near that fucking hellscape. It was me that said no, Theo. Me. You’re the one who let her into that house, the one who should be fucking apologizing."

A heavy silence fell as he spat the accusation, Theo staring at him, disbelief warring with—was that guilt?—in his expression, his dark eyes wide in his too-pale complexion, bruises stark against his skin.

Draco swore as he turned away once more, guilt roiling in his belly. Fucking hell, what was he doing, berating an injured man? It wouldn’t solve anything, would it? Theo would still be mad, Hermione would still work herself to the bone for the sake of anyone but herself. And Draco? Well, he would…

“Forget it,” Draco muttered, turning for the door.

“Wait!”

Draco paused, closing his eyes for half a beat before turning back to face the other man.

“What do you want, Theo?” His voice was careful, measured. Resigned.

“I…” Theo said, his voice trailing off for a moment and then, accusatory. “You gave her the files back, after all of it!”

“She was fucking stealing them from my office!” Draco burst. Gods, they could go on about this forever, and for what? “What was I bloody meant to do, tie her up and leave her in the drawing room where she can’t get into anymore fucking trouble? Maybe I’d leave you there, too, hmm, and I’d finally have a moment of godsdamned peace!”

A sudden, taut silence, Draco certain he had gone too far, said too much. And then, Theo let out a loud, sharp bark of laughter, mirth filling his voice. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Draco’s lips twitched upwards, a silent smirk and, just for a moment, everything was right.

Until Theo’s laughter subsided, and he heaved a heavy sigh, his head falling back against his pillow.

“Just sit with me awhile, won’t you? Not to fight, or argue, or whatever. I just…”

He hesitated and Draco tensed as the pause dragged on, waiting to see which of myriad sins Theo might bring forth next. The bullshit with Witten, perhaps. Or Astoria, or that fucking kiss.

“I just miss you,” Theo admitted aloud.

Oh.

“And—” The other man continued, flailing a dramatic hand about in the air. “And,” he repeated, his head dropping to the side, staring intently at Draco. “You got your beautiful, beautiful dick pierced and you didn’t even tell me.”

Oh.

A startled, bemused huff escaped Draco, his gaze flicking to the bedside table, where that vial sat empty, its contents clearly coursing through Theo’s veins as they spoke.

“You’re high,” Draco said brusquely as he summoned a chair from across the room, hoping his tone might put an end to this particular train of thought. Because gods, he may deserve to be punished, but please, Merlin, let it take a different form, because if he had to listen to Theo talk about his dick…

Theo grinned up at him as he sat, his lips curving in a bright, brilliant smile—gods, he’d missed that smile—nodding. “Our witch’s potions are bloody brilliant,” he confided in a too-loud whisper.

Draco’s lips twitched, unable to entirely disguise his amusement as he nodded. “They are.” Yes, that was a much safer topic. Hermione’s brilliance. They could discuss that.

Theo’s brow furrowed and Draco tensed as his gaze dropped from Draco’s face to…lower.

“Lemme see,” Theo demanded suddenly, his hand flopped out, groping blindly.

“Fuck,” Draco swore aloud as the man’s hand caught at the waist of his joggers, tugging them lower. He was meant to be injured, how did he move so fast?

“Draco,” Theo whined as Draco’s hand banded tight about his wrist, tugging him away before he could expose him entirely. “I just want—” He jerked his hand free again and Draco shifted his hips back, fighting to keep his thoughts from the way his dick twitched as Theo reached for him, as if the other man might close his hand about him and—

“What’re you doing, Nott?” he rasped, pinning the other man’s hand to the bed, his half-hard length twitching once more as plush lips curved in a pout, dark eyes staring up at him.

“It’s not fair,” Theo sulked, his hand twitching against Draco’s hold. “Hermione got to see.”

It was all Draco could do to muffle his groan. Fuck, as if he could ever forget the way the witch’s eyes had widened at the sight, the way she’d caught her full lower lip between her teeth, reaching for him…

Fuck.

“You should be nicer to her, you know. She likes you.”

He tensed at the words, his hand flying from Theo’s wrist as if he’d been burned, his gaze fixing pointedly somewhere over the other man’s shoulder. Fuck, maybe they should go back to talking about his dick. He couldn’t do this again, not now. And yet, somehow, the words slipped free.

“She likes everybody, Nott.”

“But she really likes you. I do too, you know.”

Draco stilled at the words. Surely Theo didn’t—

He was high. He didn’t know what he was saying. He was high, and hurt, and fucking brain-damaged and—

A piercing scream rent the air, jolting him from the tangled web of his thoughts.

Wide grey eyes met dark, a beat passed, a surge of panic, and Draco bolted to his feet, ignoring Theo’s yell as he all but sprinted from the room.

“Hermione!” he called out as he burst through the drawing room door, wand in hand, only to find the witch sprawled on the sofa still, cheeks wet with tears as whimpering moans echoed in her throat, eyes squeezed tight as terrors wracked her sleep. Fuck. “Hermione,” he repeated once more, his voice softening unconsciously as he crossed the room, hesitating just a moment before reaching for her, pressing a gentle hand to her shoulder.

She jolted, amber eyes open wide as her hand flew to grab his, clutching it tight. “Draco?” Her brow furrowed, just for a moment, before her expression cleared, the haze of sleep vanishing as she realized where she was. “I—I’m sorry,” she said, dropping his hand and pushing up until she was sitting, looking about the room as if searching for an excuse. “It was…it was only a dream. I didn’t mean to—It was just…”

“My mother,” he said tightly as her voice trailed off. She flushed, her gaze flicking away from his in silent acknowledgment even as his fingers twitched with the urge to reach for her once more, to pull her near, to comfort her, keep her safe. He couldn’t let this go on, not like this. It wasn't worth it.

“Granger, you can’t keep—”

“Hermione!”

“Theo!” The witch jolted to her feet, her eyes wide as the wizard appeared in the doorway, pallid, a sickly sheen of sweat coating his skin, pain wracking his features. “What are you— you’re meant to be in bed!”

“Are you alright?” the other man demanded, eyes wild, looking her over as if she might be bruised or bleeding or worse.

“You can’t be standing on that knee yet!” Hermione ignored his question, horror lacing her tone as Theo took a single, limping step into the room.

Merlin fuck, Draco swore inwardly, crossing to him in a few quick paces, shoving his shoulder beneath the other man’s arm before he could protest. He’d never know how the man had come to be sorted into Slytherin, the man didn’t have an ounce of self-preservation to be seen when it came to those he considered his. Might as well be a fucking Gryffindor, no wonder he and Granger got on so well. 

“Shut up, Nott,” he muttered as Theo grumbled, ignoring his attempts to pull away and instead forcing him towards the sofa. “You’re going to undo all of Granger’s hard work, and then she’ll really be upset.” The witch was rundown enough as it was, he’d be damned if he let Theo set them back another few days because of sheer stubbornness alone.

Theo cast a dubious glance in his direction, but didn’t protest again, instead letting Draco take his weight as he helped him towards the sofa, settling him there.

“She’s alright,” Draco murmured the reassurance as he helped Theo sit, leaning near, his voice low enough that Hermione wouldn’t overhear. “She just needs you.”

Theo sent him a careful, considering glance, just for a moment, before he nodded. “I’ve got her.” He hesitated, and then— “Thanks, Draco.”

Draco’s hold tightened reflexively around him, just for a moment, before his arms loosened, fighting to disguise the reluctance he felt as he drew away, as he straightened, making room for a hovering Hermione to crowd nearer, already casting a whirl of diagnostic charms to ensure Theo hadn’t made anything worse with his attempted rescue.

He watched the two of them, just for a moment, Theo’s hand carding through her curls, murmuring words too quiet for him to hear as her fingers searched gently at his knee, worried affection tingeing her expression as she tucked herself into his hold.

Fuck. This was how it was meant to be, the two of them. They had each other. And he…

“Get some rest,” he ordered, ignoring the rasp to his voice. “Let me know when he’s ready to go back upstairs.”

He turned to leave, unable to linger any longer, to watch as they cleaved to each other with such ease.

“Draco?” Hermione’s voice rang through the room, sweet, and clear. Because of course she couldn't simply let him escape with some remnant of dignity intact. 

He paused, looking over his shoulder, to where the witch already sat once more, curled against Theo’s side, her hand resting protectively over his injured knee. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks still tear-stained, all because of him, and yet, her hand was extended, her expression hopeful as she reached for him, head tilting towards the open space on her other side.

“Will you stay with us? Please?”

Chapter Text

Hermione let her eyes close just for a moment, breathing the acrid scent of the cafeteria coffee deep, willing it to cool just enough that she could drink it all in one go. She had all of five minutes to spare before she was meant to see Kolov about his knee, and Merlin only knew if she was late, the man would vanish, never to be seen again. But between the stacks of paperwork that had awaited her after nearly a week spent caring for Theo, and a half-dozen minor injuries their temporary healer had done fuck-all to address, and a painful lack of Pepper-Up in her inventory—bloody head colds, she’d known they were coming—she just…needed a moment. A moment, and copious quantities of caffeine.

“Alright, Granger?”

She jolted, eyes flying open as a low voice penetrated her moment of quiet, a hiss of pain escaping her as still-hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup.

“Shit,” she hissed, her hand flying to her mouth, sucking the hot liquid from her skin.

“Merlin fuck,” an answering curse met her ears, a broad hand banding about her wrist, tugging at her.

“Pay better attention, won’t you?” he muttered as a blond head bent, peering down at the spattered red marks left on her skin.

She scowled trying to tug her hand free, only for his grip to tighten, a low noise of irritation escaping him.

“Let me just—”

“Malfoy—Malfoy, it’s fine,” she said, wrenching her hand from his grasp and snatching a handful of napkins from the dispenser, mopping up the spill and keeping her gaze studiously from his as color flared in her cheeks.

Of course he was here.

Hours, it had been a mere matter of hours since she’d returned to work. She’d managed to avoid him in his own home for an entire week, and yet the moment she set foot back in the arena…

He cleared his throat gruffly and she flinched, scrubbing harder at the already-clean linoleum of the table.

Yes, she’d managed to avoid him for a week, an entire week of only the vague awareness of his near-ghostly presence, of the occasional glimpse of vanishing around the corner, or an empty mug in the sink.

An entire week, except…

Her blush deepened as her mind flashed back to that moment three nights ago.

Gods, she still couldn’t believe she’d done that, couldn’t even explain why.

It was just… Just for a moment, then, when she’d woken, terror pounding hard in her chest, fragments of memories still caught in her conscience, he’d been there. He’d been there, the strength of his touch grounding her, his low voice calling her back to reality, and…just for a moment, she’d been safe, for a moment it had made sense that he would be the one to be there when she woke, a warm, strong, welcome presence.

And then reality had returned and Theo had hobbled to her rescue— bless the stubborn, stubborn man—and that should have been it, should have been the end of it. He wasn’t hers—theirs. He was seeing bloody Astoria, for Merlin’s sake, and—gods. She muffled a low groan, praying he might just leave. He was seeing bloody perfect, lovely Society scion Astoria Greengrass, and in her sleep-addled, wounded-soul state, she’d asked him to stay.

And…he had.

She’d woken up nestled against his chest, Theo’s head in her lap, the both of them sleeping better than they had in…God, she didn’t even know how long. It had been bliss, for the few moments it had taken her to come back to consciousness, the early morning light filtering through the windows, catching at dreamy motes of dust, the slow rise of his breath nearly lulling her back to sleep.

She might have let it, even, might have claimed a few more precious moments of sleep, if not for that barely-there change in his breathing, the barest twitch of his fingers against her hip. If not for the way she’d squeezed her eyes tight, feigning sleep still as he shifted beneath her, as he shifted from beneath them both, freezing as Theo let out a snort of discomfort before settling further into her lap.

If not for the way her gaze had caught his, just for a moment, no more than a beat, when he paused, looking back at them both on the sofa. He’d seen her awake, his silver gaze flicking over her, over Theo, inscrutable.

And then he’d left.

So yes, that was the last—perhaps the only—time she’d slept well in recent memory.

But it wasn’t as if she could simply bring that up, present it as some sort of absurd solution. Would you mind coming to bed with us because Dreamless Sleep isn’t quite cutting it these days? Yes, that would go over brilliantly, to be sure.

No, she couldn’t do that. So she would simply be exhausted, and Theo would be cranky because she wasn’t at her best, and Draco would…

Stand in the cafeteria simply staring at her as she cleaned up spilled coffee, apparently.

Unable to avoid him any longer, short of magically producing bleach and scrubbing down the tabletop, Hermione lifted her gaze back to his once more.

“Good morning, Mister Malfoy,” she finally managed, chiding herself inwardly. Good morning? That was the best she could come up with?

The man blinked, shaking himself, as if only just realizing he’d been staring, silvery eyes flicking downward, just for a moment, before he spoke once more, his voice so low she could hardly hear.

“Good morning, Miss Granger.”

She hesitated a moment longer, waiting to see if he might say something more, but his gaze merely lingered, long fingers flexing at his side, as if he were fighting the urge to grab for her once more, to ensure she truly hadn’t injured herself.

“Was there…something you needed, sir?” It was awful, stilted, the sort of careful conversation one found between strangers.

“You’re blocking the sugar,” he muttered with a jerk of his chin past her.

Scarlet flared in her cheeks as she jolted, nearly spilling her coffee once more.

“Right. Right, of course, sorry, I’ll just—” She didn’t bother finishing the thought as she moved to duck past him, scurrying across the room before mortification could strike any further.

“Granger?” His voice called her to a stop and she paused, looking over her shoulder, praying he wouldn’t make this any worse than it already was.

He hesitated for a moment, hand clenched so tight about a paper cup of tea she thought it might crumple in his grip.

“I…” he hesitated, before offering her a terse nod. “Have a good day.”

She blinked. “Yeah, Malfoy, you too.”

Theo slumped against the doorframe, watching as his witch moved about her lab with the ease of long practice, reaching for ingredients without looking, humming lightly to herself as she brewed. Her hair was in a haphazard pile atop her head, curls escaping in every which direction. A suspicious stain marred her sleeve and purple circles painted the skin beneath her eyes, and gods, she was fucking lovely.

He’d missed her, these past few weeks. Which was ridiculous to say, he knew. She’d spent more time at his bedside than not the past week, they’d seen plenty of each other. And she’d been sweet, she’d seen to his every need and then some. She’d read to him, and talked to him, and cared for him. But she hadn’t been…Hermione. Not his Hermione, not the witch who always had a sharp, teasing word on her tongue, whose voice bubbled with excitement as she recounted her latest bit of research, or a particularly interesting bit of reading. Not the woman whose gaze softened with affection every time it turned to him, who couldn’t keep from brushing her fingers over his shoulder every time he made her laugh.

No, he missed his Hermione. And it was all his own godsdamned fault.

As if on cue, she caught sight of him in the doorway, amber eyes brightening for a moment before a careful shutter fell over them, a smile forcing its way across her face.

“Theo,” she greeted him, stirring her cauldron carefully once more before setting a stasis charm with an easy flick of her wand. “Did you—is everything alright?” Her gaze flicked over him, searching, clinical, a healer. She was looking at him as if he were nothing more than a patient, when all he wanted to do was haul her into his arms and remind her of exactly how fucking much he loved her, regardless of how insane she drove him.

“Everything’s fine, I promise,” he answered, allowing just the barest hint of a smile to curve his lips. It was mostly true, if he ignored the way his ribs twinged when he moved too quickly.

She studied him a moment longer, her eyes narrowed, until she seemingly decided he wasn’t lying, turning her attention back to her workbench, her attention already drifting back to her potions. Because that was easier, wasn’t it, working, rather than dealing with this awkwardness between them. Awkwardness he’d brought about because, gods, he was stupid.

He paused, just for a moment, before deciding. Fuck it.

Slipping into her office, he let the door shut behind him, his witch’s eyes widening as the faint click echoed through the room.

“What do you want, Theo,” she said warningly, her gaze sliding past him to the closed door, an edge of nervousness flicking across her expression.

He flinched. Because fuck, he was the one who had put it there, that wary hesitation that colored her gaze as he drew nearer. But he’d be damned if he’d let it linger. Looping his arms about her waist, he propped his chin on her shoulder as she turned her attentions back to her brewing, reaching for a clump of jewelweed.

“Just missing you, love.”

He knew the words were a mistake the moment they left his lips, his witch stiffening in his hold, her knife stuttering against the cutting board just for a moment before it resumed, her motions careful, measured.

“I’m not going to clear you early, Theo, you’re going to have to follow the protocol like everyone else.”

Her tone was painfully even, each word a precise, near-surgical blade.

Gods, he’d fucked up, if that was what she thought of him.

His fingers flexed against her hips, fighting the urge to force her about to face him, to force her to meet his gaze, to force her to believe him. Believe that he hadn’t meant to imply she wasn’t the strongest witch he knew, that she couldn’t take care of herself.

He needed her to know. To know that he didn’t sleep at night, reliving the way she’d simply stared into the distance after the manor, the way her screams broke the night. To know that he fucking loved her and couldn’t bear the thought of her putting herself in harms’ way, over and over again. But he knew better. His witch didn’t need words, didn’t want an explanation. She just…

Unable to resist, he dipped his head, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against the warmth of her skin.

She stood, tense, for a long—too-long—moment until, finally, she eased, her weight sagging back against his as she set the knife down, her hands coming to cover his where they rested on her stomach.

“For what?” she answered, her voice small, almost inaudible.

He let out a low groan as his head dropped, burying his nose against her throat, breathing deep as he squeezed her tight.

“I didn’t—” he started, and then stopped. “I shouldn’t—Fuck, Hermione. You’re fucking brilliant. You’re brilliant, and you’re sweet, and you could probably save the fucking world if you put your mind to it and instead, you—” He let out a huff of helpless laughter. “Instead you’re helping that woman.”

She tensed in his hold once more but he forged on before she could say anything, before she could interrupt and he lost the words he should have said weeks ago.

“You’re helping that woman and… Gods, I hate them, Hermione, the Malfoys. What they did to Draco, to…to us. But that doesn’t give me any right to say you can’t help her, can’t help him. And if helping Narcissa is what you need to do—” he forced the last of his words past a lump in his throat. “Then we’ll do whatever needs doing, hmm? Just… Just let me be a part of it. Please.”

Silence fell for a moment, nothing more than the low burble of her potion in the cauldron, before her head turned, just enough to catch him from the corner of her eye.

“You mean it?”

He drew a deep breath. Did he? It killed him, the idea of just sitting back and letting her hurl herself into danger with so little regard for her own well-being.

But she was Hermione, she’d never been any different. She took care of those who needed it, regardless of what it meant for her. Of those she…cared about.

Fuck.

Draco.

She cared about Draco. Theo had wanted her to care about Draco. He’d brought the pair of them together—and gods it was fucking glorious when it was going right—and he was a fucking fool if he thought she’d ever turn her back on him now. Even if it meant…

Fuck, he’d brought this on himself, hadn’t he, really? And he’d be damned if he let his own stupid pride keep him from his witch. No matter how he felt about Draco, no matter how it stung, knowing that his witch was good enough where Theo…hadn’t been.

It had surprised him, how raw it still felt, after all these years. How the feeling of Draco's lips on his again could so effectively rip open a wound he thought had healed a long time ago. How much it hurt, to find that wall between them still.

But Hermione cared. That meant he cared. And there was nothing more for it.

He exhaled, his breath fluttering the curls at her nape.

“Anything you need, sweetheart.”

And he meant it.

It was as if the words flipped a switch in his witch, as if it were all she’d been waiting for, her soft amber gaze brightening as she spun in his arms, tension leaking from her frame as her hands came to rest against his chest.

“Really?” she blurted, her voice taking on a note of joy that had been missing for too long, stirring something back to life in his chest in turn. “Because I’ve been doing some reading about Occlumency, and the theories behind managing memory accessibility, and I never really managed to master it, Merlin only knew Harry wasn’t going to teach me, but I think that maybe if we—”

“Miss Granger, you’re being paged to the head office. Mister Malfoy has requested a meeting with you and Coach Witten as soon as possible.” The candle on her workbench flared bright green as a small, tinny voice rang out, interrupting her.

Hermione’s words stuttered to a stop, her lips twitching in a small frown as she glanced over her shoulder, even as Theo’s fingers curled with the sudden and violent urge to snap the bit of wax in half.

Weeks.

It had been weeks since his witch had flashed that sweet, open smile in his direction, weeks since she’d touched him with such ease. Weeks of that awful, niggling sense of doubt that maybe, just maybe, he’d ruined it. That he wouldn’t be enough. Again.

And, just for a moment, as she smiled up at him, as she settled in his arms, as she reached for him, he’d known. This was his witch, this was as they should be. They would be alright.

All he wanted to do was whisk her away, snog her silly, remind her of exactly how very his she was. But no.

“Impeccable timing, as always,” Hermione muttered beneath her breath, her hands falling from his chest, leaving him feeling inexplicably bereft even if they hadn’t rested there long. “I suppose I should—” she gestured vaguely upwards in the direction of the head office.

“He can wait a bit,” Theo countered, forcing an ease he didn’t feel to his voice, hoping he might reclaim that brief moment of equilibrium they’d found as his hands dropped to her hips once more. “Not good for him to always get what he wants, you know, he’s terribly spoiled.”

A puff of laughter escaped his witch as she shook her head, setting her stasis charm once more. “Best not,” she murmured, stretching on her toes to press a brief kiss against his lips. “Bad enough I’ve benched his star player, can’t give him anything else to grouse about, hmm?”

It was Theo’s turn to grin. Draco’d looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon when he’d overheard Hermione at breakfast, telling Theo it would be days yet before he could fly.

What she hadn’t heard was Draco’s words as he rose from the table in turn, his gaze uncompromising as he looked Theo over. “You’ll listen to her,” he’d declared. “You’re not flying. Keep your feet on the ground or you won’t have to worry about her benching you—”

Theo had scoffed. He wasn’t going to waste half the season on the ground just because he was too stupid to hold onto his broom. He’d give it another day, two maybe, and then he’d charm Hermione into letting him do a lap or two. And if he happened to get some training in while he was up there, then…

But then Draco had bent lower, his voice nearly inaudible, laced with a low threat that made Theo’s blood pressure spike in a way he was certain Healer Granger would disapprove of.

“—Because I’ll tie you down myself.”

He hadn’t meant it the way it had sounded, Theo was sure of it. Because if he had, then…

“Besides, surely you have better things to do than make a menace of yourself in my lab?”

Theo’s attention flicked back to his witch as she tossed a sly, teasing smile in his direction. He let out a bark of laughter in return, propping one hip against her workbench as he watched her shuffle everything neatly back into place.

“A menace, hmm?” he mused aloud.

“Strong words from a witch who’s well overdue to be bent over a—” He paused, gripping the edge of her workbench and giving it a solid shake, the potion only barely sloshing in its cauldron. “—surprisingly sturdy workbench. Why haven’t we taken advantage of this before?”

Hermione scoffed, a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth as she rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible, Theo Nott. And injured.”

He shrugged, offering her a roguish grin. Gods, he’d missed this. “Injured, not dead, sweetheart. If there’s ever a day I don’t want to bury myself in your—”

“Theo!” she burst, interrupting him, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink as she chided him, ignoring his spreading grin.

“You cracked three ribs, you lunatic. You need to recover, and for the thousandth time, that means resting. Which means no training. No training, and no sex until I clear you.”

He blinked, his smile falling. She couldn’t be serious. Not flying was one thing, but—

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

“Wait—wait—Hermione!”

But his witch had vanished, nothing more than the cackle of her laughter drifting down the hall behind her.

“I can’t win a bleeding championship if our damn healer can’t even be arsed to show up to do her job!”

Hermione bristled as the coach spat the words, She should have known, should have expected this, that Witten would seize on Theo almost dying as yet another scrap of “proof” she was incapable of doing her job. As if medical knowledge lived in a cock and her lack of one kept her from any semblance of competence. As if this weren’t a colossal fucking waste of all of their time.

He’d been berating her from the moment she’d walked through the door, snide comments blended with outright accusations as Witten outlined all the reasons she apparently wasn’t suited to work as the team’s healer. Again. She wasn’t sure which he resented more, that she wouldn’t let him run his players into the ground in the name of winning an extra game or two, or that she had the audacity to be female, but either way, she was fucking tired of it.

Witten was a fucking prick.

And Draco… Draco was leaning back in his seat simply watching as they volleyed back and forth, his expression patently blank. For all she knew, he was reviewing budget numbers in his mind as Witten did his best to eviscerate her.

Apparently it didn’t matter that the only idiot who could argue she hadn’t done her job was sitting opposite her, didn’t matter that she’d not been at work because she’d saved Theo. Because somewhere along the line, Kolov had once again wrenched that damn knee of his and the healer who’d filled in in her absence hadn’t bothered to bully the man into doing something about it. And now the Dragons were down two of their star players going into back to back matches, and, according to the parties in the room, that was all her fault. As she’d been told, ad nauseum, in a series of increasingly insulting, if not particularly creative, ways.

But Draco—Mister Malfoy—needed his team to win games, and apparently that meant tolerating an absolute arsehole of a coach, regardless of how he treated the rest of the staff.

It was a stark reminder of exactly what her role was here, in his life.

It didn’t matter that he’d plopped a mug of coffee in front of her at breakfast that morning, with the perfect amounts of cream and sugar, or that she was fairly certain he’d been the one to mark her place in her book when she’d dozed off in the library after reading half a page the night before last.

He wouldn’t come rushing to her defense just because he’d seen her in her pyjamas a time or two. And why should he? She was staff, just the same as the rest of the team, expected to do her job and little more.

“Can’t blame Nott though, I suppose, I wouldn’t bother flying either if I knew my cock was going to get wet anyway—”

“Coach Witten.” A sharp bark interrupted the idiot’s words, the man jolting in his seat, bulging eyes widening as if shocked his employer would dare to interrupt him.

“Some professionalism, if you please,” Draco said stiffly, shifting in his seat.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, waiting to see if he might say something more, might point out how entirely absurd this entire meeting was, but…nothing.

Instead, he simply fell silent, a cold stare locked on the coach opposite him, and something within Hermione wilted.

He wouldn’t leap to her defense, but for Theo…

No. No, that was as it should be.

Theo was his…friend. And Hermione? Healer Granger? His employee? Well, she was fucking tired. Tired of having to fight to defend her right to do the job she’d spent a decade training for. Tired of having to pretend it didn’t wear on her, the sideways glances every time she paused, took just a moment longer with Theo when she passed him in the halls, or helped him stretch before a game. She was tired of not being…

She shook the thought from her head. It didn’t matter how Draco felt about her, he’d made that more than clear, sitting here.

They wanted her to do her job? Fine, she’d do her job.

“I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself, if you don’t mind, Mister Malfoy,” Hermione bit out, not bothering to disguise the irritation lacing her tone.

His cold grey gaze shifted to her, ignoring Witten’s derisive snort as he studied her for just a moment. Hermione merely returned his stare, daring him to say something, to keep her from doing this. Instead, he nodded, easing back in his seat, the barest flick of his fingers indicating she should continue.

Fine.

Leaning forward, Hermione pushed Kolov’s file—the file someone had spilled pasta sauce all over—across the table.

"It's one thing when it's my personal life, Mister Witten. You’ve made it clear you don’t care for me, and I can assure you the feeling is mutual. But it's another entirely when it's my professional integrity you choose to call into question."

The man’s chest puffed, no doubt ready to let loose with yet another mediocre barb, but she ignored him, flipping the file open and stabbing a finger pointedly at a page she’d charted herself, months ago.

“Mister Kolov has a repeated history of hyperflexion-related knee injuries. He and I have worked together extensively to develop a training regimen and rest requirements to help avoid those injuries. A regimen that has been clearly communicated to and, until this week, enforced by your coaching staff, without my direct supervision.”

She sat back in her seat, not realizing that she’d mirrored Draco’s selfsame pose until it was too late. Avoiding looking his way lest he’d noticed—because Merlin only knew it was just the sort of stupid thing he’d mock her for—Hermione focused on the coach once more.

“So explain to me, Coach Witten, exactly how that regimen was neglected so thoroughly that not only did Mister Kolov reinjure himself, but your staff allowed him to simply ignore it for a week?”

He sputtered, but she carried on, well in her stride now.

“Because it seems to me if you can’t maintain a training regimen for your team because you’re too worried whose cock I’m interested in, then perhaps it’s not my professionalism that should be called into question here, Coach Witten.”

She pushed to her feet, ignoring the sputtering protests of the man opposite her, his pointed flailing towards Draco, as if to say ‘See? See how unreasonable. Women! Illogical! Hysterical!’

He could bluster, and gesture, and accuse all he liked, she was done with this. Either Draco fired her—which would require speaking to her—or she was going to go do her job and pray Witten’s blood pressure finally got the better of him.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

She didn’t bother looking back as she swept from the room, clinging to the tattered shreds of her dignity. She was behind enough as it was, and now she’d wasted twenty minutes of her day on this…this…drivel, and she wasn’t going to give them a moment more of her time.

She should have known he’d follow her.

“Granger.” His voice was low, insistent, his grip tight as it banded about her arm, the soft click of the door closing behind him loud in the quiet lobby.

“It’s fine, Malfoy,” she said, keeping her gaze carefully trained on the sleek glass windows overlooking the pitch as she answered the question he hadn’t asked.

As she lied.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t fine, that Draco had simply watched as Witten spewed that filth, that she’d never felt quite so alone as she did in that moment, in the face of all that vitriol. That, for just a moment, she’d questioned if that awful man might be right.

No, it wasn’t fine.

But if she looked at Draco, he’d see it written across her face, and then neither of them would be able to pretend.

So it was going to be fine.

She shrugged his grip from his arm, not looking back as she made her way down the hall, proud of how even her voice was as her parting words trailed behind her.

“If you see Kolov, tell him I need to see him in my office. He missed our appointment earlier.”

Nausea roiled low in his gut as he paced down the hall, a heavy, seething sense of unease settling low.

It shouldn’t have gone like that. He should have never allowed it to go like that. It was his job to hear staff complaints, to manage them, regardless of whether he’d rather—well, normally he’d say rather jump off a broom, but with his luck, he’d survive like Nott had. And he wouldn’t have a lovely, too-sweet witch to care for him afterwards. Not now.

It shouldn’t have gone like that, but it had. Witten had called that meeting, and Granger had appeared, her shoulders tight before she even walked into the room, her gaze wary, guarded as she sat. And for good reason.

It was bad enough, that her relationship with Theo had made her a target. He’d seen the headlines, the magazines Witten had brandished. Bullshit headlines blaring questions about what she’d really been hired for, suggestive puns plastered over photos of her and Theo in the rain, his gaze soft despite his pain, her fingers combing his hair back. As if that were irrevocable proof that she was inept

It was worse still that that fucking imbecile thought that was any sort of excuse, that he had any right to spew that…that…bile, to say those things about Granger, let alone to Granger.

It had taken every fiber of his being, every ounce of control to keep from drawing his wand on the man, to tell him exactly what he thought of his opinions as a magical needle slowly sewed his mouth shut. Hell, for just a moment, his knuckles white around his quill, he’d thought he might simply swing on the man. Break his nose, do his face a favor, likely enough.

But what could he say, without making it worse. Because if Witten objected to Theo being embarrassingly infatuated with the witch…

So instead of cursing the man, or beating him to a pulp, instead of watching every move the witch made, waiting for the opportunity to leap to her defense, he had simply…let it happen.

Fuck. Acid rose in his throat, the clip of his shoes against the tile loud in the quiet as his pace increased, nearly jogging down the hall.

He should have gone after her right away, should never have let her walk away, but that fucker Witten had still been in his office, and it was one thing to let Granger rummage through his files, but he’d be damned if he let that tosser skulk about.

No, he’d waited, fighting to ignore the man’s continued rambling as he shepherded him from the office—where the fuck was Margie when he needed her?

He’d waited, and now he couldn’t fucking find the witch to—fuck, he didn’t know what he was going to do when he found her, but—

He rounded the corner, only to stop short at the figure standing there.

“Where is she?”

“You tell me,” the dark-haired man drawled, his tone deceptively even, his pose relaxed as he lounged against the wall outside the locker room, arms crossed across his broad chest. “I could have sworn she was in your office.”

The words were simple enough, expected, but there was a gleam in his dark gaze, one that threatened, one that said Theo knew exactly what Draco had done.

“Helpful,” he muttered. He didn’t have time for this. He knew he’d fucked up, he didn’t need Theo to tell him as much. Let him be pissed, he’d deal with it after he’d found Granger. Hell, Theo could swing on him if he liked, after he’d found Granger, after he’d made sure she was…okay. He probably deserved it.

He reached past the man for the door, only for a hard hand to smack against his chest, stilling him.

“Draco.” Theo’s voice brooked no argument as his arm blocked his path.

Draco turned slowly to meet the other man’s gaze, arching an impatient brow.

“What the fuck happened in there?”

Draco sneered as he reached for Theo’s wrist, pushing his hand away. “What makes you think something happened?” They both knew it had, Theo wasn’t an idiot, he was here for a reason. But some sick, self-loathing part of Draco wanted to hear it. Wanted Theo to call him out on it, to give him the condemnation he so grossly deserved.

But Theo only scoffed, wrenching his hand from Draco’s. “You don’t think I know how fucking Witless treats her?”

He turned, pacing across the hall, shoving a hand through already tousled curls.

“She’d never admit it, not out loud, but whatever he said up there? It fucked with her, Draco. It fucked with her, and I’m not going to let that happen. Not to her. She deserves better.”

The pit in Draco’s stomach only settled deeper. Theo wasn’t wrong. But he was trying to fix it, damn it all, and instead of finding the witch, instead of seeing for himself exactly what he’d done, he was stuck dealing with Granger’s guard dog.

“What are you going to do, knock him off a broom?” he asked, snark he likely should have kept to himself lacing his tone.

It was Theo’s turn to arch a brow, arms folded across his broad chest, his expression unexpectedly serious as he faced Draco once more. “Do I need to?”

Draco hesitated, just a moment, half-tempted to simply set Theo loose on the other man, to let him do what Draco hadn’t. Because the witch deserved someone who would protect her as she deserved.

“I don’t need either of you to do anything.” Her voice rang out, clear and uncompromising, as if his very thoughts had summoned her.

Draco’s gaze jerked to her as the witch in question pushed through the locker room door, scanning her, as if he might find physical proof of the emotional bruises he’d forced her to bear.

Only, she looked…

Every curl was pinned carefully and slicked down, her blouse was neatly tucked, not a stain to be seen. And there wasn’t a single flicker of emotion out of place in her expression.

She looked wrong. No one would notice, not at first, she was the picture of poised professionalism. But this was wrong.

And he wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Alright, love?” Theo asked as he crossed to the witch, slipping an arm about her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple even as he looked to Draco, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

Her smile was small, forced, as she leaned into the other man’s hold. “Of course,” she answered, ignoring Draco's very presence. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

It was brittle. Too brittle. A lie, and not even a good one. One Theo hadn’t missed, judging from the way he bent his head to the witch, murmuring words too low for Draco to hear.

No. Fuck this. He’d done this to her, he would be the one to fix it.

“Is he in there?” Draco interrupted, jerking his chin towards the locker room door.

Her brow furrowed as she looked at him, almost as if she were irritated at him for daring to ask. As if he should have just forgotten the events of the last hour, should have simply moved on.

“Witten,” he repeated. “Is he in there?”

“Malfoy, it’s fi—”

“I swear to Merlin, Granger, if you say it’s fine again—Is. He. In there.”

Her eyes widened even as a flicker of something he might almost call approval shone in Theo’s dark gaze.

He’d hardly waited for her nod before he was pushing through the locker room door.

“—not pretty enough for Granger to get on her knees and help you out too?”

The Reducto made contact with a sharp crack, shattering the chair Witten lounged in, the rookie he’d been talking to scrambling backwards with a startled yelp.

“What the fuck?” Witten barked from where he sprawled gracelessly on the floor, a spot of blood trickling down his brow from where a rogue splinter had gone flying.

“Get out.” The words grated from Draco’s throat.

A hush fell over the room, a startled grunt coming from the man on the floor.

“Whuzzat?”

“You’re fired, Witten. Get the fuck out before I have you thrown out.” The man merely gaped at him, his ruddy face turning an alarming shade as he sputtered, fumbling to his feet.

“The fuck are you on about, Malfoy, you can’t just—”

“It’s Mister Malfoy,” Draco interjected, drawing himself taller, his gaze narrowed on the man, fingering his wand, toying with the idea of a second curse. Only he was all too aware he’d been followed, all too aware of the matched set of gazes on him, whiskey and chocolate. Wary. Waiting.

“It’s Mister Malfoy, and this is Healer Granger and anyone who is finding themselves incapable of respecting their fucking colleagues will no longer have colleagues, is that understood? Starting with you, Witten. Get the fuck out.”

“But I—”

A flick of his wand silenced the prick, his eyes bulging and his face unsettlingly red as he mouthed futile words.

“Out.”

“What the hell was that?”

The words escaped her before the door had even shut, Hermione whirling to face the men trailing into the house after her.

Draco merely shrugged, seemingly unperturbed as he shed his coat, hanging it neatly.

“You can’t just—I mean—the team needs a coach, Draco!”

Theo scoffed, flopping down on the sofa. “I could coach the bloody team better than that idiot.”

“Yes, well, apparently you may have to,” Hermione muttered as she crossed the room, plucking a decanter from the cart and splashing whiskey into a glass. She didn’t normally believe in drinking during the day, but needs must and all that.

The locker room had devolved into chaos mere moments after Witten stormed from the room, blessedly unable to say anything more, though she’d thought, just for a moment, that Draco might not let him escape unscathed. Questions had flown—no one was more nosy than a grown adult who played a game for a living—and pointed glances had been exchanged. And, if she were being honest, no one had seemed particularly…disappointed.

But still—

“Why would you do that?” She didn’t bother masking the accusation that laced her tone. Because the answer seemed obvious, honestly, but she couldn’t believe—

Draco merely stared at her, nonplussed. “You can’t be serious?”

Theo huffed a breath of laughter, but Hermione merely scowled.

Draco sighed, ignoring her noise of protest as he plucked the glass from her fingers.

“It had gone on long enough,” he said, as if that explained everything. Only, he hesitated, looking down at the amber liquid swirling in his stolen glass.

“I let my mother hurt you once,” he said quietly, lifting his stormy gaze back to hers. “And it almost fucking killed me, and Nott, too. I’m not going to let anyone else do it again, you understand me, witch?”

Hermione’s breath caught, her heart skipping an unsteady beat as the heavy solemnity of his words filtered through the room and Draco swore, tossing the whiskey back in a single gulp.

She moved before she could think better of it, before reason could warn her away, just a quick step across the room and her arms wrapped tight around the man. “Draco,” she murmured against the warmth of his chest, ignoring the sting of tears that threatened. “I—” The words choked in the back of her throat. She felt more than heard his sigh, his arms slowly winding about her waist.

“Hey now, Granger,” he began, his fingers catching beneath her chin, tilting her gaze to meet his, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of the tears banked there.

“Draco,” she repeated, her voice near inaudible. It was nothing more than his name, but it carried a quiet, unspoken plea. A plea for him to tell her what the fuck they were doing here, what the fuck he wanted from her. A pleading, silent why. And he heard her. In an instant, his lips were on hers, hard, demanding. I’m sorry, they said, the sudden, taut desperation of his hold pouring out words he would never say. It was everything she hadn’t known she was missing. Demanding, desperate, as if he owned her and—

Hermione wrenched her mouth from his, stumbling back, eyes blown wide as she pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh gods, I’m sorry, you have… I shouldn’t have—Oh god, we shouldn’t have done that.”

Draco blinked at her, bemused, teeth catching unconsciously at a bee-stung lip as he looked her over, lust lingering in his gaze. “Why not?”

“I—” she sputtered. He couldn’t be serious. “Because we—I mean you—I have Theo, and you have a girlfriend and I just—”

“Girlfriend?” Theo questioned, clearly unperturbed by the fact his own girlfriend had just unabashedly snogged another man. “Who?”

Hermione glanced between them, furrowing her brow. “Astoria, obviously.”

“Oh.” Draco said, nonplussed, his gaze suddenly focused somewhere over her head. “I mean that, well—”

“He’s not fucking seeing Astoria,” Theo groaned, interrupting him, his head flopping to the side. “He’s just a dramatic prick.”

The other man’s pale visage flushed as Hermione turned a wide gaze to him.

“But—But, I thought…the headlines? The articles?”

His cheeks reddened further, his gaze darting away from hers. “Fake,” he muttered beneath his breath.

Theo scoffed and Hermione twisted, glaring at him. They couldn’t be serious. “Fake?” she demanded. “He was faking a relationship—gods, Theo, I—I thought I was a terrible person. He had a girlfriend and I—You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“He made it clear it wasn’t any of our business,” he said, his tone taking on an edge even as he offered a careless shrug. Hermione bristled, ready to tell the man exactly what she thought of that—Merlin, he’d spent an entire week in bed whining about having nothing to talk about and he couldn’t have brought that up once?

“I put an end to it,” Draco interrupted suddenly.

Hermione turned back to him, blinking. “I—but—why?”

The question seemed to make him draw in on himself. As if she’d missed something that was inconceivably obvious. Because wasn’t that just the entire problem? Assuming that she would just know his motivations, his feelings, what he was thinking when he decided to publicly date another woman while involved in this absolute mess of whatever the hell was going on with she and Theo—

“Merlin, Hermione, isn’t it obvious?” Theo pushed to his feet, crossing the room to her and looping his arms about her, his chin finding that familiar place on her shoulder, nudging her gaze to meet Draco’s.

“He’s just as far gone for you as I am.”

Chapter Text

“I laughed.”

Hermione spun in the tight space of her kitchen, waving a can opener wildly about, as if that might emphasize the absolute absurdity of the situation. “Theo said Draco was gone for me—and I just—oh god, I laughed.”

Wide golden eyes stared at her, unblinking.

“Please, don’t look at me like that, it was awful, I know, and I didn’t mean it, not like that, but he just looked so—” She let out a huff of laughter. “Well, he looked like it was as ridiculous as it sounded. He just stared, like it was all some sort of horrible joke, what was I meant to do?” She paused, fumbling in her drawer for a spoon and scraping the odorous pâté from its tin, nose wrinkling as it plopped onto the plate. “Gone for me. Like that man hasn’t been in love with Theo for absolute ages. Honestly, I don’t know how they don’t see it, and instead of talking about it, they just—just—”

A muffled noise of frustration escaped her, only for her to receive a rather vehement mrrrrowww in return.

“And then he had the nerve to look offended,” she burst, well in the swing of things now as she stretched on her toes to retrieve the jar of supplements for her aging cat—last time she’d left them in reach on the counter the little beast had managed to hide the jar so well it had taken her nearly a week to locate them again.

“What was I meant to do, Crooks, just stand there? I laughed, I couldn't very well just stick about after that,” she repeated as she turned, setting his plate on the ground and watching blankly as her cat circled about, pointedly facing away from her before he mashed his too-flat snout into his dinner.

Well. That was less than helpful.

She couldn’t blame him, really. She wouldn’t want to listen to her, either. Not when she’d clearly lost her mind altogether.

Because when Theo had said those words—gone for you—something very near longing had twinged in her heart. She’d stood there, knowing full well that she was loved by the man who held her, that she was more fortunate than most.

And, well, she might have panicked. Just a bit.

Because perhaps she did, well…not loathe Draco entirely. Perhaps, in the furthest reaches of her mind, in the deepest hours of the night, as she lay in the silence, she revisited those moments where he knew just how she took her coffee, or insisted she drink water. Or the way his long, lithe fingers had played over her skin, coaxing pleasure from her like it was his due, the way desperation had painted his face as his fingers laced through Theo’s dark curls and their lips met…

Perhaps somewhere, in those recesses, she’d begun to imagine the three of them might…

Only, Theo had said those words, had declared them as truth, and Draco had simply…stared. He’d stared, and the silence had dragged on, and that awful, hysterical giggle had escaped her and…well, what else was she meant to do? She’d run. She’d stammered something hardly intelligible about feeding her cat, and she’d run.

Because, for just a moment, she’d hoped that it all might actually mean something.

He’s just as far gone for you as I am.

Just as far gone.

Gone for you.

The words beat a tattoo in his brain, seared there by the amber gaze that had locked on his, wide, expectant with something…something he’d almost have called hope. As if she actually wanted to believe the truth Theo had declared with such certainty.

“I—I’ve got to go. Crookshanks, my cat—he needs—”

He jolted, her panicked words penetrating through the haze of shock brought about by Theo’s declaration.

“Hermio—” Her name was still on his lips as she stepped into green flames and vanished.

He stared after her, for just a beat, his mind racing, willing the flames to turn green once more, willing her to reappear, to step back out and give him the chance to—what?

“Fuck,” he swore aloud, whirling, vitriol surging in him as he pinned an accusatory gaze on the man opposite him, the one who still stared into the flames after his witch. “What the fuck was that?”

Theo scoffed at the abrupt demand, dark gaze shifting to meet Draco’s, inscrutable. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Draco bristled. He wasn’t going to take the fucking blame for this one, wasn’t going to let Theo whack him on the nose like a dog who’d missed a training cue, not when Granger had been the one to kiss him, and Theo had—Theo had… Fucking hell, no one had asked him to say that, no one needed—

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he burst, emotions he didn’t care to name roiling within him, unable to say if he wanted to strangle Theo, or thank him, or dare him to say it again before he showed him exactly how gone he was and—

He cut that thought off, nails sinking into his palms as his skin heated, imagining, just for the barest instant, how that might look, Theo pinned against the wall and Hermione watching on as Draco—

Theo shouldered past him, mercifully ignoring the sudden scarlet tint to Draco’s cheeks in favor of reaching for the decanter, splashing his own drink into a glass, as if it were the end of any other work day, as if his witch hadn’t just fucking vanished. Merlin only knew what she was thinking, or when—if—she might come back and he just—

“You’re not going to go after her?” The words burst from Draco unprompted

Theo turned, offering the decanter to Draco with a questioning arch of his brow in lieu of answering.

Draco only glowered at him and Theo merely shrugged, turning to put the bottle back down.

“I’m not the one who just stood there like an idiot and let her walk away,” he finally answered, taking a slow, measured sip of the whiskey. “She knows I’m in love with her.”

Draco flinched. Fucking hell, maybe Theo had the right of it. He needed another fucking drink. It was that, or he might simply leap into the Floo and follow after the mad witch.

Since apparently he was fucking gone for Hermione Granger.

News to him.

Splashing more than his due in the glass, Draco slugged the drink back, ignoring the harsh burn in his throat before he turned to face Theo once more. The bastard was lounging, perched on the edge of Draco’s desk as he sipped his own pour, his expression inscrutable.

“Nott.”

The word was a demand and a plea all at once as unease surged within him. Surely she would come back. Surely he hadn’t fucked up that badly. Theo would never let her simply walk away from th—from him.

“You had your chance to say something, Draco. To tell her what she deserves to hear, and you couldn’t do it.”

Ice filled his veins as the edges of Theo’s voice softened into something near pity. He’d been an arse, he knew he had, but she had Theo, why would she care, if he hadn’t been able to manage the words. She shouldn’t care, but the way Theo was looking at him, as if he had fucked up something so utterly vital… Fuck.

Theo heaved a sigh, setting his glass down, sounding almost tired as he asked, “Is it that hard, Draco, to admit that people might actually care about you? To admit that you might care about them?”

Draco tensed at the other man’s question, warning ringing somewhere deep within him, that this was more than a simple question, that the answer mattered. But if he admitted the truth, if he told the other man exactly how he felt…

Gods, he couldn’t do this.

Theo did his best to mask the tension that coursed through him as he watched Draco pace across the room, unsettled, raking a hand through his carefully arranged hair, a wild edge to his gaze as he cast it about, as if searching for an answer. The man could deny the truth all he wanted, but Theo wasn’t a fucking idiot. Hermione Granger had them both wrapped around her perfect, brilliant little finger, whether Draco wanted to admit it or not. And it was about godsdamned time someone said something about it.

It could have been the simplest thing in the world. If only he would admit—

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco muttered, averting his gaze from Theo’s.

Right, he was going to insist on being an arse about it, then.

“You’re really going to keep this up?” Theo asked, straightening, his grip tightening on the edge of the desk, as if that might keep him crossing the room and bloody shaking the man until he saw sense. “You just fired our coach for her, Draco.” The other man’s lips parted, and Theo gave a sharp shake of the head, cutting him off. “A man you paid twenty thousand galleons to get to the club in the first place, and the second he speaks ill of her—” He flicked his hand. “—poof! Gone.”

Draco opened his mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but Theo barged on before he could say something undoubtedly idiotic.

“Don’t deny it, I’m not fucking stupid. You two can dance around it all you like but you’d have killed that man for her today, if you thought you could get away with it, and it’s not because you’ve suddenly gone on a crusade for workplace propriety.”

“You want her. I know if. You know it. But it doesn’t fucking matter if you won’t get out of your own fucking head long enough to do something about it.”

The words rang loud, harsh through the silent drawing room, and Theo swore inwardly, pushing to his feet and pacing across the room. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. Draco hadn’t been able to face what was between them, what could have been between them all those years ago, it was stupid of him to expect that might have changed. That maybe Hermione was enough to—

“How do you do it?”

Theo blinked as the words interrupted his inner castigation, turning. He’d expected a protest, another litany of reasons, of excuses.

But instead, his friend merely stood there, silvery gaze unwavering as he watched Theo.

“Do what?” Theo asked, suddenly uncertain.

Draco shook his head, frustration coloring the movement as he shoved a hand through his hair.

“Get out of your head. How do you do it? Because every time I fucking try, every time I try to—”

His hand dropped and he looked to Theo once more, something lost, pleading, in his expression.

“I don’t know how to make it stop, Theo.”

Theo paused.

Oh.

He studied the other man for a long moment, watching as he shifted restlessly, fingers fidgeting at his sides. And he made a decision.

“Alright then, come on.”

Theo crossed the room, snatching his coat from where it had landed on the back of a chair and shrugging into it. It was bloody cold out.

“Where are you going?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“We—” he corrected, and then— “Flying.”

Draco’s brow furrowed, as if he’d misheard. “What?”

“Flying, Malfoy, surely you’ve heard of it.”

He wasn’t supposed to, he knew it, but he was feeling more than fine, but if he sat much longer, he might split out of his skin. There was so much godsdamn tension inside him, coiling and tightening like a spring the longer he looked at the man across from him, and Theo knew if he didn’t find a way to release it, he might— He cut the thought off, uncertain he wanted to finish it even in the privacy of his own thoughts. Fuck, maybe he needed this just as badly as Draco.

“You wanted to know how I clear my head? This is how. So you can either sit here and sulk, or you can get your arse out to the garden, Malfoy.”

Draco stared at him for a moment, glancing out the window to where dark had long since settled over London, before looking back to Theo. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Granger was fucking gone. She was gone, and Theo was going to hate him for it, and instead of telling him what to do, how to fix it, all he could offer was—

Theo shrugged.

“Unless you’ve forgotten how?”

Draco stiffened, offended despite himself. Sure he didn’t fly quite as often as he had a decade ago, but he wasn’t just some young prick on the Slytherin Quidditch team anymore. He had a job, commitments. He had an entire bloody team to manage.

So what if it had been—gods, had it been nearly a year since he’d been on a broom?

“C’mon,” Theo interrupted his thoughts, impatience lacing his tone. “I’ve got to get extra time in the air, I’ve got catching up to do. And we’ll need all the practice we can get, since someone fired our coach. You can wallow in the air just as well as you can here.”

Draco merely sat back in his seat, watching bemusedly as the man sauntered across the room until he stopped in the doorway, looking back at him expectantly.

“I’m not going to wait forever, Draco.”

Draco drew his broom to a stop, breathing hard from the chase, the cold night air filling his lungs as he looked out at the lights of the town glittering in the distance.

He’d thought it was stupid, to suggest that flying might fix…anything. As if getting on a broom would bring Granger back, would clear that startled apprehension from her pretty gaze. As if it could erase weeks—years—of the godsawful tension that underlaid his and Theo’s…gods, whatever the fuck it was they were. Friends? Flatmates? Or… He shook his head, cutting the thought off before it could get too far. Friends, that was good enough.

No, flying wouldn’t fix everything.

And yet, he couldn’t quite…he couldn’t quite look away from Theo, a pang echoing deep in his chest as the other man darted around their back garden. His cheeks were flushed, dark hair tousled by the wind, a broad grin plastered across his face as he dove and spun and whirled about, not a sign he’d ever been injured, and he looked so godsdamned happy.

Bloody show-off.

As if on cue, Theo let out a loud whoop, his broom streaking downwards, Draco’s chest tightening as he plummeted towards the ground before pulling up at the very last second.

“Fall off again and Granger probably won’t bother fixing you,” Draco called out, fighting to keep his lips from curving as Theo’s laughter rang out through the night. Ridiculous man.

Theo’s grin only widened as he rose through the air once more, drawing even with Draco.

“What, Malfoy, you couldn’t do that?”

“No,” Draco said dryly. Not that he cared to try, but there was little doubt it was true. Potter’s little trick sixth year had well and truly fucked his shoulder, it was stiff on the best of the days, and he wasn’t stupid enough to risk Granger’s wrath straining it just to keep up with Theo.

“C’mon,” Theo teased, sidling near enough in the air to bump his shoulder against Draco’s. “Bet you could still catch a Snitch if you had to.”

“I pay MacMillan an absurd amount of money so that I don’t have to, Nott.”

Theo snorted. “Yeah fat lotta good that’s done us.”

It was all Draco could do to muffle his groan. Theo wasn’t wrong, the team was having a fucking disaster of a season. It wasn't just skill, either. It was injury, or bad weather, or encountering a team they should've normally beaten in the middle of a fiendfyre-hot streak. It was shit luck and they were running out of time to correct it. And now he’d gone and fired their bloody coach.

He didn’t regret it, he should have done it fucking ages ago, the very first moment Hermione’s name had left that prick’s mouth. Should have fired him, and done everything in his godsdamned power to ensure the man never crossed her path again.

Except he hadn’t, he’d waited, he’d tried to fucking mediate and now here they were, a halfway decent team, playoffs in sight, and they didn’t have a damn coach to get them there. And worse still, the witch couldn’t even look him in the fucking eye. He’d done such a shit job of treating her as he should that she’d laughed when Theo had suggested he might care.

Fuck, no, he couldn’t think about that, not now. Instead—

“Thought Granger told you to keep your feet on the ground?”

Theo didn’t flinch at the change of subject, a sheepish grin flickering across his expression, a single shoulder rising. “Technically, she said no training. I’m just—” In an instant, his broom was upside down as the man dangled mid-air, his thick thighs braced and his sweater slumping, flashing the taut lines of his stomach. “—flying. Besides—” his grin took on a wicked edge as he righted himself, Draco’s gaze jerking back to his face. “She told me I wasn’t allowed to fuck either, and I’m planning on breaking both rules at some point tonight.”

Draco’s breath caught as his cock jerked unconsciously, his mind catching on that word—fuck—turning it over and over in his mind, visions of—fuck, visions of Theo and Hermione, their forms bared, clutching, desperate. Her curls spilling down her back, his fingers dimpling against the soft flesh of her hips as he rutted up into her. The rough groans ripped from his throat, the sweet little whimpers that would rise in her chest when she drew close to the edge and—

Theo paused, hovering near him once more as Draco cleared his throat on a harsh rasp.

“Alright?”

Draco averted his gaze, praying his friend wasn’t looking too closely. Fuck. He swore inwardly, reaching down to where he suddenly pressed uncomfortably against the hard wood of his broomstick in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure there.

“Fine,” he muttered, angling his broom away.

Theo’s brow furrowed and his broom dipped nearer. “What’s wrong? Your shoulder again?”

Fucking hell. He always did pay too much attention.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, urging his broom upwards in an effort to escape, only for Theo to remain doggedly on his tail.

“Hermione would come back if you need her to,” Theo called. “To take a look.”

Draco tensed at the witch’s name, an all-too-clear reminder of exactly what they’d come out here to forget. Of course she would come, the moment Theo needed her, she would be there. As it should be.

Whirling, he faced Theo, the man so near the sticks of their brooms clacked loudly together.

“You don’t need to use me as an excuse to fuck your girlfriend, Nott,” he said bitterly, pointedly.

But Theo only laughed. “Careful, mate, or I might think you’re jealous.”

And maybe it was because it was late, because he hadn’t slept enough recently. Maybe Theo knew him too well. Or maybe it was because he was just so godsdamned tired of pretending all the time, but something must have shown on his face.

Theo’s gaze sharpened, his broom drawing nearer still as he studied Draco in the dim light of the garden.

“Shit, you are, aren’t you? You’re jealous of me and Hermione.”

“Draco.” Theo’s voice followed after him as his feet met the dew-damp ground once more, because of course he couldn’t fucking leave well enough alone. He was moments away from landing alongside him, to be sure, but as he made his way back to the house, Draco’s stride lengthened in hopes the other man might simply let it go, for once in his godsdamned life.

But this was Theo Nott, veritable dog with a bone, and no sooner had he made it through the door than a hard hand grasped at his elbow.

“Draco.” It was a demand, this time, as Theo forced him about to look at him, his expression near-wounded.

“Help me understand,” Theo said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Draco scowled, turning away from him once more. “We were just—Why the fuck would you be jealous?”

“Why are you not?” Draco spat the words as he spun, the handle of his broom nearly taking a portrait off the wall.

“Every time I turn around I’m kissing your fucking girlfriend, and you act like you don’t give a damn, like it’s fucking nothing but it’s all I can think about, her, and you, and I just—”

The words vanished as, in an instant, Theo’s lips met his, roughened hands bracketing his face, pinning him in place.

A beat passed, and then another, and Draco’s broom clattered to the ground, his hands fisting in Theo’s shirt, hauling him nearer with a low, pained groan of need.

Theo’s kiss was familiar and foreign all at once, his hands bearing calluses from years of flying where they’d once been soft, the distant taste of whiskey on his tongue replacing the sweet bite of the acid pops he’d once favored. And gods, it was fucking perfect.

It was brutal—desperate—as their mouths met, tasted, fought, as fucking years of yearning spilled over.

It was rougher than kissing Hermione had been; harder. The soft scrape of Theo’s day-old stubble coarse against his skin, the strength of his grasping, desperate hold was so different from a woman’s—from the woman’s. From Hermione, who loved Theo as much as—fuck.

Draco wrenched his mouth away, breathing hard, fingers still twined in Theo’s clothes; his mind and body locked in a battle over whether to pull him near once more or push him away.

“Hermione,” he gasped out, the name a protest, a desperate plea.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s into you too, we know,” Theo muttered as his fingers fumbled through Draco’s sleek locks, fighting to pull his mouth to his once more.

“No, no, she—” A groan wrenched from Draco’s chest as Theo’s teeth nipped against his pulse. “Fuck, Theo stop.” His hands banded tight about Theo’s upper arms, forcing him back, fighting to ignore the way his cock jerked at the sight of his swollen lips, at the lust glazing his dark eyes.

“Hermione,” he repeated. “She—you—” The words caught in his throat and, slowly, understanding dawned in Theo’s eyes.

“Oh.” He said softly, his grip on Draco’s hair easing.

Draco tensed as Theo’s dark gaze drifted over his features, waiting for the moment the other man would step away and this would all be over. Because Theo had someone, a lovely, brilliant, infuriating witch, he didn’t need—

“Hermione—I love her.”

Draco flinched as the hoarse rasp of Theo’s voice interrupted his self-flagellation. Of course he did—he should. And if that meant—

“She’s—gods, she’s fucking perfect, Draco, and so much better than either of us deserve. I love her. But—”

Draco’s breath caught as Theo’s fingers traced unconsciously over the line of his jaw, cupping his face and forcing their gazes to meet.

“—but fuck, Draco, you fucking kissed me. You kissed me, and it was like nothing ever changed, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since it happened and—gods, why was it so much easier for me to tell her I love you than—”

The words echoed in Draco's ears. Repeating over and over as he moved without thinking, his hands slipping into dark curls and his lips slanting against that of a man he thought hated him.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

For a brief, insane moment, as Draco’s lips found his once more, as his thigh slotted between Theo’s own, shifting against the hard press of his cock, Theo considered that perhaps he wasn’t as well as he thought. Perhaps he had suffered some of that brain damage Hermione’d been so worried about when he fell. He’d been brain damaged, and this…this fucking fantasy was the result and any minute now he’d wake up in Mungo’s and—

“Say it again,” Draco demanded, crowding against Theo, urging him back until his back was pressed to the wall, settling his weight against him, pinning him in place. Theo’s head fell back and Draco’s lips found his throat, his hand sliding lower still, until—

“Say it.”

“Love you,” Theo gasped, hips bucking unconsciously, the hard press of Draco’s hand against the stiff length of his cock through his joggers nearly driving him mad. “Always—always fucking have, you stubborn prick.”

A puff of laughter met his skin as Draco trailed his lips over Theo’s throat, his grip easing, fingers sliding easily over his length, pausing where a patch of damp darkened the grey fabric.

“Stubborn, am I?” His thumb slipped beneath Theo’s shirt, toying with the elastic at his waist, tracing over the taut cut of muscle there.

“Perhaps I can make it up to you, hmm? Since you’ve been so…patient with me.”

A whimper ripped from Theo’s throat as Draco’s fingers slipped beneath his waistband, his touch hot—so fucking hot—as he cupped Theo’s length.

Draco leaned nearer and Theo’s breath caught with anticipation.

“Here's what I'll do," Draco murmured. "I’m going to suck this pretty cock until you’re fucking begging for it, Nott, and then? Then you’re going to bend over and let me remind you how much you fucking love having me in your arse, aren’t you?”

It was all Theo could do in that moment to keep from coming then and there, the visual picture of Draco’s words alone enough to—

A low, wicked laugh escaped the other man as he sank to his knees before him. His touch far more tender than that laugh, Draco tugged Theo’s joggers lower until his cock sprang free, jerking involuntarily.

A silvery gaze fell to him, long, lithe fingers sliding up his thigh, wrapping tight about his base.

“Fuck,” Theo swore aloud, his head thudding back against the wall, eyes pressed tight in an effort to fight back the threatening wave of pleasure.

A disapproving noise echoed from the man torturing him. “Watch me,” Draco chided, his voice low, squeezing just a bit tighter, near the point of discomfort, until Theo’s gaze dropped back to his once more.

“There you are,” Draco crooned, thumb flicking over the slit at the head of his cock, a smirk teasing. “Shirt off, Nott. Let me look at you.”

A flush washed over him as he scrambled to obey, tugging his t-shirt off in a single smooth move, his cheeks warming at the appreciation that flashed in Draco’s gaze.

“Good boy,” Draco murmured.

Theo’s pulse thudded in his chest as the man’s lips quirked upwards, a familiar, teasing smirk he hadn’t seen in far too long. Anticipation washed over him as Draco leaned nearer, his breath warm against sensitive skin.

“Now stay still for me, won’t you?”

The loud thud echoed through the hall as Theo’s head hit the wall once more, a muffled curse escaping him as Draco ignored any preliminaries, instead sucking him deep all at once, his throat spasming about the invasion.

“I—Fuck,” Theo stammered, his head snapping down to watch Draco once more as he gagged on the thick length, silvery eyes watering as he pulled back. “What are you—”

“Out of practice,” the other man muttered with a wry grin as he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, sliding a loose fist over the slick length of his cock.

Theo’s fingers curled into fists, fighting every urge to reach for the man as he leaned forward again, this time licking a slow, tortuous strip up his length, lingering at the head.

“I’d forgotten how good you taste,” he murmured, his tongue dipping into the slit there, his lips quirking once more when Theo jerked.

What followed was an exercise in torment any seasoned torturer might be proud of, Draco’s tongue and lips and hands teasing every inch of him, over and over and over, until Theo was all but sobbing, his hips jerking unconsciously with every flick of Draco’s tongue, every brush of his hand. It was practiced, a methodology perfected years ago between two boys hidden behind the curtains of their dormitory beds, and, just for a moment, Theo couldn’t help but wonder if Draco had relived those hours spent learning each other as often as he.

“Draco, please,” he gasped out as the man’s lips closed about the head of his cock, sucking even as his fingers found that sensitive spot behind his sac, pressing hard. “Please, I can’t—you—please.”

Draco pulled away with an obscene pop and a whimper bubbled in Theo’s throat.

“You’re not going to come, are you, Theo?” It wasn’t a question, not really. “You’re going to be good and wait.”

Gods, he wanted to, he wanted to be good for this man, but as Draco’s tongue flicked out once more, his balls drew tight and panic surged within him.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t, please—” Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet his as the pet name slipped free, startled familiarity coloring their depths and Theo reached for Draco, unable to resist, unable to be good any longer. Scrabbling for him, he tugged him to his feet, every movement near frantic as he crushed his lips to the other man’s once more, his own taste tart on his tongue.

“Missed this, missed you,” he panted out as he fumbled for Draco’s belt, yanking it free and shoving at his trousers, desperate to feel, to see and—oh gods, the piercing, he was going to—

“I need—”

A hard hand banded about his wrist, stilling him and Theo’s gaze jerked to meet Draco’s.

“Not here,” the other man said brusquely. “Come on.”

Draco’s pulse pounded loud in his ears, his cock so hard he could barely fucking think as he led Theo from the hall back into the drawing room. Back to where this whole fucking thing had started, so many months ago.

“Tell me, Nott,” Draco said, striving for something near conversational as he urged Theo across the room, until they were standing in front of that damned sofa, Theo’s back pressed to his front, the still-hard length of his cock jutting obscenely before them.

“Did you plan to make it so I got hard every time I so much as walk through this damn room, or was that just a happy coincidence?”

Theo glanced over his shoulder, flashing a grin that said he knew exactly what he had done, though he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut, for once in his life.

Fine.

A hand in the middle of his back urged Theo over the arm of the sofa until his cheek was flush with the fabric, his hips tilted high.

“Do you remember what she looked like,” Draco murmured, bending low, brushing a kiss against the other man’s throat. “All pretty and flushed, begging for you?”

Theo’s grin only widened, until—

He jerked, a muffled cry escaping him as Draco fisted his cock, giving it a rough stroke.

“I thought I’d gone mad,” Draco hissed as she straightened, tugging Theo’s joggers down further, tapping at his thigh to urge him to step from the fabric, until that fucking perfect tight arse, those thick, muscled thighs, were on display for him.

“Coming home to see your fingers buried in that pretty pink cunt. Do you know how many times I’ve fucked my own fist thinking about it? About how fucking lovely she was, stretched around you? Do you think I don’t dream of seeing your perfect hands on her body again?”

Another muffled noise from Theo, his hips tilting higher, his legs shifting further apart as Draco traced a careful line down his spine and lower still, dipping into that sharp, tempting cleft.

“What do you think she’d do, hmm? If she were to come back through that Floo now, and find my cock buried in this sweet arse of yours? Do you think she’d watch?”

A muttered spell and Draco’s fingers were slick, Theo groaning as a single digit sank deep.

“Do you think she’d watch,” he murmured once more, crooking his finger, drawing a whimpering sigh from the man before him. A second finger, a jerk of his hips as he fought to find friction against the sofa.

“Or do you think she’d pull up that tight little skirt of hers? That she’d spread her legs, right there on the sofa where you first had her, that she’d let you tongue that pretty cunt of hers until she screamed?”

“Fuck, Draco.” The gasping words escaped Theo, his hips bucking as Draco worked a third finger into him, stretching him, the slide of his fingers slick against heated skin.

“Would you do that for us? Let us use you, let us fuck you until we came, until all you could do was beg? Would you be good for us, Theo?”

“Please.”

Draco didn’t bother to hide his smile as he straightened, ignoring the low whine of protest that sounded in his lover’s throat as he pulled his fingers free, fumbling at the placket of his trousers.

A puff of relief escaped him as he freed the hard press of his cock. Pressing nearer to Theo, he let the heavy length bob against the curve of his arse, sliding against his cleft once, twice, and then—

“Good boy,” he rasped as he nudged his hips forward, easing his way into Theo, the tight clench about the head of his cock sucking the very breath from him. He paused, just for a moment, allowing the other man to adjust and then, in a single smooth motion, sank deep.

“Ungh.” A whimpering grunt escaped Theo, the lithe line of his back arching as Draco’s sharp ‘Fuck’ rang through the air, fingers clutched tight about the other man’s hips, pinning him in place.

“Fuck,” he repeated, hips stuttering forward, on the verge of embarrassing himself. “I—shit—you’re so fucking tight, Theo, so perfect—”

It had been too long—too fucking long—since he’d even dreamed of this, of that tight, inescapable heat, of the way the muscles of Theo’s back rippled and flexed as he arched to take Draco deeper. Years since he’d allowed himself to think of the glazed, slack expression Theo wore as he reveled in being used, of how he sounded as he whimpered Draco’s name, begging for more.

Desperation riding him, he reached down, fisting Theo’s cock. “That’s right,” he rasped, stroking hard, fast, as Theo bucked beneath him, unintelligible sobs of pleasure rising in his throat.

“You’re taking me so well, being so good for me.” He hauled his hips higher, until his cock was driving against the one spot guaranteed to drive the other man mad, over and over and over. “Fuck, I’m not going to last—”

He dragged it out as long as he was able, teeth gritted, grip bruising until he couldn’t stand it any longer, until the words slipped free, a plea and an order all in one.

“Fucking come for me, Theo.”

That was all it took, those words, Theo’s cock jerking, thick ropes of cum marking the sofa, his sharp cry filling the room and his arse—oh fuck—his arse clenching tight as he rode out his pleasure, squeezing Draco tighter still until—

He swore aloud, hips pressed hard to the curve of Theo’s arse as he jerked deep within him, flooding him, the lingering flutters of Theo’s pleasure only dragging out Draco’s own until, finally, he collapsed against Theo’s back, panting and utterly spent.

Moments passed, nothing more than the loud sounds of their mingled breaths filling the air, before Draco’s hand fell to the couch cushion, tracing idly through the mess Theo’d made.

“That’d better not stain.”

“You said I was gone for her.” Draco’s low, uncertain words broke the silence long minutes later, the sweat on their skin long since cooled, grasping hands settling into easy touches, forms twined together on the too-small sofa.

Theo lifted his head from his chest, studying him.

“Aren’t you?”

Draco groaned, letting his head thud back against the sofa. “Fuck.”

Theo chuckled, settling back against the other man’s sweat-damp skin. “Yeah, she’ll do that to you.”

Draco’s hand traced up the line of Theo’s back, coming to rest at his nape, fingers toying with his curls, his chest rising as if he might speak once more, only to stop.

Theo merely waited, letting his touch play idly over the faint line of pale hair that dusted the other man’s stomach.

Draco hesitated once more, and then finally— “Did she really leave because I…”

Theo tensed, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer before he pushed himself up, sitting back so that he might look the other man in the eye. He paused for a moment, unable to keep his gaze from drifting over the picture of debauchery before him, long, pale limbs askew, a satisfied flush to his cheeks even as his gaze darkened with uncertainty and his softened length thick against his thigh glinting with that hint of silver, just begging for—

Theo swallowed, hard, before forcing his attention to the matter at hand. Time enough for that later.

“You didn’t give her a reason to stay, did you?”

Draco flinched as Theo’s words landed. They weren’t harsh, or untrue, but— His lips parted, to argue that she wouldn’t have needed a reason if only Theo knew when to keep his own damn mouth shut, but the man carried on.

“She wants you, Draco, wants this just as badly as you do, and neither of you know how to fucking say it. It could just…it could be so simple, if you’d just let it.”

The awareness sank into him slowly, almost painfully, that realization that Theo was…right.

“So yeah, she left because you didn’t say anything.” The other man’s voice dropped lower, almost as if he were complaining to himself as he muttered, “—and she had to feed the damn cat.”

Draco didn’t bother to hide the twist of his lips at the bitter tone that laced the words.

Theo’d watched his witch snog another man—and then some. Hell, he’d practically orchestrated it. He’d all but begged them for more, but, after everything, it was the cat Theo was jealous of.

Gods, they really were ridiculous, weren’t they? All…three of them. Together. Something in his chest warmed at the thought, at how…easy it suddenly felt, to even think of it. Theo, and Hermione, and…him.

Wordlessly, he reached a hand out, something sparking within him as Theo flashed him a shy grin before taking it.

Lacing their fingers together, he drew the other man back until he was settled against his chest once more, arms looping about his back, pressing him close.

“You really think she likes me?”

Theo let out a short, bright huff of laughter, his forehead falling against the other man’s sweat-damp shoulder.

“Yeah, Draco. Yeah, I do.”

Draco let those words settle, and, for the first time he could remember in—gods, perhaps since the last time he’d had Theo in his arms like this. For the first time in a long while, Draco let himself believe.

It wasn’t simple, not like Theo thought it was. It never would be. And yet…

He breathed deep, resolution filling his veins as he shifted, prodding at Theo until he sat up.

“Put your pants on, Nott.”

Theo’s brow furrowed, shoving a wayward curl from his forehead as he watched Draco climb to his feet.

“Why?”

“Pants, Nott. We’re going to get our witch.”