Archive of Our Own

Based on this photo prompt.

https://x.com/skidadling/status/1969948104561717256

The pub was warm, buzzing with chatter and firewhiskey fumes. Their table was tucked in the corner, crowded with empty glasses and a pile of chips that no one had touched because Draco and Hermione had been bickering for the last half hour.

“Merlin’s beard,” Theo groaned. “You two need couples therapy.”

Hermione choked on her butterbeer. “Couples what?”

Pansy smirked. “Honestly, Theo’s right. If I didn’t know either of you, I’d think you’ve been married for ten years.”

Ginny nodded. “Old married couple vibes.”

Hermione gaped. Draco, on the other hand, laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

“Please,” Hermione scoffed, cheeks pink. “You’re full of shite. You’re saying that to mess with us.”

Draco leaned back grinning, “No one in their right mind would think we’re a couple. People who see us probably think we want to kill each other.”

Theo snorted. “That’s exactly what old married couples do.”

Ginny’s eyes glinted mischievously. “How about a dare?”

Blaise chuckled, “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, a dare?”

Ginny leaned forward. “We’ll drop the old married couple joke forever if you two go to couples therapy. Together. Let’s see how long it takes the therapist to figure out you’re not actually a couple.”

“Probably never,” Harry said.

Theo tapped the table with a grin. “Forget never!  The therapist will probably offer you two a divorce.”

Pansy clapped her hands, “Oh, this is fun! Two sessions for ten galleons.”

Blaise leaned in, “Nah, three sessions. Twenty galleons.”

Harry chimed in, “I’m with Pans, two sessions, ten galleons.”

“Five sessions at least. Fifteen galleons.” Ginny cheered.

Theo smirked, “The therapist will never notice. Thirty galleons.”

Hermione shot up straighter, scandalized. “You are not betting on this!”

Draco raised his glass like he was making a toast. “First session, the therapist kicks us out. Fifty galleons.”

“MALFOY!” Hermione spluttered.

“GRANGER!” Draco shot back and laughs out loud.

The rest of their friends laugh.

Harry grins, “I know someone, by the way. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon took this therapy last year. I’ll set you an appointment.”

“HARRY, WHAT THE FUCK?!” Hermione yelped.

Blaise smirked. “That’s brilliant. At least no one will recognize them.”

Pansy’s eyes gleamed with wicked delight. “And once you go to the appointment, you’re not allowed to tell the therapist you’re not a couple.”

Ginny raised her glass. “Exactly. Let them figure it out.”

Theo added, “All memories will be watched in my pensieve.”

Hermione pointed at all of them furiously. “You’re full of shites.”

Draco leaned closer, voice taunting.  “Someone’s not up for a challenge. Don’t you want to prove to them that we don’t look like a couple?”

Hermione’s jaw tightened. Her friends smirked. Draco looked insufferably pleased. And somehow, against her better judgment, Hermione had the sinking suspicion she was going to say yes.

____________________

Two days later, Hermione was pacing Ginny’s flat like a caged lion.

“This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I let you lot talk me into this. Couples therapy? With Malfoy?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air.

Ginny sipped her tea, unimpressed. “You said you wanted to prove us wrong.”

“I wanted to prove we don’t look like a couple! Not… not sit on some couch pretending to be married while Malfoy smirks like the bloody devil.”

Ginny grinned. “So what you’re saying is, you’re scared.”

Hermione froze. “Excuse me?”

“Scared the therapist will actually believe you’re a couple,” Ginny sing-songed.

Hermione groaned, flopping face-first onto the sofa. “I hate all of you.”

____________________

Meanwhile, at Zabini’s manor, Draco was nursing a glass of firewhiskey, Theo and Blaise sprawled across armchairs.

“She’s going to crack in five minutes,” Draco said smugly. “I’ll collect my fifty galleons before the session ends.”

Theo arched an eyebrow. “You sound awfully confident for someone about to spend an hour trapped in a room with Hermione Granger.”

Blaise smirked. “He lives for it. Don’t let him fool you.”

Draco tilted his head back, a lazy grin curling at his lips. “Please. I’ve been tormenting Granger since we were eleven. Therapy’s just… new scenery.”

Theo snorted. “Merlin help that therapist.”

____________________

Session One

In the waiting room, Hermione sat straight, clutching her bag like a shield while Draco lounged beside her, looking infuriatingly at ease.

“This is insane,” she hissed.

Draco smirked. “Don’t worry, Granger. Think of it as a field study in patience. Yours, not mine.”

Before she could retort, the receptionist poked her head out. “Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?”

Hermione turned scarlet. “We’re not—”

Draco nudged her side with his elbow, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled her ear. “Remember the deal,” he whispered. “We’re not supposed to tell them we’re not a couple. Unless you want to empty your gringotts vault, be my guest.”

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, glaring at him.

“Lead the way,” Draco drawled smoothly to the receptionist, like he’d been waiting his whole life to play this game.

____________________

The therapist’s office was warm and cozy, lined with plants and shelves full of self-help tomes.

“Please, sit,” the therapist said brightly. “Now, what brings you two here today?”

Draco didn’t hesitate. “She nags. Constantly. About everything.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“She nags about my work, my handwriting, how I stir my tea—” Draco ticked off each point lazily on his fingers. “It’s exhausting.”

Hermione shot forward, “I do not nag! I simply point out when something could be done more efficiently.”

The therapist nodded, scribbling something down. “Mmm. Communication issues. Very common.”

Hermione groaned. “We don’t have communication issues, we’re just not—” She bit her tongue before she could ruin the dare.

The therapist smiled kindly. “Why don’t we try a simple exercise? Each of you will share one thing you appreciate about the other.”

Hermione looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. Draco looked delighted.

“Well?” he prompted, smug as anything.

Hermione glared at him, “Fine. He’s… competent. At his job.”

Draco’s grin widened. “She’s not entirely unbearable.”

The therapist clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! See? You can find common ground.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands. Draco looked like Christmas had come early.

“Let’s go a little deeper,” the therapist said cheerfully. “How do you usually resolve conflict at home?”

Hermione blinked. “We don’t—”

Draco interrupted smoothly. “She lectures. I ignore her. Eventually, she realizes I was right all along.”

Hermione gasped. “That is not how it goes!”

The therapist scribbled away. “Classic pursuer–withdrawer dynamic. Very common in long-term relationships.”

Hermione made a strangled noise. “We’re not—”

Draco kicked her ankle under the table. 

“Let’s try role reversal,” the therapist suggested. “Hermione, you pretend to be Draco. Draco, you pretend to be Hermione. Act out a typical argument.”

Draco’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Oh, this will be fun.” He pitched his voice higher, clasping his hands in front of him. “Malfoy, you absolute insufferable git, you didn’t alphabetize the spice rack! Civilization is doomed!”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “I don’t sound like that!”

“You do when you’re yelling,” Draco shot back2.

Hermione huffed, then crossed her arms, lowering her voice into a dramatic drawl. “I’m Draco Malfoy. I’m perfect. My hair shines like unicorn tears. Everyone else is incompetent.”

The therapist laughed softly. “Wonderful! See? You both understand each other deeply.”

Hermione and Draco both froze. “What?” they chorused.

“Role-playing shows remarkable empathy,” the therapist explained, smiling. “You’re attuned to one another’s frustrations. That’s very healthy.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands again. Draco looked like he was about to burst out laughing.

By the time the session ended, Hermione was vibrating with indignation.

“That was the most humiliating hour of my life.” Hermione hissed.

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets. “That was the most fun I’ve had all week.”

“You made me sound like some nagging harpy!”

“You made me sound like a narcissist with unicorn hair.”

“If the shoe fits—”

Draco leaned down, “Careful, Granger. Keep talking like that and she’ll schedule us for counseling weekly.”

Hermione stomped away muttering curses, while Draco chuckled all the way to the apparition point.

____________________

The pub was loud again. Harry, Ginny, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy sat in a semi-circle, all staring at Draco and Hermione like hungry wolves.

“Well?” Theo demanded. “How was it?”

Hermione dropped into her seat with a thud. “Mortifying.”

Draco slid in beside her. “Entertaining, actually. Granger was a delight. She compared me to unicorn tears.”

“That was an insult!” Hermione snapped.

Their friends howled with laughter.

Ginny grinned, “Did you survive, or did the therapist kick you out just like you swore, Malfoy?”

Draco smirked. “Not only did she not kick us out, she practically knighted me for my patience. Clearly, I won the bet.”

Blaise lifted his glass lazily. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Harry, trying and failing to hide his grin, set down his pint. “Funny thing.. I got an email this afternoon. From the therapist.”

Hermione groaned. “No.”

Harry beams, “She says, and I quote, ‘Mr. Potter, your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, showed excellent progress today. I’ve scheduled them for a follow-up session next week.’”

The table exploded. Theo pounded the table. “Pay up, Draco! I told you she’d never notice!”

Hermione covered her face, muttering, “This cannot be my life.”

Draco just stared at Harry. “She actually scheduled a follow-up?”

“Oh yes,” Harry said cheerfully. “You, Lord Malfoy, have officially lost your bet.”

Ginny held out her hand. “Fifty galleons, ferret. Hand it over.”

Blaise added, “Pay up, I guessed three sessions minimum.”

Pansy raised her glass. “I’d like mine in cash, darling. No funny business with gringotts vault transfers.”

Draco scowled, digging into his coin pouch. “This is extortion.”

“This is justice,” Theo corrected.

Hermione cheeks aflame. “I hate all of you.”

Draco shot her a sideways glance, smirking, “Cheer up, Granger. At least now we know we’re convincing.”

“That’s not comforting!” she snapped, but her ears burned redder than her cheeks.

The table roared with laughter again. “To the happy couple and their second therapy session!”

“WE’RE NOT A—” Hermione started, but her voice drowned in the clinking of glasses and the chorus of cheers.

____________________

Session Two

In the office, Hermione sat on the loveseat like she was preparing for trial at the Wizengamot while Draco looked as though he owned the place.

“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!” the therapist said, a pen poised above her notepad. “I’m so glad you’ve committed to continuing this journey.”

Hermione’s face heated instantly. “We didn’t—”

A sharp nudge to her thigh cut her off. Draco whispered, “Remember the deal, Granger. Play along.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper.

“Now,” the therapist said, “today we’ll focus on connection. Many couples struggle with intimacy, not just physical, but emotional. So let’s start with something simple. Please turn to face each other. Knees touching.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

Draco wasted no time, angling himself so his knee pressed against hers. “Don’t be shy, darling,” he drawled.

“I will hex you,” she gritted with her teeth, but reluctantly shifted so they were face-to-face. Their knees brushed again. She told herself the shiver up her spine was rage.

“Excellent,” the therapist said. “Now, hold hands.”

Hermione’s eyes nearly bulged out of her skull. “Absolutely not.”

“Therapy rules,” Draco said smugly.

Grinding her teeth, Hermione shoved her palm into his, squeezing hard enough to make his knuckles pop.

“Merlin’s sake, Granger,” he hissed. “Trying to crush me?”

She smiled sweetly. “Only a little.”

The therapist clapped once. “Strong grip. Shows commitment.”

Draco shot Hermione a triumphant look. Hermione wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

“Now,” the therapist went on, “maintain eye contact. Two minutes. No talking.”

Hermione stared at her, horrified. “Two minutes?”

“Eye contact builds intimacy and trust,” the therapist explained.

Draco immediately locked eyes with Hermione, grey gaze sharp and annoyingly amused. “Ready when you are.”

Hermione glared at him. But glaring gave way to noticing details: the silver flecks in his irises, the way one corner of his mouth twitched when he was fighting a smile, how his gaze didn’t waver. Her stomach flipped traitorously.

“Stop smirking,” she whispered.

“Shhh, feel the moment, darling,” he murmured back

The therapist beamed. “Lovely. The tension between you is palpable. That shows passion.”

Hermione choked, nearly breaking eye contact. Draco, the bastard, looked smug enough to combust.

“Very good. Now let’s add affirmations. While maintaining eye contact, say something you appreciate about your partner.”

Hermione’s lips parted in outrage. “You can’t be serious?”

“Ladies first,” Draco purred.

Her cheeks burned hotter. “Fine. He… makes tea.”

Draco raised a brow. “That’s it?”

“Without asking,” she snapped. “Even if he stirs it wrong.”

The therapist sighed happily. “Acts of service. Very loving.”

Draco’s lips curved, though not in his usual cutting way. 

Does she even realize? he wondered. She’s impossible when she skips her tea, that's why I keep making it. He masked the thought with a practiced smirk, but the truth of it settled stubbornly, an unwelcome warmth pressing at the edges of his chest.

He squeezed her hand just once before speaking. “She makes sure I don’t forget to eat when I’m working.”

Hermione blinked at him. The smugness was still there, but there was something real tucked behind it. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She hadn’t expected that answer, hadn’t even realized he noticed. She always nagged him about meals when she caught him holed up in his office, pale and hollow-eyed, pretending that a half-empty teacup counted as sustenance. She’d assumed he ignored her, brushed off her words the way he brushed off everything else with his insufferable arrogance. But here he was, remembering.

The realization sat heavy and warm in her chest. He listens. He actually listens.

“Beautiful,” the therapist said, jotting notes.

Hermione yanked her hand away, flustered. “Next exercise, please.”

The therapist smiled as though she’d been waiting for this moment. “All right. Let’s try something different: ‘I statements.’ Each of you will start a sentence with ‘I feel…’ about the other. No blaming, just expressing.”

Draco grinned, “Oh, this will be good.”

Hermione folded her arms, “Fine. I feel… constantly irritated when you refuse to listen.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed lazily over the other. “I feel… endlessly entertained when you get worked up.”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. “That’s not the point of the exercise!”

He smirked. “On the contrary, Granger, I think it’s spot-on.”

The therapist chuckled softly. “Excellent start. You’re both being very honest. Now, let’s go a little deeper. Draco, another one?”

He didn’t even hesitate and studied her with that infuriating Malfoy calm. “I feel… oddly calm when she’s around. Even when she’s nagging.”

The words landed like a bludger to the chest. For once, she had no clever retort ready. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. She blushed.

The therapist beamed. “See? That’s excellent progress already.”

Hermione blinked at her. “Progress? He’s insufferable!”

Draco’s smirk only deepened, “And yet, you’re blushing.”

Hermione whipped around to glare at him. “I am not!”

“You are,” he drawled smoothly, utterly delighted.

The therapist leaned in kindly. “Hermione, would you like to try another statement? Something honest, perhaps?”

Hermione’s mind scrambled for something appropriately scathing but what slipped out was softer than she intended. “I feel… frustrated because you never take things seriously.” 

Draco’s smirk softened. It’s like he wasn’t sure whether to gloat or take it seriously. His pale eyes lingered on hers, searching.

The therapist smiled, oblivious to the undercurrent that had thickened between them. “Wonderful. That was very vulnerable, Hermione. And Draco, how does it feel to hear that?”

Draco cleared his throat, “I feel… understood, actually.”

Hermione blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

The therapist clapped her hands together, “See? That's a real connection.”

Hermione groaned into her palms, “Kill me now.”

Draco lounged back in his seat, lips twitching as though he couldn’t quite decide between smirking and saying something real.

“Last exercise, I’d like each of you to complete this sentence: ‘I need you to…’ It helps clarify needs in the relationship.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “This is unnecessary–”

“Granger,” Draco interrupted smoothly, “ladies first.”

She shot him a murderous look, “Fine. I need you to stop interrupting me.”

Draco nodded with mock solemnity. “Noted. I need you to stop rearranging my desk.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Rearranging? I was saving it from collapsing under its own chaos!”

“It’s called a system, Granger,” Draco drawled. “Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it isn’t brilliant.”

The therapist scribbled eagerly. “Wonderful! Domestic differences are very common. Now, another round. Something more emotional.”

Hermione clenched her jaw, “I need you to stop… infuriating me on purpose.”

Draco smiles softly. “I need you to… keep infuriating me. It’s the only thing that makes my life interesting.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide, heat flashing across her cheeks before she could stop it. She opened her mouth then shut it again, unable to summon her usual retort.

The therapist leaned forward, “That’s excellent. Honest, even vulnerable. Hermione, would you like to respond?”

Hermione groaned, “I’d like to respond by leaving.”

“Not an option,” Draco said lightly, though there was something quieter beneath it, something almost sincere. “You still owe me another round.”

The therapist clapped her hands together. “Lovely! Playfulness is a sign of resilience in a couple. You’re well on your way.”

Hermione was mortified beyond measure. Draco leaned back, eyes lingered on her a moment too long, as if savoring the sight.

“One last round,” the therapist said brightly. “Something from the heart.”

Hermione peeked at Draco, narrowed her eyes, and exhaled through her nose like an angry bull. “Fine. I need you to stop treating everything like a joke.”

Draco smirks. He drummed his fingers against his knee, as if debating whether to strike or retreat. Then, with a shrug that seemed too casual, he leaned forward. “I need you to stop acting like no one could actually care about you, Granger.”

The air thickened. Her mind scrambled for a retort but all she could do was blink. Heat crept traitorously up her neck, blooming across her cheeks. Draco, for once, didn’t look triumphant. He smirk softly. He sat back slowly, stretching out his legs, but his gaze stayed on her.

“Lovely. That was honest and vulnerable. Exactly what this exercise is meant to uncover.” The therapist said, oblivious on what's going on. "That concludes our session for today. Wonderful progress, both of you. I’ll see you next week.”

Hermione shot up from the loveseat as if it had burned her. “Thank you,” she blurted, avoiding Draco’s eyes.

Draco rose at a leisurely pace, “Always a pleasure.”

As they stepped outside, silence clung to them like a second skin. Hermione breathed it in too fast, like she was drowning. She opened her mouth, ready to spit something defensive but no words came. Draco smirked faintly. Before they reached the apparition point, she was vibrating with indignation.

“I think I just unlocked a new level of embarrassment..”

“Oh, I enjoyed myself immensely. You, gazing into my eyes? Holding my hand? Admit it, Granger, you were charmed.”

Hermione glared at him. “Charmed by the idea of strangling you.”

“Careful,” he murmured, grin sharp. “Our therapist might call that foreplay.”

Hermione stalked toward the apparition point, muttering obscenities under her breath. Draco chuckled all the way after her.

____________________

The next round at the pub was louder than usual, half the table already tipsy when Draco and Hermione finally slid into their seats.

Theo spotted them first, “Well, well. The golden couple arrives.”

Hermione groaned. “Not this again.”

“Correction,” Blaise said smoothly, “the golden couple who owes us updates.”

Harry grinned, “Funny thing. I checked my email this morning.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Looks like your therapist wants you back next week.”

“Which means…” Pansy groaned, slamming her hand against the table, “I lost.”

Harry lifted his pint in despair. “And so did I, darling.”

Blaise smirked, sitting back like a king collecting tribute. “Three sessions. Twenty galleons. Pay up.”

“Bloody hell,” Pansy muttered, digging into her purse. “This is extortion.”

“Extortion is when you don’t know you’re being robbed,” Theo corrected cheerfully. “This is just excellent foresight.”

“Don’t look so smug,” Ginny chimed in, tossing a coin pouch on the table. “I’m still in the running. I said five sessions, remember?”

“Correction,” Theo drawled, “I’m still winning. The therapist will never notice. Thirty galleons riding on it.” He raised his glass toward Draco and Hermione. “Don’t let me down, lovebirds.”

Hermione nearly knocked over her butterbeer. “We are not—”

But she stopped when Draco shifted beside her, his hand brushing against hers before retreating. It was so quick most wouldn’t have noticed but Theo and Ginny did. Their eyes flicked between the two of them, and their smirks dimmed into soething more curious.

“You two are… suspiciously quiet tonight,” Ginny said slowly, brow arched.

Theo tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Almost… civil. I don’t like it.”

“Agreed,” Ginny said, lips twitching. “I miss the bickering.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What actually happened in that session?”

Draco took a long sip of firewhisky, stalling. Hermione busied herself with the condensation on her glass. Neither volunteered an answer.

“Oh, this is rich,” Pansy crowed, sensing blood. “You two have been bickering like cats and dogs for years, and now suddenly you can’t look each other in the eye?”

Blaise leaned in, voice low and taunting. “What did the therapist make you do? Holding hands? Staring into each other’s eyes until you burst into flames?”

Hermione flushed crimson, nearly dropping her glass. “That is not what happened,” she said quickly.

Across from her, Draco’s smirk twitched, the corner of his mouth threatening to curve higher. But it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he busied himself with the rim of his firewhisky instead of answering.

Harry pounded the table, “Well? Spit it out!”

Hermione shot him a glare that could have felled a troll. “Absolutely not. Whatever you’re imagining, it wasn’t that.”

Theo tilted his head. “So it was something.”

Ginny perked up immediately, “Merlin, it was! You’re blushing like a schoolgirl.”

“I am not!” Hermione buried her face in her butterbeer.

“Granger,” Blaise drawled, “you’d only protest this much if we were close to the truth.”

Theo tapped his chin thoughtfully, watching Draco’s careful silence. “It’s the eye contact, isn’t it? Figures. That explains why you two can’t even look at each other now.”

Draco finally spoke, his smirk was tugging at the corners. “I don’t know what’s more pathetic: that you lot have nothing better to do than place bets on our personal life, or that you think a little staring contest would faze me.”

Hermione elbowed him sharply under the table. “OUR personal life? Excuse me—”

But her cheeks were still burning, and Draco looked almost satisfied with her outrage.

The table erupted into laughter and jeering, their friends leaning closer, demanding details. Hermione covered her face with both hands. Draco just tipped back his glass, letting them think what they wanted, his smirk fixed firmly in place.

___________________

Session Three

By the third session, Hermione looked like she was preparing for battle. Draco, of course, lounged on the loveseat like it was his personal throne.

The therapist smiled, “Today I’d love to hear about your history together. Let’s start simple. When did you first meet?”

Hermione smoothed her skirt, “We met at school—”

“Hog—” Draco cut in smoothly, clearing his throat mid-word. “—worth. Hogworth Academy.”

Hermione’s head whipped toward him. “Hog—what?”

Draco’s lips curved into a lazy smile. “Private boarding school.”

The therapist’s eyes lit up. “How charming! A school romance?”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. “Not exactly. We–”

“–hated each other,” Draco supplied with infuriating ease.

The therapist tilted her head. “Oh?”

Hermione pressed her lips together, “We didn’t exactly get along in our younger years. He was–”

“–a nightmare,” Draco interrupted smoothly. “And so was she.”

Hermione shot him a sharp look. “At least I was decent to people outside my little circle.”

“Details,” Draco said airily, waving it off.

The therapist beamed, “So, not love at first sight, but something more… transformative later in life?”

Hermione exhaled. “Yes. After school we… reconnected. Years later.”

Draco leaned back, voice a lazy purr. “She tracked me down at a reunion, practically demanding we catch up. The rest is history.”

Hermione gaped at him. “Tracked you down? You wouldn’t stop following me to the buffet table!”

“Semantics,” Draco said smoothly.

The therapist scribbled, “So the love grew after reconnecting. A slower burn. Very profound.”

Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Draco looked positively smug.

“And how long have you been married now?” the therapist asked.

Hermione hesitated. “Er–”

“Five years,” Draco supplied instantly, without a flicker of doubt.

Hermione blinked at him, caught off guard. “Five?”

“Yes, five, darling” Draco said firmly, pale eyes daring her to contradict him.

The therapist clapped her hands, delighted. “Marvelous! And children, have you discussed them?”

Hermione stiffened. “That’s rather… personal.”

But Draco’s smirk widened, smooth as silk. “We’ve talked about it. Twins would suit us, I think. Equal parts brilliance and chaos.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You are making this up as you go!”

“Making it up?” Draco’s tone was all mock innocence. “I’m simply… manifesting.”

The therapist looked positively delighted, “Playful banter about family planning! Wonderful. I see so much love here.”

____________________

The session was cut short when a frantic knock rattled the office door. Draco and Hermione were left in the quiet of the reception area.

“Five years?” Hermione asked. “Why five years?”

Draco sat opposite her, “Because it’s been five years since we worked on that mission together.”

Hermione blinked. “Has it really been that long?”

“Apparently, time drags when you’re lecturing me every other day.”

Her jaw dropped. “Lecturing? I was saving your arse. If I hadn’t double-checked your field notes–”

“–we’d still have caught the smuggler,” Draco cut in smoothly. “But yes, by all means, take credit for my brilliance.”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms tighter. “You’re unbelievable.”

But even as she bristled, her mind slid unbidden through the timeline.

1998 - the end of the war
2000 - Draco, released from house arrest, showed up at the Ministry’s anniversary gala. Hermione had been one year into her work there already, buried in legislation and rebuilding efforts. They hadn’t spoken much that night, except the fact that Draco was everywhere where Hermione went (read: the buffet table is actually true).
2001 - Theo had hosted an inter-house party that drew Gryffindors and Slytherins into the same space without hexes flying. To everyone’s surprise, friendships sparked. Somehow, slowly, they’d all become acquainted.
2002 - Draco pursued Auror training.
2003 - Forced to work side by side on that mission, she found him sharper and more exasperating than ever. He found her relentless, meticulous, and unwilling to let anything slide.

And now, 2008. Present day. Sitting beside him in a Muggle waiting room, pretending to be his wife for a bet gone too far.

Hermione rubbed her temple. “I didn’t even realize it’s been that long.”

Draco's eyes softened, “Five years.”

Hermione faltered. He remembered. He counted.

She opened her mouth, searching for words, but Draco cleared his throat sharply, masking the slip. “Five years of nagging, yes.”

Her head whipped toward him. “Excuse me?”

“There it is, the famous Granger outrage. I was worried you’d gone soft.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are. Still putting up with me.”

She scoffed, “Don’t flatter yourself. This is about proving a point.”

Draco’s lips twitched. “Mmm. Of course. Nothing more.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly,” he echoed, though his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary.

Hermione shifted, suddenly aware of how close his knee was to hers. She cleared her throat. “Honestly, Malfoy, five years and you’re still impossible.”

Draco’s smirk curved slowly and deliberately. “And five years later, you still haven’t run out of energy to tell me so.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. She grabbed her bag and stood abruptly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before she comes back.”

Draco rose, “Granger,” he drawled.

“What?” she snapped, looking over her shoulder.

“Five years.” His mouth curved, softer this time. “Don’t forget.”

Hermione’s breath caught. She rolled her eyes fiercely to cover it. “Oh, I won’t. You never let me.”

But the truth was, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

____________________

The pub was rowdy that night. Hermione and Draco slipped in together. Not holding hands, but close enough that Theo noticed immediately.

“There they are!” Theo raised his pint. “The miracle couple who’ve survived three sessions!”

Blaise groaned theatrically, dropping his head to the table. “From the looks of it, I’m out. I lost. All because you two can’t quit each other.”

Hermione froze mid-step, looked at Harry confirming that he already received an email for their next session. “Quit each other?!”

Draco’s smirk sharpened. “He’s not wrong, Granger. You are remarkably persistent.”

“Persistent?” she snapped. “I’ve been trapped in this mess with you.”

Theo clapped his hands, delighted. “There it is! The spark. I was starting to worry.”

Ginny reached across the table, “Pay up, Zabini.”

Blaise groaned louder but fished out a pouch of coins anyway. “Fine. Fine! Easy money for you vultures.”

“Easy?” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I told you, five sessions minimum. You should’ve listened.”

“Yeah, well,” Blaise muttered, “I thought Malfoy would’ve hexed her by now.”

Hermione glared. “Excuse me?”

But Harry leaned in, curious. “So what was this week’s topic? Come on, you’ve got to give us something.”

“Nothing interesting,” Draco said smoothly.

“Nothing?” Theo gasped in mock horror. “What, did you two just sit there, staring into each other’s eyes?”

Blaise perked up. “That would explain the tension.”

Hermione sputtered. “It was not staring!”

“Oh Merlin, it was staring,” Ginny said, grinning like she’d solved a riddle. “I can see it all over your face.”

Draco drained half his pint, clearly refusing to dignify that with an answer.

Theo leaned his elbows on the table. “So, Zabini’s out. I say we raise the stakes. New round of bets. How long do you think before one of them cracks and actually admits they enjoy each other’s company?”

“Never,” Hermione said flatly.

“Soon,” Ginny countered, eyes gleaming. “Very soon.”

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m saying four more sessions. Tops.”

Draco lowered his glass, voice smooth but edged. “And what exactly do I get out of this circus?”

Theo grinned. “Entertainment value. And the satisfaction of watching Granger squirm.”

Hermione let out an outraged noise. “I do not squirm!”

“Mm,” Draco hummed, “Five years, Granger. I’d say you do.”

Her mouth fell open then snapped shut. Her cheeks burned hot, hotter than the fire behind them.

“Five years?” Theo repeated, “Wait. What does that mean? Five years since what?”

Hermione shot Draco a death glare. “We were asked how long we were married. And then this git here decided to make up a ridiculous story!”

Draco only raised his pint lazily, unbothered. “Five years since she decided I wasn’t completely insufferable.”

Ginny gasped, “Oh, this is gold. Tell us everything. When did it start? How did it happen? Was it one of those Ministry corridors? You bumped into each other and dropped a stack of parchment–”

Hermione groaned. “Absolutely not.”

Blaise perked up. “No, no. It’s obvious. Classic reunion romance. You see each other after years apart, the air crackles, you can’t stop staring across the ballroom–”

Hermione sputtered. “What is with you people and staring?!”

Draco smirked. “You did stare.”

Her jaw dropped. “I did not–”

Theo banged the table, nearly spilling his drink. “HA! Confirmation! Malfoy admits it.”

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh, “You lot are worse than the therapist.”

Harry leaned in, grinning like he’d solved a riddle. “So it was the gala, wasn’t it? The war commemoration thing. That’s when you reconnected.”

Hermione froze, eyes flicking to Draco. He raised one elegant brow, silent but undeniably smug.

Harry’s grin widened. “Oh Merlin, it was the gala.”

Ginny clasped her hands under her chin, mock-dreamy. “Star-crossed enemies reuniting under the chandeliers. Tragic history, fresh beginnings–”

“Stop,” Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t stop,” Pansy countered. “This is delicious.”

Blaise smirked, cutting in with a drawl. “So, let me guess. First comes the gala, then a heated debate at some ministry project, then… oh no… partners on a mission, forced proximity, long nights–”

Hermione turned crimson. “That is not how it happened!”

Draco swirled his pint, looking unbearably smug. “That’s exactly how it happened.”

“Malfoy!” she hissed.

The table exploded with laughter, Harry nearly choking on his drink.

Theo slammed down his glass, eyes gleaming. “New bet! Forget the therapist. I’m putting ten galleons on who admits first that they fancy the other.”

Ginny shot her hand up immediately. “Hermione. She’s already halfway there.”

Hermione’s mouth opened in outrage, but no words came out.

Pansy smirked at Draco. “I’ll take Draco. He’s too smug for a man not hiding something.”

Draco tipped his glass, utterly unbothered. “Keep wasting your money, Pansy. I’m winning this game either way.”

And for the first time that evening, Hermione didn’t argue. She just ducked her head, cheeks burning, as the others roared with laughter.

Theo wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Honestly, this is better than the therapy itself. I don’t even care if I lose my money anymore.”

Ginny leaned in, eyes sharp with mischief. “But hold on. What’s with five years?.”

Harry grinned, “Is that how long have you two been married?”

Theo slammed his palm on the table, “Yes! The ultimate test. If you’ve been practicing your lies in therapy, you should at least keep them straight outside.”

Blaise smirked. “Go on, Malfoy. Impress us.”

Draco swirled his firewhisky with practiced calm, “Yes, married for five years.”

Hermione nearly choked on her drink. “Honestly, since you’re so happy to share everything, why don’t you tell them about our family planning too?”

Draco’s smirk curved, slow and deliberate. “Ah, right. We’ve been planning to have twins.”

The table went silent for half a breath.

Then it exploded.

Theo tipped backward in his chair, “Twins! Merlin’s saggy pants, Draco, my boy! You don’t just drop that over drinks!”

Ginny slammed her palm on the table, “Twins! Oh, this is brilliant. You two are absolutely unhinged.”

Harry groaned loudly, “First the fake marriage, now children. What’s next? Matching Christmas jumpers?”

Blaise leaned in with predatory delight. “Be honest, have you picked out names? Tell me you’ve picked names.”

Hermione’s entire face went scarlet. “There are no names because there are no twins! He’s making this up as he goes along!”

“Not making it up,” Draco said smoothly, “It’s a vision. Double the brilliance, double the chaos. Clearly, the world deserves two miniature versions of us.”

Theo wheezed, “I call dibs on being godfather. Imagine those poor kids. Their bedtime stories would be lectures on sock organization versus proper alphabetization.”

Pansy jabbed her finger toward Draco. “And you know he’d teach them to smirk before they can even talk.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“On the contrary,” Blaise drawled. “This is the best entertainment I’ve had all month.”

Harry shook his head, “Honestly, if the therapist doesn’t catch on soon, it’ll be because she’s been hexed blind.”

Theo lifted his glass high, “To the future Malfoy-Granger twins! May they inherit their mother’s brains and their father’s haircare routine.”

Glasses clinked, laughter thundered, and Hermione buried herself deeper in her hands. Draco leaned back, letting the smugness play across his face. But inside, he noted the detail Hermione had chosen to argue. Not twins, not family planning, but the fact that he’d made it up. She hadn’t said impossible. She hadn’t even said never. The thought lodged somewhere inconveniently warm in his chest. He buried it quickly under another sip of firewhisky, a smirk firmly back in place.

____________________

Session Four

Hermione perched stiffly on the loveseat, hands folded in her lap, knees pressed together. Draco, as always, made the space his own.

“Today, I want to focus on perception: how you notice each other, both the small gestures and the subtler signals. Draco, why don’t you start?”

Draco tilted his head slightly, “Granger,” he said slowly, “I notice… The way your hands flex when you’re trying to restrain yourself from saying what’s on your mind. The way your brow furrows when something irritates you. The faint tilt of your head when you’re thinking something you don’t want me to hear. I see it all.”

Hermione's chest tightened. She didn’t speak, but she noticed him noticing her. The subtle way his eyes tracked her movements, the ghost of a smirk when she adjusted her skirt, the way his posture shifted just slightly when she moved closer to the edge of the seat. Her mind cataloged each detail: the line of his jaw, the curve of his fingers against the loveseat, the faint sparkle in his pale eyes.

“And it isn’t just surface,” Draco continued, “I notice when you’re holding back, when you’re pretending you’re unaffected. I notice when you’re curious, when you’re tense, when you’re… reluctant. I remember every one of these moments.”

Hermione’s pulse quickened, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. He noticed her. She noticed him. And she couldn’t help but notice how much that mattered.

The therapist’s voice cut gently, “Hermione, how does it feel to be so seen?”

Hermione forced herself to keep her posture rigid. Seen… yes, she was painfully aware of him noticing everything, she thought, from the way I purse my lips when annoyed to the tiny flinch when he shifts near me. He sees it all. And I… I see him noticing me.

Draco’s eyes flicked to her, “It’s… complicated,” he murmured, voice low. “Sometimes it’s infuriating, seeing every little thing. I never miss a detail.”

Hermione felt her chest tighten, heat rising to her cheeks. He notices me. I notice him. 

The therapist leaned forward slightly, “Draco, can you give more examples of what you notice?”

Draco’s smirk softened into something almost thoughtful. “Everything,” he said.

Hermione’s mind raced. She noticed him, too. Every carefully controlled gesture, every micro-expression he didn’t mean to reveal, the way he always seemed just a fraction aware of her presence. She didn’t speak; she couldn’t. Saying it aloud would ruin the careful balance of control she maintained. He notices me. I notice him. And somehow, that’s enough… for now.

Draco’s gaze softened, “Even when you try to hide it,” he murmured, “I see you. Every movement, every pause. And I remember it. You think I don’t notice, but I do.”

The therapist smiled. “Notice how that awareness creates intimacy. To truly see one another, even the smallest details, is a rare and powerful connection.”

Hermione’s pulse fluttered. She was acutely aware of his proximity. The subtle scent of him in the air, the way his leg brushed slightly against hers, the careless ease in his posture that made her heart lurch. He notices me. I notice him. And yet… somehow, I don’t want it any other way.

Draco leaned back just enough to appear casual. “And yet… you always come back, Granger. Despite everything, despite yourself.”

Hermione’s throat went dry. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He knows. He knows that she notices him, too. But of course, she won’t admit it. Her mind traced every line of his expression, every subtle shift in his posture. He noticed her. She noticed him. And in that quiet acknowledgement, in the tiny gravity between them, the air hummed with something neither dared name.

Draco let a faint smirk play at his lips, “Five years of noticing each other,” he murmured.

Hermione’s heartbeat echoed in her ears. 

The session ended, and as they gathered their things, Hermione couldn’t resist. “I’m amazed at how you make up stories, Malfoy. You could definitely write fiction books.”

Draco looked confused. “Fiction books?”

“Yes,” she smirked. “That ‘noticing thing.’ Brilliant. It’s as if you’re really paying attention to only me… and me only. Very stick-to-the-role, I see.”

Draco’s smirk deepened, “Ah, but you see, Granger,” he stepped a little closer, “I really do notice everything about you.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Everything, huh? Even when I roll my eyes at you?”

“Especially when you roll your eyes at me,” he said smoothly, almost as if it were a confession. “It’s… fascinating. And infuriating. And yes, I admit it, very compelling.”

Hermione snorted, “You should really consider a career in dramatics. Or writing… or both.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Draco replied, mock solemnly. “Though I can’t promise you’ll survive my next chapter. I do enjoy a little chaos in fiction.”

“Oh, I can survive,” Hermione said, stepping closer, “But I might… interfere with the plot a bit.”

Draco let out a small laugh. “Interfering with the plot, Granger? I think I’d like that.”

Hermione shook her head, laughing lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible is my specialty,” Draco said with a wink, offering her his arm as they left. “Shall we grace the pub with our presence before the world collapses without us?”

Hermione looped her arm through his, smiling. “Yes, let’s. But try not to charm everyone there too much. I want at least a little credit for keeping up with you.”

Draco laughed, the sound warm and teasing. “Oh, Granger. You’re already giving me more credit than I deserve.”

And with that, they stepped out together, the playful spark between them crackling quietly, dangerously… and undeniably.

Oh fucked. She thought.

____________________

The pub was alive with its usual hum. Draco and Hermione stepped in.

“Look who’s finally here,” Theo called out from their usual corner. “Took you long enough, Malfoy. And Granger, you’re glowing. Did the therapist finally turn you into a saint?”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she slid into the booth beside Pansy. “Very funny, Theo.”

Draco leaned casually and also sat beside Hermione, one eyebrow raised. “Saint? I’d say Granger is far too infuriating for that. But certainly… enlightening.” His eyes flicked to hers for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and Hermione felt a flicker of heat creep up her neck.

Ginny elbowed Harry with a grin. “So, tell us, are we going to hear about the next session? Or do we have to pry it out of you?”

Draco’s smirk widened, the kind that made Hermione want to groan and laugh at the same time. “Ah, curious minds. I suppose I could share a glimpse. But only if someone else dares to admit they enjoy being examined as thoroughly as Granger apparently does.”

Harry snorted, “Wait… examined? Sounds… intense.”

Hermione fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. “It’s… insightful. More than I expected. You notice… everything,” she admitted, surprising herself.

Draco’s gaze sharpened. “Everything, Granger. Everything. Even the little things you think you hide.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, as if daring her to react. “It’s rather amusing, really.”

Pansy smirked knowingly. “Ohhh, sounds like someone got under your skin, Granger.”

Hermione flushed slightly, “I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured, though the heat creeping up her cheeks betrayed her.

Theo laughed. “Sure you don’t. And let me guess… another session is coming up?”

Draco’s smirk softened into something almost teasingly tender. “Of course. One cannot simply stop mid-revelation. There’s far too much left to uncover. Isn’t that right, Granger?”

Hermione’s fingers twitched on the tabletop. “I suppose so,” she said quietly, still lost in the echo of his words.

Ginny raised her glass. “Well, whatever he’s doing, it’s clearly working. You’re… distracted.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked to Draco, who gave her a faint, unreadable smile. “Distracted,” she echoed, almost to herself. Perhaps, she thought.

Theo grinned. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Hermione glanced down at her drink, internally, she repeated to herself: He notices everything. Everything. And the thought both unnerved and intrigued her in equal measure. 

The night carried on, laughter and conversation weaving around them, but Hermione found herself increasingly aware of Draco. Not in the loud, boastful way he drew attention when he wanted to but in small, subtle ways. The way his knee brushed hers under the table when he shifted, the way his eyes lingered on her face just a second too long, the almost imperceptible tilt of his head when he listened to her speak.

“So,” Ginny said brightly, “Draco, tell us one embarrassing thing about Hermione from your… session. Surely there’s at least one?”

Draco’s smirk was devilish, but Hermione caught the softness in his gaze for just a moment before he replied. “Embarrassing? Granger? Now, that’s hardly fair. The truth is… she’s far more meticulous than anyone gives her credit for. She notices everything. Even things she doesn’t realize she notices.”

“I… do not–” Hermione started, but Draco interrupted with a small, knowing smile.

“I insist you do, Granger. You just don’t like admitting it.”

Theo laughed so hard, “Ohhh, she’s totally blushing!”

Hermione glared at him, but Draco’s chuckle was quiet, intimate, almost for her ears alone. His hand brushed hers as he reached for his glass, and she felt it. A spark, faint but undeniable. She swallowed hard, looking down at her lap, trying to convince herself she was imagining it. But when her gaze lifted, Draco was watching her, amusement and something softer in his eyes.

“See?” Draco murmured under his breath, leaning just enough for her to hear. “I notice everything.”

Pansy grinned. “You two are absolutely unbearable. But, I admit, it’s… kind of sweet.”

“Sweet?” Hermione echoed though a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Infuriatingly sweet,” Draco corrected. “You, Granger, are far too enjoyable to irritate.”

The group continued their chatter, oblivious to the quiet tension at the edge of the table, and Hermione realized that she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She silently wondered how many more sparks were left for their next session. She tried to focus on her drink, but Draco’s presence beside her was impossible to ignore. Every time she stole a glance at him, he caught her eye and smiled. Not the teasing, show-off smile for the group, but something softer, almost private.

When Theo leaned over to grab a drink, Draco’s hand brushed Hermione’s under the table. She froze.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

“I’m not tense,” she said quickly, tugging her hand back.

“Uh-huh,” he replied with a sly tilt of his head. “Sure you’re not.”

Hermione felt heat creep up her neck. She tried to focus on Pansy’s story, but Draco leaned closer, “Do you realize how fascinating it is, watching you try to act… normal?”

Hermione swallowed, heart racing, “Fascinating? That’s the word you chose?”

A mischievous spark in Darco’s eyes. “Absolutely.” He leaned just a fraction closer, “You know, if you keep staring at me like that, people might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”

Hermione’s heart thudded loudly in her chest. She opened her mouth to retort, to throw some witty comeback, but she couldn’t. Instead, she shook her head, a small, helpless smile tugging at her lips.

Draco’s grin widened, “No protest? Huh, interesting.”

Her pulse raced, her thoughts spinning. Was this just their usual teasing, their silly roleplay? Or did he mean something more? The lines between play and reality blurred, and she realized, with a mix of fascination and fear, that she had no idea what she felt anymore.

____________________

Two days later, Pansy and Ginny appeared at Hermione’s office door.

“Lunch break!” Ginny called, waving her hands dramatically. “We’re dragging you out!”

Pansy hands on her hips. “Yes, come on. You’ve been holed up here. You need fresh air!”

Hermione blinked at them, “I suppose I could take a short break,” she said.

Pansy plopped herself into the chair across from Hermione’s desk. “Short break, long conversation. You know how it works.”

Ginny leaned against the edge of the desk, “Also, it’s your fifth session on your next appointment. Will I win the bet, or not? Please say yes, Hermione.”

Hermione glanced at them, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t play coy. If the therapist still won’t figure out that you two aren’t a couple and asks for another session, Theo wins. And we cannot let that happen.”

Ginny nodded fiercely. “Yes. We’d have to endure his smugness for the next decade!”

Hermione smiled faintly, but her mind was elsewhere. The memory of the last session kept creeping back.

Ginny leaned forward, “Hermione, you’re scarily quiet. You look… distracted. Did the ferret do something?”

Hermione blinked, “Did something?” she asked, though her tone betrayed her uncertainty.

Pansy wagged a finger. “You know exactly what we mean.”

Hermione shook her head, forcing a small laugh. “I’m fine. Really. Just work stuff.”

Ginny gave her a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. ‘Work stuff.’ That’s what they all say right before something devastatingly dramatic happens.”

Pansy smirked. “Or dangerously adorable.” She leaned closer. “Honestly, Granger, you’re not even pretending very well. I can see it in your eyes.”

Hermione shifted in her chair, suddenly aware of how fast her heart was beating. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Oh, come on,” Ginny said, “We’re your friends. You can tell us. Don’t make us drag it out of you like some kind of interrogation.”

Hermione bit her lip, feeling both panic and fascination. 

Pansy cut through, “We can do this all day, Granger. You know, pretending you don’t like him, pretending you’re completely unaffected…”

“Like? I don’t like…” Hermione’s fingers curled around the edge of her desk. 

Ginny leaned closer, voice softer now, “Hermione, come on. Just tell us. What happened at the last session?”

Hermione froze. Her mind raced. Every detail. She swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted to admit it aloud.

Pansy’s eyebrow arched. “Or are we going to play this game forever?”

Hermione exhaled, finally letting the words slip, trembling slightly. “Alright… at the last session… he said things. About noticing everything about me. Every little thing I do, every expression. And he noticed it all.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide, and Pansy leaned back, pretending to swoon.

“See?” Pansy said dramatically. “Dangerously close to actual feelings territory. Welcome to chaos, Granger.”

Ginny grinned, “Terrifying and amazing. Which is it?”

Hermione shook her head, a small smile breaking through. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I can’t tell if it’s just part of the roleplay we do or if he actually notices me.”

Pansy clapped her hands. “Oh, you’re in chaos now. The kind that wrecks your sleep, scrambles your thoughts, and makes you grin like an idiot. Enjoy.”

Ginny smirked, stretching her arms over her head. “Well, that explains the distraction. Consider the record officially set. Now, the real challenge: surviving Draco without losing your sanity.”

Pansy grinned, “And we’ll be right here to witness the chaos. Preferably from a safe distance… but close enough to enjoy the drama.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before letting out a laugh. Somehow, despite the panic in her chest and the confusion over her feelings, it was exhilarating. Chaos had never felt this dangerous or this irresistible before.

____________________

Draco and Harry crouched behind a low wall, peering at the suspect’s hideout. The mission was dragging, and Draco’s patience was thinning, though he tried to mask it behind a calm, collected mask that barely fooled anyone.

Harry cleared his throat. “I received the doctor’s email for your next session.”

Draco glanced at him sideways. “Uh-huh. Same time?”

“Yes. And she said to bring a jar and art materials.”

Draco blinked. “A what?”

Harry shrugged. “A jar and some art stuff. I guess for some kind of exercise.”

Draco groaned but smirked despite himself. “Fine. I’ll buy it later.”

“Oh, don’t bother. We’ve got loads of art materials because of the kids and especially Pansy with all her designing stuff. I think we even have some non-magical ones… and a jar, I guess. I’ll lend it to you.”

Draco’s expression softened, “Alright. Thanks.”

Harry cleared his throat again, more deliberately this time. Draco shifted, glancing at him sharply. “What is it, Potter? Out with it. We’ve got all day.”

“Well… I was just wondering who will win the bet.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”

Harry grinned. “It’ll be your fifth session on your next appointment. If after that, the therapist still doesn’t figure out you’re not a couple and asks for another session, Theo automatically wins.”

“Oh?” Draco’s tone was casual, but his stomach betrayed him with a slight flutter. “I guess you could say that.”

“So?”

Draco snorted, frustration bubbling. “What the fuck, Potter? What do you want from me?”

“Damn it, Malfoy. What will you do after that?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “If the therapist still won’t figure it out, we tell her the truth. No more sessions. Theo wins. End of story.”

“That’s it?”

Draco scoffed again. “What? Do you expect us to continue this therapy? Are you insane?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, please, Malfoy. Something happened at your last session. You were eye fucking each other at the pub last time. Don’t tell me it’s not true. And the flirting? Ugh.” He waved a hand in mock disgust.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Potter,” Draco said quickly and yet his chest tightened, mind betraying him. He could still see her: Hermione, laughing lightly, looping her arm through his, hair brushing his sleeve, eyes glinting with mischief. Heart thundering, he had wanted to pull her closer, tease her until she turned bright red but he’d stopped himself.  The thought made his ears warm, pulse speeding. Bloody hell. He was too aware of her, too… fascinated, too terrified of what that fascination meant.

“Deny all you want,” Harry said, voice softening slightly, “but if you ever hurt Hermione–”

“I would never–” Draco cut in, a little more defensively than he intended.

“Good. Just making sure.”

Draco stared at the suspect’s hideout, forcing himself to focus, but his mind kept slipping back to her. The pub. The way she’d shaken her head at him. Too fascinated to argue. Heart loud enough it might as well have been announcing itself to the whole city. And now, sitting here, with Harry teasing and the stake stretching on forever… he realized with a jolt how much he wanted to deny everything, yet the truth sat just beneath the surface, itching to be admitted. He gripped his wand a little tighter, blinking as though that could force his thoughts back to the mission.

Harry leaned, murmuring, “So… about your last session. What really happened? Don’t give me the usual Malfoy deflection.”

Draco sighed, “Nothing happened, Potter. We were just asked how attentive we are to each other. What we notice about each other. That’s it. Simple. Nothing to make a fuss over.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Okay… and how attentive are you, exactly?”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “Can we… just focus on the mission, Potter?”

“Oh, come on,” Harry said, eyes glinting with amusement. “We all see it. How you bicker over the tiniest things. How Hermione nags you when she notices you’ve been up all night on an assignment or a mission report. How you groan at her for biting her nails when she’s nervous before presenting legislation. You argue over everything. So… tell me. How attentive are you to each other?”

Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This therapy is impossible.”

Harry snorted, “And yet… you didn’t stop going. Despite the ridiculous stories about family planning. I guess… some of those confessions are probably true.”

Draco exhaled sharply, a sound somewhere between irritation and defeat. “I didn’t know… how or when it happened.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the confession hanging in the air.

“I mean,” Draco continued, “I didn’t know when I started noticing.”

“Noticing… what?” Harry prodded, smirk widening.

Draco scowled, heat creeping up his neck. “Merlin, Potter, you just want me to say it out loud.”

“Oh, I do,” Harry said, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

Draco ran a hand over his face, trying to push the blush and the wild fluttering of his chest back into hiding. “What do you want me to say? That I notice everything about her? Fine… there. I’ve said it!”

Harry’s smirk widened. “And… what are you gonna do about it?”

Draco bristled, the words clattering out before he could fully stop them. “Nothing, Potter. Absolutely nothing.”

Harry tilted his head. “Nothing?”

Draco flinched. “We were just… roleplaying.”

“And what about it?”

Draco hesitated, jaw tightening. “I don’t know, okay? I just only realized then, at the last session, that I notice… her. All of her. Too much. Too often. And I—” He stopped, throat tightening, jaw clenching. “And I don’t even know if she notices. Or if any of it even means anything. And that—” scares me. He bit back the last part, the thought that scared him more than anything: that he was falling for her, and there was no map or manual for this.

Harry’s smirk softened, “Sounds like you’re… invested, Malfoy. Way more than you’re willing to admit.”

Draco swallowed hard, heart hammering. Invested. Obsessed. Observing. Pick a word. They all feel like lies and truths at the same time. He glanced back at the suspect, who was still shuffling inside the building, completely oblivious. Draco’s chest ached with the thought of Hermione, her presence seared into his mind. And as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t stop noticing.

“Merlin’s balls, Potter. Eye-fucking, really?”

Harry laughed.

“Am I that obvious?” Draco asked, almost whispering.

Harry shook his head and smiled, “That’s how I look at my wife, Malfoy.”

_________________

The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of Malfoy Manor as Draco carefully set a stack of documents on his table, trying to focus on work. A sudden knock at the door made him glance up, frowning slightly.

“Draco, darling, I come bearing gifts!” Pansy sauntered in.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Gifts?”

Pansy waved the package. “Here you go. My husband apparently forgot to lend these to you, so I took it upon myself to deliver them personally.”

Draco exhaled, taking the package. “Thanks.”

Pansy’s grin widened, “So… are you excited for your next session? Honestly, I didn’t expect you and Hermione to keep this silly bet going all the way to a fifth session.”

Draco lifted the package like it was a shield. “Well, we hate losing, I guess.”

“Uhuh,” Pansy said, stepping closer with a teasing glint in her eyes. “And somehow… this therapy thing is actually helping you.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “Helping? What do you mean?”

Pansy smirked knowingly. “I mean… you’re still bickering like children, yes, but it’s… tolerable now. And honestly? Kinda cute to watch. And flirty…”

Draco groaned, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on, Pansy. This is Potter’s doing, I’m sure.”

“Even if he didn’t tell me anything,” Pansy shrugged, “I’d still notice.”

Draco froze for a split second, then rolled his eyes again, pretending to be unimpressed. “Notice what exactly?”

Pansy tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You. The way you act around her. The way you glare, the way you smirk, the way you… notice. You look like a couple now, more than ever.”

Draco’s lips twitched, caught between denial and something else he refused to name. “What? Aren’t we proving otherwise?”

Pansy laughed, “Oh, Draco, don’t fool yourself. So… tell me, after all this roleplaying, what happens next?”

Draco froze, staring at the package in his hands as a faint, unacknowledged panic fluttered in his chest. Roleplaying. Bet. Session. But Hermione. Her laugh, her sharp eyes, the way she had shaken her head at him at the pub. And that thought made him realize he hadn’t stopped noticing her, not for a single second.

He cleared his throat, voice carefully measured. “I don’t know.”

_________________

Fifth Session

The corridor outside the therapist’s office smelled faintly of polished wood and faint floral disinfectant. Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag, glancing at the small tote Draco carried in one hand.

“What is that?” she asked, nodding toward the collection of supplies he had slung over his shoulder.

“These?” Draco, feigning casualness while carefully balancing a jar and a stack of sketchbooks. “Uhh… Potter told me the doctor wants us to bring art materials. Especially a jar.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her forehead. “What are we possibly going to do with… art materials… for this session? Fine. Save the best for last, I suppose.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Last?”

“Well,” Hermione said, eyes narrowing just slightly, “this will be the last session, right? If the therapist figures out the truth, Ginny wins. If she doesn’t… Theo wins. No more sessions after that. Right?”

Draco paused, the thought that this would be their last session playing the part of a ‘couple’ made him unexpectedly uneasy.

“I suppose… yes. Save the best… or worst… for last, then,” he murmured, trying to mask the pang of disappointment in his tone.

Hermione’s own chest tightened as she spoke. “Right… last session…” 

The admission lingered between them, heavier than she intended. Neither spoke for a heartbeat, the quiet stretching with unspoken acknowledgment of what this ‘last’ really meant.

“Shall we?” he murmured finally, almost reluctantly, toward the office door.

Hermione gave a faint nod, adjusting her posture as if preparing for battle disguised as therapy.

“Yes. Let’s see who wins, then.”

_________________

The therapist’s office smelled faintly of lavender and warm paper. Hermione and Draco sat opposite each other at a small table, the jar and sketchbooks positioned between them like an unspoken challenge. The therapist gave them a polite, encouraging smile.

“Today, we’re doing something slightly different,” she began, gesturing toward the art materials they had brought. “This is an Appreciation Jar. You’ll each write notes of appreciation for the other. Small things you notice, moments that make a difference. Afterward, you’ll read them aloud, face to face.” She handed them the stacks of paper: blue for Draco, pink for Hermione.

Draco immediately reached for the other materials, scanning for something more… fitting, and found green stationery. Hermione rolled her eyes but casually swapped her pink sheets for a red set, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

Hermione arched an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Notes… of appreciation? For you, I’m guessing?”

Draco smirked, leaning back slightly. “I’d never force you to acknowledge my brilliance, Granger. That would be cruel.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Right. Of course. How generous of you.”

“Shall we start?” the therapist asked, “Take your time, be honest.”

They wrote in silence for a few minutes, fingers brushing occasionally as they reached for cards and pens. Once the jar was set aside, the therapist brought out magazines, scissors, glue sticks, and a stack of poster boards.

“Next, Vision Boards,” she explained. “Create a collage of shared goals and dreams. Align your visions for the future.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione. “Shared goals, huh? That doesn’t sound entirely terrifying.”

Hermione grinned, eyes sparkling. “Terrifying? No. Annoying and competitive? Absolutely.”

Draco smirked. “Good. Because I fully intend to dominate this activity.”

“Oh really?” Hermione said, snatching a pair of scissors. “We’ll see about that, Malfoy. Don’t think for a second that your picture-perfect Hogwarts era aesthetic will win me over.”

They spent the next hour cutting, gluing, and teasing each other over the most ridiculous things. Every now and then, Draco would glance at Hermione, catching her in the soft golden light by the window, her hair falling perfectly out of place, and his chest would tighten. Every small laugh she gave him felt like it echoed inside his ribcage.

Hermione, for her part, felt herself blush at the tiny moments where Draco’s eyes lingered on her, where the corner of his mouth twitched as though he was barely containing something. She tried to focus on the collage, but the fluttering in her chest betrayed her.

By the end, their vision boards were a chaotic, colorful mess, full of glitter, stickers, tiny dragons, and sarcastic motivational quotes. They looked at each other, hands smudged with glue, breathing a little heavier than before.

Draco tilted his head, smirking. “Not bad, Granger. For someone who insists on following all the rules, you’re surprisingly… creative.”

Hermione snorted. “And you’re shockingly… persistent.”

The therapist smiled knowingly. “Very good. Now… shall we read the notes from the jar?”

Draco swallowed, glancing at Hermione, and for a moment, the teasing, the jokes, the slow-burn tension between them seemed to hang in the air, ready to finally be uncovered. He cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the jar as if it might bite. “Well… shall we?”

Hermione gave him a pointed look. “After you, Malfoy. I insist.”

Red Card written by Hermione.

Green Card written by Draco.

With exaggerated caution, Draco drew a red card from the jar, unfolding it with the solemnity of someone defusing a bomb. He scanned it once, then smirked. “I appreciate how Malfoy always… manages to stay awake during my endless rambling about legislation.”

Hermione huffed a laugh. Draco gave her a mock bow. “I listen selectively. It’s an art form.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for the green card, “I appreciate how Hermione notices when I’m tired, and nags me about getting proper rest, even if I complain about it.” Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she quickly masked it with a laugh. “And here I thought you don’t like my nagging.”

Draco leaned forward, voice dropping just slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Clearly not. It’s… effective, apparently.”

Hermione’s chest fluttered at the uncharacteristic softness in his tone. 

Draco picked a red card and read aloud: “I appreciate that Malfoy never lets me forget my tea in the mornings, even when I insist I’m fine without it.” His smirk softened into something almost… tender. “I notice the little things, Granger. You’d be surprised.”

Hermione’s fingers brushed against Draco’s arm as she reached for her card, and she caught herself staring just a heartbeat too long. Heat prickled at her cheeks. “I appreciate that Granger always defends me, even behind my back, whenever someone badmouths me.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, a small, almost imperceptible twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Then, almost reflexively, he reached for the next card. “I appreciate that Malfoy… always shows up. Even if he complains, he shows up.” His throat tightened, and he looked away for a moment, pretending to adjust the pen in his hand. “Well… that’s because someone has to keep you in line.”

Hermione laughed, “Someone has to, yes. Wouldn’t want you getting away with all your dramatic theatrics either.”

They continued, alternating cards, teasing and almost-confessions weaving through every line. Draco’s notes were candid, subtle admissions of noticing Hermione’s little habits. Her notes were equally revealing. 

Draco started reading again, “I appreciate that Malfoy adjusts his tone when I’m stressed, even though he complains about it endlessly.” His eyebrows shot up. “Adjusts my tone? I do no such thing!”

“Oh, please,” Hermione said, smirking. “‘I have eyes too, Malfoy.”

Draco’s smirk softened into something more vulnerable.

Hermione drew another card. “I appreciate that Granger… never misses a chance to check if I’m okay after a long day. Even if I act like it doesn’t matter.” Her voice barely carried, but Draco leaned in closer, catching every word.

He smiled and then reached for another card, “I appreciate that Malfoy always notices when I’m quieter than usual and tries to make me talk, even when I pretend I don’t want to.” Draco paused mid-read, tilting his head at her. “You actually… notice all of that?”

Hermione’s cheeks warmed. “I… try to. You notice a lot too, you know.”

Draco’s lips twitched, a small, almost sheepish smile breaking through his usual arrogance. 

She drew another card, this one hesitating in her hand before she read it aloud: “I appreciate that Granger… finds my sarcasm entertaining more often than she admits.” Hermione snorted, feigning indignation. “Entertaining, yes, but you roll your eyes every other sentence.”

“Every other sentence?” Draco echoed, pretending to tally with his fingers. “I’d say that’s more generous than fair.”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Draco leaned just slightly closer, enough for the tension to thrum between them. “Impossible is my specialty, Granger.”

Hermione’s chest fluttered at the near-confession hidden in the teasing, and she bit her lip, caught between denial and fascination.

They drew a few more cards, each one building the intimacy like a slow-burning fire. Draco admitted noticing the small curl of Hermione’s hair when she was stressed, how she tapped her foot when impatient, how she laughed quietly at jokes no one else seemed to hear. Hermione’s notes revealed how he softened when he thought she wasn’t looking, the faint concern in his eyes when she was tense, the way he sometimes lingered a second too long before leaving the room.

At one point, Draco froze mid-read, eyes locking with hers. “Do you… do you ever notice how often I notice you?”

Hermione’s pulse jumped. “I… probably more than I should.”

A silence fell between them, rich with unspoken meaning, teasing, and electric tension. They were supposed to be roleplaying for therapy, but for the first time, the line between play and reality blurred entirely.

Draco cleared his throat, shoving another card into his hand, but his fingers lingered over it, reluctant to finish. Hermione did the same. And for a minute, they simply looked at each other, the jar and the paper forgotten, the slow-burn tension threading through every glance, every exhale, every tiny, deliberate pause.

The therapist cleared her throat, breaking the quiet tension that had settled after the Appreciation Jar. “Alright, let’s turn our attention to your Vision Board.”

Draco and Hermione leaned back slightly, each pretending to casually assess the colorful collage of cutouts, photos, and captions they’d glued down earlier.

“Well,” Draco began, tilting his head with mock contemplation, “it seems you enjoy cozy corners, mountains of books… and apparently, endless cups of tea in strategic locations. Fascinating.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “And you… apparently thrive on neat coffee corners, perfectly organized spaces, and labeled everything. How… thrilling. Somehow, your desk says otherwise.”

Draco smirked, a subtle softness tugging at his lips. His eyes flicked toward a cutout of a tiny cabin tucked into a snowy forest. He leaned just slightly forward, lips twitching. “And… you’d like somewhere picturesque, with a little chaos sprinkled in… but, you know, the kind you can actually tolerate.”

Hermione smirked, “Carefully balanced chaos, yes. Only the kind I personally approve of. And I trust you understand what that means.”

“Of course,” Draco murmured, “I’m practically an expert in… selective chaos appreciation.”

Hermione’s chest fluttered. “Selective chaos appreciation? Dangerous.”

They moved along the board, pointing out images and phrases, shared goals, tiny domestic routines, hobbies, favorite places to travel. Draco noticed the little quirks she gravitated toward; Hermione caught the subtle ways he picked things that mirrored his careful, meticulous nature.

“You know,” Draco said, leaning just a fraction closer, “I never expected our visions to… line up. After all these years of bickering, we somehow pick things that… fit. Neatly. Disturbingly neat.”

Hermione glanced at him, noticing the faint softness in his expression, the tiniest crack in his usual armor. “I know,” she admitted. “I thought this would be tedious… but somehow it’s… not. It’s… oddly revealing.”

Draco’s smirk lingered, slower, deliberate. “Revealing, huh? Careful, Granger, you’re making me think we’re actually… compatible.”

Hermione laughed softly, pretending to inspect a picture of a beach sunset. “Compatible, Malfoy? Don’t push it.”

“I’m not pushing,” he said, voice low, teasing, deliberate. “I’m just… observing.” His eyes flicked to her fingers brushing a magazine cutout, lingering just a fraction too long.

Hermione’s heart fluttered. “Observing, huh? That’s… dangerously close.”

Draco leaned slightly closer, smirking. “Depends… are you the cautious type, or the reckless one?”

“Both,” Hermione replied, biting back a grin, though her cheeks betrayed her nerves.

The rest of the session moved along in the same rhythm. Light teasing, playful elbow nudges, soft laughter, subtle flutters of confession hidden behind smirks. Every aligned vision, every shared hope felt like a quiet admission; neither of them was ready to say aloud. The air between Draco and Hermione buzzed with something unspoken, a slow burn threading through every glance, every laugh, every accidental touch. Their visions were aligned but more importantly, so were their hearts, even if neither of them admitted it yet.

The therapist scribbled something in her notebook, glancing up at them with that calm, measured smile. “Alright let’s see what we have here.” She leaned back slightly, folding her hands. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Draco blinked, eyes flicking to Hermione. “Figure… what out?” he asked, voice cautious, though there was a tightness in his chest that hadn’t been there before.

Hermione swallowed, her fingers nervously fidgeting with a scrap of paper from the Vision Board. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, her heart racing. “Do you?”

Draco exhaled through his nose, trying to maintain his usual aloof demeanor, but failing spectacularly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The therapist raised a brow, her smile widening just slightly. “Really?” she said, voice calm but somehow teasing. “Because from my notes… and from what I observed today… it’s been quite obvious.”

“Obvious?” Hermione echoed.

“Yes,” the therapist continued. “You both notice everything about each other. The smallest gestures, the tiniest expressions. Your teasing, your arguments, the way you linger over each other’s words. And… it’s clear your visions, your values, and even your daily routines are more aligned than either of you seem willing to admit.” The therapist’s smile softened, and she let the words hang in the air for a moment. 

“So… tell me. Do you still insist you’re just… roleplaying?”

Hermione and Draco went rigid, both staring at the therapist as if she had just announced the end of the world. Neither had expected her to figure it out.

“How did you—” Hermione began, eyes wide.

“Since when?” Draco cut in simultaneously.

The therapist’s smile remained calm, almost amused. “Since the first session.”

Both their jaws dropped, and a collective, inaudible “what?!” hovered in the air.

“Since the first one??” Draco sputtered, “I mean… how??”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Hermione added, her tone sharp, but her cheeks were tinged with warmth.

“Well,” the therapist began, leaning back slightly, hands folded, “let’s start with the hows. You don’t call each other by first names. You call her Granger, you call him Malfoy. Which I found… odd, given that you were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy for the sessions. That’s unusual. Most couples ease into first names naturally.”

Draco opened his mouth, probably to protest, but the therapist continued.

“Then there’s your… reactions. You’re awkward with each other. Your arguments, your teasing, the tiny observations you make… they’re not what I usually see from a married couple or even a serious romantic partnership who seeks couples therapy. Most couples act… well, normal and fed up with each other. You? You act like high school rivals who have been forced to sit next to each other, secretly noticing everything, but not admitting it.”

Hermione blinked, trying not to laugh, while Draco scowled, a flush creeping up his neck.

“And the confessions you shared, the little annoyances, the appreciation notes… Most couples don’t reveal themselves too honestly. But you… every rant, every teasing jab was a discovery. You were both learning about each other while pretending it was just part of an exercise. And somehow… it was. Fascinating.”

Hermione’s hand covered her mouth, “So… we don’t actually look like a couple?”

“Not at all,” the therapist replied smiling, “You look like… high school enemies who secretly like each other. The bickering, the stares, the subtle flinches when the other notices something small, it’s textbook ‘denial with underlying obsession.’”

Draco muttered under his breath, “High school enemies… huh? Charming.”

The therapist continued, “By session three, it was obvious you were both invested. Session four, it became clear how much you notice each other. Today’s session? Confirmation. You’re aligned, yet both terrified of admitting it. Most couples would just… talk or ignore each other. You two? You create a complex, slow-burn labyrinth of teasing and denial.”

Hermione let out a soft laugh, “You… you really noticed all that?”

“I did,” the therapist said calmly. “Everything. And I suspect you both already knew it deep down. And honestly, Hermione doesn’t even know how long you’ve been ‘married.’ Clearly, the ‘five years’ was made up.”

Hermione whispered, “So… we’ve been high school enemies pretending for five sessions…”

Draco leaned slightly closer, voice low, teasing, but warm. “And apparently, still pretending to be clueless.”

_________________

“So… I guess Ginny won?” Hermione asked quietly as they stepped into the hallway.

Draco shrugged, glancing down at the Vision Board tucked under his arm. “Uhuh…”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “And now what?”

Draco blinked at her, clearly caught off guard. “What do you mean… now what?”

Hermione huffed, exasperation breaking through her usual composure. She started walking briskly down the corridor.

Draco frowned, falling into step beside her. “Wait—what? Why are you walking off?”

“Because!” Hermione snapped, voice tight, though her cheeks were flushed.

“Because… what?” Draco pressed, leaning just slightly toward her, as if proximity might coax an answer.

“Ugh! I hate you!” she burst out, spinning slightly to glare at him.

“And we’re back to hating each other?” Draco asked, smirking but there was a softness in his eyes she couldn’t ignore.

“Why? You don’t hate me anymore?” she countered, her tone sharper than she felt.

Draco let out a small, rueful laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think I did, actually. Ever.”

Hermione froze mid-step, her chest tightening. “Malfoy… What are we doing? What is this? What are we? Are we just going to pretend that all of this… therapy, all of this… teasing, noticing, arguing… was just a game, and we go back to normal fighting after this?” Her voice cracked slightly, urgency creeping in. “Because if you say yes… I don’t think I can.”

Draco stopped, turning to fully face her. The hallway suddenly felt smaller, charged. His jaw tightening, as though he were wrestling with the right words. “Well,” he said slowly, voice low and deliberate, “I think it’s actually obvious how I feel… about you.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “No, Malfoy. I don’t want to assume. I need to know. I need to hear it from you.”

A flush creeping up Draco’s neck, his usual arrogance softened by raw honesty. “Fine,” he stepped closer, “I like you. More than I’ve ever let myself admit. More than I probably should, given how dangerous it is to say it out loud in front of you… and yet, here I am.”

Hermione’s breath caught, her chest fluttering like it had all those nights he’d accidentally brushed against her, all those moments he’d looked at her too long. “You… like me?”

“Yes,” he said simply, shoulders relaxing as if admitting it had lifted some invisible weight. “And I don’t hate you, Granger. Never have. Not really.”

Hermione let out a shaky laugh. “You actually said it. Malfoy, you’re infuriating.”

Draco leaned closer, letting their casual brush of hands linger longer than necessary. “And yet, somehow, you like me anyway.”

Hermione tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Who said I like you?”

Draco’s grin faltered for the briefest instant, replaced by a flicker of panic and something like hurt.

Hermione’s smirk softened as she noticed the shift in his expression. “I’m teasing… But you looked worried for a second. Admit it, you care what I think, don’t you?”

“Of course I care, Granger. More than I probably should.”

Her stomach flipped at his tone, “Well… good. Because I care what you think too.”

Draco’s brows shot up, “Do you now?” 

Hermione huffed, cheeks warming. “Don’t make a thing of it, Malfoy. I’m only saying it because it’s true.”

He leaned just a fraction closer, “So you like me, then.”

Hermione scoffed. “Who said anything about like?”

Her face was scarlet, and he was grinning now, all sharp edges and boyish delight. “You just did.”

“I did not!” she hissed, poking a finger into his chest.

“You did,” he countered, catching her hand before she could jab again. He held it loosely, like testing how long she’d let him. “Merlin, Granger… you’re abysmal at lying.”

Hermione glared up at him, but her lips twitched. “Fine. Maybe I… like you. A little.”

Draco inhaled like she’d just handed him the crown jewels. “Finally. Sweet Circe, I thought I’d have to propose before you admitted it.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Propose?!”

He smirked, thumb brushing over her knuckles before he let go. “Relax. I’ll wait until after our next therapy session. Don’t want to rush.”

She groaned, shoving his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Draco murmured, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with a warmth that made her stomach swoop, “you still like me anyway.”

Her laugh broke out, half-exasperated, half-helpless. “Honestly. What on earth are we supposed to do about it?”

His smirk softened into something uncharacteristically gentle. “We’ll work it out. Tea. Nagging. The usual. Maybe even… dates.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, cheeks aching from smiling. “Dates,” she repeated, like she couldn’t believe he’d said it.

“Don’t worry,” Draco drawled, stepping just close enough to make her heart stumble. “I’ll even alphabetize the spice rack to impress you.”

Hermione let out a startled laugh. “Merlin help me, I do like you.”

____________________

The pub was warm and crowded, laughter spilling out from every corner. Hermione and Draco slipped inside, still faintly flushed from their earlier exchange though Hermione would die before admitting it was from anything but the chill outside.

They hadn’t even reached the table when Pansy’s sharp eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey. “Oh, Circe. Look at them. They’ve got that post-confession glow.”

Hermione nearly tripped. “What glow? There’s no glow!”

Theo smirked, swirling his drink like he’d been rehearsing for weeks. “The glow of two losers who finally realized what the rest of us have been suffering through for years.”

“SUFFERING?” Hermione sputtered.

“Yes,” Theo said gravely, “Do you know how exhausting it is, watching you two eye-fuck each other across every room like you’re in some slow-burn novel? I nearly went blind.”

“Please,” Pansy cut in. “He nearly went celibate. He complained about it after every therapy recap.”

“I did not!” Theo protested. “I just said–”

“–that if they didn’t snog soon, you were going to imperius them both and make it happen,” Blaise interrupted smoothly.

Harry choked on his butterbeer. “You WHAT?”

Before Theo could defend himself, Ginny slammed her hand on the table and grinned like a victorious Quidditch captain. “Pay up, Zabini. I told you I’d win.”

Blaise groaned as though she’d stabbed him. Dragging out his coin purse with painful slowness, he muttered, “This is robbery. Fraud, even. A crime against friendship.”

“Justice,” Ginny corrected, snatching the galleons and tucking them straight into her bra.

Harry blinked at her. “Wait. What bet?”

“The bet that these two stubborn idiots would finally admit their feelings after the therapy fiasco,” Ginny announced proudly, raising her glass in triumph.

Hermione flushed scarlet. “You made another bet on us?”

“Oh, don’t act surprised,” Pansy drawled, crossing her legs elegantly. “You lot were practically married already. Therapy was just foreplay.”

Theo snorted beer out his nose. “Merlin’s balls, Pansy!”

Draco, who’d been sipping his firewhisky with suspicious calm, raised a brow. “For the record, I would like to clarify the real bet.”

The table froze, all eyes on him.

Draco’s lips twitched. “Congratulations, Ginny.”

“WOO-HOO!” Ginny shot up from her seat, arms raised like she’d just won the World Cup.

“But… hold on,” Hermione interrupted. “The therapist knew from the first session that we weren’t a couple. Technically, that means Malfoy won.”

Everyone turned to Draco, who gave an infuriating little grin.

“She did,” he confirmed. “But she also said, and I quote, ‘Give them five sessions, max, before they crack.’”

“Ginny guessed it right!” Blaise said in horror.

“Bow down to your queen, losers.” Ginny grinned like a kneazle with cream. 

“She’s unbearable,” Theo muttered.

“She’s rich,” Blaise groaned as Ginny shook her newly acquired pile of galleons in his face.

“To the world’s worst liars,” Ginny declared loudly, raising her drink, “finally catching up with reality!”

“I hate this,” Theo sulked. “I lost a bet and gained a couple. Worst night ever.”

“Best night ever,” Pansy countered, “Now kiss.”

“WHAT?!” Hermione choked.

“Yes, go on,” Blaise sighed dramatically. “Spare us the tension before Theo combusts.”

“I will NOT perform for you like some… some circus Kneazle!” Hermione snapped, cheeks flaming.

Draco, unhelpfully, smirked. “Granger, if we kiss now, we could at least make some of my money back.”

Hermione shoved him, mortified. Their friends howled with laughter.

And yet, under the table, when Draco’s hand brushed hers, she didn’t pull away. If anything, she squeezed back, her lips twitching despite herself.

The teasing, the chaos, the laughter. Tt was loud, maddening, ridiculous. And yet, strangely, wonderfully… right.

🍒

(I know, they didn't kiss. What can I say, both are adorably idiots.)