Shared Meals

Hermione dragged herself out of bed Saturday morning with the kind of energy usually reserved for people being sent to Azkaban without trial.

She hadn't even started the day yet, and she was already exhausted.

This Ministry-enforced marriage was turning her entire life upside down, and now she had to sit through brunch and pretend she wasn't actively questioning her existence.

By the time she Apparated to the café where she and Ginny had their weekly ritual of drinking overpriced coffee and gossiping about the downfall of wizarding society, she was two seconds away from hexing the next person who looked at her wrong.

Ginny was already waiting, idly stirring her tea, when Hermione approached.

"Hello, love," Ginny greeted, her voice laced with sympathy and just the tiniest hint of amusement. "Condolences."

She rolled her eyes as she sat down. "I'm so glad my impending doom is entertaining to you."

Ginny gave her a pat on the hand, like she had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. "At least you got one of the better-looking ones," she teased.

She scoffed. "Yes, because aesthetics are such a comfort when legally bound to a man I once wished would get hexed into oblivion."

Ginny smirked. "At least you won't have ugly children."

"Not happening."

Ginny raised a skeptical brow but let it go.

After a moment of silence, she sighed. "Congratulations on your match, by the way."

Ginny grimaced, looking down at her hands. "Thanks. It's... strange, but I suppose we'll make it work. He's already sent me flowers three days in a row, so I quite like the Italian."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Three days in a row? That's… aggressive."

Ginny exhaled dramatically. "Italians. They flirt like it's a professional sport and send gifts like they're courting royalty."

Hermione snorted. "So, what you're saying is, you're already being seduced against your will?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes playfully. "Look, I'm not saying I enjoy the attention, but I'm also not not saying it."

She smirked, taking a sip of her tea. "Noted."

Ginny leaned forward slightly, her expression turning more serious. "And you and Malfoy?"

Her smile immediately vanished. "Complicated," she muttered.

Ginny tilted her head, intrigued. "Complicated?"

Hermione sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. "Forced marriages are never easy, Ginny. But we're... trying to make the best of it."

Ginny's eyes narrowed slightly. "Trying? That's very noncommittal."

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. "He's... surprisingly trying, too. He's been respectful, considerate, even…"

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Even...?"

She shifted uncomfortably, as if saying it aloud would somehow jinx it. "Even not completely insufferable."

Ginny let out a dramatic gasp. "Hermione Jean Granger, did you just imply that Draco Malfoy has redeeming qualities?"

She glared at her, taking another aggressive sip of her tea. "Don't make me regret confiding in you."

Ginny chuckled. "I'm just saying, things must be changing if you're not actively trying to strangle him every second."

Hermione sighed. "It's complicated. There are moments when I... see a different side of him. But then I remember everything he's done to me, and I just… I don't know."

Ginny nodded understandingly. "That's okay. You're allowed to be conflicted. Just take it one day at a time."

She managed a small smile. "That's what I'm trying to do."

They laughed then, shifting the conversation to lighter things, but she still felt the weight of her reality pressing down on her.

And then Ginny decided to ruin the moment.

The Ron Weasley Problem™

Ginny hesitated, tapping her nails against the rim of her cup, clearly bracing herself for whatever unfortunate information she was about to dump on Hermione. That was never a good sign.

"Mione, I need to tell you something…"

Sheimmediately lowered her fork, instincts screaming at her to prepare for something terrible, possibly world-ending. "That's never a good introduction."

Ginny sighed, running a hand through her hair like she was mourning a loss. "Lavender got matched with Ron."

Hermione froze mid-sip, her tea burning its way down her throat as she spectacularly choked on betrayal, indignation, and quite possibly the very concept of karma itself.

Ginny winced, already reaching for a napkin to dab at the tea she had nearly spat across the table. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't love that news."

For a long moment, she said nothing, just set her teacup down with extreme precision, her fingers flexing like they were resisting the urge to snap the porcelain in half. She stared. Blankly. At the table.

"That's… great."

Ginny raised an impressively skeptical brow. "Is it, though?"

"No," Hermione muttered through clenched teeth. "But I'm attempting grace."

Ginny sighed, watching her closely, her 'I'm your best friend and I know when you're full of shit' expression firmly in place. "I know it's not ideal, but you're not still—"

"No, Ginny, I'm not still in love with Ron," she cut in swiftly, her voice sharp enough to slice through steel. "That ship crashed, burned, exploded, and then was used as a feeding ground for bottom-dwelling sea creatures. It's gone."

Ginny did not look convinced.

Hermione let out a sharp exhale, forcibly arranging her features into something vaguely resembling serenity. "I hope they have a wonderful, fulfilling life together."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Hermione."

Hermione took an obnoxiously large bite of her croissant, chewing as if it were her mortal enemy.

Ginny waited.

Until finally—

"Thank fuck, I hate that bitch," she muttered under her breath, eyes still trained on her plate.

Ginny snorted so violently she nearly knocked over her drink. "Merlin's saggy left tit, Hermione, don't hold back or anything."

Hermione groaned, dropping her head onto the table like a woman in mourning. "I just—I despise her. I know it's irrational, I know I should be above this, but something about her existence makes my skin crawl."

Ginny nodded sagely, the wisdom of generations of Weasley pettiness guiding her response. "It's not irrational, it's called having taste."

She sighed dramatically, poking at the remnants of her food with a kind of existential despair. "Whatever. It's fine. Ron will have his perfect little life with Lavender, and I will continue legally tolerating Draco Malfoy."

Ginny grinned, wicked and delighted. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear."

Hermione rolled her eyes, already regretting the words that had left her mouth. "Welcome to my personal hell."

Ginny raised her glass in mock salute. "To absolute nightmares, then."

She clinked her own against it with all the enthusiasm of a woman on death row.

And as they continued eating, sherealized that no matter how utterly catastrophic her situation was, at least she wasn't alone.

Even if she still, deep in her very soul, hated that bitch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After an exhausting day pretending not to be suffering at brunch, Hermione finally arrived home, peeling off her shoes with a sigh, ready to collapse onto her couch and pretend her life wasn't spiraling into a Ministry-mandated disaster.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

A massive Great Grey Owl was waiting impatiently at her window, its silver feathers gleaming like freshly polished galleons.

Hermione stared.

The damn thing looked expensive.

Not just expensive—it looked like it had its own Gringotts vault and a personal butler.

"God, Slytherin really runs in their blood," she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes at Draco Malfoy's absurd need for opulence. Only he would think a regular barn owl was too middle-class for his tastes.

She crossed the room and opened the window, allowing the owl to hop onto her windowsill with an air of arrogance that was honestly quite impressive.

The collar around its neck read Aquila in sleek silver engraving.

Of course. Even his bird had an aristocratic name.

"Alright, you fancy little bastard," she murmured, gently untying the pristine silver ribbon that held the letter in place. "Let's see what His Royal Pain-in-the-Arse wants now."

Unrolling the parchment, she scanned the message, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

I would like to invite you for dinner tomorrow evening among our friends to have a casual meal together and discuss how everyone feels about the match.

In attendance will be:

Pansy Parkinson & Neville Longbottom

Ginny Weasley & Blaise Zabini

Luna Lovegood & Theodore Nott

I hope you can find the time to attend.

Yours,

DLM

She read the letter twice, then blinked.

A casual dinner? With this particular mix of people?

That wasn't a dinner; that was a guaranteed reality show waiting to happen.

She pictured it now:

Pansy, trying not to combust while sitting next to Neville

Blaise, casually seducing Ginny in between sips of wine

Theo, pretending not to be in love with Luna while she talked about magical auras

Draco, looking devastatingly smug about everything, as always

This was going to be an absolute mess.

She sighed as she dipped her quill into the inkwell, muttering to herself, "Well, this is going to be a bloody disaster."

After a few seconds of staring at the parchment, willing it to write itself, she finally scrawled:

Malfoy,

Thank you for the invitation. I appreciate the opportunity to talk things over with our friends. I'll be there.

Regards,

Hermione Jean Granger

She paused, considering whether she should add a warning about how someone was absolutely getting hexed by the end of the night, but decided against it. If Malfoy was forcing this social experiment upon them, he deserved whatever chaos ensued.

Rolling up the parchment, she secured it with a ribbon and turned back to the owl, who had decided to make itself comfortable by hopping onto her bookshelf.

"Aquila, do you mind? That's first-edition Beedle the Bard."

The owl stared at her, utterly unimpressed, then slowly and deliberately knocked over a small stack of books.

She glared. "You are Malfoy's bird."

Aquila gave a low, almost mocking hoot, as if to confirm.

Shaking her head, she tied the letter to the owl's leg, giving it a firm but gentle pat. "Alright, go deliver this before I change my mind and tell Malfoy where he can shove his dinner plans."

Aquila clicked its beak, clearly judging her for her lack of enthusiasm, before taking off through the window with a powerful sweep of its wings.

She watched it disappear into the sky, exhaling slowly.

A dinner with that particular group of people was going to be anything but casual.

She could already hear Pansy making passive-aggressive jabs at Neville, Theo subtly defending Luna's oddities, Ginny threatening bodily harm if Blaise made one more flirtatious remark, and Draco—always Draco—somehow managing to look both smug and put-upon at the same time.

And then there was her.

Trying not to murder her future husband before the main course was served.

Fantastic.

She groaned, dragging her hands down her face. Maybe if she drank enough wine, it would be tolerable.

Or maybe it would just end with someone setting the house on fire.

Either way, Malfoy was responsible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next evening, Hermione stood before her wardrobe, arms crossed, scowling at the collection of dresses as if they had personally wronged her. She had no idea why she was putting this much effort into getting dressed for a dinner she didn't even want to attend, with a man she had spent most of her life actively despising. The sheer absurdity of it made her want to set fire to the entire closet and just show up in her pajamas out of sheer spite, but unfortunately, she still had a shred of dignity left, and if she had to endure this farce, she would do so looking impeccable.

With a dramatic sigh, she finally reached for a deep emerald green gown, the rich color complementing her complexion and, much to her irritation, playing into the very same Slytherin aesthetic that Malfoy himself so effortlessly embodied. She could almost hear Pansy's smug voice in her head, cooing about how she finally looked like she belonged on the right side of the room. It was ridiculous, really, but as she stepped into the dress and let the soft fabric settle against her skin, she couldn't deny that it suited her. She quickly pinned back a few curls, leaving the rest of her hair to fall in loose waves, and added a light touch of makeup—just enough to highlight her features without looking like she had put in any effort at all. Looking at her reflection, she hated that she felt even a flicker of satisfaction at the result. Why did it even matter? Malfoy would be lucky if she showed up in a potato sack.

Shaking off the ridiculous thoughts, she took a deep breath and Apparated straight to Malfoy's penthouse—no, their penthouse, a term she still couldn't stomach without wanting to physically recoil. The moment she arrived, she was met with the soft glow of candlelight flickering off the high ceilings, the faint hum of classical music playing in the background, and the scent of something rich and decadent filling the air. It was unsettling how effortlessly elegant everything was, from the pristine dining setup to the way the crystal glasses caught the light. Of course, Malfoy would treat a simple dinner like it was some high-society gala.

As she stepped further into the room, she spotted him already waiting, standing near the dining table with a drink in hand, dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit that fit him so perfectly it was almost offensive. His silver hair was neatly styled, and for once, there was no smug expression playing on his face—just something unreadable, something that flickered ever so briefly when his eyes landed on her. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just looked at her in a way that made her stomach tighten for reasons she didn't care to examine, until he finally cleared his throat, his voice betraying the faintest hint of something that almost sounded like nervousness.

"Youlookbeautiful."

Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown by the sincerity of Malfoy's statement, the unexpected compliment slipping through the cracks of his usual smug façade. For a brief second, she considered the possibility that he actually meant it. That thought was quickly shoved to the back of her mind as she forced herself to recover, keeping her expression carefully neutral. There was no way she would let him see even a flicker of the unease his words had caused.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she replied smoothly, her voice measured, her demeanor composed, though she was painfully aware of the way her pulse betrayed her, quickening ever so slightly at the weight of his gaze. There was something unreadable in his expression—something she had never quite seen before—something she wasn't ready to acknowledge. She ignored it, just as she ignored the way his eyes lingered for a fraction too long before he finally turned away, motioning toward the dining table with an ease that she knew was practiced.

As they stepped further into the room, the air between them felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. She wasn't sure if it was tension or anticipation, but she could feel it settle over them like an invisible force. He pulled out a chair for her, a gesture so effortlessly polite that it almost threw her off, and she murmured a quiet "thanks" as she took her seat, already noting the curious glances from the people gathered around the table.

Pansy, Blaise, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Theo were already seated, engaged in easy conversation, their chatter filling the space with a warmth she hadn't quite expected. It was strange, really—seeing a group of people who had once been on opposite sides of a war now sitting together over dinner, sipping wine and discussing things as if they weren't all bound to each other in ways none of them had chosen. There was something unsettlingly domestic about it, a sense of normalcy that shouldn't exist but somehow did.

She let her gaze drift across the table, lingering for a moment on Theo and Luna. The contrast between them was striking—Theo, always sharp, calculating, his mind perpetually five steps ahead, and Luna, whose whimsical nature seemed so effortlessly detached from the heaviness of the world. And yet, there was a strange harmony between them, a quiet understanding in the way they spoke to each other.

"Did you know that Wrackspurts are attracted to Nargles?" Luna asked in her usual airy, dreamlike voice, her large, luminous eyes focused entirely on Theo.

"Wrackspurts and Nargles? Are they planning a joint invasion?" Theo smirked, swirling the wine in his glass as he leaned just slightly closer to her.

"Oh, no, they're just exchanging gardening tips. Nargles love radishes, you see," she stated matter-of-factly, her expression as serene as ever.

Theo chuckled, tilting his head in amusement. "Radishes? I always thought Nargles were more into mischief and chaos."

Luna gave him a slow, knowing smile. "That's what they want you to think."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, unable to stop the small smirk that played at her lips.

"They do make an interesting pair, don't they?" Malfoy's voice, low and unexpectedly thoughtful, pulled her out of her observations.

She turned toward him, slightly caught off guard that he had been watching them too. "They do," she admitted, tapping her fingers lightly against the stem of her wine glass. "They seem to understand each other in a way that's... unique."

Malfoy nodded, his gaze lingering on Theo and Luna for a second longer before shifting back to her. "Lovegood always did see things differently. I suppose that's why Theo is drawn to her."

She studied him for a moment, searching for any hint of sarcasm, but there was none. Just quiet observation. It was unsettling, seeing him this way—contemplative, sincere. She wasn't sure if she liked it or if it made her even more suspicious.

Across the table, Pansy was already three glasses of wine deep and had somehow managed to rope Neville into a discussion about dangerous magical plants.

"The Fanged Geranium can be quite vicious if you're not careful. Have you ever tried harvesting its seeds?" she asked, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers, her dark eyes sharp with curiosity.

Neville, clearly caught off guard, hesitated before responding. "Uh, no, I can't say I have... It sounds tricky."

Pansy hummed, swirling her wine. "It is, indeed. One wrong move and those fangs can give you quite the nasty bite."

Neville nodded, looking mildly nervous, and then—Hermione nearly choked on her drink—Pansy reached across the table, placing her hand lightly on his tight.

Neville visibly stiffened. "Uh, Pansy, you really shouldn't—"

"Oh, don't worry, Longbottom. I've handled dangerous plants far worse than this," she murmured, laughing softly, her fingers still resting against his sleeve.

She narrowed her eyes, watching them carefully. She had never imagined this particular combination of people, yet there was an undeniable chemistry in the way Pansy smirked at him and how Neville—blushing furiously—still somehow managed to hold his ground.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Malfoy watching as well, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like Pansy has found a new interest," he remarked quietly, amusement laced in his voice.

Hermione turned to him, taking a slow sip of her wine. "Seems like it," she mused, tilting her head as she observed Pansy lean in closer, laughing at something Neville had said.

Malfoy exhaled in amusement. "Who would've thought?"

"Not me," she admitted, shaking her head. "But then again, people surprise you sometimes."

His gaze flickered toward her at that, something unreadable passing through his expression before he smirked. "They do indeed."

She wasn't sure why, but the way he looked at her in that moment made her stomach twist in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the wine. She ignored it, choosing instead to take another sip and pretend she hadn't noticed the way his eyes lingered, just for a second, before the conversation shifted elsewhere.

Ginny and Blaise were completely absorbed in each other, as if the entire room had melted away and left only the two of them behind. The way he held her hand—gentle, reverent, like she was something precious and untouchable—made it abundantly clear that in his mind, she was nothing short of royalty. He traced small circles against her skin with his thumb, his dark eyes locked onto hers as if he were trying to memorize every flicker of emotion that passed through them.

"So, Blaise," Ginny began, her voice carrying a softness that wasn't usually there, her fingers tightening slightly around his. "How's work been treating you lately?" A faint blush dusted her cheeks, something Hermione wasn't sure she had ever seen on Ginny Weasley before.

Blaise smirked, tilting his head as if he were contemplating a very important secret. "Oh, you know, the usual. Busy, but nothing I can't handle," he said smoothly, voice like warm honey. He tilted her hand up, pressing a ghost of a kiss to her knuckles before adding, "And you, Mia cara? How's life after Quidditch treating you?"

Ginny sighed, but the kind of sigh that wasn't laced with regret, just reflection. "It's been an adjustment, for sure. I went from chasing a Quaffle at high speeds to figuring out how to navigate... well, everything else." Her lips curled into a small smirk. "But I've found new passions, new challenges. I like keeping myself busy."

Blaise nodded approvingly. "Of course. A woman like you was never meant to sit still." His voice was teasing, but there was sincerity woven between his words. "And how about your Sundays? You enjoying the thought of brunch yet?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, but the smile playing on her lips betrayed her amusement. "I am, actually. It's nice to have some downtime. And the company isn't too bad, either."

Blaise chuckled, his expression smug. "Is that so?" He leaned in slightly, the warmth between them practically tangible. "And who, pray tell, has caught your attention so thoroughly?"

Ginny, never one to back down from a challenge, arched a brow, playing along with his game. "Oh, you know... just someone intriguing. Someone who's far too smooth for his own good." She let the corner of her mouth curve into a wicked grin. "Tall, dark, devastatingly smug."

Blaise chuckled, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. "Sounds like an absolute catch," he mused. "But I must say, I have a preference for someone fierce. Qualcuno e rossa. A woman who sees the world differently, with fire in her eyes." His voice dropped slightly, just enough to make Ginny shift in her seat. "Any idea where I might find such a woman?"

Ginny tilted her chin up, eyes gleaming with amusement. "I might."

Hermione, who had been trying very hard not to gag at the sheer intensity of whatever the hell was unfolding across the table, glanced toward Malfoy and immediately regretted it. He was watching them too, but instead of rolling his eyes or making a snide remark, he just… observed. There was something almost genuine in the way he studied Blaise and Ginny, his usual mask of arrogance softened ever so slightly.

"They seem happy together," he remarked quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She hesitated, glancing back at the couple, watching the way Ginny smacked Blaise's arm for some comment she found ridiculous, the way he caught her wrist mid-swing and kissed the inside of it instead, making her immediately retract her hand but not without a poorly-hidden smile.

"They do," she admitted, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It's… nice to see."

Malfoy didn't respond right away, and when she turned her attention back to him, she found him watching her instead of the couple across the table. There was a strange expression on his face, something contemplative and curious, something she couldn't quite place.

"Do you think we could… be like that?" he asked, almost hesitant, like he wasn't quite sure he wanted the answer.

Hermione, caught completely off guard, turned to him fully, brows raised. "Are you asking if we could be obnoxiously handsy over dinner or if we could tolerate each other for more than five minutes?"

A small smirk ghosted across Malfoy's lips, but his gaze remained steady. "Both."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him. "Would you like to hold hands or flirt, Malfoy?"

He blinked, clearly not expecting the directness of her question. For a moment, she almost thought she had finally managed to render him speechless, but then, slowly, that damned smirk of his reappeared.

"Yes," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, his silver eyes gleaming under the soft glow of candlelight. "I would like that."

This bitch is playing her cards right, he thought many times this whole week now, he knew she definitely understood what he meant by the statement earlier. Her hands were so small in his hands and it was incredibly soft. He really wanted to put his lips on it and give tiny kisses, but he did not wish death upon himself, so he just stroked his thumb once across her hand.

She hesitated for only a moment before extending her hand toward him, a gesture so simple yet weighted with unspoken meaning. Her expression was carefully neutral, but there was something beneath it—something uncertain, something hesitant, but something undeniably hopeful.

Malfoy's gaze flickered down to her outstretched hand, his lips parting slightly as if to say something, but for once, words failed him. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing against hers before slowly intertwining their hands together. His grip was firm yet careful, as though he expected her to pull away at any moment, but when she didn't, he allowed his thumb to graze over the back of her hand in a motion so natural it almost startled him.

It was strange, this feeling.

Unfamiliar.

But oddly... comforting.

They sat there, fingers laced together, neither speaking, neither moving, just... existing in the silence between them. It was a small gesture, but somehow, it carried an overwhelming weight, an unspoken truce, a quiet understanding that maybe—just maybe—this didn't have to be as impossible as it once seemed.

Minutes passed, or perhaps just seconds stretched too thin, before Malfoy finally exhaled, breaking the silence. "I meant what I said earlier," he murmured, voice lower, softer, more genuine than she had ever heard it. "I want to make this work. I—" He hesitated, clearing his throat, as if trying to phrase something properly for once in his life. "Not just for the sake of the law, not because we have to—but because... I want to."

Hermione stared at him, her expression unreadable, searching his face for deception, for even a trace of the arrogant, insufferable boy she had known for years. But there was no smugness, no calculated smirk, no game being played. He was serious. That realization sent a ripple of something—something she wasn't ready to name—through her.

She took a steady breath, tightening her fingers around his in what she hoped felt like reassurance and not an act of complete madness. "Let's take it one step at a time," she finally said, voice even but softer than usual. Then, after a beat, she quirked a brow and added with an air of amusement, "And maybe you could finally address that whole ferret incident in fourth year."

Malfoy groaned, closing his eyes for a brief second before shaking his head with the tiniest smile curving his lips. "One step at a time," he agreed, squeezing her hand before releasing it. "And most definitely not addressing that part."

She smirked. "You know, avoiding it only makes it worse."

"I'm choosing selective amnesia, Granger."

She chuckled, the tension between them momentarily lifting into something lighter, something dangerously close to easy.

Malfoy cleared his throat and shifted his gaze toward the table, where Ginny and Blaise were still completely absorbed in their own world, the two of them speaking in low, intimate tones that suggested they had entirely forgotten anyone else was present. He tilted his head slightly, observing them with something almost resembling curiosity.

"They seem to get along well," he murmured, nodding toward the couple, his tone thoughtful.

Hermione followed his gaze, watching as Blaise ran his fingers idly along the inside of Ginny's wrist while she fought a smirk, pretending not to notice. "They do," she admitted, unable to stop the small smile tugging at her lips. "It's nice to see."

Malfoy turned back to her then, but this time, his expression was different.

He studied her carefully, the playful ease from before fading into something more contemplative, something quieter. "Do you think..." He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Do you think we could have that someday?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the question, but even more so by the vulnerability laced beneath it.

"A genuine friendship, maybe even more?" he finished, his voice careful, hesitant, like he was saying something he had never allowed himself to say before.

Her chest tightened at the weight of those words.

She could feel his gaze on her, steady, unrelenting, waiting for an answer she wasn't sure she had.

"I don't know, Malfoy," she admitted, her voice softer now, her honesty raw. "It's all still so new and... complicated."

He nodded slowly, as if he had expected that answer, but hoped for something else. Still, he didn't look disappointed—just determined.

Without another word, he reached out, his hand finding hers again, but this time with more certainty, more intent. "I understand," he murmured, his fingers curling around hers, warm and solid. "But I want you to know that I'm willing to try. For us."

Hermione swallowed against the lump forming in her throat, unsure why his words made her feel like the ground beneath her had shifted. There was something dangerous about the way he said it—not in the way Malfoy used to be dangerous, with sharp insults and cruel smirks, but in the way that suggested this was real. That he was real. That whatever they were building—no matter how unsteady, no matter how fractured—was something neither of them could run from.

She gave his hand a small but deliberate squeeze, feeling an unfamiliar rush of emotion swirl in her chest.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she said quietly, letting her fingers linger in his just a second longer than necessary. "I want to try, too."

They sat there for a while, hands intertwined, neither speaking, neither knowing what came next, but for the first time in this entire mess, neither of them feeling completely alone in it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the evening continued, Hermione found herself settling into an unexpected rhythm with Malfoy. It wasn't the dramatic, tension-filled evening she had anticipated, nor was it the cold, unbearable nightmare she had feared. Somewhere between trading witty remarks, enduring Pansy's not-so-subtle matchmaking antics, and watching Blaise flirt his way into Ginny's good graces, she had allowed herself to relax—just a little.

She and Malfoy had spoken briefly about the Ministry, about the ridiculous bureaucratic hurdles they both had to deal with, about how Kingsley somehow managed to keep his sanity despite overseeing an entire post-war government in shambles. To her great surprise, they even shared a moment of agreement—Malfoy, it seemed, had no patience for incompetent paperwork, and she vehemently agreed. It was bizarre, really, finding common ground in something as mundane as work, discussing policies and reform like they were just colleagues rather than two people being legally shackled together against their will.

But it was… easy. Or at least, easier than it should have been.

By the time dessert had been finished and the final glasses of wine had been drained, the evening had begun to wind down. Chairs scraped against the polished floors as people began rising to leave, murmuring goodbyes and exchanging plans for future meetings—because somehow, this group of mismatched individuals had decided they wanted to see each other again.

Pansy, a little tipsy, had shamelessly pulled Neville down by his collar and kissed him goodbye, whispering something in his ear that made him turn as red as a cursed Mandrake before she waltzed off, smirking at his flustered expression.

Theo, who had not let go of Luna's hand for the past hour, was guiding her toward the door, listening with rapt attention as she explained something about how Crumple-Horned Snorkacks hibernated in pairs, which apparently meant something deeply romantic to her. Shecaught the ridiculous fondness in Theo's eyes and had to bite her lip to stop herself from calling him out on it.

Blaise had his hand resting on the small of Ginny's back as he led her toward the fireplace, whispering something that made her laugh, genuine and warm, before she rolled her eyes at him and muttered, "You're absolutely incorrigible." Blaise simply grinned. "Si, mia cara, but you like that about me."

One by one, their guests disappeared into the night, leaving just Hermione and Malfoy, standing in the now-quiet penthouse, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound filling the space.

Malfoy turned to her then, his usual smirk replaced by something softer, something that didn't quite fit the version of him she had always known.

"Thank you for coming tonight, Granger." His voice was lower now, quieter, and to her absolute disbelief, it almost sounded like he actually meant it. "I appreciate it."

She studied him for a moment, searching for some hidden agenda, but found none.

With a small nod, she allowed herself to return his smile. "It wasn't as terrible as I expected."

His lips quirked up, his amusement obvious. "High praise, coming from you."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Don't get used to it."

A comfortable silence settled between them, one that, a few weeks ago, she never would have thought possible. For the first time, they weren't arguing, they weren't fighting, they weren't glaring at each other from across the room. They were just… existing in the same space, without the weight of their past pressing too hard on their shoulders.

Malfoy cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I suppose we should discuss… our next steps."

Hermione straightened, pushing away whatever strange moment had just passed between them, focusing instead on the reality of their situation.

"Yes." She nodded, a flicker of determination sparking in her chest. "Let's figure this out."

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, "Breakfast tomorrow morning?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me on a date, Malfoy?"

His lips twitched. "Relax, Granger, I promise I won't try to seduce you over toast."

She smirked. "Pity. I was hoping for at least one grand romantic gesture before noon."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright. Breakfast, then?"

There was something incredibly surreal about the idea of having breakfast with Malfoy. But there was also something… oddly normal about it, and maybe normal was exactly what they needed.

After a brief pause, she nodded. "Alright. Breakfast."

With one final glance at him, she stepped back, reaching for her wand, and with a quiet crack, she Apparated away, leaving only the faintest trace of warmth where her presence had been.

Malfoy exhaled, rubbing his thumb absently against the palm of his other hand—the same hand she had held earlier, as if he were trying to memorize the way it felt.

He had expected hostility. He had expected fights, coldness, stubborn resistance.

He had not expected… this.

He had not expected Hermione Granger to hold his hand and squeeze it like it meant something.

He had not expected her to smile at him—not a smirk, not an exasperated sigh, but a real, genuine smile.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't impossible after all.