Chapter 12

They woke up next to each other, the faint light of dawn filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow over the room. Draco's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he couldn't believe what he saw. She lay there beside him, her wild curls spilling over the pillow, her face peaceful in sleep. It felt like the universe had finally granted him a single moment of tranquility, a reprieve from the storm that had been his life.

For the first time in years, he felt as though his soul was at ease. The chaos in his mind stilled as he watched her breathe, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Her presence anchored him, soothed the frayed edges of his existence. She was everything he'd never allowed himself to dream of, and in this fragile morning light, she was his.

But then, dark thoughts crept in. This was the moment, wasn't it? This was the exact moment when he should act on the twisted desires he'd tried so hard to suppress. He could tie her to this bed, keep her here forever. She would never leave, never slip away from him again. He could make sure she was always within reach, always his.

Sick fuck.

The thought turned his stomach, and disgust rippled through him. What kind of monster even entertained such an idea? He buried his face in the pillow beside hers, willing the vile notions to leave his mind. She wasn't his to keep, no matter how much his obsessive heart screamed otherwise. He could never cage her, no matter how terrified he was of losing her.

Hermione stirred beside him, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she shifted closer to him. Her hand brushed against his chest, and he was jolted back to reality. He swallowed hard, blinking away the lingering darkness in his thoughts. She was here, with him, willingly. That should be enough.

He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and burying his face in her hair. Her scent surrounded him—clean, soft, and entirely her. It was intoxicating, pure, and so achingly perfect that it made his chest tighten. How could someone like him, flawed and damaged, deserve something so beautiful?

She mumbled something in her sleep, her fingers curling slightly against his chest. He smiled faintly, his heart swelling with something too overwhelming to name. She wasn't just a fleeting obsession, not some passing fancy. She was his salvation, his light in the dark.

"Mine," he whispered, so softly that even he barely heard it. It wasn't a claim; it was a desperate plea to the universe.

As the minutes ticked by and the world outside began to wake, he stayed exactly where he was, holding Hermione close like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Because, in truth, she was.

Her breath hitched slightly as her eyes fluttered open, her little snores fading into a sleepy groan. She stirred in his arms, and he reluctantly loosened his hold, though he ached to keep her there forever.

Her sudden exclamation startled him, snapping him out of his haze. She scrambled for the clock on the bedside table, her eyes widening in horror before she let out a sharp, "Fuuuuuck!"

He bolted upright, panicked. "What's wrong? Oh gosh, what's wrong? Did I do something wrong? I swear I didn't touch you inappropriately—I was a good boy! I didn't—"

She jumped out of bed, and for a moment, he just sat there dumbfounded, watching her. Then she bolted for the bathroom. "Shut up already!"

He followed, his feet tangling in the sheets as he scrambled to keep up with her. "Wait! What are you—"

And then he froze. There she was, naked, standing in his shower, steam already swirling around her. His brain short-circuited.

"Yes… yes, of course, you can use my bathroom. Feel free. No problem at all."

"I'm late for work!" she shouted over the sound of water hitting the tiles.

He frowned, his mind sluggish as he tried to catch up. "But… you're here. Isn't this technically your workplace?"

"You're not the only hopeless case in the country, Malfoy!"

Before he could respond, she turned off the water and stepped out, completely naked, her hair dripping wet and her skin glistening like some ethereal goddess. He blinked, stunned into silence.

She grabbed a towel, but instead of wrapping it around herself, she casually draped it over her shoulder as she reached for a toothbrush. His toothbrush.

"That's… my…" He trailed off, his voice weak.

She brushed her teeth, completely unbothered by his presence or his growing mortification.

"Disgusting," he muttered under his breath, though his eyes refused to obey his conscience and instead traced the elegant curve of her back, the way droplets of water slid down her bare skin.

She was breathtaking. A vision. Undine rising from the water, Venus stepping from the seafoam. His body responded almost instantly, and he cursed himself for being so utterly weak.

"Stop staring," she said without even looking at him, her voice calm but firm.

"I wasn't staring!" he protested, though his voice cracked slightly, giving him away.

She finished her routine with a flick of her wand, her hair drying and falling into perfect waves, her skin glowing as if she'd spent the morning basking in sunlight instead of bickering with him. She turned to him, her steps deliberate as she closed the distance between them.

He stood frozen as she stopped mere inches away, her damp skin brushing against his.

"I'm going now," she said coolly, her eyes flicking down to the very obvious bulge in his pajama bottoms. Her lips curved into a smirk. "But you should do something about that erection. It's… abnormal."

He flushed crimson, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

She leaned forward, her bare chest pressing against his, her lips so close to his ear that he felt the heat of her breath. Her hands slid down his torso, deliberate and torturously slow, until her fingers brushed against his arousal. He sucked in a sharp breath, terrified to move, terrified to even blink.

"Be a good boy today," she whispered, her voice like silk and sin. And then she stepped back, grabbed her bag, and walked out the door without a backward glance.

He stood there, utterly dazed, completely hard, and absolutely certain he'd just come in his pants.

••••••••••••••

Draco felt like a teenager all over again. The entire day had been spent in a haze of frustration, wanking , shame, and overwhelming desire. He couldn't stop thinking about her—Hermione, the goddess who had haunted his every thought, every breath. She was perfect, and he? He was nothing. Scum. A pathetic excuse for a man. But that didn't stop the fantasies from spiraling into dangerous, disturbing territory. He was obsessed, consumed by visions of her naked body and the way she'd teased him that morning. Every detail replayed in his mind like a loop, each iteration leaving him more undone than the last.

By the time evening rolled around, he was a wreck. He'd cleaned his flat twice over just to avoid thinking about her, but it hadn't helped. So, when she arrived at his door, he nearly tripped over himself trying to open it. No cat this time—thank Merlin. He didn't think he could handle Crookshanks' judgmental glare today.

She breezed in with her usual confidence, carrying a box in her hands.

"Good evening," she said, her voice light, almost teasing. "I brought you something."

He swallowed hard, his palms suddenly clammy. "H-Hello," he stammered, hating how his voice cracked like he was thirteen again. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Merlin, I'm pathetic, he thought. Just take me out of my misery now.

She cocked an eyebrow at his flustered state, smirking knowingly as she set the box down on his counter. "I brought you a cake," she announced, opening the lid to reveal a modest but beautifully decorated dessert. "You can blow out the candle tomorrow morning to celebrate your last day."

"Thank you," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "What's wrong with you? Cat got your tongue? You're acting weirder than usual. Did something happen?"

His heart raced. He knew exactly what had happened—she had happened. She was standing there, stunning as ever, and he could still see the morning's events playing out in his head. Her naked silhouette in the shower, the way her wet hair clung to her neck, her scent, her teasing touch—it was all too much. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they surged forward with a vengeance.

"Are we not going to talk about your morning performance?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. His face turned crimson the moment the words left his mouth.

She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Oh, trust me, my morning performances are far more pleasurable than that, lover boy," she quipped, her tone dripping with innuendo.

His jaw dropped. The blood rushed to his face so quickly he was sure he looked like a tomato. He tried to think of something—anything—to say, but his brain had short-circuited. The way she stood there, confident and smug, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him, made it impossible to form coherent thoughts.

She smirked at his silence, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "What's the matter, Malfoy? Speechless?" she teased, leaning against the counter. "That's a first."

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. She chuckled, her laughter light and mocking, and it only made him feel more pathetic. He could barely look at her without imagining those fantasies again, and the worst part was, she probably knew.

She stepped closer, invading his space. "Well?" she prompted, her voice soft but taunting. "Are you going to stand there like a blushing schoolboy all night, or do you have something intelligent to say for once?"

He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I—uh, I just meant…this morning…" He trailed off, mentally cursing himself.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Honestly, Malfoy, you're hopeless." She turned on her heel, heading for the sofa. "Do try to form a sentence."

He watched her go, his heart pounding like it wanted to leap out of his chest. He felt utterly obliterated, like he'd just been hit by a freight train going full speed—and, in a way, he had. Hermione Granger wasn't just a person. She was a storm, a force of nature that left destruction in her wake. He didn't stand a chance against her. Not now. Not ever.

But as she moved toward the sofa, his mouth moved before his brain could stop it. "So, you left me without a goodbye this morning."

She paused mid-step, turning back to look at him with one arched eyebrow, a smirk already forming on her lips. "Touching your cock wasn't enough of a goodbye?"

His jaw dropped, his pale cheeks flushing a furious shade of pink. She'd said it so casually, as though she hadn't completely wrecked him with her morning tease.

"Th-that's… that's not what I'm talking about!" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, feeling like an idiot. "Although, for the record, it was more than enough to make my day an absolute misery."

She tilted her head, her smirk deepening. She crossed her arms, leaning against the armrest of the sofa as though she had all the time in the world to enjoy his unraveling.

"Do elaborate, Malfoy. How exactly did I make your day miserable?"

He threw his hands in the air, exasperated and desperate. "Do you have any idea how many times I've had to… relieve myself today? Four. Four fucking times. And every single time, it was your fault!"

Her laughter burst out before she could stop it, a rich, genuine sound that only made him feel more pathetic.

Hermione: "Four times? Really? I didn't realize I had that kind of effect on you." She stepped closer, and he instinctively took a step back, his pride and mortification warring for dominance.

"It's not funny!" he snapped, though the crack in his voice betrayed his vulnerability. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be haunted by you? To—" He stopped himself, realizing he was dangerously close to spilling every obsessive thought he'd had about her that day.

"Haunted, hmm?" she repeated, her tone playful but her eyes sharp. "You make it sound like I'm some sort of ghost haunting your pathetic little existence."

"You are! You're in my head constantly. I can't think straight, I can't breathe properly, and Merlin help me, I can't look at a bloody shower without—" He cut himself off again, his hand flying to his face in frustration.

She raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer until she was only a few feet away.

"Without what, Malfoy?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, low and tantalizing. "Without picturing me? Naked? Teasing you?"

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are, confessing all your dirty little secrets to me," she said, her grin downright wicked now. "It's almost endearing."

He let out a strangled sound, his fists clenching at his sides. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She smirked at him, her calm demeanor infuriating him further.

"Oh, immensely," she repeated, her voice thick with amusement. "But don't worry. You're not the first man to lose control around me. And I'm sure you won't be the last."

Her words were like gasoline on a fire, and something inside him snapped. Finally, he found his courage—or perhaps his desperation—and grabbed her arm roughly. His fingers dug into her skin, and he knew, without a doubt, that it would leave a bruise. But he didn't care. Not right now.

Her response was immediate and predictable: she slapped him hard across the face. His head turned from the force of it, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled—a dark, twisted smile that made her roll her eyes in exasperation.

"At least you're touching me," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Are you mental?" she hissed, yanking her arm out of his grasp, but before she could move away, he was on her.

He pushed her back against the wall, his body caging hers in. His hands braced on either side of her head, his face so close she could feel the heat radiating off him.

"What made you think," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "that you'd ever let another man touch you? There is no other man. Just me."

She stared up at him, utterly unfazed. If anything, she looked amused. Calm, even.

"I need to speak to your therapist again," she said dryly.

His eyes darkened, and his voice rose. "YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE. YOU ARE MINE. DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?"

She blinked at him, unimpressed. "Do I need to be concerned?" she asked, her voice level. "Is this some kind of mental episode right now? Should I call someone?"

Her indifference only fueled his possessiveness. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What do I want? I want you. All of you. I want to lock you away where no one else can see you. I want to make sure no one else ever gets the chance to touch you, to look at you, to think about you the way I do."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression cool and collected. "So, what's the plan? Fuck me? Lock me up? Have a scandal with a Mudblood's baby? What exactly is your end goal here?"

Her words cut through him like a knife, but they didn't deter him. If anything, they spurred him on. He straightened up, his hand moving to tilt her chin so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Tomorrow," he said firmly, "I'll be free. And when that happens, my love, I'll hunt you down. I'll find you, and you'll be mine. You can't hide from me forever."

She didn't flinch, didn't waver. Instead, she gave him a look—a daring, defiant look that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Oh, I'm not hiding, Malfoy," she said softly, her voice laced with challenge. "The question is… do you think you can handle me?"

Her calm, calculated demeanor left him breathless. She wasn't scared of him—she never was. She was toying with him, as always, and Merlin help him, he loved every second of it.