Chapter Text
New Years Eve 2000
The night sky over London was alive with glittering stars and the promise of fireworks, the cold air crisp and biting against the skin. The city buzzed with the energy of a new year approaching, the hum of laughter and celebration echoing from the streets below. But up here, in the quiet of the high-rise flat, none of that seemed to matter. The world outside might have been celebrating the turning of time, but for Draco and Hermione, this night existed in a bubble—a fragile, fleeting moment where nothing else mattered except the thing between them.
They stood side by side, watching the view below, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on them like a heavy storm, charged with the tension that had built up over the past year. A friendship blooming with. . .something more. Potential.
A former Death Eater.
A war heroine.
War survivors.
Whatever the world wanted to call them, none of that mattered now.
For one night—just one—they could forget.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Hermione whispered, though she made no move to leave.
Her breath fogged the window as she stared out at the glowing lights of London, her reflection ghosting over the glass. The shadows cast by the dim light of the room played over her features, softening her sharp edges, but Draco saw the exhaustion in her eyes. The weight of everything that had been demanded of her since the war was etched into her face.
But not tonight.
Tonight, there was something else—something fragile and vulnerable that only he could see.
Draco looked at her with a steady gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was sure she could heart it. “I know,” he said softly, the faintest hint of regret in his voice. “But you are.”
Draco had apparated them here on her request, leaving the loud and joyous party that Pansy and Harry were hosting at Grimmuald Place.
Hermione finally turned to face him, her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, her eyes locked onto his, and for the first time in years, they weren’t full of judgment or suspicion.
They weren’t enemies anymore.
They weren’t even the people they’d been forced to become since the war ended.
They were just—them.
Draco’s hand reached out, hesitating for a split second before his fingers brushed against her cheek, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “For one night,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “let’s not think about tomorrow.”
Hermione closed her eyes at the touch, leaning into his hand for the briefest moment before she opened them again. Beautiful big brown eyes. There was something wild, something desperate in her gaze—something that mirrored the way he felt.
“I just want to forget,” she breathed. “I want to forget that I’m a war heroine. That I’m supposed to be someone strong, someone good.” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, her gaze falling to his lips. “I want to be selfish, the most I’ll ever be, for one night. That’s all.”
Draco’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, but he nodded.
“One night,” he agreed, though the thought of it being their only night together sent a wave of bitterness through him.
After tonight, everything would change. Tomorrow, he would be bound by duty, by expectations he couldn’t escape. His engagement to Astoria Greengrass would be announced in just a few days, and whatever this was—whatever it could have been—would be lost to him forever. Why speak up about his feelings sooner? Before now, before everything that happened between them during the war. Draco chastised himself for his idiocy, he should have spoke up six months ago when the Greengrasses were pressing for an answer. He should have stood up and said no but. . .he’d agreed to their terms, their contract. Less out of fear but more of the knowledge that the witch he wanted above all others would never say yes. So he had accepted their offer only to now regret it.
But tonight, none of that mattered.
He stepped closer, his hand moving to rest on her waist, and when she didn’t pull away, he took the final step that brought them chest to chest. The air between them crackled with the tension that had been building for over a year, ever since they had begun to orbit each other when they started working for the Ministry. Him in Magical Games, her in Department of Mysteries. They had been drawn together by something neither of them could quite name—something that had made sense in a world that had otherwise fallen apart.
Hermione tilted her head up, her breath warm against his lips as she whispered, “Just for tonight.”
Draco didn’t answer with words. He closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, hesitant kiss. But the moment her hands tangled in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, all hesitation vanished. The kiss deepened, raw and hungry, fueled by the shared desire to escape—if only for a little while.
His hands found the small of her back, pulling her firmly against him, and she responded in kind, her fingers trailing up the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, her nails scraped his scalp and Draco groaned into the kiss
The world outside ceased to exist, the noise of the city and the ticking clock forgotten as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment.
Draco’s breath was ragged as he pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. “I’ve wanted you.”
Hermione’s hands trembled slightly as she cupped his face, her eyes searching his with a mix of fear and longing. “So have I,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But after tonight, it can’t happen again. We go back to being friends.”
Draco’s chest tightened at the thought of it, but he nodded, his thumb brushing softly over her lips. Soft, full, light pink and kissable. The perfect lips.
“We go back,” he echoed, though the words felt like a lie even as he said them.
For tonight, they didn’t have to be the people they were expected to be. For tonight, they could be selfish. They could have what they wanted, what they had denied themselves for so long.
Draco’s lips found hers again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. Clothes were discarded in a flurry of desperate movements, and soon they were lost in each other, seeking comfort in the warmth of skin on skin. She felt like liquid heaven. Of course Draco wasn’t new to sex or the pleasure of the skin but with Hermione, it felt earth tilting, it felt like nothing he had ever experienced before.
For those hours, nothing else existed.
No war, no future engagements, no titles or responsibilities—just them.
In the quiet aftermath, as they lay tangled together beneath the sheets, the world began to creep back in. Hermione rested her head against his chest, her eyes closed as her breathing slowed, and Draco stared up at the ceiling, the weight of tomorrow pressing heavily against him.
He tightened his arm around her, as if holding her closer would somehow keep this moment from slipping away.
But even as they clung to each other, the clock ticked on, and the new year arrived with a soft whisper of inevitability.
Three Weeks Later
Draco’s lungs burned, each step toward the International Floo Department feeling like a desperate race against time. He had run through the Ministry halls, ignoring the curious looks from the other employees, his only focus on reaching her before it was too late. He didn’t even know what he was going to say, but the thought of her leaving—disappearing from his life—without a word was unbearable.
They hadn’t spoken since they had slept together. In fact, they avoided each other, to the point where their friends noticed their unusual behavior. Harry and Pansy had asked him if something had happened, when he vehemently denied anything the two looked him, unconvinced.
His engagement had been announced two weeks ago. It appeared to have been the final nail in the coffin for their friendship.
But now—Hermione was leaving. And she hadn’t told him she would be.
When he finally spotted her, standing at the edge of the atrium, her hand on her trunk, something twisted violently in his chest. He could barely hear the noise around him, the hum of conversation, the crackle of the Floo flames. All he saw was her—Hermione—about to step through the portal and disappear.
“Wait,” he gasped, his voice strained as he reached out and grabbed her arm.
She froze, her back still to him, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Draco stood there, panting, his heart hammering in his chest, his grip on her arm tighter than he intended. When she finally turned to face him, his breath caught at the sight of her eyes, full of something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Hermione…” His voice came out hoarse, and he hated the way his mouth kept opening and closing, unable to form the right words.
How could he explain what he was feeling?
How could he tell her not to go, knowing what his life was about to become?
She turned towards him, her gaze flickered down to his hand on her arm, then back up to meet his, and that raw emotion—the sadness, the regret—made his chest tighten painfully. Her lips parted, but her voice came out in a soft whisper, one that nearly broke him.
“Don’t,” she pleaded, her words a choked whisper. “Just let me go.”
Draco flinched, his grip loosening immediately. He hadn’t meant to hold her so tightly, but the fear of her slipping away from him, it was suffocating. He released her arm slowly, his hand falling uselessly at his side.
“I—” His voice failed him, and he felt ridiculous, standing there in silence while the woman he cared about stood just out of reach, ready to walk away. She deserved better than this—better than him.
Hermione gave him a small, sad smile that made his stomach churn. “Good luck with everything, Malfoy.”
Malfoy.
It stung, the way she reverted back to the formal use of his surname, the way it was meant to put distance between them. And she was putting distance between them—on purpose.
His throat tightened, but he forced the words out. “Are you…are you coming back?”
Her eyes softened for just a moment, and Draco felt a sliver of hope worm its way into his heart. Maybe she wasn’t leaving forever. Maybe there was still a chance—
“I don’t think so,” she admitted, her voice quiet, steady. “I need to get away. Start over.”
Start over.
Away from him.
Away from this…whatever this had been between them. Draco swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on him like lead. His stomach twisted painfully, a sinking feeling settling deep inside him. He shook his head slowly, though he knew there was nothing he could say to change her mind. He was engaged now—tied to obligations he had always known were coming.
What right did he have to ask her to stay?
To wait for something that could never happen?
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t ask her to be the other woman, to settle for scraps of his time and affections. It would be cruel. HermioneGranger deserved more—far more than he could ever offer her. But the thought of losing her, of never seeing her again, gnawed at him like an open wound.
“Goodbye, Malfoy,” she said softly, her voice full of finality as she stepped toward the doorway, her hand outstretched for the door to international floo travel.
Draco watched helplessly as she disappeared into the glow of the magical portal, her figure fading into the swirling vortex of light. The moment she was gone, something cold and hard settled deep in his chest, and his knees felt weak.
Regret.
The word echoed in his mind like a cruel mantra, sinking into his bones as he stood there, rooted to the spot. He could have said something, could have asked her to stay—but what good would it have done? He couldn’t offer her the life she deserved. He couldn’t undo the choices he had made.
And now, she was gone.
The noise of the busy department carried on around him, but Draco heard none of it. His heart ached, heavy with the weight of what could have been. As he stared at the empty space where she had stood, he realized just how much he had lost.