Between Pages and Petals

The morning after their kiss, everything felt different.

Hermione woke up with a giddy, ridiculous grin on her face, and when she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, she actually giggled. She, Hermione Granger, giggled. If seventeen-year-old her had seen this, she would have rolled her eyes so hard they'd have gotten stuck in the back of her head.

But she couldn't help it.

Draco Malfoy loved her.

And she loved him.

The thought sent a fresh wave of warmth through her, and she found herself staring at her own reflection, lost in the memory of his lips against hers, the way he had held her like she was something precious, the way he had looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Her heart clenched with anticipation.

Today, they had a date. An actual, official, real date.

She tried not to be nervous. She failed.

Draco showed up at her bookstore right before closing, leaning against the counter with his usual smirk. But there was something different in his eyes today—something softer, warmer.

"Ready, Granger?" he asked, his voice smooth, but his fingers drumming against the counter betrayed his nerves.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. "Depends. Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, so we're doing the whole 'mysterious' thing, are we?"

Draco smirked. "I am mysterious, Granger. It's part of my charm."

She rolled her eyes but let him take her hand anyway. He laced their fingers together easily, naturally, as if they'd been doing this forever.

And maybe they had been—just not out in the open. Not like this.

The date turned out to be... perfect.

Draco took her to a hidden rooftop restaurant in the heart of Muggle London, where the view overlooked the twinkling city skyline. The fairy lights strung around the terrace cast a warm glow, and soft jazz music played in the background.

Hermione stared in awe. "Draco... this is beautiful."

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but she saw the way his lips twitched like he was holding back a pleased smile. "Only the best for you."

Hermione's heart did a stupid little flip.

They ate slowly, talking and teasing, but there was an undeniable tension between them. A heat simmering just beneath the surface.

Every time Hermione leaned forward slightly, Draco's gaze flickered to her lips.

Every time his fingers brushed hers, a shiver ran down her spine.

It was electric—this anticipation, this unspoken promise hanging between them.

They took a walk after dinner, hand in hand, as the city buzzed softly around them.

At one point, Draco pulled her into a quiet alleyway between two old buildings, his grip on her wrist firm, determined.

"Draco, what—"

He cut her off with a kiss.

It was urgent, hungry, like he had been holding himself back all night and couldn't take it anymore.

Hermione gasped into his mouth, her hands flying to his chest before gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. He backed her against the wall, his body pressing into hers, and she felt everything—his warmth, his strength, the way his hands slid down her waist, gripping her like he needed her closer, closer.

She moaned softly against his lips, and he growled in response, kissing her harder.

Merlin.

It was intoxicating. Overwhelming.

They pulled away only when they were both breathless, foreheads pressed together, panting.

Draco let out a shaky laugh. "I was going to wait until the end of the night."

Hermione smirked, still catching her breath. "Clearly, you're impatient."

His lips brushed against hers again, teasing. "Can you blame me?"

She tilted her head, her fingers sliding up to cup his jaw. "No. I really can't."

His eyes darkened. "You're going to be the death of me, Granger."

"Likewise, Malfoy."

And then, just because she could, she kissed him again.

By the time they reached Hermione's flat, the air between them was thick with tension.

She stood by her door, hesitating, and Draco shoved his hands into his pockets, looking at her with something unreadable in his expression.

She swallowed. "Do you... want to come in?"

Draco exhaled sharply, stepping closer, his hands bracing against the doorframe beside her.

"Hermione," he murmured, his breath ghosting against her skin.

Her heart stuttered.

"I always want to," he admitted, his voice low, rough.

Hermione sucked in a breath, her fingers curling into the front of his coat.

And for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again.

But instead, he smiled—soft, fond—and brushed a stray curl from her face.

"Not tonight," he whispered.

Hermione blinked, surprised. "No?"

Draco chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "No. I want to do this right."

Her chest ached at how perfect he was.

She smiled. "Alright, Malfoy. Next time, then."

Draco smirked, stepping back. "Next time."

And with one last look, he turned and walked away.

Leaving Hermione breathless, smiling, and completely, utterly in love.