The Line We Crossed

Draco Malfoy's POV

I shouldn't have lost control.

It's the first thing I think when I wake. The second is that I want to do it again. Every rough touch. Every breathless sound from her throat. Every time she pushed back like she hated me, and it made me want her more.

I bury my face in my hands.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It's not just that it was hot. It was too hot. Too real. I've never—Astoria was gentle, she was sweet. We made love like people who loved each other, and I did love her. But this? This wasn't love. This was fire. This was letting go of everything I've been holding back. The suspicion. The frustration. The way she smirks like she knows something I don't. The way she does know something I don't.

And yet... she took it all. Matched it. Demanded it. She didn't ask me to be soft. She wanted the roughness. Needed it, the same way I did.

But it was a mistake. A massive, reckless, idiotic mistake. She might be dangerous. She might not even be who she says she is. And I still touched her like I was dying for it. 

Because I was.

I don't go to my office. I don't even glance toward the North Wing where her classroom is. Instead, I head straight for Hermione's office under the pretense of work. She narrows her eyes the moment I step in.

"What are you doing here during school hours?" she asks, hands folded neatly over a scroll. "Thought we needed to revise patrol schedules," I lie. Hermione leans back. "Try again."

I scowl, avoiding her eyes. "I just needed to think."

"About Hale?"

I freeze. The way her tone softens confirms it. She knows I've been avoiding her. I don't respond, and she sighs like she expected as much. "I know she's complicated, Draco," Hermione says gently. "But you can't run from things just because they're messy."

She has no idea how messy it got.

It's been twelve hours since I touched her. Since she touched me.

And I can still feel her everywhere.

She pauses halfway through her monologue about how I deserve someone. Squints at me. Tilts her head.

"What?" I snap, a little too quickly. She narrows her eyes. "You're glowing." I stare. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You have that stupidly calm, vaguely smug, well-kissed look that Blaise gets after a weekend in Rome."

"I always look like this. It's the hair."

"You always look like someone cursed your breakfast." She gasps. "No."

I don't say anything. Just lean against the chair, arms folded, trying not to smirk.

"Merlin's pants," she breathes, sitting on the edge of the chair like her knees gave out. "You slept with her." I don't answer. I don't have to. Because my silence, apparently, says everything.

Hermione's eyes go wide. "Draco!"

"It wasn't a scandal, Granger. We're both adults. We didn't hex anyone in the process."

"I wasn't judging, I'm just—" She throws her hands up, half laughing, half exasperated. "You've been pining over her for months. Don't act like I'm crazy for being a little shocked that you actually—did something about it."

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "It wasn't exactly... planned."

She raises a brow. "Nothing worth doing ever is." I glance down at the folder in front of me, not seeing a word of it. "We barely made it through the door. She kissed me and then—"

Hermione claps her hands over her ears. "No details!" I smirk. She drops her hands slowly, eyeing me. "So? Are you still pretending you don't like her?" I lean back in my chair. "No. I'm pretending I don't care how much I like her."

Hermione laughs, the kind of laugh that means I'm doomed and she knows it. "You're in trouble."

"I've been in trouble since the moment she stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds."

"You really have," she says, then pauses, softening. "But you look lighter. Different."

"You sound like Luna."

"No, Luna would say your auras have finally spooned." I groan. "Alright, that's enough. You've been spending too much time with Zabini and Nott. Their nonsense is rubbing off on you."

"I won't," she says proudly. "They're delightful chaos gremlins, and I admire their work. Also—" she tilts her head— "I didn't just send Vivienne to Hogwarts for Scorpius and the students." I freeze.

Hermione smiles knowingly. "Well, I suggested her. Encouraged her. Nudged the board into approving a Muggle hire. I thought she'd bring something the school needed. Turns out, she brought something you needed too."

I look down at the faint ink smudge on my cuff, one she left there when she trailed her fingers down my arm and pulled me back to bed.

I don't answer Hermione. Because I'm not sure I can, not yet.

But I do know she's right.

And I think—for the first time in a long time—I don't mind.

[][][][][][]

The rest of the day, I hide in the corners of the castle, behind stacks of lesson plans, in empty corridors. I don't know what I'll do if I see her again too soon. If I see her with him.

But that evening, we meet the others at the bar in Hogsmeade. The usual crowd—Ron, Harry, Ginny, Luna, Blaise, Theo. The chatter is loud, firewhisky is pouring, and I try to pretend everything's normal.

It isn't.

Because she's here. And not alone.

Vivienne Hale walks in like she owns the place, Thorne Callahan right behind her. They look too comfortable, laughing about something only they seem to understand. It shouldn't bother me. It really shouldn't.

But it does.

"There she is," Ginny says, nudging Harry. "The woman of the hour."

Ron whistles low. "Vivienne Hale in our bar. As a regular. Not bad."

"World-famous actress just hanging around," Luna adds dreamily.

"You guys are acting like she's never been here" I mutter in annoyance as I see Thorne pull a chair for her at the bar. She has hands that work perfectly, git! "Well, she has. But she is literally the woman of the hour. The last time she was here with us, Madam Rosmerta literally pulled me to the side to get her introduced so she could keep this party in honor of her"

"And all these people are here to see her. Oh, and she's-" 

"She's signing autographs too," Blaise interrupts Longbottom, glancing over at her. "Think she'd do one for me? I never got around to ask her" Theo's already halfway up before I speak. "Sit down." They both blink at me.

"What?" Theo says. "It's just for fun—"

"I said, sit down." My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

They share a look, but obey.

I keep my eyes on the drink in front of me. I don't look at her. I won't. But it doesn't matter. I still feel her there. Laughing. Smiling. Looking at him the way I want her to look at me.

And I hate how much I want her to look at me again.

I'm trying to stay put. Really, I am.

But she's everywhere again— center of the room like she was born there, surrounded by eager fans and enchanted Hogsmeade residents pretending not to be as starstruck as they are. Her laugh cuts through the air like a ribbon of gold. Her smile burns. And Callahan? Nowhere in sight. Thank fucking Merlin.

She's passing out autographs with exaggerated flair, her cheeks flushed, a glass of something undoubtedly spiked in her hand. I tell myself it doesn't matter. That I'm not bothered. That I didn't spend the entire day not thinking about how her mouth felt against mine. How she bit my lip like she wanted to ruin me.

But I can't keep lying to myself when I see the moment open.

A tiny silver sliver.

No crowd. No Callahan. No one touching her.

I'm halfway across the room before I realize I'm moving.

She doesn't notice me at first, too busy re-capping a marker and sipping from her drink. But when she turns, she startles, and her balance shifts just a hair too far left. I lunge before she hits the floor, catching her elbow like it's instinct.

She laughs, blinking up at me. "You again."

"You're drunk," I murmur.

She squints one eye. "Define drunk."

I don't. I just take the glass from her hand, place it on the nearest table, and say, "You're leaving. I'll take you back."

She opens her mouth to protest, but I'm already guiding her out the bar. She doesn't fight it. In fact, she leans into me. A little too much.

"You always this bossy?" she mumbles as we cross the courtyard.

"Only with you."

She stumbles again on the stone steps and I tighten my grip, my hand flattening across her lower back. Too low. I should move it. I don't.

"Draco..." she whispers.

My name. She's never said it like that. Not a shout. Not a threat. Something... softer.

We reach her quarters in the castle, and I open the door with a muttered spell. She flops on the bed without grace and sighs into the pillow. As I step back, she turns her face slightly, eyes lidded, and says something half-buried in sleep.

"You could've stayed... if you weren't so scared."

I freeze.

She's already out. Asleep. Her breath even.

But the words stay with me. Coil around my ribs. If you weren't so scared.

I stand there too long, watching her.

I am scared. Of her. Of what she makes me feel. Of the way she's pulling me apart.