Dear Diary

by Happycrab

Summary:

Muggle world. Hermione Granger works as a secretary in a large firm, but has never met the owner. But one damp autumn evening, fate brings her face to face with a stranger in desperate need of help. Will this encounter be a path to the world of magic, or a new life, or both?

Chapter 1

1 October

Dear Diary,

It’s been one of those endless days where nothing seems to go right. I spent hours juggling phone calls and emails for people whose faces I barely know, though I work with them every day. The company is huge, and I’m just one of many secretaries who keep the wheels turning.
Every morning begins the same. I arrive at the office just as the city is waking up, clutching my bag like a lifeline. The familiar click of my heels on the polished floor echoes in the lobby, but it never quite settles my nerves. The moment I sit down at my desk, the day sweeps me up like a current I can barely keep afloat in.
There’s always something to do. Answering calls, typing reports, organizing meetings—it never ends. My inbox overflows by mid-morning, with requests from people I barely know, asking for things I still don’t quite understand. I do my best, but every email feels like a test, and I’m terrified of failing.
All day long, it’s “Miss Granger, can you handle this?” and “Miss Granger, I need these documents by noon.” The voices come from every direction—polite, but brisk—like I’m a cog in a much bigger machine. I nod, smile, and say “Of course” even when my hands are already full, my mind racing to keep track of it all. Each new task feels like another weight added to my shoulders, but I don’t dare show it. I can’t afford to fall behind.
I’m new here, and it shows. Not in my work, I hope—no, I pour everything I have into it—but in the way I hesitate. The way I stop myself from asking questions, afraid of what people might think. It’s not that I don’t know how to do my job. I’m just not sure how to ask for help without looking like I don’t belong.
What if they think I’m not smart enough? What if they think hiring me was a mistake? I can’t afford to lose this job. I need the money—more than anyone here knows. Rent doesn’t wait, and neither do the bills. Every time I open my mouth to ask something, I feel this wave of fear that maybe, just maybe, they’ll see me as less than I am. That they’ll decide I’m not worth keeping.
So I stay quiet. I work harder. I figure things out on my own, even when it feels impossible.
It’s strange, though—I’ve never even seen the man who owns this empire. They say he manages everything online, never stepping into the office, like some phantom. His name comes up in every meeting, but to me, he’s just a signature at the bottom of memos.
I never really think about him much, to be honest. He feels as distant as a star—part of the sky I live under, but not someone I’ll ever really know.

 

15 October

Dear Diary,

I wasn’t supposed to be in that part of town. I had stayed late at work to finish organizing a report that seemed to grow every time I opened it, and by the time I left, it was already dark. I wanted to take a shortcut - oh, what a mistake that was - and instead of the shining storefronts of the main streets, I wandered into a maze of dark alleys. It’s a rough neighborhood, and most people hurry through it, eyes down, eager to avoid any trouble.
So when I saw the man stumble and collapse on the pavement, I froze. People walked right past him like he wasn’t even there. Maybe they were scared. Maybe they didn’t care. But something inside me wouldn’t let me just leave him there.
It felt like time slowed down the moment I saw him fall.
I don’t know what came over me, but before I could even think, I was at his side. He looked so weak, crumpled against the cold pavement. His face was pale, his eyes barely open, and he was breathing like it hurt with every breath. His long blond hair, tied into a ponytail, now soaked in mud. His once-clean jeans were torn at the knee, revealing scraped skin beneath, and a thin trail of blood trickled from his nose, staining his pale face.
I knelt beside him, my heart pounding in my chest. The street was empty, except for a few shadows hurrying by, pretending not to see.
I gently touched his arm. "Hey, can you hear me?" I whispered, not sure if he could even understand. His eyelids fluttered, and his lips moved, but no sound came out. He tried to lift his head but couldn’t.
"Come on, let’s get you up," I said, though I didn’t know how I was going to manage it. He was tall, his body heavy with exhaustion, but somehow, I found the strength. I wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled him to his feet. He leaned on me so hard that for a second I thought we might both collapse. It was like trying to hold up the world.
Each step felt like it lasted a lifetime. His legs barely moved, dragging against the cracked sidewalk, and every few paces, he would stumble, his weight pressing down on me. My muscles burned from the effort, and I could hear my own breath coming out in short, shaky gasps. The night seemed to stretch on forever, the dim streetlights casting long shadows around us.
I kept talking to him, my voice low and steady, as if my words could keep him going. "Just a little farther," I whispered. "You’re going to be okay. We’ll get help." I didn’t know if he heard me, but I kept saying it, more to myself than to him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached a busier street. There were people, lights, the distant hum of cars—safety. I scanned the road until I spotted a taxi and waved it down like my life depended on it. The driver looked hesitant, glancing at the man slumped against me, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
"We need to get him to the hospital," I said, almost pleading.
We managed to get him into the back seat, and as we drove, I couldn’t help but glance at him in the dim light of the taxi.
His head was resting against the window, his eyes closed, but there was something about the way he looked—so vulnerable, so lost—that made my heart ache. I didn’t even know his name, yet I couldn’t leave him behind.
When we reached the hospital, he looked at me. For the first time. It was like he was looking straight through me—into me. His gaze was dark, intense, and I felt like he saw every thought, every doubt, every corner of my soul. It made me feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t felt before. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes spoke something I couldn’t understand—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper. In that moment, it felt like we were connected by something invisible, something unspoken but real.
Five seconds of silence passed before I forced myself to move. I pushed open the taxi door, the cold night air rushing in, and hurried toward the emergency room’s reception desk. My voice shook as I gave a rushed explanation, just enough for them to understand. Moments later, two nurses appeared, their movements brisk and efficient, wheeling a stretcher between them. I stepped aside as they lifted him out, my heart twisting at the sight of his limp body against the white sheets. He didn’t speak, didn’t look back, and in seconds he was being carried away from me, swallowed by the sterile brightness of the hospital corridors.
I stood there, feeling oddly small in the echoing space, my hands cold and useless at my sides. They asked me questions—his name, his address, someone they could call—but I had nothing to give them. Nothing but the image of his face, etched into my mind. I had brought him this far, but it felt like it wasn’t enough. As if I had set him adrift in a place where I could no longer reach him.
I left almost all of my money with the hospital clerk (asking him to give it to my mysterious stranger when he woke up) before I walked out. It wouldn't cover the hospital bills, of course, but it was better than nothing. I, with my modest salary, know that better than anyone. I kept just enough to get home, my hands trembling as I dropped the coins into the metro turnstile.
All the way back, I kept thinking about that look—the way his eyes had locked onto mine like a secret only we shared. I couldn’t explain it, but something had shifted. It was like our worlds had collided for just a brief moment, and nothing would ever be quite the same.
I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

 

16 October

Dear Diary,

I couldn’t stop thinking about him today. I called the hospital during my lunch break to ask about the man I’d helped, but they told me he’d already left. No explanation, no thanks, just gone. I felt strangely sad, like I had lost someone I hadn’t even known.
I keep wondering why no one came for him. I mean, he must have had someone, right? And yet, he was all alone in the street, late at night. It’s so strange how our lives can touch for just a moment, and then we’re back to being strangers.
I wish I knew if he was okay.

 

17 October

Dear Diary,

You won’t believe what happened today. I’m still shaking.
I was at work, going through my usual motions, typing up a meeting agenda, when I glanced up and saw him. Him, the man from the street. But he didn’t look sick or lost this time. He was walking across the lobby like he belonged there — the picture of effortless elegance. His suit was impeccable—dark, tailored to perfection. The crisp white shirt beneath it, paired with a sleek, expensive watch, hinted at the kind of man who moved through life with confidence, someone who was always in control. His blond hair, still tied back in that familiar ponytail, gleamed under the soft light, every strand seeming to catch a glow all its own.
He looked completely untouchable, like he belonged in a world far beyond mine—polished, perfect, the kind of man whose life was as carefully arranged as the suit he wore. And yet, there was something that softened that perfection. A long, faint scratch stretched across one of his otherwise flawless cheekbones, standing out like a reminder of some hidden vulnerability. It made him seem… real.
I gasped: he was so expensive-looking that I almost didn’t recognize him. But it was him. I know it was.
He stopped when he saw me. For a second, we just stared at each other, and then he smiled. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low, “for what you did the other night.”
Before I could say a word, he added, “Let me take you out for coffee sometime. We’ll call it even.”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me standing there with my heart racing and my face flushed. I had no time to process what had just happened before my colleagues started whispering.
“Do you know who that was?” one of them asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s Mr. Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy—the owner of the company.”
The owner of the company, Diary. The man who manages everything from afar. The man whose signature I see at the bottom of every email. The man I thought was a ghost.
I don’t know what to think. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. Why was he in that neighborhood that night? And why didn’t he tell me who he was?
But most of all, why does my heart feel like it’s about to jump out of my chest?

 

18 October

Dear Diary,

I’ve thought about him all day. About his smile. About the way he looked at me like we shared some kind of secret. I keep wondering if he’ll call or if that offer for coffee was just a polite gesture.
But deep down, I can’t help but hope. But there was something about the way he said it, the way his eyes met mine, that makes me think it wasn’t just about repaying a kindness. It was more. I felt it.
There’s this tension in my chest, a mixture of worry and hope. But deep down, beneath all my doubts, there’s a spark. It’s small, barely there, but it’s enough to make my heart race.
It feels foolish to even think it, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more here. Something bigger than a thank you. I don’t know what it is—maybe curiosity, maybe something else—but when he looked at me today, I could feel it, as if something between us had shifted in a way I can’t quite explain.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. But I can’t help but wonder if this spark I feel isn’t just in my mind. Maybe, just maybe, it’s something he feels too. I don’t know what happens next. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid to find out.

Chapter 2

25 October

Dear Diary,

I don’t know why I let myself get so worked up over something that might never happen. It's been over a week since Mr. Malfoy casually asked me out for coffee. It wasn’t even a formal invitation, more like an afterthought during one of our brief meetings. He had smiled, almost as if it was a passing comment, “Let me take you out for coffee sometime.”
Sometime. That’s what he said. And since then… nothing. Not a word, not a hint. I’ve gone back to my office being just a clerk - “Miss Granger, can you do this?” and “Miss Granger, that report is urgent.”
I know he’s busy. He’s always busy. But still, every time my office phone rings or my email dings, I can’t help but hope it might be him, finally following through on that invitation.
It’s not like I want anything special. Just… something. I don’t even care if it’s just coffee, or a few minutes of talking. But the waiting is unbearable. The worst part, though, is my colleagues. The ones who were standing nearby when he said it. They’ve been giving me these looks—curious, almost expectant—like they’re waiting for me to share some big news, as if I’m in on some secret. But there’s nothing to tell.
Each day that passes without a word makes me feel foolish, like I’ve imagined the whole thing. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe it was just something people say when they’re being polite.

26 October

Dear Diary,

Something strange happened today. I was just sitting at my desk, knee-deep in filing reports, when I got a call from Mr. Anderson, my manager.
“Miss Granger, I need you to drop everything you’re doing and go to the top floor. Someone is waiting for you there.”
The top floor? My heart started hammering before I could even ask why. I’ve never been up there. I don’t even know what’s up there. All I could think was, “This is it. I’m getting fired.” My stomach turned, and for a moment, I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand.
I grabbed a pen and notebook, trying to steady my hands. It felt like a lifeline — if I had something with me, maybe I wouldn’t look so unprepared. My palms were sweating as I stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. I could see my reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls, my hair a bit messy from the day’s work. I fidgeted, smoothing it down, but I couldn’t stop my mind from spiraling.
What had I done wrong? Was it something in my emails? Maybe I’d messed up an important report. The closer I got to the top, the more certain I was that I was about to face HR. The elevator seemed to crawl upward, and each floor felt like a step closer to some inevitable doom.
When the doors slid open, I was stunned.
It wasn’t an office. It wasn’t HR. It was… a terrace. A café, bathed in warm autumn sunlight, with the city sprawling out beneath it. I stepped out slowly, confused. The space was beautiful—empty, quiet, and open. I felt a breeze brush my face as I stood there, completely unsure of what to do next. For a moment, I forgot my panic and let my eyes wander over the view. The city stretched out before me, glittering under the sun, and for a second, I felt small, like I was standing on the edge of the world.
And then I heard a voice behind me.
“Miss Granger.”
I turned, and there he was. Mr. Malfoy. Standing by one of the small café tables, looking impossibly perfect in a dark blue suit. His blond hair was tied back neatly, the golden strands catching the light just right. For a second, I couldn’t speak.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’ve been meaning to ask you for that coffee. Life got in the way.” He gestured toward the table, as if this moment was the most natural thing in the world.
I swallowed, trying to find my voice, but all I could do was smile back as I moved toward the table. My hands were still trembling a little, but somehow, that didn’t matter anymore. There was something about the way he looked at me — calm, patient — that put me at ease, even when my heart was pounding in my chest.
The seconds were slipping by. He hadn’t said anything at all since we sat down, and the silence between us was beginning to feel heavy. I shifted uneasily in my chair, unsure of what to say or how to break the tension. He looked so composed, meanwhile, I felt out of place: my fingers fidgeted with the edge of the napkin, trying to find something—anything—to say.
"Are you feeling better now?" I blurted out, my voice timid, almost hesitant.
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. He was sitting there looking perfectly fine — better than fine, honestly. He didn’t look like the man I had found slumped on a grimy street corner just a few days ago. It was a silly question, and I knew it. I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
But he just smiled, that confident smile that made my heart skip a beat.
"Yes, thank you for asking," he replied smoothly. "It was only a minor issue with my health. Nothing to worry about."
I stared at him, my fingers tightening around the napkin. Minor issue?!! He had collapsed on the pavement. I had practically dragged him to a taxi, worried he might die in my arms. How could he brush that off as something minor?
He caught the expression on my face, and I must’ve been an open book because his lips twitched in amusement, his eyes sparkling. "I suppose I should be more careful next time," he said with a hint of teasing in his voice. "I promise I’ll pay more attention to my health. I may have forgotten to take my regular medicine that day."
There was something about the way he said it, like he was making up an excuse on the spot. It didn’t sit right with me, and a small surge of anger flared up in my chest. I could feel it, but I swallowed it down, not wanting to argue.
And then, out of nowhere, he asked, "By the way – and sorry for asking - what made you decide to go through all the trouble of helping me to the taxi? You could have just called an ambulance."
His question caught me off guard. I looked down at my hands, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck. The truth was, I hadn’t had my phone with me. But admitting that felt embarrassing. I bit my lip and tried to come up with something else to say, but nothing came to mind.
Finally, I muttered, "I didn’t have my phone."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You didn’t have it with you?"
I hesitated, then sighed, deciding there was no point in lying. "I… dropped it a couple of days before that night. It’s broken, and I haven’t been able to afford the repair yet. My salary doesn’t come in until tomorrow."
His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked as though he didn’t know what to say. It was strange, seeing him like that — he opened his mouth as if to respond, but then closed it, clearly at a loss for words.
The conversation faltered after that. He asked about my education, my family, whether I liked working at the company. I answered quietly, feeling out of place, but there was a softness to his tone, as if he was trying to be kind, to make me feel at ease.
An hour passed, though it felt much longer. Finally, Mr. Malfoy glanced at his watch and sighed softly. "I’m afraid I have to go," he said, his voice regretful. "I have a meeting." He stood, and I did too, eager to escape the awkwardness.
"Thank you for taking the time to join me for coffee", he added.
I nodded, muttering something about it being no trouble. I was halfway to the elevator when I heard his voice again.
"Miss Granger! Your notebook!"
I froze, turning around. There he was, holding the notebook I had brought from my desk, the one I had taken with me in case this was something work-related. My heart stuttered in my chest as I walked back toward him. He held it out, and when I reached for it, our fingers brushed together. The touch lingered — one, two, three seconds. It felt deliberate, lasting just a bit too long to be accidental.
My breath caught in my throat. The moment stretched on until I finally pulled my hand back, clutching the notebook to my chest. My heart was pounding, my thoughts in a whirl, and I muttered a rushed goodbye before almost fleeing to the elevator.

 

That night, as I sat curled up on the sofa, lost in my thoughts, the sudden ring of the doorbell startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone. For a moment, I hesitated, heart quickening in my chest. Who could it be at this hour?
I opened the door to find a delivery man standing there, holding a small package. He glanced down at his clipboard, then back at me. "Miss Granger?" he asked, his tone businesslike. I nodded, unsure of what this was all about. He handed me the papers to sign, and once I did, he passed me the parcel with a quick nod before turning to leave.
Still puzzled, I carried the package back to the sofa, feeling its lightness in my hands. My mind raced with questions. I hadn’t ordered anything. Sitting down, I carefully unwrapped the parcel, my fingers trembling slightly. Inside was a sleek, polished box. And when I opened it, there, nestled perfectly within the soft packaging, was a brand new smartphone.

 

To be continued

Notes:

If you've finished reading this chapter, could you please leave a tiny comment? Maybe just a "+" or something like that. It's very important to me.

Chapter 3

27 October

Dear Diary,

As I sat at my desk, my fingers absentmindedly traced the smooth surface of the new smartphone, still barely believing it was mine. The phone gleamed under the fluorescent office lights, a constant, almost taunting reminder of the unexpected gift from Mr. Malfoy. A small package, delivered right to my door with no explanation, no note, just the phone wrapped in sleek, minimalist packaging. Why had he done it? Gratitude, maybe? Or something bigger?
Back at home when I unlocked the phone for the first time, all I found was the empty contacts list. For a fleeting moment, I had hoped—hoped that maybe, just maybe, his number would already be there. Something small, something that could give me a reason to reach out to him. My heart sank a little. Of course, there was nothing there. No message, no number, no trace of him at all. The phone was as clean and untouched as the distance that still lay between us.
And then sitting in my office, I tried to shake off the feeling, tried to refocus on the stack of papers in front of me, but it was useless. My thoughts kept drifting back to him. Every time the phone buzzed with a new notification, my pulse would leap, only to be disappointed by yet another work email or system reminder. It was maddening. I kept replaying our last meeting in my head—the way he had thanked me for helping him, the way his fingers had brushed against mine when he handed me the notebook. That touch, brief as it had been, had stayed with me. There was something in it, something unspoken, a moment that hung between us. Was it just my imagination? Or had he felt it too?
I let out a slow breath, trying to push the thoughts aside. I needed to focus on my work, but he kept slipping into my mind, unbidden, like a song I couldn’t stop humming. The office around me buzzed with its usual activity—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, colleagues whispering. Just my usual life. Stop dreaming, Hermione, just stop it.

 

29 October

Dear Diary,

Today, as I was filing some documents, I overheard a group of my colleagues talking near the coffee machine. They were gossiping, as usual, but one snippet caught my attention. They were talking about Mr. Malfoy—how they had seen him earlier that day, and apparently, he had a strange burn on his hand and neck. My heart skipped a beat. A burn? I couldn’t stop myself from eavesdropping as they speculated about what might have happened. No one seemed to know, but the news hit me harder than I expected. Could it be related to the night I found him? The night he could barely stand, his skin clammy and pale? My mind raced, trying to connect the dots. Was this why he had been unwell? Was there something more serious going on than he had let on? Or - what if the burns weren’t connected to his health at all?
The idea crept up on me slowly, almost like a whisper in the back of my mind. What if something else had happened that night? What if someone had hurt him? I felt a sudden pang in my chest at the thought. Was it a personal enemy or something about his business? The idea of someone attacking him, someone deliberately causing him harm, made my stomach twist.
I stared at the stack of papers in front of me, but my focus was gone. The questions were buzzing too loudly in my head now. What had really happened to him that night? And why hadn’t he said anything? I wanted to ask him, to understand, but how could I? He wasn’t the kind of man you could just approach with personal questions. He was distant, a mystery, always hovering just out of reach.
The day dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. My eyes kept darting to the phone, but it remained frustratingly silent. No messages. No calls. I told myself it was ridiculous to expect anything—he was my boss, after all—but I couldn’t help the small flicker of hope that he might reach out, even if just to check in.
As the workday slowly wound to an end, I collected my things, feeling drained from the constant tug-of-war going on in my mind. With a sigh, I made my way down the corridor, each step feeling heavier than the last, heading toward the main doors of the office. Through the glass doors, I caught sight of a team of movers carefully handling new office furniture—an enormous sofa, a towering set of shelves, and a few office chairs.
Just as I was about to leave, something caught my eye. At the far end of the office, near the elevators, I saw him. Mr. Malfoy. He was standing there, his tall figure unmistakable in the sea of office workers.
I paused for just a moment, the crowd of employees brushing past me with irritated glances as I unknowingly blocked their way. In that brief second, two things happened at once. First, a loud crash echoed through the lobby as one of the movers lost his grip on the heavy sofa, sending it thudding to the floor. But it wasn’t the noise that held my attention—it was Mr. Malfoy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him jerk his shoulders, his movement quick and nervous. And then, for the briefest moment, something impossible happened: a faint shimmer seemed to form around him, like a transparent cocoon, delicate and almost invisible, with just the slightest silver glint at its edges. I blinked, hardly believing what I had seen, and in that instant, the vision vanished. Mr. Malfoy hurriedly stepped into the elevator, and the doors slid shut.

 

To be continued

Chapter 4

31 October

Dear Diary,

Italy. I still can’t quite believe I’m here, traveling for work like a proper professional, feeling that thrill as if I were starring in my own little adventure film. The company sent a group of us over to meet our business partners, and somehow, I was chosen too — likely for my passable Italian, although I suspect it was also because they needed someone to handle the minutiae of communication. They even flew us out together, though Mr. Malfoy wasn’t anywhere in sight on the flight. I kept wondering where he could be, but it was just as possible he’d taken a separate flight or was lingering in the elusive comforts of business class.

Italy is everything I imagined and more, Diary. The air feels warmer, lighter, scented faintly of citrus and something heady and earthy that I can’t place. It’s warm enough that my trench coat seems almost out of place here, though I did feel a bit chic in it, making my way down those ancient cobblestone streets. But the days grow warm so quickly, I almost want to toss out the office dress code entirely and enjoy a bit of sun on my shoulders.

This morning, I woke quite early to walk to the business center, too eager and restless to stay cooped up in my room. I needed to see the streets and soak in the quiet beauty before everything turned into the busy hum of day. The square I crossed was perfectly still, and for a moment, it was just me and the beautiful, empty space. I stopped to check my maps, just to make sure I was headed in the right direction, and felt a strange sensation, like someone’s eyes were on me. Turning around, I found the strangest man watching me—a figure even shorter than me, so small I almost thought of him as a dwarf. His appearance was unsettling: long, tangled hair framed his face in a wild, unkempt mess, and he wore a dusty coat hanging awkwardly, as if it were two sizes too large. But it was his stare that froze me—intense, sharp, and unsettlingly focused, like he was seeing something he wanted yet hated all at once. His eyes practically burned into mine with this strange sort of malice that made my skin prickle. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Just stood there, watching me.

I managed to take a few steps away, trying not to look alarmed, but then I heard a soft whoosh and turned around. He’d vanished completely, as if he’d been some shadow melting back into the stones. I almost wondered if he had been real at all. The square was vast and empty, no corners or alleys, and yet… nothing. He was gone.
I reached the business center safely, grateful they welcomed early birds like me. The morning passed smoothly, without any further surprises, and the meeting itself was straightforward, with everyone fully immersed in numbers and negotiations. And, mercifully, we were given the afternoon off. The others headed back to the hotel to rest, but I couldn’t resist the sunlit streets, the charm of wandering in such a beautiful city. The warm afternoon breeze made me forget about everything for a little while as I visited a few shops, marveling at all the intricate glass and fabrics on display, each place more charming than the last.

But, Diary, let me tell you — heels and cobblestones are a merciless combination. By the time I realized my heels were starting to blister, it was far too late. Each step felt like fire, and I could tell by the red spots on my shoes that I’d rubbed them raw. My heart sank

as I looked at the map on my phone; the hotel was far enough that I couldn’t imagine making it all the way back in these shoes, and I hadn’t budgeted for a taxi ride in this city.
I kept trudging along, limping with every step, annoyed at myself, my high heels, and these unforgiving cobblestone streets. One block, then another—my heels were practically on fire.
Then I heard the faint hum of a motorbike behind me and turned around, my breath catching at the sight of none other than Mr. Malfoy. He was sitting there on a sleek bike, looking impossibly relaxed in a fitted black T-shirt and jeans that hugged him in ways that no business suit ever did. His arms, lean and strong, held the handlebars effortlessly, and from where I stood, I could see a glimpse of tattoos curling around his forearms, as unexpected as they were mesmerizing. He looked like someone out of a dream, or perhaps a dangerous sort of fantasy I’d never admit out loud.

“M-M-Mr. Malfoy?” I stammered, both thrilled and completely flustered. “What are you doing here?”
He tilted his head with that maddeningly sly smile of his. “Just out for a ride,” he said, his tone as casual as if he hadn’t just startled the breath out of me. “And then I happened to see you. What a fortunate coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”
My mouth twitched with laughter. I didn’t believe in ‘coincidences,’ not with him. But before I could tease him about it, he gestured toward my heels, his eyes glinting with amused concern. “It seems you could use a lift,” he said, glancing down at my feet. “You won’t make it far like that. Fancy joining me?”
I blushed, uncertain. Riding on a motorbike? With him? But then I reasoned that it would be fine since I was wearing trousers, and besides, there was something so thrilling about the idea. He watched me expectantly, his gaze warm and inviting, and I found myself nodding before I’d even thought it through.

Climbing onto the bike behind him was a mix of nervousness and excitement. I hesitated for a moment, unsure where to put my hands, until he took my arm, guiding it firmly around his waist. “Hold tight,” he murmured, glancing back with that irresistible smile, and the warmth of his body was right there, solid and close beneath my hands.

As we started down the narrow, sunlit streets, a rush of joy surged through me. The wind tugged at my hair, pulling it free, and I felt a wild exhilaration, the world blurring past us, warm and golden. My fingers pressed against his abs, feeling the strength and warmth beneath his t-shirt, and I couldn’t help but lean closer, the contact both thrilling and soothing. I could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric, a steady, reassuring rhythm that seemed to match my own.

With each turn and curve of the road, I let myself settle into the moment, feeling a kind of freedom I’d never felt before. And with him, it felt strangely right. I kept thinking that the hotel was far too close, wishing our ride would last longer. Just as I was feeling certain we’d reach it soon, he took a different path, winding down a side street, the sea glinting in the distance as if he, too, wanted to stretch out this moment for as long as possible. The sun flickered across the waves, and I felt this overwhelming sense of happiness, the kind of happiness that doesn’t need explanation.
And then, too soon, we arrived at the hotel. I slid off the bike, my legs unsteady as I tried to catch my breath. I looked down, my cheeks warm, struggling to find the right words.
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” I murmured, my voice soft. But his eyes were on me, holding that same sly gleam.

“You’re very welcome… Hermione.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and something in the way he said my name sent a shiver through me. And with one last smile, he turned and drove away, leaving me standing there, both breathless and brimming with emotions I still don’t have words for.

 

To be continued

Chapter 5

31 October
Dear Diary,
I spent the entire evening in my hotel room, the hum of the Italian night drifting in through the open balcony doors. But my mind wasn’t on the view, or the warm scent of jasmine from the courtyard below. It kept circling back to one thing—him. The way Mr. Malfoy had driven me through winding streets on his motorcycle earlier today, the wind tangling my hair, the steady strength of his back beneath my hands. I could still remember the subtle heat of him, the way holding on felt… safer than I wanted to admit.
Tomorrow felt both too close and too far away. Part of me ached to know what it would bring; the other part feared the answer. I told myself not to expect anything, and yet some quiet, stubborn part of me refused to believe I wouldn’t see him again.

The sharp chime of an incoming message broke the quiet, making my heart leap. I reached for my phone, breath caught in my throatv—vonly to find it wasn’t him at all. It was Mr. Anderson. He’d sent over a stack of documents that, according to the terse note, I needed to review by morning.

Later, I lay in bed, papers scattered across the rumpled sheets. Somewhere between a paragraph on market projections and a fleeting thought of his hands on the motorcycle grips, my eyes drifted closed. And just before sleep claimed me, an image—so vivid it almost felt real—slipped into my mind: him, standing in the doorway, his eyes finding mine as if tomorrow had already begun.

5 November
Four days passed. Four long days of scanning every doorway, every meeting room, every crowded hotel lobby, hoping — aching — to see Mr. Malfoy’s face. But each time, it was someone else. Colleagues. Clients. Potential partners. The world kept moving, and he was nowhere in it.
Every night, as I closed my eyes, I wished for him to come to me in my dreams. Just once. (Oh, Hermione, you cannot, you absolutely cannot fall for your boss…) But instead, my sleep was haunted by something else — a shadowy, stunted figure appearing in the half-light. Sometimes in the hush of twilight, sometimes in the blackness of night, sometimes in a narrow corridor where the walls glimmered with torchlight.
I woke each morning with the same weight in my chest, an unshakable sense that something was looming just beyond my reach. A threat. Invisible, but there. And no matter how I tried to reason it away, it clung to me, seeping into my days, making me wonder if I was waiting for him… or for something I didn’t want to meet at all.

6 November
Today had been even more frenzied than usual. The afternoon stretched endlessly in that vast hall, where companies from the conference showcased their products. Swarms of customers buzzed back and forth, and I found myself repeating the same answers over and over. My mind was a haze — drowning in the cacophony of countless languages swirling all around me. All I craved was for the day to end, to escape, to slip away into the quiet sanctuary of my hotel room.

With less than half an hour left until the finish, something pulled me around to look up toward the grand staircase. And there he was. Far away, yet unmistakably him – Mr. Malf... Lucius, dressed impeccably in a deep navy suit, his platinum hair neatly tied back in a sleek ponytail.
A soft smile curved my lips, warmth blooming quietly inside me, filling every corner of my chest with sunlight. Without thinking, I rubbed the tip of my nose, as though the small gesture could contain the tender ache building there. Like a fool, I let my gaze linger on the staircase, praying no one nearby would notice which of the dozens ascending and descending had captured me so completely.
God, he was magnificent. Magnetic. The kind of man a woman could spend an hour simply watching and never tire of the view.

But the warmth didn’t last. It shattered without warning—like delicate crystal meeting stone. A sudden chill slid over me, sharp and unnatural, carrying with it a whisper of menace. My head turned left, then right, scanning for the source of that invisible threat.
And then I saw him.
A few meters from the base of the stairs, half-hidden behind a marble pillar, stood the dwarf from before — the one with the unruly hair that no tailored suit or polished badge could tame. He tried to blend into the crowd, but he couldn’t. Not just because of his height or the wild crown of hair. Something deep inside me swore he didn’t belong here — not in this city, not in this world. A strange, dangerous creature hunting… who? Me? Or Lucius?
Our eyes met, and in that instant, the dwarf’s expression hardened, as though I were an unwelcome complication in a plan nearly complete. Then — impossibly — he lifted his hand in a sharp, almost dismissive gesture… and vanished. Simply gone. And a second later there was only a thin wisp of gray smoke - curling in the space where he had stood, dissolving into nothingness as if he’d never been there at all.

Something inside me clicked — sharp, instinctive, undeniable. There was no time to hesitate. A creature who could vanish into thin air could just as easily appear the same way. And where would he be in the next heartbeat?
Maybe here, maybe… a single step away from the man who, without warning, had become far too precious to me.

All sense of decorum fell away. I didn’t think, didn’t care who was watching. The folder of documents slipped from my hands, scattering papers like startled birds across the polished floor. My only thought was reaching him.
I bolted across the expanse of the hall toward the staircase, the sound of my own pulse drowning out everything else.

To be continued

Chapter 6

- Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!!!
My voice cut through the air as I ran, the crowd parting instinctively around me. I reached the foot of the staircase, caught my heel on the edge of a step, and nearly pitched forward face-first onto the marble. Somehow, I caught myself — barely — and pushed upward, taking the stairs two at a time.
- Mr. Malfoooy!!!

He glanced down, offering the crowd a polite, apologetic smile, the kind that said forgive the scene. Then, before I could reach him, his hand closed firmly around my elbow, tugging me toward the wall.
- Miss Granger?! – then his tone softened, dropping to a low murmur meant for my ears alone. - Hermione. Stop. Stop. Breathe. What happened?
- He! He’s there, — I pointed down into the hall. - The dwarf. He was right there, and then he disappeared. I’m not crazy. I swear I saw it. I don’t know who he is, but he…
The words flowed, tripping over each other as I poured everything into them — the first time I’d seen the little man in the square, how he’d vanished before my eyes, how I’d convinced myself it was exhaustion playing tricks on me. The dreams of him walking narrow, torchlit corridors. And now… now he’d been standing just meters from us.
I braced myself for disbelief, for laughter, for the inevitable chiding to get back to work. But none of that came.

Instead, Mr. Malfoy swallowed hard, his gaze sweeping the exhibition hall with quick, sharp precision. His grip on my elbow tightened, drawing me closer until I could feel the whisper of his breath against my cheek.
- Hermione. Listen to me. Listen to me very-very attentively. This dwarf. He’s dangerous — more dangerous than you realize. - he exhaled, the sound heavy. - I have to disappear. If I stay here, he could hurt more than just me. All these people, — he nodded toward the crowded hall, — they don’t deserve to be caught in this. And you… You need to get as far from me as you can. Lose yourself in the crowd. Stay there. Do you understand?
I nodded, pulse pounding.

A faint flick of his wrist, and Lucius was suddenly enveloped in a whisper-thin sheen of silver light. It shimmered around him like liquid moonlight, clinging for only a heartbeat before fading. Without a word, he set off at a brisk, almost too-calm pace toward the long corridor leading to the service exit.
If everything he’d told me was true, in his place I would’ve been running flat out. But sometimes, not drawing attention was the bigger gamble — the kind that could buy you a precious minute or two before the enemy caught on.

I stood rooted in place for a few seconds, my eyes following him until he reached the far end. Then I turned, ready to follow his instructions—only for a flicker of movement to snag my attention.
The dwarf. Again. Threading his way through the crowd with uncanny precision, his path arrowed straight toward the open terrace… the one that offered an unbroken route to the back exit. The same back exit Lucius was heading for—walking, maybe running by now, I prayed.
The dwarf was going to intercept him. Cut him off before he could vanish.
He had to be stopped.

My gaze swept the hall in a frantic, staccato rhythm. Security was too far away, clustered at the main entrance. I couldn’t reach the dwarf in time, couldn’t stop him with my own strength. Think, think, think…
Then I saw it.
Five steps away, on the wall there was a bright red fire alarm lever. My pulse surged.
I lunged toward it, my fingers wrapping tight around the cold metal handle. One sharp pull.
For a single heartbeat, nothing happened. And then the world exploded.

The siren’s wail split the air, sharp enough to slice through bone. Overhead, sprinklers sprang to life, pelting icy droplets that stung against my skin. The gentle hum of background music vanished, replaced by a harsh metallic voice commanding evacuation.
Chaos exploded. The crowd surged toward the main doors in a frantic wave, sweeping everything — and everyone — in its path. The dwarf disappeared in the crush, swallowed whole by the tide of bodies before he could reach the terrace.
There are moments in life when you act against every rule you’ve ever been taught. Not because it’s wise. Not because it’s safe. But because, in that instant, it feels inevitable — like breathing. Like there’s no other choice you could live with.
I bit down on my lip, tasting the faint tang of fear… and rushed after Lucius.

The roar of the crowd was fading behind me, my breath burning in my lungs, the metallic echo of my heels chasing me forward until the hallway ended in a heavy steel door, flung wide to the night.
Outside, the air was sharp with the scent of wet stone and something electric — panic, maybe, or the storm of my own pulse. It had grown fully dark, the shadows pooling thick in the corners.
I rushed further: to my left, the sheer wall of the building rose like a barrier; to my right, a chain-link fence stretched on and on, swallowing the dim light. Somewhere far off, the wail of fire engines cut through the night, drawing closer, rushing toward the chaos I’d left behind.

I squinted into the dark ahead. There — just visible — were the gates. My heart leapt, and I forced my legs to carry me toward them, each step heavier than the last.
When I reached the gates, I grabbed the cold metal and yanked. Once. Twice. Nothing. Locked. Dead end.

I stood there, chest heaving, not sure which way to turn, the pulse in my ears drowning out everything else. And then —
A sound. The faintest creak of hinges from somewhere to my side.
Before I could move, a hand shot out of the shadows, gripping my arm with unshakable strength and pulling me into the narrow darkness of a doorway.
His scent hit me first — warm, clean, threaded with the sharp, restless edge of adrenaline. Lucius. My lips parted:
- M-m-mr. Malfoy… - was all I could manage, my voice barely a whisper.

But he didn’t hear me — or maybe he chose not to:
- You! What. Are. You. Doing. Here?! - his voice was a harsh whisper, each word clipped, furious. My back pressed against the wall as my eyes adjusted, finding his face only inches from mine. - I told you to stay away from me! He’s after me. Not you. God, you have no idea what he’s capable of!
– I’ll stay with you! – I squeaked. Stubborn little me. - But… the gates are locked, – I blurted before I could stop myself, biting my lip a second later at the sheer stupidity of my own remark.
– Imagine that — I noticed! – he snapped. – A minute ago I was planning to climb over the garages. – His gaze swept over me, sharp and measuring, as though weighing my very presence. – But now? Garages? Roofs? Oh, God, Hermione!
– Sorry, – I murmured, the word sounding even more foolish than I felt.

He shook his head, then without another word, pulled me deeper into the corridor. At first, I couldn’t see a thing. The darkness was thick, swallowing every outline, every step. I stumbled twice, once hard enough to slam my shoulder into something unyielding.
Lucius stopped abruptly, then snapped his fingers.
A small sphere of light bloomed in the air before us, casting soft gold across the narrow space. Doors appeared on either side of the hallway, the shadows retreating in slow surrender.
– Walk, – he said, dismissing my unasked question with a flick of his hand. – We’ll talk later.

We twisted through a maze of corridors until we reached an old wooden door. Lucius released my hand only long enough to slam his shoulder against the panels, forcing them open. The glowing orb floated in behind us as we stumbled into a dusty storeroom crammed with forgotten furniture, splintered boards, and rusted pipes.
We made our way to the window, clambering over the debris.
- Step back. – Lucius waited a moment, then grabbed a stool and in a smooth single motion hurled it forward. Window-glass shattered, raining down in a glittering cascade onto the floor.
– I go first, – he said, nodding toward the window. – You follow. But first, put this on. – He shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to me.

Refusing would have been absurd — the jagged teeth of broken glass still glinted in the window frame, and an office blouse made for good girls was hardly armour. I slid my arms into the sleeves, rolling them up quickly, and for the briefest moment I let myself sink into the heat still clinging to the fabric… his heat. Oh, Lucius… what are you doing to me? I gave my head a quick shake, chasing away the spell he’d cast over me, and stepped toward the window.

We’d barely made it through when Lucius sucked in a sharp breath, wincing. His hand clamped around his forearm.
– What? Did you cut yourself? – I reached for him.
– Yes. No. I mean… the cut’s nothing. This is… - He broke off, breathing harder, his brows drawn tight in pain.
I caught his arm, pulling it toward me. The pale blue of his shirt was marked by a thin scarlet stroke of blood, but something told me that wasn’t the real cause of his pain.
With one swift motion, I undid the button at his cuff and pushed the sleeve up — and froze.

His entire forearm was covered by a tattoo of entwined serpents, the same intricate pattern I’d glimpsed some days ago and dismissed as an elaborate design. But the problem wasn’t the snakes — it was the fact that they were moving.

To be continued
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Chapter 7

Believe it or not, the snakes inked into Lucius’s forearm were moving — sinuous and alive, their scaled bodies sliding over his skin, tails flicking tongues darting in silent hisses. The largest, a cobra coiled at the center, spread its hood in a slow, deliberate warning, as if ready to strike at me in the very next heartbeat.
I swallowed hard, lifting my gaze to Lucius.
As if reading the question I couldn’t bring myself to ask, he pulled his arm back, holding it tight against his torso, cradling the pain.
– I’ll explain. I’ll explain everything. But not now. We have to run. – His head turned scanning the shadows. – Anywhere. If we stay, he’ll find us and —
He didn’t finish. Instead, he plunged into the night, and I followed.

The streets were nearly deserted, washed in the dim orange of distant lamps. We kept to the narrowest alleys, weaving deeper and deeper into the maze of backstreets, where the air smelled of damp stone and something metallic. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Lucius never slowed, his stride relentless, his head jerking side to side as if expecting danger at every turn. His hand gripped mine in a way that left no room for questions — firm, urgent, commanding. I matched his pace as best I could, letting him pull me forward.
For a fleeting moment, I thought we were in the clear. No footsteps followed us, no shadow crept at our backs. I was about to beg for a moment to catch my breath when he appeared.
The dwarf.

No warning. No sound. Just there — in the middle of the alley, a dozen yards ahead, his figure cutting sharply against the dim light. In his hand — what was that? A jagged, crooked piece of wood? A broken branch? It was hard to tell, but it looked wrong, menacing in its simplicity.
Lucius swore under his breath and yanked me into a sharp left turn, his fingers tightening around mine as if he could will me to move faster. We tore down the next alley, the walls closing in on either side, the uneven cobblestones threatening to trip me with every step.

I risked a glance over my shoulder.
He was following. But…
The dwarf moved with a limp, his gait uneven. Relief flickered through me — he was slower. He wouldn’t catch us. Not if we kept going.
We sprinted, turning into another alley, then another. My chest ached from the cold air, my lungs begging for rest. And yet — he was there again. Ahead of us. Waiting.
We spun away, taking a side path, only for him to materialize in front of us once more.

– H-how? How is he doing this? – I gasped, my voice ragged from the effort.
– Apparating! – Lucius barked without looking back.
– Appa… what?
– Run!
And so we did.

To be continued

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Chapter 8

The night closed in around us. Every corner we turned only seemed to lead us deeper into a place where the streets forgot their names. Brick walls loomed high, blotting out the glow of the city, until all that was left was the sound of our footsteps and the pounding of my own heartbeat.
But the dwarf… he was everywhere.
No matter how fast we ran, no matter how many turns we took, he appeared - sometimes ahead, sometimes at our backs, always just close enough to make my skin prickle. The crooked branch - or whatever it was - never left his hand.

- Mr.Malfoy, - I tugged at Lucius’s sleeve, breath hitching, - why are we running if he… if he keeps ending up in front of us?
- Apparition’s not easy, baby. — somehow he managed a quick, razor-sharp grin even as we sprinted. — Costs a hell of a lot of strength. If he tires before we do, we’ve got a chance.
- And if he doesn’t?
Lucius didn’t answer.

My lungs burned, my legs screamed, and I knew I couldn’t keep zigzagging through these alleys forever. Desperation shoved my hand into my pocket. I needed my phone. God, I needed to get to my phone. I was clumsy trying to do it with my left — Lucius’s grip locked tight around my right, but after fumbling through, I managed to punch in 112.

— What are you doing?! - Lucius’s eyes cut to mine, sharp and accusing.
— What I have to. - I snapped the words without thinking. Oh God, I’d just barked at my boss.
After two rings, a man’s voice came through:
— Hai chiamato i servizi di emergenza. Qual è l'emergenza?
Damn it. In this mad chase, I’d almost forgotten we weren’t even in our own country.
“Io… io… sono perseguitato…” The Italian stumbled awkwardly off my tongue, broken by gasps for air. “Oh, God! Do you speak English?”
— Un secondo, per favore.
A pause, and then a woman’s voice, softer, tinged with an Italian lilt:
— 112, what is your emergency?
— Someone’s chasing me. I think… — My memory jolted with the image of that crooked stick in the dwarf’s fist. - I think he has a weapon. I d-d-don’t know what kind.
— Where are you now, miss?
— I… I don’t know exactly. It’s Quartiere Belmonte, not far from the Aurora Fiera exhibition center. At least, it was. I’ve been running… minutes, maybe more.
— Can you give me a street name? Some landmark?
— It’s dark, I can’t… - my eyes snagged on a sagging sign nailed to a crumbling façade. —There’s a Panetteria Crosta d’Oro. A bakery.
A beat of silence.
— Yes, I see it on the map, miss. We are sending a car.
— But I’m not— I’m not there anymore. I keep running!
— We’ll find you, miss. Please, stay on the line.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, never ending the call, even as a stitch clawed at my side. My gaze slid to Lucius.
— Just run, - he rasped, answering the question I hadn’t voiced.

Seconds ticked by, loud as thunder in my chest. Lucius kept me close, his hand clamped around mine, pulling me through pools of shadow where the light couldn’t reach. His grip was firm, grounding me, but I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
We burst into another dark street, skirting an abandoned car with a twisted door, ducking beneath low-hanging tree branches. And then — we stopped. A dead end. Walls pressed in on three sides, a weak streetlamp flickered overhead, and the sky was nothing more than a scrap of darkness far above.
Lucius hesitated for the briefest second. From somewhere distant, the wail of a siren threaded through the night. My lungs seized with fragile hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was our chance.
But then…

A sharp crack split the air. I whipped my head around and froze.
The dwarf was there. Not running. Just standing by the mangled car, that crooked stick pointed at us like a weapon he knew how to use.
Lucius released my hand, stepping forward, shielding me with his body. A ripple of silver shimmer raced over his shoulders, and in the blink of an eye, he was encased in a translucent, glimmering cocoon.

— Listen, Thorncatcher. It’s me you want, isn’t it? - Lucius’s voice was steady, deliberate. “Let the lady go, and then… we’ll have our little talk. Just the two of us. Like two civilized magicia… men.”
The dwarf curled his lip, baring teeth like broken needles. His grin was poison.
— Playing the noble one, Malfoy?
It wasn’t a question that needed answering. Lucius’s arm swept back, tugging me flush against his spine. My fingers pressed into the shimmer of his shield, sparks snapping against my skin. I pushed harder, but the barrier refused me, not letting my fingers go any further.

— And you know what, Luci-boy? — The dwarf’s grin widened, his voice slick with satisfaction. — Now I’ll take you both. Friends of the Dark Lord fetch a fine price — especially their precious little runaway blond. And the girl? She’s a squib. Perfect for experiments. They’ll pay handsomely for her. Especially on the black market.
His stubby fingers lifted the stick, savoring the moment, and then he snarled:
“Perfractum Aegis!”

The wood quivered in his grasp, oozing with a foul, brown glow. An instant later, a storm of sparks burst from its tip — vicious, snapping embers that slammed into Lucius’s cocoon. They hissed and spat, each impact dimming the cocoon, rippling its surface, thinning it by degrees.
Lucius cursed under his breath, bracing wider, his shoulders locking to keep me behind him. More sparks, more shrieks of burning light, each one chewing away at the fragile silver between us and death.

And then - just when I thought the cocoon would collapse, when I was certain there was no salvation left - sirens howled again. This time closer. So close I could almost taste the hope.
The dwarf’s head snapped toward the sound. His snarl twisted, ugly with fury. He jerked the stick aloft and bellowed:

“Tri-Frangor!”
Three spikes of fire shot forth, molten and alive, streaking toward us in a blazing rush.
The first spike tore through the air like a whip, shrieking past my ear so close I felt its heat graze my skin. I flinched, instinctively ducking, but Lucius moved only an inch. He stood firm, his back to me, broad and unyielding.
Time slowed to a crawl. I saw everything: the tense line of his shoulders, the strands of fine hair that had slipped free from his ponytail, the way the muscles beneath his shirt coiled, bracing against the blow.
The second spike hit his protective cocoon with a deafening crack. Light flared around Lucius, his shimmering barrier pulsed once… then began to thin. I watched, breath snagging in my throat, as it flickered, dimmed — and almost vanished.
— Lucius…- I squeaked, but he didn’t turn - only made one step back, caging me between him and the brick wall at my spine.
The third spike of fire struck him square in the chest.
He gasped — a sharp, guttural sound that cut through me like glass. His body jerked, then staggered, and I saw him begin to fall.

 

To be continued
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Notes:

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