Chapter Text
Hogwarts had changed.
The broken windows, the dilapidated towers, and the lingering scent of war and loss had all gone. In their stead stood a castle that had come to life again-a-bustling-with students, echoing corridors of chatter, quills scraping, and spells being uttered under one's breath.
Among the few moments in lifetimes was this-that Hermione Granger finally felt the warmth of the school.
All those students who had not been able to complete their last academic year were allowed to come back by the Ministry after the war and finish their schooling. The same seventh years-or eighth years as they were now-called because of their battle and battle scars-were scattered in their former houses.
They were lush, green scenery behind battle-tired faces. They were now learning with their former classmates. The Great Hall, once again full, pumped with the same energy it had in their early years. The staircases that once broke off were whole again, shifting unpredictably as they always had. Even the ghosts, who had been eerily silent in the months following the war, resumed their usual antics, with Peeves cackling down the halls and Nearly Headless Nick proclaiming with a cough about how it was less-than completely severed.
As always, Hogwarts remained Hogwarts.
And Hermione Granger, though she wouldn't own up to it, was quite satisfied with the town. Her classes had begun again, full and intense, yet with responsibilities were approachable—what a welcome diversion from it all. The eighth-years were divided into house colours but could much better understand each other, with no active rivalries or petty house grudges, only survivors rebuilding their lives one Transfiguration essay at a time.
Slytherins were really slow at integrating with the other students and even Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini could mostly be found at the library arguing over Ancient Runes translation. Pansy Parkinson, who everyone had thought would never budge from her stance, had actually, not without a fight, gone around apologizing to a view wronged by her before the war. And Draco Malfoy ...
Well.
Draco Malfoy was still Draco Malfoy.
His platinum-blond hair was no longer slicked in a perfect stroke back, but tousled as if he hadn't tried to comb it properly. The sharp aristocratic features of the face had long lost their boyish smugness but had been replaced by something much more refined—dangerously attractive, Hermione's traitorous brain whispered. He no longer strode around the castle in the air of superiority that was such a hallmark of his younger years, but now it was more commanding, if anything, over all that. Rather, he was quieter now, more watchful.
But his wit? His bloody smirks? Those had remained intact.
And to Hermione's chagrin, they were in classes taken together, with Malfoy always sticking right beside her in Advanced Arithmancy. He draped over her notes commenting on her equations, smirking back at her whenever she'd toss him an irritated stare.
He was infuriating.
But at least she knew where she stood with him.
What Hermione didn’t know, however, was that her world was about to crash and burn in spectacular fashion.
And it would all start with her broadcasted private journal at the official newspaper of Hogwarts.
The morning started as it always did.
Students pushed and shoved themselves into the Great Hall, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Some were already busy with talking amongst themselves while the enchanted ceiling presented a clearer field of an autumn sky. Wisps of golden sunlight stretched proudly through the hall. There were clinking plates, pumpkins quenching the goblets with their juice, and owls flying overhead delivering letters and newspapers.
Hermione was halfway through buttering her toast when Ginny Weasley plopped down beside her, her expression far too suspicious.
“Morning,” Ginny chirped, entirely too cheerful.
Hermione frowned. “You’re up early. That’s unusual.”
“I thought I’d enjoy a nice, relaxing breakfast with my best friend.”
Luna Lovegood, seated across from them, nodded serenely. “Oh, yes. It’s going to be very eventful today.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you two know something I don’t?”
Ginny had not hardly opened her mouth to utter something by the time that the usual early morning owls began swooping in and dropping their letters and parcels. Of course, there was an official and very familiar one—an old-school newspaper, the Hogwarts Herald.
One promptly landed right before her.
Hermione hardly bothered. Instead, she reached for her goblet.
Then she heard it.
A gasp.
A snort.
A very loud, unmistakable shriek of laughter.
The entire Great Hall erupted in whispers. Giggles. Shouting.
“Blimey, this is scandalous!”
“Wait, this isn’t real, is it?!”
“Oh Merlin’s beard, Malfoy, you absolute menace—”
Hermione froze.
And then, very, very slowly, she turned her head—just in time to see Draco Malfoy smirking at her from across the room.
Her stomach dropped.
With a sense of pure, unfiltered dread, she snatched up the newspaper—her own name staring back at her in bold, black ink.
“Steamy Secret: The Passion of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy Exposed!”
Her breath hitched.
Her hands shook.
And then she read.
EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNAL OF HERMIONE GRANGER
"His molten silver eyes darkened as he backed her into the bookshelf, the scent of parchment and forbidden desire filling the air. Hermione's breath hitched as Draco's fingers ghosted along her wrist, his touch both hesitant and devastatingly confident. 'Tell me to stop, Granger' he murmured, his voice rough, needy. But she didn't. She couldn't. She wanted him too much—"
Hermione dropped the paper like it had assaulted her.
The Great Hall exploded.
Laughter. Shouting. Debates.
“Merlin, do you think this actually happened?!”
“Who wrote this?! Where did they get it?!”
“Did you see Malfoy’s face?! He looks so damn pleased with himself—”
And worst of all—Draco Malfoy was sauntering towards her table.
Hermione’s soul left her body.
Ginny choked on her pumpkin juice. Luna, ever unbothered, simply hummed.
Draco stopped beside her, arms crossed, expression entirely too smug. “Granger, I always knew you fancied me, but this?”
Hermione’s brain malfunctioned.
“Y-you—” She swallowed. “This is not— I didn’t—”
Draco tapped the newspaper. “Oh, come on. ‘Molten silver eyes’? Really?” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “I must say, I’m flattered.”
Hermione’s ears burned. “This is— This is fake! Someone stole my journal entry!”
Theo Nott grinned from behind Draco. “So you admit it’s from your journal?”
Hermione gasped.
Draco smirked wider. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
And just like that, Hermione’s peaceful, post-war school year had officially been ruined.
Indeed, I never wanted this to be. It started innocently-enough-well, almost. It caught me while I was busy organizing my books one late evening, after classes.
A dusty old journal.
It wasn't anything special; in fact, probably one of those journals that everybody had as a kid- the lock was broken long ago, filled with embarrassing doodles and half-hearted attempts at writing stories. This one caught my attention for some reason, though.
Maybe it was the way it seemed to call to me, or perhaps I just hadn't had a proper outlet for venting all my thoughts and feelings in an eon. Between the war aftermath still tugging its tether across, all my study assignments, and trying to navigate the other new awkwardness between my friends, quite a lot was swiping across my mind.
I had never kept anything like a diary before- too personal for me to want to go there. But something was different about that night. Something in me wanted to be written. So, without thinking too much about it, I opened the first page and began to write.
It began as a small, silly story. The type of story that nobody would take seriously, just a harmless little fantasy about a mysterious wizard, a man with the kind of cold, calculating smile that could melt even the strongest hearts. A man whose nature would be at once dangerous and alluring.
A man like Draco Malfoy.
I remember the first time I saw him differently; it was just after the war – things began to calm down. The tension had been thick between everyone – but finally, it was fading. We were all back at Hogwarts to complete our education, and somehow Draco and I had ended up in more than a few classes together.
He changed – more soft-spoken and quiet, less arrogant but with the sharpness he has ever had. There was something about him that almost seemed fragile, which intrigued me. The eyes that used to glare in contempt now seem darker, nearly haunted. And that upset me. I found myself looking at him in a way one cannot explain.
Not that it's my concern.
Draco Malfoy. The same Draco Malfoy who, day after day, had tormented Harry and Ron and had once favored his family with all his heart. The same Draco Malfoy who, despite all favors, had not spared a single occasion to make it clear that he could not stand being even near someone like me. The same Draco Malfoy who had supported the Death Eaters in their bid for power.
But then, through the darkness, it's something I can't call correctly. Was it loss or attraction or just thump headed confusion? Maybe a bit of everything mixed in one. Whatever the thing was, I was incapable of stopping it.
Uh-huh, the solitary thing that made him tick. Under that icy sheath, what lies? Maybe I was just a fool. But the more I see him with his cool collected walk down the halls or just sitting in classes, the more I realize beyond a shadow of doubt that I am indeed attracted to him.
I know, I know; it sounds ridiculous.
For so many years I had resented, hated him even so, how could I now fall for him? A Malfoy. A Slytherin.
Yet, it was there.
And the worst thing had to be that I had no clue what to do with it. Certainly, I could not talk to Ron or Harry about it. They would never understand. And Ginny? I do not think even she could help me with this one. Therefore, I did what any reasonable, hyper-analytical Hermione Granger would do: bottled it up and ignored it. Pretended it was not there. But the longing? The impossible dreams? They did not go away. Instead, I found refuge in a very strange place- My journal. I started it as therapy. To speak things that I would never admit. Scenarios where Draco and I would be characters in a world that was only our own. In those stories, we were neither enemies nor rivals but partners-two people who somehow found their way to each other in the most unexpected of ways.
Moments of locking eyes across crowded rooms, moments when I would stand next to him, feeling his presence but still needing to be close yet terrified of the implications. I would write about us being trapped in a tiny corner of the library together, both of us brushing against each other as we reached for that same book. Heated arguments over ancient magic that ended in a soft, breathless silence because both of us were too stubborn to admit that they enjoyed the other one's company in secret. And there were more. So many more. But the most scandalous parts of my fantasies? Those were for me alone. I let my imagination run wild, creating situations where Draco was no longer just the aloof, misunderstood Slytherin; he became someone else entirely.
Someone I could picture touching my skin, kissing me in the rain, his fingers tracing over the curves of my body as if he had known me forever.
Well, there it was.
I had never imagined anything like this before. It wasn’t just some innocent crush. It was raw—intense—unspeakable.
I told myself it was just harmless. It wasn’t like I could actually be with him. We were from two different worlds—two different sides of the same war. Even if he had changed, even if there was more to him than I had initially thought, there was no future for us.
So I let it all spill into my journal. The fantasy, the passion, the impossibilities. I poured every last one of my secret desires into those pages, and for a moment, it felt like a kind of freedom.
But I never meant for anyone to read it.
I never imagined it would leave the confines of that worn leather cover.
I never imagined that it would one day be published.
Now, as I sat in the Great Hall, eyes burning with shame and embarrassment, I wished I had never written a single word. But, of course, I had. And now everyone was reading it.
Including Malfoy.
Who was, of course, smirking.
The Gryffindor table was a mess of laughter, shouting, and horrified gasps as the news spread like wildfire.
Seamus was dramatically fanning himself with The Hogwarts Herald, Dean was struggling not to choke on his pumpkin juice, and Ginny looked far too entertained by Hermione’s misery.
Ron, however, was having none of it. "This is ridiculous!" He burst out, throwing his hands in the air. "Of all the people in this school, Draco Malfoy? Hermione, come on! You could’ve at least had the decency to pine over someone normal!"
"Ron!" Ginny scolded, though she was still grinning.
But Ron was just getting started. "I mean, seriously! He’s a pompous, slimy git! What’s next? Are you going to start writing poetry about how dreamy Snape was?"
Seamus let out a choking sound, coughing as he laughed. "Oh, Merlin, imagine that edition of The Herald! 'Ode to Greasy Hair and Billowing Robes'!"
Dean snorted. "Or 'My Love for Malfoy: A Tragedy in Four Acts'."
He had stormy expression as he would have flipped the entire table. "This is not funny! We are talking about Malfoy! The same boy who spent years of his life making ours miserable! The same who used to call you-" he stopped and gave a careful glance at Hermione before mumbling "-you know what, I'm not even going to say it."
Hermione was crimson-faced and buried her head in her hands. "Can we not have an immediate conversation about my poor life choices?"
"Poor life choices?" scoffed Ron. "This is worse than poor life choices! This is... you know what? It's an affront to Gryffindor pride!"
Harry, who had been leafing through The Herald, for once broke his silence. "To give fair dues, Ron, it's not like she actually dated Malfoy. It's just a... very vivid imagination."
"Oh sure, because that's so much better," Roy said groaning. "She isn't with him, she just writes about him like some sappy love-struck..."
"Ron!" Ginny hit his arm, looking annoyed now. "It isn't a crime to have feelings for someone even though they might be... unconventional."
"Unconventional?" asked Ron with his eyes wide. "This is Malfoy, Gin! The bloke who strutted around this school like he owned the place! The one who insulted Hermione at every opportunity! Now he is, what? Her leading man?" He turned to Hermione and crossed his arms. "Tell me, please, that this is just some weird phase and you actually fancy someone normal, like I dunno, literally anyone else."
Hermione groaned again. "I do not fancy Malfoy!"
Ginny smirked. "Well... you do write about him an awful lot."
Dean leaned in, grinning. "Yeah, Hermione, how many chapters are in that journal of yours, exactly?"
"I hate all of you," Hermione muttered.
Harry, sensing Hermione’s suffering, decided to redirect the conversation. He tapped The Hogwarts Herald with his index finger. "Let’s focus on the real issue here. How did this end up in the paper?"
At that, the Gryffindors sobered up slightly.
Seamus, still grinning, leaned back in his seat. "Ah, The Hogwarts Herald—our very own student-run tabloid of doom."
"The Herald isn’t always bad," Ginny pointed out. "It was originally started years ago as a proper student newspaper. It used to cover important school events—Quidditch results, club meetings, actual news—but then someone realized a scandal sells."
"Yeah," Dean added, smirking, "the moment someone published a 'Who Snogged Who' article, it was all downhill from there."
Seamus waggled his eyebrows. "It’s practically an institution now. Every scandal, every drama—it all finds its way into The Herald. It’s the fastest way to get gossip across Hogwarts."
Ron huffed. "More like the fastest way to ruin someone's life."
"Exactly," Hermione groaned, staring at the paper in misery. "And now my life is ruined."
"Not ruined," Ginny said cheerfully. "Just... publicly exposed for all to see!"
Ron scowled. "Whoever sent this in is dead."
"That’s the question, isn’t it?" Harry said thoughtfully. "Who actually submitted it?"
Hermione swallowed hard. That was what she wanted to know too.
And more importantly... why?
She seemed to be a woman on a mission as she sprinted through the corridors of Hogwarts. Students hardly had time to step aside as she stomped toward The Hogwarts Herald office-his wild curls billowing about by every step.
It was all about knowing who had sent her journal entry. Someone had betrayed her, and if she didn't get answers soon, she would be hexing the next person who so much as snickered in her direction.
"Oy, watch it, Granger!" said some random Slytherin as she almost ran into him.
"Move!" snapped Hermione, glancing at him and moving on.
Finally, she reached a wooden door tucked within a lesser-used corridor near the library. The Hogwarts Herald was engraved on a plaque beside it. Without bothering to knock, Hermione shoved the door open, her breathing a little uneven now.
The office was messy with heaps of parchment and stacks of newspapers, with scattered quills all over. Its master, however, was sitting in the midst of this chaos: Daphne Greengrass, her immaculate nails tapping idly against the desk, smirking at Hermione's theatrical entrance.
"Well, well," drawled Daphne, peering with amusement at the latest edition of The Herald. "If it isn't our star of the week. What do I owe the pleasure for today, my Miss Sensual Literature?"
Hermione seethed. "Who sent this in?" She slapped the newspaper onto the desk, pointing at the mortifying excerpt of her Draco Malfoy fantasy.
Daphne’s smirk widened. "Oh, come now, Granger. Surely you must appreciate the poetic irony of all this."
"Poetic irony? Are you kidding me?" Hermione’s voice rose, and she had to take a deep breath before she hexed Daphne’s perfectly curled hair into something less perfect. "Someone stole my personal writing—my private thoughts—and gave them to The Herald! I have a right to know who did it!"
Daphne sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her palm. "And I would tell you... except I won’t."
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"It’s against our rules," Daphne said airily. "Our sources are confidential, and the sender explicitly requested anonymity."
Hermione’s jaw dropped. "Against your rules? Daphne, this isn’t some investigative exposé on Ministry corruption—it’s my personal journal! My very private, very humiliating personal journal!"
Daphne shrugged. "Rules are rules."
"You have got to be joking," Hermione hissed.
Daphne merely smiled.
Hermione let out a frustrated growl before stomping her foot—an act so uncharacteristically childish that even she was momentarily stunned by her own fury.
"If I ever find out who did this—!" she began, but she was cut off by Daphne’s amused voice.
"I imagine you will," Daphne said, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Eventually."
Hermione glared at her before whirling around and marching out. The moment she stepped back into the hallway, the whispers hit her.
"That’s her—"
"Merlin, the things she wrote—"
"Malfoy, of all people?"
"Wait, do you think it’s real?"
Hermione clenched her fists, lifted her chin, and stomped her way back to Gryffindor Tower.
This was war.
Hermione was marching down the corridor, fists clenched, cheeks still burning from the whispers trailing in her wake. She was nearly at Gryffindor Tower—her sanctuary—when, suddenly, a shadow moved in front of her, blocking her path.
"Going somewhere, Granger?"
Her stomach dropped.
Standing in her way, in all his insufferably smug glory, was Draco Malfoy.
His signature smirk was firmly in place, his stormy grey eyes gleaming with mischief. He was leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed, looking for all the world as if he had been waiting for her.
Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat.
She refused to make eye contact. Refused.
"Move," she said stiffly, trying to sidestep him.
But before she could escape, Draco moved.
In one smooth motion, he leaned forward, placing one hand firmly on the wall beside her head while the other rested in his pocket.
Hermione froze. Her brain, her breath, everything—froze.
Draco Malfoy was caging her in.
Her mind went haywire as she realized the position they were in—his tall frame looming over her, his face dangerously close, the scent of expensive cologne and fresh parchment invading her senses.
Merlin, help her.
Her back was flat against the stone wall, her hands awkwardly pressed against it as she tried to make herself smaller. But it was impossible to ignore how his body was just close enough that if she so much as tilted her head—
Stop. Thinking.
"You seem flustered, Granger," Draco drawled, tilting his head. "Something wrong?"
Hermione swallowed hard. "You are what’s wrong."
He let out a low chuckle, and oh dear sweet Circe, why did that sound unfairly attractive?
"Awfully defensive, aren’t you?" He leaned in closer, voice dropping just slightly. "Almost as if… you recognize this scenario."
Hermione’s stomach plummeted. Her eyes snapped up to his, and that was her first mistake. Because the moment their gazes met, Draco’s smirk widened.
"Ah," he mused, his voice practically oozing satisfaction. "So you do remember."
Hermione’s brain short-circuited.
No. No, no, no, no. He knew.
Her face ignited so fast she thought she might combust.
Because she did recognize this situation.
Because she had written a scene just like this in her journal.
A steamy, tension-filled moment between Fiercely Brilliant Heroine & Infuriatingly Attractive Rival.
A scene where Draco had pinned her against a wall, taunting her, teasing her, his voice low and rough as he whispered filthy things in her ear—
Dear Godric, I’m going to die.
"You—" Hermione spluttered, hating how her voice came out weak. "You—"
"Me," he confirmed, thoroughly enjoying himself.
"This—this is just—!" She flailed slightly, her hands hovering between pushing him away and grabbing onto him for stability.
He noticed.
And the bastard smirked harder.
"This is what, Granger?" he murmured.
"I—You—You read it!" she accused, her voice a mortified squeak.
Draco grinned. "Oh, I read it."
Hermione wanted to disappear. To sink into the floor, to become one with the castle walls, to vanish into thin air.
"And I must say," he continued, tapping his fingers against the stone beside her head, "I had no idea you were capable of such… imagination."
Hermione’s entire body felt like it was overheating. "Shut up, Malfoy," she hissed, her voice weak.
"But why?" he mocked, voice all smooth amusement. "It’s so interesting. I mean, tell me, Granger, what exactly inspired you to write such—how did The Herald phrase it?—lewd content about me?"
Her soul left her body.
"Draco Malfoy, if you value your life—"
He laughed. Full-on, thoroughly entertained laughter.
"I knew you fancied me," he teased, eyes practically dancing with mischief.
"I don’t," she snapped too quickly, her hands finally pushing against his chest—big mistake—because he was solid.
His smirk didn’t waver. "You do."
"I don’t!"
"Granger." He said, shaking his head. "You wrote about kissing me."
"That—That doesn’t mean—!"
"Passionate, desperate kissing," he added, his voice dropping in that dangerously teasing way.
She shoved him. "It’s fiction!"
"Mm. And yet, here we are."
"Malfoy—"
"Against a wall."
"Malfoy—"
"You, all flustered."
"Draco!"
He paused, clearly amused by her use of his first name.
Hermione took a very deep breath. "You are an arrogant, self-absorbed, insufferable ferret," she ground out.
Draco grinned. "And you, my dear Granger, are absolutely smitten with me."
"I AM NOT—!"
He took a step back, laughing as she nearly toppled forward from the sudden lack of support.
"Relax, Granger," he said, his smirk still firmly in place. "Don’t act as if everybody doesn't know about those filthy things you write about me."
"IT’S NOT FILTHY!"
"Lewd, then."
"STOP—"
"Or should I say romantic?" He waggled his eyebrows.
She let out a strangled noise of frustration before stomping past him, determined to escape his torment.
"Oh, Granger," he called after her.
She refused to turn around.
"Just one last question!"
"WHAT?!"
He grinned. "How does the next chapter go?"
She screamed in frustration, storming away as Draco’s laughter echoed down the corridor.