Against the odds Dramione

She absolutely loved it when she was in control. It was a sensation she had craved for so long, especially now that she found herself in this absurd situation—married to him, of all people. The last three weeks had been a lesson in patience, a battle against the oppressive silence that filled Malfoy Manor. But now, with the memory of the rooftop incident fresh in her mind, she felt a spark of mischief ignite within her.

The day after their awkward encounter on the roof, she had noticed a significant change in his behavior. He was roaming the house more frequently, lingering in the very spaces she enjoyed visiting, as if he were trying to avoid her while simultaneously seeking her out. His presence was both infuriating and intriguing, a tension she found herself relishing more than she had expected. There was something deliciously entertaining about the way he would enter a room, only to falter the moment he realized she was there. It was a power dynamic she had never anticipated, and she was determined to take full advantage of it.

From that moment on, Hermione made it her mission to make him as uncomfortable as possible. She relished the thought of it, her spirit buoyed by the idea of reclaiming some agency in this strange new life.

First, she decided to embrace the warmth of the sun—both literally and metaphorically. The next day, she slipped into a light, flowy sundress that hugged her curves in just the right places. It was the kind of dress that fluttered in the breeze, leaving her feeling carefree and confident. As she strolled through the house, she caught glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye, his brows furrowing as he pretended to be engrossed in whatever task he had assigned himself. She relished the power she held over him, the way she could twist and turn their interactions into a game.

She had grown fond of toying with him, drawing out every inch of discomfort and frustration that lurked behind his carefully curated facade. Their exchanges were often punctuated by silence, the air thick with an unspoken tension that was both exhilarating and intoxicating.

She could see how he tried to appear indifferent, but the flicker of his gaze gave him away. The way his eyes would dart toward her when he thought she wasn't looking, only to be caught in the act when she turned to face him. Those moments were her favorite, when she would catch him staring, his cheeks betraying him with a faint flush of pink. It was almost too easy, and that only made it more enjoyable.

One afternoon, as she lounged in the sun, draped across a chair in a bikini top and shorts, she noticed him leaning against the doorframe of the study, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl etched on his face. But she could see the way his eyes were drawn to her like a moth to a flame. With a teasing smile playing on her lips, she called out to him, her voice sweet and playful.

"Is something that you want, Malfoy?"

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her boldness. "No. Obviously," he replied, his voice tight with irritation.

"Then stop staring," she shot back, feigning innocence, her smile widening as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Uhm… apologize," he stammered, his composure cracking. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She loved making him uncomfortable. It was a thrill, knowing she had the ability to unravel him with just a few words. "Oh, don't worry about it," she replied, feigning sincerity. "I'm just enjoying the sun."

As the days rolled into each other, she found new ways to challenge him. The following day, she decided to take a long bath, the warm water enveloping her like a comforting embrace. She left the door slightly ajar, just enough to give him a glimpse if he happened to wander by. And of course, he did. She heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching, the hesitant shuffle that made her heart race with excitement.

His steps paused outside the door, lingering for just a moment, and she could practically feel his gaze boring into her. And then, as if something finally snapped him back to reality, he walked away, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway.

A wicked grin spread across her face. The power of his embarrassment was intoxicating, and she reveled in the control she had over him. It was a game, and she was winning.

The day after that, she slipped into a tiny sundress, the fabric light and airy, perfect for a warm day spent outdoors. She had chosen it intentionally, knowing it would draw his eye. She paraded around the house, her confidence shining through with every step she took. He was even more noticeable in the house than ever, as if he were trying to avoid her while simultaneously positioning himself in her line of sight.

"Good morning, Malfoy," she greeted him cheerfully as she strolled into the kitchen, her dress fluttering around her legs. She could see his jaw tighten, his eyes betraying the irritation he felt.

"Morning," he replied curtly, but she caught the way his gaze swept over her, lingering for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

"I'm thinking about sunbathing later," she announced casually, pouring herself a glass of juice. "You should join me."

He scoffed, attempting to regain his composure. "I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself," she said with a playful shrug, knowing full well that he was already mentally calculating whether he should stay or make a hasty retreat.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next week unfolded with an intoxicating rhythm of sun and playful provocation. She spent her days lounging outside, the warmth of the sun on her skin amplifying the joy she felt in making him squirm. She was acutely aware that he was watching, and with each passing day, it became more pronounced. He was like a shadow, lurking in the corners of her vision, and it thrilled her to know he couldn't resist stealing glances at her.

Pathetic little boy, she thought with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. He was so easy to read, and every time their eyes met, she felt a rush of exhilaration. She would smile sweetly, feigning innocence, while inside, she was bubbling with glee.

One afternoon, as she lounged on a sunbed, soaking in the rays, she caught sight of him through the window. He was standing in the library, pretending to be engrossed in a book, but she knew better. His gaze was fixated on her, a frown tugging at his lips as he tried to maintain his air of indifference.

"Malfoy!" she called out, her voice light and teasing. "Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to come outside and join me?"

His response was immediate, a flare of annoyance crossing his features as he snapped the book shut. "You're impossible, Granger."

"Impossible? Or just irresistible?" she shot back, basking in the moment.

He opened his mouth to retort, but the words failed him. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, his shoulders tense with frustration. Hermione couldn't help but laugh, a joyous sound that echoed around the garden.

She felt alive in this game, thriving on the power dynamic that had developed between them. The more she teased, the more he stumbled, and the more his composure unraveled. She found herself growing bolder, more adventurous with her provocations.

Each evening, after a long day spent basking in the sun, she would retreat inside, slipping into her pajamas with a satisfied smile on her face. The thrill of the chase lingered in her mind, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was beginning to enjoy this dance more than she had anticipated.

The way he looked at her, the heat of his gaze, was something she couldn't ignore. Beneath the layers of irritation and frustration, she sensed something deeper—something that hinted at a mutual attraction. And the thought both excited and unnerved her.

But for now, she would keep toying with him, relishing the game they were playing. After all, it wasn't just about making him uncomfortable; it was about exploring the boundaries of their relationship and discovering just how far they could push each other. As the sun set on another day filled with playful tension, Hermione felt a sense of satisfaction wash over her. The game was far from over, and she was more than ready to see where it would lead.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was the kind of day that Hermione relished in full—a day for her to embrace her inner brat. She strolled through the grand halls of the manor, clad in her bikini, the sunlight streaming through the tall windows and casting playful shadows on her skin. The fabric hugged her curves, and she reveled in the confidence that came with it, her hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders.

As she passed by the dining room, she caught sight of him, who was sitting at the table, focused intently on his breakfast. He raised a fork to his mouth, but the moment he noticed her, his concentration faltered, and the spoon fell from his grasp, clattering onto the plate with a resounding thud. She couldn't help but smirk at the sight of him, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as he tried to recover his composure.

"Oh, did I interrupt your breakfast, Malfoy?" she asked sweetly, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

Without waiting for a response, she continued on her way, strutting through the house with an air of nonchalance, all the while laughing internally at his flustered state. It was far too easy to rile him up, and today, she was determined to push every one of his buttons.

But the playful atmosphere shifted slightly as she heard footsteps behind her. The familiar sound of Draco's voice broke through her amusement, filled with exasperation.

"Granger, this needs to stop!" he called out, the irritation evident in his tone.

As if on cue, just as she turned to acknowledge him, Theodore Nott stepped gracefully out of the fireplace, his presence transforming the tension in the room. With a warm smile that lit up his features, he looked at Hermione, taking in her attire with evident approval.

"Oh, Granger, what a lovely welcome. Is it for me?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hermione's lips curled into a coy smile, her heart racing a little at the playful banter. "It could be, Theodore, if you ask nicely," she replied, her voice playful, almost flirtatious.

Draco's face contorted in disbelief, his frustration palpable. "Stop it, Theodore. Immediately!" he barked, clearly at his wit's end.

"Why would I?" Theodore replied, unabashed, leaning against the doorframe. "She looks fit."

His expression darkened at Theodore's comment, his irritation morphing into protectiveness. "Do not talk about my wife like that ever again," he snapped, his voice low and threatening.

She couldn't resist the urge to lean closer to Theodore, enjoying the camaraderie they shared. She stepped forward and planted a light kiss on Theo's cheek, feeling a warm rush of friendship. "It's good to see you, Theo. Cheers," she said, her smile genuine, the atmosphere lifting with their light-hearted interaction.

He chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Next time, try wearing nothing," he suggested, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Anything for you, Theodore," she replied, her tone teasing and laced with playfulness, relishing in the banter that only seemed to irritate Draco further.

"STOP IT. IMMEDIATELY, THEODORE!" he exploded, his voice echoing in the room, a mix of frustration and something else that Hermione couldn't quite place.

With a triumphant smile and a satisfied huff, she turned on her heel and sauntered out toward the garden, the sun beckoning her outside. The laughter bubbled inside her as she felt the heat of him glare burning into her back. She could practically feel his frustration wrapping around her like a blanket, and she adored every second of it.

Outside, the garden was a stunning sanctuary, filled with life. The roses in full bloom, with their velvety petals of crimson and blush, painted the landscape with elegance, while the air buzzed with the faint hum of bees busy with their nectar-gathering. The garden had always been a place of refuge for Hermione—a space where she could distance herself from the heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the Manor. It was hers, in a way Draco would never understand.

But today, her peace was short-lived.

She reclined on the sunbed, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips. The exchange with Theodore had gone exactly how she'd wanted, and his reaction had been... amusing, to say the least. She could still hear his voice in her head, commanding, frustrated, and so easy to rile. The game had become too enjoyable to stop now.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind her, heavy and purposeful, like someone storming across the perfectly manicured lawns. Hermione kept her eyes closed, basking in the heat of the day, pretending she didn't notice. But the thudding steps didn't stop. They only grew louder.

And then—"GRANGER!"

Malfoy's voice cut through the peaceful air, sharp and furious, disturbing the tranquility of the garden. Hermione didn't move, didn't even flinch. Instead, she grinned to herself, her eyes still closed, enjoying the chaos she had so effortlessly sparked.

He had stormed through the garden like a man possessed, fury boiling in his chest. He'd been so blinded by anger that he hadn't even noticed when he nearly collided with one of the Manor's peacocks. The poor bird squawked indignantly and scuttled off into the bushes, but he hardly cared. His mind was fixed on one thing, or rather one person—Hermione.

He stopped a few paces from her sunbed, his hands clenched at his sides, his expression livid as he glared down at her. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his voice taut with anger. "Kissing Theo's cheeks? Are you mad?"

Hermione opened one eye lazily, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before responding with the most infuriating, cool indifference she could muster. "Are you jealous?" she asked, her tone teasing, lifting herself slowly into a sitting position, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He spluttered, his frustration growing by the second. "That's not the point! You can't just... egg him on like that. You know how he is, he's a flirt, Hermione!" His words spilled out rapidly, his tone more anxious than he intended.

She finally stood, taking her time as if each movement were deliberate, calculated to prolong his discomfort. Her feet lightly touched the soft grass as she began to walk toward him, slow and languid. Each step closer made Draco's breath catch in his throat, the anger in his chest morphing into something else entirely.

He shut up in two seconds.

Hermione's presence seemed to overwhelm him as she closed the distance between them, standing mere inches from him now. He swallowed, trying to maintain his composure, but he was no match for the slow, seductive way she leaned toward him. Before he could say anything, her lips brushed against his cheek, soft and lingering, the sensation lingering like a whisper.

His breath hitched, his heart racing. Her kiss—gentle, slow, calculated—was enough to throw him completely off balance.

"Now you're equal," she whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of amusement and something deeper.

Malfoy blinked, trying to regain control, but all he could focus on was the warmth of her breath against his skin, the softness of her lips that still lingered in his mind. He shook his head, desperately trying to ground himself in the situation. "You need to stop this," he said, his voice quieter now, but still firm. "Immediately. You are not allowed to... dress like that anymore."

He gestured vaguely at her bikini, but his words felt hollow, as if even he didn't believe them. She had disarmed him so thoroughly, and they both knew it.

Hermione's eyes gleamed with a mischievous light as she tilted her head slightly, giving him a mockingly obedient smile. "As you wish," she said, her voice sweet, but the undertone of defiance was unmistakable.

And with that, she turned on her heel, walking away from him with the same graceful, deliberate pace she had approached him with. Draco stood frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from her retreating form as she strolled back to her sunbathing spot. She reclined on the sunbed once more, completely at ease, as if their entire exchange hadn't happened.

He, however, was far from composed. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind a swirl of confusion and... something else. Something he didn't want to admit to himself. The sight of her, the feel of her lips on his cheek—it was all too much. He felt like he was losing control, and Draco Malfoy didn't lose control.

Without another word, he turned sharply and Apparated back into the house, the familiar pop of the magic echoing faintly through the garden. Inside, he could still feel the heat of her presence on his skin, the soft sting of the kiss she had left behind.

He stormed through the halls, trying to shake the feeling, but it clung to him, frustratingly persistent. She had gotten under his skin in a way that no one else ever had, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew she'd continue to toy with him. Hermione Granger, the bane of his existence, was also becoming the center of it, whether he liked it or not.

And she knew it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malfoy's week had taken a sharp nosedive, and it seemed to be spiraling further into the abyss with each passing day. He was used to irritation, even frustration when it came to dealing with Hermione Granger—her snarky comments, her defiance, and the way she seemed to enjoy twisting him up in knots. But this? This was different. This was new.

For the past several days, she hadn't emerged from her room at all. No teasing remarks, no flirty glances, no torturous strolls through the Manor in her sundresses or bikinis. The halls felt strangely empty without her. Quiet, even.

At first, he had convinced himself that her absence was a blessing. Finally, some peace. No more games. No more deliberately catching glimpses of her in ways that made his head spin. It should have been a relief.

But it wasn't.

In fact, he couldn't stop thinking about it—about her. The silence in the house felt oppressive, and each time he passed her door, there was a gnawing itch beneath his skin, a need to check, to see her. His steps would slow involuntarily whenever he neared her part of the Manor. He'd hover for a moment, listening, waiting for any sign that she might come out. And when she didn't, the strange tightness in his chest would only grow.

The worst part? He missed her.

Missed her.

The thought hit him like a Bludger to the head, so startling that he physically stopped in his tracks one afternoon, standing alone in the middle of a hallway. He missed Granger? No. That couldn't be right. There was absolutely no way in hell that he—Draco Malfoy—was missing the presence of Hermione Granger. She was supposed to be his tormentor, his nemesis, the one person in the world who could twist him in knots with a single smirk. How could he miss her?

But try as he might, the undeniable truth clawed at his mind. The house felt… wrong without her. Too quiet. Too empty. And he hated it.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with me?" he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand across his face as if trying to scrub the treacherous thought from his mind. His reflection in the grand mirror down the hall stared back at him, the hard angles of his face twisted in confusion, and maybe a little frustration.

He'd always been good at compartmentalizing his feelings. Push down the emotions, focus on control. But this was different. It was harder to ignore the way her absence gnawed at him. Every time he thought about it, about her, that same weird tightness in his chest would return, and he hated it. He hated the lack of control, the vulnerability. He was Draco Malfoy—he wasn't supposed to feel like this, especially not about her.

It didn't make sense.

He stalked through the halls, trying to shake the feeling, but no matter how many rooms he wandered through or tasks he occupied himself with, it was always there—lingering like a shadow. His mind kept wandering back to her. Was she okay? Why hadn't she come out? Was she avoiding him? The thoughts swirled in his head, and he hated how much they occupied his mind.

At one point, he found himself lingering outside her door longer than usual, his hand hovering near the knob. He stood there, staring at the wood as if it held the answers to all the questions that were plaguing him. He wanted to knock, just to hear her voice. To confirm she was still there.

But what would he even say? What reason would he have for checking on her?

Get a grip.

He snatched his hand back, scowling at himself. What was he even doing? Checking on Granger? As if he cared. No, he needed to remind himself that this was all just a game. She was toying with him, and that was it. She'd get bored eventually. He'd go back to his normal life, and this ridiculous... longing would disappear.

But even as he tried to convince himself, the pit in his stomach deepened. He wasn't used to missing someone like this. Not even his friends, not even when his life was filled with chaos. Her absence left a gaping hole in the fabric of his daily routine. He missed their little sparring matches, her wit, the way she'd walk past him with that smug, confident expression as if she had all the power in the world and didn't give a damn about his tantrums.

He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. This was insane. It was Granger, for Merlin's sake. He should be thrilled that she wasn't in his face, trying to make him uncomfortable. He should be grateful for the peace and quiet.

But he wasn't.

It was driving him mad.

He even started to imagine that he could hear her voice sometimes—soft laughter or the faint sound of her humming drifting through the corridors, only to turn and find the halls empty. It was disconcerting, how quickly she had managed to embed herself into the very rhythm of his life here at the Manor.

And yet, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about her. Wondering what she was doing. Whether she was purposely avoiding him or if there was something more. Was she plotting something?

The idea that she was avoiding him on purpose made him irrationally angry, though. It didn't sit right with him. Granger never shied away from a challenge, so why hide away now?

His eyes flickered back to her door once more, almost like they were drawn to it on their own.

Merlin, what is happening to me?

With a growl of frustration, he whirled on his heel and stormed down the hall. He couldn't afford to let her get under his skin like this. He couldn't allow himself to lose control.

But no matter how much he told himself that, one thing remained painfully clear: Granger was already under his skin. And the worst part was, a small, traitorous part of him didn't mind.

He took a deep breath, straightened his collar, and steeled himself. This was it—he was going to get to the bottom of whatever game Granger was playing. The fact that she had been absent from his life for days, toying with his head without even trying, was driving him mad. He couldn't take it anymore. So, he pulled on his metaphorical big boy pants and marched straight to her part of the Manor.

As he approached, a strange sound reached his ears—music, but not the classical, refined kind he was used to hearing in pureblood households. This was… different. Loud, erratic, and almost entirely incomprehensible. What in Merlin's name was she listening to?

He stood outside her door, the pulsating beat thumping in time with the growing tension in his chest. He knocked—hard. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing. His jaw clenched as impatience swelled inside him. Who in the hell did she think she was, ignoring him?

He paced back and forth in front of her door, debating whether to just leave, but that nagging feeling returned—the one that had been plaguing him all week. He couldn't just leave. Not without seeing her, hearing her infuriating voice, making sure that she was okay—or, more accurately, making sure she wasn't messing with him on purpose.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he made a decision. To hell with manners. He barged in.

The sight that greeted him was… something he hadn't prepared for.

Granger was on her bed, bouncing up and down like a child, a brush in her hand as an impromptu microphone, singing along loudly—albeit horribly—to whatever awful Muggle song was playing. Her hair was a wild mess, her pajamas, loose and comfortable, clung to her body as she danced in a way that looked completely undignified.

And she didn't stop.

She didn't even pause or look remotely embarrassed when Draco stormed into her room. She just kept going, her voice horribly off-key, as though she hadn't just been caught acting like an utter lunatic.

"Granger, what in Merlin's name are you doing?" he demanded, staring at her as though she had grown a second head.

She stopped long enough to glance at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "What are you doing here?" she shot back, not missing a beat. Her tone was casual, as if him barging in on her private little concert was a perfectly normal occurrence.

Draco, still bewildered by the bizarre scene before him, gestured wildly toward her and the music. "What are you doing? Is this some kind of ritual?" His tone was incredulous. He half-expected her to pull out some weird Muggle potion and start summoning spirits or something.

Hermione grinned, bouncing a little less now, but still holding onto her brush-microphone. "I'm having fun, Malfoy. You know what that is, don't you? Or is the only thing you're good at standing around and staring at me like I'm some kind of circus act?"

Her words hit a nerve. He sputtered, completely thrown off by her nonchalance. "I-I know how to have fun," he said defensively, though even he knew it sounded weak. "And I wasn't staring at you! I was just… suggesting you wear something more appropriate."

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes flashing with amusement. "Suggesting? You mean scolding me like I'm a child, right?" Her lips curved into a wicked smile. "You're always so concerned with what I wear. It's almost cute."

His face burned. "I wasn't scolding," he muttered, feeling like a complete idiot. "I was just saying... you're in your pajamas! It's—"

She cut him off, stepping down from the bed, her smirk deepening. "Want me to take it off then?" Her voice was low, teasing, and it sent a bolt of heat through him.

Draco's mouth went dry, his brain short-circuiting for a moment. She was doing it again—egging him on, pushing his buttons. He could feel his control slipping, and he hated it. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Merlin help him, he was falling for it.

"You—you need to stop this," he stammered, though his voice lacked any real authority. "For some reason, you like to push me, Granger, but I'm not falling for your tactics."

She simply laughed, that infuriating, carefree laugh that made him both want to throttle her and drag her closer all at once. "Oh, really? Because it seems like you already are, Malfoy."

He clenched his jaw, trying to hold onto the last thread of his composure. "Good day, Granger. Your performance is shit, by the way."

Her grin widened. "Bye now, prince." The nickname dripped with sarcasm.

Draco turned on his heel, storming out of the room before she could see the flush creeping up his neck. As he walked down the hallway, her voice echoed in his ears, her teasing smile burned into his memory.

This woman—fucking Granger—was driving him absolutely mad.

No one had ever gotten under his skin like this before. No one had ever had the audacity to laugh in his face, to challenge him at every turn, to make him feel so utterly out of control.

And yet, despite everything, despite how she infuriated him, Draco couldn't stop thinking about her.

It wasn't just the way she teased him. It was her confidence, the way she held her ground, the fire in her eyes. She was relentless, unyielding, and completely unapologetic. She made him feel things he didn't want to admit—frustration, sure, but also something else. Something deeper, something he wasn't quite ready to face.

As he stormed down the hall, he couldn't shake the image of her, laughing and carefree, as if she didn't have a care in the world. As if nothing he said or did could ever rattle her.

And for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy didn't know what to do.

Because no matter how hard he tried to push her away, no matter how many times he told himself that she was just a nuisance, an annoyance, he couldn't deny the truth gnawing at the back of his mind.

Hermione Granger was getting to him.

And he hated it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the first month of their so-called "wedding" anniversary, a mark that neither of them had acknowledged in any meaningful way. The entire situation still felt surreal, like a twisted joke that neither of them was truly in on. But Hermione had decided she wasn't going to let the day pass without some theatrics. If Malfoy thought she was done with her little games, he was sorely mistaken.

Her final act, her pièce de résistance, came in the form of complete and utter boldness. She had grown tired of subtle provocations. The sundresses, the suggestive comments, the lingering stares—it had all built to this moment. Today, she was going to push Draco Malfoy to the very edge of his restraint.

With deliberate care, she slipped out of her robe and left it in a heap on the floor of her room. The cool air brushed against her skin, and she felt a thrill of exhilaration pulse through her. She was stark naked, and she was about to walk through the Manor without a stitch of clothing on.

Her bare feet made soft contact with the marble floor as she moved through the halls, her steps languid, unhurried. The manor was vast and filled with ornate decorations, but it had never felt more alive than it did now with her at the center of it, a walking scandal wrapped in nothing but her own audacity.

She didn't care if the house elves saw her. She didn't care if anyone saw her. In fact, she wanted Draco to see. She wanted him to feel the frustration that had been simmering inside him for weeks. To push him beyond his usual icy composure, to unravel the threads of control he clung to so tightly.

And as she entered the grand living room, her wish was granted.

He was lounging on the sofa, casually flipping through some book he probably didn't even care about. His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied, and he didn't even glance up immediately when she entered. But then, he saw her.

His reaction was immediate.

The book slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. His eyes widened, flickering with a mix of disbelief and something darker, more dangerous. His body tensed, his usually calm demeanor shattering in an instant.

Before she could fully process it, he was up—moving toward her with force, his long strides predatory and full of intent. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm and spinning her around until her back slammed against the nearest wall with a thud.

She gasped at the impact, but her shock was quickly overtaken by a surge of thrill. This was exactly what she had wanted—to break him, to get under his skin so thoroughly that he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He loomed over her, his tall frame casting a shadow as his hand clamped firmly on her hip, keeping her pinned in place. His other hand moved to her throat, not squeezing, but resting there with a clear message of dominance. His face was so close to hers, their breaths mingling in the tense space between them.

"I told you to stop." His voice was low, vibrating with anger and something raw, something dangerous. "I told you to act normal. Put on some clothes, Granger."

She didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. Instead, her lips curved into a wicked grin, her gaze dropping provocatively to his mouth. It was clear she wasn't taking him seriously, that his anger was just fueling her amusement. She wanted more of this, more of him losing control.

His hand tightened ever so slightly on her throat, but not enough to hurt her—just enough to remind her that he was still in control, or at least trying to be. His silver eyes were blazing, filled with frustration and barely contained desire. His voice became more insistent, more desperate. "Did you hear what I just said?"

He was frustrated, yes, but more than that, he was unraveling. She could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his breath came faster, more ragged. He was teetering on the edge, and she loved it.

She tilted her head, leaning in ever so slightly, her grin never fading. "Oh, I heard you," she whispered, her voice smooth and mocking. "But I don't think you heard me."

His eyes narrowed, his grip on her throat shifting just enough to remind her of the control he held. His thumb brushed her skin, dangerously close to her pulse, as if he was testing the limits of his restraint. But Hermione's gaze stayed fixed on his lips, her confidence unwavering, her grin still teasing him. She knew exactly what she was doing, and that knowledge sent a surge of power through her.

"You need to stop this," he repeated, his voice a mixture of command and plea. "This… this game of yours. You're walking around naked in my house, parading yourself in front of me as if I won't do something about it."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smile that was both daring and infuriating. "Then why don't you?" she challenged softly, her voice a silk thread of temptation. Her eyes gleamed, daring him to take that final step, to shatter the wall of control that had been cracking since the day they'd been forced into this union.

His breath hitched, his entire body trembling with restraint. For a moment, he seemed caught between two impulses—one to let go completely, the other to maintain that rigid control that defined him. His grip on her hip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as if grounding himself.

"Granger, don't test me," he growled, though his voice lacked the sharpness it had before. There was something softer now, something darker, as if he was on the verge of breaking.

Hermione's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with victory. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "I'm not testing you, Malfoy," she whispered, her voice dripping with wickedness. "I'm giving you an opportunity."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his grip faltering for a split second. The air between them crackled with tension, thick with unsaid things, with desires neither of them was willing to admit.

But she wasn't done. She wasn't finished with her final act. She leaned back, breaking the contact, her wicked grin still firmly in place. "Now," she said, her tone sweet but laced with sarcasm, "if you don't mind, I think I'll return to my stroll."

With that, she slipped out from under his grip, walking away from him as though their heated exchange had never happened. As if his hands had never been on her skin, as if he hadn't been on the verge of losing control completely.

Malfoy stood there, frozen, his chest heaving as he watched her walk away—completely and utterly naked.

His mind was a whirlwind of anger, frustration, and something far more dangerous. This woman… this maddening, infuriating woman was going to be the death of him. She pushed every button, challenged every boundary, and yet, she left him wanting more every single time.

He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration, watching as Hermione disappeared around the corner, her final act leaving him more unhinged than ever.

She was playing a dangerous game. And sooner or later, Draco knew, they would both have to face the consequences.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malfoy was a man known for his control—his precision, his ability to compartmentalize and stay composed no matter the situation. But Granger had bulldozed through every wall he'd ever built. She occupied his thoughts from the moment he woke up to the second he closed his eyes, and even in his dreams, she was there. Haunting him. Teasing him. Driving him absolutely mad.

He was so over this shit.

Every time he tried to focus, she was there. Even when she wasn't physically in the room, her presence lingered like a ghost, reminding him of her latest defiance or the smug grin she'd worn as she pushed him past his limits. The image of her walking through the Manor naked—without a care in the world—was burned into his mind, as if mocking him.

That woman occupied every single thought he had. Every single one.

He found himself thinking about her in the middle of meetings, her sharp wit and infuriating laugh echoing in his head when he should have been listening to someone drone on about some business deal or another. He found himself staring at his quill, wondering what she was doing. Was she plotting her next move? Lounging in that damned bikini again? Or worse, was she doing something just to see how much further she could push him?

Draco growled under his breath, shoving the paperwork in front of him aside. His office, usually a sanctuary of calm, had become a prison of frustration. He couldn't work, couldn't think straight. She had effectively infiltrated every part of his life without even trying.

He got up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. Pacing didn't help, but it was better than sitting still and stewing in his anger. His footsteps echoed in the cavernous space of the Manor's halls as he stalked through them, his mind replaying every aggravating encounter with her.

She was like a damn puzzle, one he couldn't figure out. She was too smart, too confident, too… her. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried to reign her in, she slipped right through his fingers, always one step ahead, always smirking as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

He wasn't used to this—this lack of control, this overwhelming need to dominate the situation, to dominate her. But Granger was slippery, clever, and every time he thought he had her cornered, she found a new way to drive him up the wall.

His mind flashed back to that morning, the sight of her naked form strolling through the Manor like she owned the place. The confidence, the audacity. It wasn't just about her lack of modesty—it was about the power she wielded over him without even trying. She knew what she was doing to him. She had to know. The woman had played with him like a marionette, pulling strings, making him react, forcing him to lose his control.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, his hand raking through his hair, disheveling the usually neat strands. "I can't keep doing this."

His thoughts spiraled as he tried to piece together how the hell he'd gotten here—how he'd gone from tolerating her presence to being consumed by it. They weren't supposed to be anything. A forced marriage, an arrangement, nothing more. Yet here he was, pacing the halls like a madman, wondering where she was, what she was doing, and why she wasn't in front of him driving him crazy right now.

He hated it. But worse than that, he hated the idea of not seeing her.

It was maddening. He'd never let anyone get under his skin like this before. People were chess pieces to be moved, controlled, used when necessary. But Hermione wasn't a chess piece—she was the damn game itself, and he was losing. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she flipped the board and made him start over.

He wanted to confront her. To demand she stop this ridiculous game, that she start acting like the respectable wife she was supposed to be. But he knew that wouldn't work. Granger wasn't the type to respond to demands. If anything, it would only make her double down, push harder, dig deeper.

His frustration built, a gnawing, all-consuming thing that clawed at him every second of the day. He could feel it in his chest, tight and hot, as if his own emotions were suffocating him. And yet, there was something else—something even more dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

Desire.

It wasn't just that Granger was infuriating. It wasn't just that she challenged him at every turn. It was that he wanted her. Badly. And that realization made him angrier than anything else.

He had tried to deny it, to push it aside, but every time she walked into a room, his pulse quickened. Every time she smiled that wicked smile, his chest tightened. And every time she teased him—whether with her words or her body—he felt like he was on the edge of something he couldn't come back from.

The woman was a menace. A beautiful, infuriating menace who had somehow wormed her way into every corner of his mind. He found himself craving her attention, seeking out her presence even when he knew it would end with him gritting his teeth and storming out of the room.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, coming to a stop in front of one of the grand windows overlooking the garden. His reflection stared back at him, cold and unyielding, but even that was a lie. Inside, he was a mess.

What was wrong with him? How had he allowed himself to get to this point? He was Draco Malfoy—cool, composed, always in control. And yet, here he was, obsessed with a woman who seemed to delight in tormenting him.

He knew he should pull back. Create distance. Set boundaries. But every time he thought about it, the idea of not seeing her—of not having her challenge him, push him, drive him to the brink—made his stomach twist in a way that felt dangerously close to regret.

"Damn her," he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. He closed his eyes, but even in the darkness behind his eyelids, she was there. Laughing. Teasing. Staring at him with those eyes that seemed to see right through him, cutting past all the layers of control he'd spent years perfecting.

He didn't just want her to stop. He didn't just want her to back off and give him peace.

He wanted her.

Fully. Completely. In every possible way.

And that scared the hell out of him.

But as much as he hated to admit it, he knew one thing for certain: Hermione Granger had won this game. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

With a heavy sigh, Draco pushed off the window and started walking again. But this time, he wasn't pacing aimlessly. He had a destination.

He needed to see her. To confront her, to end this madness once and for all—or, at the very least, to figure out what the hell came next.

Because whether he liked it or not, this woman had taken up permanent residence in his mind. And there was no escaping her now.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco never imagined himself as the kind of man who'd go groveling, let alone begging, but here he was. With thirty-one perfect red roses in hand—because thirty was too common, and thirty-two might've seemed overzealous—he was hoping, praying, that this would be enough to break the icy tension that had been building between them.

When he'd apparated into the house that evening, he'd been met with silence—deafening, unforgiving silence. The kitchen light glowed softly, casting a golden hue across the room, but Hermione Granger—his wife—was anything but warm. She sat at the counter, back turned to him, shoulders stiff. She wasn't reading or working like she normally did. No, she was devouring an entire bar of chocolate, the dark kind she only ate when she was absolutely livid.

Draco swallowed, the roses crinkling in his hand as he stepped forward, trying his best to sound casual. He needed to tread carefully, knowing full well the storm he was walking into.

"Good evening, princess," he started, his voice soft and cautious, but laced with that familiar playfulness he used when he tried to ease her mood.

She didn't even turn to look at him. She simply stiffened, her fingers tightening around the bar of chocolate before she spoke, her voice as sharp as the edge of a knife. "Do. Not. Talk. To. Me."

He froze, his heart sinking a little at her tone. Shit. He knew he was in trouble, but what the hell had he done now? He racked his brain, trying to think of what could have possibly set her off this time. Had he forgotten something? Said something?

"What have I done?" He asked cautiously, taking a tentative step closer, his voice almost a whisper. She still wouldn't look at him, her eyes glued to the countertop as she snapped another piece of chocolate into her mouth, chewing angrily.

Her answer came quickly and with venom. "Existing."

That single word hit him like a punch to the gut. Existing? What the hell? He stood there, completely dumbfounded, watching her as she refused to meet his gaze, her shoulders rising and falling with each angry breath.

He sighed heavily, the roses hanging limply in his hands. This. This is what she did to him. Reduced him from Draco Malfoy—cunning, unflappable, always in control—to a man who had no idea what the hell was going on in his own marriage.

"Gods, please, Granger," he started again, his voice edging on desperation now. He set the roses down on the counter and moved around to face her, but she still wouldn't look at him. "Please, I'm begging you to tell me what I did wrong. I want to fix it. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. Just..." His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed on, determined not to lose it completely. "Just talk to me, love. Please."

"Just let me be," she muttered, finally glancing up at him for the briefest of seconds. Her eyes were hard, angry, and something else—something he couldn't quite place. She stood abruptly, hopping off the counter with a kind of grace only she could manage, and began to walk away.

But he wasn't having it. Not tonight. Not after all the tension that had built up between them in the last few weeks. He needed answers. Needed to know what was going on. His mind raced with possibilities—had she overheard something? Was she mad because of the roses? Had he said something stupid without realizing it?

With a soft curse, he followed her, his footsteps quick as he tried to keep pace with her retreating form. She was already halfway out of the kitchen and headed towards the living room, and he wasn't going to let her leave without some kind of explanation.

"Look, princess," he said, his voice gentler now but still laced with frustration as he trailed behind her. He hated feeling helpless like this. Hated not knowing how to fix whatever was wrong between them. "I brought flowers for our... fucked-up anniversary." He winced a little at his choice of words, but it was the truth. Their marriage was anything but traditional, and their first anniversary had felt like a ticking time bomb of tension and unresolved feelings. "Tell me what you want, love, and I'll give it to you. Anything."

She paused for a brief second, her hand resting on the doorframe leading to the hallway. For a moment, he thought maybe—just maybe—she was going to turn around and tell him what he needed to do to make things right. But then she let out a breath, shaking her head, and continued walking away. "I want you to leave me alone."

The words cut through him like a knife. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her back as she disappeared down the hall, her form fading into the shadows of the Manor.

Leave her alone?

That's what she wanted? After everything, she wanted him to just leave her alone?

No. That wasn't an option.

He cursed under his breath again, running a hand through his hair in frustration before following her once more. His footsteps were quieter this time, but his determination burned hotter. She couldn't just shut him out like this—not without telling him why.

"Princess," he called after her, his voice softer now, almost pleading as he followed her into their bedroom. She was already heading towards the bed, pulling back the covers as if she was preparing to just ignore him for the rest of the night.

"Princess, please," he tried again, stepping closer. "I don't know what I've done to make you this upset, but I can't fix it if you don't talk to me. I—"

Draco Malfoy wasn't used to being left speechless, but Hermione had just achieved the impossible. His mouth opened, then closed again as she stormed off, her last words ringing in his ears:

"I HAVE MY PERIOD. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE."

For a solid moment, he just stood there, dumbfounded. Her period? That was it? That was the reason behind the stormy glares and her sharp, cutting words? He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but the look on her face before she'd walked away kept him frozen. He wasn't entirely sure what the protocol was for this situation. Draco had faced Death Eaters, fought in a war, but dealing with Granger on her period?

Merlin help him.

He blinked a few times, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Then, in an uncharacteristic display of panic, he bolted towards the kitchen. His feet practically flew down the hallway, and when he reached the entrance, he skidded to a halt, eyes searching desperately for one of the house-elves.

"Elf—err, Nelli!" he called out, remembering the name of the one who was most often in charge of the household matters. The small, female house-elf appeared with a quiet pop, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Master Draco, what can Nelli do for you?" she asked, her head tilting to the side as she noticed the faintly frantic look in his eyes.

"I—uh—" he ran a hand through his hair, feeling completely out of his depth. He could feel the awkwardness creeping up on him. How did one even go about asking this? "Hermione—Mrs. Malfoy, I mean—she's... uh... she's on her period, and I..." He trailed off, his cheeks burning slightly as the words left his mouth. Good gods, this was humiliating.

Nelli's ears perked up in understanding, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, Master need not worry! Nelli will help. Does Mrs. Malfoy need anything special? Some hot tea? Extra blankets?"

Draco blinked, completely thrown off by how calm the house-elf was about this. "I... I don't know, that's why I'm asking you!" His voice rose slightly with frustration. He wasn't used to being so helpless. "What do I do?"

Nelli's smile widened as she gave a little bow. "Nelli can help! Nelli will bring tea and blankets, and perhaps Master can bring Mrs. Malfoy her favorite chocolate? It will help, yes. And maybe some soothing potions for pain."

He nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over him. Chocolate, tea, blankets, and potions. Simple enough. He could manage that. "Right. Yes. Thank you, Nelli. Do that. I'll get the chocolate."

He turned quickly, heading for the pantry where he knew Hermione kept her secret stash of sweets. He fumbled around until he found a few of her favorites—dark chocolate bars and some honey fudge. When he had gathered everything, he took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for round two with Hermione.

An hour later,he found himself standing outside her door, feeling oddly nervous. The roses were still on the counter, forgotten in the rush to please her, but he was armed with what he hoped would be a peace offering.

He balanced the tray carefully in his hands, which now held a steaming cup of tea, a soft cashmere blanket draped over one arm, the chocolates, and a small vial of pain-relief potion tucked into his pocket.

He knocked softly this time, feeling the tension settle back into his shoulders as he waited for her to answer.

There was a pause, followed by a muffled, groggy voice from the other side. "Go away."

Draco sighed, leaning his forehead against the door for a brief second before replying. "I'm not leaving, Hermione. I brought... reinforcements." When she didn't answer, he sighed again and tried the handle, finding it unlocked.

He stepped inside cautiously, not sure what to expect. The room was dimly lit, and Hermione was curled up on the bed, her hair a wild mess as she lay in a tangled heap of blankets. Her face was pale, and she looked utterly miserable. The sight tugged at something in Draco's chest—a strange protective instinct he didn't even know he had.

"What... what are you doing?" she asked weakly, her eyes narrowing at him as he approached the bed.

He set the tray down on the bedside table, offering her a tentative smile. "I brought you tea. And chocolate. And a blanket, in case you're cold." He fished the pain-relief potion out of his pocket and held it up. "And this. Nelli said it might help."

She blinked at him, clearly taken aback by the gesture. For a moment, she just stared, her gaze moving from the tea to the chocolate, to the potion, and then back to Draco's face. She seemed almost... surprised.

"You did all that?" she asked, her voice softer now, the sharp edge gone.

Draco scratched the back of his neck, feeling slightly awkward again under her scrutiny. "Well, I didn't know what else to do. You... scared the hell out of me earlier." He glanced away, not liking how vulnerable he sounded. "I just wanted to help."

Hermione's expression softened, and she reached out to take the cup of tea from the tray. She cradled it in her hands, her fingers brushing against his for just a moment. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco watched as Hermione took a slow sip of her tea, her entire posture softening as the warmth spread through her. Her shoulders, which had been tense with discomfort just moments ago, seemed to relax, and Draco felt a strange sense of satisfaction knowing he had a hand in helping her.

"Please take the pain potion, love," he murmured, his voice low but filled with concern. He reached over to the tray, picking up the small vial and holding it out to her.

Hermione shifted under the blankets, looking lethargic. "Can't reach it," she mumbled, her hand barely lifting from beneath the covers.

Hist lips twitched into a smile. Stubborn witch, he thought fondly. He leaned over, gently brushing the stray curls from her face and holding the potion closer to her lips. "Here, baby. Drink it, please."

Hermione sighed, too exhausted to argue, and did as she was told, tilting her head back to swallow the potion. Draco watched her intently, waiting for the moment the tension in her face would fade, and when it did, he gave her an approving nod.

"Good girl," he whispered, his hand briefly resting on the top of her head before he pulled away.

Hermione let out a small huff of breath, her eyes narrowing slightly as if to fight against the wave of gratitude that was threatening to break through her grumpiness. "You don't have to be nice to me, Malfoy," she muttered, rolling her eyes, even as she tugged the blankets tighter around herself. "I'm not in the mood for your charm."

Draco arched a brow, amusement dancing in his silver eyes. "I'm nice to you because I want you to feel better, Granger. If I wanted to charm you, you'd already be swooning."

She snorted at that, her lips quirking up in a half-smile despite her best efforts to remain aloof. Draco leaned back slightly, propping himself up on the bed. "What else will help make you comfy?" he asked, his tone softer now, more genuine.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, biting her bottom lip. "I have movies... somewhere," she muttered, her eyes shifting toward the corner of the room where a small DVD player sat on a shelf.

Draco blinked. "Movies?"

Hermione nodded, her face relaxing a little more as she explained. "They're Muggle moving pictures. Usually about an hour and a half long. You just watch and... well, it helps pass the time when you feel like crap."

His confusion was obvious. "Okay… so which one do you like?"

But before she could respond, she grimaced and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. My DVD player isn't working right now. It needs batteries, so I can't watch anything."

Draco looked at her, slightly taken aback. Batteries? He hadn't the faintest idea what those were or how they related to her little contraption, but if it was something Muggles used, surely it couldn't be too complicated. "That's alright," he said, his confidence not entirely earned. "I can fix it. I can make you feel better."

Hermione looked up at him, her brows knitting together in mild surprise. "You don't have to do that, Draco. It's fine."

Draco, however, wasn't about to back down from this challenge. He straightened up, his voice taking on a determined edge. "No, I will go to that Muggle store—what's it called? Oh, right, the market. I'll buy batteries for your DVD player, and we'll watch whatever film you want." He nodded, as if convincing himself. "That'll make you feel better."

Before Hermione could even respond, he stood up, already focused on his mission. "Just wait here," he added, his voice firm with purpose, "I'll be back before you know it."

And with that, he disappeared with a loud crack, apparating directly into the heart of London.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His entrance into the bustling streets of London was, as expected, not the smoothest. The sharp chill in the air hit him, reminding him that he had left without a coat. He looked around quickly, hoping he blended in. He could handle this. He could handle anything, he reminded himself. Even a Muggle shop.

With quick strides, he moved toward a brightly lit store that had a sign reading "Supermarket" on the front. He figured this was where Muggles gathered their necessary supplies—like food and, apparently, batteries. Simple enough.

The moment he walked in, the noise overwhelmed him—loud music, people chatting, carts clattering on the floor. He felt immediately out of place, but he squared his shoulders, determined to succeed in this mission. It couldn't be that hard.

He wandered through the aisles, trying not to look as lost as he felt. What did batteries even look like? he wondered, scanning the shelves with increasing frustration. After several wrong turns, where he found himself staring at frozen food or strange household items, Draco stumbled upon the section that seemed to hold the elusive batteries.

There were so many. All different sizes, shapes, and brands. He picked up one pack, then another, his eyes darting back and forth between them. "What the bloody hell...?" he muttered under his breath. How was he supposed to know which one worked in the DVD player? They all looked the same.

A middle-aged woman passed by, and Draco, swallowing his pride, reached out to tap her on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he began, his voice as polite as he could manage. "I need batteries for a, uh... a DVD player. Could you possibly...?"

The woman smiled warmly, clearly charmed by his aristocratic accent. "Oh, sure! You'll want these," she said, handing him a pack labeled 'AA Batteries.' "These are pretty standard for most players."

Draco gave her a curt nod. "Thank you," he muttered, quickly making his way to the counter to pay. He was more than ready to escape this Muggle madness and return to the comforts of magic.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time he got back to the manor, he felt a strange mix of relief and triumph. He had conquered the Muggle world—or, at least, a Muggle store—and he was going to fix Hermione's DVD player.

He entered her room with a soft knock, finding her still curled up in bed, through her eyes opened at the sound of his arrival. She looked mildly impressed when she saw the batteries in his hand. "You actually did it?"

"Of course I did," he replied smugly. "I told you I'd make it better, didn't I?" He moved over to the DVD player, staring at it for a second before realizing he had no idea how to insert the batteries.

She watched him, an amused smirk playing at her lips as she propped herself up on her elbow. "You don't know how it works, do you?"

He shot her a quick glare before crouching down in front of the player. "I can figure it out," he muttered, though his eyes betrayed his uncertainty. After fumbling with the remote and pressing random buttons, he finally managed to find the compartment for the batteries. With a triumphant smirk, he slid the new ones in.

"There. Fixed," he announced, standing up proudly.

Hermione grinned at him. "Well done, Malfoy. You're practically a Muggle now."

He wrinkled his nose at the comment but didn't say anything as he handed her the remote. "Alright, which movie do you want to watch?"

She paused, her eyes softening for a moment before she clicked a few buttons on the remote. "Something comforting," she murmured, settling back down into the pillows. As the movie began to play, he sat beside her on the bed, watching the screen with curiosity.

He didn't understand the appeal of these moving pictures at first, but the more he watched Hermione relax beside him, her breathing steadying, the more he realized that it didn't matter. As long as she felt better, that's all that counted.

And, in that quiet, comfortable moment, Draco couldn't help but feel that he had done something right.