Draco and Hermione are assigned to review ancient legal texts for a Ministry reform project. In the silent, dusty corners of the wizarding archives, they clash over interpretations of a law. Draco, lounging casually in a chair, smirks as Hermione furiously flips through pages to prove him wrong. “You can’t just charm your way through logic, Malfoy,” she snaps. “I don’t need charm,” he retorts smoothly. The bickering escalates, but there’s an unspoken undercurrent—a spark in the way their eyes lock and linger. Finally, Draco concedes with an exaggerated sigh, muttering, “Granger, you’re impossible,” while Hermione suppresses a small, triumphant smile.

After a late work meeting, Hermione suggests ordering takeout to finish their project. They find themselves sharing Chinese food in Draco’s office, the atmosphere surprisingly warm. As the conversation drifts from work to personal topics, Draco hesitantly opens up about his struggle with the weight of his family’s legacy. Hermione listens, her usual sharpness softened with understanding. She admits that she underestimated his ability to change. Draco surprises her with a rare, genuine compliment: “You make me want to be better.” The vulnerability between them shifts the dynamic, creating a moment of quiet connection.

Walking together through Diagon Alley after another late night, the tension between them is palpable. Hermione rambles nervously about their work progress, trying to fill the silence, while Draco walks beside her, unusually quiet. Finally, he stops and turns to her, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Granger, you don’t always have to talk so much.” The comment makes her bristle, but before she can snap back, Draco steps closer. “You’re brilliant. You know that, don’t you?” Hermione freezes, caught off guard. The air between them crackles, and before either of them can overthink it, Draco leans in. Their kiss is hesitant but full of unspoken emotion, the beginning of something neither of them can deny.