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Draco Malfoy knew all of Hermione Granger’s smiles. He collected them the way some wix collected rare magical artifacts. Right now, it was lazy. Partly amused, partly wine-drunk. This smile belonged to pub nights and evenings with their friends. He liked this smile. It was catching. Made him feel like he was doing something right.
Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. Her eyes were dark in the dim light of the Leaky, a faint flush warmed her cheeks and made her appear far more innocent than Draco knew she was.
But this smile.
Soft at the edges. Wicked at the centre. Every time she looked at him like that—it was like the moment just after his broom dropped out from under him, or when he finally spotted a blur of gold from the corner of his eye. She was letting him see the parts of her no one else did.
She pressed a soft kiss to his neck.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes,” he murmured, because there would never be any other answer. His arm tightened around her, pulling her closer until her thigh pressed firmly against his under the table. Her kisses tasted sweet like firewhiskey, burning on his tongue. It was addictive. He chased the flavor deeper, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into those wild curls he loved so much.
She hummed against his mouth, pleased, and nipped at his lower lip, just hard enough to make him groan. After a moment she pulled back, amused, and nudged his glass with a finger.
“I meant a drink.”
His mouth curved. “Oh. No, I’m good. Thanks.”
She shot him a playful look and slipped out from beneath his arm, sliding from the booth as her gaze shifted toward Harry and Theo.
“Anything, boys?”
They both shook their heads.
Draco’s eyes followed as she walked away…
That sway. Hips rolling just enough to make his throat go dry, the hem of her skirt brushing the soft skin of her thighs. Then, to his utter detriment, she glanced back over her shoulder and winked.
Draco exhaled slowly.
He turned back around and found Theo and Harry watching him with identical, shit-eating grins. They didn’t have to say a thing. He already fucking knew.
Draco leaned back in his seat. “Go on. You were saying something about… a destination wedding?”
“Right—yes!” Theo brightened immediately. He glanced at Harry, whose grin softened.
“We were thinking of the continent,” Theo said. “Harry’s never been and we want some place warm—”
Draco could barely pay attention. The urge to turn and check on her tugged at him, like a hook in his spine.
Theo’s gaze flicked past him.
“We were actually hoping you’d let us use your villa in… in—” he stopped, frowning. “Uh, Dray—”
Draco’s pulse skipped, turning before Theo could utter the next syllable.
Hermione was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender, and pointedly not looking at the man standing next to her.
He loomed in her space. Thick-necked, brutish, and grinning in a way that made Draco’s stomach churn. They caught a fragment of his voice over the pub’s clamour.
“Go on,” the man said, grinning lecherously. “Give us a smile.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened. She shifted, angling herself away.
“What,” the man scoffed. “Didn’t like my joke? Not highbrow enough for the likes of you?”
Hermione said nothing.
The silence stretched. The air in the pub went tight.
“Drac, I think we should—”
“Come on, don’t be like that,” the man pressed, stepping closer. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve seen you in the papers—always looking so bloody serious. Too uptight. Nothing a proper fuck couldn’t fix, I reckon. Get you smiling, yeah?”
Theo was halfway out of his seat. Draco was out of his, wand in hand, ready to fire a hex—
Hermione smiled.
Draco froze. Harry and Theo crashed into the back of him.
He knew that smile, too.
It wasn't one of her soft and sultry or playful smiles—this one was razor sharp. Beautiful in the way a predator looked right before its jaws snapped shut.
And gods if it didn’t put Draco on his knees just the same.
“Potter—” Draco hissed, his eyes still on Hermione. He reached back and smacked Harry’s arm. “Potter!”
Harry sucked in a harsh breath. “Oh shit—”
“Let’s go, Dray. I wanna fucking kill him,” Theo growled behind him.
Both Harry and Draco shushed him at once.
“What—”
“Watch,” Harry whispered.
Hermione turned slowly, her smile still in place. She tilted her head, eyes dragging down the man’s body.
“Oh,” she said, voice dripping with honey. “You are funny.”
The man’s mouth curved. His gaze dropped. And lingered. Draco gripped his wand tighter. He wanted to fucking kill him, too.
“You’re right, you know,” Hermione murmured, fingers sliding to the knot of hair at the crown of her head. “I really ought to let my hair down.”
His gaze met hers. “Glad you’re seein’ it my way. I’ll help you unwind, lovely.”
Hermione’s smile widened.
Her tie slid free and dark chestnut curls spilled wild and uncontained down her back. She shook them out with her fingers, her lips forming a spell.
“Serpensortia.”
Magic wound through her hair like liquid silver. The curls lengthened. Twisted. The strands thickened. And then they moved. Serpents slithered from her mass of curls—their eyes crimson, scales glossy back and burnished brown flecked with gold. Some coiled around her ears and draped over her shoulders, others rose above her head, their tongues hissing and flicking into the air.
A crown.
The overall effect was terrifyingly beautiful, like Medusa reborn. A slow smile spread across Draco’s face.
The man stumbled back, eyes wide, ale sloshing as he tripped over a stool.
“What—what the fuck—”
“What? You don’t like my joke?” Hermione taunted, stepping forward. “Go on, give us a smile.”
“You crazy bitch,” he snarled, fumbling for his wand. Hermione flicked her wrist. His wand flew cleanly into her hand.
The pub was utterly silent.
“Don’t you ever,” she leaned in, voice preternaturally low, “talk to a woman like that again. Because if you do, I will find you, rip off your cock, and feed it to my snakes.”
The serpents hissed, standing taller, tongues flicking eagerly as if savouring the thought. “And that—” she continued, “—that will make me smile.”
Hermione straightened. The smile on her face faded entirely.
“Duro.”
All together, the serpents reared. The man shrieked as light burst from their open mouths—a bright and petrifying magenta—striking him square in the chest.
The sound of grinding stone filled the pub as the grey raced over him like frost—arms, legs, face—until finally he stood frozen, his features locked in terror.
The serpents—and Hermione—turned slowly, surveying the pub.
“Anyone disagree?” she called.
No one spoke. A moment later, the pub returned to its conversations, as though the statue was nothing more than an eccentric bit of decor. A few patrons even raised their glasses. Hermione set the man’s wand on the bar.
Draco let out a long, slow sigh.
If someone captured his portrait right now, they’d likely put cartoon hearts over his eyes like a besotted little puppy. He didn’t give a single fuck. Hermione Granger just turned a man to stone in the middle of a pub.
Woof.
“Merlin’s raging cockstand,” Theo murmured. “I might be in love with her. Sorry, babe.”
Harry huffed a laugh. “Same.”
Speaking of raging cockstands.
“You two can fuck right off,” Draco said, watching as the snakes melted back into that wild, glorious mane of curls. “That’s my wife.”
Theo snorted. “That so? When did she agree to marry you?”
“She hasn’t. Yet.”
Draco grabbed Hermione’s cloak and bag. “Use whatever villa you want, mates,” he added, distracted by the goddess who was currently winding the aforementioned curls back into a knot at the top of her head. “I’m taking my witch home.”
He crossed the pub in long strides, the crowd parting before him. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate. He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, and kissed her hard enough to draw a chorus of whoops and wolf whistles from somewhere behind him.
“You were magnificent,” he murmured, pulling back to search her eyes. “Are you all right?”
Hermione’s pulse still beat hard in her throat, her gaze still sharp, but it softened when it met his.
“Better than all right… It felt brilliant.” Her lips curved as she studied the look on his face. “I knew you’d like it.”
Draco chuckled, drawing her close. “Yeah? You do it for me, Granger?”
“I did it for women.” Then, eyes sparkling, she ran her hand brazenly up the placket of his trousers. He swallowed, well aware he was harder than the sodding statue.
“Though I love these little treats I get afterward.”
He groaned, forehead dropping to hers. “Gods, I’m so fucking in love with you.”
Hermione smirked. “Good.” Then, softer: “I love you, too.”
“I know you like to remind them yourself,” his voice dropped low. “But you don’t always have to do it alone. I’ll happily fight the patriarchy on your behalf—some good old-fashioned testosterone and a pub brawl, any time you’re not up for it.”
Hermione’s expression softened further before her eyes shifted into something dark and glinting.
“Or a bit of both? Together.”
He grinned.
She kissed him again, every bit as devilish as the look on her face. He bit back a quiet moan. Any more of this and he’d have a truly embarrassing public display on his hands.
Hermione drew back first, his favourite smile on her lips—the one that unraveled him completely.
This one belonged to him. It was the smile that reminded him that she would burn the world down if she had to. And that he would gladly stand beside her with the match. The smile that made him ache for more than just her bed.
But for a lifetime.
“Take me home, Draco.”
Draco laced his fingers through hers and led her toward the floo.
At the hearth, he paused. He glanced back, winked at Hermione, and lifted his wand toward the petrified arsehole.
“Reducto.”