Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy had lived in his apartment for three years, and in all that time, the flat across the way had been quiet and empty. Which was, of course, just the way he liked it.
It’s not that he was against someone moving in next to him, only that he preferred it. Privacy was something he'd learned to value after spending his adolescence under the scrutiny of both sides of a war. Having Voldemort in your childhood home certainly didn’t help matters, either. An empty apartment meant no nosy neighbors, no awkward small talk, no one watching him work or live or exist. Just precious solitude. Sure, there were a few others on the block, but none close enough to be an issue or even noticeable.
So when he came home from Theo's place one evening in mid-April and saw lights on across the way, his first thought was: Fuck.
His second thought, upon seeing the figure moving around in the previously empty space through billowing curtains, was: Double fuck.
Because that messy bun of wild curls was unmistakable, even from fifteen feet away.
Hermione Granger was his new neighbor.
Draco stood in his darkened living room and watched her move around her apartment as if in a trance. The window itself was open, to presumably let in the breeze, but the curtains were still drawn. Luckily for him, that breeze was blowing those curtains wide open so he could get continuous glimpses of the petite woman he’d once wanked off to at Hogwarts.
She was wearing tiny sleep shorts and a tank top, her hair piled on top of her head in that chaotic way that somehow looked both careless and unfairly sexy—which, to be completely honest, was so unlike the witch he remembered. She was unpacking a box, organizing books (of course she was), and completely unaware that he was standing there having what could only be described as a second-rate crisis.
They hadn't spoken in years. Not since the trials, really, and even then it had been brief and formal. He'd sent her a letter—an apology, carefully worded and pathetically sincere—but Weasley had returned it unopened with a Howler that had made his ears ring for days.
He'd accepted that. Had welcomed it, even. Deserved worse, if he was being honest with himself.
But now she was here. Right across from him and close enough that he could see the titles of the books she was shelving if he squinted.
"Merlin's fucking balls," he muttered, finally kicking his shoes off and tossing his wand onto the kitchen counter.
He should close his curtains and give her some privacy. He knew he should. And he absolutely knew better than to stand here in the dark like some kind of creep, watching Granger’s curves as she bent over to pick up another box with each flutter of her curtains.
She straightened, stretching her arms over her head, and her tank top rode up to reveal a strip of skin at her waist.
Draco's mouth went dry and he looked towards his ceiling for strength.
This is fine, he told himself. This is completely fine. You can handle having your former school rival as a neighbor. You can be mature about this.
Hermione turned toward the window to adjust the curtains that had gotten tangled on the back of the chair by the window and opened them fully, and for one heart-stopping moment, he thought she'd seen him. But her gaze was unfocused, distant, and after a moment she turned away again.
Draco slowly slipped back into the shadows of his apartment with the same thought he’d had when he entered it.
Triple Fuck.
Draco couldn’t sleep after that.
Instead, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do about this situation. Ignore her? Introduce himself? Pretend he hadn't noticed she'd moved in?
But when he walked into his kitchen to make himself tea, he decided another look wouldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t strange for a healthy man such as himself to wonder if she was still awake and in nothing but that little ensemble—-complete with those shorts that barely covered her arse.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Get a hold of yourself.
Just as he’d picked up a book to read and a fresh mug of tea, he saw her turn around and see him. Draco froze as he watched the recognition wash over her.
Hermione's eyes went wide, her mouth falling open in what looked like genuine shock. For a long moment, they just stared at each other across the courtyard, and Draco could practically see her brain working, processing, coming to the same horrified realization he'd had only a few hours earlier.
She looked soft and sleepy and completely edible, and Draco had to grip the book in his hand to stop himself from doing something stupid. Like opening his window and calling out to her. Or Apparating directly into her apartment. Or—
Then she mouthed, very clearly: "No. Absolutely fucking not."
Draco couldn’t refrain from opening his window to acknowledge her then.
He was rewarded by that swottiness he remembered fondly, along with glimpses of her smooth skin. He wasn’t entirely selfish, of course, so he made sure to flex a bit when he noticed that she couldn’t stop staring at his bare chest.
He could work with that.
Over the next few weeks, Draco became intimately familiar with Hermione Granger's routine.
He told himself he wasn't spying on her. He just happened to be in his living room a lot. And his kitchen. And anywhere else that had a view of her apartment. It wasn't his fault that she kept her curtains open most of the time, or that her schedule seemed to align perfectly with his. At least he could look busy brewing his potions in the kitchen so he had a good excuse if she ever questioned him.
She woke early—around six, usually—and did yoga in her living room. Draco discovered this one morning when he glanced over and found her in downward dog, wearing tight leggings and a sports bra, her arse pointed directly at his window.
He'd burned his first three potions that day.
She worked odd hours, sometimes disappearing for days at a time to Godric knows where, other times working from home in her pajamas. She read constantly, curled up in the chair by her window with a book and tea. She danced while she cleaned, singing obnoxious muggle music, completely unbothered and utterly charming.
She was brilliant and beautiful and so fucking alive, and Draco couldn't look away.
He started timing his own routine around hers. Making coffee when she made coffee in the mornings. Working in his kitchen when she worked in hers. Reading when she read, even though he couldn't focus on the words because he was too busy watching her.
It was pathetic, really. He was a grown, successful Potions Master, and he was mooning over his neighbor like a lovesick teenager.
And then, one evening in early May, he realized she was watching him back.
He'd been working out and sweating, wiping his fringe from his eyes when he noticed. That sense of awareness of being watched. He looked up, and there she was, standing at her window with a book in her hands, staring directly at him.
Their eyes met, and she didn't look away.
Draco's heart beat faster against his ribs.
He lifted his water bottle to his lips, deliberately slow, and watched her watch him drink. Her gaze tracked the movement of his throat as he swallowed, and when he lowered the bottle, her cheeks were flushed.
Oh.
Interesting.
He smiled at her before he raised an eyebrow at her, and she blinked like she was coming out of a trance. Then she scowled and disappeared from view.
After that, things seemed to take a turn.
He watched her prance around her apartment in her tiny sleep sets, purposely giving him eyeful after eyeful, and he wanted her with an intensity that was starting to border on a problem.
But they didn’t talk to each other. Didn't acknowledge what was happening between them. Just watched each other across the courtyard, the tension building with every day that passed.
That is… until Draco decided to do something about it.
The plan was simple: make her jealous.
He'd been thinking about it for days, ever since he'd realized she was as affected by him as he was by her. He could tell she found him attractive—that much was obvious from the way she ogled him and the way she strutted around for his benefit. But he also knew that she was holding back. Probably because of their history, or maybe because she was still recovering from her divorce.
He never thought he’d be so thankful that Weasley was a piece of shit, but now that he was reaping the benefits, he was tempted to send him a fruit basket.
Regardless, Draco could understand why she stayed to herself. But he was also tired of waiting.
So he called up a woman he'd seen a few times over the last year. She was beautiful and uncomplicated, if memory serves correctly. He at least knew she was the kind of person who wouldn't ask questions or expect anything beyond a good time. He invited her over for drinks, and made sure to schedule it for a Friday evening when he knew Hermione would be home.
The woman arrived at eight, dressed to kill in a black dress that was clearly very expensive. She was gorgeous, objectively speaking, but Draco barely noticed. His attention was focused on the window across the courtyard, where Hermione's curtains were open and her lights were on.
Good girl.
He poured wine, made small talk, positioned them in his living room where they'd be clearly visible from Hermione's window. The woman was chatty and flirtatious, her hands wandering up and down his chest, and Draco let her touch him while he watched the window.
And then, finally, he saw her.
Hermione, sitting at her window with a book in her hands, looking directly at him. He saw a tiny movement out of his peripheral before her apartment lights were dimmed, but he could clearly see that she hadn’t moved thanks to the moonlight.
Gotcha.
He smiled at the woman, said something that made her laugh, and guided her toward the sofa. She moved to stand between his legs, and Draco made sure to encourage her with a smile.
Hermione was still by her window, frozen, her book forgotten. Even from this distance, he could see the tension in her body, the way her skin flushed.
Watch me, he thought. Watch what you could have.
The woman dropped to her knees and his gaze locked on Hermione above her head. He saw the moment she realized what he was doing. Her eyes widened, and it almost looked like she was going to leave.
Don't you dare.
The woman’s hands slid up his thighs, her hands going to his belt, and Draco's breath caught. Not because of what she was doing—though that was pleasant enough—but because Hermione was taking him in with hungry eyes across the way.
He should feel guilty about this whole thing. Should feel bad about using this woman as a prop in his fucked up game with Hermione. But he'd been upfront about what this was, and she'd agreed. No strings, no expectations. Just some sex between adults.
The woman between his legs unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, and Draco's eyes never left Hermione's. He saw her swallow hard, saw her lean forward slightly, and he smiled.
You want this. You want me.
The woman freed his cock—he was already hard, had been since Hermione started watching him—and made an appreciative sound. Draco barely heard it. His entire focus was on Hermione, on the way she was gripping the windowsill like it was the only thing keeping her from bolting.
Watch me, he thought again. Watch me imagine it's you.
The woman's mouth closed around him, and Draco's head fell back against the sofa. It felt good (a woman’s wet mouth on his cock always did) but it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was fifteen feet away, staring with a blush on her cheeks.
He forced himself to look at her again, and what he saw made his cock twitch in the woman's mouth.
Hermione's hand was moving. Sliding down her body, disappearing beneath the short nightgown she was wearing.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is happening. Fuck.
She was touching herself. Watching him get sucked off and touching herself, and Draco thought he might actually die from how fucking hot that was.
The woman between his legs increased her pace, and Draco's hand tightened in her hair. But his eyes stayed on Hermione, on the way her body moved, on the flush that was now spreading across her chest above the low neckline of her nightgown.
He wanted to see her. Wanted to watch her come apart. Wanted to be the one touching her, tasting her, making her scream his name. But this would have to be enough for now.
Her hand moved faster, and Draco could see the moment she got close. The way her body tensed, the way her free hand gripped the windowsill so hard her knuckles went white.
Come for me, he mouthed, his hips jerking up into the woman's mouth. Let me see you come.
And she did.
Even from across the courtyard, he could see the orgasm hit her. Could see the way her whole body shuddered, the way her mouth opened on a silent cry. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and it pushed him right over the edge.
He came hard, his vision whiting out for a moment, pleasure crashing through him as he envisioned dark curls and honeyed eyes. The woman swallowed around him, and Draco's hand tightened in her hair as he rode it out.
When he finally came back to himself, Hermione was gone.
Her curtains were still open, but she'd disappeared from view, and Draco felt a sharp pang of disappointment.
The woman pulled off him with a seductive smile, wiping her mouth delicately. "That was fun," she said, her voice husky. "Want to move this to the bedroom?"
Draco looked at her and felt… nothing. No desire or interest in taking this further. Just a vague sense of guilt for using her the way he had. He adjusted himself on the couch, tucking his softening cock back into his trousers.
"I think I might have to call it here," he said with a grimace. "But thank you. That was great."
Her smile faltered. "Seriously? You're kicking me out?"
"I'm not kicking you out. I'm just—" He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry. I thought I could do this, but I didn't think it through. It's not you, it's—"
"It's someone else," she finished, her eyes narrowing. "I could tell you weren’t looking at me, but I thought maybe you were just enjoying yourself too much. But that’s not true, is it? You were thinking of someone else that entire time, weren't you?"
You have no idea how close you are to the truth.
Draco didn't answer, but his silence was enough for her to get the message.
She stood, smoothing down her dress. "You're an arsehole, you know that?"
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Save it." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pausing only to look back at him. "Next time you want to use a body, call someone else. I’m too old to play games like this, Draco."
Then she was gone, and he was alone.
He looked across the courtyard at Hermione's apartment for several long minutes, but she never came back into view. He wondered if she ever would again.
With a heavy sigh, he stalked into his bedroom and slammed the door.
What have I done?
The next three days were like torture.
Hermione's curtains stayed closed, and Draco couldn't focus on anything. He burned potions, forgot meetings, snapped at Theo when he came over to check on him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Theo asked, sprawled on Draco's sofa with a glass of wine. "You've been a nightmare all week."
"Nothing's wrong."
"That’s bullshit, and you know it. You're moping."
"I don't mope, you curly-haired prick."
"You're literally moping right now. I have eyes, you know. You've been staring at that window for ten minutes." Theo looked at Draco as he purposefully turned his back to the window. He raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Wait. Is this about your new neighbor? I know you like your privacy but it can’t be that bad."
Draco's jaw tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Harry mentioned Hermione moved into this building not too long ago. Have you seen her walking around at all? Is that why you’re acting so weird ? She’s not the type to hold grudges…" Theo trailed off as he watched Draco’s body visibly stiffen. "Hold on. Is she—" He sat up straight, eyes wide. "Holy shit. She's your neighbor? Is this what you've been obsessing over?"
"I'm not obsessing."
"You absolutely are. You've been a wreck for weeks and won’t join us at the club lately—" Theo paused, his expression shifting from amused to concerned. He drained the rest of his wine and sent the empty glass floating onto the counter. "What did you do, Draco?"
"Nothing."
"Draco Lucius Malfoy."
"I may have... staged a situation to make her jealous."
"You what? What does that mean?"
"I brought a woman over and made sure Hermione could see. Things got a little personal."
Theo stared at him, jaw slack with shock. "Please tell me you didn't fuck someone in front of your window just to get Hermione Granger’s attention."
"I didn't fuck her. She just sucked my cock."
"Oh, Salazar." Theo dropped his head into his hands. "You're an idiot."
"I know, but she—"
"A complete and utter idiot."
"I know, Theo. She enjoyed herself, though!"
Theo sat back and took in the admission for a moment. "Explain "enjoyed" for me, would you?"
Draco avoided his eyes and just shrugged. Theo’s eyebrows shot up as the realization dawned on him that there was some pleasure mutually exchanged.
"And now she's avoiding you and you're spiraling because you realized you actually have feelings for her and you fucked it up before it even started."
Draco scowled at him.
Theo sighed. "You need to talk to her."
"She won't open her curtains."
"Then make her."
"How?"
"I don't know, use your Slytherin cunning or whatever. Send her a note. Break into her apartment and fill it with flowers. I don’t really care, but do something other than sitting here feeling sorry for yourself."
Draco looked at the closed curtains across the courtyard and felt something twist in his gut.
He'd spent years trying to be better than he was. Trying to make up for the things he'd done, the person he'd been. He'd apologized, made amends, built a life he could be proud of.
There was no reason he couldn’t get through a little awkwardness between neighbors.
Fuck it.
He grabbed a piece of parchment, and started writing.
Theo rolled his eyes and walked to the door. "Well, let me know how it goes."
Draco didn’t look up from the parchment. "You’re leaving?"
"Oh, definitely. Harry and I have plans and I’d like to tell him the least amount of information from our visit today as possible. Preferably the part that details how desperate you are to get into Hermione’s knickers."
The first note went unanswered.
So did the second.
By the third, Draco was getting desperate. He charmed the paper airplane to hover persistently outside her window, knocking against the glass until she had no choice but to acknowledge it until it finally came back with a response.
Just reading.
Draco grinned at the sight of her handwriting, messy and familiar from years of seeing it on essays and exam papers.
He wrote back immediately: You've been 'reading' for three days with your curtains closed. Either you've discovered the world's most engrossing book, or you're avoiding me.
Her response came faster this time: Why would I be avoiding you?
Because you watched me get sucked off while you touched yourself, and now you're embarrassed.
There was a long pause before the next note arrived: I'm not embarrassed. I'm busy.
Liar.
Prat.
Draco leaned against his window and smiled despite himself. This banter, this back-and-forth between them, felt right in a way nothing else had in a long time.
Open your curtains, Granger.
No.
Why not?
He felt like he waited an eternity for her response.
Because I don't know what will happen if I do.
Draco stared at those words. She was scared, that was obvious now. And why shouldn’t she be? She’d just gotten out of a long-term relationship. Went through a messy and very public divorce. And now her childhood bully was practically sniffing up her skirt. He needed to do better. He understood that, now. More than she probably realized.
He sent back: Neither do I.
And then he waited. For a while.
Draco’s heart sank, but just as he was about to give up hope, the curtains opened.
Hermione stood at her window in a tiny black t-shirt and white lace knickers, her hair loose around her shoulders, and Draco forgot how to breathe.
She was so fucking beautiful it hurt. It was like looking at the Sun.
He opened his window, and she did the same.
"There she is," he said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. "I was starting to think you'd moved out."
"I was considering it," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Still am, actually."
"Pity. I was just getting used to the view."
"The view of my closed curtains?"
"The view before that." He let his gaze drag down her body, slow and deliberate. "Much better than your curtains."
She blushed, and Draco felt a surge of satisfaction. She might be nervous, but she enjoyed him teasing her, that much he was sure of.
"We're not talking about that," she said, glancing around like someone might overhear.
"About what? About how you watched me come? Or about how you came while watching me?"
"Malfoy—"
"Because I've been thinking about it," he continued, leaning against his windowsill. "For three days, actually. Haven't been able to think about much else."
"That's—" She seemed at a loss for words, which was endearing. He never remembered her ever running out of words when they were younger. Quite the opposite, actually.
"The woman left, by the way," Draco said, almost as an afterthought. But he didn’t want her to think more happened than it did. "Right after. She could tell I wasn't paying attention to her."
"I wonder why."
"I know why. I was too busy watching you fall apart with your fingers buried in your cunt." His voice dropped, going rough. "You're beautiful when you come, Granger. Did you know that?"
Her breath caught, her hands dropping to grip the windowsill. "You can't just—you can't say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because we're—we're—" She gestured helplessly between them. "We're us. We have history. Bad history."
"We have complicated history," Draco corrected. "There have been too many years that have passed to keep harping on it."
"You called me a Mudblood."
The word hit him like a physical blow, even after all these years. "I was a bigoted child parroting my father's ideals while a madman shared my residence," he said quietly. "I've spent the last decade trying to be better than that. Trying to be better than my past."
"And have you? Gotten better?"
"I'd like to think so." He studied her for a moment. "I apologized, you know. After the war. Sent letters to you, Potter, Weasley. All the people I'd wronged."
"I never got a letter."
"Because Weasley sent it back unopened with a Howler attached." Draco's smile was bitter. "Can't say I blamed him. But I tried, Granger. I've been trying."
She was quiet for a long moment, and Draco held his breath, waiting.
Always waiting, waiting, waiting.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked finally.
"Because I don't want you to think that night was just—" He paused, searching for the right words. "That I was disrespecting you."
"You were literally getting a blow job from another woman while staring at me."
"I was getting a blow job from another woman while wishing it was you."
Her eyes went wide. "That's—that can't possibly be true."
"No? You were there. Couldn't you tell?"
"I should have looked away."
"But you didn't." He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "And I'm glad you didn't. It felt incredible."
"With a stranger's mouth on your cock?"
"With your eyes on me," he said quietly. "Everything else was just background noise compared to watching you."
She looked stunned, and Draco was just about to open his mouth to ask her on a proper date when—
"I'm divorced," she blurted out suddenly.
What did that have to do with things?
Draco blinked. "I know."
"Right."
"Would you like to talk about it now?" He straightened, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry, by the way. About the divorce."
"Don't be. It was..." She sighed, moving to sit in the chair by her window and pulling her knees up to her chest. "It was a long time coming. We wanted different things. Became different people."
"What did you want?"
"I don't know, anymore," she admitted, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I thought I wanted the whole package for a while. Marriage, stability, the future we'd always planned. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a dream and started feeling like a prison sentence."
"And now?"
"Now I'm trying to figure out who I am without him. Without the war. Without everyone's expectations. And I really enjoy my job. I worked hard to get to this exact point in my life." She rested her cheek on her knee and looked at him. "What about you? What do you want?"
He looked at her and could tell that she wasn’t ready for anything quite so serious. Not yet. He also began to realize that this wasn't just attraction or lust or the thrill of the forbidden for him. This was something that he really wanted. He was old enough now to recognize that his feelings weren’t casual for the witch across from him. But right now, she needed things to be light and fun. He needed to get her to trust him, loosen up.
"Right now?" he said carefully. "I want to know if you're going to keep your curtains open."
"That's not a real answer."
"It's the only answer I've got for you, sweetheart." He straightened, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want to see you, Granger. I want you to see me. It's not a crime to have a little fun."
"This is a terrible idea."
"Probably."
"We'll regret this entire situation."
"Maybe."
"We're neighbors. If this goes badly—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Draco said. "But I enjoyed myself the other night. Didn't you?"
She was quiet for a long moment, and Draco held his breath.
Come on, Granger. Let me in.
"Yes," she relented. "I did."
Relief flooded through him. "Then relax. Leave your curtains open, Granger. Don't shut me out."
She looked at him for a long moment, and Draco could see her weighing her options, considering the risks.
"Okay," she finally agreed.
Draco could feel his smile stretching across his face. He didn’t care. He was one step closer to making her his.
"Goodnight, Granger."
"Goodnight, Malfoy."
They closed their windows, but kept the curtains open.
And as Draco got ready for bed, he was acutely aware of her eyes on him. He moved through his apartment slower than necessary, giving her a show—stretching, moving, existing in a way that was designed to drive her mad.
When he glanced over, she was making tea, bending low over the stove with her arse pushed out in his direction.
Draco's mug slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor.
"Fuck!" He dropped to his knees, scrambling to clean up the mess, muttering curses under his breath. When he looked up, Hermione was watching him with barely concealed amusement.
He stood, holding up one finger, and made a "turn around" motion.
She backed up to her sofa, and then—oh, fuck—she bent low to pick up her cat, keeping her legs spread just enough that he could see the damp outline of her folds through her knickers.
"Not fucking fair!" he shouted, not caring if she could hear him through the glass.
She smiled in triumph and walked toward her bedroom, swaying her hips in a way that made his cock harden instantly.
Draco stood there, surrounded by broken ceramic and spilled tea, and laughed helplessly at the entire situation.
He never thought he’d be in a game of seduction with his neighbor, let alone the coveted Hermione Granger.
But he liked games.
And he certainly didn’t plan to lose at this one.