Chapter Text
An Inked Temptation
One
The bell above the door jingled when she entered, and Hermione swallowed when she found the main room empty.
She had never been to Malfoy’s Potion shop before, and her curiosity was too big to say no when Harry asked her to do him a favour.
“This raid is driving me crazy, Hermione. I haven’t slept in two days.” Her friend ran his hands through his wild hair for the tenth time and lifted his gaze from the map to give her a pleading look. “Can you go to Malfoy’s shop and bring me the vials of Veritaserum that the Ministry requested from him? Please? We’ll need them tonight.”
So here she was, looking around and keeping her hands behind her back to avoid the temptation of touching the potions with unknown names while she waited for her former bully to appear.
He had changed since the war, that much Hermione could tell. Malfoy had been avoiding public spaces since the Prophet’s article about his mother’s death two years ago, but before that, Hermione had only seen him a few times around the alley.
At those times, she had noticed that he had grown. His shoulders were broader than before, and he was also incredibly polite every time they’d exchanged a few words, which had been a shock at first.
Each time Hermione had seen him, he’d been wearing a black suit with a black shirt underneath. And each time, his eyes had lingered on her face for a long moment before he had turned away, as if he had been trying to memorise her features.
She shook her head, pushing that silly thought away. The things her heart had made after that couldn’t be healthy, and Hermione feared it would happen again today.
His shop had been open for almost a year now, and his revolutionary potions had given him fame. It was located at the end of the alley, and Harry always commented on how crowded it was when he went to pick up an order from the Ministry.
But now, it was completely empty. Hermione checked her watch — a bit late, but the shop was still open — and cleared her throat as she walked over to the counter.
Perhaps he was brewing in the back room?
“Malfoy?” She asked tentatively.
His voice came from the half-open door she was staring at.
“In here.”
Gathering her Gryffindor courage, Hermione walked around the counter and pushed the door open. The smell of brewing cauldrons hit her first, followed by something sweet that came from dozens of candles floating in the air and illuminating the room.
Malfoy was leaning against the wall and spinning what looked like a pencil in his left hand, his eyes fixed on a blank canvas.
Was he painting?
Hermione froze, too stunned to move, and studied the brewing room. A few paintings were hanging on the walls, and something told her she had the artist right in front of her.
She looked back at Malfoy and swallowed, his rolled sleeves letting her see the tattoos that covered his arms. There was no trace of the Dark Mark on his forearm, now decorated with a raven and a bright moon that sparkled each time he moved his fingers.
He hadn’t addressed her yet, so Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Harry asked me to come.”
“I know.” Malfoy turned his head, and his gaze locked with hers, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiled. “Hello, Auror Granger.”
Hermione smiled back.
“Just Granger is fine. I don’t go out into the field anyway.”
She’d rather stay in her cosy office planning everything and making hard decisions while Harry, Ron, and the others caught the bad guys.
Hermione stepped a bit closer and observed him. He was wearing rings, all of them black except the Malfoy signet ring, and the first two buttons of his black shirt were open.
He glanced back at the canvas and hummed, tapping a finger against his chin, his nails black as well.
She couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“I didn’t know you painted,” she blurted, blushing when his attention returned to her and his lips curled into a smirk.
“It’s boring to be here while the potions brew,” he explained, leaving the pencil on a nearby table and shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Painting distracts me.”
Hermione knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it. She was observant, and his pale skin looked almost golden in the candlelight, the dark clothes highlighting it and making Malfoy look extremely handsome.
Since when was he so attractive?
He walked over to her, and Hermione held her breath when he paused just a few inches away, now close enough to touch. He opened his palm, and Hermione grabbed the two vials of clear liquid resting on it, putting them in her pocket after a muttered thanks.
“What do you think?” Malfoy asked with a raised brow.
When Hermione didn’t reply, he pointed at the walls around them with his hand. She followed his gaze and stared at the paintings surrounding them.
The biggest one was familiar, and Hermione approached it, gasping when she recognised the building. It was Malfoy Manor under a storm, lightning crossing the dark sky every five seconds.
Magical paintings were breathtaking.
“They’re all a bit… dark?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye to check that he was not offended. Malfoy looked amused instead, so she continued. “But I do like them.”
Malfoy let out a long sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione forced herself not to look at the dragon's tail curling around his wrist.
“This one might be my favourite, but I hate it as well.”
“Why?”
He shrugged and looked away.
“I feel the same way about my old home.”
Hermione hummed, choosing not to question him. She knew the manor had been empty for years, and she’d heard people in the Ministry cafeteria talking about Malfoy’s intention of donating it.
The last painting was the portrait of an old witch whom she had never seen before. Malfoy snorted and tilted his head, pressing his lips together to hide a smile when Hermione greeted her politely.
“That was my grandmother, Druella. She moves, but she doesn’t talk.”
Hermione frowned at the brunette witch, who raised an eyebrow at her in response. She turned to Malfoy with the intention of asking questions about the spells to charm a painting alive, but the words died in her throat when she found him watching her.
“Not everyone can appreciate the beauty of the darkness,” Malfoy said. His raspy voice sent a chill down Hermione’s spine. “There’s a bit of darkness in everyone, you included,” he continued, his eyes roaming over her face and falling to her lips. “I can feel it.”
Hermione stared at him, her heart pounding so hard that he probably could hear it. He finally broke eye contact and gestured to the blank canvas with his chin.
“I’ve been trying to paint someone for almost a year, but I can’t get her face right.”
“Oh.” His words shouldn’t bother Hermione that much. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.” Malfoy waved his hand at the pile of burnt paper in the unused fireplace. “None of my sketches did her justice.”
Hermione ignored the spark of jealousy that flared to life in her belly. Whoever it was, it had to be a beautiful woman if Malfoy thought he couldn’t paint her.
“And that’s why you burnt them?” She asked, her lips curling into a tiny smile.
Malfoy sighed.
“Exactly.”
“That’s a bit too dramatic, even for you,” Hermione replied, letting the smile spread across her face.
He gave her a look.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Come on, admit it.” She couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer. “You were always a bit dramatic.”
Malfoy chuckled under his breath.
“What if I’ve changed?” He questioned, leaning a shoulder against the wall and looking down at his nails.
His question sobered her mood instantly.
“You’re right. I don’t really know you,” Hermione admitted, giving him a shy smile when he looked up. “Well, I should go home. I hope you can finish the sketch soon.”
She was about to leave the room when his voice gave her pause.
“It was you.”
Hermione stilled and turned around to face him.
“Pardon?”
“The sketch,” Malfoy clarified, nodding at the canvas. “I’ve been trying to draw you.”
“Draw me?” Hermione repeated, dumbfounded to hear that confession.
Why would he do that?
“It’d be better than an apology letter, don’t you think?” His grey eyes bore into hers, as if he were trying to read her thoughts on the matter. “But I can’t capture your beauty from memory alone.”
Her cheeks burned at the hidden compliment.
Did Malfoy consider her beautiful? Since when?
“You could try adding colour,” Hermione suggested, swallowing when he lifted his brow. “And paint a portrait like that one.”
Malfoy glanced at the only portrait in the room and hummed.
“I could,” he agreed, his gaze returning to her. He took a step towards her and gestured to a chair. “If you sat there very still.”
Hermione blinked.
“Now?”
It was getting late, but she wouldn’t mind staying for a bit longer. There was a magnetic pull that she was struggling to resist since the moment Malfoy’s eyes had met hers, and part of her wanted to let herself go and drown in those pools of ice water.
“Come back tomorrow evening.” He took another step, and another, until there was no distance between them. “With your hair down.”
Well, if Malfoy wanted to paint her as a gift, Hermione couldn’t say no. Could she?
“Okay.”
A full-body shiver went through her when he lifted his hand and brushed her right cheek with his knuckles.
“What will you give me in exchange?” Malfoy asked softly.
He was close enough to smell his minty breath, the air thickening around them while he waited patiently for a reply Hermione didn’t have. His eyes had darkened, and he was staring at her as if she were edible.
“What do you want?” Hermione asked in a whisper, knowing her voice would fail her.
He looked down at her mouth and ran his thumb over her parted lips before taking a step back.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Malfoy promised with a glint in his eyes.
Hermione felt frozen in place. For a moment, she had thought that he would kiss her, and she desperately wished he had.
“Go back to your Potter, or I won’t let you leave,” he added, the threat clear in his low voice.
She felt compelled to say do it, but she clenched her teeth and turned away from him, grabbing the doorknob.
“Tomorrow, Granger,” Malfoy repeated when she pulled open the door. “Do not forget.”
She glanced at him one last time and nodded.
“I won’t.”
The cold air cleared Hermione’s head, and she took a deep breath, wondering what had just happened.
Her mind had gone blank at the hunger in his icy grey eyes, the sudden attraction making her feel dizzy. Hermione knew she wouldn’t have stopped Malfoy if he had leaned in to steal a kiss, and she was fully aware of what would happen if she were alone with him again.
What had she gotten herself into?