"Mom, you can't wear that to breakfast." Hermy sighed, stirring her coffee with a little too much force. The spoon clinked sharply against the ceramic. Harry leaned against the marble countertop, her silk robe slipping dangerously open with the movement. She didn't adjust it.

"Why not?" Harry smiled, plucking a grape from the fruit bowl. She rolled it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth, her pink lips lingering around the fruit for a beat too long. "Your father loves this robe."

"It's barely a robe," Hermy muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on her coffee. Behind her, Draco cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He'd been standing awkwardly near the fridge since he walked in, pretending to look for orange juice.

Harry stretched, letting the robe's belt loosen further. The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the gold chain around her neck and the curve of her hip where the fabric had ridden up. "Draco, sweetheart, could you grab me a glass of water?" Her voice was syrup-thick, and she watched—without watching—as his throat worked when he swallowed.

Draco nodded stiffly, his knuckles going white around the fridge handle. The air in the kitchen was suddenly too warm, the scent of Harry's jasmine perfume curling around them like a second skin.

Hermy stabbed at her omelet with a fork. "Mom. Please."

Harry laughed, low and throaty, as she finally tied her robe shut—mostly. "Oh, relax, baby. It's just family." She swirled past Draco, her fingers brushing his forearm as she took the water glass from him. Her nails were painted the same deep red as the wine they'd had last night.

Draco's jaw tightened. He didn't pull away.

Down the hall, Severus's briefcase clicked shut. The sound of his polished shoes against the hardwood echoed as he approached the kitchen, humming some old jazz tune. He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene—his wife half-dressed, his daughter glaring into her plate, his son-in-law frozen like a statue.

"Morning," Severus said, grinning. He adjusted his cufflinks. "Everyone looks... lively."

Harry twirled her hair around one finger, the robe slipping again to reveal the lace trim of her nightgown. "Darling, you're leaving so early," she pouted, stepping close enough for him to catch her scent—jasmine and something warmer underneath.

Severus chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Board meeting at nine. Try not to break the children while I'm gone." His gaze flickered briefly to Draco, who was now very interested in the tile pattern on the floor.

Hermy exhaled sharply through her nose. "Dad—"

"Save it, sweetheart," Severus murmured, squeezing Harry's waist before letting go. "I know what I married." He grabbed his briefcase and winked at Draco. "Good luck, son."

The front door shut with a decisive click.

Silence pooled in the kitchen, thick and awkward. Harry took a slow sip of water, her eyes tracking over the rim of the glass to where Draco stood, his broad shoulders tense under his shirt. His fingers flexed at his sides—once, twice—before curling into fists.

Hermy pushed her plate away with more force than necessary. "I have a meeting," she announced. The chair legs screeched against the floor as she stood. She snagged Draco's wrist, tugging him toward the hallway. "Come on."

But Harry moved faster, her bare feet silent against the tiles. She intercepted them near the archway, her palm flat against Draco's chest. He stiffened, his pulse jumping under her touch. "So soon?" she murmured, tilting her face up. The gold chain around her neck dipped between her cleavage. "I wanted to ask Draco about those gym recommendations."

Draco's throat bobbed. "I—"

"Mom." Hermy's grip tightened around his wrist, her nails biting into his skin. "We're leaving."

Harry didn't move her hand from Draco's chest. Instead, she pressed just a little harder, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat through his thin cotton shirt. The corner of her mouth twitched. "You're so tense, sweetheart," she said, her thumb brushing lightly over his collarbone. "You should really let me help you with that."

Draco's breath hitched. His eyes darted to Hermy, then back to Harry's face—anywhere but the swell of her chest where her robe had fallen open again. "I—we have to—"

Hermy let go of his wrist abruptly. "Actually," she said, voice clipped, "I'll go ahead. Draco can catch up." Her heels clicked sharply as she strode past them, the front door slamming behind her hard enough to rattle the framed art on the walls.

The silence left in her wake was electric. Harry exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into Draco's shirt. "Alone at last," she murmured, stepping closer. The heat of his body radiated through the space between them, mingling with the citrusy scent of his cologne. Up close, she could see the faint blush creeping up his neck.

Draco swallowed hard. "Mrs. Snape—"

"Harry," she corrected, dragging her nails down his chest lightly. "Call me Harry when it's just us." Her other hand reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. His stubble scratched pleasantly against her fingertips. "You're so... restrained," she observed, tilting her head. "Does Hermy like that? Or do you ever just... lose control?"

Draco backed up sharply, hitting the edge of the counter. The ceramic fruit bowl rattled. "This isn't—we can't—"

Harry closed the distance between them in one fluid motion, her hips pressing against his. She felt the instant his body reacted, the way his breath stuttered. "Tell me to stop," she whispered against his lips, close enough that her breath mingled with his. "Say it, and I will."

Draco's hands hovered at his sides, trembling. He didn't push her away.

Down the hall, a door creaked open—the maid emerging with a stack of fresh towels. Harry sighed, pulling back just enough to glance over her shoulder. "Later," she promised under her breath, smoothing Draco's crumpled shirt with one last lingering touch before sauntering toward the hallway, her robe fluttering open with every step.

Draco didn't move. His fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling too fast. The maid glanced between them, then quickly averted her eyes.

Harry paused at the staircase, glancing back over her shoulder with a slow, knowing smile. "Don't keep Hermy waiting too long, Draco."

The moment the maid disappeared into the laundry room, Draco finally exhaled—a ragged, uneven sound. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the dark strands as if they could anchor him back to reality. The kitchen still smelled like her, like jasmine and something darker, something that clung to his throat even after the front door clicked shut behind Harry.