Man, this is one of those pairings where the emotional tension feels wired straight into the narrative's DNA. It's less about them suddenly holding hands and more about the sheer, exhausting weight of everything standing between them. A lot of writers get this by fixating on the aftermath—the shared trauma of the war that nobody else can really understand. Hermione's hyper-rational approach to her own guilt meets Draco's corrosive, silent shame, and they become these mirrors for each other's damaged parts. I've read fics where the tension is almost purely intellectual, a battle of wits in the Ministry that slowly erodes into a battle of vulnerabilities, and others where it's a raw, physical thing communicated through averted glances in a crowded room or the accidental brush of fingers over a cursed object.
What really gets me, though, is when the exploration hinges on forced proximity without an easy escape. Stuck as potions partners years later, assigned as Auror handlers, or even just being the only two people left in the library at midnight—these scenarios force the history to the surface. The dialogue becomes a minefield. A simple comment about wand woods can spiral into a silent acknowledgement of past allegiances. The best fics don't let them talk it out easily; the emotional payoff comes from what's not said, from the way Draco might meticulously repair a tear in her old copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' without a word, or how Hermione might defend his name in a meeting not out of forgiveness, but out of a stubborn, infuriating sense of fairness. The tension simmers for chapters because the characters themselves are afraid of what addressing it might mean, and that fear is more compelling than any confession.