*Lemon*
She was everything.
And I needed her.
Not just in the way a man craves a woman, not just because her body was beneath mine, soft and yielding, but because she was the only thing that had ever made me feel real.
The world outside could fall apart, and I wouldn’t care.
The Revenants, Hogwarts, the past I couldn’t escape—none of it mattered.
Not when she was here. Not when she was mine.
My lips trailed down the smooth expanse of her neck, claiming every inch of skin I could touch. I felt her pulse flutter beneath my mouth, rapid and unsteady, and it sent something dark and hungry twisting in my gut. My fingers mapped her body, learning her, worshiping her, like she was something sacred.
Because she was.
Her breath hitched as my mouth traced the delicate line of her collarbone, and I felt it.
The way she responded to me.
The way her body arched into my touch, as if drawn by some unseen force.
As if she needed this just as much as I did.
I kissed her like I was trying to memorize her. Like if I could just hold her close enough, I could burn the taste of her into my soul and never let it fade.
Because Hermione Granger made me feel alive.
Made me feel whole.
Tenebris rumbled in the corner, his energy thrumming in sync with mine, watching but silent, his presence a constant reminder that this was different.
This was everything.
I dragged my lips lower, tracing a path down the curve of her stomach, reveling in every sharp gasp, every whispered plea that fell from her lips. My hands caressed her thighs, spreading her open beneath me, and she trembled.
I looked up at her, breathless, taking in the sight of her.
Hair wild, lips kiss-swollen, eyes heavy with want.
My witch.
I gripped her hips, anchoring her to me. “You are so fucking beautiful,” I whispered, voice rough with reverence.
She let out a small, desperate sound, and it undid me.
I kissed my way back up her body, slow and purposeful, dragging my lips over every place I had yet to claim. I wanted to drown in her—in her taste, her scent, the way she trembled beneath me.
I wanted her to feel it.
To know.
To understand that this wasn’t just about need.
This was about belonging.
She shuddered as I pressed myself against her, letting her feel just how much I wanted her, how completely she wrecked me.
“Draco,” she gasped, and that sound—my name on her lips, breathless and wanting, shattered every last restraint I had.
I kissed her fiercely, possessively, swallowing every whimper, every whispered plea. My hands roamed greedily, learning every inch of her, as if I had all the time in the world, as if I could spend forever worshiping her.
Because I would.
I would give her everything.
Because she was mine.
And I was hers.
Completely.
I had never wanted anything like I wanted her.
Not power. Not redemption. Not even my own damn freedom.
Only her.
Hermione beneath me—her body warm, soft, pliant—was an addiction I had no intention of recovering from. I traced my lips over her bare skin, reveling in the way she shivered, in the way her body arched toward mine like she was made for me.
And she was.
I could feel it in my bones.
This was different. This was not just sex.
This was something ancient, something raw and consuming. It was magic in its purest form—the kind that crackled between us like a storm waiting to break.
She was mine.
And I was hers.
The way her nails raked down my back, the way her breath hitched when I rolled my hips against hers, the way she said my name like a prayer, like a spell—it undid me. Completely.
I kissed her hard, swallowing her gasps, my hands roaming, gripping, claiming. She was fire and I wanted to burn.
I wanted to drown in her.
She tangled her fingers in my hair, tugging just enough to pull a low, guttural sound from my throat. My restraint was slipping, unraveling thread by thread.
She felt too good—her legs wrapping around me, her body meeting mine so perfectly it made my vision blur.
“Draco,” she whispered, breathless, wrecked.
And fuck, that voice.
The way she said my name ruined me.
I pressed my forehead to hers, my breathing ragged, my control shattered.
I needed her closer.
Deeper.
I wanted to feel every inch of her, every sharp breath, every shudder.
I wanted to make her forget everything but this.
I wanted to carve myself into her soul so that no matter what happened, no matter what battles we fought—she would always feel me.
Because I felt her. Everywhere.
She moved against me, and I lost the last fraying strand of control I had left.
I took her.
Slow and deep.
She was warmth and fire beneath me, her body arching, fitting, molding against mine as if she had been made for this—made for me. I had touched her before, kissed her, tasted the breathless, delicate sounds that spilled from her lips. But this—this was something else entirely.
This was surrender.
Not just hers.
Mine.
I dragged my lips over her throat, tracing the delicate curve with reverence, pressing kisses to the places that made her gasp. I wanted to learn every inch of her—how she moved, how she breathed, what made her shiver beneath my touch. My hands followed the shape of her body, smoothing over her ribs, her waist, my fingers flexing against the soft curve of her hips, mapping the places that only I would ever touch.
Her breath hitched, her fingers threading into my hair, tugging, demanding.
“Draco,” she breathed.
Her voice—low, wrecked, filled with need—was a spell all on its own, wrapping around me, unraveling me, destroying me in the best way possible.
I dragged my mouth lower, trailing slow, searing kisses over her collarbone, her sternum, down the delicate line of her stomach. She shivered as I went, anticipation curling in the space between us, and when I flicked my tongue against her skin, she let out a small, helpless sound that shot through me like wildfire.
I was losing myself in her.
I wanted her to feel everything—to know that this wasn’t just about want but about belonging. That the connection between us wasn’t just magic—it was something deeper, something written in our very bones.
Her legs shifted beneath me, and I gripped her thighs, spreading her open, drinking in the sight of her, the way her chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted with expectation.
Mine.
I lowered myself to her, kissing, tasting, worshiping.
She gasped—a sharp, beautiful sound.
Her fingers tightened in my hair, her hips jerking, desperate for more, and I gave it to her—slowly, methodically, savoring the way she came apart beneath me.
“Hell,” she whispered, her breath shuddering.
I smirked against her skin. “Say my name.”
Her head tipped back against the pillows, her lips parting, her body trembling against my mouth. “Draco,” she gasped, her voice breaking, her thighs trembling.
That was all I needed.
I devoured her.
She writhed, her fingers clenching in the sheets, her breath coming in short, frantic pants. Every movement, every sound—they were mine.
When she shattered, I felt it in my very soul.
Her magic crackled through the air, washing over me like a storm. Solara, perched on the chair near the bed, let out a low, musical trill, as if she felt it too. As if she knew.
I kissed my way back up her body, reveling in the heat of her, in the way she trembled beneath me, wrecked and wanting.
“You’re incredible,” I murmured against her lips, kissing her deeply, fiercely, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against me.
Her breath hitched as she wrapped her legs around me, drawing me closer, aligning us perfectly.
My jaw clenched. “Tell me you want this.”
Her hands skated down my chest, over my stomach, lower.
“I want you,” she whispered. “I need you.”
Fuck.
I claimed her.
The moment I slid into her, we both groaned—a shared, breathless sound that was pure, unfiltered ecstasy.
She fit me perfectly.
She arched beneath me, taking me in deeper, and I gritted my teeth, barely restraining myself. She was so tight, so warm, so utterly perfect that it nearly broke me.
I dropped my forehead to hers, panting, struggling for control.
She dragged her nails down my back, urging me on.
“Draco,” she gasped, hips rolling against mine.
I couldn’t hold back.
I moved.
Slow at first—deep, measured strokes that left her trembling.
Her arms tightened around me, her heels digging into my lower back, pulling me closer, deeper.
Her magic pulsed in sync with mine, lighting up the room in flickers of gold and shadow. The air around us was charged, alive, crackling with something ancient.
She moaned, her voice breaking, and I swore I would never tire of that sound.
“More,” she whispered, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I gave her more.
My thrusts grew harder, deeper, more desperate.
She cried out, her body trembling as pleasure coiled inside her once more, her magic sparking against my skin.
I was losing myself in her.
The heat, the friction, the way she clutched at me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.
She was unraveling beneath me, and I was unraveling with her.
“Come for me,” I whispered, pressing my lips against her temple, her jaw, her lips.
She shattered.
Her body tightened around me, her breath catching on a broken moan, and I followed her over the edge, losing myself entirely, giving her everything.
Her name fell from my lips like a prayer.
And for the first time in my life, I felt truly, irrevocably whole.
Afterward, we lay in silence, our bodies tangled, our breathing uneven.
She ran her fingers through my hair, soft and slow, and I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, unable to stop touching her.
Tenebris let out a low, satisfied rumble from across the room, and Solara, glowing and warm, curled into herself, completely at peace.
I exhaled.
“We’re never going back to the way things were,” I murmured.
Hermione shifted slightly, pressing her lips to my jaw. “No,” she whispered. “We’re not.”
And that was the truth.
Because this?
This was real.
And I would never let it go.