Chapter 4
They barely made it to Granger’s flat without collapsing onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and desperation. Between the feverish kisses, wandering hands, and the occasional stumble into walls, Draco couldn’t even be bothered to politely excuse himself from the party.
It wasn’t like anyone would miss him. He hadn’t seen Pansy or Potter during the rest of the night, and knowing those two, they were probably shagging in some hidden corner of the penthouse anyway. That thought, oddly enough, made him smirk into Hermione’s lips as they fumbled with the door to her flat.
Her hand trembled slightly as she unlocked it, though whether it was from the sheer passion of their entanglement or the impatience of wanting to get inside, he wasn’t sure—and frankly, he didn’t care. The moment the door clicked open, she pushed it aside and pulled him into her, their mouths crashing together like neither could stand the thought of even a second apart.
He couldn’t quite believe it—he was actually snogging the life out of Granger in her flat. Is this really happening? he wondered, half-convinced this was some exquisite dream conjured by his subconscious.
But no dream could possibly replicate the taste of her lips—an intoxicating mix of Firewhisky and something sweet, cherries, perhaps. Nor could it capture the subtle, heady notes of her perfume: a delicate blend of jasmine, earthy cedar, and a hint of blackberry. The scent clung to her, weaving itself into his senses and leaving his mind deliciously fogged in a hazy, dreamlike state.
Her hands roamed over his chest, and her lips moved with a hunger that mirrored his own. It wasn’t just happening—it was real. And it was better than anything his imagination could have conjured.
In the blink of an eye, they were in Granger’s bedroom. How they got there didn’t matter—nothing did, except her.
Granger was already eagerly undressing him, her fingers working with surprising efficiency. He barely registered the sensation as she pulled his tailored jacket from his shoulders and tossed it carelessly to the floor.
Her hands moved to his waistcoat next, undoing the buttons with a frantic urgency before yanking it off and letting it fall to the growing pile of discarded clothing. With a sharp tug, she freed his Oxford shirt from the confines of his trousers, her movements hurried and delightfully clumsy. All the while, her mouth remained firmly on his, devouring him with a passion that made his head spin.
As she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her fingers grazed his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each touch sent sparks coursing through him, igniting a heat that shot straight to his already achingly hard cock.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this eager—this desperate—to shag a woman. It made him feel like a teenager again, driven by pure, unrelenting desire. Only this time, it wasn’t just about the physical—it was her. Hermione Granger.
He began undressing her, his fingers deftly working to remove her top, leaving her standing in just her jeans and a delicate lace bra. The soft fabric hugged her curves, and he couldn’t help but notice the tantalising outline of her nipples beneath the material—perfect, inviting, irresistible.
His breath hitched as Granger unbuttoned her own jeans and slid them off with a fluid motion, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her tiny, exquisite lingerie.
He nearly choked at the sight. Her body was sinful—glorious and captivating in a way that seemed almost forbidden. His eyes roved over her perky breasts, the gentle glow of her skin, and the devastatingly perfect hourglass of her silhouette.
She was, without question, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Standing so confidently before him, she was a Goddess incarnate, and he couldn’t fathom how he had the strength to keep breathing.
And then he saw it—the jagged scar etched into the delicate skin of her inner forearm. Mudblood.
It dragged all his fears and guilt to the surface. That single word, branded into her flesh, carried the weight of his past choices, and the pain she had endured by the hands of his own family.
His mind spiraled, doubt creeping in like a shadow. She hadn’t drunk much during the night—he was certain of that—but what if she was tipsy? What if this was a fleeting moment of poor judgment on her part, something she would regret in the cold light of morning?
The idea of her acting on impulse, of looking at him tomorrow with regret or anger, twisted something deep inside him. His conscience roared to life, warring with the undeniable desire coursing through him. His heart ached at the thought that she might have buried her pain beneath this moment, and he suddenly felt unworthy of her trust, her touch, her passion.
For all his confidence, for all the teasing smirks and playful banter, this scar reminded him of the reality that he couldn’t escape: his complicity, his cowardice, and the part of him that would always carry the weight of his mistakes
“Granger…” he whispered, trembling slightly, barely audible over the roaring in his head. His hands gently grasped her shoulders as he muttered between her fervent kisses, “Gra… Granger… Wa… Wait!”
She blinked a few times, her movements stilled as if she were surfacing from a dream. Her eyes locked on his.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, with a nervousness he hadn’t meant to reveal. “I mean, I don’t want you to do anything you might regret afterward. I—I don’t know if you’re drunk, or if you’re in a good state of mind…” His words tumbled out in a rushed, awkward babble, the vulnerability in his voice making him cringe.
“You don’t want this?” she asked after a moment, her voice laced with surprise.
“Salazar, Granger,” he groaned, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair, his frustration evident. “Can’t you see the state of my trousers? I’m painfully hard for you.” He paused, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to find the right words. “I just… I just want to make sure you’re certain about this… with me.”
His grey eyes searched hers, earnest and brimming with something far deeper than lust. “I need to know this isn’t something you’ll regret later,” he added softly, with a tinge of vulnerability.
Her lips twitched into a faint, amused smile, and she placed her hands lightly on his chest. “That’s… sweet of you, Malfoy. Truly. But let me assure you—I’m very certain I want this.” She gave a look down his body with deliberate slowness, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “So, unless you’ve got another concern, I believe you’re still wearing far too many clothes for my liking. And I’d like to remedy that very, very soon.”
Draco blinked, her boldness leaving him momentarily stunned. His mouth worked soundlessly for a second before he managed to whisper, “Are you sure?”
She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she murmured, “Shush, I'm sure. Now Malfoy, fuck me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to take a deep, steadying breath. If he didn’t collect himself, he was certain he’d embarrassingly come in his trousers like a randy teenager.
Draco prided himself on being a well-experienced man when it came to satisfying a woman. He knew how to take his time, how to tease, how to ignite every nerve until she was a trembling mess in his arms. But it had been a while—too long, in fact—since he’d had an intimate encounter, and he felt completely starved for her touch.
He couldn’t resist any longer. He’d tried to ensure she was sober, that she was sure. Granger wasn’t just any woman. She was confident, self-assured, the type who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t shy about going after it.
Draco had meant to be a gentleman, to tread carefully for their first shag—hopefully the first of many. But as her hands roamed over him, her lips trailing fire along his skin, all his carefully laid plans unraveled.
His control snapped. He was a dominant man by nature, especially in the bedroom, and every fiber of his being was screaming to take her, to claim her, to show her just how much he wanted her.
With a growl low in his throat, he gave in to the urge to dominate, one hand gripping her ass pressing her firmly against him, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was hungry and demanding.
He had no intention of holding back now.
“Tell me, Granger,” he murmured sinfully as his knuckle trailed down her cheek, along the delicate curve of her neck, and dipped teasingly into the cleavage of her lush, inviting breasts. He felt her shiver beneath his touch, her breath hitching, and it sent a rush of power straight through him.
“How would you like me to fuck you?” he continued. His fingers drifted lower, grazing the soft skin of her stomach before slipping under the waistband of her knickers. Slowly, deliberately, he traced the deliciously damp contour of her wet cunt, his fingertips gliding against her slick heat.
“You’re dripping,” he groaned with arousal. “So wet. Perhaps, do you want me to taste you first? To eat your perfect cunt until you’re trembling, begging for more?”
Her gasp was desperate, her hips arching toward him as if her body had already answered for her. He smirked, his confidence surging at her unspoken plea, and leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear as he added, “All you have to do is ask, love. I’m yours to devour you however you need.”
He noticed the way her thighs pressed tightly together, her body practically trembling with need. She was on fire for him, and the sight alone had his cock dripping with pre-cum, the tension building almost unbearably.
“Oh, Gods, yes,” she breathed thick with desire. Her eyes, dark with arousal, locked onto his. “But first… I want you to take off your clothes.”
Her words were a command and a plea all at once, dripping with anticipation. Draco smirked, he loved her unabashed hunger for him.
“Anything you want, love,” he murmured.
Deliberately, he began undoing the buttons of his shirt, his fingers moving with maddening slowness, each movement precise and teasing. He knew he had a great body, thank you very much—years of Auror training had sculpted him into peak physical form, his muscles defined and powerful.
As the shirt slid from his shoulders, it revealed more than just his physique. Across his left forearm, the Dark Mark had been transformed, covered by a striking tattoo of a snake entwined with delicate narcissus flowers.
On his neck, however, the Azkaban tattoo remained untouched—a reminder of his choices and their consequences. He wore it as a badge of accountability, the lessons he’d learned and the man he was striving to become.
On his right arm, an intricately detailed skull was surrounded by a depiction of the night sky. The constellations of his name and the Narcissus star shimmered within the inky design, accompanied by a beautifully rendered Snitch. Flying had always been his escape, the one place where he felt truly free, unshackled by the weight of his past.
And on his back, stretching across the expanse of his shoulders, was a magnificent dragon. Its wings were outstretched in mid-flight, each scale so meticulously detailed it seemed ready to spring to life and take off.
Draco caught her gaze, noticing the way her eyes traced the ink that adorned his skin. Her lips parted slightly, and her breathing quickened as she took in the sight before her.
“See something you like, Granger?” he asked, the faintest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his words.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a daring glint in her expression. “I might need to inspect a little closer… to be sure,” she replied, just as teasing, her fingers already trailing along the inked contours of his forearm.
“Patience, Granger,” he drawled. “I want you to see exactly what you’re getting before I give it all to you.”
With a swift, fluid motion, he discarded his trousers and pants in one go, letting his cock spring free. He wasn’t one to shy away from confidence—who was he kidding? Of course he liked to brag. And why shouldn’t he? He knew he was well-endowed, and the look in Granger’s eyes only confirmed it.
Her gaze dropped, her lips parting as a flicker of raw hunger crossed her face. She didn’t even try to hide it—the way her eyes lingered, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
“Does it meet your expectations?” he asked, with the smugness of a man who knew exactly what effect he was having on her.
She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes still locked on him, her breathing growing heavier. When she finally looked up, she was burning for him with desire. “Let’s just say… you’ve exceeded expectations,” she said, thick with arousal.
He gripped her by her deliciously perky ass, lifting her with ease and laying her onto the bed. Her body arched instinctively beneath him, a silent plea for more. As she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall away, Draco's breath caught in his throat. The sight of her perfect breasts left him utterly undone, and a low, pathetic whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it.
He couldn't resist—didn't even try. Leaning down, he captured one of her taut, rosy nipples in his mouth, lavishing it with open-mouthed kisses and swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. His hands cupped her breasts, kneading gently, his thumbs grazing the hardened buds as his mouth moved between them.
Hermione moaned, her hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer as though she couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between them. Her back arched further, pressing her body into his, her breaths coming in desperate gasps. “Oh, yes… just like that.”
Her moans deepened, her hips shifted beneath him, seeking more. “Please,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “I need more… please.”
Draco smirked against her skin, his lips brushing over the curve of her breast as he let his warm breath ghost over her sensitive skin. “Tell me, Granger,” he murmured, low and husky, dripping with temptation. “What do you need? Say it. I want to hear you beg for it.”
“I need you… I need you inside me. Please, I can’t take it anymore. I want to feel you—every inch of you. Please… Don’t make me wait.”
"Good girl,” he said. “You’re already trembling for me, I’ve barely started, and you’re this responsive.”
Dropping to his knees before her, he let his hands glide down her thighs, spreading them just enough to give him access to the paradise he sought. His lips found the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, warm and inviting, and he began to trail kisses along its length.
When he reached the delicate edge of her knickers, he paused, letting his breath ghost over her heated skin. With a wicked grin, he took the hem of her knickers between his teeth, dragging them down her legs, the fabric brushing her skin in the most teasing way.
She let out a soft, involuntary moan, her hips arching at the sensation, her body craving more of his touch.
He didn’t miss the sight that greeted him—her beautiful count glistening with arousal, a perfect invitation. “You’re dripping for me, Granger… and I intend to taste every bit of it.”
He gave her a long, deliberate stroke with his tongue along her entrance, savouring the taste of her arousal. Her delicious wetness coated his tongue, a perfect blend of sweetness and salt that had his head spinning.
A deep, unrestrained moan escaped his lips, vibrating against her sensitive skin. She was exquisite, addictive, and he realised he would gladly drown in her for the rest of eternity.
“Fuck, Granger,” he growled against her. “You taste so fucking good… like you were made for my tongue. I could spend all night buried here, making you come over and over again, just to feel you dripping down my chin.”
He didn’t stop, his tongue diving deeper, sucking her clit before sliding back to her entrance, lapping at her like a man starved. “You’re soaking for me,” he continued, his words muffled by her heat. “So fucking perfect. You’re mine tonight, Granger. Every single inch of you.”
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a low, guttural groan from him. He loved the way she was coming undone, her breaths ragged, her hips grinding against his face as if she couldn’t get enough.
“Is this what you needed?” he rasped, barely pulling away. “Someone to worship this perfect cunt the way it deserves? Tell me… Tell me how much you want me to make you fall apart.”
Her reply came in the form of a desperate whimper, her thighs trembling on either side of his head as she arched into him, surrendering to the pleasure. He smirked against her, his tongue swirling expertly around her swollen clit, driving her higher with every movement.
“You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?” he taunted. “I can feel it—your pussy’s trembling for me, desperate to let go. Come on, Granger, don’t hold back. Drench my tongue, soak my face—I want to taste every fucking drop of you. Be a good girl and come for me, right fucking now.”
He commanded, as he slipped two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her gasp. His tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit, and the combination was devastating. Her body arched off the bed, trembling uncontrollably as she came undone for him, crying out his name.
“Oh God, yes! Draco… Draco… fuck!” she screamed, her voice desperate and raw as his name spilled from her lips over and over. Hearing Hermione Granger moan his name while he was eating her cunt fueled his most primal, possessive instincts.
She collapsed onto the bed, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, her body trembling from the intensity of her release. Draco straightened slightly, his face glistening with her arousal, a smug smirk playing on his lips.
Without breaking eye contact, he brought the two fingers he'd buried inside her to his mouth, licking them slowly, deliberately, savouring every last drop. “Fuck, Granger,” he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. “You taste heavenly.”
Her wide, dazed eyes followed the movement, and he could see the blush creeping up her neck, mingling with the afterglow that made her look absolutely radiant. The sight of her like this—spent, gorgeous, and utterly his in this moment—only stoked the fire in his blood.
She gifted him with a devilish smile, one that sent a shiver down his spine, before sliding gracefully off the bed and sinking to her knees in front of him. Her eyes, dark with desire, locked onto his as her mouth hovered tantalisingly close to his painfully hard cock.
“It’s my turn to return the favour,” she murmured, her voice like velvet, her breath brushing against the glistening tip.
Draco groaned, his hands twitching at his sides, desperate to bury them in her wild curls but resisting, wanting to see just how far she’d take control. The tension in the room was electric, his cock throbbing with anticipation as her lips parted slightly, teasing him with the promise of what was to come.
Her lips parted further, enveloping the sensitive tip of his cock, her tongue swirling in slow, deliberate strokes that made his entire body shudder. The warmth of her mouth and the way she savoured him was enough to make his head spin. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, a desperate groan escaping his throat.
It was deliciously unbearable—too much. He had to concentrate, to fight the overwhelming urge to come like an inexperienced teenager.
“Fuck… fuck, fuck…” he gasped, biting his fist to stifle his cries, his hips twitching involuntarily. “Granger, fuck—your mouth on my cock is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Merlin, I can’t believe you’re taking me so well. Those pretty little lips—so eager to devour me. Bloody hell, you’re perfect.”
The words tumbled from his lips, raw and unfiltered, as her pace quickened. Every flick of her tongue and every soft, wet sound was driving him closer to the edge, and he was powerless to stop her.
Draco had never experienced anything quite like this. His first sexual encounters had been with Pansy during their awkward teenage years—both too young, too inexperienced, and far too self-conscious. Their fumbling entanglements of limbs had been more comedic than passionate, and it wasn’t long before they mutually decided that romance wasn’t in the cards for them. Pansy became more of a sister to him after that, and he’d only ever felt a deep, fraternal affection for her since.
Courting Astoria had been different. She was elegant and poised, but she lacked boldness in the bedroom. She preferred him to take the lead, to dominate and perform, and he obliged willingly. Their encounters were always pleasant, yet something felt hollow, as though he were playing a role rather than sharing a true connection.
After Azkaban, his casual encounters were entirely different. Women sought him out as though he were a dark fantasy come to life, treating him like a curiosity—a thrill to scratch off their bucket list. Sleeping with a former Death Eater wasn’t about him, it was about the allure of danger. They didn’t care about his pleasure; they only wanted to satisfy their craving for a “bad boy” before returning to their perfectly respectable lives and their oblivious fiancés.
Those experiences had honed his skills in pleasuring a woman. He had become adept, focused, and intentional, ensuring his partner was satisfied, yet he was always left wanting—longing for something deeper, something meaningful.
But with Granger?
Gods, with Granger, it was different.
It wasn’t just her boldness, though that certainly ignited a thrill in him. It wasn’t just the way her mouth took him eagerly, or the way her moans sent shivers down his spine. It was everything. The way she looked at him, she saw through him. Her intensity, her passion, her unrelenting fire—it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t even known he was missing.
For the first time, it felt right. It wasn’t hollow or transactional. It wasn’t a performance or a fleeting thrill. With Granger, it felt like coming home. It felt like fate.
He knew it was reckless to think that way, especially so soon, but he couldn’t help it. The way she made him feel—like she needed him, she wanted him—was everything he’d ever longed for.
Her mouth was unrelenting, lips and tongue working his cock, driving him to madness. Draco’s head fell back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep himself together. But he couldn’t let go. Not with her. Not when she was so eager, so perfect.
“Fuck, Granger,” he growled desperate. “I can’t take it anymore. I need to fuck you. I need to be inside you—I need to feel your tight cunt squeezing my cock.”
His words were unfiltered, desire spilling out of him as his hands tangled in her hair, his restraint slipping further by the second. “Please, Granger,” he rasped, trembling with need. “I’ll do anything. Beg you, crawl to you, worship you—I don’t care. Just let me have you. Let me feel you.”
He wasn’t a man who begged. He was Draco Malfoy—proud, controlled, dominant. But for her, he’d drop to his knees, kiss her feet, and beg if that’s what it took. He was consumed, his entire being centred on one singular need: to bury himself inside her, to claim her, to lose himself in her completely.
“Please, Hermione,” he whispered hoarsely. “Let me fuck you. I need you.”
Hearing her name fall from his lips was like casting a spell on her. Hermione’s eyes softened, glowing with desire and an unexpected tenderness that sent a shiver through him. Taking the opportunity, Draco scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the bed, his chest heaving with anticipation.
He paused for a moment, leaning back to take in the sight of her. She was utterly breathtaking—her lips swollen from their kisses, her cheeks flushed with passion, and her hair a wild halo sprawled across the pillow. She flexed her legs, spreading them wide in invitation, her body arching with unmistakable need.
Draco couldn’t resist her. He didn’t want to. He moved over her like a man starved, positioning himself between her thighs and gripping the back of her knees. With one firm motion, he pushed her legs up toward him, opening her further, making her his in every possible way.
His cock throbbed as he guided it to her slick, glistening entrance, the heat of her making him almost lose control. With a deep, primal groan, he thrust forward, burying himself fully inside her with one smooth, deliberate stroke. She led out a delicious moan, her head arched back.
“Fuck, Hermione,” he growled. His forehead dropped to hers as he stilled for a moment, trying to catch his breath, to savour the overwhelming feeling of finally being inside her. "You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I want to ruin you. I want you to feel me tomorrow, every time you move."
"Yes, Draco! Gods, don’t stop—fuck, right there! Move—please, don’t hold back!"
"You’re mine right now. No one else can have you like this—not Krum, not anyone. Only me. Only I can fuck you like this."
Her nails raked down his back, leaving faint trails as she clung to him.
"Draco, I’m so close, you’re so deep—so good!—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!"
Draco grunted against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Say it, Hermione," he demanded, his thrusts hard and deliberate, his grip on her hips unrelenting. "Say no one else is going to fuck you like this—no one else can make you feel like this."
Hermione moaned, her hands clutching at his shoulders as her body moved with his, completely consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. "No one, Draco," she gasped, her voice trembling, barely able to form the words. "No one else—no one can fuck me like you do."
"That’s fucking right," he rasped, his lips brushing her jaw as he thrust into her again, harder. "You’re mine, Granger. Only mine."
She came undone around him, her body trembling as she squeezed him so tightly it almost sent him over the edge immediately. The intensity of her release made his control snap. His thrusts turned ragged, desperate, each one pushing him closer until he couldn’t hold back any longer.
With a guttural groan, he let himself go, spilling every ounce of his desire deep inside her, filling her completely. The sheer, raw bliss of the moment left him trembling, his body pressed tightly against hers as he buried himself to the hilt, relishing the final waves of pleasure that coursed through them both.
As their breathing slowed, he gently slid out of her, the sudden absence making his heart ache just a little. He collapsed beside her, careful to avoid crushing her with his weight. Without a second thought, he instinctively pulled her into his arms, her warmth grounding him in the reality of the moment.
Holding her close, he pressed a tender kiss to her temple, his lips lingering as though sealing the memory. As she nestled against him, their limbs tangled, he couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly she fit in his arms. Draco tightened his hold on her, treasuring the feeling of her warmth against him, the way her fingers idly traced patterns on his chest. For the first time in years, he felt entirely at peace.
They stayed like that for a while, simply enjoying the warmth and closeness of each other. Their breaths mingled, hearts beating in a slow, steady rhythm as though the universe had momentarily aligned just for them.
The first time he took her had been desperate and ravenous, driven by an overwhelming need to claim her and lose himself in her completely. But as the night wore on, their passion transformed into something softer, more deliberate. He took her a second and third time, each moment savoured, each movement slower and more intimate, as though they were both trying to commit every inch of each other to memory.
Draco explored her body with reverence, his lips tracing every curve and freckle, his hands mapping the planes of her skin as if she were a masterpiece to be studied and cherished. And Hermione, in turn, met him with equal tenderness, her touch no less fervent.
They were utterly spent, their bodies warm and tangled beneath the sheets. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of their shared breaths. But Draco’s mind was far from silent, a thought gnawing at him until he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer.
“Hermione…” he murmured, a little hesitant.
She let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, her head nestled against his chest, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin. “Hmm?”
He tried to gather his thoughts. “I know you said you don’t want a relationship, and I respect that… but I meant what I said earlier. I don’t want to share.”
Her fingers paused their movements, and she tilted her head slightly to look up at him.
“Tonight meant something to me,” he continued. “What I’m trying to say is… if we do this again—and Merlin, I hope we do—it has to be exclusive. No one else. Not on my side, and I’d need the same from you.”
He held her eyes, his heart hammering in his chest as he waited for her response. He had never been one to lay himself bare, to openly ask for something that left him so exposed.
Hermione stared at him for a moment, her expression softening. Her lips curved into a small smile, and she propped herself up slightly, resting her chin on his chest.
“You’re a bit intense, you know that, Malfoy?” she teased lightly, though her voice carried no malice.
He huffed a small laugh, his fingers brushing through her unruly curls. “You’re just figuring that out now?”
Her smile widened, and she reached up to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. “I’m not interested in anyone else right now. And tonight… it meant something to me too.”
Draco exhaled, a tension he hadn’t realised he was holding melting away. Her words weren’t everything he wanted, but they were enough for now. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Good,” he murmured against her hair. “Because I don’t plan on letting anyone else near you.”
Hermione looked up at him. She blinked a couple of times before letting out a loud, genuine laugh that filled the quiet room.
"That's not exactly how these things work, Malfoy," she said, placing a hand on his chest. "I appreciate you being honest with me, truly. If we continue this, I’ll respect your boundaries. I never want to disrespect you or hurt you."
"That said," she continued, "I just ask you to always be honest with me. About your boundaries, about what you want. And to respect mine too. I don’t like to complicate things unnecessarily."
Draco nodded, taking in her words. “Fair. Complications aren’t exactly my preference either,” he murmured, his fingers brushing along the curve of her shoulder. “But honesty… yeah, I can do that.”
After a moment, his lips curved into a small, teasing smile of his own, and he added, “You’re terrifyingly good at this, Granger. At listening, and being… reasonable.”
“Someone has to be the grown-up here,” she quipped, arching an eyebrow. "Besides, I need to balance out your flair for dramatics, Malfoy.”
He chuckled, leaning forward to press another kiss to her temple. "Fair enough. And for the record, I plan to respect yours too. Just… don’t laugh at me again when I’m trying to pour my bloody heart out."
Hermione snorted.
They stayed like that, tangled in each other’s arms, their breaths slowing as the intensity of the night gave way to a serene stillness. Hermione’s head rested on his chest, while Draco held her close, his hand gently brushing through her hair. The warmth of her body against his was grounding, a reminder that this wasn’t a dream—she was here, with him.
As her breathing evened out, Draco found himself staring at the ceiling, a rare calm settling over him. For the first time in years, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel—peace. The regrets that had kept him tethered to guilt, seemed to lift, even if just for the night.
When sleep finally came, it was deep and untroubled, the kind of rest he hadn’t experienced since he was a boy. No haunting dreams, no need for a Dreamless Sleep Potion. Just the steady rhythm of her breathing, the softness of her touch, and the contentment that filled his chest.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Draco Malfoy fell asleep happy.