The Golden Comb
Hermione was laughing, but it sounded sickening to him. Draco felt his stomach drop and his hands began shaking. With nerves or the desire to reach out and drag her to him, to explain, to beg her to stay, he wasn’t sure. Most likely all of the above.
She turned to look in the mirror behind the bar, fixing her deep red lipstick before giving him a once-over, dragging her eyes slowly across his body. Draco felt himself go ridged. His heart was beating out of his chest; he couldn’t help but hope she’d hear it. “I don’t want him anyway,” she said, sickly sweet smile and a wink to Daphne, “You can have him.”
The way she said it, Draco knew, was meant to hurt him.
Draco felt his knees give out, but he managed to hold himself up. Daphne sneered at her, but Hermione wasn’t looking. Dean Thomas was already handing her a glass of Firewhisky and whispering something in her ear, the fucking predator, a lion stalking his prey, his hand wrapping around her waist and lightly tracing over her ribs.
Whatever he said surprised her, because her eyes snapped from glaring at Draco to his face, her eyebrow raised in question. “Granger,” he choked out, desperate for her attention. He could feel jealousy surging through his veins, but the longing for her was overtaking it. He had to explain.
Her eyes were cold as they looked back at him, the warmth that he was used to was gone. His hand left his side to reach for her but she turned with a scoff and shake of her head, her curls dancing across her back. He wanted to run his hands through them.
Dean led her into a back room, hand at the small of her back. He watched her go, unable to resist how her ass looked in jeans, as he listened to the click of her heeled boots grow quieter. He was breathing hard, his heart was pounding, and he couldn’t quite figure out what happened.
“You’re welcome,” Daphne said to him with a smile.
Draco whipped around to face her. She’s what happened. “Why-” He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to understand. “Where the fuck did you get that ring from?”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “I was just looking out for you Draco, you should be grateful,” she transfigured the ring on her left hand back into a straw.
“You’re too damn meddlesome,” he grit through his teeth, frantically looking around to see if Hermione and fucking Dean Thomas had come back from the back room they’d disappeared to. “Don’t do that again.”
“You’re taking this poorly,” Daphne replied, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Go after her if you want. Gods forbid I look out for my friend.”
“The Gods don’t forbid it,” Draco growled, “I do. I repeat, don’t ever pull some shit like that again because I promise you, the Gods have nothing on me.” Daphne looked taken aback, but Draco didn’t care. He turned, rushing to the room Hermione had disappeared into earlier that night, hoping she’d hear him out.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, he spotted her. Dean still had his hand wrapped around her waist and was whispering in her ear. She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
He couldn’t help but stare as the golden lights of the bar shone behind her, making her look downright angelic. She must have felt his eyes on her because she was suddenly looking at him. Her demeanor changed from flirty to uninterested rage in the blink of an eye.
Draco had no idea what his face looked like. Desperate, longing, and apologetic if he had to guess. He wove his way through the forming crowd over to Hermione, his eyes not leaving hers.
“Granger,” he said, nearly breathless when he reached her. She looked so beautiful. “May I… can we speak somewhere? Privately?”
Her glare didn’t let up, but she gave a single nod before smiling to Dean. The kind of smile that makes you want to melt into her. “Thank you, Dean,” she said, touching his arm. “Speak soon, yeah?” Without waiting for Draco, she turned and marched through the bar and out the door to the apparition point.
“Hermione,” he trailed after her. She was just out of reach and he couldn’t stand it. Three long strides took him just behind her. His fingers curled around her arm, probably gripping a little too hard. He pulled her around, forcing her to face him. Before she could say anything, he tangled his hands in her hair, tilting her face towards him and pulling her lips to his.
The kiss was desperate, full of longing and apologies. It was clashing, she was kissing him back but with anger and disappointment. Hands still in her hair, he walked her backward to the apothecary wall behind her. She gasped as her back hit the wall, forcing a groan from Draco’s mouth and hips to push against hers. Her hands raked up his chest to tangle into his hair and he felt a shiver race down his spine. He pressed against her, pinning her against the wall as his hands, still shaking, gripped her hair harder.
Neither of them moved when they broke away, both panting. “How dare you,” she whispered with a well-placed scratch of nails against his scalp that made his vision fuzzy. “How fucking dare you, Malfoy, you’re engaged.”
“I’m not engaged,” he pleaded. “Hermione, please, I’m not engaged. I could never-”
“Oh fuck off,” she said with a scoff. “I saw the ring, I saw her hanging all over you, I know the pureblood customs.”
“Hermione,” Draco released her hair and took a step back before sliding to his knees. “Please, love, you have to believe me.”
She paused, observing Draco kneeling in front of her. The cold from the cobblestones underneath his knees began seeping through his trousers, but he refused to get up.
If begging for her understanding was what it took, begging is what he would do.
“Hermione,” he whispered, a plea. He gently moved closer to her, his knees touching the toes of her boots. His hands reached out to take hers, bringing them to his lips for a light kiss to the knuckles. “Please. You have to believe me.”
Her hands were shaking ever so slightly. Draco pulled them to his cheeks, holding her hands in place so they were cupping his face before turning to gently kiss her palm, his eyes not leaving hers.
“You’re not engaged.”
“Gods, no.”
She pulled one of her hands away to run through his hair. Draco let his head fall back with the motion.
“I don’t like the thought of you being engaged,” she said, her fingers tightening around the gentle curls of his hair.
“Me either. Not to her,” he whispered.
“To who, then?” Hermione asked, moving the hand on his cheek to his chin and forcing him to make eye contact with her.
“Not her,” he whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he hoped she would read it in his eyes.
Hermione’s hard stare didn’t let up. But the brief swirl in Draco’s vision and slight dizziness he experienced a second after showed they were now in her flat. Draco whimpered with relief that she hadn’t left without him.
“Prove it,” she said. Turning and walking down a hallway while shrugging off her jacket. Draco watched her, still in shock that she hadn’t dismissed him. She was pulling off her shirt and walking into what he assumed was the bedroom, when he abruptly stood and ripped his shirt over his head while kicking off his shoes, almost tripping over himself in the process.
“How?” he asked as he entered the room, desperate to be near her. Hermione was throwing her left boot towards a chair in the corner of the room and unbuttoning her jeans. Her eyes settled on him.
He was shirtless, only wearing gray slacks and matching socks. She examined him as she stood, wiggling out of her jeans as he watched with lust-filled eyes. He felt his fingers curl into fists as she walked towards him in nothing but white lace lingerie, the second time of the night she’d look fucking angelic.
He was shaking with the effort it took not to touch her. He felt his body vibrating.
He expected her to say something. Instead, she leaned down and began kissing up the scars littering his chest, pulling a groan from Draco and leaving the faint stain of lipstick, he was sure he had matching ones on his lips. “You don’t have any ideas?” she asked, her lips brushing over his scars as she spoke.
“I- I-” he started, moving his hands to hover over her hips. He could feel the heat radiating off her.
“You could make love to me,” she whispered against him, lips against his shoulder. “The way you would to your fiancée who… isn’t her,” she ended her sentence with a wet, open-mouth kiss against his throat.
“I’ll do you one better,” he said, leaning his head back and finally, finally placing his hands against her hips, pulling her closer. His body sang when it met hers. He was still shaking, the overwhelming urge to have her taking over. “We’ll role play and I’ll make love to you.”
“Role play as what?”
“Fiancées,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. He pulled her impossibly closer to him, his arms banding around her to keep her there. “Come on, Granger,” his use of her last name sent shivers down her spine. Draco relished the feeling, gripping her tighter to him to feel the shudder through her. “Let me be yours tonight.”
Draco took her moan as a sign of approval. Hermione hooked her fingers into his belt loops and began dragging him back towards the bed. Draco moved one of his hands to cup her jaw, the other still tightly wound across her waist, and tilted her face up to kiss her deeper.
When the back of her knees hit the mattress, Hermione broke away and began sliding back towards the middle of the bed. Draco watched, feeling his eyes glaze over, at his fiancée laying before him, decked in white lingerie, spreading her legs for him.
“Holy fuck,” Draco whispered, “holy fuck, Hermione, you are absolutely stunning.”
She smiled, and Draco watched a hint of a blush scatter across her cheeks. He quickly shed the rest of his clothing, admiring her as he kicked his pants towards the corner of the room. “I want,” he said, leaning forward to grab her leg, and pulling her towards him. “For you to keep the lingerie on while I make love to you,” he placed a kiss on her ankle.
Hermione smirked underneath him. The edge of her nipples peeked out over the white lace covering her breast. “Whatever you’d like, fiancée.”
Draco’s hips jerked in response, a groan escaping him as he continued kissing up her leg. “Hermione, love, you don’t know what you do to me.”
In response, Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled it so it was cupping her lace-covered cunt. “No, my love,” she replied. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
Draco could feel her wetness through the thin cloth and realized that her inner thighs were growing slick. His breathing was coming out in short pants as he traced her cover slit, feeling the dampness with his finger. “Granger, I-” his fingers got wetter. Noted. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this wet. And it’s all for me?”
Hermione let out a breathy laugh. “I’ve never been this wet,” she whimpered as Draco’s finger circled her clit through the lace. “It’s only for you. Always for you.”
“Always for me,” Draco whispered to himself. He climbed overtop of her, covering his body with hers before kissing her deeply, trying to convey the longing and love he was feeling through his lips while using his elbows to prop himself up. “You’re all for me,” he whispered into her mouth.
“Yes,” she responded, grinding against him. Draco inhaled sharply and moved his hand down her body, lightly brushing her strained nipple before gently moving the white lace of her panties to the side and running his fingers between her folds.
She was slick and warm. She was moaning in his ear with her hands tangled in his hair. She was all his.
He gently curled his finger against her, coaxing her closer and closer to an orgasm with sure, careful strokes that had her back arching into him and his self-control dissolving.
Her hands were tightly gripping his hair, her legs twitching against his hips.
His hips were grinding against the bed. His lips were feeling loose - like they may confess something.
Draco gathered his resolve and pulled his finger out of her, causing her to whimper and gasp underneath him. “Draco, please don’t stop, please-”
“Shh,” he said, “Trust me, love. It’ll be better this way.” Draco held the thin lace covering Hermione’s cunt to the side as he slowly sunk into her.
Hermione’s moans echoed across the room, mirroring the clenching of her cunt against his cock. “Fuck, Draco,” she whispered, scratching a hand down his back and using the other, braced against the back of his neck, to pull him closer.
Draco’s lips were pressed against her ear as he began to thrust. “Marry me, Hermione,” he said. “I want to marry you. Say you’ll marry me.” I love you, I love you, I love you.
“I- I already, fuck Draco, I already have.”
“Say it again anyways,” he whispered before gently biting down on her earlobe. Her hands were around his neck and her hips around his waist, holding him tight to her. He felt her legs begin to shake with her building orgasm. He was mouthing “I love you” against her ear.
“I’ll marry you, Draco,” she whispered before letting out a gasping moan. Draco continued to expertly hit the spot that always left her keening for him. “Fuck, I’ll marry you.”
Draco felt himself shudder and a moan escaped him. “You look like you should be my fucking wife in all white like this,” he growled in her ear.
“Draco I’m-” Hermione started before an orgasm racked her body and she let out a choked scream that sounded a lot like his name.
“I know love,” he whispered into her shoulder as she came, still fucking her through her orgasm and getting closer to his own. “I Iove you, Hermione,” he whispered.
Her moans blocked out his words.
The gentle scrape of her fingers through his hair is what pushed him over the edge, and he came with a shudder. “I can’t wait to make you my wife,” he said as he came down from the high of orgasm.
“Me either,” Hermione said, kissing Draco’s nose with a smile.
Draco stayed inside of her, savoring how warm he was with his cock nestled into her and her body against his. He studied her face, admiring her beauty and strength, studying the post-orgasm glaze that covered her eyes.
“I like that role play,” Hermione whispered to him while pushing his hair away from his forehead.
“Me too,” Draco said with a smile, bringing his forehead down to touch Hermione’s.
“Draco…” she started again. “I know I don’t have any right to ask this but I… I think I would like to be exclusive.”
Draco pulled back. “Exclusive? As in just you and me?”
“Just you and me having sex, yes.”
He studied her face, trying to interpret if there was a deeper meaning to what she was saying. He couldn’t tell. “Hermione, I haven’t been with anyone since we started hooking up.”
Hermione looked slightly surprised. “Me either.”
“So it sounds like we’re already exclusive.”
“And can we keep it that way?” She looked nervous.
“Yes,” Draco said with a smile, kissing her nose. “If you promise we can role play as fiancées again.”
Hermione laughed but had a look in her eye - something he couldn’t place. “Who’d you mean earlier? When you said not her?” she asked, breaking eye contact to lay her head on his chest.
Draco paused. “I…-” he shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you.”
“Right,” Hermione whispered in what sounded like disappointment and gently moved away from Draco, causing him to immediately feel cold. “Well, I’ll wear the white lingerie again if you like it so much.”
“You look bridal,” he responded before he could think against it.
Hermione stilled, her eyes boring into him. “And you like that?”
Images of him and Hermione getting married, her in a wedding dress walking down the aisle towards him, them living together as husband and wife, being only hers, all flashed through his head. “Yes, I like that.”
She smiled as she looked away from him, finally free enough to pull herself off the bed and walk towards her jeans that she had discarded earlier. “You said I should let you be mine tonight… if we’re exclusive it sounds like you’ll be mine every night.” Draco hummed at the thought, adding it to his list of things he could conjure a Patronus with while admiring her back wearing nothing but lacy white lingerie and looking like she should be his wife.
If he pretended really hard, he could imagine this was their wedding night.
“Here,” she said, pulling something out of the pocket and tossing it towards him. “The Golden Comb.”
Draco caught it with a start. “Where did you get this?” he asked, surprised.
“Dean,” she responded with a shrug. “He heard I was looking for it. I figured you’d want to take it.”
“I do,” Draco growled, suddenly finding himself holding Hermione’s hips. “I just… don’t like the thought of Dean Thomas giving you something. Even for business.”
Hermione hummed, leaning into Draco. Unable to resist, he guided her head to him. The kiss was full of love, desire, and secret promises of the future he hoped to have with her.
“Spend the night with me,” she mumbled against his lips. “It’s what fiancées would do.”
Draco smirked, pulling her towards the shower. “How could I resist?”