Chapter 7
Flashback - 'Priorities'
January 3, 1998
“Did you hear what I said?” Lucius asked.
“Yeah,” Draco lied.
Ever since Christmas, Draco’s usual sharpness had been hazy. Nearly every thought was consumed by the memory of Hermione’s lips against his - the way she tasted, how her body felt pressed against his and the angelic sound she made when moaning his name. His lack of focus wouldn’t have been an issue if Voldemort hadn’t suddenly decided to assign him a chaperone.
Ever since his misstep at Ollivanders, Voldemort had started watching Draco closely. He was an extremely paranoid individual, which made sense to Draco considering the majority of Wizarding England wanted him dead. If anyone gave him even the slightest reason to believe that they weren’t completely loyal to him, he would take one of two routes.
The first one was very fitting of his impulsive nature - he’d kill them.
The second was reserved for those he still deemed useful - he’d monitor their every move and test them every chance he could.
Draco would’ve preferred option one if he were being honest. There were many things that he didn’t enjoy and having someone breathing down his neck was one of them. Nevertheless, he knew that fighting against it would do him no good. So despite his extreme distaste for his newest babysitter, Draco suffered through the overbearing company of his best friend’s father, Tiberius Nott.
“Dinner will be served at six. Perhaps you might benefit from a shower, Draco,” Lucius stated as he disapprovingly scanned over the dry blood staining Draco’s arms.
“I have a previous engagement to attend tonight. You’ll have to give dear old Tiberius my regards, father.”
“I will be doing no such thing,” Lucius argued. “You will not be embarrassing me by running off to prance around town or wherever it is that you go. You will cancel your plans and attend tonight's dinner. His son, and your friend, Theodore, will be joining us as well.”
Draco didn’t care whether or not he embarrassed his father. He knew that no matter what he did, he would never meet the high expectations that were placed upon him. However, it had been some time since he had seen any of his friends. Attending the dinner would grant him a night of normalcy. It would be a way for him to return to a small piece of the life that used to be his own.
He was meant to go to the campsite, he was meant to see Hermione for the first time since Christmas, but he had no say in the matter. If he went against Lucius’ orders then he would risk having his father discover his partnership with the Order. Draco knew what needed to be done. Besides, he would only be a day late, surely Hermione would understand.
~~~
“You owe me twenty galleons,” a familiar voice said, causing Draco to turn around and face the door to his bedroom. “Pansy, Blaise and I had a bet about how long you’d last as a Death Eater. I gave you a month at most.”
“You’ve always tended to underestimate me, Theo,” Draco replied as he finished buttoning his shirt. “Must be why I have a whole jar of your money.”
“Speaking of which, mind if I borrow twenty galleons from it?”
Draco rolled his eyes as the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile.
“So, is this the part where we hug?” Theo asked.
“If you feel the need,” he shrugged.
“I do.”
“Then by all means.”
Crossing the room, Theo lunged into Draco’s arms and tightly gripped him, as if he were about to disappear into thin air at any moment.
“I missed you mate,” Theo confessed.
“I missed you too,” Draco replied as he relaxed into the embrace.
“Boys!” Narcissa’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. “Dinner will be served in five minutes!”
“Best to not keep her waiting,” Draco said as he pulled away. “We’ll find some time to talk before you leave.”
“We better because I have a million questions for you. Specifically, in regards to that odd thing your mouth is doing.”
“You mean smiling?”
“Yes, it’s really weird to see you doing that.”
~~~
Making their way downstairs, Theo greeted Lucius and Narcissa while Draco gave Tiberius a curt nod before taking his seat at the table.
“It’s lovely to see the both of you,” Narcissa smiled at the Notts.
“Likewise, Narcissa,” Tiberius replied before raising his glass, snapping his fingers and shouting, “Elf! My cup is still empty!”
“She has a name,” Draco glowered.
“What did you say to me?”
“Draco,” Lucius hissed as he gave him a warning glare.
Ignoring his father, Draco held Tiberius’ stare. “I said she has a name, it’s Bippy and it would do you well to refer to her as such. It would also be wise of you to remember that you are a guest in this house.”
“That’s enough Draco!” Lucius scolded.
“No, let the boy continue to feel powerful,” Tiberius smirked. “That’s what this is, isn’t it Draco? It makes you feel powerful to speak to me in such a disrespectful manner?”
“Not at all,” he replied as he shook his head. “Honestly, the only thing that I feel is pity for you.”
“Pity you say? And why’s that?”
“Well, your mother and father must’ve really neglected you as a child for you to possess such poor manners,” Draco explained. “I believe I have a few openings in my schedule this week if you’d like me to give you a crash course on proper pure-blood etiquette, Tiberius.”
Draco never did care for Theo’s father. Growing up he heard countless stories about his less-than-kind parenting style - he almost made Lucius look like a saint. Theo and Draco handled their similar strained relationships with their fathers in vastly different ways. Theo struggled to separate his emotions from it all and took everything to the heart whereas Draco naturally began compartmentalising at a young age. And while at the end of the day, they both would do as they were told, Draco would always make his displeasure known.
Usually, he would lose respect for someone who refused to stand up for themselves but this was Theo - he was Draco’s brother, he was the family that he got to choose. Draco would happily be the one to degrade Tiberius whenever he got the chance, even if it did mean he’d later suffer the consequences at the hands of his father.
For the remainder of dinner, Tiberius chose to ignore Draco’s scowl and focused his attention solely on Lucius. The two men discussed politics and the newest developments regarding the war. It was, in Draco’s opinion, the dumbest fucking conversation he had ever heard.
Who cared that Voldemort was searching for some old man and why even bother complaining about the current state of the ministry? Yaxley and Umbridge were practically running that place so of course, it would be falling to shit.
Thankfully, once dinner concluded both Tiberius and Lucius stepped away which allowed Theo and Draco to return to his room and catch up.
“Alright, tell me about the girl,” Theo stated the moment they stepped foot into Draco’s room.
“Why do you automatically assume there’s a girl to talk about?”
“Because it’s the only logical reason for the moronic smile that was on your face earlier. Unless, of course, you were simply overjoyed to see me, which I wouldn’t blame you but I’m also not an imbecile.”
“I’d argue with you on that one,” Draco mocked.
“Piss off and stop avoiding the topic,” Theo commanded as he took a seat in one of the chairs beside the window. “Is she hot?”
Claiming the seat opposite of him, Draco nodded and said, “The word hot doesn’t even come close to doing her justice.” As the image of Hermione appeared in his mind, the same smile that Theo had ragged on him earlier for reappeared. “She’s extraordinary,” he continued. “One of, if not the, most brilliant individuals I have ever met. Her choice of friends is questionable but that can be overlooked. Everything about her is perfect, Theo. I mean, Merlin, those eyes of hers - I could stare at them for days, months, years even. And when she says my name it feels like… it feels like time stops and the only thing that matters at that moment is her and I.”
“Shit,” Theo muttered as he fell back into the chair. “You’re so fucked.”
“Trust me, I know,” Draco chuckled. “It may sound ridiculous but I think I’ve finally found my purpose - my reason for doing all of this.”
“Are you going to tell me who this magnificent witch is that managed to melt the ice-cold heart of my best friend or are you just going to continue to edge me?”
“You’re going to take the piss out of me.”
“And? I always take the piss out of you. So get on with it and tell me.”
“It’s Granger.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Theo said sarcastically. “Be serious mate, who is it?”
“I am serious Theo, it’s Granger.”
“You’re shitting my dick.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence,” Draco ridiculed. “But no, I’m not.”
“You swear it?”
“I swear it.”
Hundreds of questions began to spew from Theo, and to his surprise, Draco willingly answered each. If the happiness radiating from Draco wasn’t unsettling enough, his openness when speaking about Hermione made Theo question if the person sitting across from him was even his friend. He looked like Draco and his voice sounded like Draco, but nothing else added up.
He had known Draco since they were five and never once in all the years of their friendship did he speak of someone in such high regard, especially not a girl. And the fact that the girl he was talking about was Hermione Granger - the best friend of Harry Potter, a mudblood - was both fascinating and confusing as hell. Leaning forward, Theo pressed the backside of his hand against Draco’s forehead.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked.
“I’m checking for a fever, it’s a common side effect of amortentia,” Theo explained as he continued to press his hand against various parts of Draco’s face.
“Stop that,” Draco commanded as he swatted at Theo’s hand. “I haven’t been drugged.”
“Are you positive?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then that only means one thing,” Theo said as he sat back in his seat. “You’ve gone completely soft at the hands of Hermione Granger.”
“I can promise that I am anything but soft when in the hands of Granger,” Draco smirked.
Theo’s face twisted in disgust as the image of the pair doing indecent things cursed his mind. “You’re disgusting, you know that?” Settling back into his chair, Theo stared down at his hands and began bouncing his leg. “Did it hurt?” he asked, refusing to make eye contact with Draco.
“Did what hurt?”
“You know…”
“No, Theo, I don’t,” Draco said.
Theo let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping as he sheepishly met Draco’s stare. “Getting the mark,” he elaborated. “Did it hurt?”
“Why would you need to…” Draco trailed off. Suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed and his hands balled into fists as he sat up and clenched his jaw. “When is it supposed to happen?”
“Nothing is set yet,” Theo assured him. “But the second word got out about your oversight last month, the old man was rather quick to jump on the opportunity to outshine your dad. You know how competitive those two are.”
Draco nodded.
“Yeah, well, should you do something to lose the Dark Lord’s trust, my father is going to offer me as your replacement. It’s alright though, maybe I could get a cool nickname like you,” he joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Draco had noticed Voldemort’s trust in him already starting to falter but he hadn’t thought about how it would affect everyone else – he hadn’t thought about how it might affect Theo.
Tiberius had fully intended to force the dark mark upon Theo at the same time Draco got his but Voldemort was strongly against having more than one child within his regime. Not because he cared about the lives of the youth but because he viewed them as a higher risk. To Voldemort, teenagers were more likely to turn on him. Ironic that the one teen he did allow ended up being a spy for the Order but he could never know that. Draco would rather relinquish his pardon post-war that he’d gain from working for the Order than be the reason that his best friend becomes a Death Eater.
Draco had been distracted the last few weeks, he could admit that. He was too focused on what he wanted, on his happiness, on Granger. But he knew what needed to be done. He needed to prioritise his duties as a Death Eater – he needed to prioritise the safety of Theo.
“I won’t let it happen,” Draco stated confidently.
“That’s nice to hear mate but you only have so much control over everything.”
“No Theo, I mean it. No matter what happens, your father will not be forcing you into this shit. I’ll make sure of it.”
January 25, 1998
Just like he said he would, Draco prioritised his role as a Death Eater. He focused all of his attention on the tasks assigned to him and refused to give any reason to believe that his loyalties belonged to anyone but Voldemort. As a result, he hadn’t gone to the campsite.
It had been over a month since he last saw Hermione and while she may have a big heart and is far more forgiving than others, Draco knew that he was in for an earful. So as he approached the tent, he prepared himself to be met by an angry witch who would more than likely throw a hex or two his way.
“I’m going, Harry!” Hermione protested. “It’s been a month of no communication, something is wrong!”
“Will you please calm do–” Harry began but he was cut off by a wand to the throat.
“Do not tell me to calm down,” Hermione seethed as she pushed the tip of her wand further into his neck.
Carefully turning his head, Harry’s eyes landed on Draco who stood in the entrance of the tent.
“Erm, Hermione,” Harry gulped.
“I don’t want to hear it anymore Harry,” she said. “Nothing you say will stop me. I’m going to go find him.”
“I already did,” he said as he nervously pointed over at Draco.
Dropping her wand, Hermione turned around and glared at Draco. Knowing that a fight was about to occur, Harry cautiously swiped the book from the table and shuffled his way out of the tent.
The tension in the air was suffocating. Draco could feel the anger radiating off of Hermione. He could see the worry in the lines between her brows and he could hear the hurt in her voice when she finally broke the silence.
“Where have you been?”
“I’ve been busy,” he replied.
“You’ve been busy?” she scoffed in disbelief. “You’ve been busy?! Do you know how worried I’ve been?”
“Worrying is a waste of energy and will only cause premature wrinkles, Granger.”
“Don’t do that,” she criticised.
“Do what?”
“Revert to your old ways of being a dick and pretending that you’re some cruel human.”
“Have you ever considered the possibility that I wasn’t pretending?” he challenged as he took a step forward. “Have you ever considered that maybe I am a cruel human?”
“I know that you’re not,” she replied as she also stepped toward him.
“Then I guess you’re not as brilliant as people like to believe.”
“If I’m recalling correctly, you were one of the people who believed such.”
“Then I guess I’m just as foolish as they are,” he said, his eyes darkening as he stole another step toward her. “Tell me, Granger, what is it that you believe I do when I’m not delivering a Christmas meal or skimming through old textbooks with you and Potter? Do you think I sit at the manor knitting? Or perhaps you believe I simply just sit around and twiddle my fucking thumbs.”
“Of course I don’t think–”
“I kill people,” Draco interjected. “I kill innocent people. That is what I do when I’m not here and I do it with a clear conscience. Because at the end of the day, the blood isn’t on my hands. It’s on those of my father, who sold my life to the Dark Lord. It’s on the Dark Lord’s, who ordered me to take said lives. It’s on Remus’ and even my mother’s for asking me to play both sides. And believe it or not, it’s on yours too.”
“Please enlighten me on how I’ve played a part in you becoming a murderer,” Hermione sarcastically said as she crossed her arms.
“You,” Draco said as he closed the remaining distance between them. “You existed.”
“Fuck you!” she spat out. “You don’t get to disappear for weeks and then come waltzing back in and pin any of the lives you took on me because I simply existed!”
“Oh but I do,” he argued. “Because if it weren’t for your curly-haired, smart-mouthed self I would’ve resigned from this double agent bull shit a long time ago!”
“My apologies for giving you a reason to continue to fight for a future for yourself!” Hermione shouted. “Forgive me for making you give a damn for once in your life!”
“It was easier when I didn’t!” he shouted back.
“Because you’re a coward! You’re terrified of letting yourself have any sort of hope!”
“Hope?! Why would I ever be daft enough to possess something so juvenile as hope? I was shown at a young age that having hope for anything or anyone only leads to disappointment.”
“Just because your father–”
“You don’t know anything about my father,” he said sternly.
“How could I?! It’s not like you’ve been around for me to ask about him, Malfoy!”
The rustling sound of the tent opening was shortly followed by Harry excitedly saying, “Guys! I think I figured something out about the snitch!”
“Get out Harry!” “Fuck off Potter!” Hermione and Draco said simultaneously.
“Bloody hell, fine. Wankers,” he muttered as he walked away.
Turning his attention back to Hermione, Draco said, “You want to know about my father? Fine. The scar just under my right shoulder blade was given to me for failing to make friends with Potter first year. My father was less than pleased to hear that scarhead would rather hang out with a Weasley and a mudblood,” the slur caused bile to rise in the back of his throat but he swallowed it back and continued. “The one on my lower abdomen was punishment for losing my first quidditch game – it didn’t matter that I nearly got beheaded by a bludger. And the one along my left side, the one that you tried to touch that day when healing me, that was for failing to kill our old headmaster.”
“Malfoy I didn’t–”
“But you know what’s worse than my father’s shit temperament and abusive parenting style? His ego. He can’t stand the idea of anyone being better than him. So when the time came and the Dark Lord needed a student to mend some stupid cabinet, he of course was the first to volunteer his child. And now here I am, a teenage soldier who spends his days killing and I’ll continue to so that my friend doesn’t have to experience a second of what I have.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter, Granger,” Draco dismissed as he shook his head.
“Yes it does,” she said as she gently pressed the palm of her hand against his cheek.
“You don’t know what it’s like out there right now,” he said as he caressed her hand with his.
“Then explain it to me,” she requested. “Please.”
Theo was right, Draco thought. He had gone soft, because all it took was a simple touch from Hermione for his hardened stare to melt away and a single request for him to open up and tell her everything. He went on to tell her all about the situation with Theo and how if he were to fail then Theo would be the one to take his place.
“I had no idea,” she admitted. “So that’s why you haven’t come around?”
Draco nodded. “The Dark Lord was looking for any reason not to trust me, I needed to play it safe.”
Hermione never thought she’d live to see the day when she felt like an arse for yelling at Draco Malfoy but that’s precisely what was happening.
The first week when Draco didn’t show, guilt consumed her. She thought that maybe his absence was her fault. Despite what he had said to her, she thought that he had changed his mind and didn’t want to see her again after she practically threw herself at him. The second week it was fear that took hold of her. She spent all day every day sitting by the radio that Ron left behind, praying that she didn’t hear Draco’s name. The third and fourth week were filled with waves of anger. Hermione cursed his name more times than she could recall and would rant to Harry any chance she could. She was so angry with him for not writing. The last basket that they received from a random imperio’d civilian, Hermione destroyed everything within.
All of the emotions she went through and thoughts that crossed her mind and never once did she consider that Draco’s hands might’ve been tied. She hated to admit it but she did often find herself forgetting that his main job wasn’t visiting her. She had become so used to seeing him all of the time that, in her mind, when he left he would just go home, shower and sleep until it was time for him to return.
But he was here now and she had yelled at him. She knew that her feelings were valid, that she had the right to be upset with him, but that didn’t make her feel any better. Now that she was looking at him without being blinded by rage, Hermione could see the exhaustion taking its toll on him. Draco resembled his state from his earlier days when working with the Order. His eyes were bloodshot which was most likely due to a lack of sleep and his hair was messily laid across his forehead, which was always an indicator that he had been working long hours and was stressed. While she was kicking dirt on his name, Draco was overworking himself to help protect his friend.
“It’s very admirable of you to go to such lengths for Theo,” she confessed as she swept the hair out of his face. “I’m sure he’s very grateful. It’s rare to find a friend that would kill for you, literally,” she teased, which earned a small smile from Draco.
“I hope you know, what I’d do for him doesn’t even come close to the things that I’d do for you,” he stated.
“Are you saying you’d kill for me, Malfoy?” she playfully smirked.
“Kill for you?” Draco let out a soft chuckle. “That’s child’s play, Granger,” he continued as he tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek with his hand. “I would burn this entire fucking world down for you.”
Hermione’s skin burned under his touch and filled her with an overwhelming want for more. Just like the first time, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his as she crashed her lips onto his.
Draco grabbed onto her hips and guided her across the room until her back was met by one of the beams supporting the tent. As Hermione hungrily ran her fingers through his hair, Draco latched his mouth onto her neck – sucking down and lightly biting at her skin between every other kiss.
“Malfoy I…” she panted.
“If you want me to stop, I’m going to need you to say so right now,” Draco said before trailing his mouth along her collarbone. “Because once I have you, Granger, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.” His eyes flicked up to hers and watched as her breathing hitched as he pressed the palm of his hand between her legs.
Leaning in, Draco whispered, “Tell me to stop,” his lips just barely brushed against hers. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin and felt as her chest expanded and pressed into his as he moved his free hand around to the base of her neck. “Tell me to stop, Granger,” he whispered again before kissing the space just below her ear and adding more pressure between her legs.
“Malfoy, please.”
Draco let out a deep and satisfied groan. “I love the sound of you begging,” he said as he lifted his head to look at her.
“Please,” she said once more.
“Please, what?” he asked as he unzipped her jeans. “Use your words, Granger. Tell me what you want.”
“I want…” she began, her eyes shutting and her head falling back as Draco slid his hand into her pants and slowly began rubbing circles on her clit. “I want you,” she continued, her voice broken and airy.
“You want me?” Draco tugged at the seam of her underwear.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“In what way?”
“A–all,” she stuttered as he pushed a finger inside of her. “I want all of you, in every way. Please, Draco.”
The second his given name fell from Hermione’s lips, Draco met them with his own. His left hand tugged down on her jeans while his right continued to thrust in and out of her while he swallowed each of her moans.
As he shucked off his jacket, Hermione’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Making it halfway down, Hermione found herself unwilling to wait any longer and ripped the remainder of his shirt open.
A whimper escaped the back of Hermione’s throat as Draco removed his lips from hers. Ignoring her pleas, Draco reached around to the centre of her back and unclasped her bra. Lifting her shirt, he lowered his head and lapped his tongue around her nipple. Hermione’s nails dragged along his back as she bit down on her bottom lip. Her body filled with such intense pleasure it was almost painful but she couldn’t get enough.
“More,” she begged, her tone dripping in desperation.
Lifting her, Draco carried her over to the centre of the room and placed her down on the table. Gripping the underside of her thighs, he dragged her to the edge of the table until her body met his.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Granger?” he asked as he knelt and draped her legs over his shoulders. “The things I would do for you,” he kissed her inner thigh. “The things I would do to you.” Hermione let out a sharp gasp as he gently sucked down on her skin.
“I’ll be so good to you,” he proclaimed in between kisses as he made his way up her leg. “Let me be good to you, Hermione.”
“Draco,” she moaned.
“Not a day will pass where you aren’t reminded of my loyalty to you. I will worship every inch of you from sunrise to sunset, until the day I take my last breath. Every last ounce of my energy will be spent on you,” he muttered as he kissed her hip and pushed her underwear to the side. “On your happiness,” he continued. “On your satisfaction.”
Hermione’s hand tightly gripped the side of the table as Draco slipped a finger inside. Her eyes rolled back and her hips snapped up into his hand as he entered a second finger and began thrusting in and out. Her mind was a fuzzy mess and she found herself incapable of forming a single coherent thought as she felt him curl his fingers, her walls clenching tightly around him.
“Just tell me that you’re mine, Hermione,” his voice commanding yet gentle as he leaned down, his face only inches from hers. “Say those two words and I’ll give you the world.”
“I’m… yours… Draco,” she panted between moans. “I’m all yours.”
“That’s my good girl,” he praised before caressing her lips with his.
It felt like her whole world was spinning as he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of her. Draco deepened the kiss with each moan that escaped her lips. Her hands explored his back, her nails digging into his skin as he quickened the pace of his fingers – matching the rapid rhythm of her heart rate.
No one had ever touched Hermione like this before. There was so much hunger, passion and possession in Draco’s touch. With every kiss, every thrust, he was claiming her and she happily submitted herself to him as she swelled with pleasure.
She wanted more.
She wanted to feel him.
All of him.
Hermione’s hands travelled down to his waistband and tugged at the buckle of his belt.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Hermione was sure of a lot of things. She was sure that flying on a broom was a horrid form of transportation. She was sure that books should be organised alphabetically by the author’s last name. She was sure that, unless they found the sword of Gryffindor, they would never be able to destroy the locket, and she was sure that she wanted this with Draco. She wanted to give herself to him completely.
“Yes,” she nodded. “I’m sure.”
Hermione watched in awe as Draco removed his belt with one hand and tossed it onto the ground. Her eyes travelled up the length of his torso and over the muscular curves of his arms as he unzipped his pants. She stared at his lips as he pulled her closer into him and she scanned his face as he sank himself into her. The initial pressure and discomfort quickly subsided when he asked, “Are you okay?” She had never felt more okay in her life. Draco carefully pressed deeper into her once he got her nod of approval.
He handled her with such care, such caution, like any sudden movement would break her. Hermione loved the concern he had for her comfort, but for a month all she had was the lingering taste of his lips and an endless stream of thoughts about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been a gentleman and stopped them on Christmas. Hermione was tired of wondering and waiting. She wanted him to throw away his pure-blood etiquette, at least for the night, and mark her as his.
“Do I have a fragile sticker on my forehead?” she asked.
“What? No?”
“Then why are you handling me like such?”
As if a flip switched in his head, Draco released all of the self-control he was struggling to hold onto and snapped his hips into hers. The muscles within his abdomen contracted as his pace quickened and his thrusts deepened.
Hermione couldn’t deny that she had fantasised more than once about what sex would be like with Draco. She figured he would be rough, ruthless even, and unlike other men, he would be focused on her pleasure. Every theory she had was confirmed.
Draco worked her clit as he continued to fuck her with no mercy, each thrust harder than the last. Hermione was drowning in pleasure and each time she thought she’d get a breath of air, a moment to recover, his hips would meet hers.
As her walls tightened around him, Draco lowered himself onto her and tangled his hand in her curls. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back, granting him full access to her neck. His mouth trailed along Hermione’s skin as her back arched. She was reaching the edge of her pleasure, ready to unravel beneath him. Draco gathered her wrists with his right hand, pinned them above her head and latched his mouth onto hers.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded against his parted lips.
“Fuck,” he grunted as he continued grinding as deep as possible.
Hermione buried her face in the crook of his neck and the muscles in her stomach tightened as she fell over the edge. With one last snap of his hips, Draco’s body tensed as he came undone with her.
Hermione closed her eyes as she focused on steadying her breathing. She could faintly hear the sound of Draco fumbling with his belt over the ringing in her ears. She savoured the ecstasy-like feeling as she waited for him to hand her her clothes. But instead of being met by the slightly scratchy wool fabric of her sweater, she felt the heat of his mouth against her.
Her eyes snapped open and she propped herself up on her elbows to look down at Draco, whose top half remained bare as he positioned himself once again between her legs.
“Draco, what’re you doing?”
“What does it look like? Gods you’re so fucking beautiful.”
“But didn’t you just…” she trailed off, finding herself too embarrassed to finish the sentence.
“I don’t give a fuck."
Her already sensitive nerve endings were shot into overdrive as he gently sucked down. Hermione’s lips parted as another moan prepared itself to escape from the back of her throat, but once her eyes travelled over to the front of the tent and landed on those belonging to the last person she expected to see, she instead choked out, “Ron.”
“Wrong name,” Draco said as he lifted his head to look up at her. “And a rather big insult, Granger.”
“No,” she shook her head and frantically searched for something to cover herself with. “I mean, Ron,” Hermione explained as she jutted her chin towards the front of the tent.
Glancing over his shoulder, Draco met Ron’s death glare. Shooting up to his feet to block Hermione’s bare body, Draco snapped his wrist and conjured a blanket from across the room. Without breaking Ron’s stare, Draco handed Hermione the blanket and remained standing in front of her.
“I always pegged you for the watching type,” Draco smirked.
“I’m going to kill you Malfoy,” Ron seethed.
“Now Weasley, didn’t your parents ever teach you to never make promises you can’t keep?”
“Guys! We destroyed the locke–what the hell is going on in here?” Harry asked as he looked between Draco and Ron.
“Why are you both soaking wet?” Hermione asked as she stepped out from behind Draco, her hands tightly gripping the blanket wrapped around her.
“Oh my god!” Harry’s hands flew up to cover his eyes as he spun around. “Hermione, are you… are you naked?!”
“Oh please Harry, everything is covered. You can turn around.”
Slowly, Harry turned back to face the group and peeked between his fingers to make sure that Hermione was in fact covered before dropping his hands from his face.
“Wait, were you two just..” Harry’s nose scrunched in disgust. “Are you kidding me?! And on our table?! You know people eat there, right? And that’s just brilliant guys. While I was out drowning, you two were in here shagging.”
Ron’s eyes snapped over to Harry. “Why do you not sound surprised about that?” he asked. “Did you know that they were getting together?!”
“I mean, it was kind of hard to miss it,” Harry unapologetically admitted.
Ron turned his glare back to Draco, his face matching the colour of his hair as he tightly gripped the sword in his hand.
“Oh! You found the sword,” Hermione said, in an attempt to change the topic.
“You slimy git,” Ron spat as he lunged for Draco.
Stepping to the side, Draco avoided Ron’s attack altogether and grasped onto his right wrist. Twisting his arm back, he removed the sword from Ron’s hold and threw it onto the ground.
The second he found his footing, Ron lunged at Draco again. Draco casually side-stepped to avoid him but this time he pressed his hand on the centre of Ron’s back and slammed him face-first onto the table.
“Listen Weasley, I’m going to let you up but you have to promise that you’ll calm down,” Draco said.
“Get your hands off of me Malfoy!” Ron shouted as he wiggled his body to try and free himself.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re calming down.”
“Fine,” Ron said as he let out a sigh of defeat.“I’ll calm down.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yeah, yeah. I promise.”
Just like he said he would, Draco removed his hold on Ron. Unlike what Ron said, he once again lunged at him only this time Draco didn’t step aside and instead extended his arm out to stop him. Harry and Hermione both let out a small chuckle at the sound of Ron’s forehead slamming into Draco’s palm.
“Wow, who breaks a promise?” Draco ridiculed. “I really trusted you there, Weasley.”
Taking a step back, Ron adjusted his sweater and tried to shake off the embarrassment. “You’re a dick, Malfoy.”
“So I’ve been told,” Draco replied. “Now, should we discuss the fact that you idiots seem to have magically found the sword of Gryffindor?”
“Yes, why don’t we focus on that?” Hermione suggested.
“Well it was a crazy story,” Harry began but he was interrupted when Ron attempted to lunge at Draco one last time.
Slapping him across the face with the back of his hand, Draco shook his head in confusion. “The fuck are you doing Weasley? You’re wasting a lot of energy.”
“Fuck you,” Ron bit out.
“Sorry carrot-head, but Granger beat you to it,” Draco replied with a smug grin.
Present Day
Draco watched as Hermione threw her head back and clutched onto her stomach as the melodic sound of her laughter filled the space around them. He hadn’t seen her in this sort of state in what felt like years, even though it had only been months. It was the simplest of things that caused it too.
As Draco followed behind Hermione as she explored the books that he spent weeks picking out for her, he pulled one on the history of quidditch. All he needed to do was hold the book up and quirk his brow to trigger a memory within Hermione.
She was barely able to choke out a single word in between laughs as she reminisced on that night during the Horcrux hunt. She remembered the horrified look on Harry’s face as he stood drenched in water in the front of their tent as he clutched onto his copy of the quidditch book in one hand and the destroyed locket in the other.
Draco leaned against the bookshelf and memorised every last detail of this moment. He noted the small lines at the corner of her eyes, how her hand pushed the curls from her face as she struggled to pull in a steady breath and the choir-like sound of her laughter as it danced through the air.
He loved her. He loved her more than he could even begin to put into words. He loved her for all of her quirks and her highly intense opinions on certain pieces of literature. He loved her on her hard days but Gods did he love her on her good ones. If Draco had access to a pensieve, he would spend all of his days rewatching this moment over and over again. Because he felt it, he felt the change in her.
Hermione had finally dropped the veil between them and was opening up to him again. Draco knew that she would still have bad days but a thousand bad ones would be well worth it to him if it meant every once in a while he got one like today - if it meant that he got to experience falling in love with her all over again.
Taking a seat on opposite ends of the green sofa with a small collection of books sprawled across the area between them, Draco draped his arm along the back of the sofa - his hand resting less than an inch away from Hermione’s.
These were the moments that Draco had imagined with her - these small, seemingly insignificant moments. He wanted a lifetime of these pockets of happiness with her.
art by lazy_dragon_art (gifted by jaxbemusing)
Flashback - 'Choices'
February 5, 1998
Ron continued to sulk in hopes that eventually, one of his friends would break and apologise for betraying him. Harry had explained to him that just because he was cordial with Draco, it didn’t mean that he didn’t still value his friendship with Ron. And countless times Hermione tried to explain her relationship with Draco, even though she knew she didn’t owe him any of the sort, but each time he stormed out.
By the third night after his return, Harry and Hermione grew tired of his tantrums and outbursts. There were more pressing things to tend to than patching together Ron’s ego. The locket was destroyed and Harry had discovered a small stone hidden inside his golden snitch. It only took a few hours for them to figure out that it was the resurrection stone - an item from the Deathly Hallows that Draco had informed them about back in December.
After months of feeling stagnant, things were starting to move again. Harry’s frustration had been replaced with a newfound motivation which resulted in him becoming even more insufferable, at least that’s how Draco felt. Hermione was relieved to have finally made some progress and even though Ron was being… difficult, she was happy to have him back and know that he was safe.
Safety.
Safety was something Hermione was worrying about far more than she would’ve preferred. She was used to having to look out for and take care of Ron and Harry but it wasn’t them she was worried about, it was Draco.
A few days ago he had told them that Voldemort would be setting out to continue his search for Grindelwald in hopes that if he locates him, he’ll also locate the elder wand. It was useful information and helped the Order determine their next steps but the last detail in Draco’s latest update was what concerned Hermione.
Draco was to join Voldemort.
She knew that Draco was physically strong, that he was fully capable of handling his own and that his occlumency was far superior to most so he would be able to protect his partnership with the Order from any legilimens - even Voldemort. But her mind couldn’t help but explore the what-ifs.
What if he got hurt? Hermione knew that Voldemort wasn’t the type to follow the ‘no soldier left behind’ rule.
What if they ran into Order members? Only a handful of people are aware of his deal with Remus and since he’d be with Voldemort, it’s not like Draco would be able to fill them in on it. He’d have to comply with the role he would currently be in, which was a Death Eater.
And the one that haunted her the most, what if he died? What if he died and he was all alone, or even worse? What if he died and the only company he had was Voldemort? The thought alone was enough to make her body shudder and for her to become nauseous.
So as Draco slipped on his coat and walked with her outside to get some privacy, she took the time to memorise every single detail she could about him. She memorised every crease in his forehead and every curve in the muscles of his arms. Knowing that while he’s gone, she can remember how he smelled, looked, sounded and felt brought her a sort of peace. They would be apart but only physically. Whenever she’d find herself missing him, she could just close her eyes and picture that he was there.
“Are you going to be alright?” Draco asked.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice sounding just as unsure as she felt.
“It’ll only be a few weeks, maybe even less if we manage to locate Grindelwald quicker.”
Hermione nodded. There were so many things that she wanted to say but she knew that if she even attempted to, she’d crumble. She didn’t want him to worry about her while he was gone, he needed to stay focused on his task. So, she concentrated all of her energy on keeping back the tears that were fighting to escape her eyes and she forced her lips into a smile.
As he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her into him and pressed his lips against hers, Hermione memorised one last thing - the way the rhythm of their heartbeats synced.
Everything she was too choked up to verbalise was communicated through the way that she kissed him. The initial kiss was her telling Draco that she’ll miss him and when her lips parted, granting him access to deepen the kiss, she was telling him to be safe, to stay alive.
Hermione closed her eyes as he placed a final kiss on her forehead before walking away, his hand slipping from hers. As she watched him head for the perimeter of the ward, she called out for him one last time.
“Draco.”
The sound of his name caused Draco to freeze in place and for his breath to catch in the back of his throat. No matter how many times she said it, he was sure he would never grow tired of hearing his given name roll off the tip of her tongue. He wanted to ask her to say it over and over and over again until her voice gave out. He wanted to say to hell with his orders and stay with her but he knew that he couldn’t.
So instead, he turned around to look at her and said, “Yes?”
“Come back to me, okay?” she requested.
“I will.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
Hermione nodded. “Okay, until then?” she smiled.
“Until then,” he smiled back.
February 28, 1998
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Draco had departed to join Voldemort in the search for Grindelwald and Hermione was going insane. She assumed that it would be painful the first few days but that she’d eventually adjust but she was wrong. Starting the day after he left, Hermione threw herself into more research and planning for the remaining Horcruxes. The distraction worked until she’d turn to her right to share her recent findings with Draco, only to be met by empty space, reminding her once again that he wasn’t there.
She could feel herself losing it more and more with each day that passed. She was drowning in misery. She hated not knowing where he was, what he was doing and if he was okay. Every time she laid down at night and closed her eyes, all she’d see was his lifeless body on the ground and Voldemort standing above him. Most nights she sat by Ron’s radio and listened as the reporter listed off hundreds of names. It was a confusing feeling. While she felt for those who had lost loved ones, she was also relieved each time a name that wasn’t his was announced.
Harry attempted to cheer her up by switching the channel and forcing her to dance with him one night. He was a dreadful dancer. She didn’t think it was possible, but he had somehow managed to get even worse since the Yule Ball. She loved Harry and appreciated his efforts but for the entire three minutes that they foolishly danced around the tent, all she wanted was to change the channel back just in case.
Even Ron tried to help her, though he failed at masking his pleasure about Draco being gone. But still, he tried and she was grateful for that.
Hermione attempted to hide her sadness. She didn’t want to ruin Harry’s good mood and while she still struggled to see where Ron thought he had the right to be so upset about who she was dating, she was still sensitive to his feelings.
It was exhausting though. The back-to-back nights of tossing and turning chipped away at her patience, resulting in her becoming far more irritable than usual. Not even the locket had made her feel this way. She hated it. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and free herself from the constant feeling of doom that plagued her.
She wanted Draco to come back already.
Finding herself at her usual spot by the radio, Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest and intently listened to the reporter’s latest update on the names of those who had fallen.
“Do you want to join us for dinner?” Ron asked.
“No thanks, I’m not hungry,” Hermione replied.
“Come on Hermione,” Ron groaned. “You’ve been locked in here all day. Give the radio a break. I mean, what do you expect to hear? You really think they’d announce the falling of some Death Eater?”
The way in which he spoke reeked of animosity. Anger curled in her gut and burned throughout her body as she shot up to her feet.
“What does Draco being a Death Eater have to do with anything, Ronald?” she bit out.
“Everything, Hermione!” he argued. “And Draco? You’re on a first-name basis now? You let the guy between your legs once and all of a sudden you’re a Death Eater apologist?”
“You better watch what you say to me,” she warned through gritted teeth.
“Or what? What are you going to do Hermione? Run away with the prat?”
Hermione remained silent.
“You’re kidding, right?” he scoffed.
“What’s with the yelling in here?” Harry asked as he stepped inside.
“Hermione would leave us for Malfoy!”
“What? You’re leaving?” Harry directed at Hermione.
“No,” she sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Then why did Ron say-”
“But she would,” Ron interjected. “If it came down to it, she would choose him over us.”
Harry’s face dropped and the hurt in his voice as he said, “Hermione?” broke her heart.
“I-” her voice caught as she shook her head in disbelief. She wanted to tell Ron that he was wrong, that, of course, she wouldn’t leave them, but she knew that would be a lie. “You don’t understand Ron,” she continued.
“Of course I don’t understand!” he shouted as he threw his arms in the air. “I will never understand what in Merlin’s name you could see in someone like him! He’s a killer Hermione!”
“You think I don’t know that?!” she snapped. “I’m fully aware of the things that he’s done but I’m also aware that he’s had no choice! If it came down to picking your life or someone else's, you would do the exact same as him, you would choose yourself. Don’t even try to deny it Ronald!”
“Hermione-”
“No! I’m so tired of this victim complex of yours! I’m sorry that I hurt you, I am, but no matter how much you guilt me and no matter how many times you continue to remind me of the blood on Draco’s hands, it won’t change my mind! He is who I’m with, he is who I want. Whether or not you like it, I couldn’t care less.”
“You’ve turned into a real bitch,” Ron snarled.
“No, I just stopped tiptoeing around your feelings,” she corrected. “We’re not children anymore Ron, so stop acting like one.”
Ron bit down on the inside of his cheek, for once making the smart decision to not speak. As he stormed out, Hermione let out a frustrated huff and fell back into the chair to her right and dropped her head into her hands. Bending down, Harry sat on the ground beside her and gave her a moment to calm down before speaking.
“So,” he exhaled. “This thing with you and Malfoy, it’s the real thing, huh?”
Lifting her head, she met Harry’s stare. Unlike Ron, he wasn’t asking just to push her buttons. He was genuinely curious and wanted to understand. She always admired that about him. Even if he didn’t entirely agree with someone, he’d never shame them for their choices and he’d do his best to be as open as possible and try to see things from their perspective. Hermione always thought he’d make a good Minister or even professor. He had the ability to push aside his personal feelings, a trait that very few seemed to possess.
“Yes,” Hermione replied. “He sees me, Harry. And that’s not to say that you don’t but it’s different with him. He sees me for who I am, even the parts that I try so desperately to hide. I don’t know how to explain it other than, with him, I feel safe and it just feels right, you know?”
Harry nodded understandingly. He knew exactly what she meant, it’s how he felt when he was with Ginny.
“So Ron was right then,” Harry said.
“Please don’t make me choose, Harry,” Hermione pleaded.
“I’m not and I never would, but just out of curiosity, if it came down to it and you had to choose… would you choose him?”
“Yes, I would choose him. I would choose him every single time.”