Hermione’s POV
“Why are you here?” Hermione’s gravelly voice cut through the thunder rolling through the English hillside.
“He’s my best friend.”
“He was your best friend. One, he’s dead. Two, you’ve long since abandoned him.” She turned to look at the man who stood beside her clad in his own black funeral robes.
“You may see it as abandonment but there were far more things I knew about him than you.” His slate eyes worked to bore holes into hers but she would not relent.
“He was my husband!”
Though she thought she’d cried all the tears she could over her husband days after finding his body, more began to stream down her cheeks. Shame took a backseat to her anger. Hermione no longer cared if this man saw her sadness as weakness. He hurt her and should bear the consequences of being uncomfortable around the woman he’d made a widow.
“Theo was not a good man.” Draco shifted to face the casket again.
They were the only two left at the cemetery; her friends and family having long since apparated home with a parting hug from Hermione. Draco hadn’t even been invited.
In fact, Hermione clearly recalled sending him a long letter detailing how he would prefer Azkaban over what she planned to do to him should he show his face. It seemed as though he took it as a challenge and not a promise, because his appearance next to her had shocked her speechless.
“What could he have possibly done to warrant such an opinion? What could he have done to make him a worse man than you?” Her voice turned to a hiss and while she’d hoped the venom in her words would poison him in his core. Instead it carried off with the wind, losing its potency.
“I can’t tell you.” Draco’s stoic posture gave nothing away, angering Hermione even further. She’d already asked him these questions before when he admitted to brewing the potion Theo eventually drank.
“Why can’t you?” She screamed, wanting so badly to brandish her wand and curse him.
Theo wouldn’t have wanted that. So when the last of her scream’s echo faded, she wiped a tear with her kerchief and approached the casket. Letting her black silk glove meld into the reflective black casket, she dragged her hand along the beveled edge, smearing the tiny droplets of rain splattered across it. His shadowed reflection told her he was behind her but she didn’t have the strength to turn around.
“I’ve already tarnished enough of your mind, of your memories. I’ve ruined your future. I won’t be the one to make it worse.”
“That’s not an answer, Malfoy.” Steadying herself with both hands on the casket, Hermione drew a deep breath; the urge to make due on the promises of her letter growing stronger with each passing breath.
“Unfortunately, that’s the answer you’re going to get.” Malfoy’s breath blew cold on the exposed part of her neck and it took willpower not to shiver.
Her resolve broke with the shuttering of thunder just over the hill. Her hands lost contact with the casket, the only thing grounding her through this interaction. She pulled out her wand, quickly casting a non-verbal spell, sending him flying backwards. Only somehow the git landed like a cat, easily righting himself on the damp grass.
Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the frustration on Malfoy’s face which only further angered Hermione.
“Stay away or fight back," she snarled.
Thunder rumbled through the trees, the wind shivering their branches with the same veracity of her robes.
The blue light of a spell cast from his wand could’ve easily been mistaken for a bolt of lightning and Hermione almost didn’t set up her shield in time. But as his spell disintegrated into the shimmer, she quickly sent another curse to which he blocked effortlessly.
This sparring of curses went on and on as the rain began to pelt down on the two of them, their clothes and hair as heavy as the emotions hanging in their heart. The magic between the two crackled as they lowered their wands,panting and defeated, salty sweat mixing with the sweet rain drops across their foreheads.
Through her dampened eyelashes, she caught the hardened expression on Malfoy’s face before she disappeared into the darkness, apparating into her empty, echoey home.
—
Shortly after the roar of the flames came the slamming of Hermione’s heels on the stone floor as she whipped into an upright position on the couch. The unexpected visitor caught her off guard. With only a select few people having access to the Nott Manor floo, she knew none of them would show up this late at night.
The last time she’d seen the carefully sculpted face had been months prior in the rain, while sadness and grief plagued her then, anger flared this time. Redness engulfed her cheeks and her pupils constricted in focused fury as she drank in the sight of Malfoy standing in front of her fireplace like he simply belonged. And maybe once upon a time he did. But between his abandonment over a year ago and Theo now cold in the ground, his presence was not only unwelcome, but jarring.
“Get out,” Hermione said through gritted teeth as she stomped towards him, stuttering to a stop six feet from him. Their shadows from the fire danced beside them, the only thing moving as the two of them stood like statues, staring at one another.
He finally broke the silence with an air of disregard to their stifled interaction. “I wasn’t aware you still lived here.”
“This is my home,” she replied haughtily. “We had plans to drown out his memories of his mother’s screams with the squeals and laughter of children.”
Her eyes drifted across the hollow space and she forced herself to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. Images of little brown haired children running through the space and Theo encouraging them to slide down the bannister while Hermioned yelled at them to ignore their father.
“The potion wasn’t for him.” Draco’s voice blew the memories out of her mind like snuffing out a candle, reeling her back to reality.
“So you say, but you have yet to elaborate.”
“Because you’ve refused to entertain my time.” The snarls from his tongue wrapped around her ears, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Since you so unkindly interrupted my personal time, you might as well use it to explain the scenario to me.”
She took a very prim position on the couch. boring holes into his chest, waiting for him to go on. Hermione refused to be the laudable host this evening. Tracing his movements to the chair across from her, she kept her glare deadly. This wasn’t the same glare of her childhood when he bullied her relentlessly, nor did it match the viciousness of when he watched her be tortured in his home. This was the one found on a scorned woman watching a murderer sit in her home like he was afforded any amount of mercy from her.
“You were the intended recipient of the potion.” Draco’s tone remained unwavering. Though her mouth dropped in shock, he held up his hand to halt the multitude of questions clearly sitting at the tip of her tongue.
“I knew Theo was hiding things from you, but I also knew he would spot a veriteserum among all the potions he consumed.” Crossing his ankles and leaning back into the chair, making himself more at home. “But after months, I curated a potion that would encourage you to ask the questions in a way that compelled him to answer. The side effect was, if anyone other than the intended recipient drank it, the potion effectively became poison.
“Before you ask, yes, I did inform him not to drink it. But potions were his weakness and the temptation overwhelmed him.”
“He probably assumed you were trying to poison me.”
“I informed him it would only be poisonous to anyone other than you, but this is Theo. While you weren’t aware of the depth of his potion addiction, I was. I knew he’d want to drink it instead, so I warned him not to. The fact that we attended his funeral several months ago proves his addiction didn’t heed my warning.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t expect you to. I have never given you a reason to trust anything I say or do.”
“Get out.”
Without a word, he removed himself from the chair with all the elegance one would expect of royalty and their eyes held each other’s gaze as the flames swallowed him up.
—
Draco’s POV
Draco would almost dare to call it deja vu based on his position standing in the rain watching a grieving woman cry over her husband's body. Except instead of leaning against a lacquered casket, she knelt in the mud in front of his gravestone.
Despite the pain and grief threatening her resolve, her magic held strong and steady against the wind as her umbrella levitated above her head. He had to admit she made for one powerful witch, only one of the many things Theo lamented as reasons he loved her. It made Draco sick to see these traits in a positive light, the way Theo had. For all of their history, they’d been reasons to hate her.
You were the love that made all others irrelevant.
He watched her trace the inscription he'd memorized, the words echoing in his head as if they were being read allowed by the funeral director yesterday. In reality, it'd been just shy of a year as today marked the first anniversary of his death.
Using the roll of thunder to mask the crack of his apparition, he left her alone in the cemetery, guilt eating away at the hatred in his heart.
All those inconsequential things from their childhood seemed unimportant and dismissive at the time. But as an adult, they really were the building blocks for his hatred towards Hermione Granger. Not only did she beat him in grades, have a social life he could only dream of and true friends, she managed to steal away the closest thing he had to a best friend, making him her husband. And she did it with such ease and little regard to who she harmed in the process - namely him.
Despite all those things, he still found himself stepping out of the green flames into the sitting room of Nott Manor. The bright moon cast ominous shadows through the big open windows, the sky no longer masked by the clouds like it had been when he left her hours earlier at the cemetery.
She sat there in the most inelegant position, a book in one hand and a half full glass of wine in the other. The flush of her face told him she'd been there for a while and if he picked up the bottle, there'd be barely a swill left.
The glow of the fire flickered, sparking off the diamonds of her wedding set. He froze, lost in the space for several minutes before she finally caught his stare over the edge of her glass.
Lifeless was the only description he could give her usual, spritely caramel eyes,the reflection of the flames being the only fire in her eyes. He should’ve felt guilt. He should’ve hated being in the house with her but a niggling in his subconscious told him he should be here.
He expected malice or dejection when her mind caught up to her eyes. Instead, neither happened. Either the alcohol had fogged her vision enough or she just didn't care. Draco's bet was on a combination of both.
"I'd expected you at some point today." Where once the manor had been bare and dark, everything echoing, now the soft clasp of her book was barely audible in the soft room.
He took in the frail, broken form of Hermione Granger clad in only a silk robe as she sat up, placing her book and wine glass on the table in front of her. Her movements were slow, methodically battling the sway of her body. He closed the distance when the moment came where she would fall forward into the table, and wrapped his cold hand around her arm. The touch felt foreign, igniting a flame in his own chest that he dared to try and fight against by releasing her as quickly as he grabbed her.
Before he could stand up, he felt her ring catch on a loose thread in his tie, as her pale hand formed a tight grip on the fabric, holding him inches from her.
He kept his tone as flat as his face because he refused to show emotion.“I shouldn’t have come.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
Where he thought her tone would be strained, high pitched or sad, it was neither. He could only describe it as breathy, angsty, desperate. A hint of want bounced around his head, but should he be mistaken, how much more hatred could he dredge up in this woman?
In staring into one another’s eyes, it seemed they had come to the same conclusion and broke the space between them, his mouth covering hers while his hand found purchase on her hip, lowering her back onto the couch.
Her grip loosened on his tie and traced its way down the shirt fabric, landing on his sternum. Like oxygen to a flame, her touch burned inside him. His desire to test how far she would go outweighed their mutual hatred, outpacing the logical thoughts running through his mind. Tracing the line of her body, he found the hem of her robe and drew inward creating goosebumps in its path.
All the while he drank in her taste, the bitterness of the wine only slightly overpowering the smell of her jasmine shampoo. There was a knocking at his subconscious–Theo, or his mind’s version of Theo, telling him how much of an asshole he is for wanting to fuck his wife. He kept the door shut, ignoring the hollering of his best friend as he searched for her center under the silk.
When Theo was high, all he talked about were the things he loved about Hermione, especially the things she loved in bed. Draco clung to those things for no reason back then, but now he pulled them forward with intentions of using them to taint her memories of Theo.
As his signet ring dragged the wetness over her lips and across her clit, he felt her deepen the kiss through a low moan. She wanted this, or something akin to whatever this was. He wondered if she knew how wrong it all was, but he would willingly give her whatever she silently asked for. He’d already taken her husband, why not take more?
Pressing his forehead to hers, he took a moment to breathe, waiting for her to push him away but her hands only found more of him, dropping his blazer onto the floor.
“Are you sober enough to want this,” he asked through raspy breaths.
Her eyes cleared for a moment. “Yes.” The words were strong, but unattached.
Slowly, his thumb circled the bundle of nerves and she latched herself back onto his mouth. He chased her actions with his hands running over the smooth skin of her thighs and tits; their tongues fighting a losing battle. For a second he thought about how Theo’s tongue probably danced with hers, a perfect analogy for the relationship the two men played in her life.
Distracted by his train of thoughts, he missed the pull of apparition and was temporarily surprised by the new location; her bedroom. Undeterred by the change of scenery, he continued to let his hands wander across her body, slipping her robe to the floor whilst she fumbled with his buttons.
He scowled when he looked over to the bed and found an orange cotton ball curled up on a pillow, blinking at him. In an attempt to keep whatever this was going, Draco beckoned the stubborn cat away several times before it finally perched itself on the opposing chair. The feline’s green eyes bore into him from the chair, as if judging him for how wrong Draco already knew this was.
Knowing what he knew about the things that happened in this bed, he climbed atop her and let his mouth wander with his hands, placing kisses and licks along her neck until he reached her chest. Theo had told him once how her tits were the key to her orgasms. He had to admit seeing them heaving on her chest that they were delicious to look at.
With one hand back between her legs, teasing her folds and clit, he filled the other with her tit. Strumming her nipple with his thumb at the same agonizing pace as his other hand, he took advantage of the rise of her chest and latched his mouth to her free nipple, nipping at the hardened bud and following up with featherlight kisses to the soft underside.
A moan from Hermione cut through their heady breaths when he finally slipped his cock in between her slick folds. With a menacingly slow pace, her eyes finally fluttered closed. Draco relished in the warmth of her cunt, enveloping his large cock before his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
As her breaths quickened and her moans became more frequent, he hastened his pace, grunting with each thrust. His own orgasm drew nigh, but he shoved down the urge to finish. The need to make her come, to show her Theo wouldn’t be the only man to make her feel alive, outweighed everything else.
And then she broke. A scream from her shattered the quiet of the room and he smirked. For just one moment, a spark lit up her dull eyes. He hated being the one to bring the light back, but when he blinked, it was gone.
Pounding into her harder, he let his own pleasure fill his veins with fire, spilling himself into her wanting cunt. Dropping onto his forearms, his sweaty fringe dusted her forehead as they steadied their breathing.
He dared not open his eyes and only imagined she felt the same, that he wasn’t done with her yet. With a grunt, he rolled them over, forcing her to straddle him to take whatever would chase away her nightmares, if only for a night.
—
Sunlight streaming through the gauze curtains, Draco awoke to tufts of bushy hair in his mouth and nostrils. Brushing it aside and propping himself on his forearm, he took in the scene of Hermione naked on her side of the bed. Which meant he…was on Theo's.
The weight of last night's actions hit him, and his stomach filled with lead. Dressing quickly, Draco crossed the squeaky floor as quietly as possible, but the loud meow of her mangy cat waylaid his disappearance. The rustle of bedding drew his attention back. Not even her tit peeking from the covers could distract him from the tears falling onto her pillow case.
"I hate you." The words were raspy and venomous. For specifically what she hated him for right now, he did not know.
"It's mutual." And with the creak of the door drowning out the hiss of the cat, Draco stole off into the early morning, knowing this probably wouldn't be the last time he saw Hermione like this.