Turning the Page

Auror Brently has terrible timing. He shows up at Draco’s flat just as he is about to head on a date with Hermione. 

“I need to search the premises. Routine,” Brently says, tone gruff.

“Of course,” Draco steps aside, letting the man into his home.

And it is home now. His fridge is covered in drawings done by Levi and there are a lot of books from the store stacked on different surfaces.

It’s no longer a place of limbo.

“You’ve paid for all those?” Brently nods towards a stack of books.

“Yes,” Draco lies. Laura knew he had them, and hadn't charged him for them. He didn’t steal them, which is what the auror was implying.

Draco stands with his arms crossed, muscles tight, watching as the man rifles through his life.

The good part of such a small apartment is it won’t take very long for him to turn out everything.

“And where’d you get all of these pictures,” he points to the drawings Levi had made for him.

“I have a friend with a son. He’s the artist,” Draco explains.

“A friend, huh? This friend got a name?”

“Yes.”

The auror turns to fix Draco with a look that quite clearly says “don’t fuck with me.”

Myrrh, Moonwart, Aconite.

Draco tries to settle the blood heating in his veins.

“Hermione Granger. She works at the bookstore.”

Brently laughs to himself and shakes his head.

“Think she’ll get you your wand back?”

Draco doesn’t react. Doesn’t rise to the taunts.

“A Death Eater working with the heroine of the wizarding world. A fucking tragedy if you ask me,” Brently carries on, opening and closing cabinets and dumping out his drawers.

Nobody fucking asked you.

Draco keeps real quiet.

When he goes through the bedroom, Draco stands in the doorway.

When he rifles through the bathroom, Draco wanders into the living room.

It makes it easier for him to breathe.

“You haven’t missed any work?” Brently emerges, satisfied that he hasn’t found anything.

“No.”

“You haven’t performed any magic?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Auror Brently pulls a small notebook from his pocket and writes something down. Something Draco is apparently not privy to.

“You will have a hearing concerning the return of your wand on the first of May.”

What?

Draco blinks and then nods, not wanting to question why he had been granted a hearing.

“I’ll be there to tell them exactly why you shouldn’t get that fucking wand back,” Brently informs him.

“I’ll see you there, Auror Brently,” he smirks.

The man huffs loudly and leaves, allowing Draco a minute to collect his thoughts.

He’s late for dinner.

What he wouldn’t give to apparate right now.

Instead, he grabs his coat and his wallet and makes his way out of his building.

He jogs most of the way to her house, only slowing when he’s close so he can catch his breath.

Of course, as soon as she opens the door, he loses his breath all over again.

She’s wearing a dress. He’s not seen her in a dress before. At least not since fourth year. And that was another lifetime. 

It’s blue velvet, with thin straps and a long hem. Around her shoulders is a silky silver shawl.

“You look marvellous,” Draco presses a kiss to her cheek, feeling the soft skin of her neck beneath his fingers.

“You buttering me up for something, Malfoy?” She asks, not letting him pull away from her. They kiss, sweetly.

“Just telling the truth.”

His hand slides over her waist and rests on her hip.

It’s possessive.

Call him a caveman, Draco wants his hands all over Granger’s body.

“Where are we eating?” She asks, stroking her thumb over his cheek.

“If I didn’t think it was a waste of a gorgeous dress, I’d insist on takeaway,” he whispers huskily.

She gives off a soft sort of laugh, more an exhale than anything else.

“There’s a chippy around the corner. It’ll take five minutes to get a burger,” she suggests.

“Levi home?”

“Pansy took him to her poker game,” Hermione says.

Draco pictures the two year old strapped to Pansy’s chest while she bluffs the rest of the players out of their shirts.

“You allowed that?” He takes her hand- so he doesn’t have to part from her fully- and walks her down the street.

“I trust her with him. She loves him.”

Draco knows the truth in that. It is written all over Pansy’s face. A girl who was once able to stay stone-faced in the presence of the Dark Lord can’t hide the devotion she has for Granger’s little boy.

The chippy takes exactly as long as Draco hoped it would.

Less than a half hour after they order, he’s offering her his arm and helping her out of their booth.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you eat with so few manners,” Hermione teases.

Draco acts as though he has no idea what she is insinuating and carries on towards her front door.

He thinks of the way Hermione leaned on the table, her chest lifting and falling, the low cut of her dress revealing the most tantalising amount of cleavage.

When they reach her home, she pulls him in by the collar of his coat, pressing him against the wall and kicking off her shoes all at the same moment.

“You ate pretty fast too, Granger,” he pulls back, unbuttoning his coat and letting her slide it down her arms.

“I was in a rush.”

Draco picks her up and carries her towards the couch- half because it’s closest, and half because he doesn’t want to presume she is inviting him to bed.

They fuse together, making it near impossible for him to find out where he ends and she begins.

Every kiss, every caress pushes him closer to the ecstasy he’s missed for so many years.

A new peak only she can give him.

“I want to see them,” Hermione moans, raking her teeth over the ink along his neck.

Draco obliges, stripping out of his shirt, letting her feel her way along his torso.

He sits back, her legs straddling him and her hair hanging over his face.

His thumb slips along the back of her dress, searching for the zipper at the top of the garment. He’s slow, gentle, lost to the feel of her lips on his skin.

“So beautiful,” she says between kisses.

Draco lifts his hips, so hard he can barely think straight.

“Is this okay?” She whispers, tangling a hand in his hair.

“This is everything,” he pulls the straps from her shoulders and lets the fabric bunch at her waist.

Everything. And perfect. She is.

She kisses him once more, nipping at his lower lip and slipping her tongue into his mouth, playful and passionate.

He caresses her body.

“I need you,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder, exposing her chest and neck to him.

As much as he loves the feel of her thighs pressing against his own, he can’t do what she needs in this position.

So he slides his palms under her arse and lifts her, laying her down the length of the sofa.

She lifts her own hips, letting him pull her dress the rest of the way off.

Satin lingerie carves out soft lines across her body, driving him crazy.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair.

“Draco,” she whines.

He shucks off his jeans and kneels between her legs, yanking her panties down her legs, rubbing his hands down her lithe legs.

She has stretch marks on his stomach and he can’t resist bending down to run his lips over them, reaching up to pull her breasts from her cups.

Hermione’s eyes slip closed and her mouth opens in a soft gasp.

Draco wants to hear her gasps. Her whines. Her cries of pleasure.

“I need you,” she repeats, and her hands pull his shoulders towards her.

He wants to taste her nectar and worship her body in the way it deserves., but she just wants him deep inside her.

“You have me,” he lines his cock up against her wet core and slides home, unable to hold in a groan.

She wraps her legs around him and loops her arms round his neck, gasping louder.

He moves slowly at first, wanting her to feel good. 

“You have me too, Draco.”

He bucks his hips and she keens against him, her own hips lifting to meet him. He kisses her, their teeth nearly scraping against one another.

Bracing himself with one arm, he uses the other to press against her lower stomach, then sliding his hand against her clit, creating enough friction that she mewls like a kitten.

It’s intoxicating. 

He moves at a faster pace now, feeling how hard his cock is, how her tight cunt squeezes around him.

She screams in pleasure, her most wide open and her eyes shut tight, lost to the throes of passion.

Draco lets himself fall over the same peak, knowing that he’s never been so happy in his life.

“I’m yours,” she tells him, her breath erratic and loud against his ear.