Breaking The Pattern

Worship.

That’s what he planned to do as soon as they were back in Scotland.

Watching the poise with which Granger handled the loss of her parents made Draco want to kneel at her feet and pray at her altar.

She asked him to be there. 

The Ministry granted him temporary dispensation in regards to the rule that he remain at Hogwarts. He’d been forced to allow half a dozen Aurors to search the Diagon Alley flat top to bottom before he was allowed to step foot in it. He’d also had to buy muggle mourning clothes and grey suspenders and something called an umbrella.

Longbottom had made an inappropriate comment about the weather being “appropriate.”

The matriarch of the Weasley family had been blubbering since she arrived for the service.

But Hermione had asked him to be there. 

So Draco was there. And he’d held the umbrella above her head during the burial.

As out of place as he had felt during the entire thing, he liked the way muggles mourned the loss of their loved ones.

He’d listened as Granger told lovely stories about both of her parents.

And against every one of his natural and instructed instincts, he cried.

Because she had experienced unconditional love and lost it.

After everything is over, the funeral, the burial, the wake, they apparate to his family’s flat.

She kicks off her shoes and pulls her dress over her head, climbing into the bed in the guest room that they have been sharing all week.

He wants to laugh at her, clad in only her bra and high-waisted stockings. Instead, he takes off his shoes, his jacket, his suspenders, his pants, his shirt, and pads over to her in his underwear and socks.

“Are you tired?” He asks, pulling the comforter from beneath her small form and laying beside her, covering them both.

“Down to my bones,” she says, like a confession.

The setting sun is still illuminating the room around them, but there is no light inside the room.

Draco had begun to suspect he could hear the hum of electricity when they had been in the muggle world.

Here, everything is quiet. If he strains, he can hear the sound of people down below, walking the alley.

“You should get some sleep then,” he suggests. Draco had been taking care of her all week. Sort of. He helped her go through the motions at least.

Got up before her and made tea and breakfast for both of them.

Helped her into the shower with coaxing kisses.

Buttoned or zipped her into her clothes.

He’d filled his flask, temporarily, with water so she didn’t get too dehydrated. And it felt good to help.

But she’d had to take care of everything and everyone else too. She had to explain what would happen at each moment. Had to field inane questions from Mr. Weasley. Had to shake hands with the dozens of people who had known her parents, but never really knew her.

Draco had grown tired of people asking her how boarding school was.

They would never know what she had already lived through.

Pity would fill their faces and they would ooh and ah at her loss, but they didn’t really understand. This was only the most recent in a long list of tragedies.

“If I fall asleep now, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night.”

She’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night either way. She’s been having nightmares. Draco didn’t know if she had been having them before her parents died. She had never mentioned it.

But he doesn’t say that.

“Then I’ll wake up and keep you company.”

She hums in recognition.

Every time she startled awake, Draco was there with soft words and gentle hands, helping to soothe her.

“Or you could help me stay awake right now,” she practically snores.

“Don’t worry, Granger. My body will still be here for you once you are rested.” He chuckles.

She inhales, trying to wake herself up.

“My feet hurt,” she complains, flexing her toes against his calf.

Draco sits up and reaches forward, capturing her left foot in his hands.

The moan that slips out of her when the pads of his fingers massage into her skin wakes Draco up.

He kneads at the tender skin of her soles and listens as her breathing hitches whenever he hits the right spot.

“Are you still with me?” he asks when her breathing evens out.

She doesn’t answer.

He massages her feet for a few more minutes until her breath turns into a low purr. He climbs out of the bed and straightens up the flat, smiling at how simple things have been since they’ve arrived.

His mother had sent flowers, white peonies charmed to never die. 

Draco had been more than surprised to see them on the table when they arrived.

Hermione had read the short note and smiled, taking a petal between her two fingers and stroking it gently.

Taking care not to make too much noise, Draco straightens what he can. Packing away her clothes and cleaning the dishes sitting in the sink.

He starts a fire and then stands, watching her from the doorway.

When she is asleep her entire face changes. While he enjoys the calmness in her relaxed state, he misses her bright eyes.

At just past eleven, an owl pecks at the window.

Draco doesn’t recognize the small brown owl, but opens the window anyway. Taking the small note from its beak, he strokes the owl’s head.

“Who do you belong to?”

The owl just stares.

Turning it over, he is surprised to see it is lacking a seal. Not one of his friends then. 

The contents of the note are even more surprising.

Draco,

We invite you to spend the Christmas holiday with our family. We would like to put aside our differences for Hermione’s sake. That girl needs a family and at this moment, you are a part of that for her. Please respond with your answer before the end of the month.

Thank you, Molly Weasley.

He’s been invited to Christmas with the Weasleys. There is no way on Earth he is going to spend his holiday with the Weasleys. No. Way.

A soft noise from the bedroom reminds Draco why he was invited. 

If she asks him, he won’t be able to say no. He decides he isn’t going to tell her about the note. At least not right away.

Draco feeds the bird and sends it on his way, tucking the note into his school bag.

“Why did I just wake up alone?” Hermione calls from the bed.

He smiles and heads for the door.

“I thought you’d make it at least until midnight,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame.

She is sitting up in the moonlight, comforter low around her torso, her perfect tits on display in her bra.

“See something you like?” Her voice changes from irritated to sultry instantly.

Draco nods, staying in place.

“Me too,” she purrs, her eyes raking over his exposed skin.

“Feel better?” he asks, worried she didn’t sleep enough. All week, she’d struggled to escape the pain of her consciousness.

“You’ve taken such good care of me.”

He shrugs, grateful he has the doorway to lean against. She makes him weak.

“I wanted to,” he admits. “After everything you’ve done for me. And everything I’ve done to you.”

“You’ve more than made up for all of that. Ten times over,” she bats her eyelashes. 

Draco shrugs again, uncomfortable with the insinuation that sleeping with her makes up for his past actions. 

She pushes back the comforter and stands up, stretching her hands over her head and shifting her feet to stretch her legs.

She looks incredible. Underneath all of those jumpers and robes, she’d been hiding the most delectable body Draco had ever seen.

Her petite frame fit so perfectly with his, like a puzzle.

Draco can’t resist the temptation to run his hands over her wide hips and flat stomach.

But as soon as he pushes off the door frame, she opens her eyes and shakes her head at him.

“Stay right there,” she points to the floor, her tone bossy.

He puts his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever you say, Granger.”

She stretches a moment more, her fingers threading through her hair. Only when she gathers it into a low bun at the back of her neck does Draco realize her intent.

He swallows, feeling blood rush south.

For the love of Merlin, this witch is going to kill him.

She saunters forward, too casual for the level of desperation rising within him.

When she slips to her knees in front of him, Draco groans.

“Granger no,” he covers his face with his hands to try and resist the temptation.

“No? Are you sure? Because I won’t touch you unless I have your permission,” she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, tossing it to the side.

He’s looking now. He never wants to stop looking.

“Please,” he breathes out.

“Please what?” she teases, her hands remaining painfully still in her lap.

“Please touch me, Granger.”

“I’m going to do more than just touch you, Malfoy.”

Her hands go to the waistband of his underwear and she pulls them down to his knees, shifting on her own knees so that his cock is right in front of her.

Draco braces himself with a hand on the frame so that he doesn’t push forward.

When her hand wraps around his dick and she takes the tip into his mouth, he hisses.

“Fuck, Granger.”

He can feel her smile as her tongue darts out to lick at the drop of precum.

When she takes him deeper, he focuses on his hand, embarrassed at how much he already wants to cum.

Her left hand shifts from the base of his cock to his balls and her right presses against the front of his thigh. She slides her lips further down his cock, warm and incredible.

Perhaps he’s died. For surely this is the Heaven he’s read about in Muggle books.

She moves back and forth, taking more of him each time, expertly sucking.

She manages to take his large cock all the way into her mouth and into her throat.

The sound of her gagging slightly has Draco’s hand slip into her hair, pulling her back.

But she looks up at him with those bright eyes and he realizes she isn’t struggling at all.

Hermione is taking his cock like a fucking conquerer.

“Fuck,” he moans, tightening his grip in her hair and pushing himself deeper once more.

She swallows and he can feel himself rocketing towards an orgasm. He'd be embarrassed if he wasn't confident that no one could resist Hermione Granger's oral abilities.

“I’m going to cum, Granger,” he warns her, even as she bobs enthusiastically.

There is a glint in her eyes as she doubles down and he throws his head back, reveling in the sensation of her warm lips and silky tongue pleasuring his cock.

When he cums down her throat, she swallows all of it.

He loves her. Merlin, he loves her.

“Granger,” he starts, pulling out of her mouth and pulling her by the roots of her hair, gently, to her feet. “That was fucking euphoric.”

Hermione’s cheeks go pink and Draco wants to get down on his own knees. Worship. That is what he wants to do. And he will. But not here. Not when she has just buried her parents.

The witch just sucked his cock and now she is blushing.

So he kisses her, long and gentle and loving.

His actions try to convey the feeling he isn’t quite ready to tell her.

“It was alright?” she whispers when he pulls away.

“Alright? Did you not hear me? That was the single greatest experience of my life thus far.”

She laughs and he frowns. She doesn’t believe him.

“I’m serious.”

He tips her chin up so she is looking right at him and hopes that she can see the truth in his eyes.

“I believe you,” she says and he kisses her again, their warm skin pressed against each other.

The puzzle complete.