Chapter Text
I
2004:
It had all come full circle for Draco Malfoy, finally. He had spent so many years after the war trying to make reparations – most of them were financial, to be fair. But he had apologized to Potter and his Weasley friend. Shaking their hands had made his skin crawl.
He had been shunned from pubs, bookstores, Quidditch shops…If it existed in Diagon Alley, Draco Malfoy had had been banned from it after the war. He had earned his right to exist in some of these spaces – not all, not by a long shot – but some was definitely better than none.
Draco thought things were looking up. Really, truly looking up. He had a girlfriend for the first time since Pansy Parkinson -- Astoria Greengrass. She was a pureblood, and beautiful. She knew which fork to use with which course, she could engage in witty banter with all the society gentleman. In short, she was everything he wanted in a Malfoy wife.
He supposed.
Astoria Greengrass was everything he had ever wanted. But, really, he didn’t want her at all.
But, ultimately, he had waited for this: everything coming full circle.
Already in the middle of some sort of existential crisis, Draco was told he would be guarding Granger – Yes, the Hermione Granger – on her next mission of ridiculous Gryffindor bravery.
It was actually just a magical law convention, but Draco had a flair for the dramatics. And this was just terrible.
She fought all day for the rights of downtrodden – Centaurs, Werewolves, Veela. He could’ve sworn he heard “former Death Eaters” at one point, but that might have been just too much to hope for.
His only job was to stand by and make sure she didn’t get herself killed.
There had been a few attempts after the war – mostly half-assed. But the one or two that had almost come to fruition…Well, that was enough to earn the brightest witch of her age her own personal bodyguard permanently.
Which is where Draco came in. Tall, broad, strong, and a fantastic wizard, if he did say so himself. The best part? He was completely dispensable because of the Dark Mark that scarred his left arm. The perfect bodyguard.
The Wizarding world hated him. And now he was defending the witch he was taught to hate since birth.
fucking ridiculous.
He consoled himself that this was just a one-off. Her normal bodyguard was Finnigan, but all too predictably, a bit of magic had blown up in his face and he was currently at St. Mungo’s, healing from his accidental, self-induced burns.
But still, it was currently his job to protect Granger. The world could not possibly be anymore cruel to him. At the thought, he scratched instinctively at the Dark Mark hidden under his suit. Even after all this time, it still itched constantly.
So, Draco did his job. He stood by the stage, his arms crossed in front of himself, watching for any threats. After having Voldemort in his house for an extended period of time, he was incredibly observant – it was easy to expect the worst constantly, obsessively waiting for the other shoe to proverbially drop.
She was speaking into the magic microphone, her voice magnified so all of the audience could hear – something about vampires this time. Draco honestly didn’t care. He was hungry, he wanted a drink, and his blasted arm itched.
Draco was jarred from his own thoughts – Fuck, she could’ve been killed because you weren’t paying attention, you shit – as the audience exploded into applause. Draco shook his head, trying to clear it, and stepped forward, lifting his arm for Granger to grab as she descended the stairs.
She scowled and refused his arm, walking down the steps by herself.
Draco rolled his eyes. He secretly hoped she’d trip and fall.
But, of course she didn’t. She was steady on her heels – Granger, in heels? – her smile broad as she waved at the crowd that was cheering for her. She paused on her descent, as if to address the crowd.
In that moment, Draco felt nervousness explode in his stomach – something was wrong. Without a second thought, he grabbed Granger’s arm and apparated.
They landed outside, a few blocks from where the conference was taking place.
“What the fuck, Malfoy?” she screamed.
“Hush, Granger. Something was wrong.”
“Don’t tell me to hush -- !”
“I’m telling you to hush. So hush. Just trust me, ok? We needed to leave.”
“Trust you? You?”
“Yes, me. I realize I’m garbage. But I’m also your bodyguard for the next…twelve or so hours, so can you just fucking listen to someone else for a second. If you die, I don’t get paid.”
“I want a drink,” she whispered. “I felt it, too. Something wasn’t right.”
“Muggle London is probably our best bet,” Draco replied, holding out his arm to her.
She eyed it warily.
“Side-along, Granger. I am being paid for a service. What if you splinched yourself? Again, I’d like to be paid.”
She scowled but took hold of his arm anyway, and he apparated them into London.
He could use a stiff drink, too.
Room 309:
It had been years since Draco had slept soundly. He was plagued by nightmares – every single night. He often woke up sweating, or sometimes crying, though he’d never admit that. The nightmares were horrendous, and Voldemort was prevalent in every single one. The snake-like eyes – red, so unnatural -- the flat nose. His skin, white and flaky, like a snake currently shedding its skin.
Charity Burbage. Murdered on his dining room table. Nagini eating the body. Her body. Right in front of him, and he had been forced to watch, expressionless. He had swallowed his own vomit that day.
He woke most days with a belly bubbling with anxiety.
But today, he felt warm – so warm. Astoria must’ve found the right temperature on the temprostrat. Thermocrat? The muggle device, with the temperatures. Tempersat?
Draco slowly opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t in his flat, nor was he with Astoria.
His body was currently wrapped around Hermione Granger.
fuck
They were both naked.
no no no no
He was hard against her back and fuck. They had fucked last night, it was undeniable.
She was on the left side of the bed, turned away from him. Her breasts rose steadily with every breath she took in.
Draco gulped. He had had sex with Granger. He needed out – immediately. This was not what he signed up for.
His head hurt, what the fuck?
He jumped out of her bed, pulling on his boxers that had been discarded on the floor at some point in the night.
She grumbled unintelligibly, still asleep and oblivious to the fact that they had fucked.
Draco found his white button-up, discarded right at the door, apparently -- and his trousers, on the complete opposite side of the room, almost if they had been flung against the wall. He hastily buttoned his shirt and his trousers before he paused and stared at the witch on the bed – his bed? Her bed? Whose room was this and how did they get there?
fuck
When he looked up, Granger was awake and staring at him.
“What, Granger?” he hissed.
“Last night did not happen,” she seethed, clutching the sheets of the bed tightly around her breasts.
Draco was momentarily distracted by a flash of a very recent memory – his lips wrapped around a nipple, her flesh pebbled with goosebumps, a soft moan escaping her own lips –
no
“No, it very much didn’t,” he agreed.
“You need to leave.”
Ah, so it was her room.
“Understood, Granger.”
“When this conference is over, you and I will never see each other again, understood?”
Draco nodded, wanting absolutely nothing more than to never see this woman again. “Cannot wait, Granger.”
He went back to gathering his clothes – Merlin, had she just ripped the clothes from his back? They were everywhere –
“Can you hurry up?”
Well, that kind of hurt. “You know I saved your life last night, right?” he seethed.
fucking just –
She seemed to soften at that. “Was there any news?” she asked quietly.
“Don’t know. You’re busy kicking me out of your room, haven’t had time to check The Prophet.”
“Then how do you know you saved my life?”
“I just. Fuck, Granger. I just know, ok? I have a bit of Seer in my blood. I have gut instincts. I had a bad one last night. It’s never steered me wrong -- ever, so I went with it.”
She snorted. “Seer? Please.”
“Don’t make fun of magic you don’t understand. Trelawney is as batty as they come, but Sight is real.”
“Oh, does Draco Malfoy have the Sight?” she giggled to herself.
“No,” he replied with a frown. “You know what, Granger? Fuck you, I’m done. Someone else can be your handler for the rest of this ridiculous conference. Get yourself killed for all I care.”
Finally, he found his suit jacket, and pulling it on in one swift movement, he left her room, slamming the door behind him.
If he never saw Hermione Granger again it would be too soon.
2005:
It had almost been a year, but there she was, the Golden Girl herself: Hermione Granger.
fucking bitch
Another year, another event, another day Draco risked his life for money.
It was also possible he liked the adrenaline, but he’d never admit that.
Her hair was slightly more tamed – shorter and smoother than the last time he had seen it –
wrapped around his knuckles as he pulled her head back to kiss and bite against the hollow of her throat she moaned and it was delicious –
He fucking hated her, but he’d be lying to himself if said he didn’t want her again. The memories of last year were hazy, and few and far between, but damn, what he did remember had been incredible.
Draco didn’t realize he’d been staring at her until her gaze landed on him. She blinked slowly, and then nodded at him curtly.
the fuck does that mean
Honestly, why did he even care?
you don’t
But he continued to watch her until she slipped away from the crowd, and the fans, and what if someone was trying to kill her again? The stage from last year had been blown to absolute smithereens after they had apparated. No one had been killed, but there had been a few injuries. He knew she probably felt guilty about that, her bloody hero complex and what not.
Without a second thought, he followed her. He found her outside, leaning against a wall, one heel pressed against it, her arms folded over her chest.
“Stop watching me.” She didn’t even turn her head to look at him.
“I’m not,” he protested.
“You are! All night long, you’ve been watching me. Stop it. It was a year ago…I’m with Ron.”
“Alright.”
“Alright?”
“I said, ‘alright,’ Granger. Do you want me to fight you on this?”
“No,” she replied quietly.
“What? Do you want me to snog you instead?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Room 1100:
It was different than last time, he thought. For one, neither of them was blackout drunk. No, they had both consciously decided to fuck each other’s brains out this time. She didn’t attempt to kick him out like she had a year ago. Instead, she just rolled off his sweaty body, lying a few inches away from him. He could feel her amber eyes on him. She did not speak.
Draco didn’t like silence, so he attempted to break it: “I thought you said we’d never see each other again. I certainly was not expecting a repeat performance of last year.” He turned his head and smirked at her, expecting a distasteful expression to settle upon her face, or a disdainful response – hell, even a slap would not have been entirely unexpected – after all, this was Granger – but there was nothing. She returned his smirk, but she did not speak.
Surprised, Draco continued: “Why was there a repeat performance, anyway?”
Granger’s smirk only grew, and she stifled a giggle.
She was beautiful when she laughed, Draco decided. He had the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her, to hold her, so he scooted his body closer and wrapped himself around her, pulling her into himself. Her hair, still slightly bushy – and the vigorous fuck certainly hadn’t done it any favors – invaded his face, his nostrils, his eyes. It was softer than it looked, and he inhaled the scent of her hair. Vanilla, lavender, and the salty smell of her drying sweat. He found he quite liked it.
She didn’t fight him, which is what he had expected, but she didn’t relax into him either. She simply laid there in his arms, allowing him to hold her, a minor comfort in his fucked up life. Still, she didn’t speak.
It wasn’t until the rays of the morning sun began to flood into the room, did she break the silence. “I have to go,” she said quietly, knowing Draco wasn’t asleep.
“Ok,” he replied, removing his arms from her and suddenly feeling very cold, and very much alone.
She rose and slowly began to dress herself. Draco watched her from the bed, admiring the flare of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts that fit oh-so-perfectly in the palms of his hands, the delicate curve of her neck, hunched over as she pulled on her skirt.
Fully dressed, she made to leave. She paused for a moment before turning around to face Draco, still laying naked in his bed. “This won’t happen again.”
“Understood, Granger.”
2006:
The wedding had been in all the newspapers. The wizarding wedding of the decade and all that, second only to the wedding of Potter and the She-Weasel that had happened immediately after the end of the war.
Granger and Weasley, the golden couple. Media darlings and saviors of wizard England.
He wasn’t surprised that morning when he picked up The Prophet to see Granger and Weasley on the front page, Granger smiling and waving enthusiastically at him, her curls more tamed than he had ever seen them, sleek and shiny as they fell across her shoulders. Granger, in the big white dress, and she looked –
fucking beautiful
Weasley’s suit appeared to be slightly askew, and he grinned at the camera – he just fucking grinned.
It didn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt.
He and Granger were nothing. Had never been anything. He was with Astoria. She had made that astoundingly clear. It had just been an impromptu shag – or two – but that was over, it was done. She had said it would never happen again. It had been over a year since he had seen her last, when he had taken a small comfort in her, his arms wrapped around her lithe body, her hair in his face. And now she was married.
Clearly, it was not going to happen again. Also, Draco didn’t care.
So, Draco was surprised when he received an owl a few weeks later:
I have a conference in a few weeks, and I’m in need of a bodyguard. Think you could lend me your services?
-H
Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.
Room 424:
They laid side by side, their breathing still heavy, the sweat just beginning to dry on their naked skin. He had tried to resist – really, he had – but she had been aggressive, vigorous, dominant as she had taken him by his collar and pressed him against the elevator, slamming her lips to his. He really did try to resist -- but she was needful, and wholly intoxicating, and he wanted to be used by her, he wanted to feel her again.
She was everything that was beautiful in the world and he was little more than the garbage that littered the streets of Knockturn Alley, so if Hermione Granger wanted to use him, if she could gain some form of pleasure from him – well, that was all the redemption he could ever hope for.
“So, I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, as his breathing finally evened out.
She made no attempt to move and continued to stare up at the ceiling. “Yes,” she replied simply.
“How was the wedding?”
“Fine.”
“Were there a lot of people – at the wedding?”
“A few.”
“Did you have a good time?”
She turned her head to look at him then. “What are you doing?”
“Asking you about your wedding, Granger.”
“Why?”
“Well now that we’ve shagged, I thought I’d try and make polite conversation. It’s been a year since I last saw you.”
She snorted. “Please. Because we talked last year,” she said sarcastically.
He turned his face to look at her then. “I tried. You just laid there and smirked.” Draco turned away once more. “Forgive me, I’ll just be quiet. I should’ve realized you just wanted my cock.”
It didn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt.
She threw an arm over his belly and moved closer to him. “I’ll answer one question.”
“One?” he teased.
“Don’t test me, Malfoy,” she growled, climbing on top of him.
“Fine, one question. Why did you owl me?” he asked quietly, running his hands up her arms as they braced herself above him.
She shrugged. “I needed a bodyguard.”
“Yes. But why me?”
“I said one question, Malfoy.”
“It doesn’t count if you evade the actual answer to said question.”
She sighed and lowered herself, wrapping her arms around his neck as her chest pressed against his. “I wanted to see you.”
Draco lifted his head and gently kissed her jaw where it hovered above him. “Why?”
“I answered your one question, Malfoy.” She grinned at him.
“Not satisfactorily, Granger.”
“I let you have the point about evasion, Malfoy. I answered you question. Just because it doesn’t satisfy your curiosity does not mean that I should expand on my reasoning. That is not my responsibility.”
“Ever the swot, I see.” He kissed down her neck until he found the hollow of her throat – just where she loved to be kissed –
oh god Draco yes yes more
She pulled away from him when he reached her pulse point with his lips, he arms straight as he rested her hands, now balled in fists, against his chest. “You were really horrible to me, you know that?”
“Yes,” he agreed. There was no point in fighting it. It was the truth.
“Oh,” she seemed surprised by his admission.
He rubbed at her fists, hoping to ease some of the tension that she held. “I was an absolute shit to you, Granger. I’ll admit that. I was a stupid kid with disgusting, misguided beliefs.”
Her fingers now splayed on his chest. “Do you still believe in all that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco tilted his head. “Do you think I’d be here, with you, right now, if I still believed in all of that shit?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really know anything about you.”
He agreed. “No, you don’t.”
Draco didn’t offer her anything else – He could’ve told her about Charity Burbage, or living with Lord Voldemort, or watching his father slowly become an empty shell right front of him, or about the nightmares, or the panic attacks. But she didn’t ask, so he didn’t tell.
She left sometime after he had fallen asleep, and he sighed as he woke up alone, wondering when he would see her next – if he would ever see her again.
Room 572:
“Only 6 months this time instead of a year? My, Granger, are you going soft on me now?”
She snorted at him, but still, she moved closer and pushed her hand through his hair. He leaned into her hand immediately, enjoying her fingers in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. No answer.
“Ignoring me again, Granger?”
“No,” she said quietly. “Just thinking.”
“Care to share with the class?”
She sighed and dropped her head down onto his shoulder. “I’ve been lonely.”
Draco wrapped his arms around her. “Lonely? Why?”
“Ron’s gone a lot. Auror stuff, you know. And even when he is home. It’s just –“ she trailed off.
“Just what?”
“There’s a disconnect, you know? It’s like since we got married…He doesn’t feel like he has to try anymore. He just wants to eat dinner and go to bed, and I’m trying to figure out how I fit into his life. Sometimes, I just feel like a guest, an annoyance – it’s stupid, honestly.”
“It’s not stupid, Granger. Weasley is oblivious, always has been. Talk to the git, I’m sure he’ll shape up.”
fucking Weasley.
“You think so?” she asked quietly.
“If he loves you, he will.” She was silent at that. “Are you unhappy, Hermione?”
Her head snapped towards him. He had only ever called her Hermione when he was inside of her.
fuck Hermione just like that –
“No, I’m not unhappy. Just, trying to figure things out.”
“It would probably help if you weren’t sleeping with me.”
“I know,” she replied solemnly.
“As long as you aren’t unhappy.”
“Why do you care?” she asked incredulously
“This isn’t nothing, you know. I don’t just -- I have a girlfriend, you know. I have, since the first time. You’re not just -- I don’t know. But you’re not nothing to me. I do care. A little.”
“I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend.”
“You never asked.”
“Is it serious?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
“Now, Granger. I did just fuck you.”
“That’s not – that doesn’t mean –” she protested.
“No?”
“No,” she affirmed.
“Right.”
She was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “I should go.”
“No. It’s still dark out. Stay.” He tightened his hold on her.
He slept much better when she was near.
When he awoke the next morning, she was gone. Again.
2007:
Room 1412:
“You care about me?” she asked. They were under the covers, the soft morning light streaming through the windows of the hotel room. Draco was amazed she was still here. Last night had been quiet -- she had owled him once more, in need of a bodyguard. He had met her at the hotel at the time she had requested, and with no words, but simply a nod of her head, she led him upstairs and into the hotel room they now occupied.
The sex had been different, too. It was usually frenzied, desperate – two people in need slamming their bodies together until they exploded into white-hot sparks. She had been on top, calculated and deliberate with her thrusts, her eyes, nearly black with lust, focused on his face. It had scared him, had worried him. He had placed his palms on either side of her face and whispered: “Hermione?”
“Just let me,” she had gasped, burying her face in his shoulder as she continued to rock against him.
“Ok.”
Within minutes, she was shuddering against him, her teeth gripping his shoulder as she bared down on him. She was immobile as he continued thrusting into her, quickly finding his own release.
It had been quiet ever since.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
“Nothing,” she replied quietly. There a tinge of sadness in her voice and he didn’t like it. At all.
“No, not nothing. What, Hermione?”
“Sometimes I feel just horrible, just ugly, just like the worst person.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m married, Draco,” she said quietly. “I’m married.”
“I know.”
“Then why--?”
“Tell me to stop, and we’ll stop.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No. But if you do -- if you really do. Tell me. I’ll end it.”
“I love him, I think--”
“You think?”
“I tried to talk to him. He doesn’t listen. Things…They’re not better. I just –
Draco sat up immediately. “Does he hurt you?” he demanded.
“No, no. nothing like that. Calm down, Draco.”
“If he lays hand on you, I will fucking—”
Her hands were on his face and he immediately relaxed at her touch. “I wouldn’t stay if he did. It’s not like that, I promise you.”
“You’re just unhappy,” he spat.
She said nothing to that, but she lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“I want you to be happy, Hermione,” he said softly.
“I’m happy right now.”
with me with me?
“Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“I don’t know. I’ve known Ron since I was eleven years old. He was my best friend. My first – everything, really. I loved him. I love him. We’re married.” Her voice was a choked whisper.
“If you love him, why do you keep meeting with me?” he challenged. He was sick of this – talking about her marriage with the Weasel, while she laid naked in his bed, her eyes black with lust as she fucked him – No. It wasn’t fair. And he was tired.
She froze. “Sometimes, I don’t know.”
“And the other times? What about then?” His anger was rising rapidly, and he could feel the blood begin to bloom high in his cheeks.
“Draco –”
“No, what about the other times? The times when you do know?”
“I just want to see you—” she began.
“—You want to fuck me. You fuck me, and then you complain about your fucking husband while we’re still fucking naked, and then when he fails again, you come to me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I think you should leave,” he said quietly, rolling away from her to face the wall.
He felt her move from the bed, heard her getting dressed, he even heard her pause, as if she was waiting for him to turn over to look at her. He didn’t. He refused. Eventually, he heard the door to the hotel room shut, and Draco shook slightly as tears leaked from his closed eyes.
Room 417:
They stood several feet apart from each other in her hotel room. Draco refused to look her in the eye, and apparently, she wasn’t speaking to him.
Draco didn’t want to be here.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she began, quietly, gently.
“You asked for a bodyguard, and I’m here.”
“Not about that.”
“Am I getting paid for this?”
She paused, a flash of hurt flitted across her beautiful face. “Yes, you’ll be compensated.”
“Great.”
“Draco—”
“Malfoy works, don’t you think, Granger?”
“Stop it.”
Finally, he looked at her. “What, Granger? What do you want from me?”
“I miss you,” she whispered.
“You’re married, remember?” he spat.
“You have a girlfriend.”
“It’s not the same fucking thing, Granger!” He ran his hands through his hair.
He really didn’t want to be here.
“Oh, no?” she taunted. “How is it not the same?”
“If you asked me to break up with her, I’d fucking do it!”
“What?” she asked quietly.
“You fucking heard me.”
“But…why?”
“Damn it, Granger. The last time I saw you I told you I wanted you to be happy. If it would make you happy, I’d do it.”
“Draco—”
“Malfoy.”
“Draco,” she said adamantly, “do you love Astoria?”
i love you—
“No,” he answered simply.
“Then…why?”
“You’re not the only one who gets lonely, Granger.”
“Draco –”
He couldn’t. He couldn’t do this anymore. “Please, stop,” he said quietly. “I can’t anymore. I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t keep doing this with you. You’re married. I have Astoria. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Oh,” she replied. Her voice dropped low. Disappointment.
He wanted to kick himself for hurting her.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Don’t be. I’m married. I’ll just -- I’ll go home to my husband.” She couldn’t hide the sob that escaped her.
Hearing her cry was like being kicked in the gut.
“Leave him.”
“What?” she asked, tears escaping from her eyes.
“Leave him,” Draco repeated.
“And what? Be with you?” she laughed.
A rock settled in his gut. “Is that so ridiculous?”
She looked at him, puzzled, her face red and splotchy with tears. “Is that what you want?”
“I want you, Hermione. I’m sick of the hotel rooms, I’m sick of the sneaking around. I’m sick of seeing you a handful of times a year. I miss you all the fucking time, Hermione. I want you.” He hadn’t meant for the admission to leave his lips, but now it had. He stepped towards and linked his fingers with hers.
“I’m married,” she repeated.
“So leave him,” he begged –
be with me
“I can’t.”
He dropped her hands and moved away from her. “I’m done, Granger. Find a new bodyguard. And don’t owl me anymore.”
She buried her head in her hands and let out a choked sob.
Draco turned and walked away, dying inside as he heard her cry.
He opened the door and let himself out without looking back –
i fucking love you
Draco wanted to fucking die.
Room 607:
It was messy, brutal, rough. He fucked her as if to punish her, slamming into her so hard that even his pleasure mixed with the pain. He was angry, so fucking angry with her –
His handprints were on her arse, bites and angry lovemarks blooming on the hollow of her throat.
His lips were on hers, rough, unyielding, and bruising.
“Draco,” she moaned.
“Shut up,” he growled.
“Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me.”
He slowed his thrusts. He leaned down and kissed her softly. “I don’t hate you, Hermione. I could never hate you.”
She whimpered and clung to his back. He removed his lips from hers and continued to thrust into her. They came together and clung to each other as they fell asleep. The morning light woke Draco, and he slipped out of her bed before she woke up.
2008:
Draco took the job knowing she’d be there. It was a conference on the rights of Veela, so of course, Granger would be there.
His charge was a young half-Veela named Juliette, a young, beautiful girl attempting to achieve a fame similar to that of Celestina Warbeck.
Draco remembered seeing Fleur Delacour for the first time, in his fourth year at Hogwarts. He would have done anything for that girl just to look at him. She was beautiful and he had wanted to taste her – Needless to say, he had been nervous upon discovering his newest employer was a half-Veela.
What was worse? He felt absolutely nothing as he looked at her.
Sure. She was pretty. She flirted with him. He felt nothing.
But when he saw a flash of curly brown hair out of the corner of his eye, it was like his heart started again.
He just wanted Hermione.
Hermione mounted the stage and made her way to the podium. Her hair was completely straight, which he had never seen before – he longed to run his fingers through it – and she was dressed in an emerald green pant suit
merlin and circe and –
She was more beautiful than any Veela.
-- and something wasn’t right
It was the same feeling he had years before – something bad was about to happen.
Hermione
Draco didn’t think twice – he abandoned Juliette and made a run for the stage. There were flashes of green light and he could hear screams –
HERMIONE
Her wand was out, and she was casting curses, hexes, and protective spells in every direction. He grabbed her arm and apparated them to room 309.
Room 309, Part II:
She was sobbing when they landed.
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m sorry.”
She pushed him. “I didn’t need you. I had a bodyguard. I didn’t need you.”
“I know, I know that. But I felt it – something with wrong. I just couldn’t—”
“I don’t need you! I would have been fine!” she screamed, pushing at him.
“I know that, Hermione. I know.”
“Don’t patronize me!” she pushed again.
“I’m not, I’m not! Hermione, goddammit,” he sobbed.
That seemed to sober her a bit. “Why are you crying?” she asked quietly.
“Why? Why? Someone tried to kill you tonight, Hermione, again, and—”
Her hands were soft as they held his face. “Look at me, Draco. Look at me. I’m right here, I’m fine.”
Draco closed his eyes and bit his lip, nodding. He slid his hands up her forearms, comforting himself with her presence, her touch. “I know, Hermione. I know. But—”
“No. No buts.”
Draco opened his eyes and nodded once more. He rested his forehead against hers. “Are you all right?”
“I’m ok, Draco.”
He let out a shaky breath. “We can’t stay here. This isn’t my room, just the first place I thought of.”
For the first time, Hermione looked around the room. “Where are we?”
“The first room.”
“Oh, the room where we woke up naked with zero memory of what happened?”
“That’d be the one, my beautiful swot.”
“Lovely, just lovely, Draco,” she said, with a light swat at his arm. She looked back to him, worrying her lower between her teeth. “I don’t—I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Then you won’t. You won’t.”
i’ll never let you be alone
Room 1115:
For the first time, Draco felt like they made love instead of just having fucked. It was a subtle difference, really. There was need, there was passion – of course, there always was – but there was something else, something that flickered and crackled between them as she dug her nails into his shoulder, as he wrapped an arm around her waist, to pull her closer, always closer. It was in the look in her eyes, too, filled with lust, but the hard edge that normally accompanied her pupils, blown wide with desire was softer, somehow, because there was something – just something – that was just different.
She was quiet when she came, which was different, too. Instead of the normal moans he elicited from her, her body simply tightened around his as she shuddered in his arms, her head buried in his neck, her nails pressing so deeply into the skin of his shoulder that he knew she’d drawn blood, but he didn’t care. He simply clung to her as she did him. He followed behind her shortly, gasping her name quietly as she held him: “Hermione.”
They didn’t move for several movements. They stayed that way, so utterly entwined with each other that it felt as if their bodies had fused together – a mixture of blood, and sweat, and fear, and—
love
“Are you ok?” he whispered, as they continued to cling to each other, their breathing still labored.
“Yes. Just—Just don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” The last thing he ever wanted to do was let her go. He lowered them onto the bed, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around her. She sighed and settled into him and they drifted off to sleep, thoroughly exhausted.
Draco woke first, as the first rays of sunshine came streaming into the sparse hotel room. He was warm, and cozy, and the leg that was firmly nestled between his own assured him that she was still there. She had stayed. He loved when she stayed, as infrequently as that may have been. He gently pressed a kiss into her hair, unwilling to wake her, but fuck he just needed to touch her, to feel that she was real, that she was still here.
She grumbled and rolled away from him, the light of the morning sun catching the diamond she wore on her left finger, throwing glowing rays against the white-washed walls of the hotel. Draco frowned; the moment shattered.
A light tapping at the window caught his attention, and he gently rose from the bed. His owl, Noctua, was there, holding a copy of The Prophet in his sharpened talons. Draco cracked the window and took the paper from the regal owl. “Thanks, boy. Sorry, I don’t have any treats for you here,” he said in response to Noctua’s demanding peck at his fingers. Noctua gave his master a disdainful hoot before taking flight once more. Draco closed the window and looked at The Prophet. His stomach bottomed-out at the headline: Death Eater Attack at Conference for the Welfare of Magical Creatures. Golden Girl Missing.
fuck
Draco ran his hand through his hair. fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Draco?” she asked for him, her voice still sleepy, but sounding slightly panicked.
She thought he had left her.
“I’m right here,” he said, walking back towards the bed.
She smiled sleepily as soon as she saw him. “What’s that?” she asked, seeing The Prophet crumpled in his hands.
“The Prophet,” he said dismally. “You should go. Everyone thinks you’re missing. Which, I guess, technically, you are, since I’m the only one who knows where you are.”
Her amber eyes widened. “Oh, no. Oh no!” She scrambled from the bed, haphazardly tugging on her clothes which had been strewn across the floor. “Ronald probably thinks I’m dead, and Harry – ! Oh no, this is bad. Very bad. Why didn’t I – Why didn’t I just stop a think for one bloody moment?”
“Hermione.”
“—so irresponsible of me, honestly!”
“Hermione!”
She stopped ranting to herself and turned to him. “What?” she snapped.
“I left Astoria,” he said simply.
“What?”
Draco shrugged at her. “I left Astoria. Couple of months ago.”
“What? Why? I didn’t ask you—”
“I know.”
“What do you expect me to say?”
Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”
“I—I have to go, Draco. You understand, don’t you?” she asked, silently pleading with him.
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ll owl you? Later this week?”
“You do that, Hermione.”
She seemed hurt by his tone, but Draco couldn’t help it. He had mentally detached at the first mention of Weasley, and it was simple – the situation was what it was. She was running back to her husband after they had made love – and that’s what it was, Draco knew, there was no way denying that it was anything else but that – and Draco needed to close off, to shut down. He told her about Astoria, just to see if made any difference, and fuck, he wanted it to make a difference, he wanted it to change things, change everything.
But it didn’t. She was leaving him, again.
Room 1812:
“What’s it like being single?”
He snorted and rolled to face her. “I don’t really consider myself single, you know.”
“Oh, did you get back together with her?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Granger. You know perfectly well what I’m referring to.”
“Draco—”
“I know. You don’t have to say it.”
She closed her mouth and nodded solemnly.
“I love you,” he said it quietly, so quietly he was afraid she wouldn’t have heard him.
“I know.”
His heart dropped. “Oh.”
“I love you, too,” she said softly.
Draco sidled closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers where it laid on the pillow, her curls fanned around her. “Do you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I do.”
more than you love Weasley?
He couldn’t ask, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Instead he kissed her, softly, gently, savoring the way her lips felt on his, the taste of her lips, the tip of her tongue, the way it felt running across his bottom lip, begging him to open up to her.
i love you so fucking much
Draco deepened the kiss. Every time felt like it could be the last time with her, that one day he would wake up, and she’d be gone – and this time there would be no more owls – she would just disappear in the light of morning, disappear from his life for all eternity, leaving him alone and empty, a hollow, bitter man with a great chasm deep inside his chest. So, he opened up for her, allowing her to take whatever it was she wanted from him, giving her everything he could, anything she would take in return. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, gasping as he slid once more inside of her.
She moaned as he filled her, a small breathy noise that tickled his chin. “Show me,” she breathed once he was fully sheathed inside of her.
He moved within her slowly, tenderly, wanting this to last – because what if it truly was the last time? She wrapped her legs around waist, pulling him deeper into her. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. “I love you.” Her nails dug into his back, silently begging him for more, so he obliged and sped up the roll of his hips and the intensity of his thrusts.
“Draco,” she cried out in a clear appreciation at his change in tempo.
“Say it,” he demanded as he ground himself against. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Draco.”
Draco groaned, her words stroking something deep inside of him, something that stoked the flames of his lust -- already in danger of burning out of control, threatening to raze the deepest part of him – his emotions, his soul, his love. Her words had him rocketing towards his orgasm, but he bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to check himself, to regain his control. She had to come first, he always had to make her come first.
He looked down at her, her golden body covered in a soft sheen of sweat as she met his every thrust. Her pants were getting quicker, her moans louder, and her eyes were beginning to glaze over with pleasure as she stared at the place where their bodies met, watching as he thrust deeply inside of her. The image of her watching him inside of her was so incredibly erotic that he felt himself quickly losing his control again. “Are you close? Tell me you’re close,” he groaned.
“Yes, yes,” she whimpered, “I’m close, Draco. I’m so close,” she moaned back.
“What do you need? Tell me, I’ll do it. Want you—want you to come for me.”
“Just keep doing – oh – that. Touch me,” she begged.
He kissed her roughly, wanting to swallow her moans, her breath, her fucking life force. His hand slid down her body as his fingers sought the most sensitive piece of her. He found it immediately, and she moaned appreciatively. He rubbed quick circles around the swollen nub, the movements of her hips becoming quicker and more erratic, and then she was gasping in his ear, a long low moan wrenched from her throat as she stiffened and tightened around him. A singular thrust and he, too, was bursting, white lights exploding behind his eyes as he buried himself as deeply as he could and stilled, spurting himself inside of her.
Draco collapsed on top of her, the force of his orgasm leaving him weak and boneless. He made to roll off of her, afraid he would crush her, but she wrapped her arms around him forcefully, holding him tightly in place on top of her. Gods, it felt so good to be wrapped in Hermione Granger’s arms.
When their breathing finally slowed, she loosened her hold on him and rolled off of her, settling next to her and pulling her back into his arms. They were sweaty and sticky with their lovemaking, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to hold her until she’d no longer let him.
“I think about it sometimes,” she whispered after a few moments of silence.
Draco pushed an errant curl out of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “Think about what?”
“Us.” Her voice was so soft, so timid, like she was a lost little girl and not the most brilliant, ambitious witch he had ever met.
“What about us?”
“What it would be like,” she whispered. “You, and me. Sometimes—I think about it sometimes. Do you?”
He kissed her forehead. “All the fucking time, Hermione.”
She nestled closer to him, seemingly comforted by his admission. “What’s it like? When you imagine it?”
His heart was beating so hard in his chest he was afraid it was about to burst clear through his ribcage. He was sure Hermione could hear it. In confirmation, she laid her palm against his chest where his heart was. “It’s nice. It’s peaceful, and we’re happy. We have a little house out in the country—”
“I would hardly describe Malfoy Manor as a ‘little house,’” she interrupted.
“It’s not Malfoy Manor, now hush. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted: We have a little house out in the country, surrounded by gardens. I sit on the porch, and watch you, trying to garden but killing everything you touch, because, let’s face it, Granger, you are no Green Thumb. So, I watch as you try to garden, while the house elves truly tend to the gardens—”
“House elves? Really?” she interrupted once more, looking incensed.
He ran his hand comfortingly down her arm. “Yes, yes, S.P.E.W. and all that. They’d be free house elves, of course—”
“Why would we have house elves at all?”
Draco chuckled and pressed a kiss against her lips. “My beautiful witch, my proud protector of the perpetually persecuted.” Another kiss. “I had my own house elf when I was growing up, Jinxy. She practically raised me, and I am quite fond her. I freed her years ago, and she threatened to drown herself if I sent her away. Now, as I am quite attached to that little elf, I couldn’t let that happen. So, she continues to work for me -- she has quite the extensive collection of pillowcases and I pay her a fair wage.”
“Well,” she began, seemingly at a loss for words. “Well, I suppose that that’s quite all right, then.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked her with a mischievous grin. “Is it quite all right, Ms. Granger?”
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want her to drown herself. Now, continue!”
Draco lightly gripped her arse. “Oh, I like it when you’re bossy, Ms. Granger.”
She swatted his hand away. “I’m serious, tell me more,” her tone was softer now, pleading.
He relented, of course. “You’d continue to slave away as the champion of rights for any and all magical creatures – Grindylows included, even though, Granger, if I’m being perfectly honest with you, that one was a bit of a lost cause—” She began to interrupt, but Draco gently pressed a finger to her lips. “You’d work too hard, and you’d come home late, and we’d argue. I’d demand you be home at 5, and you’d argue for 7, but ultimately, we’d compromise at 6, which I would hold you to. You’d come home, and I’d make you dinner.”
“You’d make me dinner?” she asked quietly.
“Don’t look so surprised, I happen to be a perfectly adequate cook. Anyways, when I imagine it -- I just imagine us having a whole life together. The fights, the compromises, the dirty make-up sex -- all of it. I’m not delusional, Hermione. I know we wouldn’t be perfect. But I can see it.”
“It’s getting harder,” she said sadly.
“What is?”
“Leaving. Going home. Going back to Ronald. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life sometimes, and I’m just watching myself from afar, like I’m just going through the motions.”
“I feel like a limb is being forcefully being ripped from my body every time you walk away from me,” he replied honestly.
“Then why? Why do you keep doing this if it hurts you so much?”
He shrugged. “The alternative is worse.”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “I doubt that.”
Draco propped himself up on his elbow so that he could look down at her. He ran a finger delicately along her jaw. “You don’t understand just how in love with you I am, Hermione.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I have an idea.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. He said nothing – he knew they weren’t meant for him.
When they parted, as they inevitably had to do, she held him a bit tighter, for a little bit longer, and with a bit more desperation. It was this final embrace that finally gave Draco even the smallest bit of hope that maybe – just maybe – he was not doomed, that they were not doomed.
And he’d cling to her embrace, cling to this sliver of hope with everything that he had.