Pairing: Hermione/Draco
Era: Post-Hogwarts
Summary: Auror Hermione Granger is sent to New Orleans, Louisiana after Draco Malfoy disappears when collecting an inheritance. What should have been a standard missing wizard case turns into something far more sinister, and soon Hermione finds herself entangled in a dark web of secrets.
Rating: M
Warnings: Dark!Draco, Dark!Hermione, Sexual Themes, Gore/Violence, Harry x Hermione/ Ron x Hermione (endpoint is Dramione).
Disclaimer: This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended.
Author's Notes: I got the idea for this story when I was visiting NOLA with a friend. There's something alluring and dangerously inviting about walking the streets of the French Quarter under a full moon. We took a night-walk tour and one of our stops was the apartment of the Carter Brothers. It was then, when my eyes squinted to get a better look of the apartment, and a chill ran up my spine that the idea sparked. I hoped to finish it before Halloween but life duties got in the way. Anyway, here it is and I hope you all enjoy! Your feedback is always welcome.
February 24, 2003
A grunt penetrated the dark room.
Hermione closed her eyes, lips parted in concentration at the feel of her lover's fingers gripping her waist, pulling her down, closer and closer to the release she seeked. With half-lidded eyes she raked her nails down the man's sweat-glistened chest, enjoying the feel of his heart growing frantic under her palm. She angled her hips as they rose before pressing down roughly onto his, earning another satisfied grunt from him.
"Hermione," he whispered.
She closed her eyes again, refusing to meet his searching gaze. It was filled with too much meaning—too much emotion and it was overwhelming. The witch didn't want to analyze how the dynamic of their friendship was changing. She didn't want to look into those green eyes when she was unable to match the emotion his held. All Hermione wanted to do was banish the hurt and drown it in pleasure. Wasn't that why they did this? Wasn't that why they acted as if nothing of the sorts took place in her bedroom when they were on duty?
Hermione moaned, arching her back as he pushed his hips up into her, burying himself deep enough to push her over the edge of her climax. She rode out the dizzying waves of pleasure as he soon followed her. She could feel him coat her walls with his release.
Opening her eyes once more, she found Harry looking up at her with sleep beginning to coat his stare. She knew what he was thinking, knew perfectly well that he wanted to fall asleep with her in his arms, but he wouldn't ask—would never reveal that desire because it would tip the scale of this already confounding relationship. And Hermione took comfort in this, despite the guilt, she could carry on as though their relationship only served to release the pent up emotions that usually built up through the weeks.
She listened as their breathing grew less erratic by the second, chest tightening when she felt his fingers rub soothing patterns on her thigh. It was then that she decided to break the spell, fearing it was getting to be too personal again. Hermione ignored the look of disappointment that flashed upon his crumbling mask while she climbed off of him with ease. Her long locks shielded her naked chest as the witch walked towards the lilac-colored robe that hung on her bathroom's door knob. She heard the bed creak under Harry's weight as he sat up while her fingers tied a knot above her belly button in a vain effort to feign modesty, if not for her, then for Harry's sake. She moved to open the window that hung beside the foot of her bed, shivering as the night's cool air caressed her heated skin. Brown eyes watered against the wind as they took in the quiet scenery below her apartment.
Harry cleared his throat, earning the attention of Hermione. She turned to look at him just as he buttoned up his trousers. She watched him run his fingers through his soft hair in an attempt to banish the disheveled look he currently sported. He was endearing despite it all, she found herself thinking, unable to hide the small smile that stretched the corners of her lips.
He grabbed his coat off her nightstand and walked towards her. She could feel her heart hammering in her ears with each step he took, praying to Merlin that he wouldn't do anything they would regret in the morning. But the prayer went unanswered as she felt his lips press against the corner of her mouth in subtle defiance, the action screaming out what Hermione already knew: he was falling for her, and he wanted more.
Despite her uneasy state, Hermione brushed a strand of hair away from Harry's eyes, smiling faintly before her hand returned to her side. She watched him purse his lips as he debated whether he should say what was on the cusp of his tongue. He must have decided against it, for he simply returned her smile and bid her a goodnight.
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
She nodded.
"Sleep well, Hermione."
"Sleep well, Harry," she whispered out as he walked through the threshold of her bedroom, closing the door behind him.
The woman let out the shaky breath she'd been holding in. The stillness that now settled in her room was sublime. She made her way into the bathroom, using wandless magic to light the candles that sat on her windowsill. Hot water crashed against her tub as it filled. She sat on the edge of it, eyes staring absentmindedly into the mirror above her sink.
It would be Ron's birthday soon, Hermione realized with a dull ache.
She shut the running water and shrugged off her robe, enjoying the way it pooled at her feet before dipping her leg into the steaming tub. Her body tingled as the heat pressed against her now reddening skin almost painfully. As she settled against the back of the tub she found the pain to be a relief. It soothed the ache in her heart as intrusive memories of her ginger lover began to rip through her mind. Were he still alive, he would've turned twenty-five this year. She wondered how different her life would have been had he not died alongside Ginny at the final battle.
Would they be married?
Hermione couldn't picture it anymore—the two of them happily wedded. She was no longer the girl he'd fallen for all those years ago. Calloused by time, Hermione seldom let herself fall into silly notions such as love. She was far too busy being an Auror these days to even consider it.
But Harry doesn't seem to think so, she thought, sinking deeper into the water as guilt-infested visions of Harry soon replaced Ron.
It had been only natural that the two turn to each other for comfort when they'd both lost their partners. It seemed that no matter what condolences were offered, they could find no peace unless in the vicinity of one another. It had been a torrential hell that they'd both walked through, hand-in-hand until they found it easier to banish the dark emotions that settled in their hearts. Every year they would take a trip together and strip off the masks they wore, embracing the hurt that always seemed to prickle their skin, imbibing copious amounts of alcohol until they couldn't tell the ceiling from the floor.
It was on the third year of their lovers' death anniversary when they'd slept together. There was no love-making to be had that night. It was primal, with nails and teeth in lieu of lips and tongues. They hadn't talked about it the next day, silently deciding it better to pretend it never happened. And it went on like that, going on missions together, working fluidly until one of them began to hurt. That was when they would do it all over again with clashing teeth and scratched skin.
But it seemed now that it had turned into more than a primal urge for Harry. He began to look at Hermione with different eyes, she noticed—eyes that had once looked upon Ginny. Merlin, there was nothing wrong with moving on, but it felt wrong to her. No matter how many times she wrapped her mind around the vision of waking up to Harry every morning, she couldn't swallow the sickening feeling that accompanied it.
So she did what came naturally to her, placing a mask of a naïve woman who was completely unaware of his subtle advances. And it hurt him, Hermione knew it hurt Harry to play this game, but she could find no romantic feelings to offer him. Her heart had died on the day Ron had and it was a a sadness she'd chosen to embrace.
Her fingers threaded through her wet locks, lapping up soap into them as various thoughts pressed against her head. And she silently wondered if she would always feel this hollow. As her soapy fingers gently cleaned her feminine folds, Hermione had an inkling that she would.
A deep frown adorned Hermione's features. Her fingers gripped the Manila folder that held Draco Malfoy's picture. His icy blue eyes bore holes through her and though it was just a photograph, she couldn't fight off the chill that coursed through her spine. Looking at the continuous loop of Malfoy staring into the camera and then looking away caused a vaguely familiar notion to spring within her. That look felt so familiar and yet she couldn't place her finger on it.
She set the folder down, brows furrowed together as she racked her brain for a memory of Malfoy, but it felt like static and just as quickly as it came did her mind replace the blurry memories with Ron.
Hm.
"Sleep well?"
She blinked, eyes turning away from her desk to greet her partner. Hermione smiled, shrugging her shoulders as her fingers drummed idly on the oak desk. "As well as well can be," she muttered.
Harry nodded his agreement, placing a steaming cup of coffee before her, exactly as she liked it—scolding hot, minimal cream, and heavy on the sugar. She really ought to switch back to tea, she mused while gripping the mug. The acidity in the coffee was beginning to show its effects on the woman. But as the liquid burned a trail down to her stomach, she filed the idea for another time.
"So, Malfoy's gone missing? What was he doing in the States? I haven't thought of that git in years. Isn't he running some sort of modern corporation?"
Hermione's frown returned once more, contemplative eyes skimming through the report. She watched Harry from her peripheral vision as he took a seat on the corner of her desk. He rested the palm of his hand close to where hers laid. Too close for comfort, she mentally assessed as she placed her hand on her thigh, ignoring the frown on her partner's lips. It seemed to be getting harder for him to act normally. She was almost tempted to confront him on the matter but found that her Gryffindor courage was not what it used to be.
"Yes, Immortalis Industries—I think. Apparently, he had a distant uncle—Ambrosius Malfoy, living in New Orleans, Louisiana. He died, leaving his estate and possessions to Malfoy—which makes no sense. According to Narcissa Malfoy, he'd never met Draco. Conceding to the will, Malfoy had to show up in person to retrieve it. He took a portkey two weeks ago today and has not been seen since."
"Maybe the bloke is enjoying his inheritance and wants to be left alone."
A subtle tingling sensation began to press against Hermione's skin, beckoning her to a place she could not fathom. It warmed her and the woman could feel a blush begin to stain her comely features. Perhaps she was growing ill?
Harry's words finally filtered through her mind. She shook her head in disagreement. "No, no I don't believe that. Narcissa is not faring well, Harry, you know that. She is the only immediate family Draco has left. He wouldn't purposely leave her alone for so long without so much as an owl to her."
"You seem to know what sort of man, Draco is," Harry piped.
Hermione ignored the ridiculous jealousy that seemed to lace his words. But despite ignoring them out loud, her mind thought otherwise.
What sort of man is Draco? Why am I able to answer that?
A sharp pang pressed against her temple. The pain had been so surprising that Hermione jumped in her chair, earning a worrisome look from Harry. She felt him gently grip her shoulder as she rubbed her temple soothingly.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I—," she inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed a strand of lock behind her ear in what seemed like a loving gesture.
Hermione rose from her chair, smiling at her friend as she cleared her throat. Her office suddenly seemed too small—too personal. She could feel the walls closing in on her. Another bloody panic attack, she mentally huffed, straining to pull herself together. It always seemed to get harder to control her emotions when Ron's birthday came up.
Thinking of Draco—, she stilled her movements for a second, realizing she'd voiced Draco's name in her mind, not Ron's. She'd meant to say that thinking of Ron made her feel sick sometimes.
"I didn't sleep well and I had no time to grab a decent breakfast."
Harry seemed to believe her. She often complained about that combination of problems. Hermione knew he couldn't reprimand her for failing to provide subsistence for herself since he often didn't fare any better on the matter himself.
She busied herself with the watering of her various plants, surmising that if she took long enough, Harry would grow bored and retrieve to his own case load. She'd been so relieved upon finding out that Narcissa requested Hermione specifically handle the case, feeling that the young witch would be much more adept at finding Draco than anyone else. The woman had already contacted the Auror division in New Orleans and she'd booked a portkey for the coming Thursday.
"Will you be alright?"
Her shoulders scrunched at his words. As the water dripped onto the pot she mulled over the seemingly innocent question, enjoying the scent of wet dirt that began to take hold of her office. She was relieved that she'd be in New Orleans on Ron's birthday. She couldn't bear having to visit the remaining Weasleys. Arthur would smile with those sad eyes of his and the twins would be quiet, no longer finding the humor in life with two siblings and their mother gone. The melancholy would be palpable and Hermione didn't want another year of it. This trip would do her heart good.
"Of course, Harry." She turned to face him, eyes shining with appreciation for her friend's concern. "You know me better than that," she chuckled.
Hermione wondered if Harry would agree to that—to the lie of truly knowing her. The war had plagued them all with demons. Some were more prominent than others, some more damaging and nightmare-inducing. She'd seeked a muggle therapist after it was all said and done, cutting out a new version of herself from the tattered young girl that remained after the war. Perhaps Harry did know her once upon a time, her erstwhile tendencies mapped out in his youthful mind. But now all he really knew was her pain and body.
"You're right," he answered, and it didn't surprise Hermione that he'd hesitated before agreeing.
He gathered his bearings, stifling a yawn before making his way to the door. With a dazzling smile, he angled his head to the side. "Lunch later?"
"Yes, that would be lovely."
With a nod of agreement, he left her alone, closing the door behind him.
She returned to her desk, quickly finding the picture she'd gazed into earlier. Her fingers pulled the image out of the folder. Her chest tightened, the tingling sensation she'd felt earlier returning tenfold. Try as she might, Hermione could not locate one clear memory of Draco after her fourth year in Hogwarts. It seemed that when she attempted to think of a time they'd crossed paths, her thoughts would go to Ron.
The woman brought the picture closer to her line of vision, inspecting every detail of the man. It was a recent picture, one that his mother had taken before his trip to the States. The elder witch had taken up the curious hobby of photography. She had quite the eye, Hermione assessed. He looked so celestial, with his porcelain skin and sharp cheekbones. His hair was longer now in his older age, parted at the side and smoothed to the back in a Victorian-esque manner that seemed to suit him.
She pressed her lips into a straight line, eyes squinting at his picture. It felt as though he were purposely looking at her, teasing her with the reality of something she was not aware.
"What secrets are you hiding, Draco Malfoy?" She placed the picture down onto her desk with an exhausted sigh before making her way out of the office, failing to realize how his eyes followed her movements.