Another Dramione fic? I am on a serious roll with this! For some reason all of the writers block of the last few months has exploded out into one shots, updates and a new multific, yay! So anyways I am obsessed with this song, I love it and I think Hozier has a beautiful voice, thus I wanted to write a song fic with it, and who better than my OTP Dramione? I hope you guys like it, and please check out my other Dramione fics, including my two active multi-fics, Go Down In History and Only Then I Am Clean - updates for both are coming soon!

Song Recommendations: Take Me To Church: Hozier.

Take me to church.

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.

I'll tell you my sins, and you can sharpen your knife.

Offer me that deathless death.

Oh good god let me give you my life.

take me to church - hozier

'My lovers got humour'

And she did, she made him laugh in moments that seemed full of grey. She made him chuckle as he held her in his arms for hours. He made her laugh as they lay entwined in the sheets, always alert and ready to make a move should they hear classmates. They always made one another laugh, and laughter made everything easier.. made everything lighter.

'She's the giggle at a funeral'

There had been so many funerals already and war had yet to break out. Funerals of muggles, wizards, squibs, witches, funerals to represent everyone. Those killed for sport, those killed in the line of duty or action. They both held bated breath when reports came in, people that hadn't been saved, people that were lost. When he was doing his work, or she was helping Harry they would both be prepared to find more dead. Voldemorts struggle to wrestle control seemed entrenched in blood.

'Know's everybody's disapproval'

They both did. Deep down they knew why the secret had to be kept a secret. He may have been on her side now, working just as Snape did to bring down the Dark Lord but he was still hated amongst the golden ranks, still seen as a villain. So they kept it quiet. They couldn't be open about their love, never could they. Her friends would disapprove, and his would too, they were still at school after all, they had to keep up appearances. So they ignored one another by day, and they stole moments, moments to brush a hand or steal a look, moments.

'I should've worshipped her sooner'

And how he regretted it. The years his mind had been poisoned with hated for her blood, the years in which he had teased and taunted her. How he wished he could go back and replace those cruel words with ones of love. It seemed they had too little time now, everything was building to the final battle and the odds for the good side were not so good. How he wished they could have had longer. He couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't give just to extend time.

'If the heavens ever did speak, she's the last true mouth piece'

She really was. Even still at school she was an everlasting point of hope and pride. She assisted the Order in any way she could, and Draco knew she was Harry's rock in ways Ron never could be. It made him jealous, of course it did but he didn't complain; he understood, he understood her need to fight for the good. God damn she was so convincing he was working against his own family. She was the mouthpiece for this fight, Harry may have been the leader but she was the person behind him, driving him forward.

'Every Sundays getting more bleak'

And so it was. Sunday was their day. She would sneak away from her friends and he his and they would meet in the secret room. The room in which on Dumbledores orders he would lead the Death Eaters through. As much as he loved the time they had, it was true; the time was running out. The Vanishing Cabinet was long fixed, and any day now he would lead the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, into their home. He would march them through on Dumbledores orders and face the man himself. So every Sunday they met, they made love, they spoke words of comfort, always knowing it would end too soon.

'Fresh poison each week'

The poison was not to end. Draco was well aware in taking the double agent gig what risks came with it. He was accomplished at Occlumency but there was always the fear he would be found out. Closing his mind was hard, especially closing it so not to think of her. Any day he could be discovered, and even if he did keep up the ruse he knew soon he would have to go further. When Dumbledore spoke the word, start the battle, Draco would be confined with the Death Eaters, unable to see her, unable to even talk to her. That felt like poison through his veins.

'We were born sick, you heard them say it'

And they were. He was born into a wealthy, pure-blood family and for years he had parroted his Fathers belief system. He had taunted those he believed 'lower' than him, taunted those he thought to be unpure. He was born with a sick mind, and Hermione was born with her own problems. Muggle-born, if Voldemort won out in this war Hermione's blood status would be her undoing, she would be dealt with in moments. Of course Draco wouldn't, no couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let them take her, not whilst he was alive.

'My church offers no absolution'

What good was church? He remembered one Sunday excursion into the Room of Requirement. He had stepped inside his only thought 'Lead me to Hermione', and had been met with the golden walls and stained glass windows of a church. Wizards rarely held religion, it was hard to believe in a God when there was no explanation for Magic in the Bible. But he had stepped inside and had seen her. She had admitted she was praying, praying for his safety and that of her friends. He had scoffed, she had scolded. She had admitted she didn't even really believe in God, but it felt good to pray. And so they had held hands and spoke to one another in the holy walls. They had spoken to what ever was above. It had bought little comfort, even if there was a God, he wasn't listening.

'She tells me worship in the bedroom'

With words to God bringing no hope or relief they had turned to another kind of worship. The room had transformed as he had undressed her, transformed to their place, their safe haven. A large bed, crackling fireplace, the colours of both green and red. Fucking felt a lot more productive than praying, a lot more pleasurable as well. Making love always bought comfort and relief, at least for a few hours they could get lost, forget about the fact they were both fighting a war, they could forget the levels of responsibility they held.

'The only heaven I'll be sent to, is when I'm alone with you'

He thought about dying. Thought about if he was found out, he imagined his death would be rough should the Dark Lord unmask him for a traitor. He thought about dying in battle, he was an accomplished wizard sure, able to perform non-verbal magic with ease now, but still a stray curse, someone better than him? He thought about it and realised it concerned him less than Hermione's fate. As long as he lived, he would then wait for her on the other side, would wait for her to arrive, no matter how long it took. His main concerns were Hermione and his Mother, he had grown so distant from his Father they didn't feel like family anymore. He wanted his Mother to be safe, and had been assured by Dumbledore that should Voldemort find him for who he was, that Narcissa would be saved. That was a consolation at least.

'I was born sick, but I love it'

He cursed his Father to this day for making him such an idiot. Fostering his belief of being better than everyone simply because of the Malfoy name. He hated the fact his Father had forced him into the Death Eaters. When he looked at the ugly black mark on his wrist he didn't see duty or an accumulation of his status. He saw an ugly black tattoo, a rancid black stain across his soul. He hated it, hated what he was. The only reason he was thankful for his upbringing was that it had led him to Hermione. She had found him in the bathroom sobbing into the sink. She had held him and kissed his bruises, she had taken him to Dumbledore and she had been his saviour. He only thanked his bigoted upbringing for that; if he had never been a Death Eater would she have seen him? Seen him for what he was, for how much he loved her?

'Command me to be well'

And he did love her. Adored her more than anything on the earth. When she had found him, saved him and befriended him he had been distant, scared and reluctant to be nice to her. He had lost his old prejudices when he was younger. Hermione had beaten him in every test for Christs sake, he could hardly look down on her after three years of coming in second to her. But still he had kept his distance, even after her entrance at the Yule Ball; she was beautiful then, and in that moment when she had walked down the steps, her dress causing her to float.. he had fallen just a little bit. And from then on it had snowballed. He loved Hermione, more than he could ever love anything. But for years he had stayed back, refusing to believe he deserved the golden girl, his soul was too tarnished to warrant her love.

'Amen'

It was just his luck, good fortune and he guessed Hermione's character that meant she loved him back. He had no idea how he had gotten so lucky. He would take the standing by Voldemorts side, the torture he had to endure whenever he failed, the agonizing pain knowing he would be a murderer before the year was out. He would take it all to stand with Hermione, to hold her hand and call her his own. He would take it all.

'Amen'

So what do you guys think? I've been writing a lot of Dramione recently and plan to keep writing more, I love this couple and any kind of random idea I get in my head for a story is usually written with these two in mind. So please check out my other fics! And as always review/favourite, blah blah. Thank you!