A quick thank you to the people who actually ship this for giving me some hilarious fics and graphics to look at before I wrote this.
Disclaimer: J.K Rowling had nothing to do with this and it shows.
Hermione stumbled forward, her hand, stroking the wall, trying to find a light switch that apparently wasn't there. She wondered why it was so dark in her living room as she dropped her bag onto the nearest chair and made her way further into the room. Her eyes eventually adjusted and she could make out the back of a very familiar head, sat on the sofa in front of her.
Smiling, she made her way over to him, the man she loved before really understanding what that meant, and slid her arms around his neck and let them glide down his toned chest. He chuckled when she buried her face into the crook of his neck and she felt one of his hands stroked her hair, slipping through the curls with practised ease.
"I wondered when you would come home," she felt his voice rumble through his chest.
"Well," she replied, placing a kiss on his pulse point and smirking at the hitch in his breath, "you know I can't stay away for too long."
The Earth was tilted on its axis as Hermione was pulled over the back of the sofa an into her lover's arms.
"You're going to be the death of me, Granger," he whispered before claiming her lips with the desperation and authority that drove her to the brink and back every time they met.
The almost violent movements of his tongue, delving into her mouth, coupled with the gentle caress of his hands on her spine, threatened to expose her very soul to him. The cracks he made in her protective shell that the rest of the world knew her by were all he needed to pour in his poison and destroy her in the best possible way…
Hermione wrenched her lips from his, utterly breathless, and gave him a naughty smile. His eyes caught fire as he gazed at her and she could almost see the things he wanted to do to her behind the flames. She knew she would fight. She knew she would put up a resistance that would only make him want her more.
She also knew that, deep down, she wanted to be burned.
"I bought you flowers," he whispered against her neck, "and that book you wanted."
He always did this. He always tried to show her how much she was loved with presents and gestures but really his actions were always enough. Even when it had only been stolen yet heated glances at Hogwarts or the arguments they both craved more than they'd ever admit to each other – it had always been enough for her because everything this man did was perfection.
Hermione pulled his head back and, keeping eye contact with at all times, dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, knowing it drove him wild.
"What am I going to do with you?" he asked breathlessly.
Slowly, Hermione moved forward so that her face so it was almost touching his and laughed softly. "Anything you want to, Draco."
There was a loud crash as Hermione blinked rapidly and tried to work out what had just happened. The back of her head was throbbing and she was sprawled out next to her bed. Gingerly, she sat up and saw a pale hand in front of her. For a moment, she was filled with a horrible sense of dread but then, through the gloom, she saw the hand was covered in freckles.
Turning to her left, Hermione was met with the sight of her husband's head, his face obscured by his thick red hair, on her pillow and his lanky body taking up most of the bed. She poked him in the shoulder a few times but still he snored on.
"Move over!" she eventually growled, shoving him roughly. As much as she tried, it had no impact.
So she started punching him.
"Refsawanker," he mumbled, frowning and Hermione gave up and crawled into the tiny space he had left for her.
Just as she let out a huffy string words including "useless" and "lump", one of his long arms swung over the top of her and landed with his hand over her face. Hermione closed her eyes and wished for the patience she knew she wasn't capable of and pulled her arm back so that she could elbow him in the ribs.
"Luvu, mynee."
It sounded like complete nonsense to most, but to Hermione it was everything she could possibly want from the early hours of the morning. Well, except sleep of course.
Her nightmare almost forgotten, Hermione shuffled backwards into the warmth of the man behind her and sighed contentedly. He may not greet her every night with flowers and books and he may occasionally knock her out of bed and leave her no room but he was still Ron and, to her at least, that was perfection.