"What the h-hell!" Malfoy said as a particularly chilling gale of wind nearly swept them over. He was gaping, his teeth chattering.
In the next instant, Hermione had grabbed ahold of his forearm and Apparated them away to her Himalayan quarters.
"What was that!" He pried loose from her fingers and looked all around, his hands patting himself down as though to make sure he was completely intact.
She watched his panicked movements with irritation. "It was just a Portkey to the Himalayas. Would you calm down?"
"A Portkey to the Himalayas," he said slowly. "To the mountains, even. Do you go there often to enjoy the freezing altitude?"
"Not exactly." She turned away to spell a fire in the fireplace. Even two seconds in that freezing cold was enough to give someone the chills.
"It was for me?"
She turned back around to face him with arms crossed over her chest. "You deserve it."
To her surprise, a slow smile crept over his face. "Granger, I didn't know you cared."
Something about the cast of his expression made her back up. "What the hell are you talking about now? Of course I cared, you stupid, stupidarse. God, I could hex you to oblivion right about now."
He started to advance on her, and she backed up with not a little trepidation, her gaze fixed on the predatory glint in his eyes. "I thought I was doing you a good turn, you know. I thought when you didn't want anyone to know anything about us, that I was ruining your chances to become Minister." His hand reached up to brush a strand of her hair away from her face.
She knocked his hand aside. "That might have been believable fifteen years ago, you—you—Don't come any closer."
"Well, then I saw that you were getting all cosy with Weasley again. All those family portraits. Making it seem like you two were getting back together. You would have too, to get ahead in the polls."
"What in the name of all the Hogwarts professors are you talking about?"
"All those family portraits. Everyone together in the blasted Burrow. His fucking hand on your arse."
"His hand was never on my arse. He was married! With a kid. Two. Did you not get that memo?"
"His fucking hand was on your fucking arse in every single family portrait!"
He had backed her up against her own dresser. It rattled as it was shoved back against the wall. His arms bracketed her in on either side, his hands braced right next to her ears.
She stared straight back at him. "You're delusional."
"You always put him ahead of us. Him or your career. I was always dead last."
"Really. Oh, you just never change. Is this your little pity party? Poor little rich boy didn't get what he wanted, shagging on call twenty-four seven. Excuse me for putting family ahead of sex!"
He was so close to her that she turned her face to the side to avoid breathing in his face. His mouth was next to her ears as he said in a lower voice, "Fuck you, Granger. It was never just sex. Even though that's what you'd like to tell yourself."
And then he dropped his head and brushed his lips against the side of her neck. There was a whimpering sound; Hermione thought it might have come from her. God, it had been so long. Nobody had even come close. She didn't understand it in the least; still didn't understand it—why was it this man, of all people, who had to affect her so?
But then, she didn't care anymore.
The toes of his feet grazed against the tips of her shoes, making her realise that he had been mostly undressed on the mountain she had nearly sent him to face alone. There was another groaning sound, maybe from her as well. It had been so long since she had been with anyone, let alone the person she really wanted to be with. She peppered kisses on his forehead in silent apology as he sucked on her throat and her jawline. Then his hands clasped around the base of her jaw, while her hands gripped his hips before sliding to the front of his flat stomach and yanking on the front waistband of his trousers so hard he stumbled. He fell so heavily on her that both of them went sprawling against the dresser.
"Ow!"
"Fuck, I'm sorry!"
"It's fine, it's fine." Hermione grabbed ahold of his shirt front.
"I knew it was as soon as we danced," he said into her hair. "Before that, I hoped. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up."
Her hands started to fumble at his belt. His own fingers gripped her waist hard enough to leave bruises and then they gentled as they moved the neckline of her dress down so that her entire chest was bared.
"Wait—I'm—" At his words, Hermione suddenly became self-conscious. She wasn't the young girl from the first time they were together, or even the young divorcee with still-taut skin. He had been about to invite a gorgeous young blonde up to his room. As for her, things had started to sag. This all seemed like it would become a giant mistake. She pushed against his shoulders.
He didn't budge as his head lowered and he began to suckle on her nipple. A groan seemed to rip from his throat. "It's been too long."
She didn't know if she completely believed him, but she wanted to. It was a bit alarming how much she wanted to, despite all the hatred she had told herself she harbored for him. She was never good at this letting go business, but she supposed it was about time she started to live in the present. So she pulled him down towards herself and busied herself with undressing him.
When the belt refused to come loose under her hands, she took out her wand to Evanesco his belt. He yelped as his belt disappeared. "Hey, I liked that belt!"
"Don't be a ponce, Draco. I'll buy you another one."
"I like the idea of being kept by you," he growled against her mouth and bit her lightly on her bottom lip as he jerked her off her feet. He miscalculated and they went sprawling across a chair before falling to the floor.
"Dammit!" Hermione yelled as she fell on her shoulder.
"Fuck! Are you all right?"
Hermione winced and gritted her teeth. "My shoulder. I wrenched it casting that—never mind. It's fine, let's just—let's just keep going."
He helped her up and they fused together again. He walked her backwards until he had her pressed up against the window. His hands then whirled her around so that her face was pressed up against the curtains, his hand holding her in place around her nape. This was one of the positions she liked, and she panted in anticipation as he kneed apart her legs, his foot knocking her feet farther apart. He hoisted one of her knees up until she was balancing on the other foot on tiptoes.
Her breath grew faster as his other hand slid up the back of her raised thigh. She felt the heat of his breath against her back. She wiggled against his hold as his mouth started to close in on her—
And then he stopped and winced. Hermione felt herself slide down along the windowpane until her feet touched the floor.
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"Now my shoulder hurts from falling on it. Several times," he said, giving her a pointed look with raised eyebrows. "I need to lie down for this."
"The bed. Race you."
He grabbed at her waist and she giggled as she lunged for the bed. They fell across it and rolled over, her bare torso pressed against his stomach. Her legs came up to encircle his waist and—
"Argh!" she said and fell back on the bed.
"Yes, argh," he echoed, kissing her down along her sternum down to her stomach, which wasn't usually a place where she liked someone to concentrate on anymore, since it wasn't as firm as it had been the last time they had been together.
But she had something else in mind when she pulled his head away from her midsection by the hair. "No, argh , as in I just sprained my hip when you pulled my leg up like that!"
"Play through it," he panted before holding the hand that was gripping his hair and going back down.
"Urgh, I can't." Her head fell back on the bed. "Between the shoulder and the hip, forget it."
He supported himself on his arms and surveyed her for a moment before collapsing next to her, sighing as he did so. "Fine. I didn't want to say it, but my back really is killing me too."
"Well, this was a wash." Hermione willed her breathing to slow. "Growing old sucks."
"Well, a lot of the things we used to do aren't really recommended for people with injuries. I've got potions, but they really need potions for the after-potion effects."
"Forget it. This was an abject failure." Hermione struggled to get up. It was embarrassing how weak her abdomen muscles were. She twitched for a moment like a bug on its back before finally rolling to a sitting position.
There was a dejected knot in the pit of her stomach, and not just from her failed attempts at sitting up. It was that they had wasted so much time apart and now nothing was going to happen. She felt vaguely like crying and she turned away from him so that he wouldn't know. It was different for him, of course—he could walk back into that ballroom and chat up another young witch. She would return to the Himalayas where she had put herself in self-imposed isolation. God, she was pathetic.
He hadn't moved from her bed. The hand closest to her stroked her back. "It's been sort of great, actually. I found out today you still cared enough to Portkey me to an icy death." He chuckled a bit. "From you, that's tantamount to a declaration of love."
Hermione would have pushed off his hand, but it felt surprisingly good on her sore back. "Shut up. Of course I cared about you, you damned—pillock. Why else would I have been with you when I could have been with literally anyone else who wasn't nearly so annoying?"
He was silent for so long, Hermione thought he had finally run out of wisecracks. Then he spoke in a surprisingly serious voice. "You would cancel five times out of ten. Sometimes I wondered—if I was just something on the side until something better came along."
His voice was so different—diffident, almost—that she turned back to gaze at him. There was an uncharacteristically vulnerable expression on his face before he hid it behind a wry smile.
"How could anything be better than you?" she scoffed with the appropriate sarcasm, lying back down next to him. "You know, I sent you owls to reschedule every time. When I didn't get a response, I just thought..." She shrugged and didn't finish her sentence.
He turned to face her. "You mean the notes you sent through that Weasley's damned owl?"
"If you mean by Ron's owl my owl, then yes, I used my owl Chudders."
"That stupid bird only sent me one owl, ever, and it was the first owl you sent me regarding some Ministry summons, after which it proceeded to leave me droppings in my morning tea. I never saw that cretinous bird again except when I was at your place. Smug little bastard."
Hermione turned her head to look at him with her mouth open. "It never sent you anything else?"
"Never."
"I... did not know this." Hermione slowly shook her head.
"You didn't listen to me when I told you!"
"I'm sorry! I thought you were just having a go at Ron again."
"First of all, I obviously would never stop having a go at Ron Weasley, so you're right on that point and, second, I accept your apology. Third, how dare you not believe me?"
"I thought you were exaggerating. But this makes a lot of sense. I found some of these owls I sent to you in a nest in a nearby tree, but I thought you had discarded them."
He glowered. "You saw them and didn't think anything of it?"
"You were angry. I thought you sent them back as some sort of gesture or something, I don't know."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." His frown remained unabated.
"I know, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. After my shoulder and hip are better."
He cocked his head at her and laid back down next to her. He had stopped scowling and looked thoughtful. "Only one shoulder is hurting, right?"
"What's your point?"
"You have another hand, Granger."
She glared at him with all the force she could summon lying down.
He shrugged. "What? I'm a Slytherin. We're cunning opportunists."
Hermione shoved off his wandering hand. "You're an idiot!"
"Is your shoulder really that bad?"
"Bad enough that nothing's happening tonight." Her tone was tart and she gave a sniff.
After a moment, he spoke. "Here, my healer showed me a charm that works wonders." His wand traced a pattern on her shoulder. She felt a tingle and a warmth began to spread from the ache in her shoulder.
"Ohh, that's good."
"Good, huh?"
"Do my hip next," she ordered, pointing at the exact spot.
"Yes, bossy." He did a similar charm on her leg. It missed the apex of the ache, but it worked sufficiently well that she shuddered in relief.
"That's some charm."
"It was a very expensive session. Damned young hotshot healers. They didn't charge nearly that much when I was younger."
"Teach me."
He took her hand, holding the palm of his hands over the back of her hand, his forefinger layered over hers, and he traced the wand pattern in the air, guiding her hand as he did so.
"Let me try on your back," she said, and he turned away from her so that she could cast the charm on him. She watched a ripple of faint light starfish from her wand tip and sink into his skin. Then she brushed the tips of her hand down the still smooth pane of his back. He drew in a breath and slowly turned back to her. For a moment, they lay basking in the comfortable silence of the company of a longtime acquaintance, each lost in their own thoughts.
"It wasn't all bad, was it?" She turned to look at his profile, something she used to have memorised. Things were different now. There were lines around his mouth and eyes. But then he turned to look back at her, and the years fell away.
His eyes seemed to glow with that familiar silver light as he stared back into her eyes. "No," he corrected before he flipped his wand over his head where it unceremoniously clattered off the side of the bed to the ground. Then he reached for her. "It was the best."
