Can I tell you something just between you and me?

When I hear your voice, I know I'm finally free

Every single word is perfect as it can be

And I need you here with me

When you lift me up, I know that I'll never fall

I can speak to you by saying nothing at all

Every single time, I find it harder to breathe

'Cause I need you here with me

Every day

You're saying the words that I want you to say

There's a pain in my heart and it won't go away

Now I know I'm falling in deep

'Cause I need you here with me

Here With Me, Marshmellow


Brenner is at my door with a portkey within thirty minutes. Apparently he does some counseling for the seventh years at Hogwarts who had a part in the war, so he keeps a stash in his office. He's also warned me about the grey area this exists in ethically and politely asks I not tell anyone where I've obtained the portkey.

Whatever, Harold.

The slap of my dragonhide shoes on the stone leading to the Great Hall is a familiar sound, and I fortify myself with a deep, almost painful, breath. Stepping through the grand doors, I straighten the Windsor knot of my slender navy tie. I've decided on the dark blue dress robes for tonight, paired with the silver cufflinks Mother gave me for my sixteenth birthday.

The room is crowded, full of slightly buzzed witches and wizards, and my mouth goes dry as a tray of champagne floats near me. The anxiety that's been dulled in my rush to get here is brought back to life at the riotous drunken laughter of the party guests.

Turning my back on the tray, I find the hall has been completely transformed. The tables have been cleared and replaced with dozens of circular ones all draped with white linens and fancy tableware—at least what the Ministry considers fancy; Mother would turn her nose up at it. The house pennants are missing, and the enchanted ceiling is a clear night sky with a vibrant swirl of galaxy dust curling through the center.

I spy a few familiar faces, but none are hers. There's a spot near the back that I tuck myself into, hopeful to hide away from any prying eyes until I can get to her side. It doesn't last long.

Slughorn sidles up to me, his hands folded over his bloated belly and his cheeks rosy from imbibing. "Draco Malfoy! Wasn't aware we'd be seeing you here tonight." He hiccups. "How are you, my boy?"

My lips tugs into a grimace. Slughorn has a very distinct smell, something akin to pickled slugs due to stewing in a potions classroom all day. He's also never liked me, and that he pretends to now adds to my annoyance. "Hello, Professor." I nod politely, although I consider calling him Horace just to ruffle his feathers.

"What have you been up to this past year?" His glazed eyes dance over my face and settle just over my shoulder.

I entertain the idea of shocking him by telling him what I've really had going on these twelve months but instead settle for something he's looking for. "Just this and that," I say with a smirk. Shacklebolt takes the podium, and the crowd breaks into a courteous applause as he raises his hands to quiet them. "Excuse me, Professor. I'm only really here for a girl." I nod and take a few steps away, searching the crowd for her.

Shacklebolt makes a speech I don't hear much of, not until I hear Mother's name, and the noise in the room is sucked into a vacuum. The resounding whoosh deep in my ears blocks out everything else,

"Narcissa Malfoy, Order of Merlin Second Class. Awarded posthumously for achievement or endeavour beyond the ordinary."

A quiet, albeit slightly surprised, applause fills the room, and although I can feel eyes on me, I don't turn my gaze from the stage. It's taking all my strength not to cry in this fucking hall, and I swear if it's the last thing I do I will maintain a single shred of my dignity.

The minister continues with his speech, and turns to the main event of the evening: Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

She appears at the foot of a small set of stairs leading up to the stage where the faculty used to eat. Potter offers her a hand, and she takes the stairs with a surprisingly bright smile for someone who doesn't want to be here, and my lips quirk at the sight of her. The she-Weasel didn't do a bad job getting her ready so quickly but her hair is wild with unruly curls no longer pinned back. Her makeup has been reapplied, her eyes sparkling even from here.

Shacklebolt gives a long-winded speech, and while I'm desperate to be near her again, I know the most important thing is just being here. So I stay tucked near the door, watching her every movement as she shuffles from foot to foot and leans in to whisper something in Potter's ear, who chuckles quietly. Twat.

It's Weasley who spots me first, his eyes narrowing at me from the stage. I straighten my spine and lift my chin, trying to feign an air of superiority. Even though my mother was just mentioned on that very stage, I still feel like an intruder. A spot on my arm with a faded tattoo reminds me of that. I'm glad he can't see the shake to my hands or the way my jaw slightly quivers just standing in this room.

For a long moment, he inspects me, and then, with a begrudging roll of his eyes, he nudges Granger with his elbow.

She turns to him while Shacklebolt continues the wordy story of Harry Potter and his incredible sidekicks, and Weasley nods to where I'm standing before resuming his previous pose. Granger's confused glare spans the length of the room, but it doesn't take her long to notice me.

Attaboy, Weaselbee.

Her eyes darken briefly in confusion before her lips curl into a breathtaking grin. "Hi," she mouths wordlessly, her fingers wiggling eagerly near her belly button.

I nod in response and ignore the eyes that have turned to study me, the boy who caught the attention of Hermione Granger. That plump little man to my left seems to have detached his jaw as he stares at me.

But I'm just here for her. I don't take my eyes from her and try to wordlessly express how proud I am of her.

Her gaze doesn't leave me again for the rest of the speech, not until the Minister calls her name.

"Hermione Granger. Order of Merlin, First Class for acts of bravery or distinction," Shacklebolt announces proudly and with a soft blush, Granger steps forward to receive her medal and her eyes find me immediately and even from here, she's glowing.

I join the applause, clapping softly as the three golden Gryffindors stand proudly to receive their praise, their hands intertwined.

Shacklebolt barely has a chance to tell everyone to enjoy the party before Hermione is rushing off the stage and towards me, her face nearly split in two from her grin. She crashes into me, and I tense immediately.

Granger is seemingly oblivious to the dozens and dozens of eyes on us as her hands wind up the back of my neck and she stares up at me. "What on earth are you doing here? I thought you said—"

"You said you wanted me here," I interrupt her and remove her arms from where they are wound around me. "People are staring." My eyes dart around the room, and a small panic swells in my chest.

Granger scoffs, and her fingers dig into my lapels. "What? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? I'll have you know I'm a decorated war hero." She's teasing me, and my eyes narrow in response.

"Yes, it's me who should be embarrassed to be seen with you. However did you guess?" I roll my eyes severely, one hand reaching up to tuck one of her riotous curls behind her ear before dropping it back to my side.

"Draco Malfoy, do you think I care what these stuffy politicians have to say about who I'm sleeping with?" She cocks her head at me, and I can't help but smirk back.

"Sleeping with?" My eyes flash, and this time I can't help but touch her as my fingers curl around her hip.

A beautiful blush stains her cheeks, and she swats at my arm. "You know what I mean," she says, biting back a cheeky smile.

I think I could stare at her the rest of my life. Everytime I look at her, really look at her, I find something I hadn't noticed before. Like the golden specks in her irises or the way her bottom lip is slightly more full than the top. My worries about her being seen with me must be evident on my face because she places her palm over my heart and looks up at me with that incredibly Granger look. The one I used to think meant she wanted to fix me like one of her broken things, but now I think it might just be how she looks at things she loves.

"Stop," she hushes, stepping closer to me. "I asked you here. I want you here. You. So stop whatever stupid voice in your head is telling you otherwise, okay?"

There's something sharp and hot in my throat, and I swallow hard to rid myself of it, but it doesn't work. "I don't think I'll ever stop thinking you deserve better." My eyes follow the ribbon of her medal and inadvertently catch on her cleavage. My lips part just barely as my breath seems to slow. Did she say sleeping with? She did. Does that mean she wants to be?

She interrupts my train of thought, and I shake my head, turning my perverted glare from the curve of her breasts.

"I don't know about that—" She smirks up at me, wrinkling her nose. "I just bagged the most handsome boy in our year at Hogwarts. If Lavender Brown could see me now… and gods, I'm not even ready for the obnoxious onslaught of questions from Ginny. Did you know they once saw you shirtless after Quidditch practice? I have heard in disgusting detail about your abs. Seriously, all night they would go on and on and on—"

My head falls back as I laugh and wrap my arms around her. "Well, I'm not surprised about that. I used to purposefully change my shirt on the field just to garner a stray witch's attention."

She swats playfully at me again as she chuckles. "You're a prat."

"Adds to my charm, I like to think," I tease, my fingers pressing into her ribs until she squirms and giggles.

"C'mon." Her fingers thread through mine, and she tugs me towards the dance floor where a few couples have begun to twirl in each others arms. I pause near the fringe and look at her with a worried glare. Her brow again arches defiantly at me. "You can't dance?"

With an audible scoff, I roll my eyes. "Please, Granger. Don't offend me." This is far more exposed than it was back by the door, and I can't help but offer her another out. "There's no going back if we go out there."

I swear she releases a little growl, and she wraps her hands around my neck before pulling my lips against hers. My eyes blow wide as I try to gage the reaction of the people around us, but when her lips start to move against mine, I lose all thought. My spine curves to accommodate her height, and my arms wrap around her waist to pull her flush against me. Gods, I want to see this witch naked. Please, Merlin, say that's in my near future.

Her teeth nip at my bottom lip a little rougher than I expect, and I flinch back. "That's for annoying me," she says through a laugh as our noses bump against each other. "And there. No going back." Cheeky little witch. "Now are you going to dance with me or do I need to find another partner?"

An overwhelming surge of emotion rises inside me; if it was a colour, it'd be gold, and I hate to call it happiness because it feels so fucking cliche, but it must be. This must be fucking happiness.

"I'm at your disposal, Granger."

Her lips curve into a smile, and she places another quick kiss against mine. "Just how I like my wizards." She has the audacity to wink, and I can't help but chuckle as she drags me onto the dance floor.

With all the strength I can muster, I ignore the looks from the crowd and focus on the witch in my arms. I'm struck by the surrealness of the moment, of this night, of the woman in my arms.

One year ago, I'd lost everything. I had embraced the end of my life, whether by death or Azkaban. Never in a million years did I imagine I'd be standing here with Hermione Granger in my arms three hundred and sixty-five days later.

In all the moments of utter and complete despair, in the moments when I was sure there was no hope left, she was there. She was there fighting for me even when I couldn't fight for myself. All the shitty things I've done in my life led me here—and I'm not sure how I ever did anything so good to deserve her. Brenner must be right; someone is looking out for me somewhere.

"Excuse me, Mister Malfoy?" Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep, accented voice interrupts our dance, and I turn over my shoulder with a furrowed brow.

"Yes?" Maybe it's illegal to even dance with her and I'm about to be carted off after all. If this is the case, then surely I'll be put to death for all the wanks I've had in the last few weeks.

"We were going to have this sent to you as we never received your reply. But seeing as you're here—" In his hands is a flat velvet box, and when he releases the clasp, my throat constricts. "We would be honored if you accepted this Order of Merlin, Second Class on behalf of your mother."

My arms fall weakly to my sides as I stare at the innocuous little gold medal. Blinking a few times to banish the emotion sticking to the corner of my eyes, I nod and take the box from the Minister. "Thank you," I manage through a tight jaw.

"The wizarding world owes her a great deal. She'd be proud of what you did in the end, Mister Malfoy. Her sacrifice was not in vain." Shacklebolt offers a tight smile to both me and Granger and then disappears. The box feels heavy in my hands, and my finger traces the engraving with a reverence I didn't expect to feel.


Hermione Granger is positively, unquestionably, adorably drunk.

She's had four flutes of cheap champagne, and her eyes are all red-rimmed, and she's sucking on her bottom lip like it tastes like a sweet, which I wouldn't argue with her about; I've tasted it, and I'd have to agree.

Sitting in the chair next to me, she bobs along to the tempo of a song that played at least fifteen minutes ago, and I can't help but stare at her with an amused smirk.

"You're a cute drunk," I say, breaking up her private dance party.

Her neck snaps to me, and her eyes blow wide and offended. "I am not drunk, Draco Malfoy."

I make a conspiratorial little face at her and mouth "okay."

"Seriously! I'm not." There was a little glare she used to shoot me in class when I'd mock her about her the size of her hair, and she's doing it again now. Her nose is all scrunched, and her eyes are beady. I'm pretty sure she's about to stick out the tip of her pink tongue, but something else dawns on her, and her cheeks flame in a heated blush. "But I am ready to go home. They've set up the Floo in the trophy room."

"Of course." I rise with practised ease and help her from her chair. She only stumbles once. On our short walk to the Floo, she manages to be snagged into goodbye hugs by no less than four people, Potter included.

"Take care of her, yeah?" He extends his palm to me, and I stare at it for a moment before shaking it.

"Always," I assure him then guide her toward the room adjacent to the Great Hall.

She's doing that little shuffle thing she does when she's nervous, and I peer down at her with a suspicious glare. "Are you alright?"

"Quite," she rushes. "Yes, quite. Her fingers tangle in the nest she calls hair, and she tucks a curl behind her ear. "I'm actually a bit hungry."

My brows shoot up. It's nearly midnight, and I can't think of a place with a Floo still open. "Can you Side-Along without getting sick?"

Her face flattens in annoyance. "I told you I'm not drunk." Then she starts shifting again, and I can see her mind trying to figure out what she's getting at. She seems to call on a reserve of courage, and her chin tilts proudly. "Maybe you can make me something at yours."

It takes me longer than I'd like to admit to realise what the little drunken witch is getting at and a slow smirk pulls on my lips. "Love to, Granger."

Her gaze is locked on my mouth, and I dart my tongue out to wet my lips and watch with pure, unadulterated glee as she gulps.

As I step through the Floo, Granger is shifting again, nervously looking about as if she's never been here before.

"Anything particular you're in the mood for?" I ask, shrugging off my tux jacket and draping it over the armchair. I loosen the cufflinks on my shirt and drop in them in a decorative bowl, and I can't help but grin as she watches my every movement with a desire dancing in her eyes.

Her eyes widen, and she swallows before speaking. "Mood for?" Her voice is several octaves higher than normal, and I chuckle, rolling my sleeves up my forearms.

"For food? You were hungry, remember?" I arch a disbelieving brow in her direction.

"Oh!" She startles in her spot and slaps her palm against her forehead. "Yes. I was hungry but I— I don't think I am anymore."

She takes a few slow steps towards me and tosses her clutch on the armchair. My heart lodges in my ribcage, and I can feel it thudding, desperate to be free as her touch slides up my newly exposed forearms. They don't stop there as her fingers curl briefly around my triceps and then land on the flat expanse of my chest.

I can feel the heat from her body as she presses into me, and I know she's fucking drunk, but my hands rest softly on the curve of her lower back, letting the silk of her navy gown slide under my fingers as I breathe her in.

Fuck, why does she have to be drunk.

She lifts onto her tiptoes and presses her impossibly soft lips into the hollow of my throat, one hand winding up to pull me closer, and I swear I am so fucking close to saying bugger it and just taking the witch to bed like she wants, but I can't. I can't.

Younger Malfoy might have been able to, but he probably would have been piss drunk as well. And this Malfoy is very much not.

"Granger," I murmur, and my voice sounds strangled even to me as I feel the attention of her lips drag up towards my earlobe. My hands tighten on her hips, and I briefly pull her closer into me, relishing the feel of her soft curves against my body. I force myself to say the words that I'm pretty sure will ruin me. "We can't."

She freezes in my hands, and I want to suck the words back in and ravage her instead. That sounds so much better than looking down into her disappointed eyes.

"You can't?" She squeaks and pulls her lips off my skin, her eyes darting towards my cock.

Shock and shame colour my cheeks, and I nearly yelp at her sad little face. "Merlin! Granger, I can. Trust me." I stare at her sternly and grip her firmly in my hands, and I repeat myself. "I can. It's just that we can't. You're drunk—"

"I. Am. Not—" I cut her off with a raise of my palm.

"I wouldn't feel right and— and this?" I glance to the space between us and then press my lips to her forehead. "I want this to be right."

"Okay," she breathes, and I wince at the tone in her voice. I should have just fucked her—it's not like she's that drunk. But no, I guess I'll just not fuck tonight—that's what I've been doing for the last year and a half—What could be more fun?

An idea flares in my mind, and I meet her disappointed glare. "Do you want to stay the night?"

Her eyes brighten, and a slow smile curves across her lips. "Yes."

Cradling the sides of her face in my palms, I capture her lips in a quick kiss. "Are you hungry?"

She sighs, a lovely, low little thing. "No, it was just a ruse to get you in the sack. I'm horribly out of practice." Her lips form a pretty little pout, and I kiss it away.

"I bought a telly," I say with a gulp. "But it's in the bedroom. I could move it out here easily enough…" I'm watching for her tells, waiting for the clues that will tell me what she's thinking. I mean, she came here with intent to sleep with me, so surely watching a movie in bed wouldn't be all that nefarious.

"Don't be silly, we can watch in your bed." Imagining her in my bed makes my cock twitch, and I take a small step back so I don't blow my cover of a caring, thoughtful boyfriend—if that's what I am now. "Can I borrow a t-shirt?"

My eyes flicker closed as my prick gets caught in my trousers trying to stand at full attention, and I nearly grimace. "Of course, second drawer on the right."

"Brilliant." Her smile broadens, and she turns towards my room, lifting her curls off her shoulder and exposing the long lines of her back. "Could you just help with the zipper then?"

I bite into my lip so hard I very well might draw blood, and with a shaking finger, I drag the zipper down her back. Someone have fucking mercy on me. She's not wearing a bra, and I can see the top of her sheer black lacey knickers.

With a gulp, I step back and imagine peeling that dress from her shoulders and slamming her against the door. I have a feeling I'll be sporting an erection for the rest of the evening, and that suspicion is solidified when she peeks over her shoulder at me and whispers her thanks. Watching her retreat into my room with her dress barely hanging on, I have to grip my cock just to reposition myself.

I groan as I try to think of what the fuck I'm going to sleep in tonight that won't completely betray my secret hard on.

I poke around in the kitchen just for something to keep my mind off the very naked Granger changing in my bedroom. It fails spectacularly, and when she steps out in my fucking Quidditch t-shirt, her long legs fully on display, my head drops dramatically. and I chuckle into my chest. This witch will be the death of me.

"Something funny?" she asks with a smug smirk.

Loosening my tie, I cross the room and stop before where she is perched in the door frame, letting my chest bump into hers, and I swear I can feel the curve of her breasts through our clothing. My eyes rake slowly over her, enjoying the way she shifts to press her thighs together and the blush that stains her cheeks.

"Not at all," I say easily, lifting my hand to curve around the back of her neck and letting my thumb drag across her freckled cheek. "But you do look good in green."

I refuse to have sex with her when she's drunk. I refuse.

But the way her hips wiggle when she crawls under the sheets and the feeling of her warm body tucked into mine drives me mad. She's snoring softly on my chest by the middle of the film, but I don't drift off for much longer, unable to tear my eyes from the sight of her in my arms.


The dream I'm having is bloody fantastic. I swear I can feel Granger's fingers running long lines down the center of my chest, her warmth radiating against my body. The scent of her shampoo is so bloody realistic I can nearly taste it.

When dream Hermione dips her fingers under the hem of my t-shirt and slides them up my stomach, my eyes fly open.

Not a dream.

Granger is here, staring at me with large doe eyes, and her palm is splayed over my abdominals.

Blinking a few times, I try to make sense of the girl in my bed before I remember the events of last night. Before I remember that this impossibly perfect girl loves me.

"Granger." My voice is husky as her fingers slide over my hip bone, and she arches into me.

I know I shouldn't because she's quite possibly still pissed, but my hand finds her waist anyway, sliding down towards her arse, and I clutch the thin shirt that's barely covering her backside.

She shifts under my touch, and her lips are on mine before I can speak. Her kiss is soft—tentative even—and when she pulls back, her shaky breath ghosts over me. "I slept off the champagne," she whispers.

That's all I need to hear, and I crash into her, swallowing her little gasp and pulling her against me. I palm her arse through the flimsy shirt and reveling in the moans my touch coaxes from her throat.. My cock stiffens beneath my boxers, doing little to hide my desire for her. Gods, I want—need—to bury myself inside her.

I break our snog to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, and my hand glides south, hitching behind her knee and lifting it over my hip. Fuck, she's perfect. My hand slides up her thigh, and her breath quickens as I grope her like a fucking teenager.

"Draco?" Her voice trembles as her arms wind around my neck, and I kiss my way back to her mouth, humming my answer to her call. "Touch me." Her words float over me, barely audible, and I freeze for just a moment as a growl rumbles deep in my chest, unbidden—uncontrolled.

I'm a man possessed. I need to feel her skin underneath my touch. I need to make her keen. I need her moans to fill the room. My hands desperately shove the hem of her shirt up. Staring down at her, my cock pulses against her thigh and my tongue flickers out to wet my lips. I fill both of my hands with her, squeezing and kneading until she's whimpering. My lips latch onto her pebbled nipple, grazing my teeth against her while her skin prickles.

One of her hands wind between us, and she grips my cock through my pants; I nearly come undone as she squeezes me. It's been ages since anyone has touched me, and Merlin only knows it's never been this fucking good. I thrust shamefully into her hand as I kiss my way across the ladder of her ribs.

My hand begrudgingly leaves her breast and memorizes the curve of her waist, finding her arse and giving it a final squeeze before dipping my fingers in the seam of her knickers and yanking them to the side. Her folds are wet before I even touch them, and I swirl the pad of my finger around her clit once, twice, three times until she whimpers and rolls her hips against my hand. I slip a finger inside her and groan at the silky feel of her. Mine.

I need to be inside her— need to be fucking her into this mattress I paid too much for. Her back arches as I curve my finger inside her, beckoning the most erotic noises I've ever heard in my life from her throat. As I find a pace that leaves her breathless between moans, I slip another finger inside her. Merlin, she's fucking responsive, keening and twisting under my touch. My cock is throbbing painfully inside my shorts. I murmur her praises, repeating her name like a mantra as I dip my fingers inside her again and again, as I drag breath little moans from her lips.

This could be enough, I think. I could fuck her with my hand until she's undone and remain happy for the rest of my days, but I want her screaming my fucking name, and when I swipe her sensitive little bud again, she lets out a yelp. Taking me by surprise, she rolls us so she's sitting on my lap and I'm staring up at her. Tugging my shirt from her body, I watch in awe as her curls cascade down over her, partially covering those perfect tits, just allowing the dark pink of her nipples to show through. Fuck, she's perfect. I swear I've never seen anything quite so fucking beautiful as a mostly naked Granger sitting on my lap.

My hands rest where her hips meet her thigh, and I grind up into her, unable to help myself. I don't want to fucking ravage the girl, but I'm starting to tremble with my need for more of her.

"Are these knickers of sentimental value to you, Granger?" My focus falls on the swell of her breasts, and I reach up, rolling the peak of her nipple between my index and thumb teasingly. .

Panting as I play with her nipple, her gaze darkens just barely. "No. Why?"

"Good." The ripping sound of her lace knickers make her gasp, and she crashes down on top of me, her lips finding mine easily. My hands don't stop moving over her, exploring every inch of her that I've been imagining all these months. She's better than I ever imagined.

She rises up and tugs my pants down just enough to free my cock. I can't help the feral growl that slips over my tongue when she settles back down and her slick heat slides over the length of me. "Fucking hell, Granger."

With a roll of her hips, I'm slanted just at her entrance, and I want to fucking drive into her but she sets a maddening pace. Her hips rise and fall slowly, as if she is trying to feel every inch of me. Her tongue runs along the seam of my lips, and she dips it softly into my mouth. I brush my tongue against hers again and again as she slides down my cock, swallowing up every noise she makes.

Keeping it together is near impossible. She is driving me fucking wild with the slow pace in which her hips meet mine. My hands wind around her tiny waist, and I shove into her, greedily swallowing the noise she makes. She sits up so I can stare at her in complete awe. and when her hips begin rocking back and forth against me and her lips part, I swear I'll die of just complete, blinding happiness.

This is too fucking much, and when she lifts up just to slam down on me again, I lose all control. In a frenzy, I slide my hands over her again and again until I find the crook of her hip where I can set the pace so she's fucking herself into an orgasm.

Her nails drag across my chest painfully, leaving red trails in their wake, but I'm too distracted by the sound of her arse slapping against my thighs. I am risk of coming right fucking now. She feels bloody incredible. The slight sting coupled with the tightness of her cunt—Merlin knows if I died in this moment, I would die a happy man. Her walls tighten around the length of me, and when her hand leaves my body to swipe at her clit, I fucking whine.

I can feel everything as she comes undone under her own touch, and the strangled cry that fills my room is something I never want to forget. She lets out a relieved, heavy breath as her shoulders slump in exhaustion. Without warning, I flip her so she's on her back, and I shove into her again and again until her knees are hitched up and her nails are again dragging down my back, mirroring the marks she left on my chest.

Her earlier whimpers have turned into crazed moans, and I swear I never would have thought Hermione Granger was a screamer, but gods, she is, and I'm fucking thankful.

When she cries my name and her back arches up, I'm done for, spilling into her as I let out a strangled grunt into her curls. Everything muscle in my body flexes, and the world around me feels so fucking dull compared to the radiating bliss that is coursing through my veins. As my cock pulses, I can feel my muscles slowly begin to relax in the post-orgasm bliss, but my lungs work in over time, trying desperately to deliver much-needed oxygen to my brain.

I allow my arms to give out but still support my weight so I don't crush her. My eyes rove over her face. Her eyes are closed but the corner of her mouth lifts as she catches her breath. One of her hands is resting up near her curls, and when her eyes flutter open to stare at me, her hands moves to cup my jaw.

"You're fucking beautiful," I confess and capture her in a firm kiss, crushing myself to her. When it ends, I slip from inside her and chuckle as she shimmies at the sensation.

Her hands capture the sides of my face, fingers sliding through my hair. "I love you," she says earnestly, and my breath hitches.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that.

I shift to the side of her so I can wrap her in my arms and never, never let her go again. "I love you, too."

THE END


A/N: I'm emotional writing this authors note! Thank you everyone who's joined me on this painful journey to healing and redemption and I hope the ending was worth all the angst along the way.

While I do have some family history with addiction, I have never suffered or been close with anyone who suffered from addiction.

This piece was born during a horrible time in my life when I was struggling with postpartum depression after the birth of my second child. Those early moments with Draco feeling helpless and worthless on the bathroom floor, those were my moments. The moments in therapy forgiving people who don't deserve or ask for it, learning to feel loved even when we don't feel we are capable, and sorting through trauma that has led us there – those were all my painful my moments. I experienced those breakthroughs in my own counseling and writing them these past few months has been the most cathartic and rewarding experience for me.

When you cheered for Draco, I felt you cheering for me. When you cried for him, I knew I had friends around the world who shared in my sadness.

All this to say, thank you. I can't say it enough and I don't think I'll ever stop.

I had a huge team of amazing friends who helped me finish this piece. MCal and Ravenslight who have loved and cheered me on every step of the way and MsMerlin, PartyLines, and BiscuitsforPotter who have lent me their talent and wisdom as well. You guys are my mentors and I'm grateful for everything you've done for me and Sweetly Broken.

Epilogue will be up soon.

Until next time.

-LK

P.S. Hope you don't mind that little bit of gratuitoussmut there at the end. It inno way was necessary to the plot, nor did it drive it forward... but you know, these two have been the ringer and they deserved a good lay before it's all said and done lol extra thanks to MsMerlin for her help on that scene!