Y'all. I am OVERWHELMED by your response to the last chapter. Over. Whelmed. But I won't interrupt you anymore. Thanks to Graceful Lioness. More notes at the end.
Enjoy 12k words of pure love and joy.
February 20, 2018
Their mouths moved in tandem, lips, tongue, and teeth, and Hermione watched as a huge grin grew on Draco's face when she nipped at him. Four years of deprivation had left them both starved, but today was the day they finally found the oasis.
Draco's hands roamed the curves of her body over the bodice of her lilac dress. The dip between her collarbones, the softness of her breasts… his touch was so intimately familiar to her, and yet it felt like new all over again.
She couldn't help it when she pressed herself into him. The part of her hindbrain that she'd kept in check for so long was clawing its way out, wanting to feel every inch of Draco that she could reach. He returned with equal fervor, hands wandering and hips canting of their own accord as she arched her back into him. How easy would it be to get lost in him? To simply stay in this dark corner of the arena and have their way with each other?
But the weight and wonder of their victory surrounded them, and after less than a minute of desperation, Hermione was reminded of exactly where they were.
As much as she wanted to stay here, they were newly-crowned Olympic champions and someone was bound to come looking for them soon. Draco seemed to realise this at the same time as her, because his lips grew suddenly gentler.
When they finally pulled back from each other, they were both grinning like idiots.
Hermione fought the urge to laugh. "Should we, er, head back? I think there's a podium we're supposed to stand on."
Draco chuckled and pressed one more kiss to her lips. "I think you're right."
After checking their costumes, faces, and hair to make sure they still looked professional and not freshly-snogged, the two emerged back into the arena, hand-in-hand.
After the dark, secluded intimacy of the backstage corridor, the bright, wide arena felt entirely overwhelming. And that wasn't just because Hermione felt as though her entire world had just shifted when Draco kissed her.
No, it was overwhelming even without the sensation of Draco's lips lingering on her skin for the first time in four years.
From the moment she and Draco stepped back out, the two of them were pulled in ten different directions per second.
"Over here! Look over here!"
"You've just won Olympic Gold! What do you have to say to viewers at home?"
"Where were you just now? Why did you disappear?"
Photographers, journalists, and camera operators descended upon them by the dozen, each pushier and more insistent than the last. Hermione just smiled at them all, hand still holding tight to Draco as a couple Olympic volunteers tried to clear a path for them. She was so happy that, if not for Draco's fingers lacing through hers, she might have floated away from utter euphoria.
Let the press have a field day. She didn't care. Let them see her victorious and utterly blissful.
This was their day. Between the world record score and gold medal they'd just earned at the Olympics and the way Draco had kissed her moments ago, it was fairly obvious that today belonged to them.
From above, a group of people called, "We love Dramione!"
Hermione looked up and smiled at the young fans who were leaning over the edge of the stands, waving and cheering. She nudged Draco, and he offered up a dazzling grin.
They screamed.
At last, the Olympic worker shooed the reporters away and gestured for them to follow toward another side of the arena, where another backstage area was blocked off with purple curtains. Although the workers didn't speak a word to them, Hermione couldn't help but notice the annoyed looks on their faces. They may not have spoken the same language, but she could tell that they weren't pleased that the gold medalists had disappeared as soon as their scores had been announced.
She did her best not to look sheepish.
Just past the purple curtain, Fleur and Roger as well as the Canadian couple were waiting, standing with their respective coaches while the ice was being transformed for a miniature awards ceremony. The air in this backstage area was far clearer than the arena. The skaters and coaches, who had all been strung tight with nerve all morning, were now relaxed and laughing together.
The two of them had been backstage for only a few seconds when Severus found them and crossed the makeshift room toward them. However, a furrowed brow and scowl were not features she expected to see on their coach.
"Where on earth were the two of you?" he hissed, crossing his arms. "Your scores were announced and then you just took off…" Severus's voice trailed off, and then he did the worst possible thing. Squinting, his dark eyes swept over both her and Draco with the careful eyes only an Olympic-level coach could possess.
Hermione's cheeks flamed when his eyebrows shot up. There was likely no one else who would be able to pick up on the subtleties of her relationship with Draco, but Severus could practically read minds.
She was sure that their coach was about to scold them, or at least to show deeper disapproval with that trademark scowl of his.
What she did not expect was for a small smirk to grow at the corner of his mouth followed by a chuckle. "I see."
At those words, it wasn't just Hermione's cheeks that were on fire, but her neck and chest as well. Beside her, Draco was practically a mirror image of how she felt: bright red from his ears down. He coughed.
"Yes, we're terribly sorry about that, Severus. We just—"
"Honestly, Draco, I really don't want any explanations. As long as you don't go disappearing again, there is nothing more to discuss." Severus paused and reached out a hand to place on each of their shoulders. "But I am happy for the two of you. In all senses."
Hermione tried to think of something to say. 'Thank you' came to mind, but that wasn't right. 'We won't screw up again' wasn't right either. Seeing Severus react in such a relaxed manner was almost unnerving. He'd always been notorious for his strict and closed-off nature.
She wondered if, perhaps, he was also feeling euphoric, and therefore, forgiving today.
Before their conversation could carry any further, an Olympic worker signaled for all the skaters to line up so they could process back onto the ice. With a final pat of encouragement from Severus, Hermione took her place directly behind Fleur. Draco still stood by her side, right behind Roger. Moments later, the three couples filed back into the arena.
Once she stepped past the purple tarp, Hermione saw that a large carpet had been rolled diagonally onto the rink, and near the end, a three-tiered podium sat ready for their reception.
The crowd was already on its feet as a few Olympic volunteers in traditional clothing walked out, along with the president of the International Skating Union, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He looked somber standing beside the podium as he awaited their arrival.
Hermione's hand grew slightly sweaty as the Canadian couple was called to the ice first. This wasn't the official medal ceremony—that would come later tonight. But adrenaline and endorphins were pumping through her veins, and they were convincing her that this moment was just as big.
Beside her, Draco couldn't stop grinning.
Fleur and Roger took to the ice next, skating out hand-in-hand and bowing to the audience one final time before taking their place on the podium.
Hermione's heart thumped against her ribcage, and she was certain that Draco could feel it beating, even through the grip of his hand.
When it was time for them to finally be called, music from their Free Dance filled the arena. A wave of goosebumps traveled down her body as Draco's grip tightened.
"You ready?" he whispered in her ear as the soft barrier to the rink opened.
Hermione tilted her head up, bringing their faces close. "With you? Always."
The moment was so profoundly intimate that Hermione almost wished they were in private once more. How easy would it have been to close the distance between them and pull him in for a kiss?
But Hermione remembered her professionalism just as the announcers spoke in three languages to welcome them.
"First place - Great Britain. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy."
Bubbling excitement obscured any other emotion she was feeling. It would never get old, hearing their names called.
Their entrance onto the ice garnered the loudest applause yet. They skated out together, hand-in-hand, their free arms raised to wave to the crowd. Hermione's smile was so wide, she could feel the apples of her cheeks starting to stretch.
She soaked in her surroundings as they bowed to all four sides of the arena, trying to capture every last detail in her memory like a photo album that she could look back on when this was all over. She tried to take stock of all her senses.
How the chill coming off the ice felt.
How the cheers from the crowd echoed all around.
The way the sweat on her skin smelled.
The taste of Draco's lips still lingering on her.
As her mind took stock of that particular sensation, she hoped that the blush growing on her cheeks wasn't spreading too much. Or at the very least, that it would be mistaken for overflowing joy.
When they finished taking their bows, instead of skating around to the back of the podium like the others had done, they skated toward their fellow medal recipients, first hugging and congratulating the Canadian couple and then crossing the carpet to do the same with Fleur and Roger.
Their French friends stood on the second-highest podium, and Hermione could tell as she and Draco approached that their smiles were a bit too wide, their posture overly stiff. They were clearly disappointed that they were to receive silver instead of gold this go-round. It was understandable. They'd won in 2014 and had all the necessary momentum to win gold going into today.
Still, even if they were a bit stiff, they were nothing but gracious when she and Draco reached out their arms to offer hugs. Fleur even offered a small smile—one that Hermione knew to be genuine after years of friendship. If there were worries about lingering awkwardness among the four of them because of their podium placement, they vanished with that smile. Their friendship was deeper than a single score, and Hermione found that she was grateful for it.
The next few minutes after she stepped onto the podium were a blur. Instead of receiving a medal, they received a little white tiger plush as a placeholder. Hermione kept it in her hand as they posed for countless photographs both on the podium and off. After a bit, Severus brought them a Union Jack flag. She and Draco draped it over their shoulders and stood in front of a pack of photographers to pose. When the photographers had their fill, they took off around the rink, skating with the flag still wrapped around them. By now, the arena had begun to empty a bit, leaving only a few stragglers who stayed behind to snap a photo or get a wave.
Hermione tried to be as gracious as possible, waving and smiling at as many fans as she could see. They seemed nearly as happy as she was, jumping and cheering. A girl in a pink jumper even tried to lean over the railing to get her to sign her Dramione poster. Hermione obliged the enthusiastic fan. The adrenaline from their win was still coursing through her veins, powering the nonstop waving she did for nearly thirty minutes.
By the time photo ops finally settled down, that adrenaline was starting to wear off. Hermione could feel herself approaching a ledge. What she needed now was a nice, quiet block of time to rest. Even a half-hour kip would do the trick. Perhaps if she was lucky, she and Draco could find a changing room backstage. Or even better, they could be allowed to return to their accommodations for a bit and share a few sleepy kisses before drifting off for a bit. Maybe when they woke up, they would have enough time to… explore.
Yes, that sounded nice.
However, it was not to be. When they were finally dismissed from the ice, the two of them covered their blades and followed Severus to an office in a back corner of the arena. The respite Hermione had been hoping for was nowhere on the busy schedule provided to them by an Olympic coordinator.
"As gold medalists, you two are hot commodities today," the middle-aged woman explained with the help of an interpreter. "Here are the pre-set scheduled events set in place for today's gold medal recipients." She handed Severus clipboard with an extensive list attached. "There is, of course, time allotted for special press coverage by your own country."
Hermione and Draco leaned into their coach to try and get a more thorough look at this schedule.
"How many interviews are we expected to conduct today?" Draco asked as he traced his finger down the list.
The interpreter did his work and the coordinator responded.
"With a competition this popular, I wouldn't be surprised if you did at least fifteen interviews today."
Hermione raised her eyebrows and Draco coughed.
"Fifteen?"
"That's just an estimation." The coordinator shrugged and continued on. "Some will happen earlier, and some will likely happen when it is daytime in your home country. There are also two photoshoots scheduled for this afternoon as well. And, of course, the medal ceremony is at seven o'clock."
By the time the coordinator had gone over each and every obligation for the rest of the day, Hermione's adrenaline had officially worn off. She was still thrilled to have won gold. That wasn't the issue. They'd spent the last few months training to the point of exhaustion. There hadn't been a single moment that wasn't focused on strength training, flexibility, artistic expression, or technique. Even in free moments, their conversations had always found a way to come back to the Olympics.
Every minute of their lives had been devoted to making their dream come true.
And now that it had, all Hermione wanted to do was to enjoy the moment. To bask in their dream together with Draco.
Interviews and photoshoots were all fine and good, but what she really wanted was some time to process. The heated kiss backstage had helped, but they needed to do so much more. So much of her mental and physical energy had gone into today that she wasn't sure what that more was. But she just knew that she needed it.
Still, regardless of her needs, the schedule was set.
"Tell us, Hermione, how you recovered after such a catastrophic injury less than a year ago?"
It was their fifth interview of the afternoon, this one for a series of journalists from various European countries. Hermione and Draco sat behind a rectangular table in a large conference room in the main Olympic complex at PyeongChang.
In every single press conference or interview she'd conducted today, someone had asked a variant of this question.
How was she getting on after her injury?
How did she recover so quickly?
There were rumours online that her injury was faked. Was that true?
When all she wanted to do was bask in the February sunshine, hand-in-hand with Draco, hearing these same questions over and over was starting to put a damper on her perfect day. Regardless of her restlessness, Hermione answered the questions dutifully with a smile on her face.
"It was mostly thanks to my fantastic physical therapist, Viktor Krum," she explained for what felt like the hundredth time. "He worked me hard and really advocated for my health when others wanted to push me too far too soon. With his guidance, my calf was almost fully-functional this past autumn."
"And what about Draco?" another reporter piped up. "Your relationship appears to be as strong as ever. Did he help with your recovery?"
Chuckles rippled through the room when Draco leaned his elbow on the table and smiled expectantly at Hermione, eyebrows raised.
To the reporters hanging on their every word, he kept the facade of the silly best-friend relationship they had for years. What those reporters couldn't see were their hands, obscured by an Olympic banner draped in front of the table.
Except for the thirty minutes that had been allotted for showering and changing clothes in the ice skating arena locker rooms, Draco's hand hadn't left hers all afternoon. If the reporters could see under the table, they would have seen her fingers laced with his, squeezing tightly.
For the time being, it was as close as they could get.
"Draco helped me with my recovery in more ways than I can describe," Hermione responded, her genuinely affectionate gaze countering Draco's jokingly expectant one. "He was my biggest support. He kept me company every day, even when we weren't on the ice. On my good days, he cheered me on and on my bad days, he let me complain as long as I liked."
When reporters didn't butt in with another question, she continued. "All the while he was helping me, he had to train with a sandbag for a partner. This went on for months. When I was ready to come back to the ice, he took it slow with me, working up to our usual rigour with the patience of a saint. And despite how difficult and frustrating it must have been for him, he didn't complain once."
Under the table, Draco's hand squeezed hers tightly.
"So, to answer your question, I don't know how I could have recovered to the extent I did without him. Draco is the most important person in the world to me."
If they hadn't been surrounded by reporters, the look on Draco's face told Hermione that he would have kissed her right then and there. His lips were parted slightly, and in the depths of his grey eyes, she could see wonder and awe and love.
"It's clear that the two of you are incredibly close," another reporter commented. "In the past, you've always skirted around the nature of your relationship. Can you clarify anything more for us now?"
Hermione allowed the question to wash over her. How many times had they been asked something similar over the years? In the past, it was easy to brush it off.
"Our relationship is hard to define," they'd answered before.
"I can't really put a label on what we are," was another common answer they'd given.
There was a beat when Hermione turned her head to glance at Draco. Their eyes connected, and though neither spoke a word, she somehow knew exactly what was running through his mind.
It truly was the power of a seventeen-year connection.
What would they say now? Anything different than before?
They'd teased in the past—especially during that almost-obscene interview they'd done with Gilderoy Lockhart and BBC Sport several years ago. They'd been coy, letting their hands wander freely and giving the audience a reason to scream at their vague answers.
If they actually told the world that they were together as a couple, that felt like a lot of pressure to put on their shoulders after the media attention they were already bound to receive.
The look in Draco's eyes matched with the thoughts running through their head: after waiting so long and having shared only one recent kiss, they weren't quite ready to divulge their private life. Let it stay just that for a while. Private.
The moment of connection passed and Draco turned to face the reporter, a warm smile dancing on his lips. "Hermione said it best. To each other, we are the most important person in the world. I can't imagine my life without her. It's going to be strange when we aren't coming to the rink to train every day."
The reporters deflated a bit at another vague answer, but they didn't press further, instead turning the focus of the interview to skating plans following this season.
All through the rest of the interview sessions—some for television, some for radio or for print media—Hermione felt as though she was carrying around a great secret in her heart. This knowledge shared only between her and Draco made her giddy on top of the overflowing joy she already was experiencing from their Olympic win.
He had kissed her.
They had received a gold medal together and then he had kissed her.
Hermione's body felt like a livewire all afternoon, although she couldn't be certain if she was feeling that way because of the medal, the kiss, or some combination of both.
Draco's hands certainly did nothing to keep her calm. During each interview, his hands stayed connected to her, mostly lacing their fingers together. Although sometimes, his hand found her knee or the small of her back.
Wherever he touched her, Hermione felt tingly.
They might not have been able to spend time alone to bask in this dream come true, but Draco was still there, by her side. It was a funny thing, having life's biggest dream come true. There had always been a bit of fear in the back of Hermione's mind that they would get to the Olympics and get on the podium, but that she would be left feeling hollow after. She'd always feared the inevitable, "Well, now what?"
And while she and Draco still needed to talk about all that was to come, there was no emptiness or dread when she looked forward. Instead, there was anticipation and love in every possibility she could imagine moving forward.
But just for a little while, she wanted to keep that to themselves.
When the interviews finally ended, an Olympic volunteer brought them ham sandwiches and a banana each. They sat in a small dressing room and shoveled the food down before being escorted to hair and makeup for a two-hour photoshoot.
When Hermione's hair had been tamed enough to flow rather than frizz around her shoulders, they changed into Team GB gear and took to the outdoors in the late afternoon sun, hiking toward some unknown destination with a BBC photographer. Trailing just behind them was a cameraman who was there to capture some behind-the-scenes footage.
Despite the bright sun shining down on them, the day was windy and bitter cold. Hermione was grateful that they had been provided with navy blue down jackets that kept the worst of it at bay. She held Draco's hand as they trekked to a less-touristy area of the Olympic complex, and even through the thick fabric of the gloves, she could feel his warmth radiating against her palm.
Even though she knew the videographer was likely recording them already, there was a certain freedom in finally being away from rooms full of reporters. No one was there to interrogate or question them. Just to capture the Olympic gold medalists as they were, on the most important and memorable day of their career. Perhaps that was why she was less wary of putting her affection for Draco on full display.
When they finally reached their destination—a snow embankment that overlooked a set of Olympic rings, Hermione felt comfortable hugging Draco. She heard the camera clicking, but didn't really mind. Neither, it seemed, did Draco. He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek right before scooping her off her feet and hauling her over his shoulder.
"Draco!" she shrieked as her world turned upside down. "What are you doing?"
"Celebrating!"
He held fast to her, wrapping his right arm around the back of her knees as her torso slung across his shoulders. Hermione screamed as she clung to his left shoulder, though she wasn't sure whether it was from terror, surprise, or joy.
Draco likely would have put her down after a moment. That was, if the photographer hadn't told them to stay just like that. The middle-aged woman knelt a little, giving them a thumbs up as she peered through the lens of her camera.
"You both look so natural. I'm not going to pose you yet. Just… yes! Draco, swing her around a bit."
Hermione couldn't help the dimpled smile that spread across her face as Draco pranced about with her on his shoulders.
Eventually, when blood started rushing to Hermione's head, he passed her back around his body and cradled her against his chest in a bridal carry. Although both cameras continued to record the moment, Hermione nuzzled into Draco's chest.
They might not want to define their relationship to the world yet, but let the world see how close they were. Let them know that there was real love and affection between them.
Hermione felt her heart thump in her chest as Draco turned his gaze downward toward her, a soft smile on his own face.
How easy would it be just to stretch up a little and kiss that soft smile? Would it really matter if she did?
She searched his eyes for an answer.
"Good, good!" the photographer called out. "Go ahead and lean your foreheads together. Good."
Following directions was easy enough. Years of intimacy left no room for awkwardness when it came to choreography. And what were photoshoots if not very slow choreography?
Draco brought his forehead down to hers. Hermione expected him to close his eyes, but when he didn't, her heart sped up even faster until she could hear it hammering in her ears. His gaze bore into hers, unblinking and intense. And although she was still vaguely aware that they weren't alone, the urge to close the gap between them was growing stronger with each passing second.
She'd had a small taste just hours ago and they had many hours to go before she'd get to feel his lips on hers again. Longing ripped through her to the point where she almost groaned from frustration.
"I know," Draco whispered in her ear as the camera continued to click. "Soon, Hermione. Soon."
His fingers rubbed gentle circles against her ribcage; the feeling sent a shiver up her spine. They really needed to change poses soon or she would do something reckless.
Thankfully, the photographer had Draco set her down moments later. Although Hermione felt a sense of loss when her feet touched the ground, it was much easier to keep herself in check when they posed standing back-to-back or jumping in the air.
When they finished with the snowy bank, the photographer and camera operator followed them down into the busier Olympic area. Together, they wandered around the facilities as directed, stopping occasionally to pose again and to feed each other some sort of delicious, savoury street food. The photographer captured it all.
By the time golden hour passed, they finished up with the photographer and were ushered by golf cart over to the Medal Plaza. A wide variety of food had been provided for the athletes backstage, and they dug in alongside people from Norway, Korea, and China. Fleur and Roger were there as well, sitting in a corner with their plates.
Hermione and Draco approached with hopeful caution, pulling chairs with them.
"I hope it's okay that we sit here," Draco asked as he dragged a foldable metal chair over.
"Of course," Roger supplied, clapping him on the back. "Congratulations, by the way. Your performances today and yesterday were stunning."
"Yes," Fleur piped up between bites of fruit. "If someone other than us had to win, we are happy it was the two of you."
She and Draco offered thanks profusely before digging into their first real meal since that morning. Excitement began to mount in her stomach when a coordinator entered the room to inform them that the ceremony would start shortly and that they needed to finish up and take their places.
The medal ceremony for ice dance was near the end of the line up, so they lingered over their food with Fleur and Roger a bit more than their counterparts. As they cleaned up and checked their respective team jackets for crumbs, butterflies climbed higher in Hermione's stomach, and she couldn't help the way she kept wringing her hands. Beside her, Draco was bouncing on the balls of his feet.
The short track speed skaters went out onto the stage first. They moved closer to the door.
Next were the bobsleigh teams. Then the ski jumpers.
Draco slipped his hand into hers and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
If anything, that made the butterflies flutter more.
This was it. The moment they would stand on the highest podium and be proclaimed the best ice dancers in the world. It was the kind of moment she had dreamed about for so many years, she was afraid that she would rub her eyes and find that she was still in her dormitory in Sheffield with years to go before this was possible.
But it wasn't just possible. It was real. It was happening.
Soon, they would have real gold medals hanging around their necks.
Five minutes before they were scheduled to step on the stage, Hermione's phone buzzed in her pocket.
'I'm standing front and centre' the text from Mum read. 'I've got your dad with me.'
Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. Vigilant as always, Draco squeezed her hand. "Are you okay?" he muttered as the line in front of them dwindled once more when the biathlon athletes stepped into the freezing mountain air.
She nodded. "Yeah. Just a text from Mum. She's right up front, apparently."
"I wonder how she managed that." Draco chuckled, his grip never loosening. "People in the medal crowds are so pushy."
They'd experienced that firsthand the other day when they tried to watch the medal ceremony for the mens' singles and pairs events. Athletes practically fought each other to get to the front.
"Oh, she absolutely bragged to everyone who could hear that her daughter was a gold medalist. I guarantee you." Hermione just hoped Mum wasn't showing off baby photos from her wallet. "I think she has a poster of my dad with her."
Draco's thumb gently caressed the back of her hand. "I'm not surprised. She doesn't want him to miss a thing. He'd be so proud, after all." Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand, her heart swelling.
"Ice dance!" a deep voice called near the door. "Please line up."
A camera came into view now that they were just behind the stage doors, and the red recording light was illuminated. Hermione tried to push the sentimental thoughts about her father to the side as she smiled at the lens and waved.
All other thoughts were driven from her mind as they were ushered forward in rows of two toward the door to the stage. First in line were the Canadian pair receiving bronze. Then Fleur and Roger. She and Draco stood at the back, as they would be called to step onto the podium last.
This was it.
Excitement bubbled in her stomach as she heard the familiar melody that had accompanied other medal recipients when they took the podium, strings and percussion and other instruments she could not name. The music seemed to call to her and set a faster pace for her heart.
Draco's hand was tight in hers.
The stage door swung open and a gust of freezing mountain air nearly bowled them over. It had to be well-below freezing outside, but with her blood pumping the way it was, Hermione hardly felt even a twinge of cold.
The Canadian couple was called.
She and Draco took one step forward.
Hermione closed her eyes. She had wanted to soak in everything about today, but there was something monumental about this moment. It was the kind of moment she'd revisit in dreams, so she wanted to capture all of it. The way the wind kissed her cheeks until they were stained red; the feel of Draco's mitten-covered hand in hers. The way her whole body thrummed with anticipation. Every inch of her was coursing with adrenaline and endorphins.
This was what joy felt like. Hermione wished she could bottle the feeling.
Fleur and Roger were called next.
She and Draco stepped right up to the doorway.
"How are you holding up?" Draco asked, squeezing her close. "Are you ready for this?"
Draco had been ready for this moment since childhood. He was born for this moment. That much was something Hermione had known for years. But her?
She grinned up at him, and his eyes were as soft as she'd ever seen them. The answer was clear. "As long as you're by my side, I'm ready."
He pulled her toward him by the waist. "Seventeen years in the making, Hermione. It's finally our turn to be up there."
The Olympic worker nodded in their direction and pointed toward the stage.
It was time.
Hermione's heart thrummed in her throat and ears as she and Draco stepped out into the spotlight. Triumphant music surged around them in waves of brass and strings and percussion. This, more than anything, made the moment feel especially dream-like. It almost felt as though she was floating as they made their way to centre stage, just behind the highest podium.
She tried to remember to wave at all the cheering fans in the audience but there was just so much to soak in. Beside her, Draco was quaking. He didn't have to say anything for her to know how utterly overwhelmed he must be.
To have a childhood dream come true was so rare. Especially one as grandiose as this. To be told he was less than for so long by the people who were supposed to love him, only to find himself adored by thousands was the best sort of outcome he could have wanted. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if he shed a few tears when they were finally alone.
The sweeping melody still surrounded them as they took their place just behind the podium. From this vantage point, Hermione could see a vast crowd of people clapping and whooping. Beyond them, to the left, were the flags that would be raised in only another minute.
When her eyes fell back to the audience, Hermione couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.
Just in front of the stage, only a few metres away, was Mum. She was practically glowing, though Hermione wasn't sure whether it was from smiling so much or from the bitter cold that was whipping against all their faces.
Mum clutched something to her chest. When she and Draco stepped right behind the podium, she cheered and held the rectangular item above her head and waved it about.
I've got your dad with me.
The next moment, a great gust of wind blew right into the stage. The other medalists shielded their faces from its sharpness, but Hermione let herself feel it all.
"Hi, Dad," she murmured, smiling up to the night sky beyond the audience. "I knew you'd make it."
Beside her, Draco tilted his head slightly, pink cheeked and eyes sparkling.
Then, above the music, came a bright, female voice.
"Médaillés d'or et champions olympiques: la Grande-Bretagne!"
Then, the English translation.
"Gold medalists and Olympic Champions: Great Britain!"
They took the first step up.
Draco offered a mischievous grin, and she met it.
Raising their hands in the air, the middle two still clasped together, she and Draco leapt into the air, landing together on the podium with a triumphant whoop. Somehow, that single step seemed like the most significant of her life so far. Although the podium wasn't that far off the ground, it felt as though she was soaring high above the crowd. Or, at least, that's how Hermione's heart felt as she waved to the crowd, and especially to Mum and Dad.
To Severus.
To all their dance coaches.
To Remus and to Viktor.
To all their skating friends back home.
To little Eliisa, with whom she'd been exchanging letters for the last several months.
To everyone who had believed in them, even when it felt hopeless to believe in this impossible dream.
Joyful tears pooled in her eyes, though they didn't fall. Instead, she kept smiling and waving until the Olympic volunteer in bright red traditional winter clothing stepped toward them. On the tray she was carrying sat the objects she and Draco had coveted for years. There they were, luminous and wonderful.
Two gold medals.
The head of the International Skating Union, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stepped forward to hang the medals around their necks. The imposing man turned and faced her, and she bowed her head accordingly.
"Hermione Granger!" the announcer called.
Beside her, Draco clapped his mittened hands with fierce devotion. From the audience, she heard Mum cheering her name.
And then, the weight was there, heavy, triumphant, reassuring.
Olympic gold.
She shook Mr. Shacklebolt's hand and straightened, jaw dropped in wonder as she turned to Draco to await his turn.
He was shaking from head to toe. Yet, somehow, he managed to remove his mittens for the incoming handshake. Even in his biggest moments, her partner never forgot manners and protocols.
Draco dipped his head as Mr. Shacklebolt approached, gold medal in hand.
"Draco Malfoy!"
Hermione clapped as hard as she could possibly manage.
From the moment the medal hung around his neck, something changed in Draco. Hermione could see that change coursing through him, like a ripple. He was still the same Draco, of course, but there was something infinitely calmer. More content. Relieved. Utterly exuberant.
The moment he finished shaking Mr. Shacklebolt's hand, Draco leaned into her and planted the sweetest kiss on her cheek.
His love was the icing on top of the best day of her life.
Together, they held the gold up to their mouths and bit into them for the cameras like true Olympic champions.
All through the recording of God Save the Queen, Hermione was quite sure her heart would burst. She watched as the Union Jack was raised high above the crowd and somehow this was what set their victory firmly in their mind.
They had actually done it.
It was their time.
Years and years of relentless work had all been leading to this very moment. It had always been leading to this moment, when she and Draco would be standing together in this exact spot, gold medals hanging around their necks and admired by all the world.
Hermione was positive that she'd never stop smiling.
Surely, this was bliss.
When the anthem quieted, the crowd burst into another round of cheers. Shortly after, all three pairs moved toward the center of the podium and the press had their minute to take photographs. All the while, she and Draco held fast to each other's hands.
In this wild current, he was her anchor, and she was his.
And then, as soon as it came, the moment was over. They were escorted off the stage so another event could proceed with the medal ceremony.
Still hand-in-hand, she and Draco emerged into the wintery night, pink-cheeked and grinning like loons.
Part of Hermione hoped that their Olympic coordinator would casually forget to escort them to the final remaining interviews of the night. She wanted time alone with Draco to bask and enjoy the night, but it wasn't to be. Within thirty seconds of exiting, their coordinator found them and escorted them to the news pavilion, where they were scheduled to interview with several North American and European shows.
There was Good Morning America and The Today Show.
Next came The Morning Show and Breakfast Television.
Then they pre-recorded interviews for This Morning and Good Morning Britain.
Each time, they were offered congratulations. More often than not, television hosts speculated about their relationship.
Hermione blushed while Draco just laughed it off, and once again, the knowledge that she and Draco were carrying around a secret swelled in her chest.
"Oh, come on. You two just look so close!" one host, an American, practically demanded. "You two just look so in love when you're out there on the ice. I know you had me swooning."
Out of the camera shot, Draco squeezed her hand.
"Well, if that's what you think, then clearly we've done our job right as skaters," Hermione answered with a bright smile.
This didn't truly seem to satisfy the host, but they moved on anyway.
On and on the interviews went until the hour hand on her watch ticked close to twelve and the overwhelming weight of exhaustion began to set in. Hermione felt her whole body begin to droop during their final interview with BBC Sport. As she fought to keep her eyes open, she was certain that it would be impossible for viewers not to notice.
And then, with a few final thanks and pats on the back, the red light above the last camera turned off and they were finally free.
A special shuttle was arranged to return them to the Athletes' Village.
All the way back, Hermione's head lolled on Draco's shoulder. They both dozed, medals still hanging around their necks.
Half asleep and duffle bags in hand, they stumbled to the elevator, eyes half-closed. Hermione's mind was fuzzy, and the soft pillow on her bed was beckoning her closer with the bright ding of each passing floor.
When they reached the fourteenth, Hermione stepped into the corridor and unzipped her duffle bag and reached for her key card.
A hand moved to her wrist.
Hermione looked up from her bag to find Draco staring at her, sleepy but intent. His voice was low and gravelly when three small words slipped between his lips.
"Stay with me."
Only half a beat passed before she nodded in response. He took the lead, passing by her room in favour of his.
The beep of the keypad and the thunk of the door opening seemed especially loud, echoing around the otherwise silent corridor.
Perhaps Hermione should have felt nervous, stepping into Draco's darkened bedroom for the first time in four years.
They had always told each other that they'd wait until after the Olympics. And now, here they were, on the precipice of something enormous.
But Hermione wasn't nervous.
Hermione knew nerves. She was intimately familiar with the roiling of her stomach and the ripples she felt all across her skin when anxiety crept through her body.
This feeling… that wasn't it.
It was a sense of rightness.
Of coming home.
Perhaps she should have felt excitement. Giddiness. Arousal, even.
But all she could feel at this exact moment was a strong contentment.
That, and exhaustion.
Without bothering to turn shower or brush their teeth, she and Draco shed their clothes. Their medals sat together on the bedside table like a glass of water or a pair of glasses might.
Draco handed her a pair of soft, well-loved sweatpants and an old shirt.
They smelled just like him, and Hermione buried her nose in the fabric as she slipped under the covers. Draco followed her, opening his arms to her.
She fit like a snug puzzle piece.
Within moments, she knew no more.
The very first thing Hermione felt upon waking was panic.
Sunlight streaked across her blue blanket, indicating that she had slept long past her alarm. She needed to get up. Now. Hermione sat up and stretched. Severus and Draco were likely wondering where she was. Surely, she had several missed phone calls already and—
Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and groped through heavy-lidded eyes for her phone to check the time. But instead of finding the usual smooth texture of her mobile, her fingertips traced the unfamiliar texture of something that was definitely not her phone.
Prying her eyes open, her gaze fell upon two medals sitting casually on a bedside table.
A bedside table that definitely wasn't hers. There weren't nearly enough dogeared books on it.
She wasn't in her own room in the Athletes' Village, but in Draco's room. Beside her, his solid, warm body slowly expanded and contracted with each deep breath he took. How long had it been since she woke up beside him like this, with no agenda. No limitations.
"It's just us," she murmured, reaching out to gently comb her fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. "Just us."
It was then that the full weight of yesterday came rushing back. Flashes of memory swept across her mind: the rush of performing, the stomach-swooping realisation that they'd won.
The soft pressure of Draco's lips on hers.
Heat immediately flooded Hermione's cheeks as she recalled the way his hands had roamed, pressed…
"Good morning."
Draco's sweet, sleepy croak broke her from the very intimate places her mind was carrying her.
"Good morning." Her voice cracked as she tried in vain to make the blush evaporate before Draco's vision could focus. "Sleep well?"
"I won a gold medal yesterday and then slept with the love of my life in my arms. How do you think I slept?"
He rubbed his eyes and smirked, dragging her back onto the mattress. She shrieked but didn't pull away. Instead, she buried her face in his shoulder, taking advantage of their closeness to hold tight to his torso.
It was funny, being close to him like this. She'd spent nearly two decades becoming incredibly familiar with the planes of his body. Its strengths and weaknesses. Its dips and angles. Its strong form.
For much of that time, his body had been a tool for their success. Her knowledge of it was essential to move forward in their career. Hermione knew that Draco's knowledge of her body was just the same, just as fundamental.
Even during the years when she and Draco had casual sex—or rather, what turned out to be a poor imitation of casual sex, Hermione hadn't fully been able to distance herself from the practical side of his physicality.
But now, holding him close, feeling the bare skin of his chest against her palms, there was no practicality to it all. His muscles served no ulterior purpose. The firmness of his abdomen or his arse weren't meant to be a lifeline to the next level of competition.
For the very first time, Hermione found herself appreciating his body solely for how it made her feel.
Attractive.
Safe.
Loved.
"Was yesterday even real?" She whispered the words into the crook of his neck. "Are those medals really ours?"
"Unless both our memories are wrong, then it definitely was real. And I can confirm that the medals are much heftier than the toy one I've held onto for all these years."
Hermione sighed, deep v-neck of his shirt flutter.
They laid in silence as the sunlight continued to trickle through the window and across the bright blue blanket. She traced the skin on his chest and stomach. He did the same with her back. No words were needed for a quiet moment like this one. There was a gentle contentment about it all.
Hermione could have stayed like that for hours. They had nowhere to be. At least, not until late morning when they would head back to the arena to watch the Ladies' Singles competition. Other than that, they had no obligations. No commitments or interviews or rehearsals.
Freedom was wonderful and overwhelming all at once. Hermione's hands and feet itched to be productive. After years of near-constant movement, it felt wrong to have a lie in and luxuriate in relaxation.
"I can practically hear you overthinking this," Draco chuckled as his fingertips continued stroking her lower back. "It's okay to just… be. I know we haven't done much of that over the years, but if you're willing, I'd like to give it a try with you."
"You'd like to just… be with me?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, pulling back just slightly enough to be able to see his reaction. "Are we even capable of that?"
"Well, considering we just won at the Olympics, I'd say we're pretty capable of most things."
Hermione elbowed him gently in the ribs. Draco elbowed her right back.
"And besides," he continued, pulling her close again and resting his chin on top of her curls, "imagine the possibilities of all we could do with this newfound freedom."
A sudden chill ran down Hermione's body, starting from the spot where Draco's chin rested, across her torso and arms, and all the way to her toes. Although she wasn't entirely sure that he was implying the kinds of possibilities her mind was conjuring, she couldn't help but let her thoughts wander back to the way his lips had felt. How she'd like to feel them on her again. On her own lips. And her neck. And breasts. And other, more sensitive places.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat.
After years of holding back, how was this supposed to go?
There were no directions that could tell her how to navigate this new territory. They'd been walking the fine line between friendship and something more for the better part of a decade, and had decided months ago that the best course of action was to wait until the Olympics were finished.
Which they were now. For them, at least.
All the what-ifs hung over Hermione's head as she clung to Draco. Her mind was abuzz with all the unspoken possibilities.
What if Draco kissed her again?
What if she kissed Draco?
What if he wanted to have sex?
What if he didn't?
What if he changed his mind about loving her?
What if she was just a part of his plan to get a medal and all this drama had been for nothing?
"I can still hear you," Draco murmured the words into her hair. "You're a very loud thinker, you know."
"And what exactly am I thinking about?" Hermione tilted her chin up so that she and Draco could be face-to-face.
"You're worrying about that kiss I gave you yesterday." Draco's smirk was small, living just in the corner of his lips. The light in his eyes danced in the morning sun. "And if those possibilities I just mentioned include keeping you in bed for as long as I possibly can and telling you that I love you."
Hermione swallowed, her eyes searching his as she tried to find the right words.
"Was I right?"
She nodded.
Draco leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Well then, here are a few things you should know. Maybe they'll make you worry less." His hand rested on the side of her face, thumb gently stroking her cheekbone.
"First, you should know that I haven't stopped thinking about kissing you since we left backstage. And if you'd like it, I'd very much like to kiss you again."
Hermione's throat went dry.
"Second—" Draco's hand drifted lower, down her neck and shoulders, tracing the outline of her breasts and waist. "If you're ready—if you'll have me—I'd like to try exploring with you. It doesn't have to be sex yet. Not if you don't want—" Draco's eyes went wide as his fingers gripped her waist a little tighter. "But I'm open to that. I feel ready."
Hermione's heart clenched as she watched Draco stumble over his words a bit. He was clearly nervous, judging by the bobbing of his Adam's apple and the way he was blinking a little too much.
"And third—" Draco's whole body shuddered as he took a deep breath. "I don't know if I could ever tell you enough, but you need to know that I love you. I'm in love with you. Fully and completely. That hasn't changed in years. And I finally feel like I'm ready to do something about it."
He chewed his lip and flexed his fingers around her waist. "So… what do you say?"
Perhaps she should have actually said something in return. Given him an actual response. But they'd been doing nothing but talking for years. And they had years ahead of them to talk some more.
So for this one moment, words could wait.
She kissed him.
Closed the distance between them for the last time.
It was heaven.
Draco's lips were soft and pliant against hers. It only took half a beat before his mouth responded, opening up to her. With a deep inhale through his nose and a subsequent moan, his hands left her side and wrapped all the way around her, drawing Hermione flush with his body.
Their kisses weren't frenzied, but they weren't lazy either. They'd had their fair share of both kinds of kisses over the years, and this felt distinctly different. Draco let her set the pace, and for that she was grateful. After all, this wasn't just sex they were about to have. They'd had plenty of that over the years. No, this was something more. Something far deeper, far more special. She wanted to enjoy each swipe of his tongue, each nip and suck. The way his hands found the back of her head, fingers threading through her curls.
This drew a moan from Hermione's lips. There was something about his fingers in her hair. It felt far more intimate than the way they touched on the ice—perfunctory, necessary, technical. Probably because Draco had always loved her hair, even when she hadn't, protesting whenever she kept it up in a bun.
He'd always loved her in one way or another.
Hermione's heart surged with affection as she pulled herself even closer to him, increasing the pressure and intensity of her lips on his. She could have kissed him forever and been content.
And then his mouth moved away from hers and began to trail kisses down her neck. Hermione tilted her head back, panting slightly as his stubble scratched at her soft skin, creating a lush dichotomy of textures that sent shockwaves right to her cunt.
It clenched around nothing, and she whimpered.
"So impatient," Draco teased, his lips grazing her collar bone. "Just a little longer. You've been so good at waiting, love. So good."
Her whole body erupted in goosepimples as Draco worshipped her skin, from the crook of her neck, down her shoulder. The too-large t-shirt that she had borrowed slipped down, giving him access to her collarbone. He nipped at every inch of skin he had access to, and Hermione wanted more.
Wiggling free of his grasp, she sat up for a moment and shucked the shirt off without a second thought.
Draco's eyes shone like he'd just won another gold medal as he took in her naked torso mouth open but unspeaking. Perhaps Hermione should have felt self-conscious or had a bit more modesty. Perhaps she should have been a little nervous. She recalled feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable the first time they did this.
That had been a lifetime ago. Ten years.
But as Hermione sat half-naked in front of her best friend and man she loved more than life itself, she felt no shame or anxiety. Not even a little.
Instead, her whole body and heart thrummed with the overwhelming realisation that she didn't need to feel that way. Not anymore. Never again.
Because this was it. The beginning of… forever.
It was like the moment on the ice just before the music started, when all the world was still and full of perfect possibilities.
All they needed to do was dance.
And so she did.
Without preamble, Hermione practically dove toward Draco, pulling him by the fabric of his shirt toward her so their lips could meet once more. This kiss had far more ferocity, all tongue and teeth and relentless hands that scrambled to remove as much fabric as they could reach. Within a few seconds, Draco had lost his shirt and trousers, and Hermione's pyjama bottoms had landed in a heap on the floor.
The feeling of skin on skin was exquisite, full of warmth and softness. It was a sensation that she'd somehow forgotten. But oh, how memories came flooding back. So many nights spent tangled together, chasing pleasure, trying not to let her heart get so involved.
Now, though, she was ready to give her whole heart right along with her body.
At some point Draco's mouth found her nipples, and she moaned into the early morning air.
"That's it," he mumbled into the one breast, pressing kisses there. "Let me hear you. I've missed hearing you so much." He switched to her other breast and sucked. She keened and arched her back, trying to search for friction any way she could find it.
"Oh God, Draco." Hermione hardly recognised the whine that escaped her lips. "Please."
He chuckled into her chest. She felt the vibrations and shivered. "Patience, love."
As much as she wanted to take charge and speed things up, Hermione liked the way Draco could make her squirm with words alone. It was all he'd been able to do to her for the last four years, and some vestige of that seemed to linger as she laid under him, hanging on his every word.
Draco's hands trailed down her stomach as he continued to pepper her breasts with kisses, whispering sweet words between each one.
"So good," he murmured gently. "You're so perfect for me, Hermione."
When his fingers finally dipped into her knickers, a soft whimper escaped her lips. She wanted him, no, needed him so much. Needed his hands, his mouth, his cock… whatever he would give her, she would take.
First, it seemed, were his fingers.
"You're so warm and wet," Draco groaned as one slipped into her, and for the first time since he kissed her, Hermione could see his control starting to slip. She heard his breath hitch, felt the involuntary jolt of his hips. The very notion sent a thrill through her. "And fuck, you feel just like I remember." His finger stroked her inner walls, making some of her own sense of control fall away. Just like on the ice, she was entirely in his hands. She trusted him implicitly to take care of her. To give her sense of control up to Draco… there was something utterly indulgent about it, and Hermione basked in her moans and twitches as he added another finger and started to move his mouth down her body.
"I've been dreaming about the sounds you used to make," Draco admitted, his own voice breathless. Hermione forced herself to open her eyes, not wanting to miss a moment as his lips dipped lower. "I touched myself, wondering if you sound the same, feel the same. Just the memory of you, pink and perfect, is enough to make me come."
His grey eyes were practically burning as his fingers plunged deeper, causing Hermione's hips to lift off the bed and begin to cant rhythmically to the devastating pace he was setting.
"Is it enough for you, Hermione?" Draco continued speaking as if it were normal for him to be knuckle-deep inside of her. "Did you come to the thought of us?"
"Always," she choked. "I always thought of you. Of us." She moaned again as Draco added a third finger. The stretch was utterly divine. "I thought about your fingers and your… your cock." Hermione knew her cheeks were surely red, but she pushed through anyway. "And I thought about your, your—"
"My what, Hermione?" Draco's voice rumbled low, and her cunt clenched around his fingers. "What else did you think about?"
He curled his fingers inside of her and she writhed, pleasure beginning to spike in her lower abdomen.
"Your mouth," she breathed. "I thought about your mouth on me."
Draco smirked, withdrawing his fingers. Hermione whimpered at the loss.
"Oh, my lovely girl," he cooed, hooking his fingers through her knickers. "I missed you so much."
The scrap of fabric trailed down her legs until it joined her pyjamas on the floor and she was left completely bare before him.
"God, I love you," Draco breathed as he took her in. The smoulder of his gaze turned Hermione's insides to liquid, and though he wasn't touching her at all, she felt her pleasure climb even higher. "I can't believe this is real. That I can finally touch you again. Make you come again."
They both laid perfectly still as Draco continued to stare. And stare.
And Hermione's pleasure began to wane.
As much as she adored Draco's sweet declarations of love, there was something else she needed beyond word alone. And it was time that she took what she needed.
"Well then," she mused, quirking an eyebrow. "If you're going to make me come, then do it."
This was a sure way to get Draco to act: engage his competitive streak.
As if a switch flipped within him, Draco's sweet gaze turned ravenous in an instant.
"As you wish."
The next second, his mouth was on her and the world came crashing all around her. How had she lived without these lips, this tongue? The exquisite pressure on her pubic bone alone sent her spiraling toward heights unknown. The kind of elusive high that even her favourite dildo couldn't bring her towards.
Hermione's fingers found Draco's hair, and she tugged at it. Hard. This only encouraged Draco's ministrations. His tongue doubled its pace, which only made Hermione grip harder. His fingers were still hard at work, pumping in and out at a punishing pace, and the combination of all those sensations was enough to drive Hermione higher and and more delirious with each passing second. The vicious cycle only escalated and escalated until the only thing left was the free fall.
"Oh, Draco. Oh, fuck." Unmuffled and straining against the confines of her own body, Hermione spasmed around his fingers as she sailed into utter bliss. "Draco."
His name came out like a prayer on her lips, reverent and breathy all at once. Her cunt continued to pulse, even as the plummet slowed to a gentle float. Every inch of her body felt both light as a feather and utterly boneless all at once.
She finally let her fingers slip from Draco's hair and collapsed onto the mattress with a deep sigh.
He stood above her, watching as she basked in the afterglow of the best orgasm she'd ever felt. There was no comparison to be had. At all. "So good," she mewled, arms extending out when she realised that Draco was out of her reach.
He obliged, knees landing on either side of body. Hermione's heart thumped faster as Draco crawled over her prone form, stretching his naked torso against hers. He was still wearing his boxer briefs. Deeply tented, they rubbed against her molten centre and made her start to squirm all over again.
Draco's lips found hers again. She could taste herself, sweet and earthy, and the taste only made her more eager to let Draco feel the same pleasure.
"Take them off," she urged, fingers plucking at the elastic waistband. "Please. I need you. Need to feel you. Make you feel good."
Draco responded by thrusting against her, still clothed where it mattered most. "You already make me feel so good, Hermione." He thrust again, sending aftershocks through her cunt. "If all I ever get to do again is feel your come through my boxers, then fuck, I don't care."
He thrust again.
"You're so wet and perfect, and the fact that it's all for me just makes me want to keep you in bed for as long as I possibly can."
And again. Hermione canted her hips in return this time, forcing a groan from Draco's mouth.
"I've wanted you for every second of every day for years." He forced himself to continue, lowering himself until his forehead touched hers. Hermione felt his hot breath against her skin. It only added to the charge in the air. "Do you know how hard it was to be able to touch you out on the ice or in a dance studio, knowing that it was strictly off-limits the moment we were out of rehearsal?"
Hermione nodded. She knew exactly how hard it was. How many times did she have to get herself off after she got home, the vestiges of Draco's grip still fresh in her mind?
"The things you do to me, Hermione. You're so good. So fucking good." The thrust of his hips turned into a steady rocking, and pressure started to build up once more. "God, I swear that if you let me, I'll take such good care of you. Forever. Please. Let me take care of you."
"Please," Hermione parroted back to him. "Just… inside."
"Condom?"
She shook her head. "IUD, still. I want you to come inside."
This was all Draco needed. His hands flew to his sides, and he pushed down his boxer briefs in a rush, cock ruddy and leaking as it came into Hermione's view for the first time in four years.
It was just as she remembered it, long, thick, and utterly succulent.
Part of her wanted to sink to her knees and take him into her mouth. Lick him until he was incoherent.
But that's not what they both needed. Not right now.
And besides, they had time for all that. They had time to do so much. Try so much.
They had nothing but time.
Draco resumed the same position he'd just come from, body flush against hers, foreheads brushing. His hands found hers, and he laced their fingers togethers on either side of her head.
Draco's hard thighs crowned her hips, the tip of him nudging her entrance in a final question mark.
Hermione lifted her torso just a bit until her lips met his is a single, firm kiss. "I love you," she whispered fervently. "Please fuck me, Draco."
This was all the permission he needed before he buried himself to the hilt.
It was everything, all at once. The entire universe spanned their bodies, and for a moment, Hermione swore she saw infinity.
"I love you," Draco cried as he drew back and pushed in once more. "I love you so fucking much, Hermione. My perfect girl. My only girl. Fuck." The expletive rolled off his tongue as Hermione purposely clenched her cunt around him.
The drag of his thick head against her inner walls was enough to start her ascent once more. He kept a relentless pace, cock slamming into her like a man possessed. The pressure and friction against her pubic bone only hastened her climb.
"I can't believe this," he choked, face moving to rest in the crook of her neck. The heat from his breath forced Hermione to tilt her chin and arch her back slightly. "Not just the gold medal, but you. Me. Here. Us. We're, we're finally—we can finally—"
His movements were starting to grow erratic, and with it, his ability to speak was going out the window.
"I know," Hermione murmured into his ear. "I know, Draco."
Draco's hips were pounding into her now, and she couldn't stop the cries that flew from her lips, wild and honest. She was close. They both were.
"Love you. So. Fucking. Much." His words matched the rushed tempo of his thrusts, and Hermione was lost to it all now, too far gone to reply. She ripped her hands from his and raked her fingers down his back, pressing just hard enough to know she'd leave a mark.
He was hers now. Always. Forever.
Hermione came first, another wave of pleasure cresting over her body. Though this orgasm wasn't as intense as her last, it continued for several long seconds. Her cunt clenched rhythmically around Draco's cock and she rode the whole thing out with overt bliss, eyes closed, mouth hanging open and panting.
Draco's movements turned erratic, and he grunted into her neck as his come spilled inside her.
"Oh, fuck," he rasped when his hips finally stuttered and stopped. He lifted his head slightly, but dropped it immediately onto her chest. The sweat from his brow mingled with her own, the smell comforted Hermione. This scent was a familiar one. It was a near-constant part of their days. The new part was the distinct tang of sex that had soaked into their skin and sheets.
Peeking down at Draco, Hermione saw him grin into her breasts. "Why the hell did we wait four years to do this?" he chuckled, nuzzling one with his nose. "I missed you so much, Hermione."
She stroked his mussed, damp hair, combing the locks with her fingers. "I missed you too, Draco."
They held each other close, their naked bodies illuminated in the sunshine peeking between the curtains. Hermione traced random patterns along Draco's back. Draco stroked her nipple and rolled it gently in his fingers.
It was quiet. Nice.
Peaceful.
After years and years of doing nothing but chase their dreams, always striving for more, trying to get to the next level and win another medal, this was… strange, to say the least.
But good strange. Wonderful strange.
New and terrifying and somehow, completely miraculous.
Draco eventually pulled away, leaving Hermione feeling far too empty. Now that they'd just begun to rediscover each other, she wanted to live with him there if she could.
"When is your lease up?" Draco mumbled after a few minutes.
"April, why?" Hermione yawned and snuggled into his side.
"Move back in with me."
Hermione's heart stuttered as the words left Draco's lips. She inhaled deeply, waiting for him to cry out, 'Just kidding!' in another one of the dozens of curveballs their lives had thrown them.
But he didn't say anything of the sort. He just pressed a gentle kiss to her breast and looked up at her, eyes shining. "I'd love nothing more. I couldn't stand not seeing you in the morning like this."
Hermione snorted. "What, with hair in my face and needing to brush my teeth?"
"Yes, but you'd be beautiful and in my arms, so I wouldn't care. And have you seen my hair? Smelled my breath?"
He lifted his head up and opened his mouth, but Hermione smacked him playfully on the arm before he could breathe all over her.
"Okay, okay," she relented. "I get it. So you're serious? You want to move in together again?"
"I've never been more serious."
"But what will the press say?" she raised her eyebrows and smirked.
"Fuck the press."
Laughter on her lips, Hermione buried her face in Draco's chest and sighed.
"Love you," she whispered into his salty skin.
"Mmmm," he returned after a yawn. "Love you, too."
They had just enough time for a nap.
Together.
Well, guys. We're here. Just one chapter left, and I'm not going to lie, I'm not ready to say goodbye to my ice dancing bbs. The final chapter will be set one year later. There's a chance it will be delayed a week because it's not written yet and I want it to be perfect. I'll keep you updated on tumblr (biscuitsforpotter).
Writing this chapter was really hard, mostly because it needed to toe the line between "This is the happiest, most emotional moment of my life" and "They're horny, your honor." Here's hoping I hit that benchmark.
And I'm not gonna lie, writing that smut got me more hot and bothered than any other smut I've ever written. I hope it was well-worth the wait.
As to the actual Olympic Victory ceremony in PyeongChang, I went to that as well. It was cold AF. I had to actually buy a secondary pair of mittens and a scarf because it was so damn cold and I couldn't feel my hands or face. Korean mountains in the winter are no joke.
I've loved every second of this story and I hope you have, too.