A/N: I'm baaaack.
Fair warning: mature content ahead. Enjoy.
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December 10, 1998. 2 AM. Hogwarts Castle Grounds.
It was all for nothing.
Did you really think you'd be allowed happiness? After everything you've done?
You are a failure.
Feeling more solid in his dragon form, Draco flew from the castle under the cover of night. The wards shimmered as he pierced his way through, holding strong against the seemingly endless torrent of Inferi and Dementors lurking around the borders of school grounds.
They served as constant reminders of death, pain and hopelessness.
They also made for excellent targets of his wrath.
Since learning of his parent's disappearance, the dragon within demanded an outlet for his fury. Getting through each day without bursting out of his skin was a challenge. But Draco had been taught the hard lesson of control. How to use his fear, grief and anger like fuel for false bravado. Fuel for the strength to keep himself together against the pressure of shattering apart.
Slicing through the air with the speed of a lightning bolt, Draco dove over the gathering Inferi, using his well of fire to incinerate every last one to ash. Violent blue flames spewed from his maw with a heat so intense the Inferi combust immediately, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth and dust in the wind.
They are as good as dead and you did nothing to stop it.
The wind vibrated with each beat of his capable wings, sleek and dark. Although he waited until the early, pre-dawn hours of morning when the castle went silent and still, Draco wondered if his beast-self had been noticed. A dragon in a dangerous emotional state, his aura of power radiated a fierceness so great it sent even the Dementors scurrying.
As his shadow raced over the grounds, the world below froze in fear. Forrest animals halted their rustling, birds fell silent and only the trees whispered as they trembled in his wake. Reflective, graphite scales making him nearly invisible in the night sky, Draco flew wraithlike, conjuring a sense of foreboding in the creatures living under the cover of the woods.
But what good was his terrible dragon if he could not find the Resurrection?
You weren't able to protect them, and you won't be able to protect her.
She is pure light, and you will forever be surrounded by darkness.
You don't deserve her.
You won't be able to keep her.
. . . . . . .
December 11, 1998. 7:30PM. The Great Hall.
Hermione flipped through the Daily Prophet hurriedly, crinkling the pages in frustration. After the announcement revealing the initial investigation into the disappearance of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, not another word had been printed in their regards. An entire week passed with no leads, no ominous letters, and in what was becoming glaringly obvious, no real concern as to their whereabouts.
Good riddance, she heard whispered.
"Hey Hermione, could you—"
"What?" She snapped at Seamus. He'd been pointing to a bread basket on the dinner table before recoiling from the sharp edge in her voice.
"I, uh—sorry—could you pass the bread?"
She sighed, muttering her apologies, using her wand to float the basket across the table.
Over the past week, Hermione could barely manage the anger that rankled under her skin. Anger at the lack of new information on the Resurrection—their possible members, meeting locations or long term goals—the Ministry remained clueless as ever. Anger for the careless attitudes and snide remarks about the missing Malfoys, even in the presence of their son. And growing stronger every day, her resentment toward the stubbornly protective entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.
The moment Draco left her arms the night they received the news, he withdrew back into the reclusive state he'd adopted at the beginning of the year. He never showed up for meals in the Great Hall, skipped DA meetings, and only materialized in class for exams.
A few days prior he'd been mindful enough to leave Theo a vial of dragon's blood—his blood—at his door for the experimental potion he and Luna were spending countless hours trying to perfect. Yet Draco kept his distance, a mirage of himself that flickered away when anyone drew too near.
The closest she came to him in that time was during their Potions final. Sitting in her usual seat next to Draco, it was torture to keep her eyes away from his face. Plain from the dark, sunken appearance of his eyes, he wasn't sleeping. Every muscle in his body held tense, posture curved inward, shielding himself from anything outside his own stormy thoughts.
He ignored all but the work before him.
That is, until his trembling hand slipped into hers for the last ten minutes of class— gripping tightly—and never breathing a word.
Draco needed her, notwithstanding his determination to disassociate from the world that failed him yet again.
So Hermione took up the habit of stationing herself outside the Slytherin dorms, waiting for him to emerge, or to catch the password to sneak herself in.
She understood Draco's need for space. That he required time to process how he felt. But she also made him a promise that he would not face his horrors alone. He'd been through unimaginable terror—living with a murderous madman in his home for over a year—and was made to suffer it without any comfort or escape. Without solace. Constantly tortured by sick mind games and Unforgivable spells to match physical damage along with the psychological.
It was enough to break anyone.
However, Draco Malfoy was not just anyone.
Draco is mine. Her heart growled possessively. The primitive feeling, unfamiliar in her past relationships, became quite prominent since the night of the party. Jealously she'd known, but this—this elemental sense of belonging—was so unlike the ties she had to her friends and family, she could not define what it meant.
At some point, the exchange between herself and Draco became a trading of hearts. He held hers, and she his. Each thump of their pulses like a primal drumbeat—an ancient song—calling to the other, binding them across a universe of division. His happiness meant her happiness. His pain, her pain.
"Bollocks!" She huffed after her third failed attempt to open the door. She heard the password—nobili sanguine—clearly from a fourth year student that passed through.
"Seriously, Granger? You think that will work?"
Hermione spun around to find Pansy leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed and rolling her ocean deep eyes. As someone who usually looked immaculate—never a hair out of place or a single wrinkle in her clothes—her appearance was a bit off. Her eye makeup had smudged against paled skin, accentuating the dark circles underneath, and a few pieces of hair flipped in unruly angles at the ends. She'd wrapped an oversized grey cardigan haphazardly over her uniform, and ditched her stylish heels for a pair of fuzzy slippers. All considered, Pansy looked exhausted.
"He's been wallowing long enough. I need to see Draco." She tapped her foot impatiently, crossing her arms to mimic Pansy's posture.
Her eyes rounded. "He hasn't been with you at night?"
"No. Wh—"
"Theo's been checking his room, and he's always gone by midnight. We thought he was sneaking out to see you." Pansy grimaced, pained by the recognition of their relationship, and worry for her friend. She pushed off the wall, sauntering up to Hermione with her eyebrows drawn. "Do you know what he's been up to?"
Hermione had an idea, but it wasn't one she could share. She shook her head.
Pansy's eyes narrowed to slits as she pursed her lips. "Fuck. I guess I have no choice." She threw her hands in the air before grabbing Hermione by the arm and jerking her forward. "Come on, Granger, I'll bring you in."
Leaving no time to protest, Pansy wrapped her free hand around the doorknob, the ring she wore around her index finger making a metallic clink against it as she hissed out the same password Hermione tried unsuccessfully. But of course, this time, the door yawned open and she was permitted her first glance into the Slytherin Common Room.
Unexpectedly high floor to ceiling windows revealed a captivating view to the depths of the Black Lake, giving the entire room a soft, aquarium-like glow. To her left, a stone fireplace nearly twice the size of the one in Gryffindor Tower created comfortable warmth, although thickening the air with humidity in the dampness of the dungeons. Black leather furniture and sturdy oak tables were arranged throughout, and the carved stone walls were lined with displays of macabre curiosities.
While a bit darker and leaning into more of a gothic style than she preferred, Hermione found the room surprisingly beautiful.
With most students still occupied by dinner, only a couple of younger Slytherins were present to witness Pansy dragging the Golden Girl of Gryffindor through their lair.
"This way," Pansy snipped with a forceful tug, ending Hermione's blatant ogling.
The hallway leading to the dorms twisted and forked in every direction—a labyrinth of doors, gleaming mirrors and scowling portraits. After walking what felt like a full circle, Pansy lead her up a steep flight of stairs through a tall, narrow archway. At the top of the stairs was a single ebony wood door, polished so finely, she could see their reflections in the dim candlelight.
Pansy retreated a few steps, leaning against the stone wall with one arm wrapped across her chest to massage her tensed shoulder. "Here we are."
"Thank you," Hermione nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. She raised her hand tentatively to knock, but paused, turning back to Pansy. "Any suggestions?"
A huff blew from her nose, but despite the dismissive noise, Pansy lowered her eyes and answered, "speaking from experience, having family go missing…" she shuffled her feet, "…instead of denying the possibility of the worst, face the reality of the current situation. Remind him that standing still doesn't keep the world from spinning."
A curve swept the corner of Hermione's lips. Pansy had more substance than she previously gave her credit for. The two young women met each others eyes briefly before Pansy slipped back into the maze of hallways, leaving Hermione with only a door between herself and her promise.
"Draco," she called as she knocked, "may I come in?"
Leaning her ear closer, she could hear his startled movement within the room. Her posture straightened as he cracked open the door.
"Granger? How did you…" he shook his head, cutting himself off. Opening the door wider, he waved her inside.
Draco's room was dark, lit only by the candle-topped sconces on either side of his canopied bed. Thick beeswax candles—melted and dripping into unique shapes—filled the room with their natural honeyed fragrance, mingling with Draco's ever-present hint of smokiness. A desk pushed against the wall was covered in piles of books, the wide window above it blocked partially by the stacks, and the heavy emerald drapes pulled closed from either side. A rug sat underfoot, plush and elegantly woven with a fleur-de-lis pattern. On the far side of the bed, she noted a small fireplace, cold and free of ash. Overall, it was clean, but noticeably lived in.
"I've missed you," Hermione admitted as Draco sat on the edge of his bed. She stood a few steps away, nervously chewing on her lower lip. The weight of his absence had been sitting like a rock over her chest and finally having a moment alone with him made it easier to breathe.
His grey eyes looked up at her, deep with sorrow. She felt her stomach clench as he held her studying gaze. "I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for, not to me." Slowly, she moved forward until her legs brushed against his knees and reached out to cup his jaw. "If you want to talk, I'm here to listen. But if you're not ready, I could make another suggestion."
His eyebrow curled in question.
She smiled softly, moving her hand to trail through his already disheveled hair. "You have to promise me something first."
"And what's that?"
"Please stop isolating yourself. I know too well how grief can drag you into a darkness that leaves you feeling deserted. But we're still here. I'm still here. And I don't want you to pull away from me. We don't have to pretend everything is okay. All I'm asking is that you don't forget the parts that are."
He stared up at her, unblinking. She saw his struggle clearly—his instinct to withdraw battling with the connection that bound them. The draw she felt, too. As powerful as the need to eat or drink, to survive. Draco sighed, pulling her into his lap. "I don't deserve you."
"I disagree. But regardless, you are my choice, too, Draco."
"So if you're not here to make me talk about my feelings, what is your suggestion?"
She bit down on her lip again before allowing herself to smile shyly. Her pulse quickened under Draco's gaze. The thought rolled to the surface of her mind like an answer from a magic eight ball.
Should I remove the last boundary between us?
It is decidedly so.
Inhaling slowly she replied, "to draw your focus away on what has been taken, and remind you what is yours to take."
His grip tightened on her hips and his eyes darkened. For several heartbeats they stared at one another, speaking in silent volumes that could not be expressed as powerfully through words. Color crept into Draco's pale skin as he licked his lips.
"Hermione?"
"Yes."
Not a question. An answer.
An offer.
His hands traveled slowly up her sides, winding their way behind her neck and into her hair. When he pulled her in for a kiss, he did so cautiously. Gently. With attentive reverence. In the adoring way of his that sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to her heart.
His lips on her skin were like drops of rain to parched soil. His roaming hands the warmth of the sun. Each physical expression responsible for bringing her to life. In his embrace she grew. Flourished.
Gradually, their delicacy shifted into urgency.
Hermione's breath caught as Draco kissed her deeply, pulling her body firmly against his own. She swung her leg to straddle his lap, desperate to close any space between them. With an instinctual rock of her hips, Draco moaned into her mouth, bringing his hands over her back to grasp her arse. He followed her movements, his arousal becoming more firm and pronounced against her center. Her blood felt like magma. Broiling and building toward eruption.
After a quick nip at his lips, Hermione pulled back, hands trembling as they moved from his shoulders to tug at the hem of his shirt.
Draco stopped her, breathing heavily as he met her eyes. "Hold on." He leaned to the small side table by his bed to retrieve his wand. Wordlessly, he ignited the fire, turning back to her with a lopsided smile.
"Setting the mood?" She smiled back.
Holding their eye contact, he brushed her hair over her shoulders. "I don't want to keep you in the shadows."
Heart stuttering, she stood, offering him her hands to help him off the bed as well. Draco rose to his feet, keeping their hands linked together while they studied each other in the new light. Both flushed and disheveled, chests heaving, Hermione took the first step forward.
Releasing his hands, she began by removing his tie, then working her way down each button of his shirt. Draco watched patiently as she undressed him. Pushing the shirt from his shoulders, she leaned in to plant kisses along the scars across his chest, occasionally tracing their arcs with her tongue.
Draco's head rolled back. With a pleased hum his attention returned to her, and he placed his hands at her elbows. "Hermione—" his voice carried a low vibration that she felt in her bones, "—have you ever—?"
"Yes, but…" she wrapped her arms around his bare waist, unsure how much to reveal. A sigh escaped her chest before she was able to lift her eyes to his. "Only twice. And it wasn't…it was never…"
He surprised her with a smile. "I understand. This is different." He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her softly. "It's the same for me."
"I want to share everything with you, Draco."
Still hovering over her mouth, his eyes scanned hers intently before kissing her again, more fiercely than he ever had before. It felt like a bomb went off inside her. All her atoms scattered and rearranged, settling back into an entirely new shape. A lover.
Hermione Granger had filled many roles in her life—daughter, witch, student, friend…mudblood, prisoner, soldier, hero—but never so desirable an archetype.
Her experience with Ron was nothing like what she felt now. With him, sex had been a rushed experiment, an exploration for that spark—the fire—that was doused by so many close brushes with death. It was an act to simply feel alive. But all it proved was that without danger to produce a dose of adrenaline, their chemistry was limited to friendly banter, not a passionate love affair.
Draco, however, ignited her. Even as enemies, he stirred a fire she couldn't completely stomp out. She responded to him on a molecular level. His touch magic—the kind that simultaneously helped her see the world—and herself—more clearly while stirring her curiosity to keep digging deeper. Never to settle.
While interlocked with mingling breath, grazing teeth and greedy lips, Hermione shed her restrictive clothing. Peeling off one burden after another, she stripped down to her bra and knickers, leaving the matching set on for Draco to observe.
"Merlin," he hissed.
She grinned. The emerald lace was purchased with his Slytherin sensibilities in mind. After kicking his trousers across the room, Draco sat back on the bed, rubbing his hand over his face.
"You can't be real. You are too beautiful. Too clever. And much too sexy not to be a dream."
Hermione stepped closer, placing herself standing between his knees, blatantly roving her eyes over his own impossibly fit body. He grinned, recognizing her lust-filled appraisal and began peppering light kisses across her abdomen.
Feeling bold—and impatient—Hermione tipped his chin up to meet her eyes again. "Do you want to know how attractive you are to me?"
His grin lit up his entire face as he nodded, his nose tickling her stomach.
"Touch me, Draco."
She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way his eyes bulged and widened. He swallowed hard, still staring up at her as he dragged his left hand from her hip, over the boundary of lace and to the edge of her inner thigh. The motion sent shockwaves over her skin. She gripped his shoulder, encouraging.
His sharp intake of breath matched her own when his fingers slipped beneath the emerald fabric, sliding like silk over the wetness between her legs.
"Fuck, Hermione."
He continued to explore her anatomy with skilled ministrations, watching her face carefully, cataloging her preferences. Her skin glowed with heat. Gods, the man had the hands of a master—an artist of sensation. As he resumed kissing her exposed skin while swirling his fingers with perfect pressure, her legs began to tremble.
Draco paused, leaning back, slowly withdrawing his hand. His expression was ravenous. A slight gleam of sweat coated his skin, reflecting the firelight over his sculpted figure. Hermione licked her lips, attempting to control her panting.
"Come here, you," he instructed.
She crawled over his reclined body as he edged back across the bed. Draco reached out to pull her face to his, guiding her closer while kissing her deeply. Hermione pressed herself against him, savoring the feeling of his skin—and reminded of the few layers still dividing them.
"Draco," she breathed as his mouth traveled to her neck, "will you take off the rest?"
He responded by rolling her to her side, continuing to trail his tongue along the curve of her collarbone and to the tops of her breasts, all while freeing the clasp behind her back. Without interruption, he slid the straps down her arms at a torturous pace. She shifted her weight so he could pull the brazier away from her body, and fling it over her shoulder. His teeth bit into his lower lip as he looked her over. With much less hesitation he removed his boxer-briefs then her knickers in two quick swoops.
Laying on top of his quilted satin bedding, illuminated by flickering light from the fireplace, Hermione and Draco faced each other with open venerability. The scent of beeswax candles clung to the cool air, their breathing and crackling flames making the only sounds in otherwise solemn silence, giving the room a the feeling of a sacred space. A safe place for ancient rites and old magic.
Draco trailed his fingertips along her side, from her shoulder, dipping across her waist, and down the length of her thigh until he reached her knee. The entire way, his eyes seared a path over her bare skin. The rosy flush rising steadily in her complexion had little to do with modesty, and everything with anticipation. The overwhelming desire roaring to life from her core.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, now finding her scattering of scars with his gentle touch, sweeping across each one as if he were attempting to heal them. Carefully, he lifted her left arm, turning it so his eyes fixed on the slur carved by his aunt. Bowing his head, he murmured words of apology over each letter, sealing promises with kisses.
It wasn't the first time Draco had offered atonement for his place during one of the worst moments of her life, but she knew it haunted him as much as it did her, so it wouldn't be the last. When his eyes returned to hers, he told her softly, yet not without fervor, "I will find a way to help you heal it…all of it."
She knew he meant so much more than the disfigurement of her flesh. "We will, together."
Hermione's voice felt thick, distracted as she was by the elegance of Draco's bare form, despite his meaningful words. Alabaster skin marbled with evidence of former injuries wrapped over the powerful musculature of a predator, rippling in smooth waves as his hand continued its caress. Her hand reached out to mirror the motions of his own. The warm skin of his shoulders and chest felt soft as a rose petal under her fingers, gliding to the chiseled definition in his torso, which drew her eyes downward.
Male genitalia was not usually a part of the body Hermione considered to be visibly appealing—aside from the deep, instinctual way that drove sexual arousal. But Draco—magnificent, beautiful Draco—was a picture of perfection. The entirety of his body balanced in graceful length and sturdy substance.
Hermione dragged her bottom lip through her teeth, edging closer. Breath hitching, their eyes met as they wrapped their arms firmly around one another.
Chest to chest, limb to limb, and hip to hip, they molded together. Reflected in his stormy eyes, Hermione could see the same relief she felt—the ease of comfort they found in removing all barriers between them. Draco's hand lifted to brush a strand of hair away from her face, angling her jaw to meet his lips once again. The sensation of his mouth moving over hers heightened the sensation below her navel as they rocked slowly, his stiff erection pressing deliciously against the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center. Each sway making her more slick, and him throb in response.
Panting for breath, their hands roamed freely, gripping tightly into flesh or raking through the other's hair. Draco's head fell to the crook of her neck, and bit into her shoulder with a low growl. The jolt that went through her with the sting of his teeth made her gasp loudly. It was carnal, possessive and thrilling.
"Please, Draco, I'm ready."
He looked up, shifting so he could hold her head between his hands. His mouth opened, but whatever words ran through his mind were stuck on his tongue, so instead he nodded, burying his face against her neck again as he made muffled sounds between kisses.
Hermione ran her fingernails over his scalp and down his spine, until resting her open palms against his back. Together they rolled so Draco was positioned above her. He scanned her face as if to commit every curve and mark to memory, then kissed her lips gently. With a smooth slide of his hips, he entered her, drawing a sharp breath.
As they connected, Hermione was reminded of the explosion of space when Draco first made his Animagus transformation. Blinding light flashed behind her eyelids and the air itself felt alive. They were everywhere and nowhere. Hovering in the limbo between dreams and reality.
Her rushing blood pulsed in time with his as they moved in sync, binding themselves to one another. They rocked like the ocean, waves of sweeping pleasure washing over bodies and spirits. It started slow and sweet—with languid kisses, soft brushing of hands and awe-struck stares. Yet as the tension in her body coiled and Draco's murmurs progressed to pleading curses, their pace accelerated. Draco hitched her leg over his hip, driving into her at a glorious angle.
Hermione called out his name.
Draco answered with the skilled motion of his body.
Pumps followed with moans. Grasping and gasping. Sweat-slicked skin sliding, tongues tasting, and hearts pounding.
He shifted their positions, rolling back to pull Hermione into his lap, both sitting up to face one another. They paused, catching their breath and settling into the new sensations of being interlocked in such a way.
Draco ran a hand through her hair. "How do you do it, Hermione?"
"What?"
He smiled, pressing a firm kiss against her mouth. "Make me feel as if anything is possible?"
"Faith is a powerful thing."
"Hmm," he purred against her neck, "I think it's just you. Because you are everything."
Before she could speak again, Draco returned to her lips, resuming the worship of her physical needs. The friction of their bodies rapidly brought her to the edge. As Draco lifted his hips, rocking her against him, she unravelled. Riding out her ecstasy—pulsing and shivering—he quickly followed, whispering her name along her skin.
They collapsed on their sides, still intertwined and content to remain so. Draco trailed his hand up and down her spine lazily as their breathing returned to normal.
"If I haven't made it clear enough," he began, snuggling into her chest, "my allegiance is to you and you alone. I am completely yours."
Hermione chuckled softly, running a finger over the faded mark on his arm. "And I would willingly follow you into the darkness."
He looked up at her with a confused scowl that she immediately kissed away.
"We can face the shadows, Draco, because together we burn. You and I…we will light up the dark."