Hermione hadn't been tired but she dozed for about an hour before blinking awake once more. Greeted with the sight of Draco's face pressed into her pillow, just next to hers. One of his arms draped over her middle. Even little breaths ghosting over her face. The pale light of morning creeping through the curtains. There was a softness to his features when he slept—as if the tension melted away once he finally drifted off.
It was still early, and there were a few hours before they'd need to leave for the Ministry. She wanted a shower but not as much as she wanted to just be next to him, watching him sleep. There were many things she felt guilty for — her relationship with her parents, so fractured before the war, and now they did not know her, might never know her again. The way she treated Ron, towards the end, when they'd both realized it wasn't working and he turned even more complacent while she got mean. How often she forgot to return owls from her friends, scattered across the country. But when she'd woken from her poison-induced slumber and saw what she'd done to Draco, she knew that as horrible as removing her parents memories was, it was not as bad as this.
Because what she saw on his face was what she felt when he'd been thrown like a rag doll onto the sculpture room floor. It was all her worst memories, playing over and over as she stared into a reflecting pool. It was watching him reach for a cursed tiara, taking the brunt of its curse so that she didn't have to. She'd thought by testing the antidote on herself that she would save others from pain. Instead she'd caused it, to the one person she couldn't bear to see hurt again. The person she would always try to save.
His brow furrowed, and the hand slung over her waist tightened. The fingers twitching against her ribs. Hermione spent most of the night apologizing, in between his stories of what she'd missed. Sometimes aloud, but mostly in her thoughts. In her touches and kisses. She'd apologize forever if he let her. If it had been reversed, she would have been furious. How many times did he make a quip about not sleeping, and she took sleep from him in her moment of misplaced heroism. Moment of stupidity, really. She sighed, mentally chastising herself some more, when he stirred again.
With a sharp intake of breath he snapped his head to the side and woke, immediately looking towards the door. When she reached for his face he breathed out.
"Granger," he whispered, and laid back down.
"You're alright," she said. "Just a dream."
Draco nodded and watched her for a few moments, turning so that he lay on his back.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
He shook his head. "No, it's...nothing for you to worry about."
"What if I want to worry about it?" She replied, scooting closer. "What then?"
His eyes flicked to the ceiling and his nostrils flared on his exhales. "I couldn't tell what was real," he said. "If you were actually here or not."
"Draco, I'm so sorry—"
"Stop," he said, sitting up. She followed and frowned, holding the sheet to her chest. "Please don't misunderstand me. I don't need you to apologize anymore." He reached over for her, cradling her skull in his hand. "I know you're sorry. You don't have to keep saying it. However, if you'd like to keep showing it to me with your mouth…"
She nudged his nose with hers. "I don't want to be the reason you can't sleep."
He pulled her closer, enveloping her with his arms. Pressing his cheek to the top of her head. "Granger, I won't lie to you. That's a promise I want to keep. And because of that promise I'll admit that you'll be the reason I don't sleep for the rest of my life, but only when you're not here."
"What about when I am?"
"Then I'll relish the few hours of slumber I manage to get before you accidentally kick me or snore so loudly I wake up."
She smacked his chest in a playful way. "I do not snore! I can provide references as proof."
"No, no—that won't be necessary," he said, gathering her close once more. Tangling their legs. "Only a little longer."
"Only a little longer what?"
"Until time starts again and I have to share you once more."
"Best make the most of it then," she replied, and brushed her lips over his jaw. Pressing closer as she strayed to his neck. Making a path along the column of his throat until she reached the edge of a scar, just beneath the collarbone. Tasting it with her tongue. "If you're not too tired," she added, gazing up at him.
The slow, predatory tilt of his lips stole her breath. He slowly shook his head, and she remembered to breathe. Continuing her journey across his chest. Down the ragged scar that pulled in thick, pink lines. Reaching across the pale skin from hip to sternum, spread out like crackling lightning. Long fingers combed her hair from her face as she pressed a soft kiss to his hip bone, just over the end of the scar. Grey eyes seared into her own when she slipped her tongue out to taste him. Lightly tracing over the head of his hardened cock before wrapping her lips around it.
There was power in pleasure. It was something she only learned in the act — not from books. From books she learned semantics and positions and how to keep her jaw from locking up. But here, on her knees, using the mouth that was always just a little too smart and the hands that were always high in the air ready to answer questions, she felt more in charge than she ever had. A swirl of her tongue could give her the most wonderful response. When she pulled her cheeks in, sucking to take him deeper, she'd receive praise and promises like no other.
One hand was in her hair, gently tugging at the scalp while she moved. Another squeezed at her hip.
"Granger," he rasped, pulling harder on her curls. Away from him. "Wait—"
She licked the tip and grinned, ready to take him once more. Instead he pulled her up and over, so that she straddled him. Then he tugged her hips until he could lap at her center.
Hermione gasped, and his cock twitched in her hand. For a moment she was dazed, pressing herself against his face. The perfect nose she loved to brush with her own nudging her clit while he tasted her. Long swipes of his tongue and swirls around her entrance. Burying himself in her. Teasing her.
This was supposed to be for him, she thought, and licked up and down the shaft, along the vein and back. Coating him so that when she took him in her mouth again it was deeper. He moaned against her and the vibrations made her legs shake. There would be marks on her hips, the tops of her thighs, the flesh of her arse where he held her tightly. Whenever she'd done this for a partner it was on her knees, solitary. Never had it been shared pleasure. Simultaneous and insatiable.
She stroked his thigh, admiring the muscles while she bobbed her head. Most witches went on and on about abdominals and while she could appreciate them, there was nothing better than strong legs. They had stamina, after all. And she'd learned how to breathe through her nose, prolonging pleasure for a male partner. Books could be quite instructive. Her technique became less precise the more he worked her. The tingling in her thighs quickened, and she knew she was close. Chasing her pleasure and riding his face. Moaning around him.
When he came she swallowed it down, the taste hot and musky and new. She caught her breath and cleaned every drop with her tongue. The gusts of his breath against her core made her shiver. Before she could climb off of him he leaned forward and laved at her clit, pressing a finger inside of her. Pumping and curling it until she came, legs shaking and vision pure white.
He gathered her in his arms, cradled against his chest while she caught her breath. Lashes fluttering as her orgasm subsided.
"I think you're forgiven for at least one additional transgression, Granger," he said, skating his knuckles down her spine.
She stretched up to look at him, at the pink on his fair cheeks and the lazy grin. There was a shine to his teeth, like he'd cast a tooth-cleaning charm. She summoned her wand and did the same, cleaning the sweat from them both before tossing it aside. And kissing him soundly.
"Does that mean I get a free pass for more heroics?"
He slapped her arse gently, and it gave her a bit of a thrill. "No heroics. But perhaps a minor Gryffindor moment. You're sure to have at least one of those today."
It was still early, the sun just starting to peek into the windows. "Are these points cumulative?"
"I haven't decided yet." He squeezed her and captured her mouth, tangling their tongues and nipping her lip. "What are you scheming?"
Hermione stretched and moved off of his lithe body to kneel on the bed. Reaching for his hand she tugged him until he followed. "We're both in need of a shower, I think." He smirked at her, casting his eyes over her body. The soft curve of her stomach and hips, the small roundness of her breasts. The war made her thin, malnourished, but she'd filled out over the years since. She'd always envied the slimmer figures of her female friends and their curvier bustlines. But watching Draco admire her body pulled the envy from her like a whip. She'd never seen such unrestrained devotion, even from couples she knew to be deeply in love.
Their fingers hooked and she walked on quiet feet to the washroom. While he fiddled with the taps she admired the muscles in his back and the line of his shoulders. So much better than she'd imagined, the times she'd ogled him in his robes at the Ministry. They washed and kissed beneath the stream of water, hands wandering. He sucked on her neck, just beneath her ear. Whispering about peppermint while the flat of his tongue curled around her earlobe.
Water dripped from her body. Bubbles of soap slid between her breasts. It was difficult not to touch him. To feel the warmth of his body under her hands. To press her ear to his chest and listen to the thump of his heart. When the shampoo was rinsed and the suds swirled in the drain, he wrapped her in the plushest towel and lifted her onto the counter beside the sink.
She watched him put product in his hair. Tousling it in an artful way. She watched him shave with a straight razor, scraping it over his jaw. A Muggle and old fashioned thing that somehow suited him. She watched him apply after shave and creams and a dab of cologne. Until she was so ready for him to pound her against the mirror. But he merely lifted her from her perch, set her on her feet, and sauntered back to the bedroom, talking about breakfast and coffee and things she didn't pay attention to. Heading for his wardrobe.
"Not hungry," she said, and with a light shove she maneuvered them back toward the bed. It was still early, she reasoned, and what was it Muggles called it? A honeymoon stage? She wasn't entirely sure but she pressed her mouth to his and deepened the kiss immediately. Taking the soft chuckle and memorizing the way it tasted. Like salted caramels.
The towel dropped from her body and she pulled his from his waist. Before she could push him onto the mattress and climb into his lap he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around him. With one hand beneath her, kneading at her backside while the other controlled the angle of their kiss. She could feel him move, not knowing the destination. Linking her arms behind his head to keep his face close. Moving her hips until her core rubbed against the hardened length between their bodies.
"Draco," she whispered, letting her lips brush over his. The tip of her nose skimming his cheekbone.
He bit her lip and released it with a groan. "Anything you want," he murmured.
"I just wanted to say your name."
"Say it as much as you like," he said, dropping her on the bed. Looming over her with a grin. "Scream it, if you prefer."
She pulled his wrist until he bent down to kiss her, reaching between her legs to stroke her. Matching the moments of his fingers with the slide of his tongue. She didn't need much help to be ready for him, and when he pushed inside of her with a hard thrust she sighed his name. When he gripped her knee, opening her further, she whined it. Scratching her nails down his back as they moved together, whispering it in his ear.
One of her legs slung over his shoulder and he quickened his pace, hip bones connecting with her own. The slap of skin on skin. The noises that always embarrassed her only spurred her. She pressed her ankle against his shoulder and he leaned forward, folding her and hitting a spot deep inside of her.
Sunlight spilled into the room from the edge of the curtains. Turning his pale hair glowing golden. He muttered against her neck, praises and curses and maybe even her own name. So she said his once more, dragging it out along the touch from clever fingers between her legs. Until she couldn't form words, only sounds. And when she came back down from suspended bliss he looked at her fully, the thoughtful way he had always looked at her. Like he saw something there that no one else did. And he had to keep looking before it was lost.
She knew that look. It was how she always looked at him.
They lay together after he came. Catching their breath and sharing shy smiles and bold kisses. Until the little lion in her heart refused to be ignored.
"We can't stay in bed forever," she said.
Draco sighed and rubbed a hand over his face and up into his hair, which stuck up all over from where she'd used her hands on it. So much for his careful pomade application. And so much for their shower. "Merlin forbid you have a lie in on a Monday."
"What if I make a bargain with you?" She said, thinking of Tippy and the elf's ability to get what she wanted from her employer.
"That depends on your terms," he replied. Then he strode naked across the room to his closet.
"I promise to skive off of work on the day of your choosing," he poked his head from the door, "after we deliver the antidote and the assailant is caught." The bright smile dimmed a little, but he nodded.
"Alright, Granger," he said, and stepped back to her side of the bed with an outstretched hand. He'd pulled on a pair of black trousers.
"Do you seriously require that I shake your hand?"
"That is traditionally how one agrees to terms."
She stretched up and kissed him instead. "Does that work?"
Rather than answer he hummed and pulled her chin back to kiss her again, more thoroughly. When he released her he said, "Bargain with me more."
Hermione walked with him to his closet and trailed her hand over the fine silk shirts and wool suits and bespoke robes hanging there. The criminally soft jumpers folded neatly on shelves. Rows of ties, dragon leather shoes and boots, heavy cloaks. A true wardrobe. And all of it in the colors of storm clouds and obsidian.
"I'm borrowing this," she said, selecting a black jumper that felt supple against her bare skin. She slipped it on and went to find her bag, hoping that there was still another clean pair of kickers in there somewhere. Her brassiere was on the floor and so were her grey trousers.
"I haven't agreed to terms," he called from the bedroom.
"You can mull them over," she replied, and finished dressing. Draco's owl pecked at the window so she let it in.
"Hesper, what do you have for me?" He said, and she flapped over Hermione's head to land on his offered arm. There was a note and a small parcel tied to one of her legs. Draco read the note with a gentle smile before opening the parcel. Inside was something very small.
"What is it?" She asked. As she stepped closer he enlarged it, and held it out to her. A single rose. An Old English, if her memory was right.
"For you." He handed it to her and she breathed in its sweet scent.
"Where's it from?"
"My mother," he replied. With his back to her he went to the kitchen and began to call out options for breakfast. "Tea? Or perhaps coffee?"
"Coffee, please. Your mother sent a single rose to me? Isn't that more of a romantic gesture than an introduction?"
"I wrote her last night while you slept and she sent it along. Some of the pedals from this rosh bush are in the antidote. It's a good start. She's trying."
It was a thoughtful gesture, and one that Hermione didn't take lightly. She cast a charm to prolong its life and tucked it into her bag. While they sipped coffee and nibbled scones she indulged in the kinds of looks she wouldn't be able to give him outside of the flat. The lingering kind.
"I will make us both late for work and you will deal with the consequences if you keep looking at me like that," he said from behind his cup.
She blushed and drank another gulp of coffee. "Just getting my fill, that's all."
The grey eyes across from her darkened, a summer thunderstorm rolling across the horizon. A press of his foot beside hers. It made her insides simmer.
"Stop that," she said, laughing a little. She brought their empty cups and plates to the sink. Setting them to wash with a quick spell. When she turned he was just behind her and she breathed in sharply. He reached for her hand and traced her knuckles with the tip of his finger. Eyes on her face.
"Stop what?"
He did it again, and the side of his mouth curved when her breath caught. "That. Stop that."
"Why? Afraid your hands are dirty?" She scrunched her nose. "If yours are dirty so are mine." He pressed his lips across the top of her hand. Flicking his tongue over the freckles there.
"Okay, okay, I yield," she said, snatching her hand back before she used it to lock all the doors and windows forever.
"Come on, before Potter shows up with his savior face on and I have to hex him, as promised."
"What do you mean, as promised?"
Draco opened the door for her and followed her into the hallway, resetting his wards and locking the door behind them. "I made a minor threat when I wrote to him and Theo last night. Honestly surprised he gave us privacy for an entire seven hours."
"So then—Does—Harry knows about us?" She asked, and color bloomed on his cheekbones. Faint, but a blush all the same.
"Not—I didn't get into specifics but he made assumptions that I didn't correct."
Hermione nodded and climbed down the stairs, out onto the cool morning of the Muggle neighborhood. "Well, I did tell him that I would only share when he was ready to share about his love life. I suppose now that I know about Theo it's only fair that he knows about us."
Draco was quiet as they reached the end of his road. "He told me he didn't need you to tell him, that he knew you enough to guess."
They walked down the streets of Muggle London, Draco placing a guiding hand to her lower back whenever they had to cross. Skating his fingers across her hip before dropping them to his side.
"Yes, well, he's gotten more perceptive over the years. That something they train you on in the Auror department?" She laced her fingers with his as they reached the apparition point, ready to spin them off to Diagon when he pulled back.
"Should probably travel separately," he said, but his voice lilted at the end, turning it almost into a question. One that she wanted to answer before they misunderstood each other, as they had so often done.
"People look at me," she said, holding his hand with both of hers. Tracing the bones of his fingers and the little scars. "I hate it but I endure it. The thought of people—If you'd rather not subject yourself to the stares I understand but you don't have to do it for me."
"Granger," he said, tightening his grip until she looked up at him. "Do you know how many people point their wands at me when I walk down the street?" She opened her mouth to defend him but he cut her off. "If you want even more attention, by all means hold my hand or snog me in public, I won't turn away. But if you—I understand wanting to keep something just for yourself." He ran his thumb across her knuckles and pressed her hand against his chest. "And I think I'd rather keep you to myself for a while, before the harpies set down on me."
Hermione gave him one last kiss, flexing her fingers against his, over his heart. "Harpies are nothing. We've had worse."
"We've also had harpies; of the stone variety."
She laughed and released his hand. "See you at the Ministry, then? Meet at Robard's office?"
He nodded, and they both turned on their heels and left the alley behind.
Draco landed outside Theo's flat and let himself in. "Theo, I'm using your floo," he shouted, and climbed up the stairs. His friend wore a dressing gown as he prepared coffee in the kitchen.
"Your rudeness knows no bounds," Theo said, adding several spoons of sugar to one mug. The man drank his black. "Not even a good morning."
"Tell Potter not to be late for work," Draco replied, and stepped into the fireplace. Emerging in the lobby of the Ministry just as Hermione crossed the atrium to the lifts. She wore different shoes than the ugly, dowdy ones she normally favored. And with her fitted trousers he had to keep his gaze on the floor in front of him. She carried her cloak in one hand, and wore a magically tailored jumper. One of his favorites.
He watched her step into the lift and pressed his way around lingering crowds until he made it into the same one just as the gates closed. Their eyes met and he smirked at her before settling just beside her. Their arms brushing.
"Hermione!" A male voice called and Draco felt his eye twitch.
"Hello, Cormac," she replied. And then he felt it, the slightest touch. Her little finger grazing his. Draco smiled, and couldn't hear whatever drivel McLaggen went on about. Instead he went over everything he'd need to tell Robards and the Poisons and Potions department about his antidote. The batch he'd made was in a shrunken flask in his pocket, beside another of his blood. They'd need to get the incantation just right when they added it. He probably should be the one to add it, he thought. Unless there was a pureblood in the Ministry willing to do it. It was unlikely that Robards wanted to alarm people by making an announcement for a volunteer to drain their blood.
Hermione's little finger looped around his own and squeezed. He looked up and the lift had emptied. She released him and stepped into the hallway, walking ahead of him through the auror department.
"Don't you need to stop at your desk?" He asked. They were earlier than most, and when they reached Draco's empty desk he leaned against it.
She worried her lip between her teeth. It was a shade or two darker than it had been the day before. "I suppose I should at least check in with my boss — where do they think I was on Friday?"
"Potter told them you were ill, I'm unsure of the specifics."
"Right." She sighed. "I should see Harry then."
When she made for the Chosen One's office he called out, "He might be a bit late this morning."
Draco couldn't tell for sure, but he thought she rolled her eyes as she opened the door. Shutting it behind her. Potter had a private floo in his office. The perks of being the savior of wizarding Britain never ended.
Draco removed his cloak and hung it on the coatrack behind his desk. None of his colleagues had arrived so he was able to claim the tallest knob, ensuring the fabric did not skim the floor. Then he rewrote his instructions for the antidote as neatly as possible, making several copies once he was done.
Robards arrived at 9 o'clock sharp, wearing navy robes and drinking a steaming cup of tea with lemon, no sweetener.
"Malfoy," he said in greeting. "Feeling better?"
"Er—yes, quite." Before the Head Auror could disappear into his office Draco followed him.
"Sir, I've created an antidote for the poison from Nott Manor."
Robards stopped and faced him, one hand on his office door. "Oh? How is that even possible?"
Draco cringed. "It—"
"It was possible because I took a vial of the poison before we turned it over to you," Granger said, having materialized beside him. Potter at her heels. "And Draco is clearly underused in your department, sir. He should be brewing—"
"Did you know about this?" Robards asked Potter, who had always been a shit liar.
"Well, I—"
"Auror Robards," Granger interrupted, "if Draco and I could explain everything to you, we can get the antidote to St. Mungo's immediately and begin brewing additional batches."
Robards gestured for them all to file into his office. It magically adjusted to the amount of people in the room. The one of guest chairs that normally stood opposite his desk split into a slightly less comfortable sofa. Potter took the chair on the right, allowing Granger to sit beside him. Crossing her long legs as she sat. He internally cursed her for winding him up that morning, thus turning him into an insatiable loon. Then cursed himself for thinking it anything other than fucking fantastic.
Granger immediately launched into her explanations, with Potter chiming in to confirm that he knew of their experiments, and that he'd made an attempt to help by visiting Nott Senior again. Draco listened as they went, nodding to confirm details of the concoctions they tried. Taking over to explain the suspension he used to distill the poison down and how he was able to identify different ingredients. Until at last Granger admitted to taking the poison herself.
"Well, that was bloody stupid of you," Robards said, and Draco and Potter both agreed, then scowled at their tandem response.
"Yes, I am aware it was not my smartest idea but it seemed necessary to test it on a willing subject, rather than one of the afflicted currently in a coma and unable to give consent to an experimental poison antidote."
Touché, Draco thought.
"And then you created a proper antidote. So you weren't ill, after all," Robards said, leveling him with an expression to rival Lucius Malfoy.
Draco breathed through his nose and pushed it out, letting everything settle offshore. And then he explained his methods and ingredients for the antidote. Floating copies of them to Robards, Potter, and Granger as he spoke. He was barely halfway through when Robards flicked his wand and sent the remaining sheets of parchment from the room.
"Did you use all of the antidote on Cursebreaker Granger or do you have more?" He asked, rising from the desk.
Draco handed him the flask. "A single drop should do it. I would estimate that a batch of the antidote can cure twenty or thirty. Is that enough? I also have more of my blood and once the antidote is prepared I can—"
"Malfoy, head down to Poisons and Potions. Find Auror Bonham and give him clear instructions — spare no detail. I'd like you to oversee the brewing with him. Potter, you'll come with me to Mungo's. And Miss Granger, I believe you have somewhere to be?"
She jumped, and nodded, practically running from the room. Draco sighed.
"Are you sure they need me?" He asked. "I wrote it all down, it should be clear."
"They needed you six months ago, evidently. Consider this a tentative promotion, pending a discussion with Minister Shacklebolt." Robards clapped his shoulder, and Draco winced. It was far too friendly.
"What about the distribution?" He asked, keeping stride with the two aurors as they all approached the lifts. No curly hair in sight.
"We have a few ideas to explore. Antoinette Blanc is currently in French custody, and I am to interview her this afternoon. Potter will also seek out a few suspects once we're finished here."
"And how will the antidote be administered without causing alarm?" Draco asked, waiting for an elevator down, to the floor beneath them, while Potter and Robards waited for one to take them up to the atrium.
"The general public will need some thinking but for now, we will take care of everyone at St. Mungo's until the culprit has been apprehended." Robards straightened his robes and pulled out a pocket watch. "Meet back in my office at four."
The lift doors opened and they stepped inside. Scar Head smiled at him. Disgusting.
"And Malfoy?" Robards said, holding the gate. "Excellent work."