Disclaimer: I do not own the wizarding world or anything to do with Harry Potter.
Author's Note: This is my take on fake dating + bed sharing trope, written for In Dreams for her birthday
One bed.
One bloody bed.
Merlin's pants, what the hell was Luna thinking?!
Hermione stood in the doorway of the guest room, a trickle of sweat running down her spine as the summer heat seemed to amplify at the image before her. A queen size bed sat draped under a cream gossamer and lace canopy. The bedding consisted of a romantic floral print that looked like it was made well before her time and a navy bedskirt with splashes of pink and yellow roses. It was completed by what looked to be about twelve pillows—Circe, how many bloody pillows did one bed need?
The rest of the room's décor matched the bedding to a T. Whimsy and romantic combined to create an aesthetic that Hermione could only assume was a collaboration between Luna and the witches soon to be grandmother-in-law for the summer nuptials.
"Fucking hell," Hermione breathed.
"Language, Granger," Draco called from behind her, where he was still navigating the staircase with their overnight bags. "You are in a pure-blood estate. Propriety is a must."
Her eyes slammed shut, and she took a deep breath before lifting a champagne flute to her lips and quickly draining the mimosa from it in three large sips. As if this weekend wasn't going to be hard enough, she was now going to have share a fucking room with the one person on this planet she was most certainly not supposed to have feelings for.
With the liquid courage bubbling its way down her throat, Hermione moved into the room and set her empty glass on a side table, making room for Draco to step inside behind her. She didn't bother to reply but instead turned and leaned against an ancient oak vanity, her arms crossed over her bust as she waited for him to enter.
"I've never actually been to the Longbottom Manor before. You would think with all the money the old bird has she would have hired a better decorator," Draco mused as he drew closer. Hermione could hear his loafers snapping against the white marble in the hallway, alerting her that he was just outside the door.
She watched silently as he crossed the threshold, his attention turning from where he was floating their overnight bags in front of him to the room. His eyes widened to saucers as he took in more and more of the décor before they finally settled on the single bed that sat against the far back wall, and his wand dropped to his side, sending the bags crashing to the floor with a loud thump.
"What the fuck," Draco cursed, his jaw dropping as his brows rose to his hairline. "Lovegood's lost her bloody mind."
Six Months Prior
If someone would have told her twelve year old self that she would not only be sharing meals with Draco Malfoy, but she would also actually consider the pointy-faced brat a friend, she might have actually died. But here she was, sitting across from her constant lunch companion in the Ministry canteen, ignoring him as she shot daggers across the busy lunch room at her ex-boyfriend and his latest fling—Rebekah.
"Granger… are you even listening?" Draco snapped as he picked up a cherry tomato from his plate and flung it across the tiny table at her forehead.
"Circe's tit, Draco!" Hermione flinched, dropping her fork, and she reached up to rub her fingers against the spot the vegetable had hit. "What the hell was that for?"
"I was literally just asking for your opinion on the Dogwood case, but you can't stop looking at Weasel and the bimbo." Draco stabbed at his salad, getting a large forkful before he took a bite, chewing angrily across the table from her.
"Ugh. I'm sorry, okay? I just… I just can't believe he would bring her here!" she whispered, gesturing around them.
"Really?" Draco cocked a brow quizzically. "Because she works here, and he's cheap. So it absolutely makes sense that he would bring her here."
Hermione sighed, leaning back against the white plastic chair, crossing her arms over her bust. "Okay, whatever. You know exactly what I mean. It's almost like he's trying to flaunt their relationship in front of me."
"I think you're giving him far too much credit."
"You're defending him now?" Hermione couldn't keep the surprise from raising her tone. Draco was supposed to be her friend! He didn't have a great relationship with Ron still; hell, most of the time Hermione still had to separate them before one or the other tried to pull out his wand.
Draco laughed, not the light, jovial laugh she had grown used to since they started working together nearly two years ago now, but a sharp bitter laugh that was far too reminiscent of the eleven-year-old boy she once knew. "Absolutely not. I'm just pointing out that he's dumber than a bag of hammers. He probably doesn't even realise why this would piss you off. The wizard didn't even grasp simple concepts like bringing you flowers on your anniversary, so what makes you think he's even remotely in tune with respecting your feelings now that you're broken up?"
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to tell him he was wrong, but before the words could even form, she realised he was right. Ron was an idiot. Their two-year relationship–while not horrible—was absolutely one-sided. She was the constant driving force propelling them forward, which was part of the reason she ended things. She didn't want to be in a relationship in which she had to constantly nag someone. She wanted to be wanted. It wasn't a foreign concept, but during the break up, it was clearly news to Ronald Weasley.
"You're right," she relented, pursing her lips.
Draco dropped his fork, his hand going to the centre of his chest. "I'm sorry. Can you say that again?"
"Shut up."
"Did Hermione Granger just tell me I was right?" Draco said a bit louder. "Hell has frozen over—"
"Stop it," Hermione whispered, leaning forward to plant her elbows on the table.
"—Blast-Ended skrewts must have wings—"
"Oh, piss off!" Hermione reached out, pushing his tray into his stomach.
Draco winced, his hand rubbing against his middle as he lowered his laughter to a quiet trickle. "Look, I get it. When Astoria started going around with Flint, I was pissed, but it's been six months. You can't tell me you still have feelings for him?"
Hermione shook her head, dropping her chin to rest on her palm as she picked up her fork, pushing around the wilted lettuce in her bowl idly. "No, not really. It's not about whether I like him or not. Why did he have to date her?"
"Granger. She is a nineteen-year-old secretary for the Department of Magical Business Licensing. She is hardly a threat. If anything, Ron took a giant step backwards." Draco glanced over his shoulder toward the pair across the room, silently assessing them. "Sure, she's fit—"
"Gee, thanks, Malfoy," Hermione mumbled, tossing her fork back down in her bowl, no longer feeling up to eating a four-galleon cobb salad.
"Let me finish." He sighed, turning his attention back to her. "She's fit, but she's got nothing on you. You're the whole package: smart, self-sufficient, and reasonably attractive. Any wizard would be stupid to walk away from that… and clearly he is, so case closed," he said matter-of-factly before taking another large mouthful of his lunch.
While his compliments did stir something akin to butterflies low in her belly, she couldn't help the sadness that had already set in. In truth, it really wasn't about Ron moving on. She was happy he was dating again—truly! But why did he feel the need to shove it in her face? He knew she came here daily for lunch; he knew her lunch hour. He knew she would be here, and he didn't bloody care about how it would make her feel. But that was precisely part of the problem with them, wasn't it? His apathy coupled with his absolute inability to grow the hell up.
She gave Draco a slow nod before she tucked her curls behind her ear. "I'm going back to the office." She rose from the table, sliding her work bag off the back of the chair and draping it across her body.
"But you hardly touched your lunch," Draco said quickly, his tone coloured with concern as he gestured to her full salad bowl.
Hermione shrugged. "Not very hungry anymore." Flashing him a small smile, she picked up her wand from the table. "See you at the two o'clock check in?"
Draco nodded, his shoulders sagging as he leaned back in the chair, gray eyes dripping with concern, betraying the normally cool demeanor that had made him one of the best litigators the Wizengamot had ever seen. "Granger?"
"Yeah?" Hermione picked up her sweater from the back of her chair, folding it over her arm.
"He's not worth it."
Hermione nodded, her tongue running across her bottom lip before she bit it. She'd heard that before. Ron wasn't worth her tears. He wasn't worth the heartache. He wasn't worth spending one more second thinking about, and the truth was she knew that, but it didn't make a lick of difference at the end of the day. Not when he was still supposed to be her friend. "Thanks."
Turning from the table, Hermione moved around the perimeter of the lunchroom, careful to keep her head down to avoid being seen by the wizard in question. Just when she thought the coast was clear, only steps away from the lift that would whisk her back up to her office where she could bury herself in work until five o'clock, a familiar call of her name sent a painful tingle of dread down her spine.
"Mione?"
Hermione to the lift and jammed the button hastily. Maybe she could tell him later she hadn't heard him? The lunchroom was so loud, so she couldn't possibly be expected to hear every single thing, right?
"Mione!"
"Fuck, hurry up," she whispered, jamming the lift button again, but instead of the chime of the lift opening in front of her, she heard the snap of the metal signal indicating the lift had just left the seventh floor. "Mother fuc—"
"Mione!" Ron said breathlessly from just behind her.
Hermione spun on her heel, eating her words with a forced grin. "Hi, Ron!" Her teeth grit as she glanced up to her ex, who still had his arm firmly planted around the blonde secretary's waist as if she were a life preserver and he stranded in the ocean.
"Didn't you hear me calling?" Ron questioned with a far too happy smile. "I feel like it's been ages since I've seen you!"
Hermione laughed nervously. "Oh no, the lunch room must be too loud. Sorry," she lied poorly, knowing full well that Ron would be able to see through it after knowing her for so long, but she couldn't find it in her heart to give a shite about his feelings. "And it has! It's been since… what? Teddy's birthday?"
Ron's face scrunched up in though before he gave an affirming nod, his messy red hair falling in his cornflower blue eyes. "Yeah, I think so. How have you been?"
"Great!" she said a bit too enthusiastically, her fingers curling tightly around her sweater. "Just busy. Loads of work. Still helping in the library on the weekends."
"Pince is still out? Blimey, that must really cut into your social life," Ron mused, his grip adjusting on the blonde trophy who stood silent at his side chewing a piece of gum. "But then again, you never really did get out much, did you? Suppose with no wizard to speak of you don't particularly mind."
"Excuse me?" Hermione blurted out, her brow knitting.
Ron shrugged. "Well, you know. You didn't really ever like going out, and I can't imagine you're actually dating with how much of a homebody you are."
Hermione could feel her temper rise as her cheeks burned. Who the hell did Ron think he was? This was the same bloody man who barely wore matching socks, let alone clean underwear on a daily basis. Her nostrils flared, and she opened her mouth to tell him where he ought to stick his opinions about her personal life, but instead of a reprimand, a small squeak slipped from her throat as she felt a hand trail across her back and a firm grip of fingers wrap around her hip.
"There you are. I told you to wait for me, kitten."
She felt a brush of lips against her cheekbone, and suddenly she was enveloped in the intoxicating scent of rich cologne that she knew could only belong to one wizard.
"Malfoy?" Ron sneered, unable to keep the shock and mirth from his tone as his eyes widened.
Hermione's head snapped to look up at the blond wizard who made himself far too comfortable with his arm around her side. Her mouth hung open, her mind still reeling, trying to catch up to what the bloody hell was going on.
"Weasel." Draco returned the greeting crisply, grey eyes flickering away from her and over to assess her ex with a critical stare. "I would say it's nice to see you, but my mother always told me to refrain from lying."
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Ron snapped, his gaze narrowing as his chest puffed up with anger. "You're— you're dating this arsehole, Mione?"
"Her name is Hermione," Draco corrected briskly. "And not that it's any of your business, but yes. We are dating. Have been for… what? Three months now, kitten?" Draco briefly dropped his gaze towards her, cocking his head ever so slightly at the question. When the only response he got was another tiny squeak, he glanced back to Ron. "I'm surprised you haven't heard by now, but then again, you don't really come around much anymore."
Dating?!
Why the hell would Draco tell him that they're dating!? Did he have a death wish? Or secretly want her to die of heart failure? Or perhaps he was just really eager to piss off Ronald? Either way, none of this fucking mattered because the lift gate finally opened, and its tinkling chime pulled the group's attention.
"Well, we have work to go back to. You know, important things like changing wizarding law." Draco's hand loosened its hold on her hip and slipped to her lower back, lingering dangerously low as he pushed Hermione into the lift so quickly she practically tripped. "Have fun at your little toy shop, Weasel."
The last thing Hermione saw before the doors closed was Ron's tomato-red face practically pulsating with anger. She wasn't certain of many things in that moment—Draco's sanity being the biggest mystery—but she was positive this was not going to be the end of that discussion.
"What the actual fuck were you thinking?!" Hermione snapped, turning her attention to the blond who had moved to the opposite side of the lift once the doors closed, his finger still on the seventh floor button.
Draco glanced over with a look of indifference that both pissed her off and intrigued her in the same breath. "Clearly saving you from looking like a total idiot."
She wanted to be happy for Neville and Luna.
She wanted to be present in the moment and celebrate their upcoming nuptials.
She really wanted to pay attention to whatever Augusta Longbottom was saying during her toast but her mind was stuck back on the single bed that sat in her and Draco's assigned room. They had been fake dating for six months now, and every time she told herself they would go no further with this charade, she found herself falling deeper and deeper into the lies.
At first it was simple stuff. They were just dating. Nothing serious. She might have to hold his hand as he walked her to the floo. They already took most of their lunches together since they typically discussed their mutual cases while taking the shortest possible amount of time away from their desks to quiet their grumbling stomachs, so that wasn't a hard transition.
But the lies grew. They had to start attending functions together: drinks with Blaise, Theo, and their significant others; supper with Harry and Ginny; Luna and Neville's engagement party.
Hand holding was no longer acceptable. No, people would certainly wonder why they didn't kiss, so that bridge had to be crossed first. Nothing like snogging, just quick pecks that should have amounted to nothing more than what it would have felt like to kiss Harry on the cheek, but each time, it instead flared to life a forbidden desire that burned low in her stomach, causing her thighs to press together and her palms to sweat.
They made weekend getaway plans they never followed through on. They'd even discussed moving in together. They had to keep up appearances, didn't they?
And while this whole bloody lie had blown out of proportion, Hermione still had no bloody idea what Draco got out of this. Sure, they were friends now. Long forgotten were the childhood rivalry and the horrors of war. She'd forgiven him for his transgressions within months of the Battle of Hogwarts. How could she not? He was a kid, foolish and brazen, trying to live up to unrealistic expectations set by his father. He'd shown her he had changed in more than one way, but this? This fake relationship that was beginning to border on real was almost too bloody much.
Which is why she tried to call the whole thing off before the wedding.
When Luna asked her if Draco would be her plus one, she almost threw in the towel then. It was hard enough to lie to her best friends, but to lie to someone as innocent and sweet as Luna? Merlin, there must be a special place in purgatory for people who did that. And now, their names were officially added to the plaque.
Draco, not even missing a beat, had told the whimsical witch that he would be happy to attend before he pressed a kiss against her forehead that was far too sweet to be fake.
So how had she gotten so wrapped up in this mess? How was she so deep in these lies that seemed to breed life to new ones by the day? Draco fucking Malfoy was how, and her inability to tell the far too handsome wizard no didn't help.
Hermione shifted from her right foot to the left, teeth chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she pretended to watch the toast. She'd been holding the same vodka cranberry since the beginning of the post-dinner cocktail hour, not even taking so much as a sip from her beverage of choice. Not when her stomach was twisting into knots at the prospect of sharing a room with Draco tonight.
"She's quite wordy, isn't she?"
Draco's slow drawl pulled her from her introspection, and she jumped when she felt his hand slide across her lower back—something she was beginning to realise was his signature move. His fingertips danced across her skin, dipping dangerously close to an area that would make the hold more sensual than affectionate.
"She can be," Hermione agreed, glancing toward her fake boyfriend. He wore a navy blazer, a white oxford with caramel coloured buttons that matched his loafers and belt, and a pair of crisp cream trousers. Everything from his outfit to his casually coiffed white blond hair screamed effortlessly cool. It was so entirely opposite of her high strung personality that it was amazing he even so much as wanted to befriend her, let alone pretend to date her.
From his close proximity she couldn't help but notice the light scruff of blond facial hair that ran across his cheeks and the way the gray his eyes sparkled with a silver lining that swirled in the dimmed lighting in the ballroom. And as she took in how utterly handsome he was, she suddenly realised how bloody awkward she must look in comparison in the fifty pound cocktail dress she had picked off the rack last Thursday after visiting her parents and paired with flats that she had worn a small hole in the side of.
"You'd think Longbottom would have inherited a bit more personality being raised by her," Draco mused, completely unaware of Hermione's lingering eyes, and he lifted a tumbler of amber coloured liquid to his mouth.
A waft of cinnamon rushed over as she watched his Adam's apple run the column of his throat while he took a sip. A rush of heat ran across her skin, and she pulled her eyes from him. "There's no way he could. She's got a big enough personality for the both of them."
Draco hummed in thought, his fingers curling gently into her hip, applying a light pressure that sent goosebumps running down her arms and legs. "Want to dance?" he whispered, his breath tickling the hair just above her ear.
"Oh no," Hermione said with a soft breathy laugh. "Absolutely not."
"Don't you think we ought to?" Draco pressed. "For appearances, of course. What kind of boyfriend would I look like if I didn't dance with you?"
"One that valued his toes," Hermione murmured.
"I'm sure you're an excellent dance partner. I've taken countless ballroom classes, so I'm quite confident that I can lead you and avoid broken bones." Draco tipped back his glass, finishing off the last of his whiskey before he took her untouched tumbler from her hands and set them down on a table beside them. He took her hand. "Trust me?"
Hermione looked up, her breath catching in her throat when she noticed the silver sparkle in his eyes enveloping more of his irises, giving him an almost childlike, giddy appearance as he pulled her towards the dance floor. Her only response was a short nod as their fingers laced together, and he lifted their joined hands to rest at his shoulder level while his other hand moved across her back, pulling her close enough their hips brushed.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see couples drift out to join them, filling in the empty space around them until the large circle he had been guiding her in narrowed until all they could do was sway back and forth to the steady rhythm the string quartet set.
"You look beautiful tonight, Granger," Draco whispered in her ear as he leaned in.
Hermione shivered, her fingers curling into his palm. "You don't look so bad yourself, Malfoy." She leaned in, the side of her face resting against his jaw, and she allowed her eyes to drift closed as she let the scent of his cologne envelope her senses.
She shouldn't want this. She shouldn't want him, but over the last few months, she hadn't been able to help herself falling more and more for the wizard who was supposed to just be her friend. Their friendship was fine, but asking for more had to be out of the question. They held too much baggage between them, too much history that would have prevented him from ever thinking of her that way.
As the song came to an end, her feet slowed until they stood still in the middle of the dance floor, their bodies still intertwined, and she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her lips lifting slightly in the smallest of smiles as she made to thank him, but what happened next caught her off guard.
One minute she was looking up into his eyes, and the next his lips were on hers, but it wasn't like before. It wasn't quick, unaffectionate, or rehearsed. No. This kiss was more. His hand snaked into her hair, ruining the braid on the side of her head, his mouth angled over hers, and she could have sworn that his heartbeat was just as rapid and wild as her own.
Her hand moved out of his and to his chest, her fingers touching the base of his throat, sliding across the exposed skin as she leaned up on her toes, her body pressing into his. For just a moment she allowed herself to think this was more. That this wasn't fake. That he wanted more.
But just as suddenly as it started, Hermione pulled away when the reality of the situation came crashing back on her like a rogue bludger, slamming in the center of her chest and stealing her breath.
"For appearances, of course."
His words echoed in her mind, reminding her that it was all for appearances. These displays of affection, the nickname he'd given her. This wasn't a creation of devotion, but rather a means to fool everyone else.
"Hermione?" he questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I should go." Hermione stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet as she tried to escape his embrace. "I've got to be up early… and I still have things to do for Luna in the morning. You know how I hate mornings, so I really need to force myself to go to sleep earlier than normal." She blathered on as she backed up, shaky hands trying to force the curls on the side of her head into submission.
"Hermione, wait. I—"
"No, it's okay!" Hermione cut off Draco, unsure if she could honestly handle hearing him explain away the moment they just shared as another deceit. "I— I just need to go." She turned on her heel, moving quickly through the crowded dance floor towards the exit as she silently prayed to whatever god listening that he wouldn't dare follow.
Why wizards had not adopted central air conditioning was beyond her. She knew there were some intricacies with adapting Muggle technology to a wizarding home, but surely something as practical as cool air during summer was higher on the list than a bloody toaster.
Lifting her wand, she cast another spell at the fan Augusta's hired help had dropped off earlier in the day, hoping the cooling charm would at least do more to ease the discomfort the warm summer night brought.
After fleeing from Draco earlier, Hermione had spent the rest of the evening hiding in their room, reminding herself that the feelings she had were most obviously one-sided. She needed to get a grip on reality.
She'd decided that after this weekend, she was going to end things with Draco. Not really, because technically they weren't really dating, but rather end the lie once and for all with a spectacle of a break up. Preferably in a way that would leave little doubt they would not get back together.
Rolling over onto her stomach, Hermione kicked down the sheet that she had been using to cover her lower half and hugged the pillow under her head. She was wearing a nightgown—really more of a slip at this point—but it covered all the essential bits and was thin enough the heat didn't linger too badly. She could feel it hike up her thighs as she nestled into the bed, trying to find just the perfect spot that allowed for optimal fan coverage without being too cold, and just as she began to slide her hand from under the pillow to pull the hemline back down, she heard the door to the bedroom crack open.
It was nearly midnight, and from the distant sounds of music still playing below, the celebration was still in full swing. She watched silently as the yellow hued light spilled across the floor of the guest room, and Draco slipped inside.
She remained silent, giving no indication of being awake as she watched him shut the door gingerly and make his way towards his overnight bag that sat on a small writing table on the far side of the room.
Even in the low light, she could see the first several buttons of his oxford were already undone, exposing a soft tuft of blond hair at the centre of his chest. He shrugged out of his jacket, laying it across the back of a wooden armchair before removing his cufflinks.
She should look away.
She should give him the privacy and respect he'd given her.
But she simply couldn't pull her eyes away as she watched him unbutton his shirt and shrug it from his shoulders, exposing the broad chest she'd daydreamed about. She could see the glow of iridescent skin that zig zagged across his chest, bisecting him with the after effects of a misused curse.
Her mouth dried in anticipation as he next removed his watch, setting it beside his cufflinks on the table before his hands moved to his waistline and the metal on metal tinkle of his belt unfastening let her know what was to come.
His trousers hit the floor, leaving him in just a pair of dark boxer briefs. She couldn't make out if they were blue or black, but judging from the way he had matched his socks to his blazer earlier, she could only assume they matched as well.
He moved silently across the too-warm room, passing the end of the bed without even giving her a second glance as he made his way to the settee that sat beneath the window. Earlier in the day, he had graciously offered to take the short piece of furniture so she could have the bed to herself. At the time, she had hastily accepted, but now—in the dead heat of the hot summer night—she felt slightly guilty about making him lay so far from the fan.
"Malfoy," Hermione said after clearing her throat, lifting her head off the pillow to look over her shoulder at him. "It's too hot to sleep over there."
"I don't mind," he said, frozen under her stare.
"It's fine… the bed's plenty big," she said as she scooted over to the edge, making a show of patting the empty mattress beside her.
"Are you sure?" Draco questioned hesitantly, picking up the pillow they'd put on the settee earlier in the evening for him. "I don't want to impose."
"You're not." Hermione rolled to her back, pulling one leg out to rest on top of the sheet as she reached up to fluff the pillow beneath her head. "Just hurry up before I change my mind."
Draco moved quietly to the bed. The mattress squeaked softly in protest as he laid down beside her, careful to leave adequate space between their bodies despite it only being a full size mattress.
They laid in silence for some time, an awkward tension building between the pair with each second that ticked by.
"Granger, I—"
"I'm sorry I—"
They said at the same time. Hermione pushed up on her elbows, looking over to him with a breathy laugh. "I'm sorry. You can go first."
"No, by all means," Draco said with a sweep of his hand.
"I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn't mean to run away," she began to explain, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip as she looked down at him in the dark. "It was just so warm, and I think the champagne was getting to me. I felt light headed and just needed a lay down."
"Oh… yeah. It's quite alright." Draco's hand rose, pushing at his blond fringe as he looked up at her. A hint of something more than understanding twinkling in his eyes, but it was an emotion she couldn't place. Remorse? Sympathy? Both?
"It's just…" she began, her voice wavering as she spoke. "You've… never kissed me like that before. It caught me off guard."
"Kissed you like what?" Draco pushed up on his elbows and rolled onto his side so he faced her entirely, his brows knitting. "You've been snogged before, haven't you?"
"Well, yes… I mean, it's been a while, but yes." Hermione gulped. She could feel her cheeks redden and was thankful for the lack of lighting in the room so her sheepishness over the whole situation wasn't exposed.
Draco lifted a brow, and despite his obvious intent to play it cool, a slow smirk pulled on the corner of his lips. "How long is a while?"
"I dunno… a couple years?"
"Years?" Draco questioned in surprise. "As in plural? Hermione, you were dating someone eight months ago."
"Yeah, but we didn't snog whenever we felt like! Besides, it's not exactly my favorite thing in the world. All that tongue and… no. No, I'd rather not," she said, wrinkling her nose as she fell back down on the mattress.
"Well, clearly you haven't been doing it right," Draco replied arrogantly, his arm sliding underneath the pillow and his head resting on his bicep as he looked across the mattress at her.
"Oh? And you're the snogging expert, are you?" Hermione questioned with a roll of her eyes.
"I've been told I'm pretty good."
"Then prove it," Hermione said before she realised the implication of her words.
Draco froze, his eyes flickering between her lips and her face. "What?"
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She could play this one of two ways. As a joke or as a challenge.
Gulping down the rising lump in her throat, she opted for the latter. What harm could one more kiss do? He never had to know how she felt. She was going to end this as soon as the weekend was over anyways, right?
"Well, you said you're so good… change my mind," Hermione challenged, her tongue running across her bottom lip nervously as she looked at him.
Draco stayed frozen under her stare. It was like she could feel the gears in his mind turning as he processed her words. And just like before, he moved quicker than she expected. He gave no verbal response; instead, his hand rose to her cheek, and he pulled her to him with a gentle hold on her jaw.
This time, she didn't pull away. This time, she didn't stop him or let herself be reminded of what a farce this really was. Instead, she pushed herself into him, her body molding to his until he was no longer laying beside her, but rather perched on top of her between parted thighs.
His tongue swept into her mouth with slow, delirium-inducing strokes. He tasted exactly how she'd imagined: smoky, forbidden, and addicting. His kiss was like nicotine, her body already craving more. And when his hand traveled up her side from her waist, ghosting over her nightgown until his thumb brushed the swell of her breast, her body trembled.
Her fingers wound into his hair, carding through the silken locks she'd longed to touch, her short nails scratching lightly across his scalp as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Her hips involuntarily rocked into his, and instead of pulling away, Draco responded accordingly.
He rocked in time with her, grinding himself against her upper thigh until she widened her thighs and her hips slotted against hers. Her nightgown lifted, pooling around her hips and when his cock brushed against her core, the only thing separating them were his boxers and her knickers.
Hermione's lips left his, and her head tipped back on the pillow with a shaky breath, her body lit aflame. She wasn't sure she was going to be able to take much more. This wasn't just a kiss or a snog. They were playing with fire, and she was desperate to get burned.
His lips pressed against her neck, and soon his teeth and tongue replaced the plush softness of his mouth. He nipped and licked at the sensitive skin, working his way down her body as his hands ran down her sides, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of her nightgown at her waist, and he brushed his fingertips up her thighs.
"Please," Hermione whispered into the night when she felt his fingers pause at the waistband of her knickers. She lifted her head, looking down at him, his pupils blown wide with need.
She'd wanted this for so bloody long. She wanted more than just this fake relationship, and here she was on the precipice of having it all.
She could believe it was real.
She could believe he wanted more, even if just for one night.
His fingers curled into the side of her knickers, and in one fluid motion, he shimmied them down her hips. She scooted back on the bed, separating their bodies so she could pull her legs from the cotton fabric before he tossed them aside without a second glance.
He grabbed her thighs, each hand splayed wide across her skin, and pulled her back down the bed beneath him before his mouth met hers once more.
Hermione dropped her hands to his waist, and she slipped her fingers into his boxers and pushed them down until they pooled at his knees.
Under normal circumstances, she might be shy or nervous, as it had been a little over eight months since she'd done this dance, but the way he kissed her like nothing else mattered in the world and encouraged her passion with those masculine noises of approval while they kissed fueled her ego in ways she had never experienced before.
His right hand moved down her thigh to her knee, and he spread her open for him as he pulled back from their frantic kiss to look down at her, silver eyes nearly black with desire. "Are you sure?" he questioned, his kiss-swollen lips parted with heavy breath as he waited for her consent.
Hermione nodded, unable to formulate words as she tilted her pelvis up towards him, her hands leaving his body to push the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders until it slipped below her breasts and pooled around her middle.
She felt Draco's eyes run over her body, and she heard him swear softly before he leaned down to kiss her once more.
It was then, as his tongue pushed its way back into her mouth and he pressed himself at her entrance, preparing to take her completely, that a small flicker of hope flared to life in her chest. Maybe this wasn't pretend? Maybe he wanted this too.
As he eased his way into her body, rocking into her in short, slow thrusts until he was fully sheathed, Hermione broke the kiss, his name a whisper of a prayer as her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
She felt his face tuck into her neck, and she could feel his lips press repeated kisses to her skin as he stole moans and whimpers from her body in the most primal way possible. This wasn't love making, but it most certainly wasn't just sex. There was something more that lingered in each snap of his hips into her and each kiss he pressed against her body. An unspoken promise of a deeper connection.
Hermione could feel a familiar coil of tension low in her belly. It had been longer than she cared to admit—much longer than eight months—but it was instinctual. Her body knew exactly what to do, and it seemed Draco knew just how to get her there.
He ground his hips against hers with each thrust, driving her closer to the edge of bliss until she couldn't so much as formulate his name as she clung to him. With one final thrust, she toppled over the edge. Her thighs quivered around his hips, her nails dug into his shoulders, and she clung to him as she rode the waves of her orgasm.
It did not take long for him to follow her lead, the weight of his body sinking into hers as she felt him pulse inside her, spent.
Hermione sunk back into the mattress, her arms holding him close, and she matched her breath to his, slow and steady, pulling her back to reality within an embrace she was not ready to leave.
As he rolled off her and onto the mattress, Hermione followed, her leg draping across his waist, her hand curling around the cap of his shoulder. When his softening manhood slipped from her body, she let out a small whimper at its loss that she prayed he wouldn't hear.
And whether he did or did not, she would never know, for instead of teasing her or boosting his ego by voicing his sexual prowess, he instead wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close until her head found a pillow on the centre of his chest.
She lay silent, melting into his touch as a euphoria-induced drowsiness began to lull her to sleep. She knew she should say something—anything—to address what had just happened between them, but as she lay listening to his heart beat steadily against his ribs, tattooing the side of her face, she could not find a single reason to break whatever spell had befallen them this evening.
Everything was perfect, even if just for a moment, and opening her mouth would surely ruin that peace.
Hermione was a Gryffindor, but bravery and courage were the farthest thing from her mind when she woke up to find a very naked Draco Malfoy wrapped around her like a human blanket. His weight was calming, and the soft snore that tickled her ear was more adorable than annoying, but the fact remained the same.
She'd just pushed this farce between them too bloody far.
She'd shagged him!
She'd taken advantage of his kindness and pushed their friendship into unknown territory because she couldn't keep her hormones under control.
That was why, as opposed to waking him up and discussing what the hell had just happened, she fled.
She slipped out from underneath the arm and leg that were wrapped possessively around her and grabbed her bridesmaid's dress, shoes, and fresh knickers before pulling on a robe, and she left.
Was it brave? Of course not.
Was it smart? Probably not.
Was it the least complicated method of dealing with the aftermath of their night of bliss? Hell no, but it sounded really bloody smart at six in the morning.
She'd waited out the morning in the bridal suite, showering and applying makeup well before Luna and the other bridesmaids arrived. By the time the morning madness began, her thoughts slowly shifted from Draco to helping her friend get ready for what was supposed to be the best day of Luna's life.
Hermione helped her into the flowy white gown, magicked butterflies into her friend's platinum blonde hair and even tucked in a few sprigs of flowers at the request of the bride—to honour Neville's title of Herbologist, of course.
By the time the ceremony started, it had been nearly eight hours since she'd laid eyes on her fake boyfriend. Perhaps it was the wedding mood or the gift of time, but whatever the case may be, Hermione felt more ready now than she ever had about facing Draco. She had made up her mind that she was going to tell him exactly how she felt as she waited at the end of the aisle for her cue to walk down, using the quiet moment to gather her ideas.
That was, until she saw him.
Or rather who he was with.
Draco sat in the middle of the room, taking up an aisle seat that should have been reserved for someone closer to the happy couple than himself, chatting animatedly with a pixie-like blonde from Luna's mother's side of the family. He had his arm looped around the back of her chair, his legs crossed at the knee, and although she had no way of knowing what they were talking about, she could only assume he was flirting by the way the blonde witch tipped her head back with laughter and touched his arm affectionately.
And the courage she had mustered over the morning vanished.
Of course what had happened was nothing to him. After all, this was just a lie–a game of sorts—wasn't it?
Instead of giving into foolish emotions, she forced back the tears that threatened to ruin her makeup, held her breath, and adjusted her grip on her sunflower bouquet before forcing a smile to her lips.
Today wasn't about her.
It was Luna and Neville's big moment, and she was going to be damned if she was focused on anything else. Especially something as foolish as falling for Draco Malfoy.
The ceremony was beautiful. Luna looked like a goddess and managed to bring tears to even Augusta's eyes when the bonding magic sealed her to Neville for eternity.
Magical weddings were still so new to Hermione, so unique and special. Each one she'd attended brought forth a new tradition she had not been previously aware of. And the Longbottom-Lovegood nuptials were no different.
Immediately following the ceremony, prior to dinner being served, the entire wedding party was forced into the centre of the dance floor where the groom anointed their foreheads with a liquid that smelled distinctly of rosewater and hibiscus extract, and Luna drew runes over the dripping liquid with charcoal. She found out later it was for good luck, fertility, and prosperity in love.
While Hermione did not believe in luck and was far from needing fertility boosts in her life, she welcomed the act. It couldn't do more damage to her love life than she had already done within the past twenty-four hours.
She ate her dinner at the head table, thankful that Draco was tucked somewhere in the back of the room, and she allowed herself to relax and temporarily forget about her heartache.
Instead, she focused on having a good time, laughing with a heavily pregnant Ginny, sharing a shot of whiskey with Seamus and Dean, and even dancing the Hippogriff with Terry Boot. By the time the cake was cut, Hermione had had her fill of the evening's festivities.
She stood on the sidelines, holding her second glass of champagne for the evening in one hand and the pair of golden sandals Luna had selected for her bridesmaids in the other. She watched the happy couple spin around the dance floor, the tails of Neville's dress robes ghosting over the wooden dance floor as he swayed with his new wife.
Her head tilted to the side, watching two of her closest friends share an unspoken moment of love and affection when a familiar touch ran across her lower back, spending a spark up her spine and directly to her heart.
"We need to talk." His voice was soft and low in her ear as his hand traveled around to her hip, and his fingers curled into her skin.
Hermione nodded, not pulling her eyes from the dance floor. "Yeah, we probably do," she agreed and lifted her hand to take a sip of her champagne, but just before the glass could touch her lips, he plucked it from her fingers and replaced it with a chilled cup of water.
Hermione frowned as she looked at the water before glancing over her shoulder to watch as Draco set her half drank flute of champagne on a waiter's tray. Pursing her lips, she allowed herself to be guided through the ballroom to the patio where couples littered the lawn, cooling down from their dancing, enjoying a cold beverage and good company.
Draco's hand stayed rooted on her hip, holding her close as he walked down a stone path towards a small seating area just to the left of the patio.
Hermione gathered the hemline of her floor length yellow dress, careful to avoid stepping on it as she navigated the stone steps across the lush grass, finally taking a seat on a bench beside Draco.
"You weren't there when I woke up," Draco started, his hands clasped in his lap as he reclined to press his back against the cement table behind them.
Hermione nodded, setting her shoes down beside her feet before she crossed her legs at the knee. "Very observant of you, Malfoy. No wonder you win all your cases."
"Do you always use sarcasm as a means of avoiding topics?"
"Only ones I don't think require discussion."
"You truly don't believe we should discuss what happened?" Draco deadpanned, his face as blank as he normally appeared in the courtroom, devoid of any and all emotion that might give away what he actually felt.
Hermione shrugged, her fingers picking at the thread that held the hem of her skirt together. "Because… because if we talk about it, that would mean that this is over, right? Because that was too bloody far. And gods, Malfoy, this stupid fucking idea was yours in the first place! I didn't want to do this, but… but once we started, I didn't want to stop.
"Even as a fake boyfriend you've been so much better than anyone else I've actually ever dated, and it's so bloody unfair," she confessed, her hand moving up to her hair, from which she pulled a magicked butterfly and tossed it down to the grass at her feet.
"Granger, I—"
"Don't. Please just... don't." Hermione looked up, caramel eyes already sparkling with the threat of unshed tears. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I agreed to do this. I'm sorry we did it for so bloody long, and I'm sorry that over the past couple months I developed feelings for you. I didn't want or plan for this to happen. And truthfully, it's your bloody fault," she whispered, her bottom lip quivering as she took a shaky breath, staring into the endless pools of gray she had come to dream of every damn night.
"I'll ask for a new partner at work. I won't bother you… I'll tell everyone we broke up, but please Draco. Please just don't give me some line of shite about being better friends or it not being like that. I can take a lot, but that? That I can't deal—"
Before she could finish her sentence, Draco closed the distance between them. One of his hands wrapped around hers in her lap while the other held the side of her face as he had the night before, pulling her towards him until their lips met in a kiss.
A kiss that sang unspoken feelings.
A kiss the quieted the unease in her soul.
A kiss that spelled out his devotion for her—to her.
His fingers trailed down the column of her throat, across her collarbone and shoulder and down her arm to her waist, and in one fluid motion, he pulled her into his lap, gently breaking apart their lips with the motion.
"Granger." His mouth brushed against hers as he spoke. "For a smart witch, you can be so bloody stupid. I've liked you since you took the assignment in my section. This whole fake dating was just a way for me to get closer to you without… without admitting how I felt—how I feel."
Hermione's hand didn't move from her lap. Her body was trembling, hanging on his every word as she instinctively leaned into his body. "B-but the blonde?" Hermione questioned, pulling back just enough so she could look into his eyes.
"The blonde?" Draco questioned, his brow furrowing. "You mean Arya?"
Hermione shrugged, her teeth sinking in her bottom lip.
"She's my cousin. Merlin, you really are daft, aren't you?" Draco laughed, reaching up to brush her curls behind her ear.
She would never admit it, but instantly a wave of relief washed over her. Of course she was his cousin. The Malfoys were related to damn near every Pureblood family in wizarding Britain. "So… you like me?"
"Do you really have to ask?" Draco questioned with a lifted brow. "I thought my actions last night made that perfectly clear."
Hermione blushed deeply, her lips pressing together as the unease inside her was replaced by a tornado of butterflies flapping wildly in the pit of her stomach. Merlin's pants, he liked her. It wasn't one-sided. What she thought she felt last night wasn't just for show. "Say it."
Draco smiled, leaning in to press his forehead against hers. "I like you, Hermione," he whispered, his hand resting on the junction between her shoulder and neck. "Now stop being so bloody thick and be my real girlfriend."
Hermione lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders as she leaned into his embrace, her smile widening at his words. "Okay, but only because you asked so nicely," she teased before closing the remaining distance between them once more, and she allowed herself to get lost in his kiss and the promise of what being his real girlfriend actually meant.
Author's Note:
Happy Birthday In Dreams! You are an amazing friend, and a true treasure for the fandom. I hope you have an amazing day, love! 3
Beta - ravenslight (If you haven't go check out her work in progress, Queen of Swords)
Alpha - disenchantedglow