"Malfoy?" Nothing. "Draco?" Hermione sits up on the sofa. The golden sun of an early morning diffuses its soft light in her living room, waking her up. She remembers falling asleep in Draco's arms, cocooned under the throw, her lips still strumming from their shared kiss. Her soul had been basking in a happy contented lull, but her body had been vibrating with the acute ache of an interrupted cadence. She can still feel that burning hunger low in her chest, actually much lower than her chest.
Oh my, what a kiss. If one had to put it to paper, it hadn't accounted to much. A feathery brushing of lips. An exchange of breaths, sharing the same air for a short while. A promise, more defined, a confession in not so many words. All the same, it had rocked Hermione's foundation with the dynamic force of a cresting wave, ripping through her fatalistic certainties.
But that was then, now she is alone in her house. There is no sign that the wizard was ever here. She still chances one last call. "Are you here?" Silence only answers back.
She makes to stand but falters instead, burying her head in the cushions, hitting them with her closed fists in a fit of self-directed anger. How could she have been so naive? Of course it couldn't happen. She is confronted with that truth every day when working in the Love Room at the Department of Mysteries. It will never be for her.
"Hermione, you twit! You're such an idiot!" She screams, her yells muffled in the velvet upholstery. What did you think would happen? You have to learn, it's not for you! When are you going to learn…"
"Should I come back later?" A voice calls out from behind the sofa.
The draft coming from outside, even before the amused wizard, had stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. She had felt the moisture of falling leaves warmed by the lazy sun swirl into her living room, embalming the place in that sweet, distinctive autumnal spice.
She looks up quickly, curls falling in front of her eyes. Considering her very recent fight with soft furnishings coupled with a night spent on her sofa, she can only just imagine the state of her hair. Self-consciously, she smoothes it over several times and tucks a strand behind her ear, trying in vain to bring some semblance of order.
"Hello." She's pleased to hear her voice doesn't carry any indication of her previous disappointment. "I thought you left." She still adds simply to explain some of her behaviour.
"Well, I did, but then I came back with breakfast. I figured it was the least I could do."
Draco closes the door behind him, entering the house in his unmistakable stride. His platinum hair dishevelled by the breeze, his eyes sparkling in mischief, vibrant with the energy of a rising sun. "Sorry I took so long, I went the wrong way at first. Whoever said W4 was still London clearly hasn't gotten lost in Chiswick before. I had to backtrack until I finally found the High Road."
He looks even more striking in the bright morning than he did in repose under the moonlight. Hermione felt her blood stop at the sight of him, flow backward for just a beat then rush forward in a gush, swallowing her in a painful throb. He is here. He is real. He is also shockingly chipper as he sets his purchases down on a side table, handing her a steaming drink.
"Oh, Merlin. You're a morning person, aren't you?"
"Well, like I always tell my clients: begin each day as if it were on purpose. Here, this one's for you." Draco's low register unleashes a quavering frisson across her skin. The whiplash of thinking him gone then returned is making her impatient for action, feeding her bold impetus to push their obvious mutual attraction to new grounds. She wants to quell the drum beating in her ribcage and see where their shared night can lead. Will kissing him again quiet the pounding in her chest or will it set her aflame?
Hermione approaches to take the offered tea, the smell of bergamot wafting over. She grabs the cup, placing it gently on the table next to Draco in the same movement. She moves closer to him, stepping into the circle of his arm while staring into his eyes the whole time. She is close, but not quite touching him. Her heart hammering to the rhythm of her longing, she looks up, her irises dark, her lips parted in a question that only he has the answer to.
Draco is waiting to exhale. His blood is pounding in his ears. He feels it rushing in his head, pulsing in his veins, rippling down his body. He is still holding the breath he took when she first started approaching him. Her jumper slides down over her shoulder in slow motion, bewitching his hands to cradle her face in a familiar gesture. He finally exhales slowly as he bears down, closing the distance between them.
Breathing her back in, he tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The sweet warmth of her skin seeping through to his lungs, his fingers tingling from the softness of her cheeks. A moan rumbles in his chest at the sensation of Hermione stepping closer to him still, aligning herself to his body. He can feel her getting on her toes, changing the kiss yet again, gaining in fervour when she lifts her arms to encircle his neck, drawing him into her.
Taking it slow has not entered his mind this time around, which is a good thing since he loses all self-control the moment Hermione's tongue flicks at his lips in a bid to taste him. He needs more of her, he needs to feel her body against his, he needs to consume her, her lips, her skin, her moans. He pushes her backwards against the nearest wall as he opens his mouth to hers. Hermione rewards his ardour with a decadent sound rapturously coming from her throat.
Breathless already, he kisses away from her mouth, beginning a languorous descent down the column of her neck. He tastes her skin through open mouth kisses, drawing louder and louder moans from the witch, whose hands are raking through his hair.
His body is jolted by powerful shivers as her fingers curl up, her nails dragging slowly over his scalp. Draco's hands move lower, cupping her breasts, squeezing them gently as he sucks at the juncture of her shoulder. They continue on their journey down though, sliding under her rising jumper and finally resting on her bare skin, open palm on her hips, holding her firmly to bring them closer together still.
He feels her waist shift under his fevered hands, as she brings a leg up to hook into him. The rocking of her hips pushes him to the limit of his restraint, ripping a pained groan from his lips that Hermione can feel reverberating down her body.
"Draco…" She wantonly moans in response.
He looks up into her eyes, hearing his first name uttered with such fervent desire leaving him awestruck. Hermione's eyes are completely black, shining with need.
"I want you…" She adds, staring at him unwaveringly, her husky voice enthralling him.
Draco is caught in her, breathing hard with the effort of savouring every second while holding himself back. He is left speechless at the brazen miracle of this witch. He struggles to swallow, managing finally to find his own voice, hoarse with want. "Hermione…"
She takes his hand and slowly leads him upstairs where the bed has been waiting for them all night in the solitude of her bedroom.
Pansy keeps on calling it Slytherin Night, discounting yet again Hermione's correction that she is, still to this day, a Gryffindor. The friends enjoy meeting regularly for an evening out, catching up on each other's lives, usually taking the opportunity of a Ministry function tying up both Harry and Percy.
Theo is running late as it happens so often, leaving Pansy and Hermione sitting together at the bar of the restaurant, waiting for the wizard before being shown to their table.
"Who is it?" Pansy asks bluntly after giving Hermione a once-over.
"Who is who?" Hermione answers quickly, weary of her observant friend.
"Hermione darling, please don't play dumb, it's unbecoming." Pansy rolls her eyes but continues to prove her point. "It's obvious if you're paying attention. You're sending all the typical signals: you're positively glowing, sighing every other sentence, drifting away rubbing your lips lost in memory, checking the entrance as if you're expecting someone definitely not Theo, and if that wasn't clear enough, there is always the massive hickey you have stamped on your neck."
Hermione blinks several times, the turn of phrase used by Pansy hitting her hard in recollection of her encounter with a certain handsome, blond and witty wizard.
"You sound just like Draco, I mean Malfoy. You sound just like Draco Malfoy." She hopes she's not blushing.
Pansy is obviously considering her answer, weighing options in her mind. Hermione can see the cogs at work behind her eyes. She wonders what parameters she is plugging into her equation, what is she calculating? Dread is rising in her stomach, she needs less astute friends.
Pansy settles on going on the offensive. "How do you even know what Draco sounds like? I didn't think you had ever spoken to him, not since the war anyway?" One can tell the exact moment realisation sets in by Pansy's shocked expression moving in over her face. "No. Way." Followed by an incredulous startled laugh. "No fucking way. You and Draco? How did that even come about?"
Hermione is gasping for air in sheer astonishment. She's not exactly surprised that Pansy figured it out in less than one minute, but with all the aforementioned sighing, followed by frequently drifting off recalling how moreish Draco looked rumpled in her bed, she hasn't had time to rationalise what happened between them. For the first time in a long while, Hermione is unprepared.
"Yes well, we reconnected recently." Is she stammering? Yes, she is. "Then we went on a couple of dates. One thing led to another and … voila." Quite the understatement.
"And what, pray tell, are you sputtering about?" Pansy cocks an eyebrow at the witch. "I, for one, am in full support of getting Draco laid. He's been all work but no play for too long. So go on, spill. I've been dying to learn how the master applies his own advice."
Hermione dislikes few things more than the feeling of being late for a train, of not being prepared for a test. "His advice? I'm sorry I don't follow Pansy. What are you talking about?"
"I guess it's never come up before, has it? Theo obviously knows since he's the one who suggested I ask Draco for help." Pansy gestures to the barman for another round of drinks.
"Did you know I fancied Percy back at Hogwarts? Wait no, who am I fooling? It wasn't a passing fancy, I know exactly the day I fell for him. We all slept in the Great Hall when the castle was under attack in our third year, remember? He was Head Boy, he protected us that night. He was so confident, so steadfast, so diligent. He was also tense, tightly coiled and wound up, it did things to me. Things I wanted to unravel with him."
"Needless to say, even as a young witch I was fully aware that my fantasies about Percy would remain firmly just that, fantasies. He was a Weasley - I guess still is. My parents were pushing me to rise in society, they had ambitions that I would marry well, that I would make an advantageous match. Then if that wasn't bad enough, the war broke out - and as you know my family wasn't on the right side, nor did I conduct myself in ways that make me proud to this day."
Pansy sighs heavily, nodding at the barman in thanks, taking a sip from her glass to compose herself.
"Once everything settled, I kept track of Percy from a distance. I would never admit to stalking anyone, but let's just say I was intimately aware of his whereabouts. The more I knew of him, the more unattainable he felt, completely out of my reach. We didn't have a single acquaintance in common. I don't think he knew I even existed."
"It all changed in quick succession: first our Theo inexplicably managed to bag the Golden Boy, then Draco came back into my life with the promise of helping me with my Percy situation. He concocted a plan for how I could meet him through Theo. He gave me advice on what to wear, how to play coy on our first meeting, to let Percy come to me as opposed to jumping him like I was wont to do."
"Draco even had this vow to seal everything, though he just wanted one of my family's oriental rugs in exchange for his services. I wonder what he does with it these days?"
"But anyway, enough about me … when are you seeing him again? You should definitely wear your fuck-me shoes for that!"
Hermione feels numb to the sheer amount of things to unpack from Pansy's story. She can only mumble in response. "He invited me to dinner at his place on Saturday …"