He chokes when she lifts him out of the chair. Whether it's from the suffocating grip of her hands or the bubbling of his own blood, it's difficult to tell.
Cocking her head to the right, Hermione Granger smirks. Malice pools in her eyes like ancient dark magic, wicked and sinister.
Holding him by his neck, she blinks out of curiosity. It's quite a miracle it hasn't snapped.
Yet.
"Filthy Mudblood," he spits.
She turns her head to the side and misses the droplets of blood that fly past her cheek. Her tongue scrapes across the edges of her upper teeth and she closes her eyes to take a deep breath.
"If you think you'll get away with this—"
Before he can finish, a stainless steel dagger plunges its way into his jugular. She shuts her eyes as metallic dampness splatters across her face.
Power.
Scoffing in amusement, his body drops to the floor and folds into itself. A pitiful lump. Nothing more than a discarded mass of flesh and bones. Pathetic.
Her svelte fingers are drenched in crimson, running down her arms and soaking her blouse. Draco's blouse, actually. She reminds herself to apologize later. Though not genuine, it goes without saying it was certainly a favorite of hers to wear. Walking to the wooden table near the wall, she picks up the stained towel and wipes her blade.
Distracted by the high of another kill, she's overzealous and forgets how sharp the edge of the blade is. A soft gasp flees her lips when it cuts through her palm, quick and deep.
"Fuck." She presses down on the wound. Mesmerized, she watches it seep through the remaining white of the cloth.
"Tsk tsk tsk," a voice scolds.
"I thought I told you how impolite it was to make a mess," Draco purs. He hums from behind her with the discernibility of a shadow and takes the towel from her hand.
As he speaks, she feels him against her spine.
She turns to face him but not before he catches her lips. Gentle and tender.
One hand comes up to the side of her face. With his fingertips, he brushes away a few unruly curls. His other hand is clasped around her injured one, taking care to apply just enough pressure to manage the bleeding. Though she's sure he wouldn't mind if it didn't stop.
"That's the fastest one I've seen this week," he comments. There's no anger or reprimand in his voice, just observation. Perhaps a bit of pride. "Getting impatient are we?"
The corner of her mouth twitches.
"The Carrows talk too much."
He raises her hand to his lips abruptly, earning a sharp inhale from her. Nosing her wrist, he leaves a trail of kisses upwards until he reaches her fingers. Slowly, he places the tip of her index finger against his lips.
Red stains his lower lip like ink. She's not sure who moves.
Suddenly, her finger is enveloped by blistering hot warmth. His tongue caresses her joint and makes its way down to the palm. He cleans off the blood. Her blood.
Draco doesn't stop there.
Where there is dark burgundy, his lips clean every inch without fail.
He finishes by placing a soft kiss on her hand.
Throughout the entire ordeal, his eyes never leave hers.
When he smiles, she can make out the faint ring of red that stains his teeth. Perfectly white yet perfectly gruesome.
Fuck, she wants him— needs him.
More than anything.
To have him.
Taste him.
Worship him.
Absolutely ruin him.
He leans down and she is overcome with a sudden urge to punish him.
Of all the places to put his lips, the cheeky fucker kisses her neck.
"Draco." The words come out between clenched teeth.
In the blink of an eye, his teeth are on her and she screams. Clamping into her flesh like a vice. He knows they'll leave a mark. They both grin at the thought.
He soothes the imprint with his tongue and chuckles into her ear. "What's the magic word?"
Draco's grip fastens her arms in place. Goosebumps spread down her forearms.
She draws her lips towards his. But she doesn't kiss him. No, that would be too easy.
Instead, she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and nibbles. Sucks. Just enough to tease him. Anger him in the best way only she knows how.
The next words that come out of her mouth are deathly close to a low growl. "Draco."
Her hands immediately find their way into his hair, hands clenching his roots and making him bare his teeth.
"Fuck. Me."
The magic word.
" Now."
Without a moment's hesitation, he encases her like a tidal wave and whisks them back to the manor.
Their limbs are a blur of movement. Tangled in her curls, tracing the scars that decorate his torso, stumbling across the frigid marble tiles, fumbling with the door. Somehow, they find their way to the bedroom.
Hands search each other desperately and clothes fly haphazardly.
All he tastes is her.
All she breathes is him.
The lock clicks and Hermione reminds herself to thank whichever one of Draco's ancestors charmed the place sentient.
He pins her wrists down into the plush sheets and starts making his way down her body.
Starting with her neck, his nose brushes against the mark he made earlier. In any other case, he would feel sorry. But they both know the pleasure that comes from marks they leave on each other far outweighs the pain.
When his mouth brushes across her collarbone, her body tingles with anticipation.
Air rushes past his lips, making more goosebumps ripple across her flesh. He flicks his tongue across her nipple and watches her reaction. Silently calculating.
Her back arches off the bed, coaxing him to do more.
Warmth latches onto her breast. She almost moans. Almost. Giving him what he wants this soon wouldn't be any fun.
She can practically feel the heat radiating from his anger. Building. Rising.
"Impatient, are we?" Hermione mimics his earlier words.
Something dark unfurls in his eyes.
Something manic.
And by God does it send the most delicious wave of need straight through her.
He flips her over like a ragdoll. Weightless and completely at his mercy.
He yanks her by her thighs and props her up, forcing her back into a delectable curve. All the way until she's fully bared for him.
"Fuck, you're beautiful." His lips meet her flesh once more and place an open-mouth kiss on her moonlit skin.
Then he spreads her apart with his hands—those damned hands—and marvels at how thoroughly drenched she is. Just from a few touches and heated kisses alone.
A deep hunger erupted from inside him.
The only way to satiate it was to consume.
Her .
He blows a wisp of air where her wetness drips down her thighs. The shiver that vibrates through Hermione's body is torturous.
"Draco," she chokes out.
He dips his head down for a lick. Just a taste. When he draws back, he can't take his eyes away from how she pulses with need. Clench. Unclench.
It takes everything in his power not to ravage her right there.
"Please."
Fuck it.
It's all he needs.
He dives right in and the universe shatters behind her eyelids.
Draco's mouth is all over her. Swirling, nipping, kissing, licking. Devouring. Sucking every drop of whatever she can give him without hesitation.
The heat is decidedly scorching. All Hermione can focus on is the immaculate pleasure that rides dangerously on the edge of pain.
When she tries to speak, a garbled mess of moans and whimpers comes out in its place.
His fingertips are pressing so hard into her thighs, sure to leave a mottled blend of purple and blue later. She moans at the thought of bearing more of his marks.
A particularly harsh suck on her clit accompanies his two fingers and she screams.
Fucking finally.
Touching her smooth skin. Watching her fall apart at the seams. Relishing in hearing her throaty cries. Smelling the mixture of her perfume and raw essence. Tasting her and only her. The senses are overwhelming.
Draco swears he's on the edge of exploding into oblivion. She turns over onto her back and he considers punishing her. Nevermind. They always had later.
Lost in the blinding sensation of pure pleasure, her hands find his hair and she tugs. Hard.
She presses him into her and herself into him, arching and rolling her body as much as he'll allow.
If she tugs any harder, she'd rip his hair out. But he was more than willing to risk that if it meant seeing her in this state.
Hermione tries to push him away. Her thighs clench around his head. It's too much all at once. His fingers, his tongue, and the thrilling grazing of his teeth against her inner thigh. A warning.
Draco doesn't think it's enough.
He clicks his tongue. Pulling back, he looks at her, really looks at her, and grins. Her cheeks are flushed beautifully. A faint sheen of sweat across her face matches his.
"Would you deny me, my love?" Her wetness coats his lips and cheeks and his chin glistens beneath the moonlight. It was a sight so wrong yet so incredibly right.
She can't bring herself to speak. Instead, she shakes her head tentatively.
Hermione doesn't realize his fingers are still inside her until he curls them. She opens her mouth to gasp but he cups her head tightly and brings her into a bruising kiss. He wants to make sure she can taste herself.
Their flavors melt together like wine and sin.
She wants this moment to last until the universe caves in.
His fingers continue pumping in and out of her, back and forth, curling deep against the spot that makes her vision go hazy. She looks down to where his hand meets her center and gushes.
She's dripping down his forearm.
Something flickers across Draco's eyes.
He kneads her breast with his free hand and his mouth is back on her clit. Everything seems to move faster and harder. He finds a rhythm. In, out, suck, swirl, pinch, curl, repeat. Her walls clench around him and he fucking groans.
Can't take it.
It takes all of his willpower to not suck off her juices after he pulls out. Instead, he pushes his two fingers into Hermione's mouth. She closes her eyes and whimpers. Swallowing down his gift like a goddess.
Reaching down the back of her throat, she gags and coats them with a thick layer of spit. When he draws them back out, he marvels at the clear trail that stretches from her still-parted lips. It makes his cock throb and her mouth water for more. More.
He gazes directly into her eyes and lies down. Then, he reaches down. Not to her, but to where he can pleasure himself. Hermione sits up.
A deep rumble from his chest. He's stroking himself with that hand. Her insides clench. She feels painfully empty.
His eyes roll back at how well she coats him.
When she leans down to kiss him, he doesn't respond. Just pumps himself up and down, twisting as he reaches the head. A bead of precum wells at the top like dew. She needs to have him.
A shy lick met with a sharp inhale. Then, warmth of the most exquisite kind.
Draco's breath comes in shallow pants as Hermione bobs her head up and down his length. Her curls look positively divine.
Slower, deeper, he commands with his piercing eyes alone.
Feeling it through the bond, she obeys.
The room is still except for the sound of his shaky breaths and her endless administrations. When he thrusts once too hard, she gags through tears. His eyes roll to the backs of his head.
"Get up," he hisses. Hoisting her up by the neck, Hermione fights off the temptation to smile. Draco's lips meet hers once more. It's difficult to respond when his fingers keep embedding themselves deeper into the sides of her throat.
She's thrown back down in the blink of an eye and greedily pulls Draco over her. Her hands get lost in his hair for the hundredth time that night and for a moment, just a moment, time stops.
The world is silent.
There is an air of something indescribable that floods them both.
Infinitesimal nothingness coupled with the paradox of infinity.
And Draco Malfoy realizes that he would do anything and everything for her. Kill, live, die for—no.
Only after the end of the world would he die with her.
Their bodies hum with pleasure. Hermione feels Draco's body mold against hers like clay. She radiates heat that rivals that of a thousand suns. Maybe it's delirium setting in, but he swears she's glowing.
Hermione snakes her left hand down to the nape of his neck and holds him impossibly close. She bucks up against him and times her thrusts with his, meeting him halfway. Teeth graze his lower lip and he wills himself not to beg her to just bite him.
The intensity of their eyes had the power to light up the darkest parts of the galaxy.
When her tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, he decides that insubordinate Granger is both his venom and antidote.
He flips her over as if she weighed no more than a pillow. Her hands are fastened behind her back, and the position leaves her unyielding, completely at his mercy. The shift in angle has her gasping through tears and raspy moans.
"Fuck, Draco!"
One particularly harsh thrust, and he stops. "Think teasing me was a good idea, love?"
She struggles to form words and resorts to whimpering. Bending down, he traces a line down her tear-stained cheek with the tip of his nose, daring to taste the faint saltiness he loves.
"Please—" she finally manages to say. "Please, Draco…"
On cue, he picks up his thrusts, slow and deep, but it is unbearably slow.
The sweat and heat from his torso against her back feel like liquid fire. She feels every breath, each rise and fall of his chest.
"Tell me what you need." It's a whisper.
"You. Always ."
He exhales through his nose, abrupt and tense.
Again, he pauses.
"Do you know what I would do for you?" Draco's voice is laced with nothing short of utter devotion. Almost fear. Uncertainty. "Do you know how far I'm willing to go for you, Hermione?"
Her face rests against the silk sheets, eyes half-lidded and breath still heavy. Draco releases his hold on her and leans into her. She drowns in piercing silver.
"Draco Malfoy," she murmurs. "You have the power to ruin every part of me and put me back together again."
And with that, he kisses her like there's no tomorrow.
She's on her back again.
"You. Are. Mine ."
Every word is punctuated by relentless movement. The lines between love, pain, and bliss fade like ink in water.
"Yours. Always yours." She's drunk on pleasure but the world has been clearer in her entire life.
His thrusts become more erratic and pressure builds in her body from the anticipation.
"Together. Only with you." Words fail to capture their bond.
Until the end.
"I love you." Three words have never sounded more simple, but to Hermione, they meant more than the plane of existence.
I love you, too.
She shatters with a broken moan, pools of glimmering stars and colors painting her comes soon after. Hermione almost comes again when he twitches inside of her. Every part of her body, from her fingertips to her toes, feels like a bundle of excited butterflies.
A disarray of soft breaths and chuckles follows. Draco brings Hermione into his chest, hugging her impossibly close.
"I love you," she says. Out loud, this time.
His heartbeat soothes her like a soundless lullaby, a deep and constant bass. Her curls wrap around his fingers effortlessly, just as much as her body fits against his.
A puzzle piece.
Lock and key.
Like they were made for each other.
Each time he thinks she can't look more beautiful than the last, she proves him wrong.
"I intend on spending all eternity by your side, Granger."
Her hands thread through his hair once more. Lips consuming each other like wildfire. Would they ever get enough?
"Forever is all we have." She reminds him playfully, still not used to the concept herself.
Reaching for his hand, she brings it up to her lips and traces the silver ring that adorns his finger.
With hers, he does the same.
The Horcruxes thrummed constantly with raw, uninhibited, ancient magic. Before venturing into the vast territories of dark magic, Draco found a tome in the Malfoy library about counter-bonding magic; archaic rituals that betrothed witches and wizards from royal lineage used to make Horcruxes while keeping their sanity intact. Something about strengthening the bloodline and upholding pureblood traditions.
The bond required a union built upon compatible magic and unconditional eros. With the ritual complete, the pair took the wizarding world by storm. They were unstoppable.
Bellatrix was his first. Draco craved getting back at his demented aunt for ever laying a finger on Hermione. Before succumbing to the agony, Draco made sure she regretted every last second of distress Hermione experienced by magical and muggle means. Tenfold.
Lucius was hers. Hermione found satisfaction in the form of exacting childhood vengeance, more so towards a deplorable excuse for a Pureblooded aristocrat who abused his only son. Red was a beautiful color, especially when it bled through the white lengths of Lucius Malfoy's hair.
Power runs through their veins, stronger than any magic and thicker than blood.
Some say the world will end in fire.
Others, in ice.
For Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, their worlds would cease with each other.