Prompts: broken wards, bloody handprint, howling wind, "You would do well not to cross him."
He'd been in charge of the hunt for Hermione Granger for years. The Dark Lord personally gave Draco Malfoy the assignment immediately after she escaped the downfall of The Order of The Phoenix at Hogwarts.
The first time his team found hers, he only caught glimpses of her as across the battlefield, fighting as if she moved to music. He obsessively watched the memory of her fluid motions in his Pensieve for months afterwards.
The third time he discovered her hiding spot, they were locked in a duel for nearly 20 minutes before he lay prone on his back, under her spell. She stood above him, an inscrutable look in her eyes. The others who'd fought around them were either dead or long since fled. He figured he would be joining the former group shortly.
Instead, she knelt next to him and showed him her cut hand before pressing it against his cheek. She held it there, leaving a bloody handprint on the left side of his face as she leaned even closer to whisper in his right ear. Her sweet breath tickled his neck while her wild hair caressed everywhere his skin lay bare.
"My blood is still just as red as yours, and everyone else's, Malfoy."
She pulled back just enough to disapparate, leaving him alone with a hard cock.
The seventh time they fought, he didn't realize it was her at first. She'd been Polyjuiced into a teenage boy. After taking down Dean Thomas, he turned in time to witness the unknown boy eviscerate Thorfinn Rowle. He recognized her fighting style; staying his hand instead of sending a curse at her in the back.
He'd feared the howling wind on the Salisbury Plains would tear his voice away as he called out, "Granger!"
Somehow she heard him, although he doubted anyone else did above the din of battle. She'd turned and looked at him, chest heaving as she panted from exertion.
Salazar, how could he possible find the sight of a teenage wizard sexy? But he did. Merlin help him.
Thankfully, his fantasies of fucking her, instead of the shrew of a wife his parents chose, never altered to include the boy.
The thirteenth time was the third in row he found her alone. He stood back watching her take on both the Carrow twins at once. He'd smirked with satisfaction when the bitches lay dead at her feet. There'd been no one else with him that day, so there'd been no one else to hear his warning to her regarding Antonin Dolohov.
"You would do well not to cross him."
He made sure he went alone the next time, hoping she would be alone again too. He planned to defect. She'd have no choice but to believe him when he kissed her. He arrived too late, finding only her broken wards.