Disclaimer – I own nothing.
A.N – So, I'm terrified about how this chapter will be received but I hope you all like it. This chapter, originally, was supposed to have more, but It was getting pretty long and I did want to give a Happy Thanksgiving gift!
Important: I realized that I kept oscillating between Draco having the Dark Mark and going to get the Dark Mark. This is an oversight on my part, because at times I forget that this is the only aspect that isn't canon from HBP. Draco DOES NOT have the Dark Mark yet in this story. He will though, so read on. Just wanted to clear that up in case anyone else caught that.
To Shellmar, RoseQuartz, Chester99, and littlelam56: Thank you guys soo much for your kind words! Every sing time I see your reviews my face lights up like a Christmas tree. There honestly is no such thing as too short or too long a review. I read every word you guys write with a massive smile. On that note, there really is a lot of sexual tension running around (haha) but hopefully some of it might be resolved by the end of this chapter. And Moody really is an idiot, but it's a situation where both Draco and Hermione are both inadvertently in the enemy's camp so-to-speak. The same way the Order expect Draco to spy, and everyone knows it, DE will expect it from Hermione and everyone including Moody know it, but no one ever knows when something will slip that wasn't meant to. That's kind of his thinking.
To all who favorited, followed and/or read silently, I feel the love so thanks for reading! Knowing people even bother to read my work really does make me feel all wonderful inside. ;)
/Rough around the edges, memories and baggage, you know me
Never play the safe card, when I go, I go hard, now you know
I'm not the prettiest you've ever seen
But I have my moments, I have my moments
Not the flawless one, I've never been
But I have my moments, I have my moments/
-Moments, Tove Lo
Chapter 5 – The Weddings of Fools and Wizards
Hermione's heart raced like she was running a thousand miles per hour. Don't stop. Never stop. But she did stop. She stopped and she was at the alter, staring into the eyes of her sworn enemy. She stared into his eyes, searched his soul but then remembered his first lesson of Occlumency:
"The first and biggest mistake that many make when they try to learn Occlumency is that they focus on their thoughts and memories—on hiding them. The more you focus on what you want to hide, the more what you want to hide is exposed. It's the reason why so few can successfully learn basic Occlumency, and why even fewer can master it. The art is not in the memories or thoughts," he had explained and Hermione, despite herself, had hung on every word.
"So how do you master it?" she knew without asking that he was a master in Occlumency. The way he'd gone into her mind beforehand had proved it.
"By mastering yourself," he had lifted his hand as though to reach for her, but thought better of it and let his hand fall. "Search yourself, see into your own soul and lay claim to it so completely that there isn't any doubt inside of you about yourself—who you are and what you're willing and not willing to do."
"Then what?" The question of the day. The wind stilled. The chatter and bustle outside the windows quieted. The world was at their feet for a split moment.
"Then accept yourself."
It wasn't about Draco's soul. Not really. Not for her. Not for this moment. Not for what truly counts.
As Hermione stood there, shoulders tense, eyes focused on his, breath shallow in anxiety and fear of the future and the past, she saw her soul and finally, finally, after two weeks of Occlumency and shying away from her own truths, accepted herself.
She accepted the deepest part of herself: the monster that lurked locked in a cage inside of herself who stole her parents' memories without hesitation and minimal regret, the little girl who never got over being neglected by parents with careers, the pre-teen who never understood why her natural looks weren't pretty or good enough, the lost teenager who wanted men to notice her but was ashamed of those feelings so she buried herself deeper in books, the victim of Draco Malfoy's verbal abuse who sat curled in a corner of her mind shivering and always waiting for another attack, the outraged friend of Harry Potter who raged quietly in a small white room filled with resentment towards him for taking up so much of her life—making her life all about him, and finally the woman who wanted Draco Malfoy with the passion of a thousand women.
She accepted all of herself, and breathed a sigh of relief and burden. One step at a time.
Draco saw this acceptance—felt the Earth sway under his feet as he wished and wished and there. Together.
The relief he felt was so intense that he wanted to squirm in discomfort. Why should he feel such relief? Doesn't matter because the moment is over, and the ministry official bound their hands with a thread made of the finest silk. Only the best for a Malfoy.
The thread glowed and words are said by the ministry official, but they fall on deaf ears because Draco and Hermione can only hear the beats of their hearts that pounded in their ribcage.
Then the Seer stepped forward. She had been standing to the right behind the faceless, nameless ministry official. She looked ethereal in robes that flowed as though the Earth had become weightless. Her eyes glowed a bright golden, but she kept a steady gaze on their joined hands; she could see the silk thread of life flowing from one hand to the other. She could see their souls binding, and what beautifully scarred souls they had. What monstrously unique souls they had.
Hermione shivered, slightly scared at what might be to come. She had never been to a magical wedding before. Without wanting to, her mind brought forth horrible blood magic rituals that always seem to be at the center at every muggle horror Wiccan film.
Draco felt her shiver, but couldn't bear to care. He was too focused on what he knew was to come: the greatest oath he'd ever made or will ever make.
"How exactly do Wizards get married?" Hermione asked a few days before the ceremony.
"Most Purebloods, especially the Most Ancient and Noble houses get married in the old ways. With a seer, and a sacred circle," Draco answered her distractedly. He was trying to find a correspondence that he'd written to the Ministry requesting a specific Ministry Official.
"Why a circle?"
"Life flows constantly. It's a circle of life, of magic, of our bind because once we're bound, we can never be unbound," he responded. Hermione had realized early in the first week that he was a plethora of information.
Draco, being Pureblood and raised from birth in the wizarding community, knew so much that Hermione had never thought to ask about. Or could never find the answer to because it was an unwritten knowledge in the magical world.
"So if we need a seer, then why are you writing to the ministry? Why do we need both there?"
"One officiates the marriage by law and the other binds us to the Earth."
"Oh, please! You can't possibly take Divination seriously? Have you met Trelawney?" Hermione remembered how much she disdained Trelawney and her prophecies and visions. No matter how hard she tried, she could never take the subject or its seers seriously, regardless if everyone's faith in Harry was based on his prophecy. She believed in Harry because he'd proven that he's worth believing in, not because some old bat said he was destined.
Draco stopped searching to stare hard and long at Hermione. There was something unsettling about his gaze, and Hermione wanted to fidget. But she wouldn't let him see her undone by him. Not today.
"Don't ever say something like that again," he admonished her gravely. There was an edge to his voice that she hadn't heard in a few days. "Do you know why a lot of Purebloods call Muggle-borns 'Mudbloods' instead of Muggle-borns or simply witches and wizards? Because of what you just said. Because of the foundation that lies beneath statements like that."
"What does one thing have to do with another?" Hermione lashed out. Her eyes were ablaze with indignation and she refused to take the attack laying down. "Purebloods who call us Mudbloods are bigots who can't get past the fact that we're all magical, and that's all that matters! And I'm not an idiot! It doesn't take a genius to understand that 'Mudblood' means someone who has dirty blood."
"That's not all that matters, Granger, and you're bloody crazy if you honestly believe that!" His eyes flashed fire just like hers.
Draco may want her, and he's made his peace with that, but that didn't erase the foundations in Pureblood Supremacy that were a part of him. He may not spew "Death to Mudbloods" like many of his compatriots, but that didn't mean he didn't see why Purebloods saw Muggle-borns as less than.
"Magic is our very being, the essence of who the hell we all are," Draco began passionately. "Muggle-borns see and hear of things like Divination and scoff or laugh, not understanding that to see the future or the past is to touch the Earth in a way that few can. Some old country wizards who still worship in the old ways believe they're even touched by the Higher Powers themselves. To see even a glimmer of what might be is to become magic on a completely different level. You lot use it as a punchline, and you do that because you don't understand that magic isn't just something to utilize. It's a living entity. It is life. Every aspect of magic is life, which is why you hear of wizards who would rather be kissed by a Dementer than live in the Muggle world without magic. Because to us, who believe so goddamn fiercely in the life of magic, to live without magic is to exist without living. So, Purebloods aren't just talking about your blood when they call you lot Mudbloods. They're also talking about your faith. Your muddy faith that comes from living a life lacking the understanding of what magic truly is."
Hermione didn't know what to say. She couldn't fathom believing in magic as living, at least not the way he spoke of it. Not with that conviction. And suddenly she felt robbed of a faith; she'd never believe in that manner because she hadn't been raised believing in it. But she didn't know how accept that. She didn't know how to tell him that she can't accept that she'd been cheated somehow, because if she did than she'd fill her heart with resentment and she'd rather be "less than" than be bitter.
The silence reigned, and governed over them until Draco felt compelled to fill the space with the one thing he hadn't addressed. "Trust me, it's a worse insult than you might grasp, which is why the Slytherins would constantly repeat it…So be grateful that we'll have a Seer at our wedding. It's an honor that some aren't afforded because Seers are a dime a dozen. It's also a statement to everyone watching that you may be Muggle-born, but you're no Mudblood."
He was elevating her in the only way he knew how. His explanation had been harsh, and brutal in a way Hermione wasn't quite used to, but it was also straightforward and completely Malfoy. She remembered the time she had explained what Mudblood meant to Harry, and Ron had stayed suspiciously silent. At the time she had thought she had explained it adequately enough. Now, she knew it was because he either hadn't had the heart to tell her the full extent of the insult, or because, though he knew what the insult meant, at the tender age of eleven, he hadn't been able to verbalize it properly.
She may never be able to look at magic the way Draco and every other Pureblood did, but at least she could say that she knew the value of magic…it was enough at that moment.
"As you stand in the circle, the journey in your futures are clear. Let the water from the morning dew forever cleanse you. Let the fire in your hearts forever fight for one another. Let the wind in the air forever crash against your enemies. Let the Earth beneath your feet never abandon you, so that you may not forget who you are." the Seer demanded in a quiet yet strong voice. She cut through where the ministry official had failed. "Vow to the Earth, so that it may bind you forevermore."
Hermione's heartbeat crashed against her like waves, and her eyes bulged. She didn't know what to vow! What was the proper protocol? Draco saw her panic, and decided to save her the heart attack and go first.
"I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, will my soul into obedience and claim the Earth as my guide in this life and the next in my journey to protect and shield and be forever faithful to this union. De…" he choked for a moment. The words stuck in his throat. The pledge weighing him down. But he remembered how deeply she moved him when he despaired silently, in secret. He remembered her kisses, and his passion; he would never run from his own truth. "De magia et fides….forever." On my magic and honor.
Hermione believed Draco's hoarsely whispered pledge, though the statement was left too open—so many words waiting and wanting to fill it, and no words adequate enough.
"I, Hermione Jean Granger, will my soul into obedience…and claim the Earth as my guide in this life and the next in my journey to protect and shield and be faithful—forever faithful to this union. De magia et fides," Hermione parroted, though she stumbled slightly, trying to remember what he had just said word for word. "Forever."
It was the first time she had ever bound her word with her magic, and now that she had she finally understood why Purebloods did it—the feeling of her magic coursing, pulsing, through her body was indescribable. Unmatchable.
The Seer whispered, "Never forget that the heavens will never abandon their dragon…or those under his protection."
Hermione wanted to question what they hell everyone seemed to be talking about concerning the heavens and dragons, remembering that Narcissa Malfoy said pretty much the same thing, but the Seer stepped forward.
"Bear witness and behold, Draco Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Hermione Jean Malfoy." The Seer called out to everyone in attendance. Everyone there was magical. It tore at Hermione's chest that her own parents weren't there to bear witness to her marriage, but before she could dwell on it, the Seer finalized their union. "So mote it be."
"So mote it be," everyone chorused, and the thread glowed in life and magic and infiniteness.
They were married. One massive step at a time.
The reception was warm and cold simultaneously. Everyone smiled and congratulated Draco and Hermione so much so that they could almost convince themselves that they had wanted this. That these people really were actually happy for them. Almost. Maybe somewhere deep and frozen buried inside of themselves they had wanted this wedding…but not like this. Not with the stench of fear and war hanging over their heads.
"Having fun?" Draco whispered in that mocking way of his. As if this entire charade of a wedding was her fault.
"The time of my life," Hermione smiled widely with insincerity, her eyes speaking volumes. Draco responded in some typical fashion but she couldn't hear him because all the noise had faded. Her entire focus was on the two figures at the edge of the property.
Draco felt Hermione's breath hitch, and turned to see what was so important to take his wife's attention away from him. Then he saw what she saw. Harry goddamn Potter and Ronald motherfucking Weasley.
His blood hitched and burned, and he wanted to roar. He wanted to punish her with kisses made of passion and hate for their presence. It didn't matter that the wonder duo were in disguise. It didn't matter that they probably wouldn't stay longer than a few minutes for fear of time running away from them and their polyjiuce potion wearing off before they could leave. It didn't matter because all that mattered was that Granger had lied.
She had lied, and this was his proof. His anger was irrational. He had known they were coming. He had known she had lied. This wasn't news, and yet his anger had been burning for days since he saw the coded letter.
Hermione knew that something had shifted with Malfoy. It was like the air had changed, and so she turned to face him, a question in her eyes.
And in that locked gaze so much was said, and yet nothing resolved.
"I need another drink," Draco said gruffly. He didn't really, but he could definitely use another one.
"Yea, I'm…I'm just going to go freshen up," she lied for the sake of pretense. She lied for the sake of their marriage and their lives if the Dark Lord decided to search in Draco's mind. Suspecting is never the same thing as knowing without a shadow of a doubt.
He nodded and went to turn away, but something deep within him gave pause. He reached out to her, suddenly. Hermione didn't know what to expect, but this was Malfoy. She should always expect the unexpected.
His hand was soft and hard simultaneously, and they felt that electricity that always seemed to surround them when they touched. It spiked and crescendo'd like a symphony, as Draco let his lips devour her swiftly.
Hermione inhaled him into her, her husband. And she understood. His kiss was a brand, much like the dark mark. His kiss was a reminder that she was his, and he was hers.
It was a warning to those that looked on that no one touched what belonged to a Malfoy…not even the Dark Lord…especially not a Potter or a Weasley. It was the most dangerous kiss of their lives; Hermione felt like vomiting—like the first time she ever side-along apparated. She was being squeezed from the very center of her soul, and yet it, somehow, felt good in a way that reminded her of the time she'd punched him and realized that she wanted him.
But his lips were gone before she could accept the feeling, and he was walking away from her. He was walking away from her, and in effect, betraying Voldemort because he knew what she'd go do.
He knew, but knowing and having overt proof weren't the same thing, so she turned towards Ron and Harry, and walked steadily towards them. She walked until her hands didn't tremble, and her head didn't wobble, and she reached them with the stride of the newly Malfoy she was.
"Hey guys," she smiled lightly. Her eyes shined in gratitude, knowing how hard being here must be for them…for Ron.
"Hey 'Mione," they both replied. There was an awkwardness present that spoke volumes.
Silence.
It haunted the moment, and she couldn't find it in her to push it away. What could they say? Congratulations for marrying their sworn enemy—a known Death Eater? Congratulations on having a sham of a wedding, and entering a loveless marriage? Congratulations on choosing the wrong side?
"Thanks for coming," she looked down. How could she face them when her heart felt like it would implode?
"We'll always be here for you, you know," Harry's emerald eyes held steady. He wanted her to understand that her loyalty to him all these years couldn't be wiped away so easily. "This doesn't change that. We just have to…work around it, now."
The tiny mischievous smile that graced his lips were like trumpets on the day of Judgement…it washed away everything else and bathed her in sheer grace.
If only Ron's sad eyes didn't pierce so deep, and hurt so much…if only everything wasn't about to change.
The celebration was still in full swing when Hermione and Draco were ushered away, so that they could enjoy their wedding night.
But all Hermione could think of was Draco's genuine, we'll take it as slow as you need, as she changed into her nightwear. Her hands shook in nervousness, but she kept the gentle look in his eyes at the forefront of her mind. She hummed, and did breathing techniques, and tried to clear her mind like when she practiced Occlumency, but none of it worked.
None of it worked, and all she was left with was a bathroom washed in candlelight, bright, and empty. It felt cold and lonely, and scarier than anything she'd had to face yet, and she wanted the simple pleasure of comfort in the form of hugs.
"Granger, you realize that if you stay in there any longer I'll have to assume you've died and will have to insist on barging in to find out," Draco's lazy drawl cut through the silence. Hermione took a long steadying breath for patience and courage, and walked out of the bathroom.
"You're scared," he said simply. It was typical Malfoy to cut to the heart of the problem with the least amount of tact or caring…and yet something in the statement implied he did care. It implied he cared enough.
"What do I do?" she asked so innocently that it threw him for a loop for a moment. She didn't want to play games with him—not tonight when she was so out of her depth.
He didn't want to rush her, and in his passion he didn't want to forget that she truly was an innocent in this regard. He didn't want to, but he wasn't quite sure how not to. How not to when her pain would be like the heaviest aphrodisiac. But her eyes pierced him and tore at him until he couldn't stand to look at her.
"You take off your night-clothes, come into bed…and I'll do the rest," he said huskily as he slowly undressed himself. He didn't bother to dim the candles, or hide his body. Not tonight. Not ever. He would never hide from her ever again.
The knowledge freed him somehow—to know that he didn't need to hide from her because they were in this together, now—and he stalked toward her like a panther.
But he wasn't a panther. He was a dragon, born and bred and filled with the blood of a man who had been starved for years…and he had been, to see her, watch her, want her, and hate her for making him want her when he could never have her. But he could have her now.
"Malfoy," Hermione felt desire stir inside of her, but she couldn't get herself to move. His name was like a prayer and summons simultaneously.
He heard the desire laced with distress, and came upon her suddenly; his body grazed against her, their lips smashed greedily against each other, their moans at the slight contact filling the air. Please. Please. They pleaded silently, together. More. More.
And there was more: more kisses, more teeth, more moans, more caresses, more sweat, more hate, more prayers, more need, more truth as their bodies collided against the wall, pinned as though by the very Earth as they climbed higher and higher into sensations and reckless abandon.
Somewhere in between the stabbing pain, her tears, his crushing need, her confusion and wonder because how could something hurt so good, his violent passion, her fearless scratches, and "don't stop," and "never," something burned inside of each of them better than hate or that abstract thing called "love." It was heavy and all-consuming and goddamn annoying and distracting from mindless bliss. But it was persistent until it settled in the crevices in their ribcage, and they were just glad the other existed.
The moment of contentedness and fulfillment didn't last long before an owl came bursting through the open window with a letter for Draco. He was summoned to the Dark Lord and Hermione was left, waiting his return.
She tried to occupy her time, but it was difficult because she only kept picturing the most horrible scenarios of torture. Maybe Harry and Ron had been discovered, she thought and grieved for the pain she might be causing Draco. Maybe…maybe...maybe...so many maybe's that Hermione could drive herself crazy, until finally, finally, Draco walked through the bedroom door.
His eyes were torn and haunted. His stance was stiff and poised as if ready for an attack. Something was very wrong.
"What happened?" Hermione jumped out of bed and went to him, but his hand was outstretched before she made it to him, stopping her, keeping her at arms length.
He went to speak but he couldn't. There were no words to explain what happened. To say that he had killed a man was too simple. To say that the earth had tilted without his knowledge or warning felt too dramatic. There was nothing that he could truly say to encompass all that had happened, and so he lifted his sleeve to show the Dark Mark, proud and stark against his forearm.
He exposed the Dark Mark as if that would explain everything…and in a lot of ways, it did.
Hermione gasped, and her hand covered her mouth in shock. She took a step away from him without thinking. The movement sparked something in Draco's chest and he removed all space between them, until they were nose to nose, chest to chest, heartbeat to stuttering heartbeat.
"Don't run from me," he said gruffly, like a demand and a plea simultaneously. His hands clenched into fists, rage building inside of chest and stomach like a volcano preparing for eruption. "Just…don't run."
Hermione heard what he didn't say, and forced herself to calm down. She knew this would happen eventually. She knew what he would one day become, but understanding abstractly is never the same as knowing, and seeing. But somewhere inside of herself, so deep that Hermione felt ashamed to admit it was there, she felt relief.
Deep inside the farthest reaches of her being she was relieved that he finally had the mark, that he had finally killed, because it proved that he hadn't been all words; I'd fight and die, and kill for you, and that's the difference, Granger. I would kill for you, to protect and defend you as my wife, and that's one protection that your Weasley could never guarantee.
Now she knew that he really could. He'd already done it. Her irrational and shameful relief wouldn't let her look him in the eyes.
"It's okay, Granger," Draco cut through the silence. He didn't clarify what was okay, and Hermione didn't ask. Too many things fit into that sentence. All equally as important. "We all do what we have to. That's just the way life works."
"So killing is just a part of life? I should just accept that!?" She lashed out hypocritically, but she couldn't help it—she had fought the good and light fight for too long to take death and killing with a nonchalant face.
But Draco blood boiled and he resented her righteous pedestal that she lectured on. He wanted to shake her, and crush her, and bury her beneath the weight of his fury.
"It's a part of war, and you already did accept it the moment you agreed to marry me. You knew that I would take the mark one day, you knew that I would kill. You knew that I would kill, and I wouldn't feel sorry over it."
"You don't feel sorry! Really?" Hermione tried to push him away in her anger, but he was like a mountain—immovable and stoic in his own regard. "I can see how tortured you look! I can see how haunted you are by tonight, so don't stand there and lie to me and say you're not sorry."
"But I'm not sorry for killing him, Granger," Draco lost himself in her eyes, and confessed his ugly truth with the acrimony that burned inside of him constantly. Now that she had accepted herself, he knew that she could master Occlumency in time. He knew that his secrets would be safe, once she learned. It was enough for him. "I'm haunted by his pleas for mercy, and the Dark Lord's pride in me. You'd only believe it if you had seen it with your own eyes, but the Dark Lord was proud of me. He told me that the first kill is always the hardest, and though the guy's a goddamn egomaniac, I believe him. I believe that no other kill will ever be as hard as tonight's was. But that's not because I'm sorry. It's because I was thinking about all the shit that might change after killing him. How my soul would forever be tainted. The fact that he would die, cease to exist, was just a blip on my radar. I'm that bloody self-absorbed."
They were at an impasse; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, and Hermione knew that nothing would be resolved tonight. Not tonight, when their emotions were running too high and too strong off of all their disillusions. Disillusionment in themselves and each other.
Hermione knew that he would never ask her to let it go, too much pride holding him down. But she wouldn't ask him to come to bed either, too saddened by the Dark Mark tainting the same skin that she had kissed only hours ago.
She went and sat at the edge of what she had claimed as her side of the bed when he had left earlier, and watched him go about changing his clothes. She watched as he winced every time something as simple as his shirt or even his own skin brushed up against the Dark Mark. She realized how much pain he must be in, and how strong he must have been to endure it. Moody had explained once that the Dark Mark was the most painful of brands because it had to attach itself to the very core of the person.
"Did you cry? You know, when you got marked," Hermione asked half-spitefully and half-genuinely curious. That's how they worked: hot and cold, sometimes too hot, sometimes too cold, and sometimes so confused in their genuine apathy and passion towards each other that they were both at the same time.
"Yea," he turned his back towards her as he got into bed. His voice was low, but he wasn't ashamed. He had heard of greater men than him breaking down while getting the Mark.
He waved his wand and all of the lighted candles blew out; darkness cocooned them as the moon bathed them in its natural light. In the darkness Hermione's shame wasn't so bright, and words spewed forth like from a fountain. Truth.
"I'm sorry that I'm a hypocrite, that I judge you having known all along what you would need to do," she spoke to the moon and Malfoy and the darkness in her own heart. She whispered what had torn at her. "But, did it have to be on our wedding day?"
"It's because it's our wedding day that the Dark Lord wanted me to get the Mark today," Draco huffed out a bitter dry laugh. "Don't you get it? He knew that you'd be mad. He was banking on your goody two-shoes Gryffindor heart to hate me after tonight. This, all of this, was just a test. A test to see if I've grown up from that sniveling twat who could barely point my wand at Dumbledore, a test to see if your loyal heart was loyal to me at all, a test to see what we're both made of."
It was crazy, and unreasonable, yet it all made so much sense. Ever since she had heard of You-Know-Who she'd had this vague picture of pure evil, of a monster instead of a man. But the way Draco described him…it made the pit of her stomach swirl and clench uncomfortably. It made her acutely aware of the fact that Lord Voldemort had been born a man, and many on the Light Side had forgotten that.
"Did we pass?" she asked, unsure if she even wanted to know.
"I don't know," he answered harshly. "That's the trick with the Dark Lord, that you never know. Pass or fail, it all falls into the same bowl with these little tests. All that matters is that he's pleased. That he's proud because when he is, there's nothing else besides the glory of him. Isn't that sick? Isn't that ridiculous? An entire army of people vying for one man, one lord, to be proud of them. But dammit, Granger, if he doesn't make you feel like you're a king when he's proud."
She heard everything that he was saying, and everything that he left unsaid. What could she do? What could they do? They were at the mercy of a sociopath who was too charismatic and magnetic for anyone else's good.
"But you were born a king, right?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, mocking him.
"I was born a dragon," he reached out a hand and let his fingers travel over Hermione's shoulder and arm of their own accord. She didn't move away but didn't move towards him either. "I was raised to be a King. I was taught from the second I could understand words that Malfoy's bow down to no man…but you've never met him, Granger. I mean really met him. He's cruel, and sadistic, and you can't help but hate him for all the pain and fear he causes you, but….when he wants to…there's nothing like his approval. He consumes everything."
"What are we going to do?" Hermione whispered. Everything suddenly felt so helpless. How could they survive?
"What we have to, Granger," he tugged at her arm, and she went. Pull, push. Push, pull. He let his lips graze over her ear and neck. He let himself breathe her in. "We'll do what we have to."
"Malfoy," Hermione whispered.
Draco grunted his "what?" as he let his hands wander over her thighs and stomach. She was his, and he couldn't stop the overwhelming urge to remind her until they were both broken and spent. He didn't want to speak anymore. Not tonight. Not when so much had already been done and said.
"My name, it's Malfoy now, not Granger."
Her words were simple, but they crumbled his will and restraint; her words made him covet her, and the feeling was so overpowering that by that simple statement they were one.
"Yea, you are a Malfoy now," he responded as he nipped and kissed and licked everywhere he could reach. It was frantic and crushing in a way that he'd never expected. Her frantic fingers that clutched at him was ruining him in the best way. "But you'll always be Granger to me."
It was the most beautiful thing he could have ever said to her on their wedding night…the only thing to make everything feel right again.
So, what do you guys think? Was it worth the wait? I was a little worried about the Draco/Hermione dynamic in this chapter. Did I do them justice? Love it? Hate it? Let me know and Review! **Reviews are love** :)