Magic hummed in the ink-black night. The combination of wards surrounding the sanctuary sang in a harmonious melody that welcomed guests and warned intruders.
On their way from Verdell, Draco had retrieved the grounds' map from within the supply pouch he had shrunk to fit in his robes pocket. With the new restrictions for nighttime Apparition within the sanctuary, Draco had Apparated them to the spot along the perimeter closest to wherever he was taking her—which, apparently, wasn't the cabins.
"Still not going to tell me where we're going?"
Draco pointed his wand at the wards. "Don't you know how to enjoy a surprise?"
Hermione blushed—an occurrence that was happening with alarming frequency around him.
The spellwork to open the wards was more intricate than it had been the last time she'd seen Draco do it. His wrist curled while he moved his wand in a wide arc, brow furrowed in stern concentration. It took three separate charms before the wards fully split to allow them entry.
Hermione stepped in first, then Draco, before a blend of lilac, green, and teal resealed the containments. The overlapping branches of towering trees blocked the stars overhead. If this was a part of the sanctuary she had been to before, Hermione wasn't able to tell. But one thing was certain: they were not in the visitor section.
Twin glows illuminated from the tips of Hermione and Draco's wands. Draco summoned the map back into view and searched it for a few seconds before it soared back into his pocket.
"This way," he directed, robes sweeping the ground as he ventured deeper into the shadows.
The crunch of leaves punctuated the air. Hermione was too focused on the darkened path to strike up conversation. She scanned the landscape, on the lookout for dragons or whatever other "surprise" could be ahead of them. Their trek took at least twenty minutes. Maybe more. It was hard to measure when she had little to guide her.
Finally, a crack of light loomed in the distance. When they broke free from the patch of forest and reached a stone cliff that overlooked a valley, Hermione gasped.
Stretched out across the cliff was a dragon—but not just any dragon. Hermione had seen this one before, during her first full day at the sanctuary. But that had only been from afar, while the beautiful dragon drifted through the early evening sky. Here, up close, Ivayr was so much more elegant. Breathtaking.
"I thought you'd want to properly meet her," Draco said from behind. Hermione hadn't noticed she had continued stepping forward.
She stopped before she intruded too far into the dragon's space. Ivayr was awake, her glittering, pupil-less eyes reflecting facets of moonlight like an iridescent diamond. The pearly white scales that covered her body shone just as beautifully. She was smaller than Hermione had expected—even for an Antipodean Opaleye. The main part of her body couldn't have been larger than an average elephant, though her neck and tail both stretched at least a dozen feet.
Hermione glanced back at Draco, who gave a single nod.
"You can touch her if you'd like," he said, somehow knowing her unspoken question. "Antipodean Opaleyes are less aggressive than European dragons, including the Welsh Greens. She's only vicious when she's hungry, but I made sure she was fully fed before I left this evening, so she shouldn't hurt you."
Cautious footsteps guided Hermione's path as she approached, now able to see the individual scales of Ivayr's hide. Each one was like a drop of rainbow had been used as a glaze, painting them with a luminous sheen. Yet some of the scales were dull. Lacklustre. A deep scar marred the stretch of hide just above her belly. The wound spanned almost the entire length of her trunk, partnered with several other smaller scars scattered throughout.
Hermione was close enough to touch now, her fingertips hovering over the marks. Ivayr seemed to be watching her, though it was hard to tell for sure without any pupils for guidance. The dragon didn't move. Nor roar. Not even snort. She simply watched.
The soft pad of Draco's footsteps sounded against the stone as he joined Hermione.
"She's so calm," Hermione noted, turning briefly to glance at Draco before looking up to meet Ivayr's prismatic gaze.
Only then did the dragon let out a gentle yowl, though not out of irritation or fear. Ivayr craned her neck forward and brushed her head against Draco's.
Affection .
Draco chuckled, greeting the dragon with a grin while he stroked her pearly scales. "It's good to see you, too."
Hermione was stunned. She had never seen a dragon act so lovesome.
"I didn't think dragons were tamable. At least, not without torture."
His smile vanished. "They aren't. Including Ivayr."
Hermione canted her head. She trusted Draco, and all the other keepers, not to have tortured Ivayr. Which meant she must have been somewhere else before the Carpathian Mountains became her home.
Hermione's eyes fell back to the scars on Ivayr's hide. "How did the sanctuary end up with her?"
Draco's chest rose as he sucked in a breath. "Muggles spotted her in the countryside of Austria, trying to get herself into their sheep confinement. Several Ministries had to get involved before we were able to safely transport her here. She was severely malnourished and covered in scars. We were able to heal most of them, but several remain. The discolouration on her scales suggests that she was subjected to dark magic, probably from someone who thought it would be cute to have a pet dragon until she grew too large for them to control by civil means. Years have passed, but those scars will never fully fade."
Hermione glanced over at Draco whose fingertips were mindlessly brushing over his left forearm where the evidence of dark magic still marred his own flesh.
"Which is what I assume you fear happened to Norberta's missing egg? The Seven Brothers sold it to someone with the intention to raise as a pet and will hurt it or neglect it?"
His face turned grave. "That's one possibility. The other is that it's been taken somewhere to grow in isolation before it's developed enough to mate and birth new dragons, then be killed and sold for valuable dragon parts."
The acid in Hermione's stomach rose to her throat. It was disgusting. Barbaric. Yet she had no doubt there were vile people out there who had no care for magical creatures beyond the Galleons their bodies could produce.
"At least Ivayr is safe," she softly voiced, though it felt like a minor consolation when Ivayr had been safe for years and the fate of Norberta's child was still unknown.
Hermione's gaze fell back to the peaceful dragon. "You've done a good job with her."
Already, she could feel the cloud of sorrow that had loomed over them start to drift away.
"It took us a while, but we eventually built the necessary trust. Sometimes all you need is patience, time, and a little determination."
He turned to face Hermione, and her heart fluttered. She couldn't help but think that the same sentiment applied to her and Draco.
The serenity of the night was broken when the air around them started to shift with steady puffs of wind. Ivayr got to her feet as her wings expanded to full length. Her tender roar bounced off the nearby mountains and down the valley before she dipped her head and nudged Draco with her snout.
"Now?" Draco asked.
He pat Ivayr's snout, but that only seemed to encourage her. The length of her tail whipped from side to side, and Hermione had to get out of the way in fear it might accidentally strike her.
"Is she hungry?"
"Oh, no," Draco said. "But it appears Ivayr wants to give you a special treat."
He stepped away from the dragon then held both hands straight in the air. Ivayr readjusted her footing and stretched her neck high. When Draco lowered his hands, Ivayr lowered her body, leaving herself semi propped up by the bend of her wings.
Draco took Hermione's hand and pulled her towards Ivayr's hind legs. He let go, only to grab onto one of the spikes along her spine and hoist himself up. Draco had already climbed over her back and settled into spot before Hermione fully comprehended his intention.
"Absolutely not!"
Ivayr exhaled a sharp huff while Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're scared," he taunted. "Charlie told me about the time you rode that Ironbelly out of Gringotts. Quite impressive, I must add."
"That was only because we had no other options," she defended with the firm fold of her arms.
Draco's chuckles returned, the glimmer in his eyes reflecting in the moonlight. "So no dragon ride for you?"
"No."
A smirk pulled at his lips. "Suit yourself. Good luck finding your way back to Verdell, then."
He tapped his hand twice on Ivayr's throat, and she promptly expanded her wings. Gusts of wind stirred the surrounding leaves with every heavy flap preparing for flight, and Hermione had to yell to be heard over the movement.
"Wait!" she exclaimed, running towards the front of Ivayr before the dragon took off. "Don't you dare, Draco! "
Two more taps on Ivayr's throat, and the flapping stopped. Without the commotion, Hermione could clearly see Draco's face again. He was laughing. Laughing. Eyes crinkled and smile vibrant.
"Not funny," she said, though it was harder than she'd care to admit to maintain her scowl.
"Really? Because I beg to differ." His laughter subsided as he grinned at her. "I forgot how much cuter you get when you're all riled up."
Her knees almost gave out. Did he really just admit that he thought she was cute?
Hermione tried to shake away the comment. "Don't try to sweet-talk your way out of this," she chastised, even if it was— slightly— working. But from the way his grin grew, she knew she had failed at suppressing her latest blush. "I have every right to be hesitant to ride a dragon again. We don't even know where she will take us. The sanctuary is massive, and we can't Apparate again until morning."
"Would being stuck spending the rest of the night with me be so terrible?"
His face was smug, and Hermione stumbled over a response. This was not going the way she imagined.
Her salvation came in the form of Draco's returning laugh. "Merlin, Granger. I'm messing with you. I'm not about to get us stranded. Unlike the last dragon you rode, this one isn't blind. And she responds to my navigation."
Some of the apprehensions in Hermione's chest faded. "Do you promise?"
"Have I given you a reason not to trust me?"
That was all the assurance she needed.
Draco stretched out his hand and guided Hermione to a comfortable place on Ivayr's back. The scales were similarly as hard as Hermione remembered the ones from the Ukrainian Ironbelly, firm and cold like steel. If it wasn't for the fact that Ivayr had her head turned to watch them, Hermione doubted Ivayr would have sensed their presence.
Draco served as a comforting contrast to that rigidity. His hand left hers once Hermione was safely settled in place, only for him to reclaim it seconds later and wrap it around his waist. Hermione tried not to get too lost in the sensation of his strong shoulders and the toned muscles underneath his robes.
"You'll be more secure if you hold onto me than try to reach for her neck spikes," Draco explained, though his words were muffled from the drown of her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. "It's just like riding on the back of someone's broom."
Her stomach flipped. "I don't like flying."
The crack of vulnerability betrayed the end of her words. A hundred snarky quips could have formed on Draco's tongue, yet his response was earnest.
"I'll make sure you're safe."
With three taps this time, Draco patted Ivayr's neck, and the strong beating of her wings resumed, more forceful than a few moments prior. They lifted off the ground with a shaky drift, and Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around Draco. He glanced back for a brief second, just long enough to check that she was okay and flash a short, reassuring smile, before reverting focus forward as they soared into the starlit expanse.
Up and up they went, and the trees below them grew minuscule. Hermione's heart was lodged in her throat. Heights had never scared her. Lack of control did. Brooms were finicky, and dragons were unpredictable. If she was going to be thousands of feet in the air, Hermione preferred to be the one managing circumstances. Control gave her assurance. Control gave her ease.
And yet, when Ivayr reached what seemed to be her preferred altitude and they began to glide through the wisps of low clouds, a different form of ease took over. Hermione's pounding pulse still threatened to crack open her ribcage, but the solid presence of Draco's back against her chest made that concern feel less warranted.
The tension in her shoulders slackened. She wasn't alone up here. She had Draco. Ivayr trusted him, as did she.
For the first time that weekend, Hermione allowed herself to turn off her brain. Her eyelids settled closed while a steady stream of gentle wind washed over her face. Nerves disappeared, and serenity came. The sanctuary was near silent. Sans a few scattered roars, one could forget that the land below them was dotted with sleeping dragons. Hermione soaked in every feel of that moment, from the fresh scent of the elevated air to the solid assurance of Draco as her anchor.
"Doing all right?"
Hermione opened her eyes to find Draco peering at her from over his shoulder. She nodded. "Perfectly content."
A grin broke across his face. "Good. Because we're nearly there."
Draco knocked his right heel into Ivayr's hide, and she immediately started turning in that direction. Hermione maintained her hold around Draco as they began to curve and slowly started their descent. The details of the wooded landscape came back into focus, each individual tree once again discernible in the seemingly endless flood of moon-kissed green. As their elevation decreased, Ivayr swept from side to side, her wings extended at full length. The landing was gentle, hardly noticeable except for the small bump when Ivayr's legs met the earth and began their full stop.
Draco hopped off first before offering his hand to help Hermione. Her feet landed on grass — not leaves — in the middle of a valley where a waterfall cascaded over the side of a mountain and flowed into the start of a wide river.
The sight was magnificent, a true testament to nature. Though, something about it felt oddly familiar. Like she'd seen it before, but not quite.
Her eyes fell to Draco's left forearm, covered by his robes, and the memory clicked. "Your tattoo."
Atop the fabric, Draco allowed his thumb to graze over the inked landscape. "The mark it's covering may not be beautiful, but the real thing is."
Flashes of torment stained his features, and it stilled Hermione's breathing. She closed the space between them before placing her hand on his.
"That mark only defines you if you let it," she said, voice barely audible over the crash of water. "It's gone. Covered. You're not your past, Draco." She lifted her gaze to meet his. "I wouldn't have stayed if I believed otherwise."
The softness in his face returned while the corners of his mouth perked up. "If Hermione Granger says so, then it must be true."
His grey gaze met hers, a swirling storm of mixed emotions. Dissipating sorrow rocked the current underneath, yet it was the hint of burgeoning bliss that overpowered the rest. If Draco hadn't broken the stare first, Hermione wasn't positive she would have been able to tear herself away.
He glanced downward to where his hand fiddled with the cuff of his robes. "Guess I ought to change out of these," he said as he retrieved the shrunken pouch from his pocket. "Think you could tolerate the view for a few moments alone?"
"I can manage."
Draco smirked. "Good," he said, confidence fully restored. "Because I wouldn't want you to be tempted to look."
Hermione rolled her eyes to keep from turning Quaffle red. "I've already seen you shirtless."
"And if I recall correctly, you spent the entire time trying not to stare."
Good Godric, had she been that obvious?
His smirk spread, and Hermione folded her arms against her chest in one of her final lines of defence. "Has anyone ever told you what a prat you can be?"
"Once or twice," he said, looking far too smug for anyone's good. "But admit it, Granger. You like it when I'm a bit of a prat."
Draco winked, and the flush threatening to flood Hermione's face won its battle. Curse this damn, attractive wizard. Since when did she let him affect her so deeply?
Moments later, he disappeared behind one of the nearby juts of ragged stone, leaving Hermione to handle an erratic heartbeat. Beneath her breath, a curse left her lips. She couldn't keep blushing in his presence without accepting this inevitable feeling.
Hermione approached Ivayr and slid a hand down the dragon's scaly neck.
"Out of all the keepers here, you just had to pick Draco Malfoy?"
Ivayr's pupil-less eyes blinked at Hermione before she answered with a puff through her nostrils.
Hermione sighed. "Suppose I can't blame you," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the mountain jut. "I'm guilty of the same thing."
When Draco returned into view, he was back in his regular shirt and trousers, except with one change from his norm. His sleeves were pushed up—both of them—freely exposing his mountain tattoo.
As he walked over, Draco released his hair from its tie and regathered the blond strands into its usual bun. Hermione watched, transfixed by every movement, though not quite able to take her eyes off his forearm. She knew what was underneath. Just like him, she'd never be able to forget. But there was so much more to him than a faded red outline of a shameful mistake.
"Would you look at that? Turns out Hermione Granger stares at me even with my shirt on."
Hermione blinked back to focus, not bothering to try fighting the crimson that undoubtedly adorned her cheeks.
"Not staring," she blatantly lied. "Merely wondering why you waited to change until after we trekked through the forest and rode a dragon."
Draco approached her with a shrug and a sparkling gleam. "I haven't stopped to think about anything other than what's right in front of me since you opened the door."
Merlin, give her strength. There was no use denying it now.
He was a breeze when he walked past her: close enough to send a tingle through every cell without any part of them actually touching. Instead, he headed towards the riverbank where he conjured a quilt a handful of feet away from the now resting Ivayr.
Draco sat on the quilt and stretched out so his shoes were mere inches from the edge of the water. Hermione joined, tucking her legs under herself as she settled beside him.
"So what warranted the robes in the first place?"
Draco rested his hands behind him, letting out a long, soft sigh. "I had to go to France for dinner with my mother."
Instant concern infiltrated her thoughts. "Is everything all right?"
"Perfectly fine," he assured her. "It was just my mother's requirement in return for her giving me the money to pay Mundungus."
Hermione startled, mind rushing to make sense of the information. "You're well over the legal age. Shouldn't you have access to whatever exorbitant trust fund your parents established for you?"
"If only I were so lucky," he said with a humourless huff. "That may be the way Muggles or Half-Bloods do it, but I only got 50,000 Galleons as a birthday gift when I turned seventeen."
"Only?"
Draco snorted. "You'd faint if you saw our Gringotts vault."
"I saw your Aunt Bellatrix's."
"You saw her personal vault, not the Black family's," he corrected. "Of which I am now the sole living heir that hasn't been burned off the tree. The sole heir to the Malfoy fortune as well. But I can only come in possession of it if I take over as head of household from my father."
"Seems irrational for him to remain in charge when he's in Azkaban."
Draco deadpanned. "Unless the magical transfer of power requires that the new head of household is married."
The words crashed into her like the wave of a tsunami.
His mouth was a thin line of distaste, and Hermione forced aside any tangential thoughts.
"Surely you must have some of those 50,000 Galleons left," she said, still struggling to understand. "You only had to pay Mundungus two hundred fifty today."
A brief chuckle pushed past Draco's lips. "One would think, yet the vast majority of that money was gone before I ever stepped foot on these grounds. I then managed to quickly waste what little remained when I refused to eat in the dining hall and exclusively ate in Verdell."
"Then what about your salary?"
"You mean the meagre fifty Galleons a month?" He knocked his head back, mocking laughter at the stars. "Savings is not a luxury one has out here."
Hermione's jaw fell slack as she stared at him in stunned disbelief. The wizard who had tormented Ron throughout their childhood for his poor upbringing was now making a fourth of what Hermione made at the Ministry.
She compelled her gaze downward where her finger traced the curve of the quilt's stitching. "You must have been desperate to get away from England if the Draco of four years ago was willing to work for so little."
"I was." Candour dripped off his words, mingled with a hint of resentment. "My father's last request before leaving for Azkaban was that I still marry someone from what he deemed 'the right type of family.' The war wasn't fully lost in his eyes. They couldn't stop us from continuing to marry other purebloods. He spent the summer leading up to his trial arranging my engagement for after graduation."
Her heart tripped inside her chest. "Pansy?"
"Gods, no." The sternness that lined his features waned. "There was never anything serious between us. Or at least, not on my end." Draco shook his head, taking a sigh before he leaned his weight back on his hands. "No, my father and Astoria's father had apparently been discussing the match since we were children. They just expedited the timeline."
"Astoria… As in Astoria Greengrass?"
"You know another?"
"No. I'm just—" An unreasonable tightness clamped inside Hermione's chest. "Daphne never mentioned it."
She resumed tracing a finger over the patterns on the quilt, and Draco's gaze locked downward, tracking the path of her fingertip.
"Pureblood families are private. And prideful," he said, voice low and even. "I have little doubt that Daphne was under strict instruction not to speak a word of it to anyone. Ever. It would look quite unfavourable for their family if it got out that Astoria had been rejected."
She continued to follow the stitching of the quilt but stopped when Draco's hand blocked her current course. A stir of nerves swarmed inside her stomach, and she almost retreated her hand into the safety of her lap, but the desire to stay close to him overpowered that temptation. She planted her hand next to his and shifted an inch closer.
The walls of her throat were thick as Hermione forced a swallow. "So instead of marrying Astoria, you left."
"That's the short of it," he said after a heavy exhale. "Though, it was more than just that. At the beginning, I was willing to make it work with Astoria. It was my father's final request. I wanted to do him and the family right. But when I got back to Hogwarts, it was harder than I anticipated. I hadn't been given the necessary time to come to terms with the end of the war before I was thrust back into a jungle of livid lions and sour snakes."
Draco hung his head, giving it a tiny, almost imperceptible shake. "Everyone else was allowed to be sad about the war, but not me. I was the former Death Eater. Either I was the villain, or I was the one who had failed. I wasn't permitted to feel the same agony as our classmates. As if I wasn't a child who had also just experienced a war."
Hermione didn't say a word. She just sat there. Listened.
"I tried to confide in Astoria, but we couldn't emotionally connect," Draco continued. "The Greengrasses hadn't fought. She didn't understand my grief. It caused me to collapse in on myself, all while each of my father's owls from Azkaban insisted on how important it was that I not find a way to ruin this for the family." He drew in another deep breath. "So I tried to ignore the war altogether. Boxed away the memories and pretended it never happened."
"That couldn't have been healthy," Hermione softly voiced.
"It wasn't," Draco agreed. "It only caused me to feel more alone than ever. I found moderate friendship in Daphne, who seemed to understand me better than Astoria. At least she was trying to make an effort to get closer with the wizard intended to be her future brother in law. But other than her, I kept to myself. Tried to survive the school year before I resigned myself to a hollow engagement."
"You deserve better than that." Her fingers itched to reach out and take his in solidarity —in comfort— but they didn't move. "I remember hardly seeing you with anyone other than Daphne, but I never thought more of it. The only time I bothered to ask her about you was when you didn't return. Even then, it wasn't out of concern. It was selfish curiosity."
Draco released a short laugh. "How am I not surprised? I imagine you were quite frustrated when she didn't give you answers."
"Well, I got some. She said you had taken your N.E.W.T.s and received special permission to graduate early. That's it, though." Hermione faintly smiled. "I suppose that's the Slytherin in her. Loves to gossip but keeps her lips shut when it could negatively impact her or her family."
A silent beat hung between them, punctuated by the steady sound of cascading splashes, before Hermione asked, "So what changed over Christmas? Why leave then?"
Draco peered off into the distance where the waterfall met the river. "The day after I returned home, I visited my father. He gave me a note granting me permission to retrieve one of the family rings from our Gringotts vault. He wanted me to propose before the end of the year—anything to reinvent our family name while he was locked up. But I needed more time. After graduation, I promised him, like he had originally planned. But he wouldn't compromise. Just insisted that this was the new expectation and that he wouldn't entertain otherwise.
"I even got the ring. Seventeenth-century, goblin-made, with an obscenely large diamond. Everyone at Hogwarts would notice it, and that thought ate at me. I stared at the ring for three days, trying to imagine what I would say when proposing. Yet all I heard were my own internal screams."
He shook his head again. "I sent an owl to the Chief Warlock shortly after that, petitioning for special permission to take my N.E.W.T.s early. While I'm not proud of it, I used nearly every Galleon to my name to make sure that the vote quickly and quietly went my way. McGonagall had no choice but to accept my early graduation."
Hermione gasped. "But didn't you need to revise?"
For the first time in several minutes, Draco looked at her, amusement shining in his eyes. "Of all the things I just confessed, that's what stands out to you?" He let out an earnest laugh. "You needn't worry, little bookworm. I had started revising the previous January when I thought I'd be graduating that June."
He leaned his weight back against his palms, renewed with a general sense of lightness. "Anyway, things moved fast after that. I secretly sat for my N.E.W.T.s the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve. The morning of the new year, I left a note and the ring for my mother to find, making her deal with telling the Greengrasses while I escaped to Snowdonia." He chuckled. "Got a nasty Howler a few days later—then about three others. My mother was understandably irate, as were the Greengrasses. I never even apologised to Astoria for leaving like that. Mother still isn't pleased, but she's accepted that she can't change my decision. Her option was that, or never see her son again, so she came around eventually."
Hermione was glad to hear that, but something else stood out. "Why'd you go to Snowdonia first?"
"Ah, I'm disappointed, Granger," Draco said with a taunting grin. "An employee of the Beast Division ought to know where the Wales Dragon Sanctuary is." Draco didn't pause long enough for her to react. "To no great surprise, they rejected me. Couldn't let a former Death Eater work for them. So I made my way out here a couple of weeks later, determined to leave my past behind."
Another question slipped past Hermione's lips, her curiosity grasping for more. "Why dragon keeping?"
Draco shrugged before peering over at her. "Surely there's something crazy you wanted to be as a kid."
Hermione smiled at a memory. "An astronaut."
"What's that?"
"A Muggle scientist who goes into space."
He snorted. "Says the witch who claims not to like flying."
Hermione bumped him in the shoulder as their mutual laughter filled the night sky.
"Yes, well, I wanted to be a dragon keeper," Draco continued once his laughter drifted away. "Father would never hear of it, of course. Not exactly the job of a dignified pureblood. But after rejecting every other expectation he had of me, I figured, why the fuck not?"
"You're a better man for it," Hermione assured him, but uncertainty lined his face.
"I'm not sure about that," he said. "I ran from the past to avoid what I thought was the only other option for my future. I thought if it was something I ignored, I could forget it happened."
Draco turned to Hermione, uncertainty replaced with sincerity. "If Charlie hadn't been here and made me confront at least some of my past, I would likely still be that man who withdrew himself from others to prevent myself from feeling anything. Yet it's different with him. Charlie and I didn't know each other before this, so the war doesn't define our interactions. But having you here… It's like something I've been missing the past several years has finally been filled."
"Closure?"
"No." Draco brushed his thumb across her cheek. "A new beginning."
Her breathing hitched as the intimacy of his touch numbed her mind. Froze her senses. Mouth parted, she struggled for words, but she was spared the effort when the pad of his thumb grazed her bottom lip. A simple sweep. A passing touch. A wordless test.
Thunderous heartbeats raced against her ribcage, breath suspended as her stare locked with his. Under the moonlight, his grey gaze transformed into a sparkling silver with an unspoken question reflected in every gleam. A question, it appeared, he'd been longing to ask—and one that she'd been too blind to consider before today. Too wrapped up in everything around her. Too fixated on their muddled past to truly contemplate the present. The potential future. But now, there was no denying the ache of her muscles. The pull in her chest. The yearning in her bones.
"Draco," she uttered, his name a mere whisper in the stupefying need to do something, anything, other than just sit there .
His gaze tracked back to her lips. A thick swallow bobbed down her throat. Strong fingers threaded through her curls. Tracked behind her ear. Settled at the nape of her neck.
She wanted it. Needed it. Had to voice it.
But she never had the chance.
Warm lips covered hers before she could make a single utterance more.
One kiss, and it was like plummeting into freefall. Hermione couldn't stop it even if she wanted to. She had been teetering on a cliff, vacillating between the safety she had always known or the risk of stepping into something she knew she wouldn't be able to undo. Now, Draco had taken the leap, bringing Hermione with him.
It started soft—a test, a trial—yet once the space between them thinned to near nothing, their freefall sent Hermione spiralling. With just a single kiss, her need for more was instant, drowning out any concern she'd had about crossing this line with him. Whispered doubts tried to lure her astray. Tell her that everything about it should have felt wrong. He was the wizard who had made her feel so miserable as a child; the one who had made her feel like she didn't belong. But that was years ago. Now, with his lips pressed against hers and her hand clutching his shirt, she had never felt more exuberant, never more at home.
She slid her fingers up his chest and into his hair, leaning in to deepen the connection. Her chest ignited with the flame of a dragon's blazing fire. Every kiss, every touch, caused something desperate to stir inside her core. The insistence of his lips increased as he pressed his grip around her waist and pulled her closer. With her lips still parted, she welcomed the brush of his tongue against hers, clearing nearly every thought from her mind as the sensation consumed her. The only question left was why she had resisted doing this earlier—and the distant pondering of how much closer they could get.
"Merlin, Granger," he rasped between kisses, pulling back just far enough for her to still see specks of blue in his illuminated gaze. His lips curled. "Hermione."
Four simple syllables and Hermione knew she was done for.
Tugging him by the fabric, she slammed her lips back onto his. Kiss after kiss after kiss, her need for him only grew—a sentiment that clearly was not one-sided. His hand clutched around her waist and pulled her into his lap, their bodies flush against one another for several breathless seconds before he dragged her with him as he laid across the quilt, resting Hermione's body on top of his. He grasped her more tightly, and Hermione smiled against his lips, unable to get enough. One hand clutched his black shirt while the other moved down the length of his torso, brain filling in the gaps with what she already knew he looked like underneath. He felt good beneath her. No—better than good. Strong. Rousing. Solid and firm and more than she would have ever dared to let herself imagine.
He met her lips with another searing kiss, and Hermione released a soft whimper when Draco swept his tongue against the seam so she once more opened her mouth to him. The heat of his mouth consumed her, only to be quickly contrasted by the crisp night air nipping against her back. His hands had travelled the curve of her body and found the hem of her shirt, teasing the fabric as his work-worn fingers explored her skin. Her pulsed thrilled at his touch, sparking a conflagration inside her that Hermione was in no rush to extinguish. She kissed him harder, letting her hips rock against him as the flames fueled higher and his pleasure grew evident. He hissed in approval, and Hermione wouldn't mind eliciting that sound out of him again and again.
Until an entirely different sound broke her from the torrid trance.
A low rumble resonated beside them, sending the earth into a minor shake, and they both immediately withdrew from their kiss.
Still rested atop Draco, Hermione turned in the direction of the disturbance where she was met by a pair of onyx black eyes, intently staring at them while wisps of threatening smoke poured out the nostrils.
Hermione hid her face in the curve of Draco's neck, a newfound heat prickling her cheeks. "I forgot Ivayr was here."
The pleasant ring of Draco's chuckles filled her ears. "Did I mention that Ivayr is just as protective of me as I am of her?"
With the crook of his finger, Draco tilted her head so their eyes were locked between one another. The beating inside her chest was unstoppable. With the way his slate grey stare seemed to brighten with each second longer his gaze roved over her, Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever be able to convince herself to look away.
Draco reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear. "I'm happy you stayed."
Hermione bit the inside of her lower lip, still tingling with the lingering taste of his kiss. "I am too."
They laid down across the quilt, and Hermione rested her head against his chest. At least for tonight, she wouldn't think about how her staying still meant she'd eventually have to leave.